Microstory 2425: Industrial Farm Dome

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A bunch of domes are dedicated to farming. Some of them are designed for necessary food production, but others are just for the sake of it. Industrial farming describes the kind of farming that they did during and after the industrial revolution. They used machines to farm giant fields for massive numbers of people, and even used electricity, but they didn’t have computers. There was absolutely no hint of automation. Lots of farm hands still had to do all the work, and that’s how it goes here. Nothing gets done if there’s no one here to do it. If that means the crops die, then so be it. There’s actually plenty of waste, because the rest of the current population of the planet doesn’t really want to eat this stuff. Everything they could ever want is provided for them. They got their lab grown meat, meal bars, food printers, and dayfruit. They don’t really care how hard I worked out here in the hot sun, and the Castlebourne leadership isn’t incentivizing them to choose us over those other things. I think they really should have worked this out differently. Screw that other stuff. If you have the real thing—and people are willing to labor FOR FREE—why would you choose anything else? Those should be a last resort. If they want this planet to be self-sufficient, then we have what you’re looking for. I don’t blame the other visitors for doing this wrong. There is so little awareness about what we can do for them. I guess what you really need is cooks. Some domes have culinary components, or so I hear, but I can’t find a dome that’s dedicated to the culinary arts. If they did that, we could work closely with them to make the supply chain a real thing. See? I got ideas, and I’m just a dumb regular human. I came here on a ship with one of these new reframe engines. I can’t even upload or transfer my consciousness to a new body. This is the real me. These other people don’t always even need to eat, so they have no appreciation for any of this. Some changes need to be made around here, because I don’t want to go back to the stellar neighborhood. I shouldn’t have to. I should be able to find what I’m entitled to on this planet. People just need to do the right thing.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 16, 2498

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Olimpia had been working here for a few weeks now, and everything was going great. He had an assistant before her, but he was nothing special. She quickly learned to anticipate Mateo’s needs, and they had developed a nice rapport with each other. Being the Fleet Commander for the entire Central Midwest region meant that he had to do a lot of traveling. It wasn’t all over the country, of course, but it was a regular thing. He had just spent most of the last week in Cedar Rapids, which was horrible enough, but going it alone was just too much. Typically, the office assistant stayed in the office, so they could respond to driver issues from their desk, and take in any walk-ins. But with SRW headphones and a cell phone capable of accepting forwarded calls, she really could do her job from just about anywhere. Ramses always stayed next to his precious servers, so he could answer the door if anyone were to show up. Mateo really needed Olimpia there with him when he was on the road. “Are you interested in that?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“It’s not a monarchy,” he reminded her. “I didn’t hire you for travel, and that’s not in the job description. It would therefore come with a new job description, and a modest wage increase. You can say no, though.”

“I have no ties,” Olimpia replied with a shake of her head. “Before I found you, I was applying to jobs in most of the lower 48 states. I like to move around, and stay busy. Honestly—and I probably shouldn’t tell you this—I get bored with a job after a few years, and tend to start looking elsewhere. If I’m traveling, I’m sure it won’t get so tedious.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” Mateo said. “I know I just got back, but I have to fly up to Minneapolis tomorrow, and I could really use your help.”

“I didn’t think Minnesota was in our region,” Olimpia said.

“It’s not, I’m meeting with my equivalent for the Northern Midwest. The guy from the Northern Mountain region will be there too. I’m not a hundred percent sure what it’s about. I think they want to have some kind of convention, or something. This has been on the books for a couple months.”

“Well, I’m in, I’ll change the plane tickets.”

“Great! And hey, why don’t you come for dinner tonight, meet the family? My daughter is cooking something. She’s gotten really good lately. It will be vegetarian though, so if you have a problem...”

“No, I can be there, that sounds great. I really appreciate it, sir.”

“You can just call me Mateo. We’re not formal here.”

“Don’t I know it,” Ramses said, appearing at the entrance to Mateo’s cubicle. He stretched, and pretended to take a drink from a flask.

“Don’t worry, it’s empty,” Mateo explained to Olimpia. “We got those as gifts at a company retreat last year. Ridiculous, if you ask me, but I like how they etched in the RideSauce logo.”

“Oh, yeah.” Olimpia was being polite, but she didn’t care.

“Well, I’ll see you at 17:30 for dinner? I’ll be sure to get you home early enough to pack for the trip. We’ll be gone for three days.”

“I’m already packed,” she said. “I haven’t unpacked since I came to Kansas City.”

“We’ll be traveling a lot,” Mateo reminded her, “but you should still try to dig in and put down some roots.”

“I’ll get right on that. Why don’t we ride to your house together?”

“Okay.”

That evening, after work, Mateo called a RideSauce Hot. He usually went with a Mild, because he didn’t want to feel like an elitist, but he wanted to impress Olimpia. Plus, Boyd liked to hang out in this area around the end of the work day specifically in hopes of answering a request from the boss. It was unclear what he was after, because he wasn’t really on track for a promotion. Maybe he was just a bit of a kiss-ass, and couldn’t help himself. He didn’t qualify for the request today, though, not with that jalopy he was driving. A bluish-purple Aevum Magnitude showed up instead. The driver stepped out, and came around to let them in the back like a real chauffeur. That was part of what you were paying for when you selected Hot.

“Thanks,” Mateo began before remembering that he didn’t notice the name on the app.

“Dave, sir,” the driver replied. He was dressed in the full get-up, all black with a sleek driving cap.

“Dave,” Mateo echoed. He slipped him a 20-dollar bill.

“Thank you, sir.” Dave shut the door behind him, and went around to get back in the car. He received another 20-buck tip at the end of the ride.

Mateo laughed when his daughter answered the door. She was wearing 2450s housewife attire; a pink shirtwaist dress with darker pink flowers and a pleated skirt. Her hair was done up however you would think for that time period, though he didn’t know what to call it. She had deep red lipstick, and smiled in that fake, dying-on-the-inside, sort of way. “Welcome to our home? May I take your coat?”

“Why, that would be swell, ya see? Thanks, sweetheart, you’re a doll.”

“That’s the 2440s, dad,” Romana complained. She shook it off. “Hi, you must be Olimpia. I’m Romana.”

They shook hands. “Nice to meet you. I’m Olimpia. I mean—you just said that.” She was embarrassed.

Romana smiled kindly. “I really will take your coats. Come on in.”

They sipped tea and talked for about a half hour in the kitchen while Romana was finished preparing the food. Leona helped, but Romana was running the show. It was typically Mateo’s job to stay out of the way when they were in their teacher-student mode. He felt uncomfortable this time since he was expected to be in here while entertaining their guest. Fortunately, they had a rather large kitchen. This was the kind of thing you got when you lived in Mission Hills. Olimpia seemed a little uncomfortable too as she was looking up at the architecture, probably because she wasn’t used to all this fancy stuff that rich people had. Or he could have been completely misinterpreting everything. Maybe she just didn’t like him. Or she was starving, and this was taking too long. Or she was craving meat, and was just trying to get through this. That was enough of letting his neuroses take over. He could have been misinterpreting her facial expressions entirely. It was time to eat.

Dinner was lovely, Romana really was getting a lot better. It was probably time that she stepped out from under her mother’s wing, and started seriously thinking about culinary school. She was acting a little weird while they were eating, like she was keeping a secret. Maybe she was about to reveal to them that she knew exactly where she wanted to study, and Olimpia’s presence was overshadowing the announcement. “Lechuga, is there something you wanna tell us?”

“What? No.” she answered.

“Wait, why Lechuga?” Olimpia had to ask.

Mateo smirked. “Romana, romaine, lettuce, lechuga.”

“Oh.” Olimpia giggled.

“There’s something on your mind. You can tell us,” Leona encouraged her daughter. “You know we don’t tell lies in this house.”

Romana sighed, but it was more like a coo. “Okay. Well, you know that I wanted to go to culinary school.”

They nodded, even Olimpia, who just wanted to fit it.

“Well, Boyd said there’s a great one in Hawaii.”

“Boyd, who the hell is Boyd?” Mateo questioned.

“Boyd Maestri, your...driver.”

Mateo feigns ignorance. “Uh, I don’t have a driver named Boyd Maestri who is between 15 and 18 years old. I think you’re confused.” Mateo was never under the impression that his daughter wouldn’t eventually grow up and become sexually active, but there were still rules. The half your age plus seven rule may not have had any scientific basis, but it seemed sound to him. Boyd was way too old for her, and Mateo wouldn’t have it.

“Relax, dad, we’re not doing anything. We just talk sometimes.”

“Why would he be talking to you?” Mateo pressed.

“Calm down, Matt,” Leona urged.

“No. I’m going to be however I need to be,” Mateo insisted. “I get it, Romana. I want you to understand that you did nothing wrong. But he did. I don’t know what you two talk about in your secret little phone calls. It could be politics, or the weather, or cooking. It doesn’t matter. It’s about the reason that he’s talking to you. Even if you don’t see it, I do, because I was him. Your mother was a lot younger than me when we first met. But we didn’t really start talking until we were the same age.”

Romana winced, as did everyone else. “What do you mean, she was younger? How could she have aged while you stayed the same?”

Mateo uttered a single unintelligible sound before he became blocked and frozen. He could not explain what he had just said. Leona was younger? And then she got older, and now  they were the same age? That didn’t make any sense at all. He had to cover. He had to figure a way out of this. “You know what I mean, she was just a little too young for me, but as we both aged at the same time, the gap remained the same, but it became less pronounced.” That wasn’t right either. They were the same age!

“And how long would I have to wait before someone Boyd’s age would be appropriate for me?”

“Someone Boyd’s age? Maybe ten years. Boyd himself? Uh, after the sun goes supernova, I guess.”

“The sun’s not going to go supernova, it’s going to expand, cool off, and shrink,” Leona clarified.

Mateo narrowed his eyes at her wife. “Thanks.”

Romana scoffed. “For your information, I know what boys want from me. I mean...look at me. It’s irrelevant what Boyd thinks he’s gonna get in return for helping me, because if I don’t wanna give it, I won’t. He has a friend who works at the Hilo Culinary Arts Institute, so I’m using him however I must to get into that school. We can’t all have careers that fall into our laps just because we got a 100% on our first driving tests, and it inflated our egos.”

“It was 101%,” Mateo reminded her. “I corrected one of the questions for its ambiguity.”

“Oh, how could I forget?” Ramona said in a mocking tone, crossing her arms.

“You can get into whatever school you want, Lechuga—”

“You don’t call me that when we’re fighting,” she argued in a raised voice.

He closed his eyes. They did agree to that. It was a pet name, and those should not be associated with negative emotions or hostilities. “Romana. You’re extremely talented, and we are doing well for ourselves. You don’t have to go to a school nearby, though I would love to have you stay in the area. What I will not tolerate is you using someone for their connections. I’m not saying that you should give it up for him instead, but I didn’t raise you to exploit people any more than I raised you to be careless with your heart and body. You are to treat others with kindness and respect, and if that means losing out on an opportunity, then that’s what will happen. Your integrity is more important.”

This seemed to speak to her. “Yeah,” she said in a lowered voice. She let out an exasperated and disappointed sigh. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry for starting a fight.” He turned his attention. “Olimpia, I’m sorry that you saw us fight.”

“It’s okay,” she replied sincerely.

There was an awkward silence, which Leona broke. “I didn’t want to be completely useless tonight, so I made the dessert all by myself. Who here likes sand cake?”

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Microstory 2081: Half a Surprise

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I didn’t have to go to work today. I worked eleven days straight, so it’s time for a break. I’ve not just been sitting around, though. I got out, and did stuff. First, I walked back to the bike shop, where they let you rent for the day. The first time is free as long as you sign up for their emailing list, and promise to seriously consider buying something at a later date. They have a few used ones, so instead of exploring my options online, I think I’ll just end up choosing one of these. I’ve gotten my first deposit, but I’m not exactly a millionaire yet. I would like to get a couple more before I start making any big purchases. I did spend a little cash on some food. I am not much of a cook, but I can get by if I plan it out, and I’m very careful. My landlord happened to have the day off too, so she planned something with a friend. She’ll be home for dinner, though, so I’m making something for her. I told her that I wanted to pick something up for the two of us to thank her for everything she’s done for me, so shh, it’s still half a surprise. She’s a vegetarian too, which is great. Do you know what the most important part of cooking is...? [...] Give up? It’s eating. Eating, of course; what else would be the point. The second most important thing, however, may be timing, and it’s one of the hardest things to learn. That’s what I’m struggling with now, but I think I’m gonna be okay. Something that really helps is having a bunch of little bowls ready with the individual ingredients. This is how they do it on all the cooking shows. My landlord doesn’t cook much herself, because she’s too busy at the clinic, but she inherited a lot of kitchen stuff from her grandmother, so there’s enough here for me to be ready to go. Wish me luck, I’m making a Mediterranean bowl, which shouldn’t be too terribly hard for an unskilled, perpetual novice like me. I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 18, 2398

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The McIvers agree to continue hosting Team Matic, but at their real house this time. They don’t have a fancy schmancy infirmary there, but it doesn’t look like that’s what Mateo needs. He just needs rest, and when he wakes up, fluids. There aren’t as many rooms in the farmhouse, but it’s comfortable enough, and the team is grateful. From what Leona can surmise, Mateo spontaneously traveled into the past, where he met up with his cousin, Danica. For whatever reason, she found it necessary to store him in a stasis pod for however long, strip The Constant of all sensitive materials, and leave a single clue as to his whereabouts. Once the trail was at its end, the bunker was programmed to self-destruct, giving Mateo—and anyone else down there—just enough time to escape.

Leona knew that her husband would be found inside that particular wall, if anywhere, because that’s where she found him back in the early 23rd century. He was removed from time, brought back dead using a sort of Rube Goldberg contraption of temporal objects, and resurrected with a final special object. The line from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, “meet me in Montauk” told her that it was the key to finding someone again who she had once forgotten. Mateo should be able to fill in the blanks when he’s better.

“He’s awake!” Trina calls out for the whole house to hear.

Leona was eating her breakfast. It was supposed to be a soup, but she was distracted, and accidentally skipped out on the milk, and most of the water. It’s good, though. She places her bento box in the refrigerator. Then she walks up to the bedroom.

“Lee-lee, what happened?” Mateo asks her after Trina leaves.

“It’s your job to tell us,” Leona says.

“I don’t know.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Mateo tilts his lizard brain to think. “I was driving out to see if I could find the Constant. Sorry I went alone.”

“That’s the last thing?” she questions. “That was nine days ago.”

“Oh. I jumped forward in time? Then it’s true, and I was right, the Constant is still there, and houses temporal energy. How far are we from it?”

“It was there,” Leona begins to explain. “It’s been destroyed.”

“Why?”

“Do you remember not too long ago in the main sequence, when we ended up in that version of the Constant? Danica told us about a sort of reset protocol if the facility were ever compromised.”

“Yeah, of course. She did that?”

“Evidently, she did it halfway. She said that a new Constant would spring up in its place, and she would be replaced by an alternate version of herself too. But this Constant is just gone. There’s a lake where it used to be. You seemed to know it would happen. You called it Danica Lake.”

“When did I say this?”

“Yesterday. You fell down the elevator shaft, presumably went back in time, was placed in stasis, we found you, and then the whole thing imploded.”

Mateo tries to remember. “We need Nerakali.”

“That’s an understatement, but you passed out shortly after the event, suggesting that your memory loss was predetermined, and nowhere near an accident. It may have even been consensual.”

“I’m sorry,” Mateo says, shaking his head. “I wish I could remember why I don’t remember.”

“You can’t apologize for something you don’t know that you did, or why you did it. I blame you for nothing. I don’t really blame anybody. We’re all okay now.”

“Except for Marie.” Heath is standing in the doorway.

“Except for Marie,” Leona echoes.

“We’ll always have Croatia,” Mateo says, determined. “I won’t let anything happen to her. I’ll always protect my team.”

“You should know,” Heath says, hobbling forward. He’s hurt again—not still—having twisted his ankle when the elevator car came crashing down. It was the only injury. “You should know you saved my life. I’m not a traveler. What happened to you when you went back, may not have worked for me.” He frowns. “I probably would have just splattered onto the floor.”

“I would say you’re welcome, but according to..my wife,” Mateo says in a Borat voice, which he has never done before. “..I can’t take credit for something I don’t remember doing.”

“I never said that,” Leona defends.

“You can’t have it both ways,” Mateo contends.

“You need something to eat.” She kisses him on the forehead. “Were I you.”

“Were I you.”

Microstory 1757: Norma’s Kitchen in a Box

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Marjorie Norma did not invent 3D printing, but she was instrumental in standardizing it. And when her competitors came for blood, she ended up on top, because she still had the best product, and brand loyalty. The science of additive manufacturing was still in its infancy when she started working on it as a pet project. She knew that speed and sophistication were going to progress on their own, and that all she had to do was keep up with it. She was focused on how people would begin using such things in their home. This meant that industrial synthesizers, and biomedical synthesizers would be less useful to most customers than food synthesizers. For the most part, she found that the current machines were either very large, or very small. Many of them were designed with a specific result in mind, or had unfortunate limitations. If people were going to place these things in their homes, they needed to be versatile, and be capable of making more than just a single pastry at a time. It was never going to transition from a novelty item for people with a disposable income to a ubiquitous household appliance, unless anyone could download any program, and print anything. She got her idea when she walked into her kitchen one day, and looked around. By the entrance was the refrigerator. It took up the most space, and it wasn’t always full. She also had a stove/oven combo, above which her husband had installed a microwave oven. Then there was a sink, and a dishwasher. She owned a fairly small kitchen, and she made pretty good use of the space, but she wasn’t much of a cook, and neither was anyone else in the house. What if she could put everything together, or almost everything? She kept looking back at that fridge. Yes, it was the largest, but it was also the most important. A lot of foods don’t require any cooking, but they all require storage, unless you want to go to the store every day. Some people do that, but it’s not very efficient, and that lifestyle isn’t marketable. There was a solution, and she could find it.

She used that refrigerator as the basis for her new design, knowing that most living spaces were capable of accommodating it. Some units were only large enough for a mini-fridge, but people who lived in such places already knew how to make sacrifices. The top of her design was a water tank. It didn’t necessarily fit in every space, but it would be optional, and customers could connect a waterline either way, just like they would for that refrigerator. Under that would be where the cartridges went. Here she took inspiration from the toner bottles in the copy room down the hall from her office. For the synthesization cavity, she found herself limited by the dimensions of everything else, but it was still larger than the capacity of any standard oven, so that was more than enough. Since the cavity is where her users would be retrieving their food, they couldn’t put this on the floor, but at a reasonable height, which meant everything below it could be dedicated to storage. She chose to include a utensil drawer, and then an extra cartridge cabinet. All told, she figured that a fully stocked synthesizer could feed one person for about six months. Her original model did not include a dishwasher, but later ones did, allowing customers to keep almost an entire kitchen in the space of a refrigerator. It could be programmed to make just about anything, cool food, heat food, and supply water. What more could a normal person need? Well, they needed tools, and they needed organ and tissue replacements. She started to work on those machines next.

Microstory 1612: Absolute Zero

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As we’ve discussed, concurrent realities are rare, but they do come up. Salmonverse has a handful, while Area Double Universe has thousands. Today, I want to talk about a brane that has only two realities. There’s no name for it, to distinguish it from others, as far as I know. All I know is that it’s a scary and dangerous place, and I can’t recommend it for vacation if you’re looking to relieve some stress. As a spirit, I hesitate to make a claim about whether evil exists, or if life is just all about choices, but this brane sure makes a compelling argument for the former. From my perspective, one of the realities appears to be the primary, while the other is reliant on the outcome of events from the first. Let’s say you were from this universe, and you happened to be a chef, and restaurant owner. You keep prices low, treat your employees well, and give your day-old bread to the homeless. You’re not perfect, but on the whole, you’re a good person. Your alternate self will be just as bad as you are good—I mean, exactly as far from absolute zero. On the other hand, if you’re a serial killer, your alternate self would be a saint. But their life would be incredibly difficult, because people are good in general, so that makes the alternate reality pretty bad. So that would be terrible on its own, but at least the main reality would be able to move on, and ignore their counterparts, right? Wrong. Whereas most of the time, you have to advance science enough to figure out how to access other dimensions, that sort of thing sometimes just happens to some people in this world. You could walk through your front door, and end up inside the alternate, and would have to hope you survive long enough to make it back home. Fortunately, if you do manage to not die, you will get back home. People remain permanently connected to their reality, and they will eventually be summoned home without having to do anything special. So there’s not a whole lot of interaction between the two realities—not on a large scale—but it does occur in isolated cases, and it does cause problems.

Enough of this back and forth travel happened throughout history that the governments and experts got together, and started trying to come up with solutions. They decided it was their moral obligation to do something about the other side. Could they destroy them? Could they teach them to be better? What if they shared knowledge, or resources, or disciplinary techniques? After years of study, and a whole lot of incidents that did not go well at all, they came to a single conclusion. The only way to stop everyone from being so evil over there was to stop being so good on the main side. They tried to institute programs, which were designed to teach people to just be okay. No more saints, no more sinners, just regular people who were doing all right. Everyone was expected to get average grades in school, and do the bare minimum at work. Don’t make waves, and don’t change the status quo. Just live your boring life throughout the day, and then go to bed. Certain things were outlawed in the hopes of making this easier. There was no more music or entertainment. Everyone ate meal replacements, and cooking anything else was strictly forbidden. All these things made people too happy, and if they were happy, their alternate was miserable. As you might have guessed, these measures did not work in the least. You can’t just make people be different. A rebel faction rose up, and became more and more violent over the years. Before they knew it, the main reality was more evil, and the secondary reality was full of good people just trying to do the right thing.

Microstory 1563: Soup Du Jour

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Prompt

Soup is the worst food that man created. You make the vegetables mushy and wet, and add far too much sodium. I would much rather eat...

Botner

...chicken noodle soup. Soup. The other night I was in a soup craving mood. I have never enjoyed soup in my entire life. I am not very fond of puréed vegetables. Nor do I like garlic or onion or bread and butter. But...my dear husband...one who is far from it...purchased a chicken noodle soup mix for me one day. I figured that since he bought me the soup mix, I should make it myself. So I went and bought the garlic bread from the grocery store and purchased a can of chicken broth...cause soup needs the broth. A little bit of this and a little bit of that, and I am in the soup bliss. I am hoping this soup is more savory than bland. I find that is rarely the case. I read the whole recipe, scrolled down to the soup recipe. Hmm...the whole thing for a cup of soup. I am not a huge fan of whole wheat bread for soup. Unless it is a very smooth chunky bread, the bread does not cling to the soup like it should. I went ahead and sliced up my garlic bread. I sliced a small piece of onion. I let...

Conclusion

...the tears fill up in my eyes. I continued gathering ingredients, and adding them together. I couldn’t see what I was getting, or how much of it, but I didn’t stop. If this soup was going to have onion, then it was going to be authentic, with no spoon in my mouth, or anything. It would turn out as it turned out, I decided. I cooked the whole thing up, and took my first bite. Or should I say, I took a sip, because that’s what I hate about soup; that you drink it, instead of eating it. But it didn’t matter in this case. This soup was the best I ever had, and I know that’s not saying much, but it really was amazing. It’s so good, I want to eat it every night. But I can’t, because the recipe is gone forever. I couldn’t see well through the tears, and no matter how much I try to recreate the magic, I’ll never get it right. It’s over. My love for soup was brief, and now it’s over.

Microstory 1355: Division (Part 2)

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Magnate Representative: Thank you all for coming back in after lunch. Well, not all, I suppose. I see that Magnate Customer 5 is no longer with us. That should be okay. So, I think we have the Smart Solutions thing squared away. Of course, nothing has been decided, but you have all been such a big help to us so far. We greatly appreciate your contribution. We’re not done with you yet, though. I want to talk to you about Robotics. This part is the reason you signed nondisclosure agreements. We haven’t so much as hinted that we’re planning to jump into this field, because it won’t be officially happening for another two years, but we do want to hear some initial thoughts, because our main goal is supporting the average consumer. Plenty of robotics companies are going after disaster relief, and manufacturing, and of course, the military. We’re interested in the kind of automation that makes life easier for the individual. Does that all sound exciting?

Magnate Customers: [in unison] Yes.

Magnate Customer 6: Sort of.

Magnate Representative: All right, good enough. First off, if you were to own a personal robot assistant—let’s say that money is no object for you—what kinds of things would you want it to be able to do for you?

Magnate Customer 2: Cook me dinner.

Magnate Representative: Okay, cooking. Before we hear from anyone else, would you be more interested in a free-standing robot, or would you rather purchase a smart kitchen, where the appliances work together to build something for you.

Magnate Customer 2: I’m not sure I understand the difference.

Magnate Representative: A free-standing robot would, ignoring any dexterity limitations, be able to do anything you would. It would open the fridge door, take out the ingredients, open the containers, etcetera. A smart kitchen requires you to set some ingredients up, and then machines carry it down the line, as needed, sometimes going back and forth. The latter is less intelligent, but the technology is more readily available. As of yet, no one has built a robot that could theoretically move around the world wherever it wants, and fulfill natural-language requests.

Magnate Customer 4: I would sure rather have the proper robot. If money doesn’t matter in this scenario, why wouldn’t you?

Magnate Customer 6: I’m not certain I would like this humanoid thing in my house, wandering around, listening to everything I do.

Magnate Representative: Okay, so privacy is a concern of yours. You don’t want it to be too available. You would want it to be there when you ask for it, but out of the way when it’s not needed.

Magnate Customer 6: No, I don’t think I want a robot at all. I would much prefer the smart kitchen idea, and a smart bathroom, and a smart garage. I still want to be the one in charge, who has to make everything run. I wouldn’t feel comfortable with this android who can make its own decisions, and also climb stairs. You know what I mean?

Magnate Representative: I understand. Does anyone else share his sentiment?

Magnate Customer 3: I do a little.

Magnate Customer 1: Yeah, me too, but I think I could get used to a little robot friend. This is two years from now at the earliest, right? We already have smart speakers that help us manage information. I imagine the tech will become gradually more and more—shall we say—intrusive? By the time a proper robot rolls around, it probably won’t seem like much of a leap.

Magnate Representative: Ah, that’s a good segue into my next question, which is about robot companionship. Technology will one day allow us to program robot personalities, which mimic human behavior. Would you want that, or would it freak you out too much? Would you rather the machine just do what you ask, and nothing more.

Magnate Customer 6: You all know where I stand on this matter?

Magnate Customer 5: When you say robot companion, do you mean...?

Magnate Representative: We’re not talking about sex robots. I didn’t think you came back after lunch, Magnate Customer 5.

Magnate Customer 5: I’m everywhere.

Magnate Representative: Well, again, this is a family friendly company. Let’s only talk about helpful, privacy-conscious, and platonic robot assistants and/or friends.

Microstory 1265: Allen Tupper

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Allen Tupper wanted very little out of life. He saw it as a lack of entitlement, while his family saw it as a lack of ambition. He dropped out of college during his sophomore year, not because it was too hard, or because he was struggling with his grades, but just because he didn’t feel like he was getting much out of it. He didn’t have a thirst for knowledge, and he wasn’t much into the party scene, so higher education was a waste of his time, and a waste of parents’ money. At first, they were disappointed in his choices, but they came to realize the wisdom, and became thankful that he didn’t end up with mountains of student loan debt he would never be capable of paying off himself. His aunt owned a restaurant within walking distance of the house, so he started working there instead. He started out at the bottom, as a busser, but eventually made his way into the kitchen, where he became a line cook. He wasn’t astonishingly good at the work, but the menu wasn’t astonishingly complicated either, and he picked it up pretty quickly. His aunt was generous, and since the place was doing quite well, she kept it overstaffed, which afforded each worker more time off than most restaurants would be able to handle. Most of his coworkers didn’t take much time, since they weren’t getting paid to do it, but Allen didn’t care about the money. He worked to pay his bills, and as long as the number in his checking account stayed over zero, he didn’t feel the need to tire himself out. Instead, he took trips. He had this dream to go on a camping trip in every state in the country. Well, it wasn’t so much a dream as it was a long-term goal that his therapist suggested he come up with. She wanted him to worry a little more about the future, and not let himself get in a rut. It worked, because the only times he truly felt happy were when he was out there in nature, far from other people. There was one person he didn’t want to be apart from, however. Richard Parker had the exact same long-term goal, though he was a little less apathetic about it, and more enthusiastic. To make things even weirder, they had each already camped in the same states, so it was almost as if time were waiting for them to meet each other. Allen never believed in much, and he didn’t think anything happened for a reason. He couldn’t help but question his position, though. It was just too perfect, like they were already leading parallel lives, and just needed to notice each other. They exchanged information, and connected on social media upon returning home from Colorado. Richard was nine years younger, but it didn’t seem to bother him, so Allen decided to not let it bother him either. They took things slow, first moving to the same city to be closer to each other year-round, then moving in together, and finally marrying after a three year relationship. Unfortunately, they were only able to enjoy one year of marital bliss before their lives got really crazy.

Microstory 1082: Trevor

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I’ve never been a good student. I don’t care about school, I don’t like it, and I don’t know what it looks like to try. I don’t criticize others for being good students, but it was just never my thing. Part of it is definitely my fault; I have trouble with motivation in general. But I also didn’t grow up in a great household. It’s funny, I’ve never been left alone, but I also haven’t been raised by two people at the same time. My dad left when I was a baby, then he cleaned up his act, and returned before I was old enough to realize anything was different. My mother took her opportunity to run off with some other guy shortly thereafter, though, so my dad had to take over. This kind of pattern has continued all throughout my life, as this bizarre unspoken custody contract. They were never married, and there’s never been a question as to who has the most rights. My upbringing was just really unstable, and I’ve had to learn a lot of basic life skills from my peers. As you can imagine, they haven’t all been gems. Except for Viola. We were still pretty young when she invited me to her house for the first time. She didn’t say what we were going to do, but it turned out she was baking cookies. I struggled a lot, and messed up a few times—the difference between flour and sugar is a lot more obvious to me now—but I got better over time. She kept inviting me over, and it became a regular thing where she would teach me how to cook. I am, by no means, a world class chef, but I can hold my own in the kitchen now.

It would be a lie if I claimed it was a passion of mine, but I sure as shit don’t like doing anything else, and at least I’m good at it. Unfortunately, I don’t have any money, so I can’t afford to go to culinary school. I wasn’t trained by some reputable chef in the area either, so it’s not like I could get a good recommendation. I think Viola knew this, though, and just before she died, she gave me another way I could use my talents to make a living. Without actually suggesting I seek a job with them, she casually mentioned that fact that Nora and a couple of new friends from Silver Shade were starting an event planning for business. The two of them would be builders, while she the boss. At present, it doesn’t appear that they have any sort of catering arm of their company, but Viola hinted that I would be perfect for it. In the beginning, they wouldn’t be able to afford one of those world class chefs I was telling you about, but I come pretty cheap. I don’t have any formal education, but I’m surprisingly good at following direction. A lot of other people who are so bad at school are also bad at their jobs, but I’m not like that. I’m always on time, I do good work, and I’m very ethical. That’s the only subject in school that I truly understood, and if it were possible to study ethics without being smart at a bunch of other things, I may have considered going to college for that. I dunno, that’s a path I’m no longer in a position to take. Right now, I just need to work up the courage to apply for a job with Nora’s company. I’m worried they won’t take me seriously, and I wish Viola were here to help me with a practice interview.

Microstory 1041: Archie

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Most people think that my full name is Archibald, and because it’s kind of an antiquated name, my peers like to use it instead. My real name is actually Archer, which my parents desperately want me to be using instead, but then I’m constantly fighting this belief that I’m good at archery. Archery isn’t the last thing I would be doing, but I’m not interested in sports, and I don’t want anything to distract from my true message. I’m an active and healthy person, but my primary concern is promoting a well-balanced diet, and removing all the terrible things that the corporations put in our food. A lot of people probably don’t remember that I too ran for student body president, as a fourth candidate. Almost no one voted for me, though, because I was honest with my campaign promises, and they were not promises anyone wanted me to keep. When I started dating my girlfriend, Martha last year, I gave her my password to a certain movie and television library, because she isn’t eighteen yet. She’s stopped having very much time for it, but her viewing habits are still impacting my recommendations. She’s obsessed with learning, and finds documentaries to be the best source of her education, so I started seeing a lot of stuff on there that I wouldn’t normally watch. One of these such docs was about how corn is basically destroying the country. I won’t get into specifics here, because the topic needs its own monthly periodical, for Christ’s sake, but the takeaway is that there’s corn in everything, and the toxic waste it produces is harming the environment as much as fossil fuel. I ran my campaign on changing the way this school does business, and my fellow students either didn’t like it, or were totally indifferent. I wanted to overhaul our lunch menu, and get rid of all the magazines. Why would we get rid of magazines? Well, there’s corn in them too, which is insane. I mean, we shouldn’t be consuming so much paper anyway, because corn isn’t the only thing that’s causing us to head towards the apocalypse, but try telling that to a group of self-involved hormonal teens. Anyway, Viola was the only one who really paid attention to what I was saying, but she also realized that there was no way I would win. Instead of trying to support me, which probably would have been a waste of time, she modified her own campaign to better reflect the values that I was trying to push. As you know, she didn’t win either, and the both of us have always suspected this to be the reason, but that didn’t mean what she did was pointless. Though Riley ultimately won the election, people actually started listening to my warnings, and things are changing. The menu is still filled with tons of unhealthy ingredients, but there’s a lot less high fructose corn syrup than there was before you got here. You couldn’t walk ten meters without running into another soda machine, but they’re all gone now. I didn’t do that; Viola did, and the greatest sadness is that this revolution is only one of what could have been very many that she popularized. What other great change could she have inspired in this world if she hadn’t died so young? That’s what I wanna know.

Microstory 939: Fire and Water

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I want to start off by making it clear that I am in no way an arsonist, or obsessed with fire. I don’t even like it more than any other person, but along with water, it’s one of the most profoundly important components of the universe. We need both of these two things to survive, even long before we could manipulate and control the former, or make the latter safe enough to drink. The control of fire is believed to have first been done by the ancestors of man between one and two million years ago. This marked a turning point in our history. It allowed us to keep warm, ward off predators, and cook our food. As I said in my Stepwisdom series, we do not know of a single civilization that did not cook its food. Wow, a lot of these entries are repeats. Does that make me wise? I don’t know, you tell me...but yes. What I said about it there is that the intense heat is primarily good for killing off pathogens, but that’s not all. Despite what you may have been told about the raw food craze, cooked food is not only perfectly acceptable, but healthy. Fad dietitians may claim our species has not had time to adapt to modern foods, and in some cases, this is true, especially when it comes to synthetic ingredients. But you would be surprised how quickly we can change in but a few generations. Our bodies have evolved to digest cooked food, and absorb the majority of its nutrients. Likewise, we’ve evolved out of the ability to live on a lot of raw foods, particularly meats. Meanwhile, our carnivorous animal brethren are completely fine with tearing the flesh off a fresh kill. I won’t say anything further about it, nor will I go over yet again the benefits of drinking water. Both deserved to be on this list, but you don’t need a master’s thesis on them.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 20, 2135

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Sometime in the interim year, Darko and Marcy had grown closer, and formed a solid romantic relationship. To everyone else, this seemed perfectly normal, and though Mateo and Leona knew they had been gone for that year, it still seemed far too fast for them. These crazy kids needed to slow down, or burn out. But no, this was totally acceptable, wonderful even. Back in the old days, when Mateo was just starting out, missing important life milestones was one of the first problems that arose. Since then, following the advent of immortality, this became less of a problem. People developed and changed more slowly these days. A several month journey from Earth to a moon of Saturn no longer ended with dying on that moon. It was very easy to go there, spend a lifetime worth of years there, and come back to do something else, or go somewhere new. Soon, people will be going to planets outside the solar system. It will take the first ships decades to get to even the nearest star, but it will be worth it, because that’s nothing compared to the amount of time they have ahead of them. Even after reaching the fastest speeds known to be possible, these trips will take years, but that won’t be a big deal. One day, it won’t be unheard of to take a fifty-year vacation. This is all coming from Leona’s lessons.

As was tradition, the remaining members of their island group were having breakfast together. “Did you know that Arcadia would be moving you here when you first came?” Leona asked of Marcy.

Darko didn’t look pleased. Marcy was content. “I was hoping I would be able to stay,” she answered.

“Why is that?” Mateo asked.

“Last year,” Marcy began, “you carried out the art expiation so that one of Aldona’s family could eventually come back from nonexistence.”

“Right.”

“You didn’t ask what that person’s name was.”

“It was you?”

“Yes,” Marcy replied. “I am Aldona and Gino’s daughter.” She paused to comfort Darko, who was conflicted by the whole thing. Likely grateful for her presence now, but bothered by what Arcadia had done to her. “I was returned early as a gift in good faith. Now you know that it can be done, and that she is not a monster.”

“She is,” Darko argued.

“Honey,” Marcy said to him. “Maybe you should meditate?”

“Yep.” He stood up and walked straight into the jungle. He was changing a lot.

Marcy continued, “I am here to stay until you complete your expiations, but I do not come without conditions. One, Arcadia reserves the right to remove me from time, or simply the island, at any moment. Two, I am not allowed to help with these expiations. Three, if you fail in any one of my family’s expiations, I will be immediately taken out of time again; this time for good.”

“We won’t fail you,” Mateo said. “We will complete these expiations. All of them.”

She smiled. “I appreciate that.”

“Do you know what we will be doing today?” Leona asked.

“You’ll more than likely be working to save my brother, Loris.”

“What was he like?” Mateo asked. He then corrected himself, “is like?”

“A chef!” she said excitedly. “He can cook anything, and it’s always the best thing you’ve ever had.”

Mateo looked down at his food, then to Leona’s, and then just up into space. “I think I know what the expiation is gonna be.”

In the blink of an eye, the scenery completely transformed. They were still on Tribulation Island, at about the same part of the beach as before, but everything else was different. The stage consisted of four tables, three of which were facing the fourth, which was more off to the side. Aura and Lincoln were standing at one of the chef’s tables, Mario and Leona were at another, and Horace and Darko were at the third. Mateo and Marcy were sitting at a smaller table, along with—with...is that? It couldn’t be.

Arcadia was wearing a flamboyant dress, standing between the chef’s tables, and the audience, which were seated on a platform of floating bleachers in the water. Mateo wasn’t sure who these people were, or what they thought they were doing there. She was also addressing a series of stacked cardboard boxes that roughly approximated the shape of a video camera, which was being ‘operated’ by Paige. “Ladies and germs, welcome to the first daily Tribulation Tryouts! As always, I am your host, Arcadia ‘Sweet Stinger’ Preston. It’ll catch on...” She kept holding the microphone, but pretended to be telling a secret by holding her hand to one side of her mouth, “I hope.”

The audience broke out in laughter according to their reaction cues.

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“Please give a round of applause to each of our judges. Ever angry, ever absent, Mateo Matiiiiic! Starving artist, Marcy Calligaris! And our celebrity guest judge...Jaaaaaaames Van Der Beeeeeeek!”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” James-frickin-Van Der Beek said, smiling with his eyes closed. “It’s an honor to be here, really. Humbled, so humbled. Just don’t make it too spicy, I can’t handle that.”

The audience laughed.

“Seriously,” James Van Der Beek urged, still sporting a smile. “It does not sit well with me.”

The audience laughed even harder.

Now James Van Der Beek stopped smiling. “No, really.”

“Oooookay,” Arcadia went on with her spiel. “Introducing our contestants! She’s a once-mother with a dark past who can’t even remember her own son from an alternate reality; he’s an uptight lawyer who remembers everything, from every reality! It’s Aura and Lincoln! At our second table, we have a father who also can’t remember two of his children, and is so uninvolved with his other son that it’s easy to forget they’re even related; and a little girl who once somehow gave herself kidney disease so that she could trick her unrequited love interest into making her a time traveler! It’s...Mario and Leona! And finally, we have some villain named Horace, and also a time traveler who happens to be named Darko! How original, hashtag-amirite?”

“You are right!” the audience recited back from the teleprompters.

James Van Der Beek put his hand over his mic and whispered to the other two judges. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Where am I again?”

“The future.”

“Right. I’m getting paid, though, right?”

“I don’t know,” Mateo answered honestly.

“Whatever. Better than a Dawson’s Creek reunion.”

“All right, contestants, now for the secret ingredient.” She waited to create a false sense of anticipation, which the audience was pretending to experience. “The secret ingredient is...” They were literally on the edge of their seats, for no logical reason. “...nothing. We don’t do that on this show. Now, as you all don’t know, the premise of this competition is to make something halfway edible using ingredients found naturally on the island. Then the judges have to eat and keep down everything. Yes, that’s right, not only is it a cooking challenge, but also an eating challenge.” She looked over to the judges. “I don’t love your chances.”

The audience sparingly let out a few awkwards laughs. The reaction cues must not have been telling them to do anything.

“Okay, kids,” she instructed the contestants. “Go!” As they ran off to look for the staples of this island, she stopped them, “wait! Bugs.”

“What?” Aura asked.

“I changed my mind. There is a secret ingredient. It’s bugs. You have to include bugs, and it has to be obvious that there’s bugs, and you have to be able to taste bugs.”

The contestants just froze in place.

“Well, go on, go! Find bugs!”

Mateo was unable to help Leona...or anyone, for that matter. All he could do was sit there and play to the audience per Arcadia’s goading. He tried to crack a few jokes, as did Marcy, but they could only do so much. Fortunately, James Van Der Beek was good at stealing the show, and getting everybody to watch him. He eventually got out of his seat and started an impromptu stand-up comedy set, which...could do with a little more work. Meanwhile, his family and friends were rushing around the island, looking for anything people could eat, disappearing and reappearing between the trees. Boar, bananas, fish, berries, these leaves they discovered could be made into an energy tea. They also looked for bugs. In the dirt, and in the sand. They were hard to catch, and ultimately even harder to clean.

At the end of James Van Der Beek’s set, Arcadia thanked him for his service, and spoke to the fake camera, “we’ll come back...after the break.” And then she just stood there, frozen. She literally didn’t move a muscle, likely having trapped herself in a time bubble, just for the effect.

James Van Der Beek narrowed his eyes and stared at her. “How is she doing that?”

“Time travel is a thing,” Mateo said.

“What year is it?”

“2135. Listen, James Van Der Beek—can I call you James Van Der Beek?—James Van Der Beek, are you gonna be able to do the bug thing? This is kind of a life or death situation.”

“Oh yeah, sure, no problem. I’ve been through worse. On the set of Don't Trust the Bitch in Apartment 23, craft services didn’t even always have croutons for their salads.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m kidding. I get that this is important. I can stomach it, so to speak.”

“Thank you.”

There’s that nightclub air horn that sounds three times in rapid succession. People often mimic it with their own voices when they think they’re DJs. One of those goes off, signalling to the contestants that it’s time to return and actually begin cooking. They all rush in, holding their baskets of ‘food’ and doing their best to wrangle their bugs. They carry them over to their chef’s tables and begin preparations. As they’re working, Arcadia walks around, commenting on the minutiae of what they’re doing, and asking them stupid questions. She also goes over the judges’ table and asks for their opinion. Rather, she asks two of them, because Marcy’s literally not allowed to speak. She was apparently just placed there to round out the number. Mateo and James Van Der Beek have to explain the process the contestants are going for, and what they might be after with their decisions. Neither one of them is an educated or experienced cook to the calibre of someone who would call themselves a chef, so they have to BS their way through it, which Arcadia has no problem with.

Then came the hard part.

The food was worse than they thought it would be. Sure, these were all things they ate on the regular on the island, but they also had other things, like eggs and fresh Earthan vegetables. Mateo wasn’t sure exactly where it came from, other than a magical pantry down the beach that kept refilling itself every day. The fact is that they never ate a meal with only the island food, and this low level of flavoring made everything seem so bland. The bugs were the worst part, of course, but Mateo was doing okay. He knew the danger in not meeting Arcadia’s expectations. Marcy acted like she ate bugs all the time. James Van Der Beek was a trooper too. Even though he didn’t quite understand who these people were, or what the hell was going on, he forced the food down his throat, and came out the other side a better man than Mateo ever knew. They had to continue making remarks about the food, coming up with meaningless ways the contestants could have done better.

With the wave of her hand, Arcadia apported the audience, the fake equipment, and the furniture away. Now they were all just standing on the beach together. James Van Der Beek was still there. “Okay, the fun’s worn off,” Arcadia told them. “It looks like you’ve passed this expiation. Congratulations.” She looked to James Van Der Beek. “I suppose you want your money.”

“Just take me home,” James Van Der Beek insisted. “That’s all I need.”

“Very well.” She waved her hand and apported him away too.

“Goodbye, Arcadia,” Mateo said, unprompted.

“Have a pleasant evening.” Then she nodded to Marcy. “Marcy. Remember your options.” Then she teleported out of there.

“What did she mean by options?” Mateo asked.

“Don’t worry about it.”

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