Microstory 2459: Savanna Land

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Right now, this is one of the least impressive domes on the planet. I guess I can’t say that. It’s not like I’ve seen every single other one. Then again, people have been making these kinds of statements forever, like when a food blog would rate the best restaurants in the country, as if they have any semblance of a comprehensive authority regarding anything close to what they’re claiming. All I mean is that there aren’t any animals here yet. For this one, I don’t think that they want to get by with lifelike robots. I think they want it to be really authentic, and that’s going to take some time. Still, it’s not called Savanna Animal Kingdom. They opened it, because it currently already exemplifies exactly what it says on the tin. There’s a ton of grass, patches of barren dirt, and very few trees. I didn’t see many other people while I was there, and the ones who did show up didn’t stay very long either, because we all saw the same thing. Potential. But not completion. The vehicles are ready, which is an interesting thing, but the real interesting part about that is how big they are. Back on Earth (before we stopped having to drive) roads had to be sort of standardized. It would have been ridiculous if French roads were 10 meters wide and Spanish roads were 50 meters wide. They developed organically, initially based on the size of people, then of horses, then horse-drawn carriages, and so on, and so forth. They got bigger, but you could still still see the natural origins. Even when they broke new ground, like I was saying, the cars were the size they were, and they weren’t going to make special cars for some hip, new region. I’m talking a lot about vehicles, because I can’t talk about the lions or the elephants yet. The point is, we’re starting from scratch here, and not limiting ourselves to tradition. Some of the vehicles are big, with giant observation bubbles which allow for 360 degree viewing all around. Man, it’ll be great in 15 or 20 years when this place is populated, and there are actually some cool things to see, but until then, we can literally only imagine.

Microstory 2431: Melodome

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Don’t let the name fool ya if you’re interpreting the pun to be mellow + dome. It’s not about melodrama either. It’s the first part of the word melody + dome. This is all about music. Recording studios, concert halls, smaller stages, other interesting venues, and even sports stadiums where no one ever actually plays sports. This dome has it all. You can make music, listen to music, watch music. Every genre, every level of interaction; everything. No place like this exists on Earth. Even the cities known for music, like Havana and New Orleans, still had to leave space for regular living. This is the Music City, no matter what Nashville tries to tell you. There are some things that I’m not entirely sure about, unfortunately. When my great great grandparents were younger, they remember a trend where dead musicians were starting to be resurrected through holograms. This isn’t the kind of volumetric immersion that you’re used to in the present-day. It was very crude, and very obviously fake, even if you didn’t know that the subject wasn’t alive anymore. They recall being quite upset by this, not because it was macabre—which it is—but because it was disrespectful. These were real people who lived their lives, and then those lives ended. Before virtual immortality was invented, that was just what happened. These musical artists were immortal because of their legacy. That was what they were striving for, because they probably didn’t even guess at the future of life extension research. Their flame burned bright, but it was short, and that’s what was special about it. If you missed it, that was sad, but it was sad in a good way. The holograms robbed the industry of these artists’ authenticity, and sadly, that never went away. The technology kept improving, and the industry kept embracing it, despite pushback from the audience. There was evidently enough money in it, probably because of people’s morbid curiosity. Melodome has not shied away from this concept. They’ve brought the dead back to life using realistic androids. Not all of them are even dead, but living performers who just aren’t freaking on Castlebourne. I guess they signed away the rights to their likeness, but that doesn’t make it okay. I’m not going to name real names, but if John Doe can’t be here, then I shouldn’t be able to go to one of his concerts, and watch a convincing facsimile reenact his set from X number of years ago. I get that these are at least historically accurate shows, so they’re not merely contriving something entirely out of thin air. They justify it by saying that it’s like watching a recording, but I don’t consider that the same thing. There’s a lot of great things to see here. If you’re an artist, and you want a venue, they will find you one. I doubt the demand would ever surpass the supply. So if you’re a music fan who wants to discover someone new, you can do that. There’s always something going on, and it’s easy to find new acts on the dome’s prospectus, but there’s also this other side of it. They should really lean into the aspect of originality, because the reenactments are unethical at best. But maybe that’s just my point of view. You have to decide for yourself where your line is.

Microstory 2430: Advanced Research Dome (ARD)

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In the early days of interstellar colonization, they largely expected you to start from scratch, though the definition of this term is a little loose. I mean, they had domes too, because almost none of them had an atmosphere that was breathable by organic Earthans. So there was some technology right from the start, and they were making scientific advances on their own, but Earth remained front and center in the industry. You just can’t beat that kind of established infrastructure and strong, lasting institutions. I’m not sure that’s true anymore. While Teagarden took over the majority of the military needs of the Core Worlds, that was mostly for political reasons. They wanted to erase any sense that it favored the nations of Old Earth. Physics research didn’t have to switch homes, but it has. These new reframe engines people are using to travel at faster-than-light speeds? Those were apparently invented here. Developments in anti-gravity; induced stasis; transhumanistic enhancement, including bioforming; terraforming; power generation and distribution...it’s all here. Dare I say, we’re now more advanced than Earth is, even with all of its advantages? I’m sorry to tell you that that is my conclusion. If you’re interested in furthering our understanding of physics, biology, chemistry, or any other scientific field, your best bet is to come here. Earth’s programs are nothing to scoff at, and I don’t think they’re doing anything wrong, but at some point, the brightest minds in the galaxy evidently decided to move, and before anyone realized what was happening, the power shifted here. Good or bad, that’s what happened. This power may shift once more, back to Earth, or perhaps some third star system, but for now, this is the nexus of scientific exploration. The silver lining is that they’re not hoarding it any more than Earth did. They’re sharing what they’ve learned with others, so we’re at least safe from the privatization threats that we’ve faced in days past. Word of warning: this dome is not for visitors, really. You can come, and they’ll let you walk around, but we’re dealing with a lot of dangerous things here, so the majority of the sectors are off-limits without proper authorization. People keep randomly showing up, believing that we have something to show off, but that’s not what we’re doing here. This is just for us. If you want to join, fill out the right application. If you don’t yet qualify, find a learning platform, and catch up. There are no limits to who can help humanity and its offshoots achieve everything we ever dreamed of.

Microstory 2360: Vacuus, July 30, 2179

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Dear Condor,

Lol, I appreciate your offer to commit physical violence against my aggressor, but I should warn you that a lot has changed since I sent my last letter. Bray and I have gotten to know each other better, and we have found something between us. I know, it’s really weird. He’s about 18 years younger than us, but we can’t help how we feel. I honestly never planned on spending the rest of my life with anyone else. I never really connected with any of my peers. The gene pool is just so small. The truth is that the gap between us isn’t even the widest on the base. I don’t know how that sort of thing is received on Earth, but the stigma for us is long gone. In order to maintain our population, we’ve had to sort of ignore the social conventions of the past. I’m sure you think that it’s still a little weird, but I don’t want to just disregard our developing feelings. Maybe I shouldn’t be talking to you about any of this. You’re my brother, which makes it awkward, but we also don’t know each other very well yet, so that makes it awkward in a different way. I’ll spare you the details no matter what, but please let me know if you would rather not hear about it at all. I wouldn’t want to say anything that makes you uncomfortable. This is all I’ll say until I get your answer in that regard. Right now, nothing has happened between him and me, and it might fizzle out soon anyway. As I said, I’ve always seen myself more as a loner. Okay, I promise that that’s the last I’ll say. Thanks and sorry. On the other hand, we could discuss our love lives openly, that wouldn’t bother me. I know that you’re life has been defined by go, go, go, but have you ever gotten to know anyone special? Have you been looking for companionship since you settled down in the ocean platform? Again, you don’t have to say anything, this is just a topic that we’ve not touched on before, and I want us to feel comfortable being honest, if that’s even possible at this juncture, and through the detached medium of interplanetary correspondence. Sorry again! That’s it! I really won’t say anything more. To prove it to you, let me shift gears. You were talking about the people who did this to us; specifically who they might be, and what they might have been doing for the last 37 years. I’ve personally given up on trying to find those answers. I’m still mad about it, but all I think we can do is move on, and play with the cards that we’ve been dealt. We can’t go back in time, and choose a single planet together. If you want more information—if it’s eating at you—I will support you, and do whatever I can on my end, so don’t hesitate to be honest about it. I really mean that. There are still some stones on Vacuus that I can turn over if we agree that that’s what’s best. I love you, Condor. I want us both to be happy, and to experience whatever closure we’re looking for.

Not yet in love,

Corinthia

Microstory 2359: Earth, July 23, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

Thank you for reminding me about the whole study aspect of our separation. I did ask dad about this, and didn’t let him leave the room until he explained everything. At least that’s what I said when the conversation began; he never actually tried to escape. He doesn’t know what happened after you and your mother left. They deliberately withheld information from him. The way we’ve understood it thus far, it seemed like this twisted, nefarious conspiracy with a cabal of evildoers who don’t care about ethics. Dad painted it in a new light, even though I’m not sure he realized it. In reality, it kind of sounds more like an amateur job. They weren’t very well-organized, and they didn’t have much of a plan beyond separate twins, study behavior. Imagine that in a caveman voice, because the more he talked about his limited involvement, the dumber the researchers sounded. After the atmosphere started to become toxic, the only constant in my life was him. No one else was around for any meaningful length of time. There was no one studying me, up close, or from a distance. They couldn’t have. Society was breaking down, and had yet to rebuild itself in a new way. Whoever was assigned to keep tabs on me would have either lost me, or given up. Or, I suppose they could have died. Not everyone made it through that dark period in our history. Dad says he doesn’t have names, and I believe him on that part. I mean, you can look through your own databases on Vacuus, but I can’t find a single study that has anything to do with observing twins across two planets. I think you said it early on, we’re not identical, and we’re two different genders, so right there, the study was already bizarre. There are too many relevant variables to account for, so unless it’s part of a larger case study, you’re not going to gain any significant insights into how twins develop in terms of nature versus nurture. My guess is that they realized as much before too long, and eventually just gave up, leaving us to live our lives however we were going to. I don’t think we’ll ever really know who was responsible for this, or what they were thinking. Some information has been lost on my world, but I do have access to quite a bit of it. A small group of brave people during the toxic buildup dedicated their lives to preserving humanity’s knowledge. Some regions have information that others don’t, but only due to oversights and lapses, not a concerted effort to hide the truth from us. At least not when it comes to this stuff. The people who poisoned the air in the first place? Sure, they hid as much as they could from the people they were hurting, and still do, but they really would not care what happened to the two of us specifically. On the lighter side, I’m glad that you’ve worked things out with this Bray fellow. Let me know if he gives you any more trouble, though, and I’ll beat him up for you.

Enjoying my private life,

Condor

Microstory 2358: Vacuus, July 16, 2179

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Dear Condor,

There was a short delay in my response to you because I read your letter, and decided that I wanted to implement your suggestion regarding my new noisy neighbor, then wait to see if it worked. It seems to have, at least for now. I kind of maybe got the feeling that I will eventually have to reset my connection to him after he forgets. I’m not saying that he’s dumb, but I noticed he would regularly lose his train of thought, and forget key aspects of the stories that he was telling. I came to find out that researchers here are aware of his issues. They’re still not certain if he would have developed this way had he been born on Earth, or if there’s something specific to this environment that led to his neurological shortcomings. Right now, they’re leaning towards the latter. All children are different, but others have shown similar signs of developmental problems that need to be addressed. At the moment, there are still some variables that they have to account for, so they can’t arrive at any conclusion on the cause. This is a relatively small population. There must have been something about the progenitors’ own psychology that made them want to come here at all, and they all had to pass certain tests to qualify. These factors, along with others, limit the gene pool, making it more difficult to test hypotheses when it comes to determining the effects that this world might have on humans as a rule. I have to say, I’m surprised I didn’t know anything about any of this before. I guess they’re trying to keep it hush-hush. It is funny, though, they might be missing out on valuable data by keeping the rest of us in the dark. I belong to a subset of the population: children who had no choice but to travel to this world; born on Earth, grown up on the ship, and working on the base. The criteria for our selection was different than it was for the adults, of course. Studying us may tell them something that they’re not seeing now. I’m not gonna let them know about this, because I’m already a test subject, and I don’t need to add to that pressure. I still can’t find anyone who will tell me what exactly they’ve learned from the whole twins separated at birth study. I don’t know which team might be responsible for that, and I can’t get the top brass to even admit that it’s a thing. In a way, my situation is not dissimilar to Bray’s. We’re both being studied against our will. I think that’s what really endeared him to me, and honestly, this street seems to go both ways. He has had a much harder life than I realized, and I think that he also sometimes wishes that he were on Earth. I’m not saying it was okay that he was playing music while I was trying to sleep, but I kind of understand this behavior better now. They weren’t watching him in secret. They were really in his face about it, and they probably just made everything worse. I do not envy him, and it really puts our situation into perspective, don’t you think?

Sleeping in the quiet once more,

Corinthia

Extremus: Year 91

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It has not been easy, but Tinaya and Arqut have gotten through the loss of their son, and the sudden introduction of an alternate version of him. What he did cannot be undone, so the only choice is to move forward. They held a little funeral for their lost child, and then that night, they shed their last tear for him. A new tear might form itself later, but for now, they’re okay. Though Silveon may now be older than them, for all they know, it’s still their job to protect him. Even if he’s smart enough to navigate the complexities of adulthood, he’s still just a little guy, so if nothing else, he needs them to open cabinet doors, and stuff. Plus, he has to act like a baby around most people.

Tinaya has the day off today, so she’s the one taking him to his playdate. Niobe would normally do it, but she has the day off too as far as her designated guardian duties go. The door opens. “Hello. Calla, I presume?”

A woman in her fifties is standing on the other side of the door in a pink floral robe that’s insufficiently covering up a nightie that is far too revealing. She’s holding something in her hand that Tinaya doesn’t recognize. It’s a small tube that’s glowing orange on one end. She smirks at Tinaya and lifts the tube up to place it between her lips. “It’s called a cigarette. People used to smoke ‘em on Earth. Like this.” She inhales, inducing the glow to brighten just a bit. She then contorts her mouth as she removes the cigarette, and blows the smoke out away from Tinaya and Silveon’s faces.

“I don’t smell it. If it’s smoke...”

“It’s not real.” Calla takes another puff, but covers the tip of the cigarette with her hand, which blocks the holographic light from spreading throughout the area.

“What’s the point?”

“It’s real on the other end,” Calla responds. “Still fucks up my lungs.”

That’s stupid, Tinaya thinks to herself.

“Yeah, it is stupid. But at least there’s no such thing as secondhand smoke on this ship, so you should be grateful. And by the way,” she goes on as she’s stepping aside for them to come in. “I’m not in my fifties.”

Tinaya takes a deep, epiphanic breath. “You’re a psychic.”

“Born and bred,” Calla agrees with a tight voice, which leads to a short coughing fit. “Can’t turn it off. Holo-smoking helps a little. The drinking...helps a lot.” She reaches for a glass of some kind of gross brownish liquid, and downs the rest of it.

“How are you getting away with these things? They’re illegal.”

Calla chuckles as she’s pouring another. “People got secrets. I know they’re secrets.” She offers the drink to Tinaya, then shrugs and downs that one too when Tinaya declines. She pours a third. “I can get away with pretty much anything.” She walks over, and points an accusing finger at Silveon. “As long as this little shit doesn’t fight me.”

“Excuse me?” Tinaya questions as she’s pulling her son away protectively.

“I can’t read his mind,” Calla explains as she’s shuffling away from the two of them. “He must be psychic too, and the best one I’ve ever heard of if he’s already mastered his barriers at his age.”

“What about your son?” Tinaya asks. “What’s he?”

Calla freezes up, and stays there for several seconds before dropping her glass down on the table. She then waits another several seconds. “A bigger shit. Come on. He’s taking a nap, but I can wake him up.”

Tinaya follows her down the hallway after Silveon shuts his eyes, and nods. This is apparently what he wants. But he must be crazy, because not only is this woman the biggest mess she’s ever seen, but the situation with her son is even crazier. “Is this a joke? This is Waldemar? Why, he must be at least eight years old!” The boy is sleeping on his side while a toy soldier operates on its own on his pillow right in front of his face, loudly shooting imaginary enemies.

“He’s ten,” Calla corrects.

“I assumed he was a baby, like Silvy.”

“You think this was my idea? Your niece, or whatever, is the one who brought him.” Niobe knows the truth about Silveon. If she did this, it’s because he asked her to.

Silveon suddenly giggles, and gently slaps Tinaya in her temple. It doesn’t hurt, but she does feel something surge throughout her head. It quickly dissipates.

Calla narrows her eyes, and peers at her. Then she shifts her gaze to Silveon, and back again. “He just put a psychic barrier in your mind.” She once more points at him accusingly, barely holding onto the glass with her remaining fingers. “What are you?”

“He’s my son,” Tinaya declares defiantly. “He’s my baby,” she adds in a softer tone. She adjusts her hold on him against her hip. “I don’t think this is going to work out. I’m sure Waldemar is a very lovely boy—”

“He’s not.”

“Then all the more reason...”

Silveon places his hands against her collarbone, and pushes his face away from her. Even though they’ve not come up with a code for how he can communicate with her while they’re in mixed company, she is absolutely sure that he’s trying to tell her that they need to stay.

“I think he wants to stay.” Calla is interpreting the move the same way apparently.

Tinaya looks at her child with concern on her face. This is obviously part of his mission, and if she holds him back from that, she’ll have lost the younger version of him for nothing. All three of them have sacrificed so much to make this work; four, if they’re counting Niobe. They can’t give up now. She may not know Silveon very well, but no son of hers would have sent his own consciousness back in time just for funsies. It has to be incredibly important that he make the changes to the timeline that he’s surely painstakingly planned out. She switches him to her other hip. “Okay. Well, we’ll be back in twenty minutes. I forgot his favorite stuffie.”

“Whatever.” Calla closes the door. “We’ll be here.”

Tinaya leaves the unit with Silveon, but then teleports back to their stateroom from the hallway. She carefully sets him down on the couch. “Why didn’t you tell me this before? Why didn’t you warn me?” She paces the room impatiently.

“I wanted you to see it for yourself,” Silveon replies. It’s still weird, hearing this little toddler articulate so well. “If Auntie Ni and I had tried to explain it, you would have just shaken your head, and forbade us from going. I need you to understand what we’re dealing with, so you’ll see why there’s no other choice.”

“I don’t know that. I didn’t see that. Nothing about that situation tells me why the hell—!” She stops herself. She shouldn’t be cursing in front of her son.

“It’s okay, mom. I’ve heard worse. I’m an adult.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that.” She takes one beat. “Are you psychic too? Have you been reading our minds this whole time?”

“No, I can’t read your mind,” he assures her. “Anyone can learn to put up a psychic barrier, and I learned from the best. I had to.”

“Who is Valdemar Kristiansen? Or rather, who does he become?”

“Hopefully nothing,” Silveon says.

“You’re here to assassinate him? Is this you trying to subvert the Hitler's Time Travel Exemption Act?”

Silveon laughs. “No. I’m not here to hurt anybody, mother.”

She keeps pacing for a little while in silence. “Why you? He’s eight years older, and no one can take you seriously yet. Why did they choose you to do this?”

Silveon smiles kindly. “No one chose me. I didn’t even volunteer. I’m the one who realized what needed to be done. I came up with the idea, I made the plan, and I’m following it through. I had help, but this isn’t a large operation. I might have chosen someone else if I had thought that I could trust them. But if there’s one thing this ship has taught me, it’s that...you can only rely on yourself.”

“I hate that lesson,” Tinaya laments.

“Me too,” he says comfortingly. “Which is why I’m trying to change it.”

“What’s wrong with that woman?” she asks.

“Just what you would think. She hears all the despicable things that people would prefer to keep to themselves. She tries to suffocate and drown them out, but they still leak through, and...”

Tinaya can guess where he’s going with this. “And she can hear her own son’s thoughts. That’s the real problem. He’s the real problem.”

“He doesn’t have to be. I can teach him.”

She has stopped pacing, but she’s looking away now, deep in thought. “Teach me first. Tell me what I need to know about him, and the future, and I will fix him for you. I’m an adult. I’m the Captain! This is no job for a baby.”

“It is, though,” he contends. “It’s not just about knowing what will happen if I don’t help him. It’s about who he’ll listen to. And I’m sorry, but the Captain? You are the last person he’ll listen to. Not everyone respects the chair. Some hate it. Some hate you. He’s the embodiment of all that hate. He absorbs it.” He pauses for a great deal of time. “Literally.”

“So, he is a psychic too?”

“Not in the way that you’re thinking. Look, I’ve already said too much. You really shouldn’t know all this. It’s not your problem. Just pretend to change my diapers, and sign me up for school when I’m older. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Did you have kids?”

“What?”

“Of your own. Did you grow up to have kids? Can you tell me that much?”

“No, I didn’t. I was too busy. I don’t think I could have done this if I had.”

“Then you couldn’t have known that what you’ve asked me to do is impossible. I can’t just let you handle it, no matter how old you are. I will always be your mother, and I will always need you to need me.”

He processes her words, then acknowledges them with a respectful nod.

Tinaya sighs, and looks over at the nursery door. “What’s your favorite stuffie? Or, what do you want it to be? We’ve come up with a cover story, so let’s make it real.”

Silveon smiles. “The fennec.”

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Extremus: Year 90

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It’s been about a year since Niobe moved to the Extremus to establish herself as a passenger. She’s been laying low, of course, instead of making some big announcement to the whole ship. Right now, she’s living off of her newborn contribution points. While she’s obviously not actually a newborn, as a new citizen, she’s enjoying the benefits of the vessel’s amenities without having to work for them. The naturalization program was created at the beginning of this project, just in case they somehow came across time travelers, or human aliens—or regular aliens—sometime during the journey. No one expected to ever do it, and officially speaking, it still hasn’t happened yet. No one needs to know that Niobe was born on Verdemus, and that she immigrated here. All the people she’s met so far have to know is that she moved here from a different section of the ship, and that she’s not currently in the workforce.

Silveon is thuh-riving. He’s reaching his developmental milestones at a healthy and typical pace. He can walk, run, and even climb. His obsession with exerting his independence has become a bit of a problem, but they’re dealing with his mischievousness. He can say a few random words, but not the ones that they expected. He says reframe a lot, as well as crew, light, and function—though, he fails to pronounce letter N in that last word, which is funny and cute, and embarrassing in mixed company. Tinaya has agreed to talk less about work in his presence, so he starts using fewer technical words. They would rather he focus on mama and dada. He likes to color, but he does not like to stay in the lines. Some people in the family think that this means he’ll grow up to be very rebellious, but his parents know that he’s a toddler, and this is how the toddler do. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s been rather curious about the little potty that they set up in the bathroom. He is just about ready to use it.

They have him set up on it now, trying to encourage him to try. “Go on! Go potty! You can do it! Just relax.”

He stares at the two of them like they’re speaking a foreign language, which they kind of are from his perspective. He starts to fiddle with the bidet settings. They’re on a child lock fortunately, so nothing is happening. Suddenly, he stops, and they don’t know what’s going on. He takes a breath as he’s looking around, at them, at the room, and even himself. He discovered his own body a long time ago, so what was this?

“Do you think he’s developed a rash, or something?” Tinaya asks, worried.

“I’m fine, mom,” Silveon says. He takes another breath before tinkling in the potty without issue. Once he’s done, he expertly disables the child lock to use the bidet and dryer. Then he stands up, and climbs the step stool to wash his hands.

Now they’re the ones staring at him. Arqut seems to realize something. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my child’s body?”

“Relax, father,” Silveon says as he’s slipping his pants back on, sans diaper. “I’m your son. I’m just an older version of him.”

“How much older?” Tinaya questions.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“When do we get our baby back?” she presses.

He lifts his little arms up, and they realize that he’s trying to place his hands on her shoulders. She gets down on her knees to allow him to do this. “I’m sorry, mother, but your baby is gone. I’ve overwritten his mind. This was a decision that I did not take lightly. I didn’t want to have to do it, but it’s the only form of undetectable time travel available. No one can know who I really am, and they certainly can’t know what I know, and why I’m here. I have chosen to reveal myself to you purely for practical reasons. I am not an actor, and would not have been able to fool your for long. It’s better to be honest now, so you can help me fool everyone else.”

“Why so young?” Arqut demands to know. “Why did you take our son from us at such a young age?”

Silveon sighs, and walks past them, into the main room. He struggles to get himself onto the couch, clearly not used to maneuvering such a tiny little substrate. “As I said, any other form of time travel would be detectable. I would have come here years ago, but this was as early as I could do it using this method. Studies have shown that breast milk improves child development, so I didn’t want to interfere with that, but I didn’t want to experience nursing at my true age either. This was the only time, really, when you think about it.”

Both parents start to cry, but desperately try to hold the tears back.

He watches them in sadness. “We’ll tell Niobe the truth, but not Zefbiri, and not anyone else. Auntie Ni will understand, as she’s no stranger to being reyoungified. We need her to take care of me for the next few days while you mourn your loss.”

“What are you talking about?” Tinaya’s eyes are watering even more, and there’s nothing she can do about it. “How the hell are we going to mourn this?”

“It’s an ambiguous loss. I know it won’t be easy, but we came up with a plan before I left the future,” Silveon begins to explain. “I’ll write it up for you. You will get through this, and one day, you’ll just see me as your son, instead of the stranger who took him from you.”

“Who came up with this plan?” Arqut asks. He’s doing better with the tears, but not by much. “Was it us? Did we send you back here?”

Silveon has a really good poker face as he’s refusing to respond.

“We couldn’t have,” Tinaya reasons. “If we were still alive when this apparent time travel needed to occur, one or both of us would have done it instead, and gone back to whatever point in the past would have given us the advantage that he lacks by showing up today.”

“Not if we didn’t want to incidentally prevent our Silveon from ever being born in the first place,” Arqut reasons better. “November 2, 2357; that’s as far back as any of us could have gone.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Silveon reiterates. “It’s done. It can’t be undone. I know what I’m here to do, and you don’t need to know anything beyond what I’ve already told you. In fact, it’s better if you don’t. Plausible deniability, and all that. Please. Go on your vacation, and let Niobe pretend to babysit me. When you come back, I promise you’ll be able to handle this situation better. I consulted the experts. I could tell anyone I wanted in the future, because that timeline has since collapsed, destroying the secret along with it. This is the timeline that needs to exist. We’ll all move on from here. It will be better.”

“How do we know? Tinaya asks him. “How do we know that you’re telling the truth? You could be anyone. We can’t test your identity. Even if we could, we would have to tell this supposed truth to someone who could actually conduct that test.”

“Yes.” Silveon nods. “That’s a wrinkle in the general plan that we were never able to iron out. Trust is something that you’re just going to have to give without any proof. Even if I recited a secret that the three of us had between us, maybe I’m a psycho who tortured it out of one of us in the other timeline. You don’t know. You can’t. I wish I could give you a better answer, but I don’t know what else to say to help. How can I make this better? How can I make you feel better?”

“We could tell Omega and Valencia...unless they turn into bad guys in the future.”

“Omega and Valencia’s time on this ship is coming to a close,” Silveon says. “They’ll be preoccupied with the Ex Wars, and they have their own son.”

“They do?” This was news to them.

“Yeah, he’s a handful. He lives on Dardius. Or he will live there, rather.”

This conversation has been disheartening, and also exhausting. Arqut literally can’t stand it anymore. He sidesteps over to the reading nook, and sits down. Tinaya does the same with one of the dining chairs on the other side of the bathroom. Neither one of them knows what to say anymore. There are time travel laws, which prohibit consciousness travel too, but this is their son we’re talking about. There is no way they’re turning him in, even though there’s a strong possibility that they’re looking at an entirely different person who stole his body. He’s right that they’re going to have to learn to trust him, which is exactly what an impostor would say to protect his cover. It really would be nice if they could trust someone with the expertise to test him. As part of their regular checkups most people go in for yearly brain scans. This becomes optional as they age, but it’s mandatory for babies. Human minds change over time, which is why it’s advised to keep doing it periodically, whether you like it or not. But even with Silveon’s advanced age, may there be a way to definitively prove his connection to his infant scan? The problem is they can’t even inquire if that’s possible without revealing too much about the secret. They’re stuck...stuck in the uncertainty. Or maybe not.

“We’re going to have you tested,” Tinaya insists. “I don’t know if we’ll come to the right conclusion, but we’re going to take you to the Chief Medical Officer to try.”

“We can’t trust them. I don’t even remember who it is in this time period, because they did not factor into the plan. Only the four of us can know anything.”

“As Captain, I enjoy certain privileges that are not afforded to other crew members,” Tinaya begins. “I can erase the doctor’s memories once we receive the results, and I can order him to not pursue the investigation into his missing time. In case he does keep pushing it, I’ll have him record a consent video for himself.”

Silveon shakes his head. “It’s not that simple. Memory technology is fickle. Your aunt knew how problematic it can be.”

“This was years ago,” Arqut contends. “Science marches on. Your mother’s right, Silveon...if that even is your real name. We need help. I know you wanted to keep the circle tight, but whatever your mission is, we can’t even begin to let you move forward with your plans unless we have some reason to believe that you’re someone we should care about. If you’re really our son, you were either raised by us, or our most devoted family members, which means you’ll do what we’re asking of you now. We’re still your parents, no matter which one of us is the oldest. You will do as your told.”

“I miss your bluntness.” Silveon appears to be thinking it over. “Your words are wise, and your heart is pure. I agree to your terms, father.”

“And we’re not going on a vacation,” Tinaya adds. “If we can prove who you are, we will be able to take solace in that truth, even though we have missed the opportunity to raise our son from youngling to young man.”

“I do apologize for taking that from you,” Silveon laments. “I assure you, this was the only way. The future of the mission depends on what I do for the next 31 years.”

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Microstory 2226: Not Giving Up on Him

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Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 2, and by Pixlr AI image editor

If you’ve been following Nick’s social media posts over the weekend, you’ll know that his health fell into a steep decline. He was still alive, and still aware of me in the room, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds, and he had a hell of a time speaking. His tremors went away, though. He was very still. I made the decision to keep him comfortable, and let him have the weekend. I was going to monitor him closely, and check him into the hospital if he did not get better in the next two days. Well, he somehow did get better. He was awake and alert this morning, and able to form full sentences. Sadly, his tremors came back too. It’s like his body shut down to take a break, and now it’s back to how it was last week. So he’s not cured, or anything, but I see it as a promising development. The doctors aren’t so optimistic. This is an unusual symptom for the type of prion that he has, but it’s not unheard of. He’ll go through dips, and come out of them as if he’s gotten better, but then he’ll go right back down. They want to keep him overnight to get a better read on the pattern that he’s on right now, but the dips don’t necessarily warrant a permanent stay, which is good. They expect him to recover from each dip. Now, if he starts having trouble breathing, that’s when things have gotten too bad for me to be able to care for him alone. But until that happens, the medical staff are willing to accept his wishes to remain in a more comfortable and familiar environment. He’s with PT in the hallway right now, trying to keep his brain and body active. The best way to fight the misfolded proteins is to exercise the good proteins. The disease is slowly taking over, so he has to be as much himself as possible. I’ll encourage to keep trying to formulate his own words for these posts to stave off the inevitable for as long as possible. He agrees that this is a good idea. And who knows, he may find himself regaining the ability to type it all out himself. I’m not giving up on him just yet.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 27, 2398

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The new lab facility that the Honeycutts purportedly gave to Leona and Ramses isn’t gigantic. It’s about thirty meters wide, and twenty deep. It’s three stories tall, with a basement. It’s designed very simply, as a concrete block held together by steel beams. They never got around to laying a parking lot, but there’s a little warehouse in the back. It’s down a hill, so it’s actually on the same level as the basement, and they can drive right into it. Since they probably won’t require that kind of storage, it should be good enough. It’s not quite located in the suburbs, but it’s not in the center of the city either. This should make for a relatively quiet, but accessible, area.

They ended up never giving Winona the list of equipment they would need to set up a working lab for the both of them. Instead, they kept the list to themselves, and added up the cost to procure all of it. They also included the cost of construction and labor to make the place look less like a parking garage, and more like a legitimate place of business. Then they doubled that number, and gave that to Winona. She seemed neither surprised nor perturbed about it, and wrote them a check right then and there. Now they wish they had asked for triple. They set up a new bank account, separate from the Walton one they’ve all been accessing, and the credit cards. It’s good to not keep all of one’s eggs in one basket. It will still be a joint fund for the whole team, which is why they asked for extra.

It’s only been three days, and the place is already starting to look real. They just finished installing the interior walls, according to a design that the artificial intelligence that Ramses took from the Constant came up with according to his direction. Next, crews will lay tile on the second floor, and cork and high pile carpeting on the top floor. Winona probably expected them to use the whole building for their labs, but that shouldn’t be necessary, so they have other plans for the other two levels. The top floor will have to wait until later, but today is for the ground level. They’ve not done much with it yet, but they want to show the space to a couple of their friends, so they have called Angela and Heath in. Marie is taking some time for herself at a spa day. Mateo and Kivi could be here, but they’re doing some father-daughter activities, and this doesn’t really have anything to do with them.

“What do you think of this one?” Leona asks.

“It’s coming along nicely,” Angela says with a nod of approval. She’s being polite, because it really isn’t anything yet. “It’s not quite as done as the top floor.”

“Well, this one is special,” Ramses says cryptically.

“What makes it special?”

“It’s for you,” he says.

“Me?”

Heath steps in. “My wife is done with her job. After the procedure, she’s reprioritized her life, and she’s decided to just...be.”

“Okay...that means it’s my prerogative to quit?” Angela wants to be relieved, but she can’t know that yet. “Or do you want me to keep going?”

“We want you to quit,” Heath begins, “but we think you should keep doing what you’re doing.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Did Marie ever tell you how she and Heath manage to afford everything they have on the salary that you are all too well aware of now?” Leona asks her. “Teaching doesn’t pay that much, so where did the money come from in only four years?”

“Well, she implied that she had another job before this one,” Angela says, presuming now that it’s not the whole story.

Ramses chuckles, and hands her a pair of virtual reality goggles. “Put these on.”

Angela puts them on, and looks around at the start of a virtual world.

“That’s called Angaros. It’s a kind of game.”

Angela lifts the goggles up to leave them on her forehead. “That’s the name of the environment I was going to build once I was promoted to World-Builder in the afterlife simulation. I spent my free time drawing up plans.”

“What was the purpose of this world?” Leona asks encouragingly.

“Well, I was hoping to make it a sanctuary for Level Fours, particularly the ones who finally finished serving their sentences in Hock. They would be given amenities normally reserved for higher levels. I even wanted to start a program that helped to commute certain people’s sentences.”

Heath smiles affectionately. “She did that. She built that world. Of course, it’s not quite as sophisticated as anything you would have made in that other place, but it works. It helps people.”

“You just said it was a game,” Angela argues.

“It’s a game for convicts,” Heath clarifies. “It’s halfway between a prison and a halfway house. Inmates journey through this virtual world, and learn how to make good choices, as well as function in society after what they’ve been through. It’s fun, though; it is fun, so the prisoners don’t feel like they’re just taking a class. They actually want to play. They apply for session times. It’s estimated that her program alone has lowered recidivism by 24%...around the country.”

“Wow. Why didn’t she say anything about this before?” Angela asks.

“She sold it. She sold it for around four million dollars. She could have gotten a lot more, because remember inflation is much higher here than in your day. She had some stipulations, like the fact that her name couldn’t be made public, or that users would never have to pay or perform labor in order to qualify for the program.”

Angela is four years removed from her alternate self, but these sound like things that she would do, in the exact ways that she would do them. She understood the purpose of placing certain people in hock. Just because you die, doesn’t mean you automatically become a good person. But she also hated how the Limiteds were treated, sometimes as if they had never been released from prison at all. “I’m glad she did that.”

“She tried to retire,” Heath continues, “but didn’t care for it. I think she’s ready for it now, but we all thought maybe you would want to take up the mantle?”

“I don’t want to go back to that place,” Angela says sadly.

“You won’t have to. That’s what this space is for. We think you could start your own company, and do whatever you want with it. The whole floor is all yours.”

“You’re so good at the coding, and you have access to my new AI,” Ramses says. “Perhaps you could become a competitor, and just blow them out of the water.”

Angela nods and looks around again. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course,” Leona says. “Take all the time you need.”

Angela separates from the group, and starts dreaming up plans.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 26, 2398

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Mateo and Kivi yawn at the same time, the fourth in a series of yawns that started ten minutes ago. Everyone knows that yawning is contagious—though no one is a hundred percent sure why—but this is getting ridiculous. They both laugh, because that is also contagious. “Boredom is a sign of an unstimulated mind,” Kivi muses.

He looks at her differently. “That’s just the definition of boredom.”

“Oh. I thought it made me sound smart.”

“Are you not?”

“No, I’m cognizant of my alternate selves, but I don’t know the things they do. I should say that I’m cognizant of their existence. I don’t know anything about them. Are most of them smart?”

“A few of them are lawyers, but I don’t think we have any scientists in the family.”

She nods. “So, you’re my father, eh?”

“Leona’s theory is that your mother and I conceived you in an old timeline in the main sequence. Due to what you are, you managed to survive, and keep coming back in later timelines, including ones where Eseosie and I never met, or I didn’t even exist.”

“Now we’re in a reality where neither of you exists. I don’t know who my parents are supposed to be.”

“Let’s just say it’s me.”

“I think I would like that, if you’re okay with it.”

“You’re not the only daughter I have out there that I never took care of. You got a half brother too. He and his full sister do their own things, and I don’t know anything about them, though I’ve heard they’re incredibly powerful. Like..Meliora Rutherford-level powerful.”

She nods and yawns. He yawns. They sit in silence for another few minutes.

“I don’t even think I know how to ride a bike.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “You know how to speak English, and tie your shoes?”

“Yeah. Maybe I do.”

As dense as he is, he should’ve realized right away that she was asking him to teach her. Marie does have a bike that she stores above their parking space in the underground garage. “I could teach you.”

“Would you? I would love that!” She’s excited.

“Yeah, I haven’t done it in...” He looks at his watch. “Oh, a few thousand years, give or take a few timelines.”

“It’ll be fun. We certainly don’t have anything better to do, do we?”

“No laboratories to set up, no couples trips to go on, no job to do.”

They go downstairs and retrieve the bicycle. He walks it down the hill to the park for her, where a father is already teaching his own daughter to ride. She’s at a typical age. Hopefully people won’t judge Kivi. Not everyone is born with the same privileges, weird temporal condition or otherwise. She gets on the bike, and tries to pedal. They quickly learn that she was right about not knowing how. He never had a younger sibling, and as he was saying before, didn’t ever get the chance to raise his children. It’s nice, even though she’s an adult, that they can share this one experience. Perhaps there will be more down the line. She might not know how to catch a ball, or talk to a crush either.

Microstory 1714: Big Dog Ballpoint Pens

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My great great grandfather started this company. The year was 1904, and he was extremely ahead of his time. You may have heard that the first ballpoint pens were sold in the middle of the century, but that is not true. That is just when they became popular, and started on the road to ubiquity. My ancestor was the first to break into the industry after they were invented. He knew that there was something to this new technology. Big Dog was his nickname in the army, on account of how good he was at sniffing out the enemy. He mostly sold to construction companies who wanted to mark the wood they were cutting with something other than pencil, and to left-handed note-takers who were tired of the ink and lead smudging on their hands. Yes, sir, he was a pioneer, and I admire him for that. I never knew the man, but I know what he stood for. He was simple, and easy to please. He never wanted to be the biggest writing utensil company in the world, which is why he never thought to branch out into other instruments, nor did his descendants. We do ballpoints, and we only do ballpoints. Our design has become more sophisticated over time, and we’re on the verge of launching the next generation in our popular funtime series, which features characters from a certain children’s TV show that all you parents out there are familiar with. Still. It’s just ballpoint pens. We don’t make other kinds of pens, or pencils. We don’t sell paper to go along with it, or even pen cases. A single product with multiple series to appeal to an array of customers. My grandfather was adamant about that—I remember—rest in peace. He wanted to keep the tradition, and while I’m no one to scoff at tradition, I also know a business opportunity when I see one. We’re a household name now, and we should start thinking bigger.

When my dad retired two years ago, he gave me one single mandate. He said, “son, this company is yours now. I expect you to treat her as well as your predecessors always did.” Well, that’s what I plan on doing, and I don’t think adding new products interferes with, or contradicts, that mandate. He might have meant to say that I wasn’t allowed to change anything, but that’s not what he said, and that’s not what I’m going to do. It’s the 21st century now, and pens...aren’t as big as they used to be. They’re still great, but kids these days are always on their little devices. It’s time that we get into the little devices business. Introducing the Big Dog Augmented Reality Stylus. Unlike my great great grandfather, we’re not the first to make this product, but we believe we’re the best. With our free phone app, you can view any virtual writing in any space, whether you were the one who first created it, or not. With the handy writing board, you can write or draw in whatever position is most comfortable, and then drag—or even throw—the content over to some other point in space. With our view glasses, you can draw and view the content without even using your hands. We’ve been developing these products for two years now, and we’re just about ready to release them. I know, that sounds insane. How does a ballpoint pen company suddenly pivot to AR? Well, the truth is that I’ve been working on this my whole life. I have a bachelor’s degree in graphic design, and a masters in computer engineering. I also studied art in high school, so I know what creative people want. This is where the future of technology is headed, and we’re ready for it. Believe it or not, the first models are finished and tested. Right now, we’re looking for investors to work with us on distribution and advertising. So wadya say? Who’s in?

Microstory 1683: Death Introduced

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The battle was over, and the majority of the crew of The Crossover left Providenciaverse to get back to their mission of cataloging the bulkverse. Only 148 Maramon were left to settle on the planet, one of which was the original captain, who was mostly there out of a sense of obligation to them. Still, he did not complain. He continued to lead his people, so that they could thrive on their new world. His last order as captain was to erase all navigational data, so that no one else could return to this place. He didn’t want the leadership back on Ansutah to decide that the deserters needed to be punished in some way. If they ever, ever figured out where Providence was, then they would be able to arrive for extraction immediately. Hell, they could even come at some point earlier in the timeline if they wanted. So the settlers didn’t hold their breaths for long. After a week of no retaliation, they were confident that their location would forever remain a secret. They began to get to work, building infrastructure to make their lives easier, and forming a radical propagation plan to increase their numbers as quickly as possible. In ancient times on Ansutah, Maramon felt compelled to have many children. This powerful instinct had to be quelled once the people realized that their universe was not vast enough to accommodate infinite expansion. Such population control was no longer necessary—not here—and they had no intention of taking that for granted. Despite being left there with no advanced technology, the settlers developed fairly rapidly. However, their choice to stay was not without cost. They were born and bred to be immortal, but those rules did not apply in every universe. Here, they would age. Here, they would die.

It was a pretty hard thing to digest, the fact that a universe was capable of not only having different proper physics, but that it could somehow transform a lifeform on an organic level. Their ancient texts spoke of death in the early days of their homeworld, but for most of history, the idea was more academic. Only recently was it reintroduced to them in full force when they discovered the limited scope of their universe. Even then, they remained ageless, and really only died due to the resource wars. It broke their hearts to learn that this was just the way they would live from now on, just like the way humans evolved naturally. And if they were no better than humans, as they had been taught their entire lives, what other lies did they believe about life, the bulkverse, and everything? Fortunately, their new state of being did not cause them to resort to something irreversible, like war. Not long afterwards, the original settlers all died out anyway, leaving their descendants to move on without them, having never experienced the immortal lifestyles of their forebears. They continued to progress, just as any moderately peaceful civilization will, while always keeping the environment in mind. The settlers had dedicated themselves to not teaching their young ones too much about where they ultimately came from. If the species was going to survive, they would have to think that the way things were was the way things had always been. Some stories held on better than others, but overall, the society that formed over the centuries was normal. Some people were bad, some were good. They tried to do the right thing, and made mistakes. They explored the solar system, and sent probes and colonists to the nearest stars in the neighborhood. Their Maramon brethren never did come back, for any reason, but the Ochivari did come, and that’s when things got interesting.

Microstory 1664: Private Network

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When the immortal man created life on a multitude of planets, across thousands of galaxies, in the Composite Universe, he didn’t have many plans to interact with his creations. He figured they could be left to their own devices, and they would rise or fall upon their own merits and mistakes. He didn’t completely abandon most of them, though. For nearly every world, he designed a way to allow his people to reach out to him, if they so wished. Most of them could be found in space, which meant that the people would have to develop enough to actually reach it, but others were near the surface of the world of origin. They would still generally require some level of intelligence, as well as the ability to work together in a team. Still, there were a few planets he chose to ignore, not out of spite or anything, but just to see whether they could find him on their own. They were meant to progress in their own way, and if they eventually became sufficiently advanced—and chose to explore outer space—they could figure it out. It might take them a few thousand years, or more, but neither he nor they were on some kind of time limit. He was destined to live for billions of years, and he had so many other things to worry about, that the outcome of any one race didn’t matter too terribly much. One world discovered how heavily populated the universe was shockingly quickly. Instead of gradually traveling farther and farther from home, they decided to stay on the ground, and focus on finding a way to jump anywhere they wanted instantaneously. This was already possible by way of the Nexus network, but this civilization didn’t have access to that. They had to come up with it all on their own.

They devised a method of sending a vessel to anywhere in the observable universe within a matter of minutes, significantly cutting down travel time, though it was still not quite as fast as a Meganexus, which can do it in seconds. They equipped their vessels with recall mechanisms, allowing it to spontaneously open a new node, and send it back home. They would always have to go back to home base first, but that wasn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things. Given enough time, they could construct a new relay point, but they only did that if they felt there was any need, like if they found any other lifeforms at the second location. That was what they were doing; going out in search of friends and allies, but also for those who might threaten them. That was another reason not to build a relay point, because if they maintained control over the technology, a nefarious force was less likely to be able to find them. Of course, they started out at shorter distances, covering their galaxy, before moving onto neighboring galaxies, and beyond. Their creator deliberately spread out his people, so each would have room to grow without worrying about running into diplomatic issues for a while. The intergalactic hoppers were pretty upset to learn that they were alone, even though they weren’t. They created a formula long before that predicted how many worlds should be inhabited, and refined it as variables came in through their travels. Not a single evolved and intelligent soul across millions of light years? The reality was that naturally evolved life was even rarer than that, as this was several  hundred million years before humans evolved on Earth. They came this close to going extinct, and while it’s rather complicated, it was pretty much due to profound loneliness. The few survivors kept going, though, and would later find themselves assimilated into the general population.