Microstory 2351: Earth, May 25, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

I’m glad that you have friends, even if you’re not the absolute closest to them as you could possibly be. I envy you, actually. A bunch of people attended our party, but they were almost all my dad’s friends. I haven’t really connected with too many people here. There’s one guy who I was really glad could make it, so I wouldn’t be left alone in the corner. Dad always talks shop at these things. Every time he attends an event, he promises himself that he’s just going to socialize, and not discuss his work, but he always ends up failing. I really prefer to leave my work at work, so I stay out of the little circles that he forms with others. People really like him, because he usually has fairly interesting things to say (from their perspective) but he doesn’t hog all the attention either. He makes sure that others are heard. He’s really good at knowing when someone wants to speak, but is too afraid to interrupt, and will in fact interrupt other people to give the quieter ones their chances. I wish I could be more like him in this regard, always charming and fascinating. Then again, I don’t think I would like to have an audience all the time. The guy I was telling you about is pretty cool, but he works the night shift at the water treatment plant, so we don’t find many opportunities to hang out. Plus, he has a family that he needs to spend that extra time with. His wife was there too, and I like her, but they talked mostly about their children. I don’t mind it, but there’s nothing that I can contribute to the conversation since I don’t have any of my own. Part of my inability to connect is due to my lifestyle and experiences. I spent so much time meeting people that I would probably never see again after the end of the trip. I would occasionally see someone I knew before for a second move, but then I would leave again. My mind grew very accustomed to that, and hasn’t really felt at home here, even though I’m pretty sure that I’ll die here one day. There I go again, being all depressing. It makes it sound like I hated the party, but it’s not true. I had a lot of fun, and I’m glad that we were looking at Libra at the same time, just for the symbolism of that moment.

Trying to feel at home,

Condor

Microstory 2350: Vacuus, May 18, 2179

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Dear Condor,

Happy belated birthday! I decided to wait a few days to send you my next letter, so it could be after the party, but you ought to already know that, since I sent you the custom read receipt about it immediately after receiving your last one. This was a really good reason to use that system, so thank you for coming up with it. The party went great on my end. We had food and cake, and everybody was wearing the same thing. That’s right, I decided to pass along your cool, fashionable garment design to all invitees, and encouraged them to print and wear one of the options themselves. The garment fabricator liked them a lot herself, so it was her idea to really lean into the theme. She was there too, along with several other people. I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I didn’t have anyone to invite, or that I didn’t have any friends in general. We’re in fairly cramped quarters for logistical and practical reasons, so everyone knows pretty much everyone. I don’t like them all, and they don’t all like me, but we get along pretty well. We have to, or it could lead to catastrophe. Animosity does not mix well with a planetary base on an airless world. One person gets mad at another, and decides to open an airlock out of anger, and it’s bye bye half the living people on Vacuus. No, we obviously compartmentalize the sections, but you get what I mean. We place great emphasis on counseling and mental health. So I do have friends. It’s true that I never developed relationships as strong as the ones I sometimes see on TV, but I would still consider them my friends. I don’t know why I’ve never talked about them to you, but they were there, and we had fun. Who else was at yours? We don’t really do much with constellations here, so we’re not all that familiar. We found Libra, and everyone looked at it, trying to figure out why they’re called “the scales”. It wasn’t until someone had the bright idea to turn the image slightly then we were all, like, “ooooohhh. Kinda!” It was fun, though, and I thought of you the whole time. I wish we could have been in the same room. How did it go on your end?

All partied out and not alone,

Corinthia

Microstory 2346: Vacuus, April 16, 2179

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Dear Condor,

I think it’s a lovely idea for us to celebrate “together” and to be looking at the same stars at the same time. From where I’m standing, Libra is as good of a selection as any. I don’t otherwise have any favorite stars or constellations, and it sounds like you don’t either. I do like to look at them, and didn’t even think about the fact that you can’t unless someone gives you access. So I guess the toxic gases in your atmosphere sit low enough that there are pockets of clean air above it. According to my research that I just did ten minutes ago, Mauna Kea isn’t even the highest peak in the world, so there must be a decent number of these undomed safe zones. Did you and your father transport people to and from these places too, or just the domes? To answer your question, we do have our own observatory that I can access through a tunnel. If we time it right, I won’t have to worry about registering for remote viewing, or anything. There will be a sliver of time where no one’s using it, and I’m sure I could ask for permission. It was one of the first things they built, so they could track the Valkyries, but it’s not as good as the one you’ll be seeing through, and isn’t all that important anymore. I never said, but our settlement is not the ideal location for a large telescope, so our main one was built at an outpost several kilometers away. A small team operates there in person while researchers use the data as needed, and allowed, remotely. Since our local observatory doesn’t serve that much purpose, I doubt I would have much resistance if I just ask to set up my little one-person birthday party there. As far as the clothing goes, send me the design for the outfit, and I’ll have it made. I’m in need of some new clothes anyway, so it won’t break my budget to buy something. In fact, I usually get myself something special around my birthday anyway. I obviously get a discount if I return material for recycling, and I’m done with some of my old stuff.

Searching for Australia through the telescope,

Corinthia

Microstory 2345: Earth, April 9, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

I got so wrapped up in the explanation of my experiences outside of the dome that I forgot to respond to your questions about our birthday. Thanks for not throwing that oversight in my face. I was talking to dad about it, and we couldn’t come up with very many ideas, but he thought that maybe we could indeed try to coordinate our celebrations. We don’t really have any specific traditions, but perhaps we could agree to a specific time, and maybe wear matching outfits? That might sound stupid, because I doubt that we would do that if we lived on the same planet, but that’s just what we came up with. You do have fiber synthesizers there, right? And do you have access to a telescope? Perhaps we could be looking at the same stars at the same time, to sort of symbolically connect to one another. In real life, there is no part of the firmament that holds any significance to the both of us. At least, I don’t think there is. But there is this sort of religion called astrology. Have you heard of it? People basically think that the alignment of celestial bodies has some sort of impact on their lives and personalities. It’s bogus, of course, but I say that anyone can create a psychoemotional connection to it in any way they see fit, and ignore the rest. According to astrology, our sun sign should be Taurus, because 2,000 years ago, when you were looking at the sun on May 17, the constellation Taurus would be behind it. But as we all know, everything in the universe is constantly on the move, so some people believe that our sun sign should instead be Aries. Obviously, this is all nonsense, but I was thinking that we could use it anyway. We can’t stare at the sun, though, so instead of looking at the stars in Aries, let’s look in the polar opposite direction, which would be Libra. What do you think of that? It might sound dumb to you, but because of our separation, and because of the vast expanse between us, we’ve never seen or done anything at the same time. I just thought that we could try it. There’s no harm, right? Unless you can’t get to a telescope, I don’t know. It wasn’t automatic for me, because the pollutants hide the stars, but it just so happens to be that one of the Mauna Kea observatories will already be looking in the right direction on May 17, so all I’ll have to do is register for remote viewing. Let me know what you think, and also let me know how I can help with your fear of the outside. I do have a lot of experience with it, but only on Earth. Death would not be instantaneous for me, but I want to help in any way I can.

Namaste and all that,

Condor

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: November 23, 2398

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The outreach team turned northward with Aquila, and headed for Costa Rica to rendezvous with an extraction team. While they were on their way, Alyssa came to them in the Bridgette to pick up Leona, Marie, and Aquila. Marie could see the frustration in the eyes of the three other members of her SD6 teammates. They’re being left out of the real mission again, and it’s getting to them. That could be something that she has to deal with down the road. Her loyalties are split. That is a known issue for all SD6 employees.

They’re back in Kansas City now, with all eyes on Aquila to make sure she doesn’t try to escape them again. She seemed to have gone to a lot of trouble to make contact, so an outsider might think that she wouldn’t do that, but it’s actually what worries them the most. Why didn’t she just call them on the phone? “I don’t own a phone,” she jokes.

“Sit down,” Marie orders.

“This is a big table for the three of us,” Aquila muses. “Where did Leona run off to? She’s the only one I really need to talk to about this.”

“It’s not just for us.”

They’re in the conference room on the ground level of the lab, which was originally designed to be cut in half. Visitors were meant to come in from the outside, and discuss the pandemic without going through quarantine. The other half was for people working with the pathogen downstairs, who didn’t want to spend time coming out of quarantine. The hermetic seal has been broken, because they currently have no use for it. Now there’s just one big table that everyone can sit around. Ramses comes in first, tapping away at his tablet, surely working on another one of his Reed Richards inventions that won’t see the light of day beyond these walls. Behind him are Winona and Kivi, followed by Vearden and Arcadia. Cheyenne is next, carefully holding the Insulator of Life, which will allow them to interface with the real Bhulan trapped inside with no body to go to.

As they’re finding their seats, Leona returns. A part of her is smiling, but she’s not showing it. Aquila is going to talk, whether she wants to or not. They’re finally going to get some real answers, instead of just last second messages before someone loses their memory, or brief interactions with someone before they run away. Curtis walks in last, and sits directly across from her, so they can begin. He has an odd look on his face, and he will not turn away from Aquila. It’s like he’s more invested in this than anyone, but that can’t be. He doesn’t have anything to do with this.

Ramses stops what he’s doing, and hooks the Insulator up to a monitor. Bhulan appears on it, sitting at a virtual desk, as if merely conferencing in from the San Francisco office. Aquila grimaces at her. “Awkward.”

Ramses sits at the head, places his elbows on the table, and interlocks his fingers. He glances over at Leona, who gives him a nod. “Where is Mateo Matic; my best friend, Leona’s husband, and your brother?”

“I know who you’re talking about. What is this, a deposition? You don’t have to be so formal, do you?” Aquila questions.

“Unclear,” Ramses replies. “You dodged the question to crack a joke, so...you’re sure acting like a defendant.”

“I didn’t hurt him. I didn’t do anything to him. I know how you get him back.”

“I didn’t ask how we get him back; I asked where he was. You avoid the question one more time, and there will be consequences.”

“What kind of consequences could you possibly—”

Marie reaches over with the Livewire, and taps Aquila on the head. It gives her a shock, but it’s not sending an electrical charge into her. It’s trying to pull her mind into it. She didn’t leave it there long enough to do lasting damage, and that’s what hurts. It would be like poking someone with a needle several times, instead of just stabbing them once, and drawing blood the right way.

“Answer the question,” Ramses demands. “I won’t ask it again.”

Aquila literally bites her bottom lip, desperately wanting to ask them where they get off torturing people, but recognizing that she’s not in a position to push these people. They want their friend back, and that has melted the ethical boundaries that would normally prevent them from taking things this far. He’s in a stasis capsule located in Phoenix 15-236P7 Marathon-Algae-Temple.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Alyssa asks, very confused.

“There could be thousands of objects in that bubble,” Leona complains.

“If you get close enough, you’ll see him,” Aquila explains.

“Can someone tell us what Phoenix fifteen-whatever is?” Vearden asks. He looks over at Arcadia, who shrugs, because she doesn’t know either.

“There are trillions of celestial objects in the Oort Cloud,” Leona begins. “Even in the main sequence, it will be centuries before we catalog and track them all. For now, the best we can do is estimate regions of space based on direction and distance. Phoenix is the constellation where you wanna look for your target. It’s 15,236.7 astronomical units away. He’s somewhere in there, or at least he was...four billion years ago. There’s no telling where he is now. Like I said, we can’t track them. We don’t have the data.”

“No, that is where he is now,” Aquila counters. “It’s stationary. All you have to do is look for a planetesimal in that bubble that doesn’t move.”

“Well, that would make it easier, but still not easy,” Leona says.

“Your ship can do it.” Aquila looks over at Ramses. “The AI you stole from The Constant can do it.”

Whatever, Ramses doesn’t feel any shame about that. “Well, we’ll look there. In the meantime, we have some more questions.”

“I’ve given this a lot of thought,” Aquila begins. “I’ve decided to tell you everything. I’m not supposed to...I’m not allowed to...but no one can stop me, right?” She shoots arrows at Curtis.

Curtis stares back for a moment, then looks over at Cheyenne. He stays on her for an even shorter amount of time before turning towards Arcadia and Vearden. “Take care of your daughter. She’s more important than you ever hoped to be.” He jumps up on the table, and dives towards Marie. He takes the Livewire from her, and jams it against Aquila’s—Bhulan’s—head. He doesn’t hold onto the insulation, though. His hand is touching the wire, so he’s being affected by it too. No one can pull him off of her, or they’ll be shocked by it just as much. In seconds, it’s over. They both fall onto the floor, but Curtis manages to get up, while Aquila looks dead.

“What did you do?” Cheyenne asks, horrified and confused.

“I can’t let her talk, I’m sorry.” Curtis looks at the crowd. “To all of you.” He looks out the window, and teleports away, but he doesn’t get as far as he thought he would.

Microstory 1789: Kendall Cole

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Kendall Cole is one sick puppy; not evil, per se, but certainly not a good person. She loves to start trouble, and she is a master at it. She knows how to manipulate others into doing what she wants, and not even for her own gain. Well, she appears to gain the joy of watching people squirm, but she isn’t otherwise benefiting from all this conflict. At least, it doesn’t seem like it gets her anything else. She just likes to watch people in pain, and her parents were always worried that this would translate into something really bad and violent when she grew up. Therapy didn’t help. Socialization didn’t help. Nothing did her any good. If there was an opportunity to make people feel bad, and get away with it, she would do it. As she grew up, however, she got better at causing trouble in secret, leading her parents to believe that she had learned to change her ways. She stopped getting in trouble at school, because of how good she was at convincing others to become the agents of chaos, so she never really learned what consequences were. No one gave her any real reason to improve herself, so she never did, and she never regretted it either. Kendall didn’t become a serial killer, or anything, though. That much could be said of her. She just liked to undermine people at work, especially her boss, and make the job unnecessarily harder on others. A missing file here, an anonymously forwarded private email there. She didn’t limit herself to her real workplace. She once took a second job at a family planning manufacturer. She deliberately tampered with thousands of pregnancy tests to make them all show up as positive, no matter what. She timed it according to a co-worker’s tenure at the company, and framed him for the crime. No one ever suspected her, and bonus, she made a little extra money.

She might have said that sabotage was her middle name, except then that would be admitting to others what she was, and that would have ruined all the fun. Her power came from her invisibility, and no one could ever know that she was behind all of this turmoil. Someone took notice once when she gaslit an entire apartment complex into believing that a virus was spreading through the gas lines. She tricked them all into shutting off their gas, and quarantining themselves in the building for an entire week before the children of one of the tenants grew suspicious, and reached out to the CDC. She didn’t set one foot on the premises, and no one could have possibly connected her to it. A self-proclaimed “mastermind with genius-level intellect” felt compelled to investigate on his own by looking into who had contacted the building manager. He traced the call to a payphone, then phished his way into reviewing the security cameras of the convenience store next to it, where he witnessed who he thought to be the culprit making that call. Using facial recognition software that he bought for a steep price on the internet, he figured out the woman’s identity. He began to stalk her to find out what her motivation was, and whether she did other things like it. He never saw a damn thing, and he became impatient with the whole matter. He decided to give her a taste of her own medicine by killing her on paper. He notified her place of business that she was dead. He cancelled all of her credit cards. He informed her parents that she was gone. He identified a Jane Doe as her in the morgue. The authorities found him rather quickly, and arrested him for fraud, harassment, and a number of other charges. He only received one visitor in prison. It was Kendall Cole, there to gloat about how she had tricked him into ruining a completely innocent person’s life, as well as his own.

Microstory 1788: Vulpeculiar

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I never wanted to get into gambling. My family has a history of gambling addiction, and I knew that I didn’t want to even look down that path, so I never put myself in that position. Unfortunately, gambling found me anyway, and I fell into it hard. Maybe if I hadn’t been so afraid of it, I could have learned restraint, but there’s no way to know now. I’m madly in love with it, and every time I lose, it only makes me want more, because there’s always a chance of turning things around. I’m actually not half-bad, now that I know the rules of my favorite games. I’ve come up with a system, and I know everyone says that, but most of the people who say it are thousands—or even hundreds of thousands—of dollars in debt, whereas I always keep myself in the black. I have a special savings account of money that I don’t touch. It doesn’t matter how close I get to losing everything else, that money is for food and shelter, and I’ve held firm on that. That doesn’t mean my life has been safe and happy. I’ve certainly had some problems, especially with sore losers who think that they’re entitled to live their own lives free from consequences. It’s hard to disabuse them of the idea that they won when they’re holding the scary end of a gun against my temple. I’ve recently become immersed in the shadier side of gambling, to which the authorities either turn a blind eye, or can’t even find. I’ve just been going deeper and deeper, playing games with higher and higher stakes. I’ve recently discovered the most mysterious and unusual game of them all. Bottom of the rabbit hole, I call it. The people who play it, though...they call it Vulpeculiar.

There’s a family game I remember playing as a kid called Catch Phrase. I don’t remember the rules, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s just the game disc for Vulpeculiar that reminds me of it. Only 121 people can play in the world, and the only time someone new can join is if someone quits while they’re in the black. This is hard to do, because if you’re in the red, you can’t choose to play. Only someone else can select you as an opponent. It’s a game of chance. You choose who you want to play against, and how much to bet. Then you squeeze the button. You either win, or you lose, and the only strategy is to decide to quit while you’re ahead. When you lose—and you will lose—if you can’t pay with money or collateral, you pay with your soul. You’ll be sucked into the disc, where you’re conscious, and totally at the mercy of the corporeal players. They can give you a chance to win back your freedom, or they can ignore your slot, and play against someone else. The guy who got me into this mess is probably best described as my frenemy. I guess he figured it would be easy to convince me to help him cheat. It’s a two-man job. If I hold the disc, and he squeezes the button, the game is confused about who the player is. If he loses, the round will be disqualified, and nothing will happen. But if he wins, it will pay out into our supposed joint account. Of course, he betrayed me, and never gave me access to those funds, so I’ve decided to screw him over too. I let go of the disc at the very last second, dooming him to losing after betting the sum of every player’s debt against the “dealer”, which he could never hope to pay. He’s sucked into the disc, and I realize I’m the last corporeal player left. It has to end here. The game is evil, and I’m the only one who can stop it. I bet the pot too. It’s over a billion dollars, so I assume that I’ll be sucked in, and leave no slots open for new players. I was wrong. Not only do I win, but the other 120 slots suddenly open up. I think I just killed everyone.

Microstory 1787: Flying Fish

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Sleep and I have always had a love-hate relationship. I love it, but it resists me every single night. I was an adult before I learned that normal people fall asleep within twenty minutes. When my health teacher told us that, I wanted to punch him in the face, and knock him out. Then I wanted him to wake up, and punch me in the face so I would know what it feels like to not lie awake in bed for literally two hours. Over the years, I’ve tried some things to alleviate the problem: meditation, melatonin, stronger pills that put me, and the morning drivers around me, at terrible risk. Some of it has helped a little, but nothing has helped a lot. I would get six hours on a really good night, and I was proud of myself for anything over five. Now that I’m older, I’ve decided to prioritize my time better. Instead of staying up late, and waking up just before it’s time to go to work, I figured I may as well go to bed early, and have more me-time in the mornings. If it’s early enough, it’s still dark, so there’s no glare on my TV. That’s what’s really helped, waking up before sun, instead of fighting for every ounce of rest in those precious final moments. Now I lie awake for an hour, but since I give myself more time overall, I end up with seven hours, and it probably doesn’t get any better than that. I even try to avoid this thing called social jetlag, which means sleeping different hours on certain nights, which for most is due to not having to work on the weekends. Last night was different. It was a Friday, and I was in the middle of a good TV binge, so I decided it would be okay to go to bed at 23:00. That’s 11:00 PM for you people who can’t count past 12. It turned out to be a bad idea...for a bizarre reason. Had I gone to sleep at my new normal time, I wouldn’t have been awake to hear the man outside my window.

At first, I think it must be an innocuous noise. The purr of my refrigerator, the buzz of the street lights, the revving of a distant car. It isn’t so distant, and it isn’t so innocuous. It sounds like someone mimicking the sound of a motor with their mouth, and it only gets worse when he starts talking. “Flying fish,” he says, “flying fish”. Over and over and over again, “flying fish. Yeah, baby, flying fish.” Fuck, what does he want with me? I’m about to die, I’m about to die. What do I do? Don’t turn on the lights, then he’ll see that you’re here. Look out the window. No, not that one, it’s too close. I can’t see anything. What about the window in the study? Still nothing. Can you still hear him? “Flying fish.” Call mom, she’ll know what to do. No, bring the dog in first, and put her in her cage.  Then call mom. Shit, it’s late, they go to bed earlier than I do. Call 911, she says, that’s what it’s there for. Yes, it qualifies an emergency, call them now. Dispatch doesn’t understand my problem fully, but she dispatches a fleet anyway. Firetruck first on the scene. I look back out the window in the study. The firefighter is bent at the hip, hand on the shoulder of a man. He’s sitting in the street, up against the curb. He’s wobbly, and incoherent. He must be drunk. She’s being gentle and patient with him. Ambulance, police cruiser, that red pickup truck the fire station boss drives, another police cruiser. It’s okay, Daisy, go back to sleep. Chew on your cactus if you’re nervous. They load him up faster than I would have thought. I’ve seen car accidents in real life; been in a couple myself. They usually move slower than movies make it seem. They close the ambulance doors, and clear the street. The quiet returns, and it’s like they were never even here. Then a fish flies past my window, followed by another, and another. He wasn’t lying.

Microstory 1786: Virgin By Nature

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I accepted long ago that I wasn’t ever going to find myself a partner, or even just a warm body for the night. I was doomed from the start, and I’ve been branded an incel because of it. It’s true that I’m what one might call a virgin—though, that is an outdated term—and it’s true that it’s not by choice, but that doesn’t mean that I blame others for my situation. This is all me, and I take ownership of it. I wish there was a term for people like me. Since that word has been attributed to terrorists, rapists, and mysoginists, I’ve tried to just call myself a loser. It’s not a particularly favorable term either, but at least it distances me from those violent and aggressive men who believe the world, and its women, owe them something. I am a socially awkward extrovert. Yes, you read that right. I love putting myself out there, and meeting new people. I’m just incredibly bad at it. I’ve tried to take seminars, and watch tutorials, but none of them has worked. Many of them come off just as angry and entitled as the incel movement. I don’t know how to talk to others, no matter how badly I want to, or how hard I try. I keep saying the wrong things, and making myself look like an idiot. I always look weird, and make people uncomfortable. So what exactly is my problem, and is there anything I can do to fix it? I don’t think so, but even if I were better at communicating with people, I’ve realized that it doesn’t really matter. I’m traditionally unattractive. Yeah, I may be able to alleviate that a little with better hair, and hipper clothes. I may even be able to learn to express myself appropriately. That’s just the first filter, though. There are plenty of people in this world who are willing to look past looks, or are just as awkward as me, and could probably deal with it. But they won’t get past my other filters.

What is a filter? Well, people use them all the time when forming relationships. They don’t walk around with a sign hanging from their necks that announce that they’re available, and then just accept the first person who responds positively. Once they find someone they’re attracted to in some manner, they look for common ground. What do they both like to do, or what aspects of their personalities complement each other? Do they get along, or do they have too many differences? If those incompatibilities add up and overweigh the things they like about each other, the relationship either ends healthily, or becomes toxic. Unfortunately for me, those incompatibilities are pretty much guaranteed to be there from the start. The biggest filter is drug use. I can’t be with someone who does recreational drugs, including alcohol. I can’t stand drunks, and while I support recovering addicts, I still can’t relate to them, and I don’t know how to help them. That right there wipes most people off the board. Some people are sober because of religion, but I’m a staunch atheist, so that wipes off most of who’s left, because I can’t stand those people either. I would have to find a nonreligious teetotaler who likes to dance all night, and even listen to techno off the dance floor. That person just doesn’t exist, especially not when you account for other filters, like gender, relative age, and sexuality. Because the most important filter—the only one that’s necessary for me to remain alone—is other people’s filters. I may find the perfect girl, but if she doesn’t like me, it can’t go anywhere. It won’t even begin. That’s what truly keeps me from finding a soulmate. I don’t want to be with someone who would want to be with someone like me.

Microstory 1785: Through the Vela

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I reach out and shake the baby bear’s little paw. He smiles wider, and looks a bit relieved. The old man tells me as much. People are often so reluctant and unsympathetic when they meet him. They’re too afraid. They just came through something called the Vela, and still think they’re about to wake up from a bad dream. It’s not a dream. It’s all real. The man built this cabin near Big Bear Lake deliberately because it happens to be some kind of focal point of instantaneous travel. People from all over the world spontaneously wake up here having never transited the space in between. Every night someone new arrives somewhere in a kilometer radius of this cabin. For some reason, I showed up earlier than usual, which is why mama bear wasn’t ready for me. She’s normally tasked with going out, and nudging the arrivals to the cabin. She’s not as smart as her son, but she knows that she can convince people to go this direction simply by placing herself on the other side of them. She was probably pretty surprised that I wasn’t scared of her, and was able to pass by her with none of her usual form of coercion. Very rarely, two people will show up on one night, so she continues to patrol until morning. That’s why she didn’t come back with me. When I ask the man what happens next, he tells me that the Vela chooses people using whatever parameters it’s decided upon, if it’s even sentient. He doesn’t know. He only knows it’s my job to find my own exit, but only after new clothes and hot tea. I’m not sure I’m going to go look for an exit point. It might be nice, renting a car, and driving back myself. It’s not like I have anywhere better to be. I don’t have to work until Monday, and my parents will be okay on their own for now. Anyway, I don’t have to decide anything right away. I’ll just sit and enjoy my tea.

A half hour later, the mother returns, but she’s not alone. A woman about my age is accompanying her. She doesn’t appear to be scared of the beast either, nor worried about where she is, or what the hell is going on. She too is naked, and isn’t even shivering. I didn’t think there was anyone else in the world who likes the cold as much as I do. She asks the same questions, and the man answers them again. She asks a couple more, like how the bears are so smart. The mom had her own Vela experience while she was pregnant, and it changed the both of them. Brown bears aren’t even native to this area, but they chose to stick around so they could help the humans. This calling has been passed down the old man’s family for generations, but the incidents became more and more frequent, and he never found the time to meet someone, so the bloodline ends with him. When he dies, people are just going to have to deal with their situation themselves. The woman and I exchange a look. Little bear nuzzles her knee, so she pets him. All my life I’ve been trying to figure out whether I had some kind of purpose. Folding clothes, and returning them to their tables surely isn’t it. I’m sure my sister can take care of our parents on her own. She prefers it, and I’ve never been much help anyway. Perhaps this is what I’ve been looking for this whole time. This old man needs to retire, and the lost souls who pass through here need a way to return home. I tell him this, and he thanks me. He doesn’t even try to argue, or talk me out of it. He’s obviously been hoping for a replacement for awhile now, but he’s never known how to go about asking. The woman stands and informs him that now he has two to take his place. We all smile, even me.

Microstory 1784: Little Bear

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There are a few things you would expect to find in a cabin in the middle of the woods, especially in an area that experiences very cold temperatures. The place is small, and you can tell as much from the outside, so you wouldn’t expect it to be a comfortable glamping getaway with multiple rooms, or even electricity. The logs are rotting slightly, and the porch swing has one broken chain, leaving it dangling against the floor awkwardly. I would have bet on a few essentials once I stepped inside, like a wooden table with wooden chairs; a bed that’s low to the ground, or even just a cot; an old black metal stove thing that I feel like Benjamin Franklin invented? None of that is here. None of what’s in here makes any damn sense, and if I would leave if it weren’t freezing out there. It doesn’t look dangerous, just bizarre. The first thing I notice is the arcade game. Besides a novelty table lamp in the shape of an elephant that’s hanging on the wall, the game machine is the only thing that’s giving off any significant amount of light. I don’t recognize the name of it, but that’s no surprise. I’m too young, and not hip enough to know anything about the history. Bear Bonds could have been the most popular game in the 80s, for all I know. Anyway, the screen isn’t the only thing producing light. The whole thing has what look like Christmas lights strewn about, except they’re built into the paneling, so I think that’s just how it comes. Next to it is one of those Japanese toilets with a touch screen, and probably a bidet, and I’m sure it talks to you. I can’t tell if it’s connected to the plumbing, but on the other side of it is the real bathroom. There’s a metal prison sink, and one of those space-age shower pods from the 1970s that I saw on a funny picture website once. There’s no toilet in there at all, so maybe he just likes to spread out more. I best not think about it. There are plenty of other weird things in here.

There seems to be no closet, but there’s a rack on casters. He has one three piece suit on it. It looks really nice, like maybe it was tailored by an expensive professional who only serves an average of one client a month. That wouldn’t seem so weird, maybe this guy is a stock broker who comes here to unwind. Except the rest of the rack is occupied by hanging fish, a few of which are still flopping on their hooks a little bit. How are they still alive in the least? I also swear to God that the suit was on one end of the rack, but now it’s spontaneously moved to the right. I kind of hope that didn’t happen, and I’m suffering from exposure delirium. That is a fancy platter of rotten strawberries, right there on the floor. Next to it is a ship in the bottle without the bottle. The way it’s staged, it’s like a child was eating the fruit, and playing with the ship, but they haven’t been back in a long time, and the man never cleaned it up. There is no dining table, and no chairs whatsoever, nor a bed. The curtains are made of Latin language newspapers. I don’t mean they’re taped on the glass to prevent snipers on the roof of the next building over from spotting the bank robbers. He carefully glued the pages together, and hung them up on the rod. I suppose that’s one way to reuse, reduce, and recycle. A mail cart has been upturned near the corner. A whole encyclopedia collection is stacked on top of it. I don’t know why he didn’t just put them inside the cart, but it’s not what matters. That’s not the strangest thing. Hiding behind that cart, I finally notice a baby bear. It’s sitting up and peeking out from behind the books. When it sees me see it, it comes out of the shadows, and smiles at me. Then it holds out its hand like it wants me to shake it.

Microstory 1783: Big Bear

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One thing to know about me is that I prefer the cold. I live in a midwest state with seasons, but I hate the summer. I could work in retail anywhere, but my parents had me when they were already pretty old, so I’m kind of obligated to stick around. Still, I blast the air conditioning when it’s hot, and keep the windows open. Is that illegal? I don’t know. Is it wrong? I guess we just have different definitions of morality. The A/C stays on during a lot of the winter, and I still at least have my bedroom window open while I’m trying to sleep. I say all this in preface, so you’ll understand that I don’t know how long I was outside on the ground before I even realized it. Had it been my sister, it would have been a different story. She keeps her house like a friggin’ sauna, I can’t stand it in there. She would have noticed right away if she had suddenly found herself in the spring air, let alone this freezing cold place. I finally wake up, and that probably has more to do with needing to relieve myself than anything. I might never have noticed until the sun came out, and maybe not even for a long time after that, because my alarm clock didn’t accompany me. I have no idea where I am, or how I got there. I see trees and dirt, and that is pretty much it. I see pine needles instead of leaves, which I find unusual. I like the cold, but not the outdoors. I would never go camping in a million years, so there’s no chance I got so drunk last night that I made this choice on my own. Someone would have had to bring me here against my will. They might have left me to die because they underestimated my ability to survive these temperatures, or maybe something went wrong, and they had to scrap their original plans with me. Either way, as okay as I am like this, I know I’m no superhero. I will die out here without shelter and clothing.

I start walking, hoping to catch the scent of a campfire, or the rumble of late night traffic. I could be moving even deeper away from civilization, but there is no way for me to know. I don’t have those lizard brain instincts that normal people have kept. Walking is warming me up, if only just a little. If I don’t come across someone’s tent, or a cave, staying in place would still be foolish. Besides, if someone did leave me, but planned on coming back, I’m better off as far from the drop site as I can get. I can see a lake in the moonlight, but I don’t know if I should go for it. Am I more likely to find salvation there then elsewhere? I’m proud of myself. I’m not too keen on walking either, but I haven’t stopped once to take a break. Maybe this ain’t so bad. I spoke too soon, or rather thought it. I finally do stop when I run into a gigantic creature. It’s dark as all hell, but my assumption is that it’s a bear. It was low to the ground, but now it’s raised itself up, meaning that it started on four legs, and now it’s on two. That’s something I know bears can do. It doesn’t growl, or even seem that menacing. Maybe it’s just trying to get a good look at me. I also know that you’re supposed to pretend to be bigger, and make a lot of noise. I don’t think I’m gonna do that, though. I just adjust my heading, and walk away. It doesn’t get mad or try to follow. I doubt it eats people, and it can tell that I’m not a real threat. Lights. I see lights through the trees. As I approach, I see that it’s a cabin, and it’s occupied. This could be who took me, but this is my only shot at survival. I knock on the door, and a scruffy old man opens. He’s not surprised to receive a visitor, even though we’re in the middle of nowhere, and I’m completely naked. He lets me in, and I ask him where we are. “This is Big Bear Lake, son. California.” Yeah, that tracks.

Microstory 1782: Tukana Is All

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We live our lives by the Tukana. It is an ancient text, which lays out the ways of the Tukan. It provides us with the guidance we need to make the best decisions, and be happy. Some go against the Tukana, but we fight them, and we always win. We will always win. For the Tukana is everything. The Tukana is all. I am known as the Dominant, which means that I am in charge of this entire tropicas. I did not simply fall into my position, and I was not selected. I had to fight my way to the top. Literally. The main social activity, according to the Tukana, is fencing. The practice is even more ancient than the prooftext. Our ancestors once used it to determine who amongst them was the bravest and noblest. They did not become rulers, though. That is something the Tukana demands of us. I am obviously the best. Many have attempted to thwart me, but I put them down every time. Unfortunately, our laws dictate that fighting for dominance is not the same as sparring. The better must kill the lesser in order to become the winner of the challenge. Until then, nothing is settled, and it would throw our world into chaos if I let them live. This has threatened our population before, and I can’t let it happen again, so I outright reject any challenge that comes my way when there is no hope that I’ll lose. It would not be fair to the challenger, and it only places us in greater danger to our enemies, the Buseros. They follow a similar path to enlightenment, but it is corrupted. Their inferior prooftext, the Buseron was plagiarized from our own; the one true book of salvation. The writer paraphrased nearly every sentence in his work, and passed it off as original so he could make money. The Tukana is not about making money. The Tukana teaches us to embrace the fruits of our destinies.

We are fruitarians. That is our number one rule, and as far as I know, no Tukan has ever broken it. We are aware that our ancestors once killed for their food, as the Buseros still do. That is perhaps our main difference. We do not destroy what we eat, but spread it around, and make more of it. We pollinate what’s left of our beautiful and precious Earth, and we do not take anything for granted. I may need to break our rule, though. I have been held captive by the Buseros for the last two weeks, and I’m starving. They have deliberately locked me up with a garden of plants, and small furry creatures. They want me to fall apart, and become more like them. It would be the greatest victory they’ve ever seen...dare I say the only victory. I’ve tried to hold on this whole time, but the pain inside me grows by the minute. The guards have left me alone for the next half hour, or so, as they do every day. They will notice if I eat one of these plants, or of course, an animal. We’ve become friends, I certainly don’t want to harm the latter. The former deserve to live out their lives as well, even though they do not have faces. The insects. They can’t possibly know how many insects are in here with me. They crawl and hop in and out at will. They’re still alive, so I don’t want to kill them, but I suppose if it’s me or them, it has to be me. I look around to make sure I’m not being watched, and then I snatch one off of the ground. It doesn’t taste good, and it’s not much, but I keep doing it, and I eventually start feeling energized again. I can’t eat much before the guards return, but I keep doing it every day. The Buseros are so impressed after I show them I’ve survived for four whole months, and they have no choice but to let me go. I return home to tell my people of the tasty insect, and its many rewards.

Microstory 1781: Triangle Water

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There was originally nothing special about the Bermuda Triangle. There are many explanations for why there seem to be more lost aircraft and oceancraft in the area, and not all of them are supernatural. Yes, some believe it leads to another dimension, while others think that there’s some kind of glitch in the magnetosphere over this spot. Even the more logical explanations aren’t necessary, because the truth is that it mostly comes down to math. Why are there more disappearances in this one region of the sea, as opposed to, say, the middle of the South Pacific Ocean? Simply because there is more travel happening in this area. It’s like asking why there are more deaths in cars that are driving on the road, as opposed to cars that are parked in people’s garages. Well, they’re not moving, so there’s not as much opportunity to suffer an injury. It’s not impossible, but not as common, and not reported as a traffic accident. In the 1950s, sensationalist media began to suggest that there was something different about the Bermuda Triangle, and people began to contrive their conspiracy theories. Once this happened, the Triangle began to distinguish itself. Just the suggestion that it was special was what made it special, and that was what gave it the temporal properties that it otherwise would not have had. To be clear, supernatural disappearances did not start to occur in the 50s. It was still perfectly safe to sail or fly over these waters, and expect no more problems than you might encounter elsewhere. Neither activity is without risk, but that’s true of anywhere. The best thing you can do to protect yourself is to be prepared, and again, this is true of anything. At any rate, you won’t have to worry about an undersea demon rising up to eat you. It’s more that becoming so important to the global consciousness has allowed the natural laws of temporal sciences to exploit it for other purposes.

Time travel is real, and so is immortality, but reaching true immortality is a pretty big chore. It requires obtaining eleven sources of water. Catalyst primes the body to accept them, and Activator binds them together. Each of the sources in between imbues you with a different flavor of non-mortality. Bermuda Triangle water is called Existence. Most of the waters are fairly obvious in regards to their purpose, while Existence is a little more vague—though not quite as vague as Death—at least if all you’ve heard is its name. Youth keeps you young, or even youngifies you, if necessary. Longevity lets you keep going throughout the years. Health cures you of disease, and immunizes you against all future disease. The others are just as apparent when you first hear of them. You can take any of the waters you want, and exclude any you don’t, but once you drink Activator, it’s over. You are permanently at least one kind of immortal, and you can never benefit from any of the ones you missed. Heck, you could theoretically not drink any of the middle nine, and become permanently immune to them. Some choose to ignore Existence, but it is the absolute most important. Time water keeps a time travel event from preventing you from ever reaching your goal of immortality in an alternate reality. Existence is similar, but instead it prevents a time travel event from preventing you from being born in the first place. If you never existed, you can’t become immortal, can you, even if you drank Time in your first timeline? The closer to the center of the Bermuda Triangle, the better, and it only counts for the water found after 1950, but if you did manage to drink it, and then Activate, no one can take it away, even in the past.

Microstory 1780: Triangulum

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My parents hate each other, but they claim they can’t get divorced. My little brother is very sensitive, and they don’t think he could handle it. Unfortunately, they can’t stand to even be in the same room as each other, so I don’t think that’s really helping him. They parent him separately, and I’m expected to fill in the gaps. He may be too young to be consciously aware that he never sees the two of them at the same time, but it’s almost certainly affecting him, and eventually, he’s going to grow up. I guess they’re hoping they’ll be able to finally walk away from each other by then. I think it would be far less traumatizing to the kid if they just took care of it now, but they won’t listen to me. I’m just the older brother in the middle. My therapist calls it triangulation. In order to put up a united front for my brother, both of our parents have to agree on whatever decision needs to be made. But since they can’t talk directly to each other, they go through me. My mom sleeps on a pullout couch in her home office, while dad stays in the master bedroom. They coordinate their schedules so they don’t end up in the bathroom at the same time, and mom still needs to keep some closet space up there. Again, I don’t know that their youngest doesn’t notice all of this, but again, I’m actually the one coordinating it for them. I’m responsible for knowing who is going to pick him up from soccer practice, and which is available for the next game. Both of them have pretty flexible schedules, and could theoretically watch him play together, but one will always pretend to be busy, and it’s up to me to decide which, making sure that he doesn’t feel too neglected by either one. It’s such a pain. It’s also not fair. I’m 17 years old, I’m not supposed to be responsible for their relationship. My therapist says I need to stand up for myself, and he wants to have a conversation about that with all three of us, but that is just this side of completely impossible. I gave up on trying to fix them a long time ago.

It wasn’t always like this, and even after it started, it wasn’t always this bad. It’s not like they had a meeting at one point, and contrived this plan to triangulate their fourteen-year-old son. It started out small. They would fight about the baby, and one of them would sleep on the couch that night, but then they would work it out, and come back together. This happened more and more until they realized that they sometimes hadn’t spoken for two straight days. I was brought in to relay their messages, but if that got to be too complicated, they would step in, and finish the conversation themselves. But then they stopped doing that altogether, I guess because I got better at anticipating their responses, lessening the amount of back and forth necessary. I became half my father, and half my mother, so that I could act on each one’s behalf to the other without actually speaking to them about what they would choose to say under normal circumstances. It was too late before I noticed that I had lost my whole self in that chaos. I’ve been trying to get the real me back for a year, but it can’t be done unless we break the triangle. So that’s why I’m here today, Your Honor. I know it will be a long process, but it must be done, and I was advised by my counsel to begin now. I turn 18 in six months, and when that happens, I need to have full custody of my brother, so I can take him out of that toxic environment. Our parents are not going to like it, but I’m confident that I will prove myself to be the most mature person in the family. I have filled out all of the requisite paperwork, and I’m ready to plead my case, whenever you are.

Microstory 1779: Telescope

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I forgot my telescope on the bridge. It’s this hopelessly useless little thing that can’t see the sun on a clear day, but I still wanted the Captain to autograph it for me, and I’m so proud of myself for having been brave enough to ask. She signed it with a smile, and didn’t even blink out how difficult it was to write on a cylinder. It was an honor just to be there, but the fact that she spoke to me personally was more than I could ask for. I can die happy now. I was so relieved that it all worked out, and excited to be up where the action was, that I left the telescope on top of an auxiliary console. By the time I realized my mistake, something had gone terribly wrong in the ship. I don’t have access through the doors myself, but an engineer was running out just at the right time, so I slipped back in and hoped not to bother anyone. I just wanted to grab it, and get out of everyone’s way. Things escalated quickly. We had apparently come out of plex too close to the planet, and were unable to compensate. The ship was being torn apart by the tidal forces, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. Our vessels are at their weakest when they collimate back to realspace. The strain from faster-than-light travel is not enough to vaporize us, or anything, but couple it with the sudden gravitational pull of a celestial object, and you have yourself a recipe for disaster. I’ve always hoped to be a pilot one day, so I’ve been studying all of this stuff. I really shouldn’t be here right now, though. I try to leave, but the doors are blocked by the hustle and bustle. I think it’s best if I just try to stay out of the way. I grab my telescope, and stick myself in the corner, where nobody notices me. It’s not long before they all begin to evacuate. They’re heading for the escape pods, as are the rest of the passengers like me. Meanwhile, I’m frozen.

I can feel the ship cracking from the gravity, and I know that I have to get out of here too. Hopefully I can squeeze in one of the pods before they all leave. I don’t make it. This ship’s bridge was designed as an actual bridge, which overlooks the crew observation deck below. As I’m running along the railing, an explosion from the side pushes me over the edge, and I begin to fall towards the floor below. I watch it crumble, and escape into the vacuum of space before anything hits me. I’m sent into the black as well, where I expect to die quickly...except I don’t. I’m still alive, for some reason. I’m not breathing, but my blood isn’t boiling either. I’m just there, conscious and watching the debris flying chaotically around me. I don’t hang around for long before I fall towards the atmosphere of the planet. I was supposed to live here for the next year while I finished school. Now I’ll die here. It doesn’t happen yet, though, as I continue to fall. I can see the fire around me, but I don’t burn up. This doesn’t make any sense. This is not what’s meant to happen when an object falls from space. I’m not built to survive. What the hell is going on? I feel like I’m suspended in place while the ground flies upwards to greet me. As it becomes larger, I see more detail. The indistinct terrain, the road that cuts through it, the vehicles, the people walking to the beach, their eyes. As fast as I was moving, and as quickly as I stop, I don’t even die on impact. I land, awkwardly but safely, as if I simply hopped out of bed a little too hard. I still don’t understand this. Then I look up and see a flat piece of debris falling down right over my head. It’s too large for me to get out of the way. And then I crash onto the floor of the observation deck, and die as the rest of the ship is ripped apart around my body, telescope still in hand.

Microstory 1778: Bullsh

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I was a terrible liar when I was young. I would keep doing bad things, and trying to hide it from my parents, and they always realized right away that I wasn’t telling the truth. I just kept trying, and they kept seeing right through it. My father would get angry about it, and my mom was always disappointed, but not in the way you think. She too was a liar, but an expert at it. Over the years, I learned more about who she was, and what she did behind everybody’s backs. She shoplifted, pulled mean-spirited pranks on complete strangers, and cheated on her husband more times than want to think about. I was basically just like her, except that I wasn’t good at keeping secrets. Seeing my potential, she took special interest in me, but you wouldn’t know it if you were looking from the outside. She treated our lessons just like she did anything else, as nobody else’s business. Mother was a grifter before she met dad. He was the first man she met who she didn’t want to screw over, so she gave up that life, and settled down. She couldn’t let go of her compulsive habits, but she was no longer taking thousands of dollars from her victims. He provided them both with more than enough money, and that was really all she cared about, unlike the con artists you see in the movies, who apparently mostly do it for the thrill. She couldn’t be sure I would grow up to be a functioning member of society with a decent job, so she felt that she needed to teach me her old ways so I would have something to fall back on no matter what. It wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t moral, but she taught me that everyone has to come up with their own set of morals, and I believed her without question, because I couldn’t tell when she was lying. I’m better at spotting it now that I’ve gone through all my lessons, so I know that she legitimately believed that. Before she passed, she lived her life with no regrets, and she wanted me to live mine the same way. I have, but not as she imagined. I use my powers for good.

The Federal Bureau of Investigation has an entire division dedicated to fraud, and that’s all well and good, but they don’t do what I do. They investigate crimes with forensics, by hunting for, and searching through, evidence. They don’t know what a grifter looks like. They just know what their victims look like when they’re done with them. It’s really obvious too, when a corporate executive turns out to have been embezzling, or cheating their customers out of the product or services they paid for. How do you find out which ones are bad, and which ones are good? Simple: they’re all bad. Every single one of them is a devil, and they’re not even in disguise. What I do is go after the people that are in disguise, or who work in the shadows. They make small scams here and there, which add up to a lot, and ruin a lot of people’s lives without anyone ever knowing their true identities. I can practically smell when someone is getting scammed. There’s a certain lightness in the air that most people can’t detect. I can teach you to find these people too. I believe everyone at this continuing education seminar can help me grow my team of investigators, which focuses on stopping the fraudsters that aren’t out in the open, and don’t ever end up in the news. I know I can do this for you, because I...do not even work for the FBI. I made this badge in the bathroom this morning, after waking up and deciding on a whim what I was going to do today. I’m that good. Your real teacher will be coming in soon, but don’t tell her that I was here. She’ll ground me for a month if she finds out that I snuck into her building yet again. Parents just don’t understand, right?

Microstory 1777: Cosmic Sextant

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The Cosmic Sextant, like many other special temporal objects in the universe, was not made, but born. It’s possible to create a piece of technology that exhibits reality-bending properties. You can engineer a spaceship that is capable of traveling faster than light. You can make a pair of binoculars that shows you what the area you’re in will look like at some given point in the future. Many of these technologies were created by a particular person, and her alternates. Her name is Holly Blue, but in some realities, she goes by the nickname The Weaver. Her time power is to make objects with their own time powers. It’s easier for her to do if she’s seen the power in action, and even easier if she has long-term access to the subject for study, but she’s been known to intuit her inventions on occasion. She’s not the only temporal engineer in the timeline, but she’s perhaps most famous for it, at least across multiple circles. Holly Blue did not invent the Cosmic Sextant, nor did anyone else. It didn’t happen for no reason at all, but it wasn’t done by anyone’s intentions either. These special special objects are rare, and demand a particular set of circumstances to coincide. It’s not always obvious which is which, but there is a way to make a good guess. Typically, the simpler an object, the more likely it is that it was imbued with its power, and not an invention. You don’t design a stone that can send people back to the moment they first experienced time travel. Such a form would be too capricious. Instead, what most likely occurred was that a person with the ability to return others to the beginning of their respective temporal journeys was holding a rock while they were in the middle of working, and enough temporal energy flowed into it, and stuck. Home stones are very old, so no one knows who this person could be, but it’s probable that a time travel event erased them from the future, but left the stones they once created intact. Again, no one knows.

Maqsud Al-Amin is a choosing one with the ability to transport himself, and others, across the largest distance ever covered by a teleporter. He can make the trip to the nearest galaxies in a matter of seconds. Anyone with access to Shimmer, which is channeled by The Great Pyramid of Giza, can do the same, but not as quickly, and not as far. Maqsud is an explorer, who enjoys going to other worlds, and learning about new cultures. When he was first starting out, he did so before a telescope with sufficient range was invented, so it was actually better for him to use a sextant, and measure his destination manually. He happened to do this in what would come to be known as Bryce Canyon, in what would come to be known as Utah. The temporal energy from him passed through the sextant, and flew off to collide with one of the hoodoos, where it bounced off, and collided with another. This energy just kept bouncing all around the geological formation, until it all landed back into the sextant, where it remained for future use. Maqsud was long gone by then, having dropped the sextant in the initial energy release, and ending up in the wrong star system, where he would have to make his way back on his own. He didn’t find out what the sextant could do until later, and felt no ownership over it, so it began to trade hands from there. For whatever reason, travelers can’t take it with them when they use it, so they always have to find some other means of departing from the destination planet, if they so wish. This has necessarily limited its use. It’s powerful, but risky, because it was not made on purpose.

Microstory 1776: Serpens Novus

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Star Mountains rainforest, Papua New Guinea. The mysterious unidentifiable snake stares at me like I just ate his squirmy little children. I’m normally good with snakes, and for a special reason. I can commune with them. They don’t have complex brains, so they can’t talk, but I can convey my intentions to them, and they to me. I’m a herpetologist, which means I love them, so they always know that I never mean them any harm. I don’t know if this particular species is immune to my wiles, or if simply the fact that it has never been studied before means that it’s not in the database. I don’t understand why that should make a difference, though. When I first realized I could do what I do, it’s not like I had ever looked at that list. I actually had to switch majors in the middle of my higher education career to account for it. I didn’t grow up having any strong feelings about snakes. I try to move backwards half a centimeter, but have to stop. He doesn’t like that—or she. I don’t know how to tell, but that obviously doesn’t matter right now. It doesn’t even matter why I can’t get this snake to relax. All I can do is call upon the training I’ve never needed before, and get myself to safety. Unfortunately, I ignored a lot of what my teachers tried to teach me about dealing with wild animals, because it didn’t apply to me. That was stupid, it was so stupid. What did I think I was, invincible? Just because I’ve been able to handle myself in the past, doesn’t mean that’s going to work in the future. Why, my situation right here just proves that. Stupid. Stupid me. I wish one of my colleagues were here now. They would know what to do. They’re used to it.

Lots of people know how good I am at my job as a snake wrangler, but they don’t know why. They don’t know that the best word I’ve come up with to describe it is supernatural. Perhaps it runs in my family, but I was always too afraid to bring it up to my parents, so it’s just been something I’ve lived with on my own. I think I did a pretty good job at maximizing my abilities to their full potential. That may all be coming to an end, though. This new snake doesn’t give a crap what I can do, if it can even tell that I’m special at all. Maybe it can. Maybe it knows exactly what I am, and does not appreciate it. Maybe it thinks it’s offensive, in some way. No, that’s dumb. It’s not that intelligent. It may be the smartest reptile in the entire world, and it still wouldn’t have any prejudices against me. I am in its territory, and I am a threat. That is all it knows. That is all it’s worried about. I try to back up again, but it’s not having it. It’s not going to risk the possibility that it’s a trick, and I’m about to attack first. It snaps at my ankle, and before I even feel the pain, it snaps at the other one. I falter, and fall down. I can feel the venom flowing through my veins, headed quickly for the rest of my body. Before it can reach my arms, I reach behind my back, and retrieve my camera. If I’m going to die, at least people can find out why. The snake is still there, like some kind of psychopath who needs to watch the life flicker from my eyes. I snap the photo. Now it doesn’t seem bothered by my sudden movements at all. I guess it’s pretty confident in the efficacy of its own venom. It has good reason to. Man, that’s a good shot. If anyone ever finds my body, they’ll find this picture too, and see how scary it looks. I carefully tuck the camera away in its case to protect it from the elements. If I have truly discovered it, I get to name it too. It will be my last act in this world. I take out my voice recorder, and speak the first name that comes to mind, “Star Mountain Purple Viper.” That’s not half bad.