Microstory 2508: Lie Taster

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I can taste your lies, and numb your reality. Now. What does that mean? Well, the first one is obvious, but you might be surprised to learn that lies taste sweet. They actually taste really good. You might think it should be the opposite, but what you have to understand is that my ability was something that all humans possess, just to a lesser degree. We can all tell when someone’s lying, depending on how good they are at being deceptive, and how good we are at picking it up. Think about it, if someone tells a lie and it tastes bad, it’s going to be quite obvious to you, and you’re just going to reject it. Lies are meant to make you happy with something that isn’t correct, so they tasted good to me, so they would feel good. Of course, I wasn’t doing my job if I just accepted the taste, and didn’t do anything about it. It wasn’t hard either, to ignore that part, and just use it as a tool to get to the root of our subject’s issues. Only when they were honest with me could I be sure they were being honest with themselves, and only at that point could I help them not have to lie anymore. If you genuinely enjoy your job, for instance, you won’t have to lie when your boss asks if you’re happy doing it. My responsibility was to get the taste of these lies out of my head, which didn’t involve anything beyond just talking with them in a therapeutic setting. I’m the only one who almost never used my active Vulnerability gift. There just wasn’t much reason to. The best use cases were when someone was having a panic attack, and I happened to be in the room. By numbing them to their struggles, they could gain some much-needed perspective, and maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much when I brought them back to reality. It wasn’t always prudent to do this, though. I mean, they really had to be going through it at the time, and acting violent, or threatening to harm themselves or others. It was a last resort that thankfully did not come up most of the time. There is one time that I wish I had used it, and it was our last client. He could have done with a hell of a lot less emotion on that night, and we would not have ever been in danger from him. Or not. He might have used that against us as well, fueling his anger, and making him even more vindictive. There’s no way to know, but I think it all worked out, because the world has Landis now. I am enjoying being able to walk into a restaurant, and taste food, knowing that what I taste is real, and not coming from a lie coming out of someone else’s mouth.

Microstory 2505: Health Smeller

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I can smell your health, and heal your ailments. I was Landis Tipton before Landis Tipton was Landis Tipton. While we gifted him with all of the Vulnerabilities, mine is the one that he uses primarily, if not exclusively. I want to make it clear that I did not waste my gift when I had it. I too healed people. It was at a smaller scale, but you have to understand that none of us believed that we could announce ourselves to the world. Before Landis was brave enough to stand in the spotlight, it felt too dangerous to be open to the public. We decided that we had to be very selective with our clients. Of course, that didn’t always work out, but we did our best. I think we helped a lot of people. Everyone we chose was entitled to a healing, but it was sort of usually considered secondary to the other—more abstract—therapies. People get sick; it’s a way of life, and I didn’t think that there was anything I could do about it. It didn’t even occur to us that my gift of healing could one day be synthesized into a mass-produced cure-all. What people really needed was to feel better about themselves, and realize their dreams, even if that meant shifting those dreams to things that were a little more realistic and attainable. I’m not saying that I was a pointless member of the team, but we did see our responsibility as being more holistic. On the contrary, my job was very important, and should not be discounted. You see, healing begins from within, but physical pain and suffering is real, and it can make it impossible to feel like your life can get better, even if you’ve not been stricken with some serious disease. Everyone has something. They have joint pain, or frequent headaches, or circulation issues. I could fix all of that. Maybe not permanently, but those first few days after the clients met us were incredibly vital. It was at least one less thing that they were worried about while they were trying to move on, and improve their situations. It gave them a new baseline by which they could judge the things that happened to them in the future, both good and not-so-great. Healthy body, healthy mind, as they say. I have heard people ask Landis what people’s health smells like, but I have never heard his answer. That’s probably because he’s so busy saving the world. That’s not me being resentful, but it does lead well into the answer to their question. When something is particularly wrong with someone, their health typically smells sickly sweet, like spoiled fruit. The disease is rotting away in their body, creating a build-up of waste, and generating a toxic smell that anyone would perceive as being wrong, if their noses were designed to detect the right signals. Poor general health, on the other hand, is bitter, with metallic overtones, and I could sometimes cure that too, but generally not. So if you ever meet Landis in person, and he’s a little shy or standoffish, I can’t speak for him, but that might be why. People just kind of smell bad all the time, even when they’ve been cured. It’s unsettling, but it’s part of the job, and I for one think that Landis faces it valiantly.

Microstory 2295: Stress Out of the Process

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What I’ve learned is that the publicity firm that Nick was using to protect his life story from rumors and lies is no stranger to memorial services. A few of their clients have died while they were working with them, and their survivors can purchase a new package to help with arrangements. Some clients even purchase it ahead of time in anticipation, like one would reserve a burial spot in a cemetery because they know they’re gonna die eventually. Nick didn’t do that, because he didn’t even think to hire anyone when his health started to decline from the prion infection. Well, I think he did consider it way back then, but he didn’t have the money, and didn’t follow through until later. Anyway, I purchased the memorial package, so they’re handling everything. I’ll be signing off on all decisions, but I won’t have to think them up myself, which takes a lot of the stress out of the process, so I’m grateful for their help in this matter. Or perhaps they should be thanking me for my help, if they’re the ones taking point. I did secure a reservation for the Causeway Center in Chicago, though. It’s so last minute that someone already had the auditorium booked. Homes for Humankind and CauseTogether.hope have assured me that whoever it was was happy to push it back to another day, but it’s hard for me to imagine how that’s possible. That room can accommodate hundreds of people, which means that they have to contact hundreds of people to alert them to the change in dates. I suppose that’s not necessarily true. Maybe they booked the whole place for an audience of eleven. I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure out who it was, and if they’re really okay, but I can’t seem to find any information. You would think that an event like that would be advertising somewhere so customers could sign up for their thing instead. If you know what was supposed to be happening in the auditorium next Friday, shoot me a message. I feel that I owe them a thank you. In the meantime, I’m flying up to look at the venue this weekend, but I’ve already seen photos, and it looks great.

Microstory 2204: Data Synthesist

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My Data Analyst would like to change his title to Data Synthesist. I was surprised when he came to me with that title, because that’s precisely what I wanted to call it in the beginning, but I was overruled at the time. You see, there’s a difference between analysis and synthesis. An analyst will take data, and break it apart into its smallest parts. They will examine each one, and figure out how it works; how it contributes to whatever it’s there to do. But a system is more than simply the sum of its parts. You, for instance, are not just a collection of organs, bones, blood, nerves, and muscles. You are a full person, and you cannot be rightly defined simply by listing every aspect of your self. What a synthesist does is take the system as a whole, and looks at how those parts work together to form that whole, in all dimensions. There’s an old parable in the systems thinking field that asks whether you would have the best car if you researched the best individual parts in the market, and tried to put them together. The answer is no, you wouldn’t; you wouldn’t even have a car! They wouldn’t fit together correctly, and would not add up to functionality. There is a time and place for analysis, but that time is not now, and that place is not here. I’m all in favor of my team member changing his title, but it’s a lot more complicated than just making the declaration, and printing new business cards. It has to go through human resources, and executives in our company. Our client has to approve it too, because they have the right to decide who they contract with. Compliance and legal have to be involved, as do departments that you might not immediately think of, like payroll and benefits. We don’t need their approval, but they still need to know that it’s happening so they can adjust their systems accordingly. And with all this comes the paperwork. Oh, the paperwork. We went through all this when the process was just getting started, and I was pleasantly surprised at how fast it went, but they might not be interested in undoing their work, and starting over from scratch, even if we’re just talking about one title. It may sound like I’m complaining, but I’m confident that we’ll figure this out. It’s the right move to make, even if it may sound small and inconsequential. It’s important that we state our intentions in all relevant ways, so our clients understand what kind of value we add to their businesses.

Microstory 2198: Not My Business to Reveal

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I have a bunch of training to do, which I’ve been putting off while I do my actual job. I had other jobs during my life on my old Earth, and a lot of them required that we take classes. The first one I had as a lifeguard had in-service courses that we took while the pool was closed. Since then, jobs have mostly relied on online solutions. I used to like to do these quickly, so I could get them out of the way, but not this time, because I’ve been so busy. I don’t want to badmouth my organization, but you don’t have to remind me every few months to not sell my clients’ data. I don’t really talk about it, but every post I write now is being approved by the legal departments both at my company, and at the jail. That’s why they’re being uploaded later than they used to be, because it takes more time now. They understand that I can’t wait days for a daily blog post to be approved and ready, so they try to get to it right away, but this isn’t their only responsibility, so it can experience delays. The point is, even if I wanted to say something that they didn’t want me to, they wouldn’t allow it. I know, the training is important, but there’s a reason why I’m only getting to it right now, because my current staff has to do their own coursework anyway before we get too deep into the real work. I only did one bit of major work today, but that didn’t take long either. One of my new hires had to drop out for reasons that are not my business to reveal. They hadn’t started yet, so at least I won’t have to conduct the exit interview or paperwork. I will have to find someone to replace them, but it’s all right. We’re going to be able to get through this. I didn’t think that we would make it all the way without issue, which is why it’s standard practice to interview a number of people for one position. I’m not mad, and I don’t think anyone else in my company is. It happens; life, that is. Speaking of which, I better get back to mine. I need to finish this post up tout de suite, so I can get it down the pipeline.

Microstory 2197: What Needs to Change

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My new Data Analyst started today. One could argue that his is the most important job of all. Of course, this will be a group effort, and everyone’s contribution will be valued and vital, but they are all already working in their respective fields. The lawyers have been lawyering, and the counselors have been counseling. The Data Analyst has worked a few jobs in his industry, but never anything like this before. The whole point of this project is to figure out how to organize the jail guests according to a set of psychological and social variables which we have yet to figure out. Without him, this would be nothing. The lawyers would still be working with their clients to provide them with the best defense possible, while the therapists would be helping them work through their psychoemotional issues. In order to make change, we have to do something that no one else is doing, at least not at scale. We don’t want there to be a fight between two cellmates, for instance, and have the warden be forced to separate them after the fact. We want to prevent the fight from occurring in the first place, and the Analyst will be coming to the conclusions for how we could make that happen, using the parameters that the collective comes up with over the course of our work. As the others did yesterday, the Analyst went on a tour of the facility, but I ran it this time, because I now know enough about this place to do it, for my people anyway. He met some of the guests too, and it turned out that he already knew one of them from way back, which was a funny coincidence. He was anxious to get to work, and I decided to let him. He obviously thrives on data, so in order for him to understand what needs to change, he first needs to see how things are right now. There are plenty of files for him to scour in these early days. I’m excited to hear his initial thoughts, which he promises to have by the end of the week. No rush, though. The rest of our team won’t be starting for another couple of weeks anyway. This is a long-term endeavor, not a race.

Microstory 2187: I Overstay My Welcome

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This is my world. Hi, my name is Jasmine Soun, and I’m Nick’s assistant. He’s been swamped at work today, conducting live interviews, chat interviews, and phone interviews. He’s looking through résumés, and taking meetings with his bosses, as well as his clients. I say it’s my fault, that I overbooked him. He doesn’t blame me, but I offered to write up a quick blog post, so he doesn’t have to skip a day. Of course, he’s still taking a break from it, which is probably a good thing. I’m worried that he won’t get any sleep tonight. I will say this, we’re making progress with this team. Our clients have filled one of the positions that will be working with our team, but which will not report to Nick, or the company that we work for. We’ve also filled one position on our end. It’s the logistician, and he says that he can start right away, so he’ll be taking on some of the load during this intense hiring process. I can’t tell you anything about him, of course, but we’re happy to have him on this new team. I think that’s all that I can say before the legal department gets mad at me. I’ll end this here before I overstay my welcome, and I promise you won’t have to worry about me taking over ever again. You’ll go back to reading your favorite blog tomorrow.

PS: And yes, believe me, we are aware of the slight drop-off in subscribership, and the minimal complaints about minimal updates. We would love to talk more about how this is all going, but it’s a whole legal thing. We’re not allowed to just say whatever we want. When Nick set about to start this site, he didn’t think that anyone would visit, let alone become invested in it, and he certainly had no clue that it would end up like this. But a lot has changed since the beginning, and he has to follow the rules same as everyone else, lest he ends up being back on the other side of these bars. You’ll have to understand, or you can stop reading, and in that case, he’ll be the one who understands.

Microstory 2181: Occupy the Same Space

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I’m pretty much caught up on everything. All of the job postings have gone out to the career boards, and I can’t start in on any of them until human resources filters through them first. I didn’t even go into the office. I just stayed home, and remoted in using my personal computer. I think the warden doesn’t really want me doing that; believing that personal devices should only be used for personal business. So my boss is currently requisitioning a work laptop for home use, which they’ll ship to me this week. It will just serve as a portal, connecting me to my employer’s and clients’ respective servers. I’ve rearranged my apartment a bit, which I should have done before. For tax reasons, it’s important that I designate a particular area as my home office. That doesn’t mean I can’t use it for other things, but it needs to primarily be for this purpose. My new assistant, Jasmine helped me move furniture around, and we went out to buy an extra desk, so she can work across from me. Yeah, she could work in her own apartment, since she would just be right down the hall, but we both feel like it makes sense to occupy the same space. We did the same for my private office in the jail administrative section. I think that’s pretty much all I have to tell you today. I now give you permission to return to your regular lives, but be back here tomorrow morning at 8:15 sharp for my social post.

Fluence: Tree of Life (Part X)

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Eight Point Seven suggested that they go ahead and try to transport the Memory Magnolia to the Garden Dimension, so they could limit the number of times that they had to shift through time and space, but Weaver didn’t think that was a good idea. The Garden was an incredibly delicate ecosystem of plants that came from alternate timelines and realities, all along the timeline. Some species were made extinct by other species, and they could both be found there, somewhere. They couldn’t be planted together, of course, and it was the Horticulturalists’ job to make sure that problems did not arise. It was not easy, and they took pride in their work. They couldn’t just introduce a completely new species of tree, especially not one with special temporal properties. It was not their right, and they could get in serious trouble for it. They had to speak with the Horticulturalists first.

Weaver shifted a temporal bubble generator into her hand, and installed it on the tree, which should prevent anyone from accessing it, and also alert her across time if someone made the attempt. Then they synchronized their minds, and made the shift to the Garden Dimension, directly in front of another group of four people. They were not surprised to see the visitors. Getting into this dimension was not as easy as driving down the highway to the local arboretum, but it was also not impossible. Most people requested an appointment, and had to go through a vetting process, because they didn’t want to entertain someone who was going to try to burn the whole place down, but they generally didn’t freak out when someone occasionally bypassed this courtesy.

A woman who looked like she was in her fifties took off her gardening gloves, and extended her hand. “Greetings, visitors. My name is Storm Avakian. This is my husband, Pinesong Shadowskin, his sister, Princess Honeypea, and our friend, Onyx Wembley.”

“Goswin Montagne, Holly ‘Weaver’ Blue, Eight Point Seven, and Briar de Vries,” Goswin returned.

“What can we help you with?” Storm asked.

“We would like to make a deposit,” Goswin answered. “It’s a special temporal object in the form of a tree. It’s very beautiful, very dangerous, very not something that I want anyone in mithgarther to have access to. It must be protected from people, and they must be protected from it.”

“It’s called the Memory Magnolia,” Briar added.

Storm perked up at this. “It’s a magnolia, you say? Magnolia seeds were stolen from us once. We never found out where they were taken.”

“Magnolia arthurii?” Eight Point Seven asked.

Storm did not look happy. “Were you involved?”

“Absolutely not,” Eight Point Seven insisted. “Its brief existence was recorded in history. Someone introduced it in the early 12th century.”

“That was the wrong timeline,” Pinesong explained. “That never should have happened. That it died out was probably a blessing.”

“It mutated,” Weaver went on to explain. “The Memory Magnolia came from a seed that we believe was altered during an accidental trip through a time cave to another planet, centuries in the future.”

“That’ll do it,” Onyx calculated.

“That tree belongs here,” Storm determined. “You were right to come to us with this issue. Unfortunately, it will take work to find a decent place for it. Your gut may tell you that something like that needs distance, but it may not survive if not accompanied by other life, for symbiotic purposes, or just because it gets lonely. Of course, our resident Bioharmony Choreographer, Princess Honeypea will need to inspect it first.”

“She’s a choreographer?” Briar asked. He was looking at Storm, but his eyes kept darting over to Honeypea. She appeared to be about his age, though the actual amount of time she had spent alive was difficult to determine. All four of them were said to be immortal.

Princess Honeypea hopped up to the space between the two quartets, and performed a short dance for them. It was whimsical, light, and emotive. Near the end, she began to speak. “At first glance, plants don’t dance, but perchance, if you pay in advance to let yourself be entranced, you’ll find that the truth supplants your stance as you watch how the way they prance is enhanced by the grace with which they do indeed dance.” At the very end, she held her arms out wide, and dipped her nose down towards the ground as one foot rose up in the air behind her. After holding the pose for a moment, she looked back up at Briar. “Just don’t forget your underpants.” She giggled.

Briar smiled. “I believe you.”

“How difficult is it for you to take us back to where the tree is now?” Pinesong asked, presumably feeling protective of his little sister.

“I need you here,” Storm said to him. “You must meditate if you are to find enough space for the magnolia.” She looked over at the crew. “He’s our Dimensional Composer. He makes sure the specimens have a place to live.”

“I’ll be fine, brother. I’ve done this before.” Honeypea reached up, and patted him on the head. “But I love that you still worry about me.”

“To answer your question,” Goswin began, “shifting back to Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida is easy, and will only take a second.”

Weaver shifted a small mirror into her hand. No, it was two mirrors, the second of which was revealed when she split them with her thumb like a deck of cards. “We can stay in contact with these, if you need peace of mind.”

Storm took one of the mirrors graciously. “Thank you. Be careful, Princess.”

Honeypea clicked her tongue, and pointed finger guns at her boss-slash-sister-in-law. “Namaste on my vibe.”

The five of them disappeared, and returned to the Memory Magnolia, but someone was already there, likely trying to figure out how to disable the temporal bubble that was blocking his access to it. “Can I help you?” Goswin asked, stepping forward as if to protect his people. Eight Point Seven rolled her eyes, and stepped up even further, since she might actually be able to protect them.

The man had turned around quickly, startled, but was relaxing now. “Yes, hello. Do you know anything about this tree?”

“What about it?” Goswin questioned. “State your business here.”

“Forgive me my poor manners.” He removed his hat, and held it in front of him. “My name is Elmo Barone, but they call me The Baron. I was hired to procure a fruit from this tree. It evidently has the power to make people young again.”

Eight Point Seven. “Elmo Barone. Private investigator from the 21st century, specializing in missing heir recovery.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” Weaver pointed out. “When did you become a time traveler?”

“When?” the Baron questioned. “Is it even possible to answer that?”

“You can’t have the tree,” Goswin said dismissively. “Besides, it’s not even fruiting yet, so it won’t be of much use to you.”

Baron nodded. “My client said that they wouldn’t say no to a sample of its sap.”

“Unfortunately, the orchard is closed today,” Briar insisted. “You may return to the time you came from, or we can do it for you.”

Baron narrowed his eyes at him. “I meant no disrespect, I’m just trying to save a life. My client’s only heir is a child. If he dies too soon, the fortune will fall under control of the child’s mother, who is an awful woman. Believe me, I’ve met her. He first asked me to find his son to become the child’s legal custodian instead, but when I couldn’t, he sent me on this quest to just stave off the inevitable.”

“Why did he not know where his son was?” Goswin pressed.

“The child’s father went missing years ago. Other investigators, and the police, were equally unable to find him.”

The crew looked amongst each other.

“We can’t do it,” Eight Point Seven argued. “We’re trying to quit. That’s what we’ve all agreed to, right, to put this tree where it belongs, and then just stay out of the timeline for all of eternity? I know we’ve not been talking about it, but that’s the impression that I get from all four of us.”

“We have to help them if we can,” Briar reasoned.

“When does it end?” Eight Point Seven questioned. “How much meddling do we do before we finally reach that last one?”

“We’ve reached it,” Goswin decided. “It’s this one right here.”

“Can we agree to that?” Eight Point Seven asked. “Can we all promise?” The other three nodded, so Eight Point Seven approached Baron. “You don’t need the tree. Death is a part of life in your time. Think about the man you’re trying to find.”

“I’m thinking about him,” Baron said.

Eight Point Seven held her palm towards him. “Okay.” He disappeared, back to where he belonged, standing next to the child’s father. It would be up to the Baron to determine whether he was a better fit for legal custodian than the baby mama.

“I think I know why the tree does not bear fruit,” Honeypea said, “but I’ll need some time.” She hopped up to it, and carefully inspected the whole thing with all five senses; its bark, its branches, its leaves, and its roots. She knocked three times on the trunk. “Hello?” she asked in a sweet voice, as if waiting for someone inside to respond. She lay down on her stomach, placing her ear upon the dirt underneath the canopy. Then she shut her eyes softly, and breathed deeply. Once she stood back up, she gathered as much saliva in her mouth as she could, and spit it at the base. As she watched it be absorbed into the ground, she nodded. “Just as I suspected.” She turned around to address the group. “Water. She needs water.”

“It rains here quite frequently,” Briar explained.

“It’s not enough,” Princess Honeypea insisted. “She needs constant water. She’s a river tree.”

“Why did she grow if—I mean it—why did it grow at all if it can only survive in a river?” Weaver questioned.

“She,” Honeypea reiterated, “could survive just about anywhere, but she won’t thrive unless she’s transplanted to a source of freshwater. A river would be best, due to the constant onslaught of nutrients.”

“Do you have rivers in the Garden Dimension?” Eight Point Seven asked.

“Of course we have rivers,” Honeypea replied.

“Well...” Goswin encouraged. “Which one were you thinking would be the best fit for the tree’s needs?”

Princess Honeypea smirked foxishly. “All of them.”

“What does that mean?”

Honeypea pulled out the communication mirror. “Storm, are ya there?”

“Right here, buddy,” Onyx responded instead.

“Is Arnie around?” Honeypea asked him.

“He can be.” 

“Gather the troops,” Honeypea instructed. “Our new friends here are gonna help us move our new roommate into her room.”

The crew brought all of the Horticulturalists to their location on Bida, including a previously unmet member. Arnold Daysayer was the Garden Steward. He was in charge of providing the food and water that the specimens needed on a regular basis. Of course, he didn’t just stand there with a hose, but in addition to making sure the irrigation systems held up, it was his responsibility to watch for death and damage, natural hybridization complications, and even parasites, and other diseases.

After Honeypea explained what they were going to do, they stood around the Memory Magnolia holding hands, alternating by group. They needed all nine of them to complete the circle, because the trunk was at least four meters wide at this point. This would be the most difficult shift they had ever done, maybe even more than the mountain that the other crew reportedly shifted once, since this was a delicate living organism. It was more expansive than it appeared, with roots extending far beyond the canopy of the branches and leaves above. They had to reach out to every square millimeter of the thing, and make sure that they were able to capture all of the energy that was coming off of it. Some leaves and other debris had fallen off of it recently, and they wanted those too. They felt compelled to remove every single particulate from the planet to prevent any residual temporal power from being harnessed for any reason, good or bad; accidentally, or on purpose. Finally, after they were satisfied that they would leave nothing behind, they shifted the tree and themselves to the location of Princess Honeypea’s choosing.

The force of the transplantation pushed them all to their backs, into the water now surrounding the Memory Magnolia. According to the Horticulturalists, this was the confluence of five rivers, which they specifically designed to be a symbol for the water of life that flowed throughout this entire dimension. It was located in the very center of the world, and always would be. When Pinesong needed to extend the borders, he did so relatively evenly by expanding the whole bubble at once. As they were standing up and wading in the waters, they watched as fruits began to take shape from their stems. The tree’s energy began to bounce out of the wood, and into the conflux that they were standing in. The Magnolia breathed a sigh of relief as it settled into its new home.

“I hope you’re all prepared to stay here for a long time,” Onyx began as the nine of them were coming back together. “This will need constant supervision; the kind that we can’t give it if we want to nurture the whole garden. People will be coming for it.”

The core four looked amongst each other, and agreed to this high calling, having already predicted the necessity. Just then, another group of four people started floating towards them from up one of the rivers. It was Team Matic.

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Microstory 2066: Just Backpedal a Little

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Had a good meeting with my social worker today. I was coughing a lot, but we were both wearing masks, and he apparently always walks around with this foldable clear plastic partition. I’m not the only client of his who has health issues. I just hope I get over mine soon, and adapt better to this world. I didn’t tell him any of this, but I’m just now realizing that I told him that I’ve been keeping a blog, and gave him a link, so he’ll be able to read all of this. I’ve already talked a lot about how I believe I’m from a different universe. Maybe I could just backpedal a little, and tell him that it’s fiction, and this is all nothing more than a creative outlet. But he would be able to read this installment too, which apparently negates that explanation. Maybe I’ll just schedule this to post near the end of the evening. I don’t expect he’ll read this far anyway. It’s not like this is brilliant writing. Then again, the newest post will always be at the top, and I’ve spoken to people back when I was writing my fictional stories who just read that most recent one, and then stopped. So the newest one always has to be the best. But even then, it’s often taken completely out of context. I am trying to paint you a picture here. You can’t start in the middle, and expect to form a reasonable opinion on my skill, can you? No, that would be unfair. Start at the beginning, or don’t start at all. No, don’t do that. That’s what most people do. Five billion people in the world, and the number of people who actually read my ish adds up to a rounding error. Just kidding, it’s zero, with a margin of error of zero also. Yay, me! Whatever. Anyway, I got a second hit on my ad. She doesn’t claim to be an alien, but she hasn’t said she isn’t yet. I’m calling her tonight. Audio only.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 12, 2398

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Angela is sitting in the welcome room. It has a conference table, multiple screens, a snack bar with refrigeration, couches, and comfortable chairs. This is where she’ll first meet clients. It’s a playground for them to explore what kind of software they might want to create without the limiting factors of a stuffy office. Completing this room was the final flourish. If she wanted to take a meeting today, she would be ready for them. Well, the building would be ready. Psycho-emotionally speaking, she may never be ready. She’s nervous already, and she hasn’t even opened the doors yet. Can she do this? Is she ready? Should she do it?

Kivi peeks her head into the room like a sideways prairie dog. “Hey.” She’s Angela’s researcher. Angela knows how to counsel people, and she knows how to code, which is a lot of work for one person. It will be Kivi’s responsibility to find people who might be interested in their services, but who might not be aware that it’s even a thing. Or they might not be aware that they can do it for free. This is a highly competitive field, but most companies charge for development. Angela isn’t even sure that she wants to call them clients, because once they go into business together—if it goes that far—they will be more like partners. They will work together to build something, and share in the profits, and if it fails, they will share in the loss. The point of this is to take on the financial burden, because her only partners will be people who both can’t do it on their own, and can’t afford to invest monetarily.

Angela takes a deep breath. “You found my secret hiding place.”

“You mean the biggest room on the floor besides the lobby? Yep.”

Angela nods, but doesn’t say anything.

Kivi walks over and sits down next to her. “What are you feeling?”

“Hesitation.”

“Hesitation,” Kivi questions, “or cold feet?”

She shakes her head. Does it matter? The result is the same when this whole project is cancelled. They should never have even tried, and they wasted so much time, money, and effort getting to this point. They don’t need the money. The entire pursuit is all about her, inspired by the simple fact that Leona and Ramses only needed one floor for their lab. The business doesn’t do the team any good, and it doesn’t do the world much good either. It’s selfish. She feels so selfish, spending so much time on this.

It’s like Kivi can see all this detailed angst in Angela’s eyes. “You don’t have to feel bad about doing this, just because Leona is working on fusion, and Ramses, Mateo, and Alyssa are trying to get Trina back. They want this place to succeed. We all do.”

“It’s all so stupid compared to everything else going on.”

“It’s not, and you won’t feel that way when I show you the profile for your first partner.” She casts her tablet to the big screen. A group of teenagers are laughing for the camera. “The boy in the green shirt has been walking two miles to the nearest internet cafe everyday to research ways to help his community. The area is poverty-stricken, and the school’s population is dwindling as a cult promising riches recruits kids for what he realizes is actually a militia. He has some pretty cool ideas to put a stop to it, but not the resources to follow through. Upon your go-ahead, I’m prepared to reach out.”

Angela reads about him on the screen, and thinks. “Okay. Call him.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 12, 2398

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Angela rolls out of bed at 7:59, and right into the chair. She wheels over to the desk, and switches on her computer. She’s logged on by 8:01, making her technically on time, which she can prove with the little green dot next to her name that shows her status as available. She rolls her eyes when her co-worker sends the first message immediately. It’s a little flirty, but she’s centuries old, so she knows what real flirting looks like. He’s just pretending to be interested, when really he’s trying to micromanage her. The other guys around the office are just trying to get into Marie’s pants, but he couldn’t care less. He likes to know when people are screwing around, so he can get them in trouble. Instead of trying to excel at his own job, he figures the best way to win is to just get rid of everyone else. Unfortunately for him, Angela has a secret weapon. She removes the memstick from its case, and unleashes it on the machine.

There are two sides to Marie’s job. One is the major jobs, which often involve writing entirely new programs for clients. The others are smaller scripts, which link to preexisting programs, and automate various tasks. She uses a workflow application, where clients send her these small jobs that ask her to simplify their jobs. For instance, a data entrist has been tasked with cross-referencing datestamps on a social log with fluctuations in consumer behavior. That is, he’s the first step in a team that’s looking for possible causes between what people are talking about online, and what people are buying in the stores. The synthesis of this data may require higher-level thinking, which nascent AI cannot yet fathom, but the cross-referencing itself is really just about brute force. The requestor is hoping for an easier way to input this data, and adjust it to account for the time lag between social media posting, and real world purchases. It’s now Angela’s responsibility to make those two programs talk to each other, and dump all relevant information into a well-made report. At least, that’s what her alternate would do. Angela has it even easier, because she has also outsourced her work.

When the team was down in The Constant, looking for any information they could find on what happened to The Concierge, Ramses found something. He discovered the source code for the artificial intelligence inside the system that was programmed to serve guest needs. Other AIs were in charge of controlling lights and life support, and whatnot, but this particular one had to be smart enough to understand personal requests, and seek solutions. If somebody asked for a fried egg with a square yolk, the kitchen devices could handle it, but only if an intelligence explained it to them. This AI is complex and adaptable, which is vital to any situation it might have never encountered before. That’s what makes it perfect to do Angela’s job for her. It’s the thing that she plugged into the external memory port. The AI will read the workflow manager on her behalf, understand the script requests, and write the code itself. All Angela has to do is test it out, and her work is done. Even though this greatly increases her productivity, she’s intentionally making it a slow process, because no one can know that it’s happening. Only Ramses knows the truth; they didn’t even tell Marie that Angela has been using it since training ended. She would probably not approve of the risk.

Now that the AI is running, she gets back in bed. But then another message dings. It’s that guy again, claiming that the bosses would like to speak with her immediately. She growls, puts on some pants, and practices her smile. Then she activates her camera.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 19, 2398

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Angela is sitting at the computer, wearing her headset, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. She’s looking to the side of the computer, bored out of her mind. The job is not easy, and it doesn’t really have downtime, but there are lots of little moments where there’s nothing she can do but wait while the computer runs.

“Ange. Ange!” Marie alerts her through the headset.

“Hmm?”

“The script is done.”

“Did it go okay?”

“You tell me.”

“What am I looking for again, red text?”

“Yes, but there are other errors you need to look out for,” Marie reminds her.

“It looks good to me.” Angela moves her pointer over to close the window.

“Wait.”

“Wait, what?”

“You’re supposed to do something else before you exit out.”

Angela stares at the screen, and tries to recall what she’s talking about. “Am I supposed to...instantiate the panda?”

“No,” Marie laughs. “Confirm the bug report, so it ends the log at the last run. Otherwise, the next report will just start immediately after, and make it harder to find the one we’re looking for later.”

“Oh. Right, right, right, right, right.” She confirms the report, then closes the window, and then tries to back over to the library.

“No, what do you do next?”

“I know!” Angela defends. “I just accidentally clicked on the wrong window.”

“Sure.”

Angela switches over to the spreadsheet. “Why do I manually log the number of bugs every time? Isn’t that what the report is for?”

“The contract supervisor doesn’t want to read through all those reports, and in fact, isn’t probably capable of understanding them. All she wants is a productivity log, so she can show the client that we add value to their company.”

“This is dumb, it’s too much work,” Angela complains. “Can’t the computer just do this all for us?”

“Angela!” Marie cries. “We’re the ones who write the programs, which automatically do the things that the employees at our clients’ companies would be doing themselves! That’s the whole purpose of scriptwriting. It has to start somewhere.”

“Why can’t it start with an artificial intelligence?” Angela questions.

“Someone has to create the AI in the first place, which they do through scripts, and other tools. And the kind you remember from the other realities you’ve been to are far beyond what The Third Rail has achieved thus far. It’s gonna be another couple of decades before we have a program that can write new programs.”

“Is that what we’re working on? Are we working towards that?”

“Hm, I guess you could think of it that way. Once we deliver this particular script to the client, they’ll approve it, and probably ask us to train the individual or team who will be actually running it regularly. Right now, that person or people are doing all of it on their own. This will cut down on the time it takes for them to complete their job, and/or allow their bosses to give them additional work. Theoretically, we could write another script that’s designed to run before this one, or after it, which automates even more of that work. Automate it enough, and you might be able to fire the humans. You might clear out an entire department, or a company. That’s not what the client is asking of us right now, but it’s probably headed that way. That’s part of what drove automation in the main sequence. These people are just slower. The executives might realize this, and be hoping for it, or they might have no clue. It’s probably the first one, and what they really don’t realize...is that a script could one day take their jobs too.”

“It could one day take your job too.”

Marie laughs again. “Yes, but I’ll be the last to go. That’s why I picked this field. Someone has to write the job-stealing scripts, and until that true AI shows up, such a job is guaranteed. Basically, if my job isn’t safe, no one’s is.”

“Sneaky snake.”

“Yep.”

“Oh. I forgot I can refilter the executions, now that the bug tracker is finished.”

“That’s okay, we were talking.”

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask; why do you have an office if you work from home? And why am I in your office, and you’re still at home?”

“Well, we can’t rightly both be there, and you need experience with my colleagues.”

“Oh. But I’m not going to be attending any meetings, right? There’s one on the calendar, but you’ll come in for that, right?”

“No, I need you to fill in for me. It’s best you start now, so you’re aware of the new inside jokes, and all that stuff.”

“What if there are old inside jokes that I wasn’t around for?”

“I haven’t been staring into empty space while the tasker is locked up,” Marie begins to explain. “I’ve been drawing up a cheatsheet for you. Though, sheet is a bit of a misnomer since it’s more like a novelette by now.”

“Argh, there’s so much to this!”

“You don’t...have to...”

“Don’t start again,” Angela warns. “I’m happy to do this for you. It’s just been a lot. This job is a lot.”

“I know. But it’s why we live where we live, and why Ramses was able to quit his job without giving it a second thought.”

“Yeah. Did you see this message from them? They’re on their way back.”

“I did. I think we have just enough time for one more test. I don’t like how the screen flickers about halfway through the process, and it’s still not as fast as I would like it. I think I know how to fix those issues, though. Scroll back down to Line 216.”

“Okay, boss.”

Angela and Marie end up running two more tests before they’re ready to call it quits for the day. By the time Angela gets back home, the rest of the team is already there. It’s time to come up with a new plan. Rather, they have to default to an old one. They probably need to move up the time table too.

Microstory 1888: Dead Army of Ants

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I once worked in a cave. It was there that companies kept a great deal of their legacy parts and equipment. This was for when they couldn’t sell them, couldn’t reuse them, or just didn’t know how to get rid of them. It was a convenient way to hold onto these things without them clogging up their normal warehouses. Very, very occasionally, one of our clients would send a request for a part to be picked, and it was my job to go do that. It was an entirely different team that stored them on the racks in the first place, but honestly, I don’t know why my specific job existed. Most of the time, I just sat in the office, reading a good book. It was the easiest job I had, comparatively speaking, and I only quit, because I needed to start a family and the pay wasn’t enough to support this goal. It was perfect for me alone, but not me with children. Besides, there were other reasons for me to seriously consider a career. One day, I was finished with the only book I brought with me that day, so I decided to go on a walk. It was surprisingly clean for a cave, and set to a comfortable temperature, unlike what you may be imagining. I ended up in a corner that I didn’t go to very often, because the client who rented out that space didn’t ever need anything. I looked down at my feet and saw an anthill in the crack of the cement. I looked over a little, and saw another. And another, and another. The place was littered with anthills, and rivers of ants traveling between them. I wanted to leave them there, but taking care of the grounds was technically part of the job description, so I had to report it. An exterminator came out to kill everything, but what we learned he didn’t do was clean them up. So those ant rivers were still there, they just weren’t moving. It was an army of dead ants, and seeing their lifeless bodies lying there felt like an appropriate metaphor for life. We were the ants.

They didn’t know that they were going to be wiped out, but they had a concept for death. Or at least they had a concept for failure, or otherwise, they would not have pursued their goals. When the spray came for them, they didn’t scurry into their tunnels, or hold a conference about what to do. They didn’t study the spray, or try to clean it off. They just kept going until they succumbed to the toxin. I guess I don’t know that, I don’t know how fast the spray worked. I just remember it being so surreal, staring at that pile of death. Combined, the ants wouldn’t even make up the mass of a single person, but from their perspective, it was a slaughter. It was genocide. I started thinking about what sorts of things could come for the human race. What kind of proverbial spray could wipe us out? Climate change? Maybe. An asteroid, sure. Then I realized that the spray was a disease, which could probably pretty easily spread from an infected ant to one which had originally escaped the wrath of the nozzle. That could happen to us, godlike exterminator not required. A pathogen could destroy us all, and while doing it, leave everything we created intact. Even our bodies would still be there, littering the streets, and our homes. So I went back to school to ultimately seek a degree in epidemiology, so I could do everything I could to prevent this eventuality. Though it started as a desperate whim, it was the best decision I ever made. It’s where I met my future wife, and an army of colleagues who all wanted the same thing. Once we graduated, we went off to fight against what we believed to be the greatest threat our species faced. Because we didn’t want to not see it coming. We didn’t want to be ants anymore.

Microstory 1774: Sculptor

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Thank you for meeting me. I’m sure, after I’m done with my presentation, you’ll see why I deserve this loan, and how big this business can really become. This bank will be pleased with the results, and I’m eager to prove myself. Okay. Parents. What is their job? Well, they’re meant to mould their children into decent members of society, who contribute to the positive good, right? Well, it doesn’t always work out, does it? Sometimes people grow up wrong. It’s not necessarily the parents’ fault, and I doubt I can do anything for those people. There’s something in their psychology or neurology that I am not equipped to handle. My business is designated for the people whose caregivers screwed up somewhere along the way. They made the wrong choices, or taught them bad lessons, or maybe they just weren’t around. These people have a ton of potential, but they’ve not learned to want to reach it, let alone actually reach it. That’s where I come in. I’ve had dozens of boyfriends over the years, and I was about halfway through them when I realized why I kept breaking up with them. I was naturally attracted to the ones you might call projects. They fell into this category of people who were messed up by their childhood, rather than having been born with problems that I’m not qualified to deal with. I fixed them. I fixed them, and then I broke up with them, and moved onto the next. A few months ago, I got curious, so I started looking them all up on social media. Every single one of them is doing great. They didn’t relapse into their old bad habits, but kept their lives going on track. I corrected their behavior, and I have proof right here. Take a look at these posts over the course of the last two years. Now, I know what you’re thinking. How am I going to make money off of this? Who will be my client base? I intend to market to girlfriends, regretful parents, and even friends. It is also not outside the realm of possibility that such unproductive people will want help turning their lives around, and come to me themselves. I’ve spoken with a lot of people already, and many of them have not been able to find help from professionals. Therapists are generally concerned with helping their patients with their internal feelings, and that’s supposed to help their behavior, but I’ve found that they’re not so great at following through with making sure that behavior does indeed change. Their patients sit in a room with them, have their talks, and then they part ways. I’m there, I’m on the frontlines. I will live with these people, and watch them go about their daily lives. I can make suggestions as they become necessary, and I can formulate exercises for them to complete. I already have a name for myself. You can call me The Sculptor, because I carve out all the unwanted character traits, and leave only the pure version of the person that my clients want to be. I’ve thought a lot about this, and I think I have a really clear business plan laid out for you, which you can read at your leisure. Until then, any questions?

Microstory 1344: Reward

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Marketer: Thank you for driving all the way out here to see us. You are one of our best clients—

Customer: Whoa, when did I become your client?

Marketer: Well, we generally refer to our customers as clients, but I can use the former term, if you prefer.

Customer: I prefer.

Marketer: Okay, that’s fine. So as I was saying, you’re a valued customer, and we would really love to hear what excites you about our company. We wanna know what kinds of things you would be looking forward to in the future.

Customer: I was to understand I would be receiving a twenty-five dollar gift card that’s good at any of the shops at Hillside Mall?

Marketer: It’s actually a prepaid card, so you can use it anywhere that Charta is accepted, which excludes Hillside Mall, because it shut down three years ago.

Customer: Really? Well, nobody told me.

Marketer: I’m sorry to hear that. So, like I said, you are one of our best customers. We’re actually thinking about designing a rewards program based on customer engagement. How would you feel about that?

Customer: You said I would be getting the rewards card as long as I completed the survey.

Marketer: It’s a prepaid card, and you will. After. This is something different. I’m asking for your thoughts on a new program. It would be like this survey, but for everyone. We chose you specifically because you live in the area, and you’ve been so loyal to us. I’m talking about a nationwide system that allows our best customers to provide feedback on a regular basis, in exchange for some compensation.

Customer: I guess that would be okay. So you would be setting up new locations like this one?

Marketer: No, it would all be online.

Customer: If you can do it online, why did you have me drive out here?

Marketer: We do not yet have the new program implemented. We have the capabilities to make the online survey system but we’re waiting until we hear from people like you.

Customer: I don’t really like doing surveys online. I can’t ever tell if it’s going through. I need to speak to someone in person, so even if it’s secretly a waste of time, at least I’m not the only one who wasted his time.

Marketer: Okay, that’s good information. You like to talk to people face-to-face. What would you have to say about a video chat feature? We would still let our elite customers answer surveys online, but they would be speaking to a real person, right here in our headquarters.

Customer: I would hate that too. I mean, the government has access to webcam streams, so that would be a terrible idea. Every time I buy a new laptop, I jam a letter opener into the camera, so no one can spy on me. I also put medical tape over it, just in case it doesn’t break.

Marketer: Yes, I am aware that you buy one of our laptops about every six months. Is it important to you to have the latest technology?

Customer: I don’t care about technology. I have to buy a new one because it takes the government six months to hack into them, so I have to cycle them out that often.

Marketer: Uh, really? I’ve never heard that theory.

Customer: It’s not a theory, that’s just how it works. It doesn’t literally take that much time. But, ya know, they have to get approval, and go through all the bureaucracy. It’s this whole thing. I used to work for a satellite dish manufacturing company, so I know how all this works.

Marketer: I see. Well, I think that’s all the questions we have for you today. We appreciate you taking the time to visit with us.

Customer: That seems short considering how far I had to drive.

Marketer: You’ve given us a lot to think about already. Here is your gift card.

Customer: I thought it wasn’t a gift card.

Marketer: Right, my mistake. You can, uh, leave through the same door you came in. Thanks again.