Microstory 2545: Obstetrician

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I’m technically trained as an OB-GYN, but I practice obstetrics. It wasn’t always like that. For years, I worked as an Associate Physician at a private practice for years. I worked there in that capacity for a little too long, in fact. I should have been on the partner track. My boss kept telling me that he would let me buy into the practice to join them one day, but it never happened. It was a boy’s club, and probably not my best idea to apply there in the first place. But I absolutely adored my patients, so I stuck with it. Finally, I had had enough of being dismissed and sidelined. I started focusing on starting my own practice, at first while I was still employed, but then not once they found out, and fired me over it. “If you don’t wanna work here, then don’t work here!” Well, they had to pay into my unemployment insurance by not letting me quit, so who’s the loser now? Sorry, I get a little frustrated, even though I’ve left them in the dust. Starting my own practice was a huge struggle. I had trouble securing the loan, and no one in the industry wanted to work with me, because my old bosses bad-mouthed me to them. I was distraught. I didn’t know what to do. I started reapplying to other practices, but had no luck. I finally decided to just move out here to Kansas. I didn’t even have a job lined up. I kind of just threw a dart on a map, and took what looked interesting. I can’t remember the connection, but someone I knew knew someone who knew someone who blah, blah, blah. I had some six degrees of separation from Landis. They asked me to come work for them for their new legacy department. So, it’s not the same thing as actually owning your own practice, but I’m still the one who runs the place. I make all the decisions, and care for our patients the way I know they should be treated. As I said, I practice mostly obstetrics now, but that’s more of the way we frame it. Obviously, if one of my patients who had her child years ago comes to me with an issue in my department, I’m not going to turn her away. She lives here, and it’s my job to treat her. Oh, my old bosses were so upset when they found out that the Foundation picked me. They actually tried to do the same thing that they did for all the practices in my original area, in the hopes that they would be selected instead. What a bunch of jerks. They still won’t talk to me. They act like I stole their jobs. But my colleagues have my back, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t think that my patients would either.

Microstory 2540: Concierge Doctor

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I’m obviously bound by doctor-patient confidentiality, but even if I felt comfortable divulging any privileged information about my patient, there would be nothing to say. Landis is in perfect shape, which is exactly what you would expect to find in someone with such abilities. It’s the easiest work I’ve ever done. It’s probably not necessary, it just seems rational for this one man to have a personal concierge doctor available to respond to his hypothetical needs at all times. A lot of the work I do involves running reports on his vitals. They do change, throughout the day and day to day, but they’re always within acceptable and optimal parameters. His stress levels can fluctuate, but the underlying conditions are apparently mitigated through his own self-healing. I don’t know a whole lot about it. The researchers keep their research behind closed doors. I’m just responsible for how he’s doing, not why he’s healthy. I try to follow current health guidelines regarding his lifestyle and eating habits. For one, he works twelve hours a day, which isn’t recommended, but I was overruled. Secondly, he doesn’t get any exercise, which is why I firmly believe his ability is healing him, because otherwise, he shouldn’t be doing so well. I certainly wouldn’t call him a sloth, but if he moved around more, it would either exhaust him after hours, or his own patients would have to walk with him, which is an absurd proposition. So, his diet. That’s really the only thing that I can control. I decide what goes in his body, and I run my own blood tests on him to make the best judgment calls I can for every single meal. Most people don’t have their diets so precisely tailored, but obviously, I have quite a bit of time on my hands. So I work closely with his personal chef, who has no problem following my recommendations, and Landis himself doesn’t really care. I sit at the ready should anything go wrong in my office that’s attached to the healing room, and at the end of every shift, I perform a quick physical examination. I work long hours, but they’re easy hours. Sometimes I reminisce about the rush of the emergency room, but I know how lucky I am, so I try not to take my good fortune for granted. One day, I may become obsolete entirely, and while that might sound scary, the world would be vastly superior to even the one we have today. I’m all for it.

Microstory 2535: Private Nurse

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Because of the constant use of his healing ability, we believe that Landis Tipton is essentially not capable of getting sick. To put it another way, we believe that he is constantly healing himself by drawing the miracle breath through his body for twelve hours a day. I don’t know what the threshold would be, but I did have the privilege of meeting the original Voldisil who had the healing gift, and she said that she occasionally got the flu or the cold. And she could get papercuts, and headaches when she didn’t drink enough water. She wasn’t using her ability enough for it to work on herself. Still, there’s no reason to risk it, so I remain at Landis’ side while he’s working. I take more breaks than he does, and during those times, I’m relieved by the doctor, but then I get right back to my perch, making sure that we weren’t wrong about our hypothesis. After his normal operating hours, I no longer keep eyes on him, but I’m always close by; usually in the suite next door, or maybe the hallway. I’ve never had to treat him, but I do run frequent tests. I track his vitals, and ask him questions about how he’s feeling. That’s what causes the delays in the queue, and it’s something that I had to fight for. Technically, he could probably heal three or four times as many people per day than he does, but I will not allow it. I periodically hold things up to make sure that he’s okay because he won’t stop to tell me if there’s something wrong. It sucks. It sucks for the people waiting in line, and waiting for their appointment, and waiting for their applications to go through. But Landis’ health and well-being are important too. The breath does not cure stress. It’s a condition of state, and he’s just as susceptible to it as anyone would be in his position. He holds people’s very lives in his hands, and he has to slow down, or he could burn out psychologically and emotionally. Of course, he has his private therapist to take care of that side of things, but I certainly don’t want to undermine his potential issues by hanging back. I don’t overstep my bounds, because that too would stress him out, but we’ve been working together for years now, and have grown close. He knows that I have his best interests at heart, and that I’m doing this for the Foundation; not in spite of it. They want to keep the Foundation running, even when the panacea is discovered, but I’m not so sure. I know him pretty well, and I think he’ll be ready to be done, even if he can’t admit it to himself just yet.

Microstory 2523: Health Coach

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Currently, everyone whose application is accepted by the Landis Tipton Breath of Life Foundation is entitled to a single healing session. No plans have been made to heal the same person more than once. Research is pretty minimal in this area. It’s not that they’re not running the studies, but they’ve been hush-hush about it. I want to be absolutely clear that we have no reason to believe that Landis’ healings are anything but permanent. If you’re suffering from anything when he gets his breath on you—even if it’s multiple things—they should be healed permanently. We have never heard of anything coming back. That said, what is unclear is how comprehensive the healing is to a person’s future health. I mean, you can get a terminal infection that he cures, only to later be diagnosed with cancer. I’ve never heard of any specific case, but that doesn’t tell me anything. The Foundation does not keep track of its past clients beyond making sure they do not attempt to apply a second time. We don’t check in on them, or send out periodic surveys. Any research done into how past patients are faring are being done by unrelated third parties, and are unendorsed by Landis Tipton, or the Foundation. Really, it has nothing to do with us. We don’t have the resources to track all of that data, and this decision was made long ago. That’s why I have a job, because while Landis can heal just about anything, it’s up to you to maintain your health from now on. We understand that healthy living is not easy. Fresh produce is more expensive. Not everyone can afford an exercise machine, a gym membership, or the time to care for themselves. What I do is teach patients to do what they can. They’re starting from scratch here, which is positively unprecedented in history. Medical science knows so much more about how to stay healthy than it used to, and one area of research that has always struggled with is reaching that great starting point. Landis has given people that, and I urge every one of my patients to not take that for granted. My services are not required. My classes take place after your healing sessions, and are entirely optional. Once you get through that line, and you’re checked out, you can leave. But if you want to make sure that your healing doesn’t go to waste, come to me, and I’ll do everything I can to educate you on how to live a healthy life, so you don’t even have to worry about the fact that there are as of yet no third chances. I have been a doctor for thirty years, and have always kept up with advancements in my field. My colleagues in the same position have similar résumés. We know what we’re talking about, and we can help you. All you gotta do...is turn left before you leave.

Extremus: Year 99

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Tinaya is in a little trouble. It’s not enough to get her fired, or stripped of her rank, but she’s been in a lot of meetings over the last few months. Everyone in these meetings pretty much tells her that it’s no big deal. Which is weird. Because if they’re being honest, who exactly thinks that it is a big deal, because someone keeps prompting more discussions. She thought it was over, and the crew and the council had moved on, but Captain Jennings is presently walking down Admiral Hall, and she doesn’t know what to make of it. He might be here to see Lataran instead, but given the circumstances, probably not. Thistle knows that the man needs no introduction, so upon Oceanus’ approach, the door opens automatically.

“Captain,” Tinaya says, respectfully with a nod.

“Admiral.” In every single other iteration of organizational ranks that include captain and admiral, the latter is the superior officer. It seems obvious. It’s a promotion, after all, and that is no less true here. But the whole point of the captaincy is to have a singular voice in charge of the ship. This relegates any admiral to an advisory role. They had their opportunities to enact policy and procedures, and now that is over. As clear and unambiguous as the responsibilities are listed in the handbook, it can make moments like these somewhat awkward. The book doesn’t, and can’t, encapsulate how these two should behave around each other. If they were robots, it would be easy and obvious, but at the end of the day, they’re both just people, and they can’t take emotions, or their history, out of the equation.

“How nice of you to visit our corner of paradise.” She means this genuinely.

“Yes, that’s what I would like to talk to you about.”

She nods silently.

“We’ve been in meetings for the last million years, but we’ve not had the chance to talk one-on-one. Where’s Lataran?”

“I dunno,” Tinaya replies. “Somewhere else.”

“I just—can we sit?”

“Of course. Right here.” Tinaya pivots her guest chair so he can sit down, then instead of going around to the other side of her desk, sits down across from him in one of Lataran’s guest chairs.

“I wanted to make sure you understand that I am not angry at you, or embarrassed for myself. I appreciate your candor, and admire your dedication to transparency. I would like to model my shift on it, and will be leaning on you for your guidance in such matters.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she explains. “I wasn’t complaining. Truthfully, I don’t know how we ended up in that part of the interview. He asked me a question, and I answered it. My only filter was whether it was classified information or not. I should have been more careful.”

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” Oceanus goes on. “It bothers me that they kept making you do it over and over again. Every time they brought someone new in, they acted like the interview was a personal attack on this person too, and that isn’t what was happening. If I can be truthful, I didn’t realize that you were missing in my life. Perhaps if I had made an effort to meet with you once after my induction ceremony, it would have been encoded in my memory, and I would have come to you more often. There have been times over the last few years where I’ve struggled, and I could have used the counsel. I placed too much burden on my lieutenants, and did not recognize your value. For that, I’m sorry.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Tinaya says, “and graceful.” That doesn’t seem like quite the right word, but she’s not going to find a new one, and correct herself.

There’s a brief unawkward moment of silence before Oceanus speaks again. “I would like to set up regular meetings with the two of you. Perhaps you and I can talk on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and I can have Lataran on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays?”

“I’m sure she would be amenable to that,” Tinaya says. While Lataran has gotten better at busying herself with other tasks, her number one job is to be available every day, so Tinaya doesn’t have to ask her if the proposed schedule will work.

“Perfect. And on the seventh day, God rested.”

“Who is God in this metaphor?”

Oceanus averts his gaze to consider it. “The ship itself.” He pauses another moment. “Or one of the zebra fish that the secondary school first years genetically engineer to learn about digital DNA.” Now it’s a bit awkward.

“So, uh...it’s Tuesday.”

“Yeah,” Ocean replies quickly, standing up. “Let’s start next week. You can fill Lataran in, and if she wants to change things up, we can talk about it.”

“Okay. It was nice to see you, Captain. Thanks for stopping by.”

“Are we okay?” he asks.

“We’re great. Don’t worry. I don’t know if you need to be transparent with everyone all the time, but as long as you’re honest with me, we’ll be okay.”

“Thanks.”

Lataran walks into the room with her head down as she’s unsealing the front of her uniform. “Oh my God, the self-sizing function on my suit is acting up. I can’t breathe.” Finally, she looks up, surprised. “Captain, you’re here.” She looks back down. “And my bare breasts are out.” She closes her uniform back up.

“Forgive the intrusion, Admiral.” He starts walking past her to the door. “I’ll wait one day to file my report with the Conduct Department, so you can get your side of the story in first.”

“Thank you, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“It doesn’t bother me on principle. I just want to ensure that you feel safe and comfortable.” He exits.

“Am I in trouble now too?” Lataran asks.

“Exposure isn’t illegal,” Tinaya reminds her, “even in the workplace. Conduct just needs a record of the incident. I’m more worried about what I just saw, and what it means. Or what it could mean.”

“What do you mean?” Lataran questions. “What does what mean? Mean. What did I just say? Just tell me what you’re talking about.”

“We’ve known each other our whole lives, right? Which is why you were comfortable changing right in front of me, when you thought it was just the two of us, of course.”

“I should think so. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Exactly. And in that time, your size hasn’t changed much.”

“Are you saying I’m getting fat?”

“I’m saying that...part of you...kind of looks like...it might be. They...might be.”

“Oh my God, am I pregnant?”

“Maybe.”

“I’m sixty-four years old!”

“I was sixty-four when I had Silveon.”

“Yeah, and that was weird. You’re weird, I’m normal.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Lataran unseals the front of her uniform again, and looks down. “Oh my God.” She looks up, and covers her chest. Then she pulls her suit away to look down again, as if she’s going to get different results. “Oh my God!”

“It will be okay, Latty. I figured it out. So will you.”

“You had Arqut!”

“Who’s your Arqut?”

“Some guy. We’re not close.”

“That’s okay. You’re not alone. Whatever you decide, I support you.”

Lataran purses her lips and nods. She’s appreciative of her friend, but that isn’t the issue. “Thistle? Am I pregnant?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I assumed you knew.”

“Why would you assume that?”

“You had a medical check-up last week, and I am not privy to those appointments. They would have been able to confirm it for you quite easily.”

“That’s true,” Lataran agrees.

“Due to her advanced age, however,” Tinaya begins, “pregnancy is unusual. They would not have necessarily tested for it. You, on the other hand, test wellness passively constantly.”

“That is also true,” Thistle confirms. “I should have said something earlier. I will be sure to do better in the future.”

“I hope that future doesn’t involve me getting pregnant a second time,” Lataran laments. “And I forgive you, Thistle. Perhaps an overhaul of our medical monitoring program needs to be addressed. I shouldn’t have to ask for any test that can be detected automatically.” She’s right. Most people in the stellar neighborhood of Earth maintain persistent diagnostic tools wherever they go using the medical nanites swimming in their blood. Even those who don’t want nanites that are sophisticated enough to treat their conditions automatically have some kind of tracking system in place, like an implant. Extremus has strayed away from these transhumanistic upgrades because they could lead to virtual immortality. That would go against the mandate of this ship, which is that everyone dies, and not everyone will live to see the home planet. Perhaps that should be reëvaluated too, though, since it’s a damn lie.

Tinaya doesn’t want to sound critical or judgmental here, but this may be the most sensitive way to put it. “There are ways to be more careful.”

“I know,” Lataran admits. “I should have kept an eye on it. But my doctor should have spotted it too. It sounds like there’s a real issue. I may not be the only one. There could be a bad batch of reproduction regulators for all we know.” Birth control has long been perfected. Like medical diagnosis and treatment, the stellar neighborhood has access to nanites to control all of the body’s functions. Since that is forbidden on the ship, anyone who wants to have purely recreational sex should receive an injection to suppress the brain signals that trigger reproduction. It can be turned back off with a second injection, and will remain in place until such time that it is reversed intentionally...except in one case. Anyone who is destined to experience menopause is required by law to switch over to an alternative variation of the injection which does wear off over time. Well, time isn’t what wears it down. It’s sex. The more often you have it, the more you butt up against the neural programming, and the less it resists, so you have to receive renewal injections accordingly. It’s an unfortunate but necessary tradeoff. Menopause can’t occur at all with the more robust silencing enzyme, and preventing menopause has been shown to have negative health consequences. Just as it has always been, though, women bear the brunt of the responsibility.

“I assume that you’ve been going to the chief medical officer?”

“Yeah,” Lataran answers. “Well, Radomil hasn’t ever been able to see me personally. The Senior Executive Physician has performed my last three check-ups.”

“This is Dr. Gunnarsson?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, he did my check-ups too. It’s unusual. The CMO is supposed to personally handle all medical needs for admirals, captains, and lieutenants.”

“Yeah. Do you want me to go over his head?”

“No.” Tinaya shakes her head while thinking about it. She looks over her shoulder, in the general direction of the secret mini-Nexus hidden in the floor. “Dr. Cernak is in charge of the entire ship’s medical personnel, including the passenger side of things. The most removed we can get from him is the Hock doctor, but they do have regular meetings together, so I’m not even entirely comfortable with that.”

“What would you suggest?” Lataran asks, not having noticed where Tinaya was looking.

“You need to go to Verdemus. That is an entirely separate team. They are not in contact. The more I think about this, the more concerned I become that there’s something going on. Two old women having babies; as you said, it’s weird.”

“I don’t think that I should go through the Nexus,” Lataran determines. “Omega and Valencia never warned us not to, but it just seems...risky.”

Tinaya nods. “You’re right, I agree. I’ll go get whoever it is, and bring them back here for a house call. We won’t tell anyone else, not even Arqy.”

Lataran has been frowning for a while, but now she exaggerates it. “Thank you.”

“While I’m gone, pull up the records. Find out how many other old mothers there are, if any. I’m not saying it’s a conspiracy—it might not be—but...it might be.”

And so Tinaya goes off to the home away from home planet of Verdemus, hoping to convince a doctor there to come back and secretly examine a patient. Everyone there is really helpful, and the doctor in question returns with no argument. She doesn’t even complain when Tinaya asks to blindfold her, and teleport her to the Admiral office, which could have been on the other side of the ship, but in reality, they were already in it. Before the exam even begins, though, Lataran has news. Women who should be old enough to be post-menopausal are getting pregnant left and right. They are crewmembers and passengers alike. It’s a growing trend with no apparent explanation, and neither of them is sure who they can go to about this, because they don’t know who to trust. They end up seeking help from the Bridger Section, but it turns out to be a mistake. They’re not just in on it. They’re spearheading it.

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Microstory 2390: Earth, December 18, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

Ah yes, my voice was breaking a little bit, because I was so nervous. I wasn’t...really...upset about what I learned from Madalena. I understand why she did what she did, and why she thought it made sense. The truth is that she treated me for very little money, and I would love to blame her for my condition, but I had a consult with a doctor recently, who ran tests. She was sure that I would have developed my epigenetic disease no matter where I lived. As you said, Madalena could have remained a partial observer. We all now know that she was always a doctor, not only a nurse, but from what my father knew of her back then, she shouldn’t have been qualified to treat my symptoms at all. She went above and beyond to keep me alive. Watching me wither away and die while she kept me comfortable to maintain her cover would have been really easy. Plus, wouldn’t that have been part of the study? You observe these two twins in vastly different environments, one of them dies, and you try to determine what caused it. The experiment was doomed from the start, because they were going into it with far too much bias. They should have secured regulatory approval, instituted a double-blind study, observed from afar, and with impartiality, and let whatever happened happen. If they couldn’t get that approval due to its ethically questionable premise, then they just shouldn’t have done it! Perhaps researchers would like to know what it looks like when a million people are shot into the sun, but that’s morally wrong, so no one’s done a study on that, as far as I know. Anyway, Madalena is a human, and I forgive her. But it’s a lot easier for me, because she lives so far away, and I don’t think that she ever plans on coming here. We don’t need her kind of help, we’re doing well. You’re stuck with your observer, but here’s the good news. I sent her another message after your last letter, and asked her to confirm that Elek Katona was the only passenger on your ship that had anything to do with the study, and she was pretty adamant that he was. She didn’t even think that it was a possibility that someone else was working with him in secret. She knew quite a bit about what was going on, back then, anyway. There was some compartmentalization in the organization to protect their secrets, but she was part of designing those levels of secrecy from above. I think there was very little that she was not aware of. That being said, she admits that she hasn’t spoken to Elek, or anyone else who was a part of the project, in many years. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that he recruited someone after the fact. Her guess is that he partnered with your mother, and saw no reason to include anyone else, but there’s no way to know. Honestly, as scared as I am for you, I think you’re gonna have to confront Elek. Take Bray with you, do it in public. Don’t talk to Velia first. I know you don’t want her to be surprised, but what if she turns on you? What if she warns her father? What if she doesn’t realize what he’s capable of. Don’t take any risks. I love you.

Your younger or older twin,

Condor

PS: Oh my gosh! We don’t know which one of us was born first! Did your mother say?

Microstory 2372: Vacuus, September 29, 2179

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Dear Condor,

Thank you for attaching yours and Pascal’s medical records. That’s really going to help, not only with this one issue, but any other problems that might arise in the future. It’s good to have a full picture of your health. Thank you for being protective of me, but I want you to remember that he’s your father, and I know that he did the best he could with the cards that he was dealt. It was a tough situation that I can’t even begin to imagine. On the ship, the adults had to have a it takes a village mentality, or we never would have survived. I only had one official parent, but I was raised by just about everyone on that tin can way or another. You were just out in the world, where no one really cares about anyone else unless they have some specific reason to. I’m so glad that your father found a way to provide you with the medical care that you needed, despite how shallow it sounds like his pockets were. I would have been heartbroken if mom had told me about you, and when I tried to reach out, I found out that you were dead. We will never meet in person, but at least we get to converse, and that might be thanks to your secret nurse and her laced chicken noodle soup. It’s important to frame it positively. I’m doing fine. I still have symptoms, but it helps to sit still, which is perfect, since that’s how my job works. I do need to get exercise, though, so I walk down the corridors, which Bray helps me with. He still feels guilty, but here’s the way I look at it. Yeah, the STD triggered the epigenetic disease in me, but the doctor says it was better that it happened now, instead of when I’m older. Anything could have caused it to surface, including some age-related conditions, and it would have been much harder for me to recover under those circumstances. I don’t know what the future holds, but he and I are still together. Speaking of which, we have not had any time to get into your open letter to the base. Everyone loved hearing from you. They are aware of how bad things are on Earth, but most of them don’t have any firsthand accounts of what it’s really like. Many of the older people here who left connections behind have found those connections since severed, due to death or outdated information, probably because of the collapse of society. They appreciate hearing from someone, even if it’s not all great. On a personal note, my friend, the garment fabricator, seems to be taking a particular interest in you. Her name is Velia. I’ve attached her contact card in case you want to have a second person to talk to up here. I’m sure she would really love it.

Keeping it light,

Corinthia

Microstory 2371: Earth, September 22, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

I forgot to tell you that the word don’t isn’t in my vocabulary. So to me, all you said was “get mad”. So I got mad. I’m not mad at Bray, as long as you’re not mad at Bray. Are you not mad at Bray? Okay. I just support you. But I am mad at our parents. It seems that every few weeks, we find out this horrifying new secret about our pasts, or our lives. The answer is yes, I was sick. I was apparently very sick as a child. I confronted my father yet again for answers, and he confessed to everything. To his credit, he’s not a doctor, and it didn’t occur to him that you might be suffering from the same condition. We couldn’t afford to visit a doctor back then. Things were bad, the entire industry sector was suffering. There was a huge gap between supply and demand for medical help, and as a result, prices were exorbitant. We could only afford a nurse. He claims that he never lied by telling me that she was a babysitter, so I guess I just grew up assuming that. She wasn’t even a nurse yet either, though, but a nursing student, so she was willing to help for less just for the experience. According to him, she was incredibly kind and helpful, and while he didn’t have the education necessary to assess how she was helping, the results were rather clear. Whenever I was showing signs of my illness again, she slipped me medicine—often hidden in the chicken noodle soup—and then I got better. She had no clue that it was hereditary, however, I’m still mad, because he should have said something recently. He should have made the connection, especially when he was compiling his list of people who might have been responsible for studying the Earth twin. It could have been her, for all we know. We don’t know. Anyway, I’ve looked her up in a database of medical professionals, which I have access to for potential telehealth needs. She’s currently living under a dome in what was once South Africa, before the borders collapsed. I’ve reached out to her, and am awaiting a response. Someone needs to fix this. I have attached a copy of all of my medical records, so you can look for yourself, and give it to your doctor. I also attached our dad’s file, with a signed cover sheet that proves he authorized it. Please take care of yourself. Don’t overdo it.

Love you so much,

Condor

Microstory 2370: Vacuus, September 13, 2179

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Dear Condor,

I don’t want you to get mad. Let me just say that right at the top, before you read any further. Remember that, DON’T. GET. MAD. I’m glad that I’ve been so busy, so I couldn’t respond to your letter to the base before my private letter from you came through anyway. And I’m glad that you sent it. What I’m not glad about is my current medical condition. I know that you didn’t want details about my love life, but I think the backstory is important, and I feel compelled to be honest about what’s going on with me, because things aren’t great, and I don’t want you to be in the dark. It also might have an impact on you, since there’s an apparent genetic component. Bray and I are going through a tough time. I don’t blame him, but he blames himself. Here’s the part you’re not gonna like. I contracted an STD. On its own, the virus wouldn’t be that big of a deal. Treatment for it is relatively simple and easy to synthesize these days. We’re living here with a small population, so we kind of have these ways of coordinating partnerships. Genetic diversity and health are more important, and harder to come by, on this planet. Anyway, they treated the virus, and I’m free from it now, but it appears that the inflammation awakened something in my body. They’re calling it an epigenetic disease, which I was likely born with. You were telling me about how you used to get sick as a child. Could you give me more details about what your signs and symptoms were? Could you, maybe...ask your father about it too? I don’t want to be pushy, but I think we need to know the truth. If there’s something in our cells that we inherited from him or mom, I think we have a right to that information. I should have asked about this kind of stuff before. I have always lacked my father’s side’s medical history. Mom said she filled out all the forms accordingly, and I trusted that before I learned about you. Those family background records were made when I was a child, and since I’m still using the same doctors as I was before, they haven’t needed updating in that regard, because the past doesn’t change! So I’ve never actually seen the records myself. She could have lied, or she didn’t know enough about Pascal’s family, and just did her best. I have lived my whole life in a controlled environment, which the doctors believe insulated me from developing symptoms before. That would make sense since you were just on Earth, where you would have been exposed to all sorts of chemicals, even before the gases were released. Just tell me anything you can, and anything Pascal says about it, if you can ask him nicely without getting mad.

Don’t be mad,

Corinthia

PS: Don’t be mad.

Microstory 2367: Vacuus, August 28, 2179

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Dear Condor,

I’m not feeling all that well today. I didn’t get much sleep last night, and I think I caught a stomach bug. The doctor has me self-quarantining, which is funny because that’s just how I typically live my daily life anyway. I wanted to respond to you, though, because I received your open letter. I attached the new document with my markups, but you can take them or leave them. If you just sent it to the base how you originally wrote it, it would be fine. I’m not surprised, your letters to me are always very well-written. Overall, I think it looks good. You didn’t say too little, or be too cryptic, but you didn’t overshare either. I would say go for it, if you’re comfortable, but you still have the option of declining the request. It’s not a big deal either way. Though, I do think you should change what you said about people asking questions. I’m willing to take on that role as intermediary. My suggestions are very minor, so it’s up to you whether to accept them. That also goes for whether to even send it or not. I won’t cloud your decision any further. It’s not like people will be mad at me if you decline. Both worlds will keep turning. I feel like I’m repeating myself, and should probably go back to bed. I’m going to be a little bit late with my thoughts on this latest Winfield Files book, but did you notice that we got a few spoilers from the last season of the show? It looks like they jumped a little ahead in the story, which I guess is what happens. The books are only told from the main character’s perspective, but the adaptation has the freedom to explore other people’s perspectives more directly, which has sometimes given us a bit of a sneak peek into what’s to come, before Winfield finds out about it in his own time. I don’t think it’s going to ruin anything, or that we should change our strategy. I just thought I would point it out.

Okay, goodnight,

PS: Are we gonna keep doing PS?

Extremus: Year 93

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In New Migration Theory, there is a concept of a “true native”, which is academically known as the rooted generation in order to avoid charged sociopolitical connotations. A true native would be anyone who identifies as such, and can reasonably consider themselves that way. Trying to establish a particular definition would undoubtedly offend people. The rooted generation, however, refers to very specific people born to a given area. The Void Migration Ship Extremus is about to experience it, and the keystone for this species really just depends on who happens to be born first.

When the original passengers of Extremus first boarded the ship, they were leaving their home behind. They knew that they would never see the destination planet, but they didn’t do it for them. They did it for the descendants. Even now, after all this time, not a single person on board is expected to be alive to see the mission realized. It will be up to those who have not yet been born. Until then, the rooted generation will be in reference to a native of the generational ship itself. Again, they don’t for sure know who that is yet, but they know what the trigger was. Naruhito Arethusa was three years old on Launch Day, making him one of the youngest babies to board. He wasn’t the absolute youngest, but lifespans aren’t all the same, so others have died already, making him the last man standing. While he had no intact memories of Gatewood, he technically lived there. He was a Gatewooder. He was 96, and is survived by his children, grandchild, and great grandchildren.

Naruhito being the last Gatewooder is an important milestone in Extremus history. Everyone alive today was born on the ship. He was too young to be able to decide for himself whether he wanted to board the ship or not, but he still had influence on the decision, if only subconsciously for his family. No one else here even had the hope of altering this decision. It had already happened. The first member of the rooted generation is one who will have a temporal gap between them and Gatewood. Of course, knowledge and stories have been passed down the years, so it’s not like this big mystery, but they will never meet a Gatewooder. Everyone who sees this future person will be an Extremusian who never saw Gatewood themselves. The distinction between this baby, and everyone else who was born here, is not meant to cause some kind of generational divide. It’s not there to cause anyone to other anyone else. It is just, again, a milestone. Whichever baby is born first will become the first member of the rooted generation, and its inherent value is enough to warrant some form of celebration. This achievement was never inevitable. A million things could have happened in the last 93 years to prevent its success. Yet through it all, Extremus and its passengers have persevered. The rooted generation is a testament to that. The job isn’t over yet, but this is still an accomplishment. Or it will be anyway, once the baby is born.

The problem that Tinaya is facing today is one which no one thought would happen. It didn’t occur to them that this issue should arise, and cause conflict between otherwise perfectly normal and well-adjusted families. “This is highly irregular, Dr. Cernak.” After Dr. Ima Holmes died, Captain Soto Tamm appointed a new Chief Medical Officer, though Tinaya can’t remember her name at the moment. Whoever it was, they coincidentally retired at around the same time that the captain’s seat was changing butts. One of the last things that Lataran did was appoint Radomil Cernak to the position. “Why are you treating a passenger, and why have you brought me here?”

“I’ll let her explain,” Dr. Cernak replies.

A very pregnant woman is sitting sort of between them in a wheelchair. Her doula is holding onto the handles, and showing no signs that she’s going to say anything herself. “My name is Veta Vivas, and my child’s name will be...” She pauses to create a sense of anticipation. No one is feeling it; they’re more annoyed. “Root. Root Vivas.”

“Congratulations,” Tinaya says politely, not understanding why she should care. If this were an emergency, the tone of the room, and the behavior of the medical staff, would be quite different. “When are you due?”

“Unfortunately, a week from now,” Veta answers. “The Wiegand baby is due in three days.” Back in the olden days, a baby’s due date was only ever the best guestimation. Few babies actually came into the world on time. Some were early, some were late. These days, with advances in medical science, the date is generally spot on, even if it has to be adjusted slightly during the gestational period as development presents a clearer pattern. This late in the process, however, doctors are never wrong.

But Tinaya. She still doesn’t know what this has to do with her.

“I have put in a request to induce labor,” Veta goes on. I want Root to be born now, or his name will just sound stupid.”

“You’re rejecting it?” Tinaya asks Dr. Cernak, not accusatorily.

“I wasn’t the first,” Dr. Cernak explains. “Like you said, she’s not my patient. She...escalated the issue when she didn’t receive the answer she was hoping for.”

Tinaya nods, and looks back at Veta. “You want your child to be the first in the rooted generation.”

“He deserves it. We deserve it.”

“You realize that inducing labor in order to give one particular family this privilege is not only unfair to other parents, but goes against the spirit of the milestone. We don’t get to decide who turns out to be the first to take root. That is time’s job.”

“So you’re rejecting us as well,” Veta figures.

“I’m not rejecting anything,” Tinaya argues. “This is a medical concern. I’m the captain. I don’t understand why you’re bugging me with this.” She’s still looking squarely at Veta. She doesn’t blame Dr. Cernak for seeking help with the problem. She can tell by everyone’s respective demeanor that this is not the beginning of the conversation, but the middle of a long one. Tinaya has so far gone down in history as the least polite captain. Even Tamm was charming and beloved by many until the scandal blackened the lines of his story. Tinaya is the oldest to hold command, and she doesn’t take any shit. People know this about her, and they respect her for it. She’s not losing any popularity contests because of it either. The captain has to be firm, even if that means some people don’t get their way.

“This is Root’s birthright, literally,” Veta insists. “We were trying to conceive for months before we sought medical assistance.

Tinaya is flabbergasted by this response. “First off, if you had successfully conceived earlier, then you would be having a different child, rather than the one you’re having now. Secondly, and more importantly, Naruhito Arethusa died yesterday. This other hypothetical child would not have had any hope of being the first in the rooted generation as they would have been born months ago.”

“We don’t see it that way,” Veta says matter-of-factly. “My husband and I were really close to conceiving 280 days ago today.”

Tinaya sighs. “Dr. Cernak, I’m asking you one last time, are you rejecting Mrs. Vivas’ petition for the inducement of labor?”

“I am rejecting the petition,” Dr. Cernak confirms.

Tinaya studies Veta’s eyes. “Please place Mrs. Vivas on safety watch for the remainder of her pregnancy, and clear your schedule to perform the delivery procedure yourself once the time comes.”

Veta is fuming. “What the hell! You can’t do that! I’m not suicidal!”

“Safety watch is not about suicide alone,” Tinaya begins. “It’s about the risk that you pose to yourself, and-or to others. “You have exhausted all of your legal options for the inducement of labor, and I can tell that you are willing to explore alternative methods, which would not be safe for you, nor your baby. If you don’t already know what they are,” Tinaya says before looking up at the doula, “she surely does. You will stay in quarantine until you have the baby. Should something happen to delay the Wiegand baby’s birth, you may get your wish, but we will not be assisting in this regard. My word is final.” She turns around to leave, suddenly realizing her grave error.

“You can’t do this!” Veta screams. “Root is the root! Root is the root!” She sounds like she’s thrashing about. The security guard posted in the infirmary runs over to help.

Tinaya teleports to the passenger hospital, and approaches the reception desk. “I need to look up a patient. I don’t need any medical data on her, just the name of her obstetrician.” She submits the name, then proceeds to Dr. Causey’s office.

“Captain, this is quite the surprise, and an honor. If you are looking for discreet treatment, I promise you that I can offer it, no questions asked.”

Tinaya has never heard of a member of the executive crew seeking medical attention from someone who enjoys a distance from scrutiny, but perhaps it’s happened. If it’s true, it’s none of Tinaya’s business. “That’s very kind of you, but it won’t be necessary. I need you to place a patient of yours on safety watch. A...rival of hers is determined to predate her date of delivery.”

Dr. Causey nods. “Veta Vivas; I am aware. Lena has already expressed her concerns to me regarding this one-sided conflict. You believe she is in danger?”

“I made the mistake of telling Mrs. Vivas that her child may end up winning if something happens to Mrs. Wiegand. I meant it innocuously, but immediately grew concerned that she might encourage someone to force a delay...or worse.”

Dr. Causey nods again. “That is a scary thought, however, my patient is willing to trade delivery dates to avoid any social unrest. She has no strong feelings about her child becoming the first rooted descendant, and recognizes that it’s evidently quite important to this Veta Vivas.”

“That will not be happening,” Tinaya contends. “Perhaps if you had made this arrangement sooner, it might have worked, but now it’s too late. I cannot allow you to reward Mrs. Vivas’ inappropriate behavior. I’ve already placed her on safety watch. If I backpedal now—”

“I understand,” Dr. Causey interrupts. “We should have dealt with this internally. There was no need to bring the Captain into this. I apologize for the inconvenience, I’m sure you have more important things to attend to.”

“So you’ll place Mrs. Wiegand on safety watch?”

“Might as well,” Dr. Causey agrees. “We’ll take good care of her, and protect her from any interference. She won’t complain; she’s very laid back.”

“Thank you.” Tinaya taps on her watch. “I’ve placed you on my priority access list, so if you need to contact me, you’ll be able to circumvent the communication filters that shield me from every rando who wants to talk to the captain.”

“Great. I’ll be sure to call you every hour, on the hour, to ask you your favorite colors and foods.”

Tinaya chuckles. “Good day.” She disappears.

When Tinaya returns to the executive infirmary, Dr. Cernak is locking the door to the safety watch room. Tinaya watches through the window as doula is helping Veta into the bed.”

“She staying in there with her?”

“She’s a tethered doula,” Dr. Cernak begins to explain. “She literally can’t leave her client’s side. Time will teleport her right back if she tries to walk away.”

“She consented to that?” Tinaya questions.

“It’s her whole job. She takes a new one every year. I believe she only gives herself a week or so off, depending on who commissions her next, and when they need her.” They stand in silence for a moment, watching to make sure the mother is okay. “We’re getting her her own bed to put in the corner.”

“I’m sorry you had to do this,” Tinaya says to him.

“Me too, but this is what these rooms are for, even if this is the first time anything quite like this has happened. I would rather be safe than sorry. Though...you do realize that the other mother—”

“I just spoke with her doctor. She’ll have to go into safety watch too, in case the father gets any crazy ideas put in his head, or someone else close to Mrs. Vivas.”

They’re silent again before having to flatten themselves against the wall to make way for the trundle bed. “I kind of like the name Root,” He decides. “If this hadn’t become a whole thing, I might suggest it for the actually rooted child.”

“Yeah, maybe. Listen, I gotta go pick up my own kid, but call me if you need me. Maybe consult with Dr. Causey about the situation too. After both children are born, they’ll probably all need some counseling. I, for one, would like to see them become friends one day. There’s no need for all this hostility. This is no one’s fault.”

“Will do, Captain. Thanks for comin’ by.”

Tinaya jumps back to her stateroom, and plops herself on the couch.

“Can you talk about it?” Arqut asks respectfully from the perpendicular loveseat.

Tinaya stares forward into space. “I’m gettin’ too old for this shit.”

“You’re just as beautiful today as the day I first saw you at graduation.”

She furrows her brow, and cocks her head towards him. “You were at my graduation? Why didn’t you ever tell me that?”

“You were only a little baby at the time, I’m a few years older. Seems creepy, looking back.”

She scoffs. “You couldn’t have known that we would end up together. Besides, because of my time travel, I’m actually older than you.”

“Well, I’m telling you now.”

Tinaya kisses the air in his general direction as he does the same towards her. “I better go get Silvy from school,” she determines.

“I’ll take care of it. I didn’t do anything today.”

“Thanks.”

 Tinaya’s watch beeps with a text message from Dr. Causey. That whole every hour, on the hour thing was a joke, right? It reads, I just received word. The rooted child has been born. A different OB agreed to induce labor for the Hearn family.

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Microstory 2276: Be Genuinely Worried

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Last Friday, I was able to dictate my own post for Kelly to type for me, and we talked all about my then-current condition. Things have not changed much on that front—I have a long journey ahead of me—but what I realized hours after that posted was that I forgot to express my gratitude. I’m not ready to share the specifics of what happened to me when I was abducted, but I was out of it most of the time. To preserve the internal organs that they were stealing, they had me on sedatives, instead of something stronger, like heroin. Then they put me on anaesthetics during the surgery. By the time I woke up, I was in the hospital with the replacement organs. I was very confused, and scared. I was never able to ask for help, but people helped me anyway, so please allow me to go through the list now. Thank you to the paramedics who found me. They were working with law enforcement during the literal search, and came across me first. Thank you to the cops and FBI who investigated this matter. Thank you to the medical team that transported me, and the surgical team who treated me after. Thank you to the organ donors for your selfless sacrifice for me. Thank you to the nurses and doctors who are treating me during my recovery. Thank you to Kelly and Dutch who have stayed by my side. And lastly, but not leastly, thank all of you for your immeasurable support in this incredibly difficult time. I appreciate your concern, I really do. It’s been a huge help to see everyone be genuinely worried about my wellbeing. It has gotten me through it.

Microstory 2275: Now I Can’t Remember What

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This is finally Nick again. Kelly is typing this for me, but it’s my words. I’m really struggling to keep my eyes open. It’s not even that I’m falling asleep. It just kind of feels really uncomfortable to hold up my eyelids. They feel like huge weights on my face. I do occasionally fall asleep when I don’t want to, though, so it may take us a long time for us to finish this post. I would tell you to be patient, but this isn’t live, so by the time you read this, you’ll have known how long it took us to finish. I’m still in the hospital, as you can imagine, and I’m in quite a bit of pain. I’ve limited myself to regular OTC stuff because I don’t like how narcs make me feel. Before I could advocate for my own healthcare needs—back when I was on the brink of death, and totally out of it—they had me on morphine, or something or other. They continued to give this to me after my surgeries, because that was protocol, and I couldn’t tell them otherwise. It was probably for the best during this period, however, because the pain would have been unbearable, and the hallucinations were worth it if I could remember them. I started being able to remember them before I was lucid, though, so I can tell you about them, if you’re curious. The most common one was that every time I tried to shut my eyes to sleep, a cacophony of unintelligible voices would start to talk over one another in the hallway. I asked them to be quiet, but I think in the real world, I wasn’t saying anything at all. These people obviously didn’t exist. The scariest hallucination was when—sorry, I actually did fall asleep in the middle of this sentence, and now I can’t remember what I was gonna say. Maybe I’ll recall for a future update. I would have written it down earlier if I could have. I can barely move. I’ve not gotten out of this bed since they brought me in. Kelly has had to do things for me, even though she doesn’t work here. I’m hoping I’ll be able to stand up by tomorrow, and then shower on my own shortly thereafter.

Microstory 2274: Thanks Again

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Nick is awake, and already improving. It will be a constant battle for the rest of his days, but as long as he takes care of himself, and is diligent about his medicine, he should lead a pretty normal and long life. He will always be a transplant recipient, but that won’t be all that defines him forever. Right now, they’re focusing on determining the best cocktail of anti-rejection medication, and also pain management. He doesn’t like narcotics, so that’s really limiting for him. He’s doing a lot of breathing exercises to cope with the pain holistically. Overall, there is not much that I can say so far. We’re very optimistic about his recovery, but there are no guarantees. It’s going to take work, patience, and the aid of a great hospital team. I would like to once again the donors who selflessly gave my friend what he needed to survive, live, and thrive. We still don’t know who you are, but if you give us a chance, we’ll be able to thank you in person. To everyone else, thank you for all of your continued support in these desperate times. Another CauseTogether campaign sprung up to pay for the new medical bills. He doesn’t need it this time either, so we’re just going to turn right around, and donate it to another cause; perhaps to survivors of trafficking, or something along those lines. Oh, I’m typing this up in his room while he’s trying to sleep, so I’m gonna stop here for now. Thanks again!

Microstory 2273: Skipping Out of the Building

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Against all odds, the organ donor network was able to find two matches for Nick. One person gave him a lobe of their liver, and another one of their kidneys. I couldn’t tell you anything about them, even if I knew myself. They’re not necessarily anonymous, but the information hasn’t been released yet. Some of their respective families may not even know what they did. There was apparently a really short, but really intensive, vetting processing. Normally, a person would have weeks, or even months, to prove that they understand what they’re doing, and what they’re giving up. But in this case, it was an emergency. I wasn’t part of any of that, so I don’t know how it went down, but I’m grateful to them just the same. All three surgeries are now finished, and they’re in recovery. Nick still hasn’t woken up yet. Well, he has, but he hasn’t been at all lucid. During what little time he was somewhat awake, he didn’t seem to really know where he was, or what was going on. It will just take time, but I’m choosing to be optimistic. We’re still not out of the woods, so I’m not going to break out the celebratory balloons just yet, but he has a chance now. We will know more when he wakes up, and he can tell us how he feels. That’s a very important metric that doctors can only guess. They’ll continue to keep him here for quite a while. They still couldn’t do anything about his spleen or gallbladder, so I imagine his hospital time will be on the upper end of the typical estimate. Once he is healthy enough to be discharged, he won’t be skipping out of the building, though. For the next few months, he’ll be in a state of recovery, gradually getting better and stronger. Dutch and I will be with him the whole time. Even though the surgery is over, he’s still opening doors, hoping to speed up the process, but a part of me is worried about that working. If he becomes immortal again, the donors’ sacrifice might seem to mean a little less. I dunno. I guess in that scenario, they still bought him time, and it was still a profound thing to do. I shouldn’t be thinking about any of this. I just need to go back to making sure he wakes up feeling safe and comfortable.