Microstory 1720: Lone Resident of Cepheus

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I’m in a small town in Central Kansas called Cepheus. It’s Northwest of Hays, and Southeast of Great Bend. When I was born, there were only eleven people here. Now that my father has died, I’m all that’s left. I know that I’m supposed to contact someone about this. The county sheriff knows our situation, and is aware that I have no family elsewhere, as far as I’ve ever been told. I’m fifteen years old, though, and after some careful thought, I decide that I can take care of myself. What would it accomplish, being around other people? I only ever cared about my family, and the one other family we knew, who are all gone too. I bury father in the cemetery, for which we were already permitted to do so. For practical reasons, though he was young and in fairly decent health when it happened suddenly, we were prepared for the eventuality. He even already picked his casket. It was in the barn waiting for him when his time came. Once I’m done with the ceremony, I return to our home, make what was his favorite dinner, and go to bed. The next day, after breakfast, I return to my studies. Just because my teacher isn’t here anymore, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t continue to get an education. He gave me the tools I would need to go on without him, including ultrafast satellite internet. All my friends are on here, I have access to infinite entertainment, and I see no reason why my lifestyle should change. He won’t be able to go fishing with me this weekend, but I can still go by myself. I’ll even take a case of beer to sit between our seats. I never touch the stuff, but I’m sure I’ll find it comforting. It reminds me, as I’m making sure a case is still in the fridge, that I’m going to run low on certain supplies soon. The last remaining residents of Cepheus stayed for a reason, because we didn’t want to interact with the world anyway. Still, we couldn’t ever produce everything ourselves, like shaving cream, and medicine. For that, we waited for the Hercules wagon.

The next wagon won’t arrive for another few days, but I’m not sure if it’ll ever come now. We receive regular resupplies of certain items, which we use up monthly, but we send for special requests as well. I failed to do that yesterday since I was so busy taking care of my father’s final resting place. We always have special requests, and if we don’t, it usually means we’re on a long camping trip. That’s okay, I have plenty of produce from our little garden, homemade dairy from our goat, Mr. Milks, and enough nonperishables to survive in a doomsday bunker for five years. It’s going to be the little candies that I’ll miss the most. It’s never on our list, but the driver always comes with them anyway, free of charge. I shrug off the worrying about the wagon, and get back to my book, A Tale of Two Cities for my classics assignment. In fact, it’s the last assignment my father gave me, which means I’ll have to begin testing myself once I complete the report. I can always call the driver later if I do decide I want him to come after all. When I’m finished with the chapter, I head for the kitchen to treat myself to a bowl of Mr. Milks’ ice cream. It’s not the easiest thing to make, so we don’t do it often. It makes more sense to stick to the milk, cheese, and butter. Like an idiot, I drop the bowl on the floor, and worse, I don’t notice that one piece of porcelain slid far from the spill. I slip on it, and bash my head against the corner of the counter. Unable to move, I watch the blood from my head wound mix with the dessert, and now I realize why father told me to leave town when he was gone, and join society. The driver doesn’t find my body for four days.

Microstory 1716: Sea Goat

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I’ve done it, I’ve cracked it! I have finally figured out how to genetically engineer the sea goat. No, this is not like the mythological Capricornus creature thing that’s half-goat, half-fish. This is an aquatic goat, which still looks mostly like a goat, but which has features that allow it to swim below the surface. Most goats can already swim, but they don’t really like it, and they certainly can’t breathe underwater. The sea goat is different. I designed fin flaps on his legs, so when he’s in the water, he’ll curl his hooves inward, and let the fins do the paddling. His hair is more like otter or beaver fur, capable of keeping him warm in frigid waters. The gills on his neck can process both saltwater and freshwater equally well, allowing him to stay under indefinitely. He has a set of transparent eyelids underneath the opaque ones, which allow him to see through the water. You may be asking why I would do this. Why create an amphibious goat? The truth is that not once during the process did I ask myself that question. It seemed like such a natural objective that I never considered there needed to be any sort of reason. Now, you’ll notice that I keep referring to the animal as a he, but the truth is that its genderless. I just use the term for the sake of ease, but he is no more male than he is female. When he’s ready to reproduce, he will do so asexually. That doesn’t mean he carries both reproductive organs, but that he doesn’t need different organs. When it’s time to propagate the species, he’ll develop the eggs. He won’t have to fertilize them, but he also won’t be making an exact copy. Enzymes in his reproductive system will attach themselves to the eggs randomly. Once enough of these enzymes are attached, they’ll operate uniquely, and in concert, altering each egg’s DNA in unpredictable ways. This allows for the offspring to be born genetically diverse, whilst still only requiring the one parent. The species will evolve as normal, but will have no need to find suitable mates.

The only thing I’m having trouble with now is figuring out how to prompt the reproductive process in the first place. If I were to engineer a sexual species, two members of that species would undoubtedly experience the instinct to mate with each other, which would continue the bloodline. Without such environmental factors, I’m not sure why the sea goat would do this. Most species evolve the biological imperative to pass on their genetic information, by whatever means they have available to them. This is because any individual who doesn’t have this drive, won’t pass on their genetic information, and will die out long before we ever have a chance to study them. They just don’t exist—in random defective organisms, yes, but not in an entire species, because it wouldn’t make any sense. But evolution didn’t take too much part in what I have created. It’s impossible to tell whether the fundamental biological imperative is strong enough in the sea goat, or is even there at all. If all goes according to plan, he’ll lay about a dozen eggs, and maybe half of them will survive through the early developmental process. That is if anything happens at all. I don’t really want to try to trigger the propagation myself, because I want to see if he will do it on his own. That day may never come, but I have no choice but to be patient. The sea goat’s life span is presently about as long as a human’s, which is a gift I deliberately added to his genes. I may die before seeing the second generation come to fruition, so that is why you’re here. If you accept the position, you’ll be responsible for carrying on my legacy. You won’t be my assistant, you’ll be more like my heir. Now that you know a little bit about what we do here, how about you tell me more about yourself? Why do you want to study and raise sea goats?

Microstory 1292: The Coney and Her Ears

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A lion was trying to eat the meat of a goat he had captured when the goat’s horns scratched his face up. One of them nearly took out his eye when he leaned over, and this angered the lion greatly. Not wanting to risk anything like this happening again, the lion stood on top of his proclamation rock, and proclaimed that all animals with horns of any kind will be banished from the lands. Anyone fitting the description was required to leave within one day. Now, of course the coney did not have horns, but she did have long ears on top of her head, which the lion might take offense to. She could not sleep that not for fear of the lion becoming angry with her for staying. He did say that anyone with horns of any kind should leave; perhaps her tall ears were close enough. When she stepped out of her hole the following morning, the sun’s light fell upon her head, and cast a long shadow on the ground before her, making her ears look even larger than they normally did. She even convinced herself that they were horn-like. Now she was certain that it wasn’t worth the risk to stick around. She was so upset about having to move, but she did not want to suffer the lion’s wrath. He was such a fearsome creature, and she was such a little thing. “Goodbye,” she said to all her friends. “I do not want to go, but I have no other choice.”

“Good for you,” said the badger.

“How is this good?” the coney asked.

“Why, all the horned animals are looking at this development the wrong way,” the badger tried to explain. “Sure, you have to move, but you should be happier than anyone. After all, you’re not supposed to want to be eaten by a predator. It is the rest of us who must continue to live in fear.”

This story was inspired by, and revised from, an Aesop Fable called The Hare and His Ears.

Microstory 974: Weird Twitter

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A few years ago, I was trying to publish my book. Well honestly, I’ve been trying to publish my book since forever, but constantly fail, and frequently give up. During this particular attempt, an agent actually responded to my submission for representation with advice. They said that I basically already had to be famous before agents would even bother considering me. In the olden days, this meant getting published in little-read magazines, and slowly gathering a base, until you’re (inter)nationally recognized. It’s kind of like how a band has to start out playing in small town bars, because Madison Square Garden isn’t going to call them out of the blue. While the internet has changed how we access content, the dynamic has remained roughly the same. I can’t make any money at what I do until I prove I can do it without making any money. Before I had a website, I  only had two avenues for releasing my work. I started posting my microstories on Facebook, and I set up an entirely new Twitter account for fiction. The plan was to tweet extremely short stories, which sounded good on paper, but every time I attempted to write one, it just came off as humorous. Or at least it was in the comedy genre. As far as whether any of my tweets are funny, you’re going to have to decide for yourself. It took more than two years before I made any true nanofiction, and it lasted that entire year. I’m doing something similar for 2019, and then reshaping my whole schedule for 2020. Yes, I’m that far ahead with my plans. Anyway, as I was saying, what I later learned is that these “jokes” had their own special name. They’re apparently called Weird Twitter. Understand that these aren’t just one-liners like you would hear Mitch Hedberg say. His jokes were just as absurd, and often didn’t come with context, but what makes Weird Twitter so different is that they’re usually unrelatable. I have a few running gags that you would only notice if you were really paying attention. I often joke about the present condition of the hit series Breaking Bad, as if the number of seasons it had, or when it premiered, was ever in question, which it isn’t. The joke is that there is no joke, because I chose it at random, and could have chosen any other show to express the same absurdity. I also post fake conversations with my parole officer, which would make sense if he existed, or if say, there was a rumor I was an ex-con. The fact that I’m so far removed from that life is what makes it less of a joke, and more just, well...weird. I love that Weird Twitter, and other humors accounts are out there, like this one I just discovered called Tess as Goats. Look it up, it’s hilarious, and Tess-approved. I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t follow any other Weird Twitter accounts personally. My nanofiction account does, but I don’t check that feed, unless I have notifications. I only hope that other people aren’t doing the same thing, and are actually reading my stuff, because that’s why I create it. I certainly don’t do it for my health. That would be weird.

Microstory 926: Goats and Elephants

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I added this entry, because I didn’t speak much on animals themselves in my second post. I’ve had a lot of different favorite animals, for different reasons. Each time I add one, the others don’t go anywhere; they just all stay my favorite. I like penguins and polar bears, even though I don’t much like the cold. I like okapi, because they look like they should be related to zebras, but they’re not. I remember discovering them when a character mentioned them during the series finale of Six Feet Under. I had not once watched that show up to that point, but my aunt and I had nothing better to do. I ended up noticing a small okapi figurine in a museum gift shop soon thereafter. I still have it, and keep it on my desk. I like dogs and cats, because I’m a human being with a heart. I used to hate cows, because I thought they were stupid, which is less true than you probably believe, and even if not, that’s no reason to dislike them. I got to know a calf once, and she was great; never talked back to me. I like horses and donkeys, because they’re majestic and beautiful, and horseback riding is in my blood. And I like goats and elephants. I’ve met a few goats in my day, and though they weren’t the nicest of creatures, they were cool, and they always look at you like they secretly understand your language. Elephants are just great, because...well, look at them. Ya know, they bury, and mourn for, their dead, and when a mother dies, the rest of the herd will try to raise her young. They’re one of the few animals naturally born with souls. Not even dogs can boast that. I’m afraid I’m not feeling well, and need to go back to the Church of the Porcelain God, so this is where I leave you.

Voyage to Saga: Base Reality (Part XII)

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“People keep saying that, what exactly does that mean?” Vearden asked. All these little nicknames that people who could manipulate time give to themselves. They seemed so...self-serving. Who does that? “Do you run a school district, or something?”

“No, nothing so reputable,” the Superintendent responded. “Superintendent, not as in a leader; superintendent, as in I fix things. I don’t run these universes, I just make sure they run themselves.” He held his hand up pseudo-defensively. “But please, you may call me Gaius. It’s not my real name, I just like it.”

“Very well. And this is.....base reality? What exactly does that mean?”

It didn’t seem like Gaius had a good answer for that one. He paused for a second. “I don’t wanna say anything that’s going to make you feel unimportant, but let’s just say that your universe sprouted from mine, and relies on mine’s continued existence in order to exist itself.”

No good response. “O...kay.”

“Now. Ya’ll ready for this?”

“That sounds like a reference,” Vearden said.

Gaius smiled again. Then he lifted a normal black pen and clicked it once. Suddenly, Vearden knew what he was talking about. That was a lyric from a pop song. Why was he not able to remember that upon first hearing it? He shook it off as Gaius was continuing on with his introduction. “Tell me—and remember that I know the truth, because I know literally everything about you—have you ever heard of a deus ex machina?”

“Yeah,” Vearden answered honestly. “It’s when there’s no logical reason for something to happen in a story, but the writer just decided it would.”

“That’s right. It’s not a good thing. Critics frown upon it. I am no different, but I have recently found myself using them. Now, what I’ve done here is an interesting case. I didn’t actually require a deus ex machina, but what I did require was a series bridges. I needed connections between the universes in my domain, and fortunately, you’re genetically predisposed to that sort of thing. I needed you to establish your presence in these realities so that I could more easily enter them whenever I need to. And in order for this to work, you needed to have a profound effect on the narrative, rather than just sitting back and watching.”

“Can’t The Shepherd do that? She’s the one who brought me here.”

“Well, she can only get me halfway. Yes, she can open windows to other universes, but she can’t establish herself in them. She can barely cross the threshold. That’s why you never actually saw her in one of them with you.”

“But she—”

He cut Vearden off, “went into that last reality? Yes, now she’ll be able to go to any universe that you have created bridges for, as will your wife and the scientist, or anyone else, really. You see what I’m going for here? Vearden, you’re a doorwalker. For a period of time, you were the doorwalker. You just created the Gretchen and Danuta team. They’re going to be very important to me down the line.”

“I see. Almost.”

“Close enough.”

“So can you give Saga back to me now?”

“I could, but I still need your help with a few things.”

“What might that be?”

He opened his arms to present his surrounds. They weren’t all that appealing. His apartment wasn’t too small, but it was dirty and old; not the best place to live. “I’m not lovin’ where I am in my life. I don’t expect a mansion, or anything, but I could do with a few upgrades. You can help me with that. I’m even more powerless than the Shepherd. I can’t usually personally experience anything but linear time. You’re my loophole.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Just go back in time and make a few changes.”

“Then I get Saga?”

“That’s right, Vearden, you get Saga. Jesus.”

“No, I don’t need him. I just need her.”

“Ha-ha.”

“What do I do?”

“First, don’t be afraid. We need to form a bond.” Gaius stepped closer and pressed his lips against Vearden’s, while holding him in a tight embrace. After a few seconds, he released and stepped away.

“What are you, a crossroads demon?”

“It’s either that, or you drill into my skull and touch my brain with your finger.”

“Is that true?”

He shrugged ambiguously. “Maybe.” He nodded towards the closet door Vearden had just come out of. “Open the door, and my mind will navigate to the proper point in space and time.”

Vearden did as he was asked. The doorway turned into a portal to reveal a child’s playground on the other side of a chain link fence. A young girl, and a young boy, were wandering around near the portal, which the girl ignored. It was unclear if the boy could see into the room, but he could definitely sense their presence. He started examining the edges of the portal, trying to understand it.

Gaius watched the boy intently. “I become my own inspiration.” He then redirected his attention to Vearden. “Close it.”

Immediately after Vearden shut the door, it transformed into a different door. In fact, they were standing in a totally different room, which looked like it was in a different apartment. It was much nicer. They had just altered history. “Is that it?” he asked.

Gaius thought for a moment. “Not quite. Open it again.”

Now they were looking at a teenager standing in the hallway of a school. The teen could definitely see them. He eyed them both carefully. Gaius leaned forward and said, “leave her alone.”

“Who?” the teen asked.

“You know.”

“Okay.”

Vearden closed the door again. It didn’t change. “That was you, right? I mean, he looked exactly like you. He didn’t seem that surprised to be seeing an older version of himself.”

“I would never be surprised by something like that. Rule Number Zero, act like ya been there. Again.”

Vearden opened the door. The same teen was there once more, but he looked a few years older. He was standing on what appeared to be a farm, gently petting a cow. Young Gaius, or whatever his name was, waved at them from the other side of the portal. Older Gaius gave further instructions. “You need to find a clever way of getting out of this. This is all well and good, but something is about to happen, and you need to be back home when it does. When it happens, you’ll know, and it is where you go next that you’ll truly find yourself.”

“How am I supposed to—” young Gaius asked.

“Make it seem like their idea. Make yourself...look...not well. Use the only skill you and I have.”

Young Gaius nodded understandingly. “I have a few ideas.”

Vearden closed the door, and it transformed dramatically this time. They were standing in a prison cell.

“Ssshhhit!” Gaius cried. “That idiot. Again.”

Vearden didn’t want to be in here any more than Gaius did, so he gladly took the handle. It didn’t budge.

“Oh my God. Of course. Why wouldn’t it be locked, I’m a criminal!” Gaius started scratching at a tattoo on his shoulder that hadn’t been there before. “Okay, I think this can work if we time it right.” He started banging on the door and screaming to the guards. “Hey, boss! Help! Help!”

“Open eleven!” the nearest guard commanded.

Gaius had his own command. “Now!”

Vearden pulled at the pocket door just as the buzzer rang out, releasing it from the locks. They were once again standing before the farm, but it was now nighttime, and the younger Gaius was searching for something.

“Oh, hey, a goat got loose. Would you be able to find him?”

“Dude,” the older Gaius said to his younger self. “Not that idea. You take it way too far. Just keep it simple.”

Young Gaius peers into the prison cell. “Yikes, okay, got it.”

Vearden closed the door, and they were now standing in a house.

“Hmm,” Gaius said to himself. “All right, I know what to do.” He prepared himself mentally, then nodded. “Go.”

The Gaius on the other side was probably negligibly younger than the older one. It was like they were just looking into a mirror, because it was the exact same house, with no change in furniture. “What now?” a frustrated younger Gaius asked, almost rhetorically. “What did I do wrong this time?”

“Don’t argue with them. I know it sucks, and I won’t lie, the television service in the new place is probably going to be the worst you’ve experienced in recent times. You have to tough it out, though. Your relationship with your parents is more important, and it’s a better house, so just agree to it.”

“Fine!” the younger Gaius reached in through the portal with an attitude and slammed the door shut himself.

“I didn’t he could do that.”

“He’s operating on a lot of energy right now.”

Vearden finally looked around. They were standing in yet another place. This was indeed superior to the previous one. It had two floors.

Gaius took a deep breath and muttered, “car.” He then spoke to Vearden, “you can take my old car, but you’re gonna have to get me a new one. Well...a new old one.”

“Is this the last job?”

“Second to last one. I promise. With this one, you won’t be seeing a younger version of me. I’ve never met the person who lives there. I just want her car.”

Vearden hesitated.

“I’m going to buy it, not steal it. Calm down and open the portal.”

He obliged, revealing a dining room table covered in documents. Gaius reached in a took a set of car keys. “Close it up real quick.”

“You said you weren’t going to steal it.”

“I’m not, I’m just hiding her keys so she agrees to sell it to me. Oh, don’t give me that look. She’s not allowed to drive anymore anyway.”

“How would hiding her keys make all that happen?”

“You stick to what you know, and I’ll stick to manipulating reality to create my own future? Kthx, byeee.”

“Who is this woman?”

“None of your business. Close the door, and then open it again. Or do you not want to get Saga back?”

Knowing he had no choice, Vearden closed the door for a second, then reopened it. They were now in a bedroom that had the same architecture as the dining room. Gaius reached through and dropped the keys into a purse.”

“That’s it?” Vearden asked as he closed the door for yet another time. “I’m free?”

Gaius picked up a piece of paper and started scribbling something on it. He then handed it to Vearden. “Go to this listing and request to take a look at the car they’re selling. Then buy it, no matter the condition. The car will take you to Saga.”

“Can’t you just—?”

“Vearden, I need the car to be at a certain place at a certain time so it can be used for something important. If it makes you feel any better, if you don’t do this, Mateo dies.”

Vearden nearly gulped at this.

“Buy the car, drive to Saga, and leave the car exactly where it is when she appears. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Here, take my old phone so you can call the sellers.”

“No,” Vearden said. He was remembering what the insane doctor who had given him a lobotomy once said. There was a moment when he was different, like he had changed into someone else, and it was then when he warned Vearden to accept only the car and Saga from the Superintendent. “I don’t want the phone.”

Gaius studied his face for a good long while. He then put the phone in his pocket, coming back with the pen from before. “I’ll make the change.” He clicked the pen. “Now go forth.”

Vearden completed his final tasks, ultimately buying a piece of crap old Toyota Camry from a lovely couple. As he was driving it down the road, the scene changed, and he found himself in the middle of a jungle. Gaius, the Superintendent hadn’t lied. There she was, waiting for him with that beautiful crooked smile. He jumped out of the car and tackled her into a bear hug.

She laughed.

“Oh, Saga, how I’ve missed you. It’s been years for me. The Pentagon thing probably only felt like yesterday to you.”

“Actually, no,” Saga said in her sweet and comforting voice. “I feel a deep sense of emptiness. I don’t remember being anywhere, but I know I wasn’t here, and I know I’ve missed a lot.”

He hugged her again. “Then let’s go find a way back home, and get you caught up.”

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Microstory 434: Floor 8 (Part 1)

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I’m a blue collar worker in a white collar building. Most people here get to wear nice clothes and turn their noses up at us. I used to manufacture standard products for Analion at our main factory, but they’ve promoted me to custom work at the new headquarters. We’ve barely done anything here yet. The windows that people fell out of were made before the new HQ was ready, which means it was necessarily before my promotion. Still I’ve received a lot of blame for the deaths. I know, a lot of people are saying the same thing but it is no truer for anyone else than it is for me. I keep telling people that I’m new here, but that doesn’t matter to them. Everybody wants to blame somebody else. Is one department at fault for it, I’m sure I don’t know how it could be anything else, but it can’t be me. I don’t care who gets in trouble for it, but it just cannot be me. I’m in such a tough spot here. I sort of feel like my superiors knew about the problems before anyone else did, and they brought me in as their scapegoat. The most obvious source of blame is always the one closest to the issue. I and the other machinists are the last to see a window before it goes out to the world. Since each incident was under the control of a different installer, the natural conclusion is that product development did something wrong. And I want to stress that this may actually be the right call, but again, I wasn’t always here. Please, leave me out of it. I’m perfectly innocent, I tell you...innocent. Man, I really need to get back to the factory. I had no idea how much I would hate it here.

Microstory 407: Floor 36 (Part 1)

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Even with our current problems, I believe that I’ve done a fine job keeping up with industry trends, and have successfully piloted my company into the future. It’s my responsibility to see both where other companies are headed, and also what they’re missing, so that I can exploit opportunities for growth. I did not technically go to school for this. I actually earned a degree in art history. Why did I do this? Well, you see, it happened to be one of the smaller programs at my institution. This left me more time to study other subjects. And when I speak of other subjects, I’m talking about nearly all of them. I took an introductory course for almost every single field offered. It was more important to me that I have a working knowledge of all subject matter, and to not be an expert in any one of them. My intention was to rise up the ranks of an organization and become some bigwig executive. I suppose you could say that I succeeded in this, but what I’ve discovered is something so much greater than power. My array of education has allowed me to foster relationships with a multitude of employees. I speak a little bit of everyone’s technical jargon, so that when they have a problem, I can at least understand the gist of it. This has allowed me to direct future projects where they should go. I don’t see departments, divisions, or teams. I just see the whole company, and its many parts, working in tandem to build something beautiful. Yes, the current state of affairs has proved that we have gone the other way, but this was not something I could have predicted. I can encourage the executives, managers, and general workforce to go in a particular direction, but that will only get them so far. They must use their own education and experience to actually implement the necessary changes in order to accomplish that. I am only one person, and I don’t have the time or resources to focus on any of the details. I only know what I’m told, and I am beginning to suspect that a great deal of our issues were not being reported to me, and possibly not to anyone who needed to hear it. I feel bad for how things have turned out, but now I must concentrate on myself, and reorganize my priorities. I have to do everything I can to avoid becoming the scapegoat. Wait, what was that? In the atrium.

Crossed Off: Someone Else’s Goat Tails (Part III)

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Though Starla felt awkward, Magnus Shapiro and Denton stared at each other like they were in the middle of an intense game of Polygon. She had checked in with their minds briefly while reading the menu; only long enough to find that they had all decided to order soup because it was the quickest thing to swallow, allowing a more fluid conversation. Shapiro could somehow feel her inside his head, so she was forced to leave quickly. “You’re a telepath.”

“Not in so few words,” Starla answered, trying her best to reach their intellectual levels.

After the waitress left, Magnus Shapiro placed his elbows on the table and pursued a line of question. “Tell me. Can you control my actions?”

“I can control your movements.”

“The difference?”

“I can possess your body and make people think I’m you. And when I’m there, I can either give you my body, force you to be a passenger, or put your mind to sleep. But, I can’t change your thoughts, so you’ll notice a time shift if I take full control. My ability to read minds is just a required secondary power, and I don’t use it that often. People have messed up thoughts.”

“Fascinating. And you, Mister Wescott?”

“I can learn what others know just by being around them. I can’t read their minds, but I absorb their knowledge after I’ve been around them for long enough. There are downsides to this. I crave the knowledge to a greater level than you crave tomato soup, and everyone has to be conscious for it, which means that I don’t get a lot of sleep. I was hoping you could somehow teach me self-restraint and discipline.”

Magnus Shapiro, who insisted they call him Dathan from then on, nodded his head and processed the information. “Due to my—honestly, there is no subtler way to put this—superior intelligence, I intuited that there were others, but what you’re implying is not what I predicted.”

“What did you expect?” Denton asked.

Dathan went on, “I assumed that others like me would simply be either more or less intelligent than I. My theory was that, if we could harness our brain power more effectively, we could do anything within the laws of physics; but all laws would remain at a constant. If Subject A is telepathic, and Subject B is empathic, it simply means that Subject B has not yet learned telepathy, and also that Subject A must necessarily be empathic as well. But you two have latched on to niches. I have no reason to believe that you, Starla could one day absorb knowledge passively. Likewise, I can’t imagine that Denton would ever be capable transferring his consciousness to others.”

“Because we’re too dumb for it?” Starla asked.

Denton laughed. “No. He’s saying that it’s not about how smart we are. The fact that the three of us present completely different abilities suggests that something else is the cause. We’re not dumb, but we aren’t this way because we’re smarter. We’re this way because our genetic code is different than that of normal people.”

“Yes,” Dathan responded, this time not concerned that the waitress could hear them. “What I want to know is why. The only reason organisms evolve is because certain individuals in a generation possess a random mutation that turns out to be beneficial to their survival. They pass on these genes either because they live long enough to propagate their species—to the disappointment of those without the mutation—or because potential mates find the mutation in question to be desirable, to the frustration of less desirable rivals.”

“And is that not what’s happening here?” Starla was more lost than ever.

“Well, we’re human. We aren’t born with a fur coat, because we kill animals and take their coats. We don’t have large sharp teeth to build shelters with trees because we’re smart enough to develop sophisticated tools that do that for us. Do not misunderstand me, evolution is still going strong for the human race. You can’t stop mutations, despite what eugenicists might love to believe...” Dathan trailed off and stopped himself. He had just discovered a truth. “That’s it.”

Denton leaned forward. “What’s it?”

“Eugenicists. That’s the only explanation.”

“I don’t follow,” Dathan said. “I mean, I do follow. I know exactly what you’re talking about, but I don’t quite know how you came to the conclusion that you could rule out all possibilities besides eugenics.”

Starla adjusted herself in her chair. “I just plain don’t follow.”

Denton explained it to her while Dathan remained in his trance. “Eugenics is built on the idea that we can pick and choose desirable mutations purposely. Instead of a fish being able to survive better than its brothers because it has larger fins and is thusly a little faster, a person protects that fish and forces it to mate with others it has chosen, sometimes killing fish they don’t like. It’s basically breeding. We’ve seen it with the kaidas. Someone liked goats, but they didn’t like how bad goats were with the indoors, so they only kept the baby goats that could be better trained. Only those goats were allowed to make more babies, and eventually you have a completely docile and obedient kaidas who would have a hard time surviving in the wild, and even looks noticeably different than a wild goat. And some of them were bred for their milk, meat, and fur, so you have farm goats which are neither docile nor wild. That doesn’t sound like much of a problem until you apply these same principles to humans, and try to decide who is allowed to live and procreate, and who is of no use and needs to be discarded.”

“That’s awful.”

Denton shrugged, clearly used to being the smartest one in the room. “It’s what the War of 1899 was about. A disgraced lawyer who lives on the other side of the world reads articles about eugenics from our scientists and becomes responsible for the killing of thousands of people because they weren’t good enough for him and his followers. We blame his country, and bomb the hell out of it.”

“I guess I should pay better attention in history class.”

Denton looked down at his soup, first realizing that he had yet to try it. “I cannot relate to that. I often wish I could.”

Dathan finally came back to the discussion. “I as well.”

Starla laughed. “Oh, you’re still here? Have you figured out what’s wrong with us?”

“Absolutely nothing, of course. I haven’t really figured out anything. Mister Wescott was right. There are other possibilities that I cannot yet rule out, but my instinct is that this was done to us intentionally.”

“But the timeline doesn’t work out,” Denton countered. “Not with how slow evolution is, and how recently scientists would have needed to have so much as attempted this.”

Dathan scratched his hair vigorously. “No, you’re right; it doesn’t. For our abilities to be so ingrained in us that we use them without thinking, experiments would have to have been done to our ancestors many generations back. But for the necessary technology to exist, it couldn’t have happened more than a century ago, even assuming the rogue scientists were twenty years ahead of the standard.”

“Sounds like we’re in a pickle.” Starla took a bite out of her pickle.

“If our crazy theory about ancient rogue scientists is true, you know what else this means, right?” Denton asked of Dathan who nodded in agreement.

“That they probably didn’t limit themselves to neurological enhancements, and that if we’re not alone, other people could have drastically different abilities that have barely anything to do with the brain?” Starla slurped up the remaining pickle seeds and prepared to go back to her soup. When they looked at her funny, she simply said, “what? Is that wrong?”

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