Microstory 2480: Archidome

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I recently read a review on the prospectus for another dome. They were talking about how a lot of culture has faded from vonearthan society because of how standardized everything has become. And I must say that I agree. I understand why it happened. The basic design of the arcologies on Earth are perfect for what they’re intended to be. Each unit is a small and efficient living space, and they’re connected in such a way that allows modularization for shifting needs. You can open a door to grant a neighbor’s access to your units, or close them when you’re a teenager who needs to exert more independence. Everyone has a window, yet the structure is sound, because the spokes distribute the weight evenly, and over a sufficiently wide area. They’re nice, but they’re best for people who don’t care about what their homes look like, probably because they spend most of their time in simulations, or at least on the network. What your dwelling looked like, and how it was arranged, used to be profoundly important. I cannot stress to you enough how crucial it was for people to get to decide what their homes were like. That is what made it a home in the first place. There were multiple channels on linear television with dozens of programs about people finding, building, remodeling, or selling homes. And that’s before you include all the innumerable web content. It was a subculture of our society, and it went away due to a number of factors, which I’ve already touched upon. But the biggest moves happened in tandem with the shift to a post-scarcity economy. The government couldn’t put effort into building something to your specifications, or with any sort of flair or whimsy. Even before megastructures, they came up with a few models, and everyone got the same thing, because it was the most fair. Castlebourne gives us the opportunity to go back to the creativity of yesterday, in many respects, and in this respect, Archidome is the place for original architecture. It was empty at first—I really wish I had been here to see that. If you come here, you’re supposed to design your own building. It doesn’t have to be a single-family home. It can be an apartment complex, or a museum, or even a cathedral. The only restriction, really, is that you have to hold the rights to the intellectual property. I’ve heard a number of stories about visitors hoping to recreate some structure from their favorite movie, and that’s just not what this is for. Again, you get to decide what you build, and what it’s used for. It may never be used for its intended purpose, or anything at all. It’s up to you to promote it, and try to get visitors. I’m sure, over time, as the population of this planet in general increases, the chances that someone comes to see what you’ve created will go up. Until then, you might just have to be satisfied with the completion of the project itself. I’m proud of my columbarium, even though people don’t really die anymore. I’m proud of it because its mine, and it’s real. What will you create?

Microstory 2475: Fashiondome

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If you’ve ever been to Bot Farm, you know how much work goes into creating all the androids that populate the domes to make them feel real and lived in, even when there aren’t very many visitors. Eventually, I believe the droid population will begin to decrease as more and more people move here, but for now, production does nothing but ramp up. That’s not about the bots themselves, though. It’s about their clothes! It’s also about your clothes. Every garment worn anywhere on the planet—unless you brought it with you—has been manufactured here. We’re talkin’ IMS units. We’re talkin’ themewear. We’re talkin’ bathing suits. If you go to Wild Wild Dome, you’re gonna see a lot of cowboy outfits, won’t you? Well, they made those here, and shipped them off when they were ready. You get it, I don’t need to list any more examples. You know what clothes are. In one sector, there are just rows and rows of industrial printers, fiber class. In another sector, there are rows and rows of racks where the finished products are stored. It’s precisely what you would expect out of a place like this. They don’t only make 3D printed clothes. It’s not even just about the products that need to go out to other domes. You can actually come here to design and fabricate your own clothes, at whatever level of technological advancement you prefer. They have electrical sewing machines, mechanical machines, and even just needle and thread. You can knit a scarf or crochet a hat. It doesn’t even have to be good, it just has to be fun. They also have fashion shows. Some of them are recreations of real shows from the past, while others are entirely original. They’re all produced by visitors like you. Nothing is made by a superintelligence, because that wouldn’t be very interesting, would it? If anything you can think of is even remotely tied to the fashion industry, both past and present, it’s here somewhere. Come here, and find your bliss. Funnily enough, however...clothing optional, just as it is anywhere.

Extremus: Year 83

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It only took Omega and Valencia a couple of weeks to figure out what went wrong with the Nexus, and solve it. Apparently, Vitalie’s use of the network while traveling through time did screw things up, but she wasn’t the only one responsible. A Mark II Nexus, being one that was constructed by the people who invented them in the first place, could handle this complication. It would have been able to compensate for the temporal interference, and sort of reboot itself. The one that Omega built is just as good as these in most respects, but there are some notable differences; differences which the average person would not be able to detect. After careful examination of all the parts and systems, they were able to correct the issue, but only for this particular machine. They’re trying to get to the one on Extremus, which never received the correction. If they could just establish contact with someone on board, the current temporal engineer could probably get it done if they walked them through it, but even their communications are down. They need a creative solution. In three months, they’ve yet to come up with one.

“We can go to Earth first. From there, we can make contact with someone who can help us,” Spirit suggests.

“Do you know of anyone in particular in this day and age?” Tinaya questions.

“No,” Spirit admits. “The historical records don’t go this far.”

“What about Team Keshida?” Belahkay offers.

“Gatewood isn’t in the directory,” Omega explains as he’s pointing to the screen. “I don’t know why not. Maybe they cloaked themselves, or...they moved. A few of these Nexa are in weird places in the galaxy, which could be controlled by friends; maybe even Keshida, but maybe not. I wouldn’t feel comfortable reaching out to them. The Exins think that Verdemus was destroyed. We cannot disabuse them of this misconception, so we cannot risk connecting with any mysteries.”

“I can do it,” Aristotle volunteers for the umpteenth time.

“Remember what happened the last time you tried?” Lilac asks.

Aristotle nods. “I was young, and ignorant.”

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Niobe reminds him.

“I have the tools that I need now,” Aristotle insists.

“The timogramen,” Tinaya realizes. “You’ve learned something about it.”

“Not me,” Aristotle clarifies. “Vaska never stopped studying it. She understands how it works now. It interferes with temporal manipulation when not accounted for, so all you have to do is account for it. You have to know how much timogramen radiation is in your system, how much there is nearby, the temperature and barometric pressure,  the position of the sun and celestial bodies, the precise distance of the destination, and a few other minor factors. But she thinks she can do it. She’s been building something.”

“She’s been building what, a timogramen detector?” Valencia asks him.

Aristotle bobs his head. “She calls it a temporal radiation compensator, but like I said, it has to include a whole lot more in the calculations. Plus, it has to be calibrated for what you’re actually trying to accomplish. If you’re just trying to teleport, it’s one thing, but where I’m going, it’s a whole different thing.”

“Wait, but that’s true,” Tinaya begins. “We teleport on this planet without issue.”

Valencia sighs. “It’s not without issue. The relays just seem to work okay, because most of the time, people are only making short, simple jumps. But we’re doing a lot of maintenance on them. The old relays, before the explosion, were no better.”

“What do you mean, did something happen?” Tinaya asks.

“The Captain. I don’t have the whole story, because I’m not in the loop anymore, but just before the mirror exploded, she tried to hustle the kids through. They evidently didn’t make it to where they were going. I’m not sure how Lataran eventually made her way back, but she was gone for a year. The Ship Superintendent has to step in.”

Tinaya looks over at her husband. “Arqut, is this true?”

“I guess I forgot to tell you about that. The second lieutenant assured me that it was only temporary. She seemed to know something, and it seemed better not to press it. A year later, she showed up.”

“Without the kids,” Tinaya figures. She looks at Aristotle and Niobe now, who are also hiding the truth. “Why does it feel like I’m the only one in the dark here?”

“I am too,” Spirit assures her.

“As am I,” Belahkay agrees.

She’s kind of used to it at this point. There were a ton of things that Lataran didn’t tell her about while she was First Chair, even though she initially expected to be privy to everything upon being elected. Their persistent link to this planet was one of those secrets. Full transparency has never been assumed on the ship, and in fact, would be a dangerous goal to seek. Ignorance Tolerance is a subject that students study nearly every year. When it comes to time travel, no one is entitled to know everything, and children have to learn to deal with it maturely. This is where they memorize Leona’s Rules for Time Travel. She decides to let it go. “Where’s Vaska?”

“Her lab is in the megablock,” Lilac replies. “She likes to work near a lot of other people, like she did on Gatewood.”

Tinaya grabs Aristotle by the hand, and teleports him back down to Verdemus without a word. She sends a quick message to Vaska, who drops a pin. The two of them walk across the courtyard, and enter the lab.

“Miss Leithe, it’s been a while. How have you been?”

“I’ve been all right. Just trying to get home.”

Vaska’s gaze darts over to Aristotle.

“I told her about what you’ve been working on,” he divulges.

“Well, it’s ready. I mean...it’s ready to be tested.”

“Show me,” Tinaya requests.

Vaska opens up a cabinet behind her, and takes out a fairly large box. “It’s just a prototype, so it doesn’t look pretty, but I’m confident in its functionality.” She sets the box down, and removes the lid to reveal a plethora of gadgets, gizmos, and innerworkings. In addition to the expected wires and antenna, there are gears turning each other around, like a timepiece. Tubes are ready to transport fluids between an exposed logic board, and some other apparatus. Two buttons that kind of look like they were originally from a mechanical computer keyboard are rhythmically going up and down in an alternating pattern. LEDs are blinking, and a small display is showing status data. Vaska extends a tiny spyglass to have it standing straight up towards the ceiling. She lifts up what kind of looks like a tiny microphone, but Tinaya recognizes it to be a portable radiometer, probably full-spectrum, in this case. The familiar crackling sound that a radiometer makes when it’s picking up radiation begins to overwhelm the soft buzzing sound that’s been coming from somewhere inside.

“Well,” Tinaya says. “I don’t know what I’m looking at. I don’t know why I thought coming here would be helpful.”

“I can take a look at it.” Valencia turns out to have been behind them. “I’ll make sure it works, and if it doesn’t, make it so it does, or maybe just improve upon it.”

“It’s certainly big enough,” Vaska acknowledges. “I would love to streamline it. What if Mister Al-Amin could wear it on his wrist at all times?” She proposes.

“Does he need that?” Tinaya wonders. “I thought the only issue is when he’s coming from Verdemus. If he’s anything like his father, he’ll be doing a lot of traveling.”

“He is standing right here,” Aristotle states the obvious. “And he considers this to be his home, so he’ll probably frequently return.”

“You’ll need this at any rate,” Vaska explains. “As you said, it’s your home. The temporal radiation that our respective bodies have been exposed to would eventually dissipate given enough time away. But you’re both a choosing one, and you were born here. “It’s a part of you, and it always has been. You probably can’t survive without it. I imagine you’ll have to return here whether you want to or not, or grow the timogramen elsewhere. I hesitate to suggest the latter.”

“Why is that?” Valencia questions.

Vaska is reluctant. “It’s not harmful. It’s time. Temporal energy and radiation are properties of time, and time isn’t harmful. Except that it is. Time leads to entropy. It’s what kills us, and destroys what’s not alive. The timogramen is dangerous. It could be weaponized, and abused...misused. It would probably serve as an invasive species if allowed to spread to other worlds.”

“How did it evolve in the first place?” Valencia presses. “Is it just a coincidence that it grows here?”

“That I don’t know yet, but I’m pretty sure that you did this. You may have created it when you came here. All the teleportation, and the parallel dimensions...Tinaya’s glass skin thing. Plus, the way I understand it, this planet was annihilated years ago, and then someone went back in time to prevent it. That may have had unforeseen consequences, I really don’t know. Fittingly, I need more time for my research. One thing I know for sure is that it’s not perfectly natural, but there has to be something here, or we would already find the stuff on Earth, and anywhere else that time travelers have visited.”

“This is all fascinating,” Aristotle interjects, “but what does it have to do with me, and the job that I need to get done? I have to travel to Extremus, and get that Nexus working, so we can reconnect. Does this do that; that’s all I need to know.”

“That’s not all that I need to know,” Valencia contends. “You will be taking me back, and I need to feel comfortable and safe with that. The questions that I’m asking now are directly related to me reaching that level of trust in your abilities.”

“Fair enough,” Aristotle relents.

“Can that thing make him more precise and reliable?” Valencia goes on, pointing to the contraption.

“On a planetary level, yes,” Vaska answers. “What happened to him before, when he went back in time, and landed way off course, that shouldn’t happen again.”

What does that mean, on a planetary level?”

Vaska clears her throat, and starts touching things on the compensator, and moving some things around as she’s explaining. “The spyglass is a modified form of the Jayde Spyglass, which is why it has any hope of seeing thousands of light years away. But relative to other stars, planets don’t really move. Of course they do—everything moves—but compared to the reframe speeds of the Extremus? It’s nothing. These tubes here feed clarified timogramen juice into the contaminant filter to capture and counteract the temporal radiation that’s bombarding the compensator while it’s in this environment. There’s a limit to that, which is dependent upon its size. The pure timogramen juice can’t absorb enough background radiation to protect the other instruments for the precise targeting that you’re looking for. Therefore, we can shoot for a planet, but not a ship.”

“What if you built a bigger one?” Tinaya decides to suggest. “You could be more precise then, couldn’t you?”

Vaska winces. “With the bigger one, you can specify a more precise target on the planet, but still not a ship traveling at reframe speeds away from us. At a certain point, size doesn’t matter. A larger surface area means more radiation, which means more clarified timogramen juice is necessary, and you end up with diminishing returns.”

“You didn’t say a bigger one,” Aristotle points out. “You said the bigger one. Did you already build it?”

“That’s what I built first,” Vaska answers. “This one is the prototype portable model. I didn’t think that you would want to use the other one, because it’s a power hog, and for my part, I don’t know why it would be necessary.”

“It still needs his temporal ability, right?” Valencia poses. “It just helps people do what they already do?”

Vaska shakes her head. “No, this one only works with him. The bigger model too. It would be useless for anyone else’s power. But yeah, he still gotta do what he does.”

Valencia nods. “We need the precision. Aristotle has to aim for a mining site in one of the star systems where the Extremus deploys a fleet of resource automators. We’ve been getting a lot of data from Project Topdown, so I know where those are going to be.” She consults her watch. “But if we’re gonna intercept them, we have to leave today. The next proverbial gas station isn’t for another proverbial hundred miles.”

“It’s ready when you are,” Vaska promises. “It’s in my garage, and it’s on wheels.”

“Do you wanna say goodbye to your husband first?” Tinaya asks Valencia.

Valencia taps on her neck. “Omega?” She waits for a few seconds. “Bye.”

Vaska leads them into the garage. Aristotle uses his manly strength to pretend to pull the giant temporal radiation compensator out, and onto the sidewalk while the electric motor does the actual heavy lifting. The pallet jack drops the machine onto the grass. A few of Omega’s clones approach out of curiosity. Vaska and Valencia hook it up to the grid, run through a diagnostic, and a form of a preflight check. She and Aristotle agree to take the risk, knowing that it could kill them, and then they unceremoniously turn on the machine, gather the necessary data, and have Aristotle interface with it. Once it’s at full power, he receives the literal green light, and they both disappear.

“I hope it worked.”

“Let’s go find out.” She takes Vaska by the hand, and teleports up to the moon base. They walk into the Nexus lab to find Valencia and Aristotle waiting for them.

“Welp,” Valencia begins. “It technically worked, but we were off schedule by about four hundred years, and needed to build a couple stasis pods.”

Vaska frowns. “I must have missed something. I’m sorry.”

“It’s quite all right, right?” Lataran says as she’s coming out of the control room, eying Valencia. “Now. I’ve been cooped up on that ship forever, and I haven’t been here in a long time. Who here is gonna give me a tour?”

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Microstory 2143: It’s Still Early

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I still can’t say much, but I’ve been speaking with the company who originally sent an email about becoming a sponsor for one of my videos. They apologized for misunderstanding what kind of content I produce, but we decided that the confusion isn’t necessarily a bad thing. If people are hearing about me without hearing the details, then my name is building intrigue, and that will ultimately only help me gain followers and subscribers. I was clear with them that video was pretty much not on the table, for all of the reasons that I mentioned before, and some others. The person who I’ve been talking to is one of those who happen to see that the world is—and I’m sorry to say this again—kind of dull, so she thinks that my creativity could stand out, but she appreciates my boundaries. I can always change my mind later. She told me as much, and it’s obviously true. In the meantime, she doesn’t think that this means we shouldn’t have a business relationship. She has to reach out to the legal department first, but she’s going to try to connect me with their publicity firm, who might be able to help me grow this side hustle. It’s pretty exciting stuff, but it’s still early, and it will all have to be kept under wraps for a while. You’ll know if something changes in that regard.

Microstory 2115: One Story at a Time

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In the year 2014, I started publishing my stories for all to see. Well, all on Facebook, anyway. And publish is a strong word. I was posting them at least. I wrote the first one on my phone, using a notes app. It was rather poetic, and not very much like my usual style. I don’t recall now what prompted me to start doing this. I suppose that I was tired of being rejected by literary agents, and ready for people to see my work, whether I was getting paid for it or not. Months later, I started working on my Blogger website, and ported all of the content from Facebook over. It wasn’t that much at the time, but it would become a lot soon. By then, I had come up with a long-term plan, instead of just writing something up day by day, and sending it off. I made a master list, and a rigid schedule. Sundays would be for my continuous main story, Saturdays for longer stories, and weekdays for really short bits. Then I had to start devising narrative ideas. The Advancement of Mateo Matic was already there. I thought of the idea of a character unwillingly being sent forward in time probably a year or two prior, but didn’t know what I would do with it, since it was before the site. I merged it with a preexisting title that was for a completely different series, and really started to focus on that. I had a couple ideas for the Saturday mezzofiction, but they wouldn’t last long, so that was a constantly evolving situation. The microfiction stories were the wild west in the beginning. I was still just coming up with one story at a time, which didn’t have anything to do with each other. It wasn’t until Bellevue Profiles later in 2015 that I started to see potential for complete series.

Okay, this has all taken me longer than I thought it would, particularly the post that I wrote for what will be yesterday for you, and I really feel like I just need to turn myself in to the police. I’m just procrastinating, and for what? I only have a few hundred followers at this point. I guess I’m only going to be scheduling two days out. That gets me through Friday, and I don’t post these on weekends anyway, so that’s practically four days. Maybe they’ll stick me in one of those jail cells with a computer and an internet connection. They have those, right? I dunno, this universe is unfamiliar to me. There’s more to get into about how my blog operates, so maybe I’ll get around to it later. When I finally do get internet access back—if ever—I’m sure I will have so much to catch you up on. I might have joined a prison gang, and gotten a tattoo. Or not. Wish me luck, or to break a leg, or whatever you people say around here.

Microstory 2114: Dream to Fiction

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Let’s set aside for the moment the fact that I’m a traveler from another universe, and that all of the characters that I’ve written about are real people, living somewhere out there in the bulk. Let’s suggest that I’m just a normal creative storyteller whose stories come out of his mindbrain, just as they would for anyone else. Let’s talk about how this process began and developed over the course of more than two decades, and let’s pretend that I never left my world of origin. I was thirteen years old when I officially became a writer. My local radio personality would say that I shouldn’t be allowed to call myself that because I’ve not published any books. But that’s not the definition of a writer. That’s the definition of an author, numbnuts. I was struggling in eighth grade science class, specifically the chemistry portion, which was particularly disheartening, because I wanted to grow up to be a biochemist. Seeing that letter F on my report card told me that I would never realize my dream. It was unrealistic, and I would have wasted a lot of time, energy, and money on the fruitless pursuit. Fortunately, I had this other idea of telling stories, so I started really leaning into that. About two years later, I started work on my canon. I didn’t understand that I was doing that, but the story I came up with in the summer of 2002 has survived today, so I ended up retroactively marking this period in my life as the beginning of my franchise. It was about a boy who was on a boating trip with his fellow scouts. He gets separated from them after the tragic deaths of all of the parents on board, as well as the crew, and ends up on an island full of mythical beings, like elves, dwarves, and mermen. It was quite derivative in the beginning. I’ve rewritten the majority of this book at least four times, and revised it any number of times in between. It’s taken as long as it has to finish because I have never stopped growing as a writer, and perfecting my skills, technique, and personal voice.

As I was saying, I wasn’t familiar with the concept of a canon in the early years of my work, but I did have this compulsion to tell stories that exist within some kind of established continuity. They might be thousands of years apart, or even in different dimensions, but the potential for crossover had to be there, whether it ever actually happened at all or not. I came up with the premise for dozens of stories over the course of the next several years, nearly none of which remain today. The ones that have survived have transformed so much that they would be unrecognizable to anyone who happened to hack into my computer to read the originals. I never published a word, of course. In 2004 or 2005, I came up with a book and its television follow-up that I don’t even want to talk about, because they were rooted in my anger and violent tendencies. I wouldn’t even mention it, but I feel that I have to, because that was my first TV show, even though I wish it wasn’t. My second show, which I conceived of in 2007, was about a group of people with special powers, and from there, the universe expanded. By then, I had already decided that the dimensions from my original concept would be temporal, instead of spatial. That is, they just happened at different points in the long history of a single world. I came up with several other shows that fit within the timeline on the one planet, and then I came up with several more which took place on nearby star systems, and in other galaxies. It was 2012 when I came up with The Verge Saga, which took place billions of years ago in another galaxy. The number of TV shows that I had created effectively doubled overnight to around 60.

For a couple of years in my adult life, I had a recurring dream. Well, maybe that’s not the right word to use. Continuous would be a better choice, because I wasn’t just reliving the same thing every night. The story kept going. I could wake up, go about my day, and then go back to sleep to revisit the characters right where we last left off. I don’t know about you, but I’m only in about half of my dreams. A lot of the time, I’m observing other people’s lives, and this particular one felt very much like something that could be adapted to fiction for public consumption. I even had the perfect title for it, but the problem with it was that it inherently took place on Earth, where that established continuity I’ve been talking about bars such world-changing events from occurring. Basically, if I wanted it to take place on Earth, it had to be a different Earth. This was when my canon exploded. I suddenly had access to a dozen new universes, which could have their own independent histories that I didn’t have to worry about conflicting with each other. My list of TV shows approached 80, and I was unstoppable. That’s when Salmonverse was created, but that’s not when I thought of my first story for it.

On December 27, 2012, my first dog, Sophie Love was put to rest at a 24-hour animal hospital after a short but brutal and cruel battle with liver disease. Shortly thereafter, I had a dream (not again; this one came first). I woke up to find my dog alive downstairs, where she should have been all along, and then I realized that I had traveled through time to before her death. Of course, my dream turned into a nightmare when I jumped back in time again to not only before my dog was born, but also before we lived in that house. Someone else was living there, so I had to escape without disrupting their lives too much. Samuel Bellamy took over this role when I converted this dream to fiction, making him the first ever resident of Salmonverse, but like I said, I didn’t come up with that until 2015. Everything I wrote until I built my website just sat there in my files, never to be seen by anyone but me. That’s why these things have weird temporal values, because I regularly come up with a story, or only a premise, or even just one character, without having any place for it yet. I guess normal writers conceive an idea, and then just with it until it’s done. I often develop all aspects of a new story all at once before I so much as write the first word of the actual text. This process might inspire sequels, prequels, multimedia follow-ups, and crossovers that I will also work on without necessarily having written anything substantial. I dunno, maybe I’m doing it wrong, which is why I’m over here with a personal website that no one reads, and George R.R. Martin is a millionaire. He too has taken forever to write his latest book, but people are actually waiting for it. Hopefully I’ll finish the new edition soon, but I’m pretty busy. Unlike how it is for Martin, this isn’t my only job, and as aforesaid, I don’t make a dime off of it.

Tomorrow, I’ll get more into the details of my website; how it got started, and how I prepare for upcoming stories. There’s a lot. It takes a lot to keep this thing running. Like, you don’t even know. Slipping back into character, I’m surely in jail now, awaiting trial, or whatever step comes next. I scheduled this to come out just so I don’t leave you with nothing, but I’ll eventually run out of these too.

Microstory 2063: It Was Murder

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I’ve been thinking a lot about my friends, Cricket and Claire. If I never see them again, I would at least like to know that they’re safe and still together. I placed a not-so-cryptic ad in the newspaper, asking if anyone else happens to be from another universe. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Nick Fisherman IV, you’re going to get a lot of crazies who never actually traveled the bulkverse. But here’s the thing, I don’t care. If they’re not lying, then maybe we can figure something out, or maybe we’ll just commiserate together. If they are lying, who cares? I’ve told you how boring this world is. It would be a nice change of pace to meet someone who doesn’t think like everyone else. Hell, they could be a dangerous psychopath, and that would still be better than all this tedium. Welp, that’s all I got for ya today. I’ll let you know if anyone responds to my ad. Just as a little disclaimer, no matter what the autopsy says...it was murder.

Microstory 2062: From Womb to Tomb

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Right. I was going to tell you how I got my name. I might as well. Nothing is happening today. My symptoms are about as bad as they were yesterday. I told you that I have a bad memory, though, so maybe I’m wrong about that. I tried looking for a website or app that helps you keep track of your health and mood, but it doesn’t exist. You’re so uncreative here. I want to call you small-minded, but that’s usually reserved for people who don’t like things like diversity, or can’t see the forest through the trees. It’s more like you don’t do anything that isn’t absolutely necessary. Could a health tracker app save lives? Maybe. But also maybe not, and it hasn’t occurred to you to try. Anyway, I’m rambling again. My name. Nick Fisherman IV. Why that number? Well, I can’t give you too many details, but the original Nick Fisherman never called himself the first. He just was the first. I don’t know much about him, but in the universe he lived in, he was being monitored by what you could think of as a guardian angel. Except that these angels didn’t guard anything. They only served as observers. They watched your whole life from womb to tomb, and never interfered. These never-called angels had no emotions, nor personal motivations. Or rather, they weren’t supposed to. The one responsible for the first Nick Fisherman developed feelings for his subject, and ultimately decided to adopt the name for himself. Thus was birthed Nick Fisherman II. This story was passed onto me after he accidentally became my observer. I wasn’t meant to ever be assigned one of them, but it happened, and since that was an interesting development, the leadership just let it keep going. Fast forward to my adulthood, I ended up going back in time, and creating a new timeline. I’ve let my other self go by Nick Fisherman III, which leaves me as the fourth. So there you go. There’s the story, as vague as is needed under the circumstances. Keep reading III’s “fictional” stories, and you may learn a little more about it.

Microstory 2058: Off Another Cliff

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My worst fears have come to life. Fiction is as bad here as I was worried it would be. That goes for print media as well as film and television. You make up stories, of course, but there’s no beauty in it, no thrill. When I was first starting out as a writer, I was accused of always getting right to the point. The tales themselves were interesting, but I wasn’t telling them in interesting ways. I wasn’t keeping the audience engaged. That’s how it is here, but with everything. I started to read a book that was narratively similar to The Grapes of Wrath, but it played more like a list of things that happened. John drove himself and his daughter to the abandoned shack in the middle of woods where he recalled hiding when he was a young boy. It was dirty, but still standing, so they cleaned it up, and stayed the night. They ate blueberries for dinner, and also for breakfast the next morning. In my world, that excerpt would be expanded across two or more pages. What were they feeling during the drive? What were they thinking? They were running from the anti-authorities, so were they scared? The book made me feel nothing. I don’t know, I just can’t get into anything. Everything I’ve tried has been so boring, it makes me want to jump off another cliff on the off-chance that it sends me to another universe. That’s not exactly how I ended up here in the first place, but it was what ultimately led me here. My landlord doesn’t own a computer, and since I don’t have a job yet, I can’t afford one of my own. I’ve been using an old phone of hers that still works with DataWave. For any possible readers from any other universe, that is what they call WiFi here. Anyway, writing these little posts is hard enough on the little screen, I wouldn’t be able to create an entire story with it. Maybe when I get a job, I’ll buy a real machine, and start making up my own stories. I’ve not been a writer since I lived on my Earth, but maybe it’s time. I think y’all need to understand what true creativity looks like.

Microstory 1907: Introduction to Conversations

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Nick Fisherman: Guess who’s back with an off-brand old bag of tricks?

Tavis Highfill: What’s that now?

Nick: I’ll be the one asking the questions!

Tavis: ...were you gonna—

Nick: That sounds like the start of a question!

Tavis: It’s you. You’re back with an old bag of tricks. What does—I mean, I wonder what bag you’re referring to.

Nick: Do you remember a few years ago when we did the Interview Transcripts microfiction series, involving all kinds of different interview types?

Tavis: Yes, I recall.

Nick: We’re doing that again, except not as interviews. These are just general conversations.

Tavis and Nick: *salute* General Conversations.

Tavis: Why do you salute with your middle finger, fourth finger, and pinky?

Nick: Because no one else does.

Tavis: Fair enough. Tell me about these conversations. Are they going to be real conversations that you’ve had with real people?

Nick: Absolutely not. I could not, and would not, betray someone’s privacy like that. Hey, wait a minute. First of all, I thought I told you that I was the one asking questions, and also, I seem to remember saying something like this last time.

Tavis: You probably did. You’re not very original or creative.

Nick: Well you’re me, so...

Tavis: So, great. A new series. It’s been a long time since we’ve done one of those.

Nick: Yes, it’s very exciting, and also very stressful. I’m worried that I don’t remember how to start a story anymore.

Tavis: I’m sure you’ll figure it out.

Nick: Thanks.

Tavis: I wonder if these will take place in the same universe as the interview transcripts, or in some other specific universe, or whether you won’t think much about it while you’re writing them.

Nick: They will actually take place in a new universe.

Tavis: Does that mean it’s completely new, or you’ve just not mentioned it before?

Nick: Not tellin’.

Tavis: *laughs* Very well, then.

My Parole Officer: Hey, usually when you do a fake conversation in one of your nanofiction tweets, I’m involved. Am I going to be a part of this too?

Nick: Yes.

Tavis: Really? Wow. Okay, that’s weird. I can’t wait for tomorrow.

Microstory 1841: Prank Wars

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I was one of the first people to sign up for a certain video sharing website. At that point, most people were just watching, but I was a content creator. I built my name as a prankster before anybody really knew what the industry would grow into. Of course, secret camera television shows predated my debut, but none of them generated the kind of hits I would end up having. People could watch them over and over again, and they did, because they were hilarious. When copycats started trying to recreate the magic, people would ask me whether that bothered me, and I would tell them honestly that absolutely not! That’s the whole point of the internet, that there’s room for everyone! Yes, they were competition, but you have to understand that, back then, nobody was making money off of the site. Even once they started splitting ad sales with us, it wasn’t much, and it was impossible to tell who was taking your audience. No, I had no problem with my rivals, but trouble came for me anyway. A few years after the beginning, one of those regular old TV shows premiered. They would lure victims to highly controlled environments under false pretenses, let them think something great was going to happen, and then pull the rug out from under them. One time, that was literal. They convinced someone they were going to get a free very expensive rug, coupled with a very expensive remodel of their home, and then actually pulled on the rug they were standing on. It was disgusting. My pranks were never like that. They weren’t mean-spirited. My guests were never victims, and they always walked away with a smile. I hated this show on principle, and I acknowledged as much in a non-prank video on my channel. This caught their attention, and my life was never the same after what they did to me.

I was an awkward kid. Pranks were a way for me to come out of my shell, and express myself. Which was great, but it didn’t really help my real life. Perhaps if I were making them today, it would be different, but again, nascent industry. When a girl started talking to me at a party, I couldn’t believe it, but I wanted to, so I went along with it. She seemed very interested in who I was, and what I did, which was unusual, because for as many fans as I had, girls didn’t care much for it. They didn’t know how light-hearted and fun they were. They always figured I did the same twisted things the TV show did. She said she knew the owner of this house, and invited me to a sort of secret room in a finished attic. I had never done anything with a girl before, so I was nervous, but I didn’t want to waste an opportunity. You can see where this is going. We didn’t get very far before the host of that show ran upstairs, and started laughing at me. He was so ecstatic that I fell for it. How pathetic, how embarrassing. The party wasn’t even real. This whole thing was set up for me, and I could hear them all laughing downstairs. I blew up. I grabbed one of the cameras, and struggled with it for a second, telling the operator that I could either drop it to the floor, and break it, or I could drop both him and the camera. I smashed it, and punched the walls. A security guy tried to tase me, but he missed, so I punched him in the face. I don’t remember what I said, but threats were made, and while I don’t think anyone there took them seriously, the network’s lawyers sure did, because they sounded like money to them. The site banned me for life; my career was ruined, robbing me of the revenue that others now see. Bitter, I decided to finally make good on one of my threats today, but I wish I knew before that the host owns a gun.

Microstory 1353: Retirement

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Celebrity Interviewer: I’m sitting here with famed method actor, Retiring Actor, and he’s here because he wants to share his thoughts on his upcoming retirement.

Retiring Actor: No, don’t spoil it, my dear, I haven’t announced the retirement yet. That’s what this interview is for.

Celebrity Interviewer: Of course, sorry. Let’s start again. [clears throat] I’m sitting here with famed method actor, Retiring Actor. I don’t know why.

Retiring Actor: [...]

Celebrity Interviewer: I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just nervous. Are we still rolling? Okay, one more time. I’m here with famed method actor, Retiring Actor. I’m going to get to the bottom of what he has in store for us. Now, Retiring Actor, tell me about this upcoming project you have. Has it already begun?

Retiring Actor: We just wrapped filming last week.

Celebrity Interviewer: What is it about?

Retiring Actor: It is about a man’s journey into his own soul, combining the profound volatility of life itself, and the ethereal nature of death, as seen through a lens of both despair and industrialization.

Celebrity Interviewer: Sure. And when is it released?

Retiring Actor: It will be coming out in two years. They think they’ll need me to go back in later for reshoots, but after that, I’m done.

Celebrity Interviewer: Done, as in done with the project, or done in the industry?

Retiring Actor: Both. You see, Celebrity Interviewer, I am announcing my retirement. This will be my very last film.

Celebrity Interviewer: Oh, no, why?

Retiring Actor: Well, you see, Celebrity Interviewer, I’ve done what I set out to do. I made beautiful art. I didn’t contaminate myself with garbage, or stoop to a lower level. I only chose the very best projects, and I believe even then, there are a finite number of those any one man is possible of creating.

Celebrity Interviewer: Oh, interesting. It says here this will be your fifteenth credit. Does that sound right?

Retiring Actor: Oh, it sounds perfect. Fifteen is the absolute best number. I only create one masterpiece every three years. That gives my adoring fans enough time to really sit with the work, contemplate its meaning, and then prepare for the next one. I don’t want to overwhelm them with too much of me at once. Some people have dozens, or even over a hundred, credits and they’re barely halfway through their careers. That is not me. I suppose you could say I’m more thoughtful and discerning than that.

Celebrity Interviewer: Yes, I do not believe anyone would categorize your performances as overwhelming, so very good for you; very good indeed.

Retiring Actor: Yes.

Celebrity Interviewer: So, what will you be doing, now that you’re retired?

Retiring Actor: I won’t be doing anything. No more acting, no more appearances.

Celebrity Interviewer: Right, but a lot of retired people take up knitting, or birdwatching, or something. Are there any hobbies you never had time for before?

Retiring Actor: I don’t understand the question.

Celebrity Interviewer: Okay, well. Thanks for asking for this interview. Unless there’s anything else you would like to say to your fans.

Retiring Actor: What? Cut, cut! I did not request this interview.

Celebrity Interviewer: No, sir. Of course you didn’t. That’s my mistake.

Retiring Actor: You there! You’re going to edit that part out of the interview. I won’t have my fans thinking I can’t get an interview unless I ask for it myself.

Celebrity Interviewer: Please don’t talk to him. You talk to me.

Retiring Actor: This is an outrage.

Celebrity Interviewer: I think we have everything we need.

Retiring Actor: Are you still filming? You better not. This better not end up on the YouTunes, or you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.

Celebrity Interviewer: All right, sir. Thank you very much for coming in, whosever idea it was.

Microstory 1205: Marcy Calligaris

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Universally belovèd artist, Marcy Calligaris worked really hard at making the people around her feel at ease, no matter who those people were. The only exception to her rule of accommodation was when someone she truly cared about was in danger, then she could go into mama bear mode. Born of an antimatter rocket engineer mother, and a health translator father, Marcy loved to create beautiful things, be that paintings, sculptures, or even sand castles. She was known by those closest to her as someone who could be trusted, and whose temper was always steady. She wasn’t one of those people who had huge anger issues as a child, and had to learn to move to the other extreme. She was, however—throughout her entire life—capable of getting angry, and when that happened, it usually freaked people out. Fortunately, she could always find peace in her creations, and knew this about herself, so she did not take that for granted. She was born at a time beyond money, where every positive member of society was given everything they needed to live contently. As there was more time to pursue so-called unproductive dreams, this new dynamic ultimately led to the genesis of an explosion of artists. Not all of them were good, but they were okay with this, because it gave them joy. Many worked in virtual constructs, building vast and impressive worlds where people’s minds could go and appreciate the intricacies. Marcy was a true artist, and also preferred to work almost exclusively in the physical world. Her pieces could be seen all over the world. She never grew to become famous, but she did have the urge to spread her beauty far and wide. She ended up with a small following of fans, who encouraged each other to go on Marcy Calligaris Visitation Journeys. They would travel to the random locations of Marcy’s art, and visit other sites in the area. These were dentist offices, and elevators, and some museums, so the locations themselves weren’t always all that remarkable, but they loved the adventure. Marcy was appreciative of her fans, but made a point to never meet them in person. She wanted her art to speak for itself, and didn’t want to answer any questions about inspiration, or deeper meaning. Marcy’s modest fame disappeared when she was spirited away from her life, and removed from time itself. During this period, in the corrupted timeline, her fans had no recollection of her existence at all, nor her art. But the art itself was not removed from time. Each piece remained where it was, and no one really wondered where it had come from, or who had created it. When she was finally returned to the timestream, and everyone’s memories came back, enough time had passed that her following had moved on from her. While they could now remember all the fun they had visiting her work, that was a long time ago for them, and fame in the modern world had a short shelf life, because there were just too many people who were doing too many great things, that any market was necessarily saturated. She lived on after this ordeal, and went right back to doing what she did best, though now with a little less notoriety, but of course, it was better than not existing at all.

Microstory 1081: Nora

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I’m known as the party girl for our class. No, that doesn’t mean I drink a lot, and get wild. I don’t even like drinking that much, but I do enjoy having company over. Ever since I was a little kid, I would invite tons of friends to my house. My parents threw the best birthday parties in town; not because they had a lot of money, but because they had creative and interesting ideas. As I got older, I started taking over the party planning, and they became so universally popular that people actually began to ask me to plan parties for them. I started realizing that this was my passion, and my forte. Like my parents, I have a knack for designing fun and engaging events that cater to a range of people, and don’t cost an exorbitant amount of money. Anyone can plan a great party with no budget, and a client who can afford ostrich races and three-story waterslides. It takes care and diligence to create something out of nothing that people will love for just that one day, and look back on fondly later. A chocolate fountain isn’t much better than a nice assortment of little cakes, so why is it so much more expensive? So this is what I’ll be doing with my life. I’m currently in the early stages of founding a real event planning business. We will be serving clients looking to make the most out of their dollar, and not waste it on fleeting materialism. The real purpose of any good event should be to make lasting memories; not just get free stuff that you’re just going to stuff in a closet. Of course, that doesn’t mean my events will require you to just use your imagination. If all we wanted was for a group of friends to stand around talking, there wouldn’t be any reason to hire me at all. That’s where my late friend, Viola comes in.

I never really learned how they met, but she knew a family living in Silver Shade, who are already proving to be a perfect fit for my company. Or should I say our company, because we’re working well together, and we all need to be equal partners. A brother and sister grew up with a foreman for a father, who taught them all about construction and other craftwork. They’re a few years older than me, and once they graduated high school, they tried to start a traditional handiwork business, hoping to transition into a more expansive construction company later. As with any small business, they struggled, and they just couldn’t get enough customers. This is a rather rural county, after all, so people with that kind of skill aren’t exactly hard to find. What is hard to find around here, however, is a decent event planner with excellent builders, capable of making beautiful decorations and other ambiance enhancements. We’ve already gotten so many calls that we can’t take yet, because we have yet to secure the loan, and finish all the necessary legal paperwork. We don’t want to start out as just an under-the-table ad hoc business. We want to do this right, and make sure we’re protected from any liability. We’re not at that point yet, but we’re even thinking of adding a fourth member to our ranks. Their cousin just graduated from college, and is having trouble finding a job. Purchasing and inventory is a great entry level position that only requires a sufficiently advanced educational background if you’re expected to do the job on your own, and don’t have the guidance from a small team. We’ll only be working on one project at a time once all the preliminary work is done, so we can focus, not only on the client, but each other. We may never become famous nationwide, or even statewide, but we’re all okay with the possibility that it really just stays in Mineral County. I’m really excited, though, and I can’t wait for the school year to finally end.

Microstory 1051: Bert

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No, you’re not the first person to realize how many Berts we have at this school. Bertha, Herbert, a freshman named Bertil, and me. It’s actually my full name; it’s not short of Albert, or something. My parents came up with something simple, because they’re pretty lowkey, unremarkable people. That’s why I decided to start a band. Chester probably made you think it was his idea, but I’m the one who first suggested it. It may sound petty, but if we ever break up, it’s important to know who the name belongs to. Without any legal clarity, the primary founder basically has dibs. Besides, who’s ever heard of a drummer who’s in charge, am I right? I may not be much of a singer, but I can pluck a guitar with the best of ‘em, and nobody’s fawning over his drum solos, lemme tell you that. The truth is that I play a lot of instruments, but most of them aren’t heard much in bands. Many of them are brass, but I’m not much into ska, so we really need to keep away from that kind of sound. I suppose you could say we’re like Cherry Glazerr meets Of Monsters and Men. We’re great with that really rough, noisy grunge, but also love to focus on crystal vocals for some songs. Pearl was really great with that, and we’re all going to miss her. Hearing Addie, though, that’s really made me think that we’ve been going about this all wrong. She was the voice we were missing. They should have been handling that together. I don’t think we should be using her in a temporary capacity. We need to be finding a good, feminine voice that meshes well with Addie’s. I would rather sound more like Tegan and Sara than Chester’s Drum Circle Emporium. I didn’t make that up, by the way. Before I found him, he was trying to get all the percussionists in the high school band together to do an all drummers act. Can you imagine how terrible that would be? I love the guy, but he’s got some crazy ideas. I gotta remember to be more positive, and less critical, though. All bands fall apart because the members can’t work together. I don’t care what you say about your Yoko Onos, or that bullshit term “creative differences”. The one and only reason is they can’t get along, so it’s important that we continue to communicate, and find a new second singer who wants what we all want. Viola knew that, she was my girl. I don’t mean, like, she was my girlfriend, but she really understood what we were going for, even when we didn’t realize it ourselves. Did Chester tell you she designed our website, and supported us before anyone else did? She also got us this huge festival gig in Jordan that I’m really looking forward to. We can’t go in there with only three people, though. Duos and trios can sound great, but we’re not making it work. We need a fourth. I would even propose a fifth if we weren’t already in such a heavy transitional period. I’m thinking about asking Dolly if she wants to audition. Then we could change our name to ABCD. I’m fine with goin’ second. Wadya think? You ever hear her sing?

Microstory 800: Dreams (Introduction)

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Dreams! (dreams, dreams) Dr-dr-dr-dreams! I’ve been posting my dreams on a special Twitter account since October of 2010. The point was to not only remember my dreams, and develop better control over my thoughts, but to engage my creativity. I did it for a little while before stopping, and I believe I picked it up a few times over the years, before recently deciding that I needed to be more diligent with it. As I was working on the future of my website, I came up with my idea for the 900 series, because the number fit well, but that meant I had nothing for 800, and obviously I can’t focus too much on ten steps from now, I need to know what I’m doing before that. Adapting my dream tweets seemed like the most reasonable use of this space, especially since I amassed enough of them to pick the absolute best ones, so that’s what you’re going to get now. It’ll be a nice break, because I realized I don’t have to come up with photos that match the topics I’m writing about. All I need to do is slap a screenshot of the original tweet, and that should be enough to catch your eye on social media links. It’ll also be nice because I have for a while now been beholden to my own canons, but now I can stretch my legs, and come up with stories free from these narrative constraints. I don’t even have to follow any set of physical laws, because you can literally do anything in dreams, even create stable paradoxes. I’m conflicted about my feelings towards this series. A part of me worries that any one, or more, of them could give rise to a new franchise that I had not been planning to do. Another part of me is excited for this possibility. This could get complicated. I think that’s pretty much all I need to say about this, as it’s a fairly easy concept to grasp. Every time I write one of these, I’m gonna be listening to a playlist of songs I like that involve the topic of dreams, just so you know how committed I am to my trade.

Microstory 796: Bower

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A c-brane, which is a particular class of universe, is only as large as it needs to be in order to accommodate its inhabitants. This is the cause of so much strife in the Maramon’s brane, for they were never meant to travel beyond their solar system, but something went wrong. Capitalizing on this idea, however, of an extremely limited scope universe, a group of some very powerful people decided to build their own universe. Now, normally, natural universes have near unlimited scope. They’re created by some kind of cosmological expansion event, like a big bang, and grow larger from there, as time progresses. C-branes, on the other hand, are created by the force of creativity. They manifest through imagination or dreams, and more often than not collapse upon their own instability. If no one continues believing in them, then they won’t exist. In the history of the bulkverse, which is the collective dimensional substructure all universes, no one has gotten together to make one from scratch, but these people managed to figure it out. Deemed The Bower House, it was designed to confine the most notoriously dangerous people from all over the multiverse. Most universes, including standard natural ones, have incredibly spectacular physical laws, which can be exploited to accomplish fantastical goals. In some, death can be subverted through transference to new substrates. In some, objects can be moved from great distances, through telekinesis. Some have slower aging, or faster-than-light travel, or even demons. The Bower House has none of these things. An individual transferred to this prison universe from their own will find themselves completely without whatever special abilities, or technologies, they were able to use before. There is no electricity, and no superpowers, and death is final. The idea here was to have a place to incarcerate the worst criminals in the bulkverse, who have used some unfair advantage against others. It is the smallest c-brane ever, with its sky being a low-hanging firmament, rather than light waving through empty space. It is impossible to escape from the Bower House, because there is nowhere to go, and no technology capable of creating a way out. Yet somehow, one woman found a way, and then all hell broke loose.

Microstory 554: Telescope Reveals Most Planets Aren’t Flat

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Double rough scientist and enterprise leader, Golzar Germano has made one of the most important discoveries in recent history. When Germano was a child, he dreamed of being whatever he wanted to be, and rarely listened to what others told him. His parents were at a loss as to how to discipline their son. It seemed that, no matter what they said, he would always do the opposite. They eventually learned how this worked, and figured out a way to get him to fall in line by demanding he do the opposite, and letting him “defy” them. Upon growing up, Germano began to understand his own personality better, and decided to use his contrary attitude to his advantage. When he came of age, he went through the normal testing phases, and was told that he was a natural-born Warrior. This was unsatisfactory, what with him being a complete pacifist and all. Once again, he chose to go against the grain, and rough into a different suit. As a Creator, he studied all of the natural sciences, but found himself particularly fond of astrophysics. After a few years of working in his field, he had become bored with his life. He had only attained Mariner rank, and had very little interest in pursuing it further. He has had this to say about his decision to rough into a second suit, “I’ve never wanted to be like everyone else. Nor have I wanted to be special. I chose to not follow my suit, nor even try to trump into a higher rank of the suit I chose. Nor did I think I would be well equipped to handle the life of a double packer, which a lot of people assume I’m going for. Being a jack of all trades sounds nice, but it’s not for me. I have a wide range of interests, but that does not include all of them. I just want to be me.”

With his experience as a scientist, and now as a Leader, Germano went on to form his own company. He gathered the best scientists and support staff from all over the system. In fact, no one under the rank of Karek was allowed anywhere near his laboratories. He instructed his Creators to develop the most marketable inventions for his Providers to sell, and eventually, Majorwood Industries was one of the top names in electronics. His true passion, however, was still astrophysics. These inventions were really only tools used to gather enough capital to accomplish something else. He wanted to build a space telescope. Not only that, but he wanted to build the best telescope in the system. He called it TALON. Many of TALON’s predecessors were capable of determining the features of distant stars, but none was able to grasp the details of any orbiting planets. So far, the only exoplanets cataloged are not flat; they are spherical, news that will shock all physicists. Only around a hundred planets have so far been observed in the last few months, but Germano, and Majorwood, are confident enough to announce the fact that most, if not all other, planets are, in fact, spherical. The next question to answer now...is why? Why are we different? How did our flat planets come to be? After that, Golzar Germano has another question...how do we go to these fantastical round planets, and what would it be like to stand on them?