Microstory 2504: Regret Seer

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I can see your regrets, and show you your potential. Before Landis Tipton received the gifts of The Ten Vulnerabilities, I was responsible for two of them. There were five of us in total, and we chose to use our abilities very differently. We were nomads, traveling all over the world—mostly the North American continent—helping people one at a time. We searched for those who were at their lowest, who needed the most help. I was on the frontlines of this mission. Regret is one of the strongest emotions that a person can have, and sight is one of the strongest senses. It was easier for me to pick our targets out of a crowd without having to wait for them to do something to draw attention to themselves. I could just see it. Once I found a candidate, the five of us would explore this person’s life further. We could strategize about what we could do to help this person live a better life. The way we saw it, our tasks were helping the whole world exponentially. Everyone we supported would go out, and pay it forward. With a brand new lease on life, they would find it in their hearts to help others in their own ways. Honestly, we didn’t think to focus on only one of the Vulnerabilities, like Landis has. We were drawn to one another, and it felt like we absolutely had to work together in order to fulfill our destinies. Had we only let the Health Smeller do her thing, what work would have been left for the rest of us? We just had a different perspective. And fittingly enough, I regret nothing. And you know that’s true, because if I did, I would be able to tell, and I’m comfortable enough with my own vulnerabilities that I would be honest about it. I can’t bring my own regrets to the surface, but I’m very good at recognizing them. We did our own thing our own way, and I still think we improved the world. We didn’t always hit it out of the park. There is a reason why we don’t have the gifts anymore, and why we had to transfer them to Landis. But I don’t like to talk about it, because that is something that I regret. Maybe I’m not as brave as I believe. I should be able to talk about what happened. Unfortunately, while I helped countless others see their potential, I could never see my own. But again, the gifts belong to Landis now, and while it saddens me a little that my Vulnerability senses aren’t being used, I’m proud of the work that he’s been doing. That’s why I chose him in the first place. I didn’t know exactly what he was going to do, but I knew that he was on his way to reaching greatness.

Microstory 2490: Pyradome

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Not gonna lie, this one is dumb. I don’t know why I’m even bothering to review it. People just don’t really understand what it is, and that’s because they think there’s some deeper meaning behind it to understand. The truth, a one-sentence explanation is all you need. These are residential dwellings in the shape of pyramids. There. As long as you can read, you got it. There’s nothing interesting about this place, except for maybe how it looks from above. If you go up far enough, it’s pretty cool to see how the pyramids tessellate. But that’s less of a city, and more of an art piece. I guess the best reason I can think of for them to make this is because Earth has a long history of building pyramids. Multiple ancient cultures did it independently of each other. Maybe I actually don’t get it, and there’s a lot more to it than meets the eye. Maybe it’s some complicated, philosophical statement on overconsumerism, or monotony, or some bullshit like that. I suppose, if you have your own interpretation for these pyramids, that’s fine. I’m not gonna tell you what to think. What I can tell you is that the population here is extremely low, and they do not fill it out with androids. It’s basically Underburg—which is also struggling to promote interest—except with pyramid houses. I mean, that’s really the only difference, except maybe there’s less emphasis on returning to a bygone era, and more of just a niche place to live. When the vonearthan population grows to the trillions, there might be enough people here to call it a real community, just because statistics support it. But if Earth moves forward with their plans to build the World Crescent Tower, or terraforming becomes exponentially faster, Pyradome might be experiencing its heyday right now, as sad as that sounds. If you wanna see a spiking world below your feet, sign up for a helicopter tour. If you want a great place to live, I can’t recommend this over other places, like Overdome or the Palacium Hotel, or hell, even somewhere in the Nordome Network.

Microstory 2488: Chemosynthedome

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All this stuff went over my head, but in case you don’t see it from the title, this place is where most of the chemicals we use are produced. It even produces some water, for certain uses, though the majority of that comes from outer system ice mining. I won’t bore you with the details that my tour guide went over, because I don’t remember them. I’ll just say that this is clearly a very important place. They’re used to create organic substrates, and then to sustain them once people download their consciousnesses into them. Mechanical substrates still use gear lubricant. Synthesizer feedstock, spaceship energy maintenance and propulsion, superconductors, and the constituent parts of metamaterials. Everything is a chemical, in case you don’t know, and it all starts here. I wish I understood it better, but the tour was very dry, and they assumed a level of intelligence and education that I don’t have. Everyone else probably had no problem, though. I felt like an idiot, trying to keep up with what she was saying. I suppose that’s my only complaint. I obviously don’t take issue with the dome itself. It’s doing what needs to be done, and it sounds like it’s doing a great job at it. I just think there should be different kinds of tours, which cater to people of different backgrounds and interests. I did want to learn something, but it was so advanced that I basically ended up with nothing. I think what’s happened is that the planet’s priorities are in the really big and popular domes, which demand a lot of resources, like a massive android population. That leaves these educational, institutional domes behind. They develop what they’re asked to, but they don’t support a visiting population in addition to that. It’s just something to think about. I dunno, maybe it’s just all my fault. Whatever. Do what you gotta do.

Microstory 2395: Earth, January 4, 2180

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Dear Velia,

I know that the blackout is coming, and I really hope this letter gets to you in time. I don’t have very much time to write it, so pleaser excuse any spelling or grammar mistakes, nad anything that I probably should have said, but failed to. I’m working with a really old spellcheck program, so it misses a lot of thing, and doesn’t even autocorrect a lot of the time. I feel like I’m using a lot of the same words over and over again, but whatever. I can’t slow down. I won’t have time to proofread before it’s time to cleave. There I go again, using the word time. It’s been so many times. Speaking oftime, we did not get enough. There’s still so much that I don’t know about you, and vice versa. What do you find most and least attractive in a person, not necessarily romantic, but just with people in general. Like, what are your pet peeves? What annoys you about people. These are rhetorical questions. Even if you have time to respond to me before the Valkyries, I won’t be Abel to receive any messages at all. I’m going away on a little trip, and there will almost no technology there. I don’t know what it’s going to be like, but I am as scared as I am excited and enthusiastic. It’s going to be a real adventure. When I get back, and you get back online, we’re going to have a lot more to talk about. And who knows, we may be able to do it in realtime next time. They’re working on faster-than-light communication technology, but if that doesn’t work out, there may be other options that we haven’t even ever thought of before. You said it before I could get the chance, but let me say...officially and without any reservations, that I love you. I want to do all the things you said you wanted us to do, and more. I could get pretty graphic, but I really don’t have time to get everything out. They’re starting up the engines, and we’re about to leave. I need to make sure I’m in range of the towers before we take off, or it will be this whole thing. I promise that this isn’t over between us. I’ll wait for you. But as I’ve said before, if you can’t...if you find someone else. Don’t let them walk away. I just want you to be happy.

I’ll be seeing ya, sweetheart,

Condor

Microstory 2189: Not There by Choice

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We’re moving along with this process. Interviews, interviews, and more interviews. It’s not showing any signs of slowing down, but it will have to stop soon, and will do so rather abruptly. At some point, we’re going to have to make some hard decisions, and unfortunately that means a lot of great people won’t get the chance to be part of this pilot program. We can’t hire them all, it wouldn’t be practical, and that’s true of any organization. But here’s the good news: it is a pilot program, and if it goes well, you may be able to do something similar on a different team somewhere else. The analytics team in my company has looked into this for us, and have estimated that this program need only last for eight months before they would have enough data to reach some real conclusions about its efficacy. All eyes are on us right now to see if we succeed, but there are rumors of others who are considering building their own programs before our data comes in. We’re not sure if that’s the right thing to do, but we can’t stop them, and it may not be right to want to if we could. I think it’s fine to try to take your own shot, as long as you don’t spend too many resources on it, and come at it from a place of trying to make things better. Now, what do I mean by better? Well, here’s what it’s not. We’re not here to save the taxpayers money. That will hopefully be a consequence of our changes to jail and prison population procedures, but it’s not what we’re going for. We could accomplish that in any number of easier ways, by only feeding them slop, or doubling up on cell assignments, or not letting them have any yard time. You don’t need to pay many guards if you don’t allow your inmates to leave their cells, do you? Obviously, that would be inhumane, and I hope that no one else is suggesting it.

Our goal is to improve people’s lives, reduce recidivism, and create a healthier and more productive community overall. I hope that anyone who gets their ideas from us only accepts the good ideas, and rejects the ultimate failures. We’re going to be going through growing pains. At some point, our plans, theories, and models are going to become meaningless if we don’t actually institute the policy changes. It may not turn out well, and as difficult as it is for me to admit that, it would be unethical for me to imply that I know exactly what I’m doing. The entire point in hiring these experts for a team that has never existed before is to try something new, and by its very nature, we don’t know what’s going to happen. So I hope that other programs take that into account. Sorry to get all preachy, and maybe sound a little angry. I just want to make it clear that we’ve only just begun here. It’s going to take some time. The judicial system in this country isn’t going to change overnight, and nothing we do here is going to give definitive answers for how to handle our nation’s incarcerated with no exceptions. What we would like to do is group guests in our facilities according to predictive modeling of sustainable harmony, nonviolence, and social progress. But the fact of the matter is that everyone there will have been tried and convicted of a crime. Guilty or innocent, they’re not there by choice, so none of them is going to be happy-go lucky, and excited to be locked up for the next X amount of time, or intermittently, as it were. We’ll try to make it as safe and productive as possible, but there’s only so much we can do. It’s not magic, so don’t expect to bring the crime rate down to zero, or anything. Okay, that was a bit depressing. Hopefully tomorrow’s post will be more optimistic, or a little easier to swallow.

Microstory 2099: That Slacking Pays Off

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Like I said in the last post, I moved around a lot as a kid, as well as into adulthood, and it had an effect on my schooling. For kindergarten, my parents sent me to a hospital academy in Springfield, Missouri. They had some sort of connection to someone there, but as I was so young, I don’t know much about what it was all about, nor whether it was any better than a regular public school. I ended up moving on to that public school the next year, though, for first and second grade. We moved to Lawrence, Kansas before third grade, so I attended a school where we would walk through a tunnel underneath the street, which is not all that common in Kansas, since we tend to have more space. We moved to Overland Park a year later, so I switched schools yet again. Then for fifth grade, they built a brand new school in the district, and I was zoned there, while most of my peers were not. Notice how I said peers instead of friends. The last person I could confidently call my friend was in Springfield, and he grew up to become a republican, so that relationship was doomed to fail eventually. Anyway, most of the kids in my fifth grade class went to the middle school right next to it, but they rezoned the district again, and I ended up going to the middle school that was generally fed into from the elementary school that I went to for fourth grade, which placed me back with all the kids I thought I would never see again, and in many cases, hoped I wouldn’t. Funny enough, three years later, they built a brand new high school, and most of the kids from my middle school didn’t go there with me. I actually think we technically lived closer to the older high school, but somebody was apparently gerrymandering the school district. I guess it can happen in all levels of government, eh?

After I graduated from grade school, I took a gap year. I didn’t call it that; I doubt I even knew that that was a thing that some people did. My parents didn’t think that I was ready for college, and they were probably right. We didn’t know at the time that I had a diagnosable learning disability, which led to a lack of skills in maturity and socialization, which teachers don’t get paid enough to focus on, especially not since their funding is often dependent upon their students’ standardized test performance. Instead of continuing my education right away, I flew to California, where I volunteered on a farm. The greater organization provided livestock to developing regions of the world, and this particular location was designed to promote awareness of their mission, and educate visitors. My autism bit me in the ass when I was having trouble getting along with the other volunteers, so they kicked me out. I won’t tell you what the organization is called, but they made up these lies about how lazy I was, and how I didn’t do any work, which anyone could see were lies, because they kept changing their reasons. So they’re assholes, and I hate them. I’m the type to hold a grudge, and the only reason I don’t hold more of them is because I have a terrible memory. But I remember this traumatic experience. I’ll never forget how they treated me, and I’ll never support them again. It turned out to be a blessing, though, because Hurricane Katrina destroyed the gulf states soon thereafter, and I decided to take classes with the American Red Cross, and fly down there right away. That’s why I’ve been to Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama. I went home after one round, developed my first staph infection, got it cleared up, and then went back, this time being assigned to Florida, so I finished out the southern row.

After that second stint with the Red Cross was done, I enrolled at my junior college for a few classes, only one of which ultimately transferred properly to my four-year school, which I started the following summer. It’s annoying, really. When you do the math, I am quite certain that I could have graduated from college in three years, extremely plausibly in two. I kept taking summer classes, and took a full load for each term, plus I failed out an entire semester, plus several other classes after that. If everything had gone well, I’m really sure it could have taken me less than three years, I just had too many credits when considering how much I had from dual enrollment during my high school career. I failed too many courses, yet still made it in four years, for that not to be true. If I could go back in time, I would have graduated by the time I turned 21, I’m sure of it. In the real timeline, I graduated in 2010 with a degree in Linguistics, barely eking by with the minimal requirements. For the final semester, I was taking a geography class, because I thought it would be fun, but it turned out to be too technical, so I dropped it, and switched what I thought would be an extra linguistics credit. I literally signed the paper on the very last day allowed, and had to take a test with everyone else on my first day of the new class. I aced it, by the way, even though I had zero time to so much as open the book, so don’t act like you’re not impressed. A few weeks later, I was talking to my advisor when I learned that I needed an A in one of my linguistics classes and a B in the other in order to make the minimum GPA for graduation. If I had not switched classes at the last minute, that would have meant an entire extra term there. Thank God Geography 101 was so boring.

I didn’t learn a whole hell of a lot in school, if I’m being honest. I know that people will argue that I’ve retained more than I realize, but I dunno. I did a lot more studying in the decade afterwards than I did in the four years I was there. I did learn a valuable lesson once. In one of my linguistics classes, I was notoriously absent. I only showed up for tests, and other students’ presentations, because I wanted to be respectful. I didn’t do well on the assignments, and only kept myself afloat with my superior writing skills. That’s a bonus lesson that I learned; that teachers’ standards for writing had to be so low that I could get an A on a paper even if I phoned it in. Give me enough time to craft my words, and I could probably figure out a way to convince you that liquid water was dry. But that’s not the lesson I learned in this class; I already knew that I was a writer by then. No, what I learned there was far more valuable, because it applies to everyone. The other students were more interested and focused, so they formed a study group that I was not a part of. I would like to think that they would get up to entertaining shenanigans like the characters on the show Community, but I will never know. Still, I benefited from their hard work. The final exam was an open notes test, and someone in the study group let me have a copy of their study sheet. I can’t remember how well I did, but it was well enough to pass the class, when really, it should have been another failure. So what did that teach me, that slacking pays off? No. It taught me to trust and believe in others, and to accept help when it’s needed. I don’t have to do everything all on my own, and I shouldn’t want to. Humans are a tribal species, and community—there’s that word again—is the only reason we have managed to advance to the point of dominating this planet. So instead of ignoring people, or dismissing them, try to listen, surrender to their expertise when warranted, and let’s all work together to build a better tomorrow. No one gets through this life alone, and it would suck if they had to.

Oh, PS, I took a few more classes over the years after getting my degree, but we’ll talk more about that in the next post, because I signed up for some of them in the pursuit of figuring out what I could do for a living.

Microstory 2094: This New Life Chapter

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I’ve been missing my family. I’ve told you lies about them, like how they live in a different universe, but I’ve also told you some true things, including the fact that a lot of them are teachers, and that my parents liked to log the number of kids who came to their house for Halloween. Don’t worry, it’s not like there’s anything bad between us, but I flew the nest years ago, and I never went back. I was being rebellious, and wanted to exert my independence, and for the longest time, I felt like I couldn’t return, even just to enjoy a Sunday brunch with them, because I thought it would look like I was a failure. I still talk to them, but we’re not nearly as close as we used to be. I think I would like to change that. Things are in motion. I spoke with them on the phone earlier today, and asked if I could visit them. They insisted that they come see me here instead. They say that nothing has changed about where they live, or the way that they live, so they want to see where I am, and how I’m doing. I think that’s okay, even though things aren’t super great right now. They needed a day to get their affairs in order, but they’ll be flying in tomorrow, late morning. I’m going to rent a car to meet them at the airport. I was worried that my social worker wouldn’t like it, because I’m not really supposed to travel, but he actually encouraged it. He thought that I would need closure, or something, but I see it as a new beginning more than anything. I’ll let you know how it goes, but my next blog chapter will probably not be long, since I’ll be too busy writing this new life chapter.

Microstory 1957: Keys to Success

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Sasho Dreyer: Oh, wow. This place is a lot bigger than I realized, Agent Parsons.

Reese Parsons: Yeah, everybody says that.

Sasho: I just called you Agent. Are you an agent? What is your full title?

Reese: Department for Exogenic Affairs Special Agent-in-Charge is my full title. But you can just call me Reese. I’m not saying that to be polite. I really would prefer it.

Sasho: Very well, Reese. Who installed these cells down here?

Reese: I finally learned what this place was. It was originally designed as a special courthouse and prison for internal crimes. If I had broken the law a few years ago, I would have ended up in a place like this, instead of a regular facility.

Sasho: Why did they abandon it?

Reese: Elections happened; laws changed. Now it doesn’t matter who you are, or what your crime was. Everyone ends up in the same place. This building wasn’t zoned for standard prison housing, so they couldn’t use it for that anymore. Fortunately, it works just fine for us, because no one has passed any laws regarding aliens.

Sasho: *inspecting the nearest cell* I’m not so sure that these are perfect..

Reese: What do you mean?

Sasho: How many specimens do you have at the moment?

Reese: Four. The three you were around for, and one who came in before. We can’t be sure if more are coming. Hell, there could be thousands hidden in the Amazon rainforest, and we wouldn’t know it. That’s why we need every cell up to code, and ready. The inspections have already happened; I just wanted you to see where you’ll be working. Don’t worry, you won’t be alone down here; but you will be the man in charge.

Sasho: *nodding* That’s not my concern. Nor is in the integrity of the cells themselves. *removes his shoes, and starts hitting the wall with it* Do you think the guy on the other side of the wall would be able to hear that?

Reese: Absolutely. These aren’t soundproof.

Sasho: They ought to be. *slips his shoe back on* I’ve guarded at a lot of different places. I was around for two major escape attempts, and obviously, one successful escape. I’ll tell you this, the second attempt almost went all the way through. I’m actually the one who put a stop to it. I was so proud of myself; that is, until the prisoners were all found murdered two days later. The official story is that they turned on each other after their failure, but we all know that other guards did it to protect their reputations. That’s why I downshifted to a regular law station jail, and also why I let that group escape. One of the dead prisoners was innocent. He was totally innocent, and I could have let him go free. I didn’t want that to happen again.

Reese: I’m sorry to hear that; it’s a tragic story. Thank you for telling me.

Sasho: I didn’t really need to; it’s not relevant. My point is that they got so close to getting out because they worked together, and they were able to do it secretly, because...

Reese: Because their cells were close together, and not soundproof.

Sasho: Yeah. I know it would be an extra expense—

Reese: No, you’re not wrong. We’ll keep these first four really far apart from each other, but then I’ll look into some upgrades. I’ll expect your continued input.

Extremus: Year 52

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“You need me for what, exactly?” Tinaya asked.

“It’s not yet time,” Avelino answered. “You have to stay on your current path. You have to live in the humiliation. Breathe it, bathe in it.”

“That doesn’t sound like my idea of fun,” she told him.

“It won’t be,” he admitted, “but I promise you, it will be worth it. And it will all make sense. Can you do that? Can you trust me?”

“I will trust you,” she replied. “Whether I’m right to will not be decided today.”

Tinaya has been living in the profound humiliation of not getting into even a single college program for the last several months. Her plan to let Lataran live with her while she studies at college is precisely what they’ve ended up doing, except the other way around. It is Lataran who is the student, and Tinaya the freeloader. The Bridgers have a plan for her, this much is clear, but Avelino does not make contact often, and she has no way of reaching out to them. Nor is she meant to try. This is her life. She has to live it. Things will reportedly change in the future. She doesn’t know when, but Avelino all but said that it will result in Tinaya ultimately becoming captain of the Extremus, which was always the plan. It’s hard to see how that could possibly be true at this point, but apparently all she has to do is wait...at least for now.

As for the lifestyle, it’s hard to argue with it on principle. This time without any responsibilities has given her the freedom to think about what she wants, and what she values. Education, contribution, leadership. These have been instilled in her since before she can remember. But they’re not inherent. Not everyone has to care about such things, and not everyone who does has to care about them to such a high degree. It’s altered her perspective on the other passengers, particularly the other freeloaders. Perhaps that’s all that the Bridgers are trying to do. Has every prior captain’s weakness been a lack of patience and understanding with enough of the people here? She has been taught that they were all great, but they were not without their scandals and problems. Halan broke a major law, Olindse was only interim, and then she disappeared one day. There are rumors that her Aunt, Kaiora had issues that caused the crew to lose trust in her by the time her tenure ended, but all of those files are classified, so it’s unclear what happened there. Then you have someone like Soto Tamm who couldn’t garner the respect that the other three had—without even trying—to save his life.

Tinaya is trying to look at her new circumstances positively. The first two months were the worst. She was holed up in Lataran’s cabin nearly that whole time, leaving only once in the middle of it. That was the worst day of her life so far. It was the cacophony of responses that she received from the passersby that made it unbearable. Some pitied her, others were embarrassed to be breathing the same air. Some were annoyed at how depressing she was, wandering the halls, unkempt as she was, and a few were quite vocally angry with her. She only lasted an hour before she couldn’t take it anymore. It was five more weeks before she tried again, and by then, another big news item was spreading through the ship. Some engineering apprentice that she hadn’t heard of made some huge mistake with the reframe engine, and delayed the journey by just over one week. The Extremus was never dead in the water, but they started the trip going 99.9999% the speed of light, and they don’t like changing that plan. That’s why they arrested Admiral Yenant, and why he died in hock.

Things are okay now when it comes to Tinaya’s relationship with the other young adults her age. They’ve gotten used to her situation, and no longer make her feel like shit every time she walks into the room. Still, it’s never going to be like it was. She went from hero to zero in a matter of seconds on that stage at graduation, and the only way she’ll live it down is if Avelino holds up his end of the bargain, and redeems her in some fantastic fashion. Today’s not great, though. Probably the biggest impact Vice Admiral Olindse Belo had on this ship was her introduction of holiday observances that prior generations of Extremusians and their ancestors never celebrated. She researched Earthan traditions, and taught the crew and passengers how they worked, and what they were for. There were tons of them. The first few years were pretty chaotic with how many events they held, trying to pack them all in without anyone fully understanding what they truly meant. Over time, factions and families have chosen their favorites. Now, just about every holiday is still observed by someone, but none by everyone. Unfortunately, the Leithes have decided to adopt something called Labor Day.

Back when this began, honoring the working class people of the ship for one day seemed like a no-brainer. Now it’s the most uncomfortable one they could have picked, because of Tinaya’s whole situation. She has never had very close relationships with her family, and her failure has, of course, only made things worse. Her parents can barely look her in the eye, which is generally okay, because she doesn’t have to see them very often. This started when she was a child, and was done by design. This expectation that she would one day lead the crew was evidently something that they fought against before she was born. They’ve since gone so far in the opposite direction that accepting that maybe it actually won’t happen has just pissed them off. Now they don’t know how to be her mom and dad. They thought they were doing right by her by being cold and distant. Does that even matter anymore? By law, she’s an adult now anyway, so they haven’t bothered trying. Except for today. They are Labor Day people. That’s what they’ve chosen to focus their traditions on, just like the Arbor Day people spend their special day in the arboretums, and the Cinco de Mayo Day people do whatever it is they do. It’s dinner time, and she has to be there.

“We can skip it,” Lataran offers as they’re walking slowly. She hails from a family of Picnic Day observers, which originates from some place called Australia. Tinaya can’t recall whether that’s a country or a continent. They had their day of relaxation and games a month ago. Tinaya attended it with them, and found herself easily forgetting about all of her problems. It’s not going to be so easy today, but they can’t skip it.

“What’s going to be my excuse?” Tinaya posed. “That I’m busy with my studies?”

“You are studying.”

“Yeah, and you’re my teacher. They know it’s not real.”

“It’s real.”

“I know. I mean, they think they know it’s not...real.” Tinaya sighs. “I have to go. But you don’t. You’ve not been charged with the crime of being a waste of carbon scrubbers.” That’s a common phrase on the ship.

“It’ll be fine. I’ve decided to tell them my theory.”

“No, you can’t, Lata. They don’t know what I told you about the Bridgers. I don’t believe I was supposed to tell you. Avelino didn’t specifically say not to, but it’s kind of implied that we’re doin’ somethin’ secret here.”

“I won’t tell them everything; just about you and me.” Lataran was really struggling with her grades in the last year of tertiary school. They did some math together and realized that there was basically no way that she should have been allowed to stay on the captain’s track for college. The hypothesis is that she was given Tinaya’s slot, possibly even as part of the Bridger’s grand plan. But that’s just between the two of them. Again, no one else can know about that.

“You can’t separate the two secrets. You’re in college because I’m not allowed to be there? There’s no reason why that would be a thing unless there was some conspiracy behind it. Plus, we don’t even know that it’s true. The University has its academic requirements, but you would not be the first student they made an exception for. History on both Earth and Ansutah is littered with stories like yours. Maybe they just know how smart you are, and that you just needed a second chance. Maybe it had nothing to do with me. Don’t try to tell my parents anything. I’m gonna suffer through it. I would love for you to be by my side, but our friendship does not depend upon it.”

“Okay. But I’m gonna defend you.”

“Hopefully you won’t have to. We’ll talk about innocuous things, like the weather, and the next professional sports competition.”

“Extremus has neither of those things.”

“Maybe I should change that.”

“Hm. You wanna make a sports team just so you don’t have to talk to your family about the important stuff?”

“I was thinking about finding a way to use science to create bad weather, but your idea sounds easier. Anyway, we’re here, so...we ought to go in.”

“Only if you want to. There’s time to back out.”

“I’m sure they can see us on the camera. And hear us.” Tinaya waves. “Hi, mom.” She then waves again, but this time closer to it, so the sensor can see. There’s a little chip in her hand that gives her access to this cabin without knocking and being let in. She’s done it a million times, not just with this door, but many others. The door has always split down the center, and pulled away to either side. That’s how interior Extremus doors operate. This time, it goes up into a pocket in the ceiling. On the other side of it is not her family’s cabin, but a long dimly lit hallway.

“Are we in the wrong place?” Lataran questions.

“Impossible. That’s where the Mastersons live. They have their Rush Hosannah decorations up, or whatever it’s called.” Not many people observe holidays like it. Some of the ones they tried to borrow from Earth seemed a little more like cultural appropriation than others. Even so, there are those families who don’t seem to mind.

“I think I know what’s on the other side of this threshold,” Lataran points out.

“Yeah, it’s probably the Bridger section. You should go back to the cabin.”

“No,” she says with a shake of her head. “The system knows that I’m here. This door wouldn’t open if they weren’t inviting me too. It’s not your call.”

“I’m not trying to make a call,” Tinaya insists. “I’m trying to protect you.”

Lataran steps into the magical hallway, and turns around to face her friend. “I don’t need your protection. I’m going to be on the executive crew of the Extremus one day.” She turns around again, and begins to walk towards the only other door they see.

Tinaya follows, but quickly passes to make sure she’s in front. There’s probably not a bear on the other side of it, but she still feels more comfortable being the first one through. On a lark, she waves her hand at the sensor, and the door opens for them.

Avelino is standing there in the darkness. “Welcome...to Year 217.”

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Extremus: Year 51

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Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image AI software

It’s graduation day. Unlike traditional schooling, or the regular education system on the ship, not everything about today is a given. For most people, the ceremony is to mark and celebrate an event that is already happening. Other students already have their degrees, and will move on from here based on whatever life has in store for them, which is based on whatever they have accomplished, and the promise they show for their future. The kids studying ship administration are in a special situation, though. Part of that comes from the circumstances they were born to and grew up in, and part of it is from their natural talent, but the majority of it is choice. They chose to place themselves on the captain’s track, and while of course not all of them will become captain one day, not all of them will end up on the executive crew in any capacity. They may not even make it to the crew, full stop. Hell, they may not even get into the college that is required to even have a chance.

There are two universities on the Extremus. One is the general university, where people study whatever it is they wish. The other is the University of Crewmanship. Within each of these two schools, there are separate college programs, and one of these is called The College of Executive Administration. This is the big time, and no one is guaranteed a spot in the program; not even Tinaya Leithe, legacy. It’s highly competitive, and the number of people currently graduating tertiary school who will be accepted is absurdly low. Standard practice dictates a student apply to a program elsewhere, and most have done that. If they did, they already know whether and where they were accepted. Despite the competition, there is a place for everyone. Education is a right, not a privilege; it’s just a question of what any given individual will be educated in. Today, everyone in Tinaya’s graduating class will learn whether they made it into the CEA, or if they’ll have to fall back on whatever their second choice is. It’s not just a graduation ceremony. It’s an acceptance ceremony, and the whole ship gets to watch.

Lataran is more solemn than usual, and Tinaya is trying to be supportive of her without sounding like a condescending bitch. “It’ll be okay. Whatever happens, it’ll be okay,” she claims, obviously not knowing if it’s true.

Lataran shakes her head. “You don’t understand, you never have. If I don’t get into this, I’m not going to college.”

“Your parents are letting you go to college. I’ve spoken to them on it many times. We agreed that if not Lieutenant, you would be best suited for civil service studies.”

“Yes,” Lataran confirms, “but you’re missing one half of the formula, which is desire. I don’t want to be a civil servant. If I can’t work on the crew, I don’t want to do anything, because I don’t have any other choices.”

“You have other choices. You could study philosophy. You always liked asking the big questions.”

“I can’t. That’s what I’m trying to explain to you. My parents gave me two choices; executive or civil service. I have to be a big name on this rustbucket, and if I try anything else, they’re going to disown me, and I’ll end up...a freeloader.” A freeloader isn’t as bad as it sounds. As with education, everyone alive is entitled to work. You get, and you give is sort of one of the state mottos. But you’re not required to participate in either of those things. You can drop out of school when you’re fourteen, and you never have to work a day in your life if you don’t want to. Some people do this. They just live here. It’s conventional for such people to focus on propagating the species, so that their descendants will one day make it to the Extremus planet, but that’s not required either. Some people just...hang out. They’re not socially shunned, but in practice, they have trouble making friends with anyone who isn’t like them. So they tend to stick to their own kind. There’s even a section where most of them live. This is not because they were intentionally segregated, but because they wanted to form a subculture. And also, they’re entitled to a certain level of accommodation, while those who contribute to society are entitled to a little more; nicer cabins, better facilities, etc. So there is a little bit of segregation going on, but it has more to do with their choice than anything.

“Well, what would you do if you could do whatever you wanted.”

“Whatever I wanted?” Lataran questions. “Temporal engineering.”

Tinaya is still trying to be nice. “I meant...”

“You meant, whatever I wanted that I could actually do.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Lataran sighs. “A freeloader.”

“What happened to your ambition?”

“I still have it, but only for this. Tina, I don’t have high marks. I’m barely graduating. I’m not gonna make it into college. That’s why I’ve been so grumpy lately. The first couple years of tertiary school were okay, but my struggle really caught up with me this last year.”

“You don’t know that you’re not getting in, and even if you don’t get in...”

“Even if I don’t get in, what?”

“I can choose whoever I want to be my lieutenants. I can pull from any workforce, any walk of life, including freeloaders. So if this doesn’t work out, and that’s what you want to do, then you’ll live in my stateroom with me, and when the time comes, I’ll appoint you as my First L-T.”

“That will make you look so terrible.”

“No, it won’t, because you’re not just gonna sit around all day. You’ll be doing an independent study. The library is free for all. We’ll work on my home assignments together. It’ll be like you’re in the college anyway, and we’ll make sure people know that. This is all assuming you don’t get accepted yourself, which I’m still not convinced you won’t. They’ve not even started the opening speeches.”

As if on cue, Captain Soto Tamm steps on stage and approaches the podium.

“He’s not in the program.” Lataran flips through it.

“Why is he even wasting his time here?” Tinaya asks rhetorically. The man is everywhere. He’s setting himself to make more public appearances during the first quarter of his shift than the other three previous captains ever did combined. The captain is meant to be available and helpful, and that doesn’t mean parading himself in front of an audience. That’s something a figurehead would do. Is he just a puppet? Is something rotten in Denmark? It’s too much. He shows his face too often when he should really be doing his job. At least this particular event makes sense, but still. Aunt Kaiora rarely had anything to do with the students when she was Captain, and Halan only ever went to one graduation; the first one on the ship. Tamm is still trying to play it cool around her. As he’s giving his opening remarks—explaining that he was asked to step in for the dean, who generally does this, but is busy with a situation—he looks each one of the graduating students in the eye, except for Tinaya.

Captain Tamm finishes his words, and then sits down so the ceremony can continue. Finally, the moment arrives when they’re announced in alphabetical order, and at the same time, declare which university they will be going to, or which college. Anyone who doesn’t get accepted into the College of Executive Administration will be listed with their second choice, if they only applied to the one. If they applied to, and were accepted into, multiple programs in either university, they now have a choice to make, and today, they will only hear their name associated with the particular university in general.

“Elowen Isenberg, College of Robotics and Artificial Intelligence.”

Elowen frowns, then stands up, and walks across the stage to accept his degree. Her parents look proud of her, not disappointed.

“Lataran Keen, College of Executive Administration.”

Lataran exhales sharply.

“I told you that you would be fine.” She accepts a hug from her friend, then urges her to go across the stage, so they can continue.

Finally, it’s her turn. Principal Hampton clears her throat, and looks worried. He hesitates, but decides to continue anyway. “Tinaya Leithe.” And then he shuts his mouth, not saying another word. The room freezes. She always knew that there was a chance she wouldn’t get into the program, but she should have been accepted into something. She applied to seven other programs; four of which were in the other university. This doesn’t make any sense at all.

Tinaya stands and approaches the podium slowly. She’s actually lifting her hand to accept the diploma. She’s doing that slowly too, but she’s still doing it. Then she stops. She drops her hand, and makes a sudden turn downstage as if she was trying to introduce herself to a celebrity, but chickened out at the last second. Instead, she hops off stage. It’s a doozy, but she lands on her feet, and keeps walking like an action hero, doing everything she can to ignore the stinging feeling presently running up her legs. The audience is still stunned. They turn their heads to follow her as she walks up the center aisle, and through the doors. She falls to her knees, and begins to hyperventilate. This can’t be happening. It can’t. Again, eight programs. Everyone is guaranteed a spot somewhere. If nothing else, general education should have let her in. It’s never happened to someone on the captain’s track before, but they could theoretically hear those two words come after their name. Tinaya didn’t even get that. She didn’t get anything. She’s not even a freeloader. As least that would have been her choice.

Someone’s feet appear in the corner of her eye. “Stand up.”

“Why?”

“Stand up and I’ll tell you.” She doesn’t recognize the voice.

“I don’t mean why should I sta—”

“I know what you’re asking. Stand up...and I’ll tell you,” he repeats.

She regains control over her breathing, and complies. She doesn’t recognize the man’s face either. “Who are you?”

“I am Avelino Bridger.”

“Avelino Bridger,” she echoes, “of the Bridger section?”

He shakes his head mildly. “It’s not a section.”

“I know. It’s a ship.” There’s another ship that’s following the Extremus about a light year away from here. It’s one of the things she learned when she hacked deep into the secret files as a kid. She’s not supposed to know that much about it. Everyone else knows that it exists in some form, but that’s it. “Why?” she repeats herself.

“Because we need you...for something bigger.”

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: January 22, 2399

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Alyssa is lying on the bed next to her real body. She didn’t spend much time looking at it after she transferred to Leona’s. It’s so weird, seeing herself from the outside. Many religions talk about having out-of-body experiences, but none of them has been proven. It’s sad, really, all those eager believers who wish they could do what she’s done. Now it’s time to go back, though. Being able to teleport was fun and all, but this—substrate, is what these people call it—doesn’t belong to her, even though the real owner can’t get back to it. “Will it hurt?”

“Did it hurt last time?” Ramses asks.

“Well, that was a pretty different situation.”

“I know. But no, it won’t hurt. You’ll close your eyes, and when you reopen, they will be a different pair of eyelids, and you’ll be over there.” He points to her body.

“We don’t need the Insulator of Life, right? I don’t want to run into Erlendr again. I don’t much care for him.”

“We don’t need it. This is a simple one-to-one transfer.”

“Great.” She leans all the way back, and starts to relax herself by counting the holes in the ceiling ties. When she’s ready, she gives him the thumbs up. Moments later, she wakes up, unhurt. “Was that the smoothest transfer you’ve ever seen, or what?”

Ramses stares into empty space. “You know what, I think it was. It was probably the best anyone has ever seen with this thing. Seems as though something always goes wrong.” He coils the Livewire up, and sticks it into the little pouch they bought for it.

Alyssa looks back over at Leona’s body, which is now an empty shell, imagining there to be a way to save her. An odd feeling washes over her. It’s like a stomach ache without the pain. Her eyes grow weighty, and drop down. She wakes up in the other bed. “What just happened?”

Ramses had turned his back to the both of them. “Leona?”

“No, it’s Alyssa,” she says using Leona’s lips.

Ramses is dumbfounded. “Not the smoothest transference in history.”

“I’m stuck here, aren’t I?”

“Not forever, I’m sure,” he replies.

“How do you know?”

“We’ve already met you in the future, remember?” Ramses reminds her. “You didn’t look like Leona, you looked like yourself.”

“Maybe that was just an illusion,” Alyssa puts forth.

“Can you use your illusion powers while you’re in this body?”

“No, but I’m not the only one with them, and maybe someone else ends up taking over my body, and decides to use them to make this body look like me.”

“Okay, so we don’t know for sure that we’re going to fix this. But we definitely don’t know that we won’t. Let’s try to be optimistic, okay? I’ll have to run some tests, and then I’ll have more answers. Something—or perhaps someone—doesn’t want you to go back to your original substrate.”

“Or maybe it’s that someone wants me in Leona’s substrate instead.”

“That is a possibility, I won’t dismiss it.”

Alyssa lies back down on the pillow and sighs. Here we go again.

Microstory 1844: Extra

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People often ask me what made me want to be an actor, but I can’t point to anything. There wasn’t a moment when I was enthralled with a character on screen. There wasn’t an emotion I had never felt before. I don’t remember the first three years of my life, but it was that version of me who made the decision for the both of us. As far as I know, I have always been an actor, and I never could have been anything else. I begged my parents to move to Los Angeles, but they refused. I honestly believe they would have agreed to it if we had lived in, I dunno, Tennessee, or something. They were so supportive of my dreams, but we were in New York, so I guess they looked at it as a lateral move. “If you want to act, you can do it here,” my mom would tell me. I didn’t want to do stagework, though. I wanted to be on the screen. I wanted to shoot something once, and have anybody in the world be able to see it again forever and ever. As the years went by, I didn’t let my living situation get in my way. I went to auditions for things that were shooting in the area, and while I didn’t get any roles, I think I gained a lot of great experience. That’s how I saw it. Every failure was just a step towards success. Then I got the audition that changed my life. I can’t remember what the role was exactly. I think I was a little too old for it, but the casting director was handing out little flyers calling for extras. There were going to be huge crowds in the movie, so they were trying to fill out the streets. It was an alien invasion, so we had to run from spaceships flying down to kill us. I thought, all right, it’s just more experience, right? It was so great, being on set around all those people. We were all there for the same thing; to support the main cast, and we all understood our jobs.

I had to join a talent agency to get more parts like that, and I found myself preferring it. I suddenly realized that I no longer wanted to be an actor. Yeah, that’s how I got started, but I ended up enjoying staying in the background. I wasn’t getting noticed, but I met a lot of really cool people, including celebrities, and it was always fun. It was pretty steady work too. Film crews always needed people like me to make it look like their story took place in the real world, instead of a snowglobe, like Waiting For Godot. Then my career changed again. I was in a movie about a demon who could possess recently deceased bodies. In one scene, he was having a menacing conversation with the hero on the battlefield, so there were plenty of fresh bodies to possess. Several of the extras were elevated a little bit to actually say a few lines before crumpling to the ground, and making way for the next possession. Luck of the draw, mine was the last body used before the protagonist realized how to kill the demon permanently. So instead of just falling down like the others, I had to pretend to die. I was given no direction for this, I had to figure it out myself. Everyone on set was extremely pleased with my performance. We nailed that thing in one take, and the audience received it well. People were talking about it online, trying to figure out who I was, because I wasn’t credited for it. This was my big break, and I didn’t even see it coming. Talent agencies started reaching out to me, hoping to book me auditions for speaking parts, and I ended up choosing one out of L.A. By then, I had enough money to get out there on my own, and get back to what I originally wanted. I die today with 56 titles on my résumé, the last of which will have to be released posthumously. My agent says she’ll get me a dedication credit.

Microstory 1718: The Cassiopeia Pivot

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In the United States, the prohibition of alcoholic beverages began in 1920, and ended in 1933. During this period, a number of bootleggers sprang up in order to both satisfy the country’s desire for alcoholic drinks, and also capitalize on the scarcity of this commodity. One such of these opportunists was a man named Dawson de Felice. He and his family started their new business in 1930, after The Great Depression devastated their farm’s produce sales. It became public knowledge in 1934, and grew into one of the largest liquor and beer companies in the world. For decades, the de Felice name was synonymous with high quality, low-cost beer and spirits. They were also known for fighting hard against anti-drug movements. They did not specifically deny the consequences of drinking, or underage drinking, but they did suggest that all those issues were the responsibility of their customers. Either the drinker was old enough to drink responsibly, or they were young enough to have a guardian who should have better controlled their alcoholic intake. They lobbied against laws that would raise their taxes, or otherwise limit their customer base, and they regularly dismissed any suggestion that they ought to help curb drunk driving, and other risks. Many pointed out that they actually would have saved money by producing an ad about responsible drinking, rather than spending it on a defamation campaign against their socio-political opponents. Despite these detractors, sales numbers continued to rise, along with their once affordable prices. Their method of rejecting all responsibility seemed to be working in their favor, and no one had any reason to believe that they needed to do anything differently. To them, the idea of recommending anyone ever not drink was irrational, and out of the question. Sure, dead people can’t buy beer, but if they died from the beer they bought from De Felice, then they probably spent a lot while they were alive. That was the unspoken reasoning anyway.

In the 21st century, a woman named Cassiopeia De Felice became majority owner of De Felice Beer and Spirits. She decided to take the company in a radically different direction, and there were good and bad consequences to her actions. She was a recovering alcoholic, and never would have wanted to take over in the first place if she had not gotten the idea to change its business model completely. They would continue to sell alcohol, but no longer for human consumption. They were going to sell rubbing alcohol now, as well as hand sanitizer, and even fuel. She figured there was plenty of room in these industries, they already had the infrastructure set up to accomplish this, and she didn’t want to endanger people’s lives anymore. Customers were bewildered. Shareholders were outraged. Everyone was stunned. Never before had a company attempted to pivot so drastically. It would prove to be their downfall, but also the beginning of a new trend. The world would thank them later. Perhaps her plan would have worked if she had started them out slowly, introducing themselves to the new products gradually, and eventually letting go of their beverage division. Instead, she tried to make one big move, and no one knew what to do with it. The failure would come to be known as The Cassiopeia Pivot, and while it began as a derogatory term, the term itself would pivot to become a point of pride. Other companies made similar moves, hoping to better the world, and the lives of their customers. Oil companies switched to renewables. Weapons manufacturers switched to plumbing. Even a ballpoint company began to focus on augmented reality devices. Though, that last one was less abrupt. The other examples happened quickly, but were just as successful. The world was ultimately better for De Felice’s sacrifice. It didn’t become a utopia, but they helped a little, and not much more could be asked of an alcohol company that just wanted to do the right thing.

Microstory 1668: Curtain Call

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Year after year, Joseph Jacobson showed up to the universe that deliberately invited him with his special summoning ritual. They put on a show that fictionalized his life. Actually, they put on multiple shows at the same time, and crowned the one he responded to the winner. Joseph was aware of what they were doing, and seemed to have no problem with it. When he returned a year later for another go around, the amount of time he had spent away was incongruous. It might have been a year for him as well, or longer. He once spent three days doing this, just going straight to the next one after the last, though that wasn’t too terribly much fun, because the point of the event was to listen to the tales of his travels while he wasn’t with them. He even once jumped to five years in the future from everyone’s perspective, before going back and filling in the years prior, which meant both that he knew their future, and they knew a little bit of his. The point is that he always showed up, without fail. Until one year. It was the largest contest yet, with hundreds of productions around the world hoping to go down in history as the best. None of them won, though, which was odd. By then, they were pretty well versed in his life’s story, and the chances of not one of them being good enough seemed unlikely. Did something happen to him? Was he indisposed? That didn’t make much sense. He was a time traveler in the truest sense of the term. The only thing that could have ever stopped him from not eventually getting their message was death, and maybe not even then, because a younger version of him could simply appear instead. They didn’t even think he could die anyway. He certainly never gave anybody that impression. He had already been alive for millennia upon millennia.

As far as they knew, he was immortal, but they didn’t know everything. Perhaps there was some weakness he quite deliberately withheld from them. That would be completely understandable. But the idea that no one won the contest? That sounded far-fetched. He always acted like he quite enjoyed traveling to a world that knew all about him. He was famous in some circles, but since he moved around so much—and rarely visited the same place twice—there weren’t a lot of others that revered him so much, and continued to show it. The summoning ritual was always a choice. It was a way for people to contact him, not force him to show up at their whims. He never had any obligation to come if he didn’t want to, so if this was his way of saying he was over it, it seemed like an odd occasion. What had changed since then? Well, that was probably the point. He could tell them all the stories he liked, but they never really knew what it was like to be Joseph Jacobson. That wasn’t even suggesting he liked to lie. Maybe he left out enough about himself that they didn’t really know him at all, and there was no explaining his absence, because there was no explaining him, full stop. The reigning theory after everyone went home was that Joseph simply didn’t want to tell his stories anymore, but a close second was that they were so used to putting on the productions that there was nothing interesting about them anymore. People put a lot of effort into analyzing past winners, and trying to come up with the perfect way to perform to maximize their chances. After carefully going over the shows from the total failure year, they realized just how similar they were to each other. Either Joseph couldn’t pick the best, or the fun was gone, and it didn’t matter anymore. The world tried again the next year, but they were much more rigorous about weeding duplicate performances out. Still, Joseph didn’t show, so they tried one more time, but only with one single great performance, and then they just gave up. He never appeared again, and the people chose to move on. Maybe that was his intention all along, to somehow teach them to be completely self-sufficient. Or maybe something else had happened that most people on this planet didn’t know anything about.