Microstory 2488: Chemosynthedome

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All this stuff went over my head, but in case you don’t see it from the title, this place is where most of the chemicals we use are produced. It even produces some water, for certain uses, though the majority of that comes from outer system ice mining. I won’t bore you with the details that my tour guide went over, because I don’t remember them. I’ll just say that this is clearly a very important place. They’re used to create organic substrates, and then to sustain them once people download their consciousnesses into them. Mechanical substrates still use gear lubricant. Synthesizer feedstock, spaceship energy maintenance and propulsion, superconductors, and the constituent parts of metamaterials. Everything is a chemical, in case you don’t know, and it all starts here. I wish I understood it better, but the tour was very dry, and they assumed a level of intelligence and education that I don’t have. Everyone else probably had no problem, though. I felt like an idiot, trying to keep up with what she was saying. I suppose that’s my only complaint. I obviously don’t take issue with the dome itself. It’s doing what needs to be done, and it sounds like it’s doing a great job at it. I just think there should be different kinds of tours, which cater to people of different backgrounds and interests. I did want to learn something, but it was so advanced that I basically ended up with nothing. I think what’s happened is that the planet’s priorities are in the really big and popular domes, which demand a lot of resources, like a massive android population. That leaves these educational, institutional domes behind. They develop what they’re asked to, but they don’t support a visiting population in addition to that. It’s just something to think about. I dunno, maybe it’s just all my fault. Whatever. Do what you gotta do.

Microstory 2466: Grand Central Sewage

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According to lore, this was originally called Primary Sewage Treatment Dome. They changed it, because they wanted it to sound a little more fun. Because in reality, it’s not fun at all. It’s the grossest aspect of this planet, in my humble opinion. Let’s start with the water. Every sufficiently completed dome handles its own water treatment for the most part. Using state-of-the-art plants, the sewage is collected, filtered, and recycled as needed. This clean water is then pumped back into their own pipe network, and if there’s any excess, it can be returned to the planet’s water table. There isn’t much of a water table, but it does exist, and it’s growing every day. What’s left over after all of the water has been reclaimed is called sludge, and while it’s absolutely disgusting, it is absolutely not useless. There are all sorts of goodies in your waste. It can be used for biogas, fertilizer, and even feedstock for additive printers. That’s right, the device you’re using to read this review may be made out of poop! It’s a...different circle of life. Certain useful ingredients can also be extracted from the sludge, like phosphorus, nitrogen, and cellulose. These chemicals are all processed here, and redistributed as necessary. But first, it has to get here. As I said, each individual dome reclaims its own recycled water, but since there’s only one Grand Central Sewage, it all has to be pelletized, sealed up, and transported somehow. Enter the vactrain network. That’s right, the same tubes you use to travel from your residential dome to, say, Archidome, are also used to transport waste. Don’t worry, though. They use entirely different trains, and entirely different train stations. It’s probably right under your feet, though. If you were to step through a maintenance door, and walk down the steps, you could end up in a second station where waste is moved into the tubes. Scrap is shipped from here as well. Every time you throw away some packaging, or a part breaks off from some equipment, it goes to one of these hidden stations too, so it can head off to a separate dome, colloquially known as The Scrapyard. I reviewed that dome as well, because I actually like the utility domes. I find the secret, underground means by which we live to be more interesting than what we do on the surface. It’s not pretty, and it’s not glamorous, but it is monumentally important. Yes, it might be a little weird to know that the chair your sitting on could have been in someone’s body at some point, but trust me, this is better. We used to just dump our waste in a hole, and leave it there forever. Talk about disgusting.

Microstory 2315: Earth, August 21, 2178

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Dear Corinthia,

I was so pleased to hear from you, I had to write back to you right away. Unfortunately, my father is out of town at the moment, and unreachable. As soon as he gets back online, I’ll write again with a full report on his involvement in this unforgivable betrayal. I don’t want to dismiss your struggles on Vacuus, but things are not all that great here either. I don’t know what kind of updates you receive from Earth, but it has become a harsh and uninviting place in its own right. The air has become poisoned with a cocktail of chemicals created by a number of competing corporations in their attempt to monopolize the world’s food supply. Some were trying to develop perfect environments for their own crops, while others were attacking their competitors, or they were hedging their bets, and doing both. This has left us with a toxic atmosphere that could take decades to clear up, and that’s only assuming the corporations don’t push on, and make things worse. I live in a giant floating dome on the ocean, which is both sealed off from the noxious fumes, and isolated from the Corporate Wars, which have been raging for 18 years now. That is why father is away at the moment. He and the ambassador are trying to negotiate a trade deal with a nearby land dome. They are running out of space, but we are running out of resources. We’re relatively new, and healthy, but I have not always lived here, and I have seen how bad things can get on the outside. So, sister, I’m not so sure that I should count myself the lucky one. We would both die by opening our respective doors, but at least no one did it to you on purpose. Even so, with all that I have been through over the course of the 36 years that you and I have been alive, I know that I am more fortunate than most people here. There are those who do not even have access to one of the domes. They found pockets of technically survivable air in the deepest corners of the planet, so they don’t die in a matter of hours, but their lifespans are quite short when compared to ours. On a personal note, I would like to thank you for reaching out to me. I never would have known that you existed. Father is not the kind of person who would confess something like that, even on his deathbed. He will be taking a number of grudges and secrets to his grave. Again, I’ll write again once I learn more from him. There also might be others here who know what happened, and exactly why.

Your other half,

Condor Sloane

Microstory 2301: Green Burial

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The remains. I’ve not told you anything about the remains. No, they weren’t at the memorial service. We left them in Kansas City. I decided that I wanted to lay them to rest on a solo mission. In between all the other planning that I’ve done, with the memorial service, and the other memorial service locally, I contacted all the necessary people to do it the way he wanted. One of the first things he told me when we met earlier this year was that he wanted a green burial, which means no casket, no chemicals, no clothing. Your body returns to the Earth in the purest way imaginable, breaks down as fast as possible, and breathes new life into the soil. There are obviously rules about this, like where you can do it, and I got all the permits. I’m not going to tell you where I buried him, but I did it all by myself after signing it out of the funeral home. That part wasn’t by Nick’s request. It’s something that I felt I needed to do alone. Everything else involves other people, so I just made an executive decision that this was the time when I would say goodbye in my own way, and not be around anyone else. I dug the grave, I lowered him down, and I filled it in. I feel that I accomplished something, and now maybe I can move on...maybe. Goodbye, Nick. You meant more than I could ever say.

Microstory 2248: Deliberately

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Hey, everyone, this is Kelly again. Things are not going well. As you may have realized, Nick is not well. We thought that we were totally past this, but we were wrong. He proved that he was once immortal by being cured of the prion disease, and now he’s incidentally proving that he’s no longer immortal by suffering from something else. We didn’t know what we were dealing with at first, but we were very worried for him. He’s been very fatigued and weak lately, which he attributed to a lack of consistent and comfortable sleeping situations. But that just didn’t seem to be enough to explain how dramatically he was declining. And then that last post. It was written so poorly, and wasn’t like him at all. We knew that something else had gone wrong; something specific that could be tested for, and not just remedied homeopathically. Everyone’s first thought was yet another pathogen of some kind, since he seems to have become a magnet for them. I’m sure that a lot of you were all thinking the same thing, as his posts were reminiscent of the kind that he wrote during other infections. That’s not what it is, though, and not because he’s run out of those. Some of you seem to feel like he can’t get another infection, because he’s already had every kind, but that’s not how it works. He’s had every classification. He could get a thousand different ones over the course of the next half century, and he will still not have contracted everything that the world has to offer. And you can become reinfected with the same exact disease anyway; we’ve never cured any of them. But no, that has nothing to do with it anyway. It’s poison. He has been poisoned. The hospital ran a battery of tests, and came to the conclusion that it’s an organophosphate. Don’t ask me to say that out loud. They are commonly found in pesticides, which is why the majority of patients live or work on farms, or in facilities would use these pesticides, or which take part in the manufacturing of them. But those are not the only ways to encounter it. You can eat contaminated food, or even be exposed to it from a chemical explosion. None of these apply to Nick. Well, he’s eaten food, of course, but we’ve all eaten the same things, and have not tested positive for the stuff. The most likely answer is that someone poisoned him deliberately. I don’t know if they were trying to kill him, or only wrongly trying to prove that he’s still immortal, or what, but we will not tolerate that. We’ve spoken with the proper authorities, and a major investigation is underway. Since these chemicals are sometimes used in terroristic plots, the FBI is on the case, not just for Nick, but because such a bad actor places the whole country at risk. So be warned, they’re going to find you, and you will pay. As for Nick himself, he is receiving the treatment that he needs, and the medical professionals expect a full recovery eventually. If you did this to him, you better hope for a positive outcome, or you will be in even bigger trouble than you already are.

Expelled: Exploited (Part III)

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Elder was able to rig up a holographic bathroom. At first, it was nothing more than a partition that gave the user some much-needed privacy. Over time, with little else to do, he added more and more to the program, including the highly requested feature of a noise-canceling system, as well as some scent-masking. Eventually, it looked like they were in one of those extremely fancy and expensive bathrooms that only the wealthiest of people used. It wasn’t like a holodeck, so they couldn’t touch the double basin sink, or the clawfoot tub, but it made them feel a little less confined. This tactic was quickly expanded to the entirety of the tent, allowing them to pretend that they had more space than they did. They could transition views between a number of different environments. It could look like they were sitting in the middle of a serene forest, against a backdrop of mountains, or even in the middle of outer space. That one wasn’t used very much, but it was there if they wanted it. They could also use this to make the tent appear to be transparent, allowing them to see what the real world outside looked like. The imagery was bleak, and a little depressing, but it was often better than the claustrophobia-inducing opaque walls.

In addition to these cosmetic changes, Elder had a lot of other work to do. In order to transmit objects from inside to the outside, and back again, there was a small built-in airlock. It had to be flexible, so it could collapse into the pack where it was stored, of course, but it was enough in a pinch. He was able to program a tube of starter nanites to head out onto the regolith, and begin building them a larger, and more permanent, living structure. Once it was finished being constructed, they would finally be able to stand up, and walk around. It was hard to get exercise in this thing, so they were desperate for more options, especially since this planet featured fairly low gravity. Bicycle crunches were probably saving their lives, but they were becoming increasingly sick of them.

Bronach Oaksent claimed to be only a few hundred meters away, but he was nowhere to be seen. There were a number of geological features nearby, which could easily conceal him, particularly well if he had built his own shelter mostly underground. He could also be in a very small dimensional generator, which would be incredibly easy to hide. Even before he built the nanofactory, Elder designed a pebble drone, based on the kind of rocks that were present on this planet. Tiny cilia that were invisible to the naked eye pressed against the surface, allowing it to roll along in search of Bronach’s hiding place. It was a very slow process, but it used very little power, and each one could operate autonomously. Indeed, a larger drone design would be easier to spot, so this was the best way to do it if they didn’t want to get caught.

True to his word—in this sense, at least—Bronach never reached out. Elder didn’t detect a single radio signal, so he wasn’t trying to communicate anywhere else either. Elder would even be able to tell if he were using some kind of quantum messenger, which would be difficult to transport with its relatively high mass, or maybe not if his dimensional generator theory were true. There was still so much that they didn’t know, and it still wasn’t priority. Their focus was on survival. What he really needed was a real lab so he could start working on that time machine. Debra had wanted to leave Extremus, but she made it quite clear that she would prefer it to this.

“Don’t worry about the time machine right now,” Debra argued. “Just get me a place to stand up, and then a place to sit down. You are building chairs, right?”

“Of course I am,” Elder replied, “and I’m not worried about the lab right now. I’m just talkin’. The nanites are busy on the structure; me discussing the future doesn’t slow that down.”

“You should have brought more nanites,” she tried to reason.

“The amount of time it takes for them to replicate is negligible compared to the time it takes to actually build what we need. Packing more would not have significantly sped up the process. In fact, it might have slowed it down, because it would have been more difficult to get them through the airlock pocket, and on its way to the worksite.”

“The worksite is right there.” Debra pointed. The tent was pseudotransparent on one side right now, so they could watch the construction progress. The other sides were showing the ocean surrounding an atoll.

“That’s miles away to a nanite. Scaled up, that would be like if you drove around the equator of the Earth,” Elder tried to explain for the upteenth time. He hadn’t had to say that specific thing to her before, but she was one of the least educated people he had ever met. She didn’t listen. She seemed to think that the nanites were magic. If she knew their breakdown rate, she would...well, she wouldn’t understand that number, but if she did, she would throw a fit.

“I’ve never been to Earth.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t.”

“Stop fighting,” Rita interjected. “This is a stupid conversation, and I’m over it. Elder, how long until we can teleport into the new structure?”

“We’re not teleporting into it,” Elder contended. “We have precious little temporal energy left in the teleporter gun, and we need to save it.”

“If we’re so low, how are we ever going to go back in time?” Debra questioned.

“I will be able to harvest more with greater resources,” Elder clarified. “It would sure help to have some stored to catalyze the process, though, which is why I’m having the nanites build a docking cone. That’s mostly what still needs to be finished. It’s right there.” He pointed to it. A metal cone was gradually materializing towards them.

“And the time until it’s complete?” Rita reiterated.

“Only a few more days,” he answered. “I know what you’re gonna say next, but bear in mind that solar is our only source of power at the moment. The shelter would take even longer if I had the nanites build a fusion reactor at the same time, even though having fusion would eventually make them go faster. Plus, the basalt and sedimentary rocks have to be pulverized and reformulated into a sort of concrete to create the airtight seal that we obviously need. There is not as much metal in the regolith as I would like. But as soon as they’re done, we’ll have nine square meters to spread out in. It will all be worth the wait, I promise you.”

“And a real bathroom?” Rita asked hopefully.

Elder hesitated to answer. “Not quite yet. It’s coming, but think about it, how complicated the fixtures in a real bathroom are. There is a room walled off for it, but we’ll still be using our portable toilet, and rubbing ourselves down with dayfruit...” He trailed off, his mind scattered to a million pieces. Sometimes a keyword would switch his train of thought to the wrong track, even if he was the one who said the word. He went back to contemplating his latest project to solve one of their problems. Each of the five leaves of the dayfruit was packed with its own natural substance. They were using the sugar and salt leaf regularly, programming every other fruit to produce one, and every other fruit the other. The second leaf gave them an alcohol-based sanitizer, which could be used to disinfect wounds in a medical situation, as well as a body cleanser when water was scarce, as it was here. The third leaf was a soap for when water was plentiful enough. The fourth was basically a GMO super-eucalyptus, which had countless benefits, from toothpaste to a moisturizing topical ointment. The fifth and final leaf was a sort of user’s choice. If not programmed for something each time, it would just grow empty. Well, not empty, but layered, so it wasn’t completely useless, since it still functioned as toilet paper, but Elder wanted more out of it. He wanted to program it to produce a certain chemical compound.

Unfortunately, they were stuck with an inert fifth leaf. It was a heavily regulated trait, generationally encrypted by the institution that designed the dayfruit strain in question. In this case, that governing body was part of Extremus. No one here had the authentication factors, not even Lieutenant Suárez. When he had time, Elder had been trying to hack into it, but even geniuses had their limits. These seeds required a password for certain modifications, and if he wanted to subvert them, his only option might be to write his only version of the fruit from scratch. That was not out of the question, but they weren’t there yet. It would demand certain chemicals to even begin anyway. Digital DNA was useless without the organic material to begin the synthesization process. Nothing could come from nothing. Not even their world of temporal manipulators could this maxim be subverted.

“Old Man,” Rita shouted. “You’re in your head again.”

“No, you were telling us to rub dayfruit on our bodies,” Debra clarified.

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “I meant the sanitizer. We’ll have to keep using the sanitizer until we can find a source of oxidane.”

Rita nodded, but Debra was confused, as usual.

“Water. We need water. If we find a significant reservoir, we may be able to stop having to recycle our waste.” They added sugar to their drinking water to get rid of the urine taste, but...they could still taste it.

Rita shook her head. “When we go back in time, and get back on Extremus, I’m going to lobby for a change in policy. Earthan space explorers wear those standardized integrated multipurpose suits all the time. They debated doing that on the Extremus, but it was never our plan to ever go on spacewalks, so they ultimately decided against them. I think that was a mistake. We would be so much better off if we could go outside right now. I should be wearing an IMS. From what I hear, they’re comfortable enough.”

Elder shook his head to mirror her. “I should have packed one in my emergency kit. I guess that’s not why they’re on the recommended list, because the people who need them the most are already wearing them to be prepared at all times.”

“Could you fabricate one now?” Debra asked. She was being genuine this time, not critical or argumentative.

“I don’t have the materials,” Elder replied. “And...I wouldn’t know how to make one. It’s not the library, I don’t think. Do you know how to harvest and contain monopoles? I’m not saying that to mean. It’s just so far above my paygrade.”

“Well, that’s one layer,” Rita began, “but a vacuum suit doesn’t have to have it. The other layers alone would work well enough on their own, unless you think you might get shot out there.”

Elder looked towards the horizon. When Bronach left them, this was the direction he walked, implying that that was where his own shelter was—which was why he was concentrating the pebbledrone search in that region—but that could literally have been a misdirect. “We don’t know that that man doesn’t have projectile weapons. And anyway, no,” he went on. “The nanites aren’t constructing the structure out of the best materials possible, just what they can find. We do not have what we would need for additional clothing of any kind. We never will, not here.”

They all three sighed at around the same time, and went back to watching the docking cone inch towards the tent entrance, one conical section at a time. It really was slow, though, so they eventually broke out of the group trance, and started focusing on their own things. Later that evening, they watched another episode of Sliders together. It was the one where they go to a world that is free from the war because of a virus that only kills Kromaggs. It made Elder uncomfortable, but he tried not to show it. The ladies still didn’t know that much about his past.

A couple of days later, the cone was finished, and they were in the new structure. Rita couldn’t stop breathing a sigh of relief, and Debra teared up a little. Elder sat down on one of the built-in benches against the wall, and didn’t stand up for almost three hours. They didn’t call him Old Man for nothin’. Lying down, sitting up, and crawling were not good for his back in the long-term. Now that they had more space to move around, he was able to get some real work done. Their new airlock still wasn’t big enough for a person to step through, but that wasn’t the point. His hands could move faster than the nanites. He was able to collect building material, and build some larger equipment in here. The progress of their shelter continued to get faster and faster. He cut out some windows, and forged silica glass to protect them. They hadn’t experienced any dust storms, or these might have been too dangerous to consider.

With more space and more time, he was able to build larger drones too, which were able to travel farther from their immediate vicinity, and perform more detailed surveys of the land. They found deposits of magnesium and aluminum, and trace amounts of others, like silver and copper, which were vital components of some desperately needed technology, like better solar panels, and a fusion reactor. It took months, but these drones also found subsurface ice only about forty centimeters under the regolith. For simplicity’s sake, they ignored the first site, and focused on one that was a little farther away, but on higher ground, so a basic aluminum pipe could transport water from the boiler structure, down to them via gravity.

It was starting to feel a little like home, but only a little. They remained firmly in favor of finding a way back to the ship in the past. Debra talked a lot about their ultimate goal of traveling to Bronach’s location, but the other two were hoping to avoid it altogether. Rita was anyway. Elder still had plans for the fifth leaf, though if he never figured it out, he might be able to find a way to synthesize everything he needed in the normal way, especially with this silica for lab supplies. He was no chemist, though, that was the problem. He was counting on the dayfruit’s ability to formulate a programmed compound for him, rather than him having to mix it by hand. This plan wasn’t vital to their survival, but not having the weapon could prove fatal one day. He had relinquished his morals once; he could do it again if it was necessary.

They were on this dead planet for five whole months before Elder was even able to begin manufacturing the time machine, and it was shortly thereafter when he hit a snag. Harvesting temporal energy wasn’t as easy as he thought it would be. He might only have enough for one person for one trip with a smaller design.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: November 22, 2398

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Marie called it in, and confirmed her suspicions. A spy satellite feed showed that a small speedboat-like watercraft was moving at top speed from the shores of Panama, while a fleet of larger ships were in pursuit. They could have overcome it at pretty much any time. There must be a reason that they want to maintain distance. The most likely explanation is that there is something dangerous on board, like a bomb, or a deadly chemical. Leona and Marie don’t want to teleport there if they don’t have to. According to Ramses’ research, their ability to metabolize the Bermuda Triangle water is diminishing. If they keep using it to reactivate their powers, it eventually won’t work anymore. Theoretically, they can’t overdose on the stuff, but also theoretically, they can. It’s here in case of an emergency, though, if the pursuing ships change tactics, or if either party reacts to their arrival. To be safe, by the time they make their interception, the SD6 team will put on their hazmat suits, just in case that’s what the problem is.

It took the team a long time, but they’re here now. They have the boats in their sights, and nothing has changed from the last satellite view that they saw. The pursuing ships are still 900 meters from the speedboat. It’s been on the water for so long, it has to be running out of power. It was going all night, so it had to rely on its battery reserves, and those things are not designed for overnight trips. The driver is running out of power, and it will probably happen soon. When it does, that could be enough to cause the ships to make bolder moves. The team has to get to it now, and figure this out. They don’t know if they’re target is good or bad, dangerous or harmless, so they’re not going to take any chances. Leona and Marie have their immortality water boosters inside their hazmat suits, ready to take the other three members of the team with them, plus the target, if necessary. Then again, they’re still not close enough to know if there even is only one person on the vessel. It’s the only one they can track using Ramses’ scanner, but that doesn’t mean that person is alone.

Once the team breaks the 900-meter radius, that’s when the ships start to change direction. They all move at the same time. “Oh, no,” Leona laments. “They’re coming in to attack us. Get your auto-injector ready.”

“No,” Marie says with a shake of her head. “That’s not what they’re doing. They’re leaving.” She’s right. They’re not getting into attack formation. They’re turning. It’s going to take them a long time at their sizes, going at their speeds, but they’re definitely turning away. From what, them? That is even weirder. What are they so afraid of? Why did they spend all this time and effort going after this little boat, only to bail when a three crew-sized tactical amphibious vessel shows up? Surely they have their own satellites, and would have seen them coming from literally miles away.

They’re not going to spend too much time dwelling on it. They get closer to the speedboat, which is being maneuvered into parallel position. Once they’re tied together, the hatch from the cabin opens. Bhulan Cargill climbs out of it, except it’s not Bhulan. It’s Mateo’s once-sister, Aquila in Bhulan’s body. “Why are you wearing those things?”

“We didn’t know what to expect,” Leona says. “This whole mission has been bizarre. Why were they coming after you, and why are they giving up now?”

Aquila looks back at the fleet. “Oh, they weren’t coming after me. Those are my escort ships. They were making sure no one attacked. We need to talk...about Mateo.”

Microstory 1739: Jana Crane

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For the most part, Jana Crane tried to keep to herself. She kept her head down, did her job, and didn’t complain when the people she worked with treated her like crap. She tried to be as accommodating as possible, without being a pushover who no one respected. She was a factory inspector, who would go around her region, making sure that the businesses she was assigned to were maintaining health and safety standards. She was thorough and careful, and didn’t let anything slide. Forgetting to fill out your monthly logs completely is one thing, but not properly securing a piece of incredibly dangerous equipment was just something that could not be tolerated. Her reports were not meant to get anyone in trouble, but she saw them as a way for the companies to improve themselves, and prevent anything from going terribly wrong. It would be bad for the floor workers if one of them became injured, and bad for the employers if that injured worker sued the company, or otherwise cost them money. Everyone should love inspectors for preventing such tragedies. At least that was how Jana saw it, but no one else shared her sentiments, even people whose lives she was trying to preserve. Perhaps if she wore a cape, and a symbol of some kind on her chest, they would think differently of her. One person in particular could have done with a little more perspective. He was a floor supervisor who probably should have never been promoted, but far be it for Jana to judge the process. What she could judge, however, was how casual he was with the safety protocols. He didn’t worry about locking down the machines. He let his people go in there without safety goggles. He didn’t care about anything. If she didn’t know any better, she might think he was asking for a bad outcome. Sadly, she was the one who ended up in a bad situation. She gave him low marks too many times, and he had had enough. She was going to stop inspecting his work, whether she wanted to or not.

The last thing she saw before the darkness was his face. He wasn’t wearing a mask, or anything. He probably thought she wouldn’t recognize him, and since she wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a lineup later, he would get away with it. Or maybe he was just a moron who didn’t think things through carefully. That was the most likely reason he not only showed his face, but spoke to her after throwing the acid in her eyes, and made references to their previous encounters with each other. She screamed, but couldn’t cry, on account of the acid. She just tried her best to wipe the chemicals off of her face. She pulled her shirt off, and wiped some more. It got the excess off, but it didn’t stop the pain, and it wouldn’t give her her sight back. He didn’t laugh. He was angry; talking about how this was her fault, and if she had just ignored the infractions, this wouldn’t have had to happen. All this, like it was completely unavoidable. An unlocked chemical cabinet was unsafe, but he didn’t appear to recognize the irony. She could hear his footsteps grow fainter, so she started to reach out around her. Feeling around was taking too long, so Jana had to be bolder. By the end of this, she was going to have a lot of bruises, but she would live. Every second she waited would make it that much harder for the doctors to fix her eyes. She began to run. She didn’t run into anything, so she went faster and faster through the factory, all the way out into the cold, and over to a warehouse down the street, which she knew operated 24/7. Her vision was never quite the same after that, but she didn’t go blind, and the floor supervisor didn’t go free.

Microstory 1697: Erroneous Soulmate Syndrome

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There are obvious downsides to only being able to have relations with one partner for your entire life. That person has to be something special, or you might end up just being miserable, and resentful. As mentioned before, your partner may die, leaving you alone, or only with however many children they were able to conceive with you. There are some really bad consequences that evolution couldn’t take into account, and which medical science had to pick up where it left off. There are many atrocious cases, but I will talk about the first one that was corrected, at least on a chemical level, that is. From a biological standpoint, in this universe, rape and sex can end the same. Two people come together, and release chemicals that will prevent either one of them from copulating with someone else. The fact that it’s not a consensual encounter is not something that the body knows, or would be able to do anything about. One young woman was just trying to live her damn life as a coworker kept pestering her about a date. He felt entitled to the exploration of a relationship, and ultimately, did not take no for an answer. Unlike in other universes, no one has intercourse while they’re dating. You have to be certain that this is the right person for you, or you could be stuck with the wrong partner forever. Still, people have sexual urges, which they usually take care of in other ways. The coworker was not willing to do that. The more he begged her for a date, and the more she rejected him, the most frustrated and erratic he became. He was both not thinking about the rules, and didn’t care about them. He wanted sex, and he was going to get it, whether she was willing or not. It was wrong in any world.

Once the attack was over, they were now supposedly bonded for life. She no longer had any hope of finding a true life partner, and he didn’t either, for as much as that mattered. The rape itself could not be undone, nor the psychological trauma that the act inflicted upon the survivor. It would always be there, no matter how much therapy she received, and no matter what punishment her attacker faced. As for the biological soulmate problem, there actually was hope now. Medical science was advancing at a decent rate, and a particular research team believed they had the answer to what had already been deemed Erroneous Soulmate Syndrome. Using a new surgical procedure, they thought they could reverse a soulmate bond, and return people to their original, pre-sex active state. This woman was the first to undergo the experimental procedure, and discover that it worked. It was flawed, however. She was still unable to bond with anyone else. It didn’t hurt, but the soulmate connection could still not take place. Her chosen partner would have technically been free to choose another while still having relations with her—though, he did not do that. Neither of them would end up with a biological soulmate, but at least she was no longer linked to her rapist. Over time, the researchers continued to perfect their techniques until they could successfully reverse a bond, while allowing a patient to find another afterwards. That first patient’s limitations were never fixed, but it was an important first step in making the world a little more fair by giving people a choice. As the years went by, new laws were passed, allowing more exceptions to a bonding, including not only rape, but childhood tomfoolery, and drunken mistakes. Decades later, the elective procedure was standard for anyone over the age of eleven, but of course, it was only ever performed after receiving consent.

Microstory 1678: Scorched

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Most of the time, the Ochivari don’t have to worry about engaging in some kind of physical conflict with the civilizations that they choose to destroy with their sterility virus. If the people find out what has happened to them, it’s not like they can really do anything about it. They still don’t have the ability to travel the bulkverse, so all the Ochivari agents have to do is leave the universe, and be fine. Of course, they still have to fight in the Darning Wars against people who actually do have the ability to travel between universes, but the allies don’t generally recruit from worlds that have been attacked, because they’re still contagious, so it’s too dangerous to interact with them on any level. There are rare cases, however, when the Ochivari feel compelled to stay on a world they’ve sterilized, because they have no other choice. One such instance is probably the worst offender in their eyes. The people of this particular planet were somehow actively anti-environment. They somehow managed to develop highly advanced technology while simultaneously destroying the ecosystem. For the most part, a civilization is unsustainable if it relies too heavily on non-renewable energy sources. It’s not really that they’ll run out of fossil fuels, or whatever, but they’ll damage the atmosphere too much before they even have a chance to move on to something better. Chemical rockets are fine for getting off the surface, entering orbit, and exploring the solar system across decades. They’re not good for anything beyond that. You pretty much have to have fusion if you want to reach the stars on reasonable timescales. Furthermore, because civilizations don’t usually hyperfocus on one technology, if you don’t eventually come up with fusion, there are probably many other key developments that you’ll never figure out either, and that is liable to spell your doom.

The people of this world weren’t trying to do things more efficiently, and not only did they not care about the environment, they seemed to despise it. They didn’t want to live in harmony with the world; they wanted to consume it. They didn’t even see it as waste. They would manufacture an aluminum can, drink something out of it, and throw it away. If it was used once, that was good enough, and they could move onto something else. Being able to throw things away, and never use them again, gave them joy. So it was no surprise when the Ochivari came to end them. This didn’t work out so well. The people didn’t figure out fusion, but they did invent ion drives, so they used rockets to free themselves from the planet’s gravity well, and from there, they could go anywhere. They also figured out how to upload their consciousness into android substrates, so no, they wouldn’t be able to birth new generations, but they would live on. And they could keep destroying; their homeworld, and all others they find. To them, there was an endless supply of planets that were specifically created for their use. The Ochivari knew they had to stay, and devise a computer virus that could wipe the new species out. This didn’t work out either, as any virus would only be able to destroy one of the many, many different android models out there. With that no longer a decent option, the Ochivari just had to resort to straight up war. They could no longer save the original planet, but they could protect all future colonies. They sent a whole fleet of warships to take down their most annoying of foes, but of course, the former humans had been preparing for that this entire time, and they were a force to be reckoned with.

Microstory 1648: Regal Sea Goddess

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Image credit: Greg McFall (NOAA's National Ocean Service)

The penultimate universe I’ll discuss for this series doesn’t have a name, because there isn’t a strong enough defining characteristic. Yes, all relevant stories are about a group of superheroes, who fight against a group of supervillains, but there are many branes like that. The first of the heroes came about in the early 1980s. Her work was relatively shortlived, and her only responsibility was to go against regular criminals. Her decision to become the first would fuel the heroes of tomorrow, and also the villains, who were at first, pretending to be heroes. She basically became an excuse for people to dress up in costumes, conceal their identities, and operate outside of the law. People didn’t know what to think when Sea Goddess showed up on the scene in her colorful frilly outfit, and started fighting crime. They didn’t have the concept of a superhero. Comic books were predominantly about angsty teens, and exceptional athletes. They had heard of vigilantes, though, and they knew that what she was doing was against the law. Still, she seemed to be trying to do some good, so law enforcement just kind of stayed out of her way. They didn’t help her, but they didn’t actively try to apprehend her. It became an unwritten rule that if a cop happened across her that they look the other way, and act like it didn’t happen. Sea Goddess’ real name was Shanti Gideon, and she didn’t have some sad story about why she wanted to clean up the streets. She won a somewhat modest amount of money in the lottery, which allowed her to quit her boring job, and now she didn’t have anything better to do. Superheroing passed the time, and gave her purpose, and most people seemed to appreciate it. Obviously, not everyone.

Sea Goddess named herself for a species of underwater creatures called nudibranchs. She took on characteristics of the animal, primarily by wielding harsh chemicals. One of the chemicals put her victims to sleep, while another just tasted bad, and overwhelmed them to the point where they couldn’t fight anymore. She did have one lethal poison that she only used once as a last resort, and it was her final mission before she disappeared. No one knew what happened to her after that. Some believed that she was murdered in retaliation for the mobster that she killed when she was backed into a corner. Others thought that she was always part of some rival gang, and was reassigned to somewhere else. Most people rightly assumed that she retired, having regretted taking a life, and not being able to make up for it. Instead, she dedicated herself to helping others in more traditional ways, by donating to charity, and volunteering. Her identity was never at risk, and she told no one the truth about who she had been. The police reluctantly pursued the mobster’s killer, but came up with no leads, and eventually just let it turn into a cold case. Even if they thought she deserved to be locked up, no one wanted to be the cop who actually did it. Her legacy lived on after this, but it would be decades before anyone truly followed in her footsteps. A support group for people who had been traumatized, and were now lost in the world, was designed with levels. You level up, you learn more about the organization. The middle levels revealed it to be a source of recruitment for superheroes, but the higher levels revealed that it was actually a front for criminals. Upon realizing this, real superheroes had to rise up, and do everything they could to stop them. Once they did, however it wasn’t like their job was over. New threats came along, and perhaps Sea Goddess would have to come out of hiding.

Microstory 1647: Biological Soulmates

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There are a few different universes that have the same, or similar, rules about this sort of thing, but I’ll only talk about the one. Evolution is a pretty simple concept when you really get down to it. A mutation occurs in an individual specimen. If it doesn’t prevent that individual from surviving, that trait is more likely to be passed down to the next generation. It doesn’t matter if the trait is good or bad. It only has to be good enough to survive in the bloodline (i.e. to not prevent that bloodline from continuing). There are some evolutionary traits that shouldn’t exist, and some have suggested that this is evidence that some higher power is up there, making decisions. I don’t think that’s true, but the universe today is crazy enough to make me doubt my faith in science. When two members of the opposite sex have intercourse for the first time, they will be forever bonded to each other, on multiple levels. They will release chemicals that not only prevent them from producing children with different partners, but also from even having sex with other people. If they try, it will hurt. Two sexually incompatible partners who attempt to join will both be flooded with painful chemicals that flow throughout their bodies, and don’t stop until the sex stops. Other universes have similar compatibility limitations, but don’t take it this far. They can still choose multiple partners, it’s just that they can only produce offspring with their so-called soulmates. Why did evolution come up with this? What could possibly drive such a ridiculous series of traits? Well, the obvious answer is that forcing a single soulmate encourages the family dynamic, which supports the stable upbringing of a child. But is that enough? Apparently so, but it doesn’t make much sense; not according to evolutionary biology.

As I was saying, an evolutionary trait will persist down the bloodline if it doesn’t prevent the bloodline itself from persisting. This should not have happened in this case. The first sign of this incompatibility trait should have been stopped shortly after the mutation appeared. Most animals copulate with multiple partners. They’re all just trying to pass their genetic information onto their descendants. It’s the number one biological imperative. Restricting an individual to one lifelong partner is fine for humans, and a few other animals, but only when it’s a choice, or rather, only when it’s not the only avenue. Most of the time, monogamy is not a very good survival trait, and it doesn’t always support the biological imperative. Sure, perhaps a child is better off being raised consistently by two parents, but evolution isn’t about the survival of an individual. It’s about the continuity of the species as a whole, and math tells us that having a lot of children has been the default tactic for most of evolutionary history. Monogamy only works well when you have options, not when it’s unavoidable. What if the father dies after only producing one child? It’s up to that child to continue the bloodline, and if it also dies, then it’s over. It’s much better if the mother can go find another partner, and give their first child half-siblings. While the original father’s genetic traits may end, at least hers has a chance to go on. All this being said, the arguments against this sort of thing don’t seem to have stopped it from happening to the humans who evolved in this universe, so there must be some significant benefit that I’m not seeing. Despite the bizarre constraints, the residents have been quite successful, and even prosperous.

Microstory 1318: Self-Representation

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Accommodating Judge: Mr. Self-Representing Defendant, I feel compelled to remind you that you did not finish law school, nor did you pass the bar exam. You probably know—though you may not—that you have the right to waive your opportunity at a closing argument.

Self-Representing Defendant: I understand, and I shall proceed as planned.

Accommodating Judge: If you choose to waive it, I will strongly encourage the prosecution to waive theirs as well.

Accommodating Prosecutor: We are prepared to waive it, Your Honor.

Self-Representing Defendant: I’m fine to go ahead.

Accommodating Judge: All right, then.

Self-Representing Defendant: Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my client—which is me, of course; I will be referring to myself as my client. My client has done no wrong here, and I believe the trial I conducted adequately demonstrated this fact. As you already know, though I came close, I am no lawyer. I dropped out of law school for personal reasons; not academic issues, but I do recognize what I am lacking. I chose to represent myself, because I’m confident that the evidence speaks for itself. Do not fault the prosecution for the conclusion it came to. They have every reason to believe that I am guilty, but that does not mean that I am. It is true that I knew the victim, and I will admit that I became a little obsessed with her. I wouldn’t lie to you, even if I were not under oath. But there is one bit of evidence I wish to reiterate now. Miss Stalking Victim’s house was broken into. Anyone could have done that; my client is but one in a billion. Well...one in eight billion, more like it. There is one thing that my client had that no one else did, and though the prosecution used this fact against me, I consider it contradictory when taking the break-in into account. I—my client had a key. I know I shouldn’t have made a secret copy, but I did, and the past cannot be changed. Now, why would I—dammit—my client need to shatter a window to get into Miss Victim’s house if he had a perfectly good way of getting in without causing a stir? And why is she not here today? It’s because she did not press charges. Even she isn’t convinced that my client is guilty. Whose word are you going to take? If not mine, then at least respect hers. I certainly trust her; I always have.

Accommodating Judge: Mr. Defendant...

Self-Representing Defendant: Apologies, Your Honor. My point is that my client is not a perfect man, but that does not, on its own, lends itself to such grotesque violence. Yes, I had access to the lab where they keep the acid, but it was locked up in a chemical cabinet to which I did not have access. My client missed her deeply, but that is not enough to prove his involvement. If we were in the real world, I might have sided with the prosecution. But we’re talking about a college campus, where security is lax, at best. You cannot just limit your suspect pool to a handful of people. It’s too easy to frame somebody.

Accommodating Judge: Careful, Defendant...

Self-Representing Defendant: Apologies, apologies. I will say nothing more about it, but I urge you, good people of the jury...to wonder why it is that the police only questioned one other person regarding the horrible incident. It’s always the jealous ex, they say. Well, I say that’s a dangerous sentiment. Everyone is an ex.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: November 24, 2262

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The problem with time travel was that there was no such thing as total safety. If one were to imagine a world without it, finding a secure location wasn’t necessarily easy, but it was at least possible. An individual could theoretically fly a small plane to a remote and uncharted island in the middle of the ocean, and worry little about being discovered. Or they could build an impenetrable bunker in the center of a mountain. But either one of these things would be a three-dimensional endeavor. What would happen if a fourth dimension were to be added? Now someone could potentially find that person before they hid themselves away, or after they came out of it. They could kill their grandmother before they’re born, or even their ancestor from centuries prior. Surviving for a particular stretch of time doesn’t mean anything when an opponent could theoretically go back in time, and create a new reality for you.

Cassidy Long was always in danger; in her present, her future, and even her past. Last year, Pribadium seemed to think that there was a way to protect her from attack in all dimensions, so she and Hogarth spent that year working on it. “I call it a blind spot,” Pribadium announced.

“Are we married to that name?” Vitalie questioned.

“What does it do?” Mateo asked.

“How does it work?” Leona asked.

Hogarth open a small black case and removed an injection needle from it. “This solution is retroactive. If this works, no one will be able to find you. Seers won’t predict your future, remote viewers won’t be able to trace you, psychics won’t be able to connect with you. You’ll be invisible in every sense of the word, except the literal one.”

“People will still be able to see you standing in front of them, of course,” Pribadium clarified.

“How did you make this so quickly?” Mateo asked them.

“It’s been a year for us; not a day,” Hogarth explained.

“I know. That’s still fast. You didn’t even have time to study Cassidy.”

“We didn’t need to,” Pribadium said. “This could work on anyone. It just so happens to be for her, since she’s the one who needs it.”

“So, it hasn’t been tested,” Leona presumed.

“How could you test it?” Hogarth posed.

“I don’t know,” Leona responded. “I’m not a chemist, and also, neither are either of you.”

Even Mateo knew she was right. It sounded far too dangerous for Cassidy to just inject whatever this stuff was into her bloodstream. What exactly did it do, and how did they have any clue how to make it work? They’re both primarily mechanical engineers.

“I learned several months ago,” Pribadium said with a shrug, like it was no big thang.

“Okay, you’re smart,” Leona admitted, “but even you have limits. Learning the entire branch of chemical engineering in a matter of months is one thing, but coming up with a chemical that others in the industry couldn’t even fathom is quite different. How did you incorporate the temporal dimension?”

Hogarth and Pribadium exchanged a look. “We weren’t always on Glisnia”

“We took the AOC to Earth.”

“And we sought help from The Concierge.”

“Danica?” Mateo asked rhetorically. “My cousin let you into The Constant?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Hogarth asked, but she very well knew why. There were rules.

Pribadium sighed. “We were convincing. And look.” She held the needle up higher. “The proof of our efforts. This serum is very old. It has seen time pass. The only way someone would be able to hurt Cassidy would be if they prevented Earth from coalescing in the first place. They would have to destroy the whole world before it even forms to get to her.”

“I’m not letting my daughter anywhere near that,” Étude promised.

“Hold on,” Cassidy finally said. “Is anyone gonna ask what I want, or does everyone here think they knows what’s best for me?” She turned to each person as she spoke. “Mom, I’m an adult now, and I can make my own choices. Leona, I appreciate your wisdom. Mateo, I appreciate your caution. Hogarth and Pribadium, thank for you everything you’ve done to help me. That all being said, my answer is no. I don’t understand why everyone in my life has gone to so much trouble to protect me. Well my mother, yeah, I get. But everyone else has been going out of their way to make sure poor little Cassidy doesn’t get hurt. I don’t need that.”

“It’s not just about you,” Leona said quietly. “Your blood is special. People want it for their agendas, and we can’t let that happen. It’s dangerous. We’re not just protecting you, but preventing the wrong people from gathering too much power.”

“Uhuh,” Cassidy says, “and who decides who the wrong people are? Ya know, I’ve never sat down and spoken with one of these people who are after me. All I have to go on, Mateo, is a brief conversation you had with one of them in an elevator. He wanted my blood to fight against a race of beings called the white monsters. So maybe I should help them.”

“The procedure could kill you,” Mateo reminded her. “I don’t care what the white monsters do; I’m not letting you die.”

“And again, I appreciate that, but maybe it’s time we stopped trying so hard. There are limits to what we should do to prevent this. If that needle kills me, then it will end up being worse. At least if those people had gotten to me, my blood could have saved lives. Now my life, and my death, will have just been wasted.”

No one had any idea how to respond to this.

“I gotta get outta here,” Cassidy says. Then she ran off.

“Let her go,” Leona stopped Mateo when he tried to follow.

“Do you know where she’s going?” he questioned her.

“Well, she can’t get far,” Leona reasoned. “This facility isn’t that big.”

Hogarth’s eyes widened in fear. “Yes it is. She could be two-point-eight-million light years away in minutes.”

“My teleporter,” Pribadium realized. “Dammit.”

Everybody ran off to stop Cassidy before she did something stupid, but Mateo had a different idea. He walked slowly down the hallways, and took the other tine of the fork. Cassidy was sitting in grave chamber four of the Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, back against the wall. She had a manilla folder in her hands.

Mateo climbed in, and sat against the opposite wall. “What is that?”

She held it up slightly higher. “Oh, this?” This is just me. This is me in one ream of paper or less.”

“I don’t understand.”

“When the other version of my mother, Étude was given the memories of me, the first thing she did was ask where I was. A woman named Nerakali Preston agreed to help her procure the information she would need to find me. This is everything they have, from my fake birthdate, to my sudden disappearance.”

Mateo nodded slowly. “What bothers you about that?”

“I dunno. Just...look at this thing. Is this all I am? My whole life fits in one folder. Isn’t that sad?”

“How many folders do you suppose there should be? Fifty-two?” he joked.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“Can I take a look?”

She handed it over.

“Where’s the part where you skinned your knee when you were six?”

“Huh?”

“What about how you felt after your first kiss?”

“What are you talking about, Mateo?”

“I’m talking about everything about you,” he insisted. “If everything is in here, then where is all that?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Cassidy, this isn’t your life; this is your data. It doesn’t include everything you’ve done with your life, and everyone whose life you’ve impacted. What about this reality’s version of Jai Quelen; the one you were in a complicated relationship with?”

“Oh, he’s definitely in there.”

“Right. He’s mentioned to the extent of your interactions, but not to the extent of how you changed him. He has his own hypothetical folder, but that’s not really what life is. You can’t just boil everyone down to a folder, or a deck of folders, or a million folders. And you can’t keep the folders separate from each other. Because, as they say, no man is an island. We’re all constantly walking in and out of each other’s lives, overlapping our stories, and altering each other’s paths. Nothing can be written that explains how that all works, because paper is two-dimensional, and the universe operates in four dimensions. Hell, as time travelers, we know that there are even more dimensions, and more universes. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I guess it does.” She lifted her shirt, and for a second, Mateo was worried. “After your memorial, I’m going to leave.”

“Where are you gonna go?”

“With my mother, and Vitalie, if she’s going too.”

He understood. “Why are you showing me that belly button piercing? Are you about to take yourself off my pattern?”

“It doesn’t make sense for me to spend only one day a year with the only family I have left when I have a choice.”

“No, I wouldn’t have made that choice if someone had given it to me when this all started.”

“You’re not worried?” she asked.

“Oh, Cass, I’m always worried. I always will worry. But what Leona said to you was wrong. No one has the right to keep you locked up, white monster army or no. I still think you should keep a low profile, though.”

“I don’t plan on going into show business, or anything.”

“There’s one way you can go do whatever you want without fear of someone coming after you.”

Cassidy smirked. “If my father’s alive, he can remove my powers entirely.”

“What? No, I didn’t think of that. I suppose it’s true...if he’s still alive.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Vitalie has a way to contact The Prototype. It could take you anywhere in the bulkverse. They know which universes have Maramon in them, and which ones are safe.”

“Wow, Mateo. If you wanna break up with me, there are easier ways to do it.”

“I’m serious. I’ve thought about leaving, but...I’m not sure I should. It would get me off my pattern, and free from the powers that be, but...”

“But what?” she prompted.

“Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I’ve grown used to this life. I wake up every morning, and it’s literally a new year. Who else enjoys that kind of fresh start?”

“I can think of two other people.”

“Yeah, but you have your family. Mine are gone. If I could go back in time, and undo all of this, so I could live happily ever after with my parents, would I? Well, no, because then Leona would be twelve years younger than me. But assuming I could somehow have her too, yeah, I would probably do that. But too much has changed now, and I choose to stay.”

“You’re not doing well if you’re trying to convince me to make this choice.”

“I’m not gonna lie to you about my feelings. It can only help you decide whether you feel the same way. You’ll never be safe in this universe, and I know that Étude would be perfectly happy getting you out of it.”

“This is a lot.”

“I know,” he acknowledges. “It all comes down to a few choices. I’m gonna lay them all out for you, even though I think some of them would be stupid. You can continue as you are. You’ll be on mine and Leona’s pattern, and you’ll accompany us wherever we go. You can leave, but remain on our pattern. You can stay, but get off our pattern, or as you said, both leave our pattern, and our lives. There are only two options left.”

“I can escape the universe, or I can take Pribdadium’s magic drug.”

“Yes.”

She sighed melodramatically.

They sat in silence for a good long while. When they finally emerged from the AOC, everyone was waiting in the hangar. Cassidy walked up to Pribadium. “Where’s the needle?”

Pribadium removed the needle case from her bag, and began to open it, but Cassidy made her close it, and hand over the whole thing.

“I’m going to keep this with me. I may take it in the future, but it will be when I choose, and it will be on my terms.”

“I understand,” Pribadium said.

Everyone else was either cool with her decision, or would just have to get over it.

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