Microstory 2499: Outer System

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This is it, baby! This is what we’ve been waiting for! This is why people are colonizing worlds outside of the Stellar Neighborhood. We still have rules, but you could never do what we’re doing. This is decidedly not a dome. It’s the furthest and farthest you can be from a dome while still being in the star system. When I was a kid, there were so many space operas, and regardless of their premise—no matter how peaceful the protagonists wanted to be—space fighting was always, always a thing. Then reality set in. The only way that our civilization was able to develop enough to build the kinds of ships that they use in science fiction is by working together. Well, perhaps the construction of them itself wouldn’t have been slowed down, but the scale of them, and the speed at which we have expanded into the galaxy...that would have been virtually impossible. We had to put our petty conflicts to the side, and move on as a united front. Almost zero ships these days are built with weapons. Eight-year-old me would not have believed it, but really, what the hell do you need a gun for? Everyone around you is a friend. Even Teagarden, which is literally the military capital of the neighborhood, doesn’t make all that many ships. They focus on research and development, and distribution and management of orbital defense systems. I’m not saying that I wish we were at war, but I did kind of hope that I would one day be in a space battle, fighting for justice, and protecting the innocent. Since then, I’ve been getting my kicks through VR, and that’s been great; you can do anything there. But now we have something real. It took years for them to establish a presence in the outer system, but we’re here now, and holy shit, is it fun. You choose your side, and fight in battles, and the best part about it is that you can’t die! Sure, you can blow up, or get shot, but you’ll just come back to life in the nearest respawn station. That is a big rule, by the way; don’t forget it. You are not allowed to damage a respawn station. Fortunately, because space battles are chaotic, and people make mistakes, these things have incredible defensive capabilities. If you even point your weapon towards one, that weapon will just seize up. You won’t get in trouble as long as there is no reason to suspect that you were doing it on purpose. Besides, those are really far away, mostly planetside, so I don’t want to worry you, or nothin’. As far as the fighting itself, I’ve never felt so alive. It’s so immersive, and the story is so believable. They basically came up with a new history, since humanity’s real history never led to any real space wars, and if they did, it would probably be distasteful to trivialize it here. That’s why it works, because unlike games centered on war in the past, we feel so distant from it, since people are no longer dying from genuine conflict. The best part about this scenario is that space is mind-bogglingly big, and even though I’m certain they’ll want to keep the activities in-system, there’s more than enough room to have multiple battles simultaneously, perhaps originating from entirely unrelated backstories. If you’ve ever wanted to fight in base reality without any real consequence—for you, or your opponents—here’s your chance. Don’t waste it. Which side will you choose?

Microstory 2484: The Renaissance

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If you even tangentially like the Renaissance, this is the dome for you. A lot of people seemingly mistake this as one big Faire that never ends, but it’s more complicated than that. It’s not really even a faire at all. Faires in the past have not only come and gone, but the actors involved are simply playing characters. They know what year it is, and they sometimes forget to take off their smartwatches. This is more like a form of time travel. The droid actors are fully immersed, and will be genuinely confused by any anachronisms that they might encounter. You are allowed to take personal technology in with you, but you are encouraged to keep it concealed as much as possible to protect the integrity of the experience. Unless you’re in the anachronism sector, where advanced tech is not only allowed, but prevalent. Other sectors have their own rules and restrictions, though there’s generally free movement between them. They’re not divided by unscalable walls, or anything, unless that’s the point of the story of that given area. The droids just believe that they are residents of the time periods, and don’t even know that they’re artificial. Do not—I repeat—do not try to disabuse them of their reality. With enough brute force, you can break their software, and force a repair, but that’s so disrespectful and destructive of you. And keep your kids in line, because they will do this. Humanity has a long history of trying to get its actors to break character, and it’s always been incredibly annoying. Just enjoy this place for what it is. There is a sector for everyone. If you want to be very authentic and historically accurate, you can find that. If you want it to lean more into the fantasy aspect, that’s available too. And like I said, there’s an anachronism sector, where people pretend to be alien space travelers, and time travelers, and whatever. I don’t personally care for that, but I’m okay with it existing. Just stay in your lane, so to speak.

This dome spends so many resources basically policing people’s movements. There are some areas you can’t go to if you’re wearing modern garments, because you’re also meant to cosplay as a typical member of society in that time period. Perhaps they should build walls, so you know exactly how far you can stray before you run into a different theme. For the most part, everything is pretty simple here, with the majority of the work going into measures that uphold the illusion of an isolated reality. There are some advanced aspects of it, though. For instance, there are a few dragons, which while fully mythical, are deeply tied to the historical culture and beliefs of the day. These dragons are not genetically engineered, because even though they could absolutely code the genome for something dragon-like, it would not be able to fly, because dragons break the laws of physics. Stop reading if you don’t want to know how the trick is performed. They’re just holograms. Conventional and totally normal aircraft fly around, usually in an array of synced drones, which project a holographic image of whatever flying beast its programmed to be at the time. They can generate heat, but not fire. That would be technologically possible, but also not safe enough, or they would have to require people come in here with certain types of substrates. As it stands, you can walk in as a normal human, and everything be safe enough, and I think they want to maintain that freedom. You shouldn’t want to be breathed on by a dragon, but if that’s you’re thing, I guess look for a VR simulation. This dome doesn’t always stick to pure historical accuracy, but it’s for leisure and education, not adventure, and certainly not danger.

Microstory 2380: Vacuus, October 29, 2179

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Dear Condor,

Thanks for the compliment, you’re not so bad yourself. I wouldn’t mind seeing a few more photos. As for your question about what I might have done with my life had I been born on a pre-apocalyptic Earth, I’ve always wanted to work with my hands. Obviously, I need my hands to do my real job well, but I’ve never gotten those hands dirty. As your twin and I realized, our base is immaculate. The systems are designed to keep out all the Vacuan dust, and keep the atmosphere in. If I had been born on Earth instead, say a hundred years ago, I guess I would have liked to be a gardener, or something. Yeah, we have a garden here, but it’s not really the kind I’m talking about. It’s so stale and perfect, like everywhere else. It would have been nice to plant beautiful flowers just for the sake of it, not because anyone needed food. To crouch there on the edge of the colorful garden, smiling up at the sun. We don’t have a sun here, so I suppose just about anything outdoors would be amazing. I do yoga too, so I’m flexible, and don’t have any problem being on my hands and knees. I’ve attached a photo of myself doing my morning yoga. It was taken a few years ago, when I was in slightly better shape, but I’m still doing okay. That’s about all I can do to workout unless I want to fight over the three treadmills that we have. You must have other ways of staying fit. Exactly how big and comprehensive are these domes that you live under? Have you ever gone swimming in a pool, or an artificial pond? You can send me a picture of that if you want. We’re so confined here, and swimming would be a huge waste of resources, we would never dream of it. Back in the day, people would make fun of one of my grandfather’s friends because he didn’t know how to swim, but these days, that’s probably a whole lot of people. It looks fun, but it’s just not practical. I did design myself a swimsuit once, just to see what it looked like. I can send you that photo too, if you’re interested. Researchers are developing virtual reality, which could give people so many opportunities that they never had before, like swimming, or opportunities that would be impossible in the real world, like flying without an aircraft. Could you imagine? Okay, I’m just fantasizing now. What kind of fantasies do you have? Don’t be afraid to be a little provocative, if that’s what’s on your mind. We all have dreams.

Dreaming of you,

Velia

Microstory 2378: Earth, October 21, 2179

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Dear Velia,

I know what it’s like to feel a connection to a place or event that I’ve never actually been a part of. That’s what happens when I’m reading a good book. Corinthia and I have been reading The Winfield Files, and watching the corresponding seasons of the adaptation. Even though the stories are very personal and intimate for the characters that we’re following, the writer manages to do a great job of going into great detail with everything that’s happening around them. It’s set in a fictional universe, but it almost plays like historical fiction, because the background is so rich and intricate. It might as well be a version of Earth that really does exist somewhere out there. I sometimes feel more attached to it than my own world, probably because of all the darkness and sadness that has defined our past down here. I also know what it’s like to have a job that makes sense for you, but isn’t necessarily something you would have chosen if you had had every option. My dad was good at what he did, and it was more practical for us to stick together, which meant me finding my own way to contribute by becoming a sort of flight attendant. I don’t know what I would have done if I lived in the kind of world that I read about in some of the classics. The tales are fascinating, but they take place in mundane settings. If you were privileged, you got an education, and pursued your dreams. Not everyone was able to do what they wished, of course, but it was at least there in front of them. We lost so many options when society fell apart. I think maybe, if I were one of the lucky ones, I might have become a scholar. I could have dedicated my life to learning, and possibly become a teacher. I appreciate the characters who wear nice but not overly fancy clothing, and spend their days indoors, reading books of their own, and searching for answers. In the real world, it’s always been about survival, but in a more perfect world, we would mostly have everything that we needed, and could focus on things that aren’t absolutely vital. What would you do if you were born on Earth, and the poisonous gases never befell the lands? Do you think you would have gone into fashion anyway, or is there anything else you find yourself daydreaming about. I must say, you’re not bad at what you do, if the outfit you’re wearing in your photo is any indication. In my opinion, it’s not too much cleavage, though I admit to being a bit biased. I hope it’s not too forward to say that you’ve a very beautiful woman.

Warmly,

Condor

Microstory 2289: I Can Fill in Any Gaps

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I’m gonna make this short, because I really want to get back to my work. I’ve been furiously typing, and not having to spend so much time doing research. That’s what has traditionally been the biggest time suck. Maybe I shouldn’t phrase it like that, because that makes it sound like I hate it. I actually love doing research. It’s like learning, except I care about it, so I write it down to reference the information later. I like my stories to be as plausible as possible without sacrificing adventure and intrigue. Of course, as we all know, all of my stories were proven true the moment my alternate self conjured me in another universe. So as it turns out, even the most fantastical of narrative liberties wouldn’t be a problem for any scientist with sufficient data and understanding. What I’m really trying to say is that I don’t have to do much research this time, I only have to recall my own past. That sounds easier than it is. I have a notoriously bad memory, which is just one more reason why I was never built for an autobiography. But the great part about it is that I can fill in any gaps in memory with made-up plot points. The heart of the story will be my own, but so much more. Okay, I gotta get back to it. Kelly is yelling at me about my work-life balance, but when you’re an artist, work is your life, so there’s no reason not to be working at all waking hours of the day.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 9, 2398

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Marie badges herself in, and heads for Ramses’ area of the lab, which is farthest from the elevator. His hair is mussed up, and the table is full of chemicals, some of which may be drinkable, placing the whole operation—and his life—in danger. He doesn’t even notice her approach. “Rambo.”

He’s startled, but he doesn’t make eye contact. “What?”

“You haven’t been sleeping.”

“I can sleep when it’s over, Angela.”

“I’m Marie.”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

“Have you made any progress?”

He laughs at the very idea. He’s run so many tests on the Insulator of Life, and the Livewire, trying to figure out how to get Trina back, or at least confirm where she is. He hasn’t worked on anything else since the incident, and he’s no closer to solving the problem. Cheyenne is going to need the Insulator back pretty soon, so either she’s going to have to come to them, or he’ll have to find another way to the answers. “Nothing. I have absolutely no idea how either one of these things works. No moving parts, no obvious unusual properties. If I didn’t know any better, I would call it magic.”

“Maybe that’s what it is,” she offers.

He scoffs.

“Why not? When I first found out that time travel was a thing, I immediately started questioning everything I thought I knew about the physical world. Ghosts, sorcerers, even God; perhaps they were real. I’ve not seen any evidence of such things so far, but maybe these two objects are evidence of something.”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t work like that. Time travel is crazy, but it’s not magic. Magic inherently doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t have rules. If you need something done, there’s a way to do it, and any failure to accomplish it is based solely on your lack of imagination. Science has rules, whether we’re cognizant of all of them, or even any of them, or not.”

“Well, I’m not going to argue with you about it. I’m your elder, but you’re much smarter. I’m not here to convince you to stop trying, just to take a break.”

“I can’t do that. People are counting on me.”

“I’ve spoken with Bridgette and Cheyenne. They’re moving into the Lofts.”

Now he finally looks directly at her. “They are?”

“This floor is exclusive to travelers, which Cheyenne is. Angela is moving back in with Kivi, even though Kivi just moved out of Angela’s place.”

Ramses is happy for a moment before he realizes that this only solves one issue. “It doesn’t matter. The McIvers need me to find their sister. Yeah, it’s great that I can keep working with the Insulator, but I still can’t waste time sleeping. Trina needs me.”

“She needs you to be at the top of your game,” Marie corrects. “Sleepy Ramses is sloppy Ramses. Who knows, you might even come up with a new angle to tackle the problem when you let your brain rest a little.”

Ramses argues more, but Marie calls Leona to ask her to give him an order, so he reluctantly goes upstairs to sleep on it. She was right, a weird dream gives him an idea.

Microstory 1735: Foals

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There once was a man named Albany Foals, who came from a distant land in search of someone to love. He was a charming and nice man, who everyone liked to be around. Women from his country would come to him every day, hoping to give him their hand in marriage. People loving him was not the problem. He didn’t love them back, and he was beginning to believe he was never going to. After exhausting the list of potential soulmates, he decided to leave, hoping to find someone worthy of his affection elsewhere. He traveled many miles, across rivers, around mountains, and through prairies. The more he walked, the happier he became, but it wasn’t the walking; it was the distance. He was farther from people he had ever been before, and this was providing him with relief. Excited at the prospect of living like this forever, Albany settled down in a field, and began to build a magnificent shelter to call his own. He would live off the land from now on, and not worry about finding someone to love. Before he was finished, though, he grew lonely. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps he really did need to find someone to love, and his contentment at being alone was more about being away from the people he had grown to despise. Still, he couldn’t be sure, so he finished the shelter, and lived there for a short while. Once the loneliness overwhelmed him, he walked away, leaving behind a note for any other travelers that the house was free for their use. He continued in the same direction as before, eventually ending up in a new country. They welcomed him warmly, and he started to regain his confidence. This might actually work out. Surely there was someone here who could make him feel as joyful as he saw others who had found their own husbands and wives.

Unfortunately, Albany experienced the same thing in this country as he had in his own. No one was evil, nor repulsive, nor even all that incompatible. There was just no spark. His heart didn’t beat faster upon approach. He did not dream about spending the rest of their lives together. Many women would have been a fine choice, but none of them would have been perfect, and this saddened him greatly. Disappointed in his perceived failure, he turned around, and set out on the path towards the house he had built for himself. Hopefully no one would have taken it by now. It had been years, but it was remote, and moderately hard to find, so he could get lucky. As he walked, however, he started to get an idea. Wouldn’t it be great if someone did turn out to have taken the house, and that she was his one true love? Maybe that was the story here. Maybe he was destined to go through all this turmoil so he could find what he was looking for only after giving up on it. She would be kind and quiet. She would be able to take care of herself, but like to be doted upon anyway. Ah, no, this wouldn’t happen. Marauders took his house, and picked it clean. Vandals dirtied the walls, and ripped up the floorboards. This was not a love story, he figured. He wasn’t that lucky. He arrived to find someone was indeed living in the house, and it wasn’t who he expected. It wasn’t a human at all, but a horse. He was short and young, with thin legs, and fearful eyes. He didn’t run from Albany, but he was clearly apprehensive and concerned. Albany named his new little horse Griseo, and began to take care of him. They lived together in that house, never bothering to interact with any other humans again. Albany did find love. It wasn’t the kind he was looking for. But it was exactly the kind he needed.

Microstory 1541: Dreaming of Days

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When I was in ________ grade, our ________ asked us to start ________ a dream journal. It was a simple enough ________. Some ________ had more trouble with it than others, because some ________ just don’t remember their ________ as well. I’ve never been one of those people. I remember my dreams vividly, though I wouldn’t call that a gift. They aren’t frightening most of the ________, but they are boring. It was during the other students’ ________ that I realized everyone else dreamed of ________ things, like a world in negative colors, or having ________ for feet, and ________ for hands. I just dream about ________; about regular daily life. I wake ________, drink some ________, go to work at a boring ________, come home, eat alone, and go back to ________. Or sometimes I come ________ to a family, or a ________, or a bird. It’s never the same ________, but it’s never exciting either. I’m not myself in my dreams, but ________ else, and I don’t even think the same someone else, because I keep taking ________ routes to different jobs. Fortunately, I wasn’t the first to do my ________, so this gave me enough time to fib. I made up ________ that were more fantastical and interesting, because no one wanted to hear the true ________ if they were going to be that sad and ________. After that, I moved on with my life, but I would continue this ________ of making up my dreams, instead of relating the real ones to ________. It’s not like the subject came up a lot, of course, but people did ________ ask me about them, and I got used to the lying. I got so ________ at it that when it came to figuring out what I wanted to do with my life, being a ________ writer made the most sense. Things were going ________, I wasn’t the most famous ________ in the ________, but I was making a ________ living sending short stories to various ________ magazines. I kind of made it my thing to claim that my work was inspired by my dreams. I don’t think there’s any legal issue with that. I hope not, at least. One ________, I even slipped in one of my real ________, just to see how it would be ________. It didn’t get great ________, but they actually weren’t that bad. There were just fewer of them this time, because fewer ________ were ________ in providing their ________. It was only an ex____, so that’s fine.

Anyway, my critics and ________ aren’t the only people who get a hold of this story. A ________ contacts me, demanding to know how long I’ve been ________ on him. I tell him I’m doing no such thing, that I don’t know who he is, but he’s not ________ it. He starts ________ my latest story, which...whatever, anyone can do that, but then he adds details that I never released to the public, because they’re even more ________ within the boring. He mentions the ________ of his briefcase, and the look of the novelty clock in the ________. This ________ was somehow in my dream, and I have to find out how the hell he did it. So against my better ________, I agree to meet him at his apartment two ________ over. It’s not just familiar, it’s exactly the same ________ I saw in my dream. He takes me back down____, and down the ________, and all the way to where he ________. I’ve seen it all before, this is from my dream. We continue on our ________ through town, trying to work out what’s going on together. I start to realize everything feels ________. All of my dreams, though no two are the same; they all apparently take ________ in this same town. I think at any ________ I will wake up, and this will also turn out to be a dream, but I never do. I go back ________ to consult my ________ journal, and I start mapping out the ________. Then I return to this town to meet other ________ whose lives I’ve borne witness to. They all exist, they’re all ________. Then we go deeper, and check the ________. I’m not just watching other people’s ________, but events that would not happen to them for another ________ days. I can see the ________, but only in this one town, and that’s what makes it the least impressive power I’ve ever heard of, because the more time I ________ here—as fascinating as the ________ itself is to investigate—the more bored I become.

Microstory 1030: Herman

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You can call me H.R. Mann. It’s my pseudonym, but I like when people call me that in real life. I write mostly horror stories, but I’ve been known to dabble in some fantasy, kind of like the reverse of George R.R. Martin. I hate other people reading my stuff. In my eyes, my work is never really done. I wrote an entire book five years ago, but I keep just looking back at it, and changing things. A lot of my stories are connected, so I’m kind of working on them all at the same time, and I worry that if I try to publish something, it will prevent me from making a creative decision that would contradict some irreversible decision. It was Viola who suggested I try to write a standalone novel. It would take place in its own universe, and be completely separate from all my other stories. Then I could try to publish that, and maybe get my name out there. Well, I spent the entirety of our junior year working on it, and gave it to her to look over. I had no expectations of her, but I did expect that she would read it over, and give me a few notes. I didn’t think she would pull out the red pen, and edit the whole thing for me. I don’t mean she just proofread it. She edited for content, suggesting thematic and semantic changes that made the overall book far better. There were some parallels, and narrative symmetries that she saw that I would have never thought of on my own. I implemented nearly all of her suggestions, which helped make me think of a few extra, but I wasn’t able to give her the next draft before she died. Not that it would have been her responsibility to look over it yet again. I’m really just saying this to illustrate how important a person she was to everyone in our class, the school, and the world. She would do just about anything for just about anyone. She was an angel. We’ll miss you, Viola Woods.