Microstory 2477: Wheeldome

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In case you’re confused, this dome is all about wheels. This includes bicycles, roller blades, skateboards, etc. What it doesn’t include are cars and motorcycles. Basically, if it runs on petrol or electricity, it can’t be here. I guess I shouldn’t say that. They do have some electric bikes, but obviously that’s a whole different animal. There are hundreds of wheel-based leisure areas, as well as long trails that stretch between them. They have all sorts of hills if you wanna go fast, and the best part about it is that you don’t even have to hike all the way back up. They have chairlifts that take you back up. It’s like a ski mountain, but for wheel sports. You couldn’t do that on Earth. They just didn’t want to build the infrastructure, and of course in more recent decades, all those old abandoned roads have been demolished to make way for nature. I didn’t come here because I was a skater. I came because I’m not, and I want to learn. I’ve had plenty of time to practice in virtual simulations but never got around to it, despite how accessible the worlds are. I guess I was waiting for this. Having a whole dome dedicated to what might one day become my passion seemed like the perfect place to get into it. It’s real, ya know? Anyway, I tell you that I’m a beginner so you’re not expecting me to give a detailed review of this place. I don’t know how it stacks up against other skate parks. I just know that when you’re working with 5,410 square kilometers, it’s hard to believe it’s lacking in anything. Unless, again, you’re looking to race cars, or something. Go somewhere else for that. Just because it’s got wheels, doesn’t mean it belongs in Wheeldome. Hang ten, bruh. Gotta go.

Microstory 2475: Fashiondome

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If you’ve ever been to Bot Farm, you know how much work goes into creating all the androids that populate the domes to make them feel real and lived in, even when there aren’t very many visitors. Eventually, I believe the droid population will begin to decrease as more and more people move here, but for now, production does nothing but ramp up. That’s not about the bots themselves, though. It’s about their clothes! It’s also about your clothes. Every garment worn anywhere on the planet—unless you brought it with you—has been manufactured here. We’re talkin’ IMS units. We’re talkin’ themewear. We’re talkin’ bathing suits. If you go to Wild Wild Dome, you’re gonna see a lot of cowboy outfits, won’t you? Well, they made those here, and shipped them off when they were ready. You get it, I don’t need to list any more examples. You know what clothes are. In one sector, there are just rows and rows of industrial printers, fiber class. In another sector, there are rows and rows of racks where the finished products are stored. It’s precisely what you would expect out of a place like this. They don’t only make 3D printed clothes. It’s not even just about the products that need to go out to other domes. You can actually come here to design and fabricate your own clothes, at whatever level of technological advancement you prefer. They have electrical sewing machines, mechanical machines, and even just needle and thread. You can knit a scarf or crochet a hat. It doesn’t even have to be good, it just has to be fun. They also have fashion shows. Some of them are recreations of real shows from the past, while others are entirely original. They’re all produced by visitors like you. Nothing is made by a superintelligence, because that wouldn’t be very interesting, would it? If anything you can think of is even remotely tied to the fashion industry, both past and present, it’s here somewhere. Come here, and find your bliss. Funnily enough, however...clothing optional, just as it is anywhere.

Microstory 2382: Earth, October 31, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

I’m sure that my son has already informed you, but I was recently on a trip to Eastern Seaboard, which if you don’t know, is a city-state in the former United States of America. I was taking part in very early negotiations for future possible trade deals. The platform is still circumnavigating the continent of Australia, even though our initial required proximity period has passed. We ended up extending that another four months after some people from other Australian domes began to express interest in moving here. We currently don’t know where we’ll go after this, but it’s always good to have your options open, and it’s not like we have to float over to a trading partner in order to trade with them. That’s what jets are for. So I went out there for my work, but I was also doing something else. After investigating my own past, and reaching out to my contacts, I discovered that an old friend of ours from before the collapse of society—or, I guess it was kind of during it—was living there. I couldn’t pinpoint his exact location remotely, or find his contact information, so I decided to fly up there to look for him myself. And wouldn’t you know it, I found him. I told you that I wouldn’t send you another message until I had a solid update for you, so I hope this qualifies. I confronted Gunnar about his motivations back then after we started catching up, and felt like he was being rather evasive. He seemed to have mixed feelings about seeing me again, like he was happy, but also pretty worried. In my head, I thought for sure this was the guy. He knew something. He was part of it. He was Condor’s secret observer. As it turns out, not exactly. When we met, he was genuinely trying to be my friend. He didn’t even like sports or outdoorsy stuff either; he just figured that I did, because they were very common hobbies, and he was desperately trying to connect. The reason he approached me in the first place was because he had social anxiety, and his therapist recommended he intentionally step out of his comfort zone, and try his hand at small talk, explaining that the worst that could happen was an awkward conversation that ended quickly. I felt really bad about accusing him of something nefarious but then he admitted that he was once contacted by a mysterious someone, asking him to keep tabs on us; Condor in particular. Out of fear, he actually agreed to do it, but he fed this stranger false information. He would just straight up lie about how Condor was doing, and how his personality was developing. He didn’t know if this was the right thing to do, or if he should have refused entirely. He wasn’t sure if he should have told me what was going on either. He always regretted not speaking up, though, and was grateful for the opportunity recently. Except for the first one, Gunnar recorded every conversation he had with this other man, who never gave him his name. Gunnar kept these recordings all this time, so he was able to give me copies of them. I’ve put in a request to the forensics specialists to have them analyzed, and will update you again if and when they find something. We’re getting closer, Cori. We’re gonna find out who did this to you. To us.

Your distant but doting father,

Pascal

Microstory 2353: Earth, June 8, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

Hobbies, yes. We haven’t ever talked about hobbies. That could be because I don’t really have any either. I like to read, which is basically the same thing as watching TV. It’s cheap, and doesn’t require any space, or consumable resources. I’ve had the same e-reader for the last couple of decades now, I guess. Wow, I’ve never realized how impressive that is. It’s probably my one possession that’s been with me for so long. I could upgrade to a better model, but why fix what ain’t broken, right? As far as hobbies on Earth in general, we do have a little more leeway here than I’m guessing you do on the base. There’s always some sports game going on, but not competitively, or anything. It’s mostly been kept alive for health reasons. Ya gotta stay fit, and just hanging from a pull-up bar or doing a few push-ups is boring. I used to play a little football as a kid, before the gases, but I never got back into it in the latter years. I don’t miss it, and have no plans on going back. So yeah, there’s all that. I have indeed heard of Nature Wars, but I’ve never seen it. Maybe that’s something we can do “together”. What episode are you on? If you can busy yourself watching other things, perhaps I could get caught up on that, and it will be one thing that sort of brings us closer together. Or, if you think there’s a better show that we might like more, you tell me. I could give you some recommendations on books, because I feel like a lot of them are timeless. I’ve always thought it was weird to watch movies that are clearly contradicted by the true state of affairs, like those set in their future, but the world hasn’t been poisoned. I’m not sure why it doesn’t seem to bother me to read about it. I’m just a weird dude, I guess.

Over here, not collecting stamps,

Condor

Microstory 2352: Vacuus, June 1, 2179

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Dear Condor,

Oh no! I’m sorry that you’re going through all that! There must be some way to make new friends without just having to meet them organically. That doesn’t really work when you’re as old as we are. It’s more of a kid thing, but even then, it really only happens if you belong to the same class, or are in the same football team. We...don’t have sports teams here, of course, but I’ve read about them in books. Since you should have more space under the dome, I’m guessing sports are still a thing for you? Maybe you don’t do them yourself, but do you have any other interests, like knitting or stamp collecting? Sorry, I just searched our database for hobbies, and I’m listing the first ones that catch my eye. I don’t have any myself, unless you count watching TV. There’s so much content from the before-fore times, and it’s the easiest thing to do while I’m at work. There’s no collecting up here, and there aren’t many opportunities to make things either. It takes resources, and I would rather pay my friend to make something for me than do it myself. Not that I would like it at any rate. I’m just saying that our past times are really limited on the base. Anything that requires the use of a computer or something is the easiest because I’m paying monthly for access anyway, and power is sort of worth whatever it takes, because again, there’s not much else. I’m sure you have limitations too. Man, I really wish they hadn’t poisoned the Earth. I mean, obviously I hate that because it’s bad, but also because you otherwise could have regaled me with stories of how amazing and different life is in the clean air. I could have actually known someone who has been skiing or whitewater rafting. Ugh, that’s probably enough fantasizing about the perfect world. I’m just going to go watch another episode of Nature Wars. Have you heard of it? It’s a reality competition that’s all about going out into nature, and leaving pollution behind. Back then, that was possible, and you didn’t even have to do it on top of a freezing cold mountain.

Living vicariously through our ancestors,

Corinthia

Microstory 2285: How Unproductive

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I know that I’ve said this a few times before, but I really mean it this time. I’m getting back into writing. I spent all day writing a fictional story. I won’t tell you what it’s about yet, but I’ll keep you in the loop in the future. Inspired by myself (lol), I started working on a real schedule for my daily life moving forward. After calculating out my physical therapy, eating, spending time with my friends, and all that, I determined how much free time I would have to dedicate to my work. I know, I make it sound like it’s not that much, but of course, since I don’t have a real job, it’s quite a bit. I’m not gonna lie to you, and try to make it seem like I just can’t do all the things that I want to do with my life. I’m the type of person who needs to know what his schedule is going to be, or I’ll waste away the day on nothing, so it was really important for me to really do the math. That’s actually what I realized, how unproductive I’ve been since I got out of surgery. I have to find something to pass the time. If I were back on my home world, I could watch TV and movies all day, but you don’t produce enough interesting stuff to keep me occupied for an extended period of time. But don’t fret—I still love ya, Boreverse. I’ve completely given up on trying to find a way home; that should tell you enough about my perspective and priorities, right? Anyway, it’s the end of the week, so you’ll have to wait until I make another exciting addition to my life story. If you can’t tell, I’m being sarcastic. This is only interesting when something bad is happening to me, so because of how terrible that sounds, I’m seriously considering letting this site go. Let me know what you think.

Microstory 2147: That I Hate You

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I’ve lived here for—how long have I lived here for—I don’t remember, and I don’t want to look it up. As usual, I didn’t bother meeting my neighbors. This isn’t ever some kind of intentional effort on my part, where I avoid them like the plague. It’s not that I think that we won’t get along, though let’s be fair, we probably won’t. It’s just that I don’t give it much thought. The first day when I move into a new place, I’m busy doing that. The second day is about figuring out how my daily behavior is going to change. The next few days are about implementing those changes, seeing what works, and rethinking accordingly. After that, I’ve established a routine, and while I can alter it as necessary, I pretty much stick to what I know until it becomes too inconvenient, and I have to come up with new solutions. Other people don’t factor into it unless they were a part of it before, such as my family back on my homeworld. Meeting people is not something that I’ve ever been interested in. I’ve tried to ask a number of neurotypicals what the point of getting to know new friends is. Not one of them has been able to explain why exactly they like it. They act like it’s a biological imperative, like eating, or propagating the species. And it’s true to some degree. Evolution favors life-preserving traits, and humans have survived through tribal collaboration. But that’s not really what that is, is it? The only tribe that I need is currently around five billion strong. If I need a coat, I know where to go. If I need help getting a door open because my hands are full, someone nearby will likely oblige. I wouldn’t expect to have to foster some strong relationship with that person. In fact, if true connection is something that they required before helping in such a small way, we would all probably consider them not that great of a person. I’m not going to become friends with people just so they’ll open the door for me, because I don’t want to be associated with someone who won’t open the door for a stranger. My point is that whatever joy you experience by getting to know others is not inherent to your survival, which means that it is not necessarily universal. To be sure, it’s not even true for me, and I’m sure there are plenty of others. It doesn’t make us misanthropic hermits either. I think it’s perfectly reasonable for a beekeeper to only want to be friends with other beekeepers, for instance. Of course, this kind of mentality has the potential to lead to prejudice and otherism, but it doesn’t have to. I’m not a beekeeper, I’m just me. My interests don’t align well with others. For one, the things that I used to love don’t exist in this universe, such as Stargate. But also, loving Stargate has never been my entire identity, and I didn’t find myself enjoying being in the company of other fans, for reasons that I won’t get into. I think that I just don’t want to be around people who are like me any more than I want to be around people who aren’t like me. Again, it’s not that I hate you; it’s just that that’s not how I choose to live in the world. Anyway, my neighbor suddenly invited me to dinner tonight, so we’ll see how that goes.

Microstory 2097: I Even Did Poorly in English

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What have I done with my life? Well, a lot of things. I have a ton of interests, but I’ve never really wanted to be an expert in anything, save for writing. But first, here’s a list of things that I’ve done that I didn’t like, or at least don’t anymore. I was a gymnast from childhood, up until my senior year of high school. I didn’t like to compete, and eventually only kept going because that’s what I was used to doing. I regret not being more self-aware, and realizing how it was a really good excuse to work out. Maybe then I would have continued to do something to keep my fitness up after graduating. I played baseball for a few years too, but I absolutely hate sports, and I quit as soon as my parents let me. I took golf lessons later, and ran a mile outside of a school program. Apparently, my parents were trying to find my skills and passion, and I was not smart enough to tell them that these things weren’t it. I would go on to run a 5K as an adult, but that was to lose weight, and I never wanted to do it again. I was on the dive and swim team all through high school, which my parents considered a natural extension of my experience as a gymnast, but I hated that too. After my first practice, I got in the car, and asked to let me quit right away, because the coach was making all divers swim to fill out the team. By the time my high school career was over, I preferred to swim, but I was literally the only diver on the team by then, and I guess I had to finish what I started anyway. I’m not a musician either. I played the piano for several years, and quit when my teacher died. My excuse at the time was that I didn’t want to think about trying to find a new teacher, but I think I can admit now that I always hated it as much as anything, and I was never good at it. I severely regret the amount of money my parents spent on a piano that’s no longer used, however much that was.

I was terrible in school, and that was annoying, because I wasn’t cool either, so everyone assumed that I was a nerd, but I wasn’t anything. I even did poorly in English, and related subjects. The way I see it, I’m more of a storyteller than a wordsmith. Words are just my medium, because I also have an ugly voice, but I think I would prefer to produce movies on the creative side than literally write the screenplays. After I graduated from college, in pursuit of my writing career, I started to do a lot more research, and branch out into subjects that I never thought I would try. I like architecture. Before I ended up here, I would use software to design spaceships, and other structures, from my stories, even though I never planned to release these illustrations publicly. I found it to be a soothing task, even when it was frustrating. I like to watch educational videos online for futuristic and technological subjects, and also some more grounded topics. Power generation, conversion, and storage; engineering; anatomy, physiology, medicine, psychology, and neurology; especially evolutionary biology; and even economics are some of my other random interests. I’m particularly invested in ethics, because I see bad ethics all the time, and also logic, because neurotypicals are so wrong so much of the time. I like to study these subjects, and pretend that I can retain the information presented to me, but honestly, I don’t remember hardly any of it, so they’re mostly good for killing time. Of course, I’ve done lots of other things, but these are the basics. Join me tomorrow, where I’ll discuss where I’ve lived, and where I’ve been.

Microstory 2023: Kansas

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In September of 2004, my papa had worked for the private submarine company for more than two years, and he had not taken any vacation. His boss, who was his friend, was worried about him, so he asked him to take the time off, or he would lose it. But papa didn’t like to just sit around, doing nothing. He wanted to be accomplishing something. One of the hobbies that he picked up was bicycling. Whenever he had the time, he liked to ride his bike from his house to his sister’s place, which was about 20 miles away. It took him a couple of hours, and it was a workout, and he really enjoyed it. He decided to take his longest ride yet. Instead of just going a few towns over, he wanted to go a few states over. He plotted a route that went all the way from Chicago to Kansas City. What a lot of people don’t know is that there are two Kansas Cities. One is in Missouri and the other is in Kansas, of course. They’re right next to each other, and the one in Missouri is actually larger. He had already been to Missouri, because of his friends who lived in Independence, which is considered part of the whole Kansas City area. The distance from where he started was over 630 miles, and it took him two weeks to ride the entire way! He rode about 45 miles per day, which is pretty impressive, I must say. He couldn’t really explain to me why he chose to go there. He just wanted to. Once he made it to Kansas City, Kansas, he spent one night there. He donated his bicycle to a charity for kids. Then he took a plane back home. I think this was a pretty cool thing that he did, and I’m so proud of him. Maybe one day, I’ll do something like it, but probably not to Kansas City, since it’s 1,700 miles from here!

Microstory 1880: Promovere

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I don’t wanna talk about my work. People are always asking me about it, like isn’t that so sad? I can’t go to a party, or the bar, without having to discuss it. Like, it’s the first thing they ask. I just think that’s so sad. It’s my 25th anniversary there. Same place, different jobs, but it’s just nothing. Really, I’m not going to talk about it. And you know, my boss is such an asshole. He’s always giving me these looks, like, I know what you’re thinking, buddy. He’s one of those guys who thinks the world of himself, and everyone wants to be like him. That smug look on his face when something right happens, and he gets the chance to take credit for it, whether he had anything to do with it, or not. Oh, I just want to rip it off his face. But I’m not going to talk about work. That’s a promise I’m making to myself. My job does not define me. My final thoughts can’t be of the 45 hours a week I spend in hell. Man, 25 years. That’s not how long I was in the workforce, just here, which only makes it all the more depressing. They gave me a certificate, isn’t that nice? My boss handed it to me so delicately, like I was to cherish it. Others proudly pin theirs to their cubicles. They legitimately seem to love what they do. I don’t want to die, but at least I won’t ever have to come back here. No, this isn’t about work. This is about my whole life, and that is only a small part. Is it small, though? I mean, at the bare minimum, it represents a quarter of my time, and that’s not counting all the time I spent stressing about it. I remember the day I was promoted to exempt status. This is it, I thought to myself. I’ve made it. Sure, more promotions would be great, but a salary is a benchmark of success that they can never take away. Nope, stop. Stop that.

Stop talking about your meaningless job. Everything’s meaningless, though. Your life, that was meaningless too, though maybe a little less meaningless, because at least you had the chance to help people. Did you help anyone, though? When you really get down to it, were you a generous and good person, or was that just always something you aspired to be, but you were too busy with your terrible job that you hated? I said, stop talking about your job! Hobbies. Surely you had hobbies. Knitting? Why is knitting the first hobby you think of when you think of hobbies? How is that the default? Because I’m a woman? Because I’m older now? I’m not an old woman. Plenty of younger women like to do arts and crafts, don’t be an ageist. A what? An ageist; you know what that word means, because you’re talking to yourself. I guess that’s true, I guess I just normally hear it in the form of ageism, or maybe age discrimination. Whatever. Yeah, whatever to you too...me. Wow, you really light up a room with your attitude, don’t you? Oh, ha-ha-ha. They say, it’s not the fire that kills you, it’s the smoke, but it’s the pointlessness of it all. I didn’t do anything with my life. I could have taken control, but I just kept tripping down the steps. Most people go up the stairs of life, but I went right down, and not to say I was never privileged. I recognize my privilege, I really just mean it always felt more like falling, because I didn’t control it. That’s what a promotion is, isn’t it? You don’t apply for it, it’s given to you. Sure, you probably did something to earn it, but you couldn’t take it. You can go get a new job, but you can’t be the agent of a promotion, unless you’re promoting someone else. But does that feel any better, giving other people promotions? I think not. And look at you now, you’re stuck in the break room with everybody else, and you’re gonna die with everybody else, except that it’ll happen to you first.

Microstory 1850: Antistimulism

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I’ve taken up all sorts of hobbies, sports, and activities. I know how to sew, and how to change the oil in my car. I can recite pi to the first hundred digits, and I can’t tell you how many foot races I’ve run. This may make it sound like I like to learn new things, but nothing could be further from the truth. My parents made me do all this stuff, and it’s probably not for the reason you assume. They didn’t actually care whether I enjoyed any particular endeavor, and it had nothing to do with what they would do in my shoes. They weren’t trying to live vicariously through me. They just wanted me to have something, and they hated the idea that I would go through life with no interests whatsoever. I know they had good reasons to do what they did, but it just wasn’t me. I don’t have to be occupied with anything at all, in fact. I’m perfectly content sitting in a chair, staring at the wall for hours until it’s time to go to bed. I don’t think there’s a word for my condition. Therapists and psychiatrists have just called me depressed. Not true. I just don’t feel the need to spend my time doing things. I can’t explain it. Still, like I said, I’ve tried a whole bunch of stuff because I was told I had to. It wasn’t until I was eighteen that I started to realize that they were wrong, but also that they were sort of right. I need to eat, and stay out of the elements. I don’t need much, and it doesn’t have to be fancy, but I still have an instinct for survival, and in this world, if you don’t have a way to make money, you don’t survive. So I used the skills I picked up on the speech and debate team to get a job in data entry. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a living.

I’m not saying that everyone who does the work that I once did is a drone, but it certainly played to my strengths, and it was the best that I could come up with. I didn’t have to think too hard, or interact with people too much. My boss and co-workers were mostly happy to leave me alone as long as I met my quotas. I wish I had been born later, because then I would have worked from home, and been even more isolated and content. One day, this new guy joined the team, and was reportedly immediately smitten with me. According to others, I’m quite attractive, or rather I would be if I put a little effort into it. My inability to give a crap evidently turned most people off, but he could see past it. He wanted to know more about me, and he seemed to find it quite frustrating that I wasn’t giving him anything. I responded with the shortest sentences possible if necessary to get him off my back, and with nothing if I thought I could get away with it. This may sound like a love story, but it’s not. The guy was just the way I ended up with my new life. He told his own therapist about me, and that dude was crazy fascinated by my condition. Like I said, I had spoken to others about my feelings—or lack thereof—but he was the first one who appeared to be all in on truly believing me. He wanted to study me, and since he promised to not be too invasive, I let him. All he asked me to do was answer his questions, and he would trust their accuracy with no doubt. He published his findings anonymously, and piqued the interests of even more people. One in particular was a wealthy woman who said she had experienced irritating people who felt entitled to answers from her. She reached out, and I agreed to let the researcher provide her with my contact information. Wanting to free me from all the disturbances and distractions, she set me up with a cabin in the woods, and a lifetime supply of food and other necessities. I die today having lived an unfull, but very satisfying, unstimulated life.

Microstory 1751: Spirit of the Lynx

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When I was a boy, I had no identity. All of my classmates had some kind of online persona, which represented who they were, and what they enjoyed. Their usernames reflected these attributes, be it a love for football, or all things Star Wars. I didn’t care about anything in particular, or have any special way of setting myself apart from others. I suppose that’s what it really comes down to, that I was not special. Ya know, I liked watching the news, and not because I wanted to become a reporter when I was older, but I’ve always been more interested in the goingson of real life than fiction, or other forms of entertainment. But NewsBoy1994 seemed like a dumb and boring name that I didn’t want to use. One day, I was flipping through my favorite news and documentary channels, hoping to learn something new, when I came across a nature show about the lynx, and it gave me an idea. Maybe I am a lynx. And not because of the animal’s particular behavior, or the way that they look. Maybe it’s just arbitrary. I could call it my spirit animal, and claim to others that I just really like lynxes. I felt like a fraud, but no one else appeared to have any problem with it. He likes lynxes. Whatever, doesn’t matter to me. I didn’t get ridiculed or questioned, and everything went well. Over time, these creative online identities faded away. Social media allowed you to connect directly to your friends and contacts, but also just say things for the world to absorb at will. Real life has become trendy. People can read your posts if they want to, and on their own time. Many are using real identities now, because for most, it’s the closest we’ll get to fame, and we don’t want to hide ourselves under a layer of anonymity. Our friends can’t find us if they don’t know enough about us. Even then, is PermaLynx94 the guy you’re looking for, or some random stranger who also happens to like lynxes?

I shed my lynx identity, and moved on with my life. It was a lot easier for me than for others, I imagine. Some still probably weren’t too butthurt about it, since they were no longer so obsessed with the pastimes of their youth, and were glad to grow up. I didn’t care at all, because I never really cared about lynxes. It’s probably better now that people have to look deeper than my name if they want to know who I am. I got into hiking, which is something I never thought I would do. I probably would have tried to figure out some kind of clever walking pun back in the day if I had realized who I was at a younger age. I still like the news, and don’t care for fiction. I don’t have a problem with it on principle, but I watch Star Wars, and just don’t feel a damn thing for those people. This week, I’m backpacking alone in the woods, in the freezing cold of Canada. This is where I find my zen, away from people, and all of their noises. Things are going fine until I slip on a wet rock, and over the edge of the cliff. I hang onto a root, just hoping it doesn’t give. The drop is bout about six meters down, so I’ll live, but I’ll break bones, and not be able to leave. I have to find a way to lift myself up. Now I wish I had once identified as PullupDude69. As I’m hanging there, mere moments from a slow death, a lynx trots up and stares down at me. We study each other’s eyes, and don’t move a muscle. Suddenly, I’m no longer on the brink, but in some kind of tranquil and balanced serenityscape. We watch each other for an eternity, and then my spirit animal graciously provides me with the strength I need to pull myself up, and survive.

Microstory 1741: The Clock

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I hate this clock. It reminds me of the worst years of my life. When I was a child, my foster parents would time everything I did. Homework, chores, umm...well, I guess there isn’t a third thing on that list, because those were the only things I did. I suppose showering isn’t a chore, but that was timed as well. They said they were getting me ready for the real world. Apparently, in their jobs, every task they completed was measured and recorded, and that was how they got paid. I asked them a few times, did they get paid more for more complicated tasks, but they said no. The rate didn’t change at all. The point was to keep track of when they were working, and when they weren’t, such as when they were walking to the location of the next task, or using the restroom. They were expected to be at work for ten hours a day, but they only get paid for their recorded time. They were so proud of themselves. Other workers recorded an average of eight and a half hours of actual work, which meant an hour for lunch, and another half hour for the in between times. My foster parents, however, averaged nine hours and forty-five minutes. They said they organized tasks so that it was easier to switch from one to the other, they literally ran when they had to, and they...well, let’s just say they weren’t too careful when it came to their bathroom breaks. They sometimes saw that as an opportunity, because even though janitorial services weren’t technically in either of their job descriptions, they could still get paid for cleaning the facilities. The word diaper was thrown around once or twice too. They actually acted like I should aspire to be as hard-working as them one day. I never bought into it. I don’t worship the clock.

My parents are dead now. They left this world with nothing, and not just to spite me. They worked so hard in their jobs that the company didn’t want to promote them, and they didn’t want to be promoted either. A promotion would mean a salary, and more freedom than they could have handled. They hated their bosses, who didn’t work hard enough, and focused too much on their personal lives. My parents didn’t have lives of their own. They were too exhausted when they got home that they ate their dinner, read something boring, then went to bed. After I came into their lives, they had to squeeze in a lot of strict overbearing criticism, so they couldn’t read as much anymore. When they were too old to work, since they didn’t have any hobbies, they had absolutely nothing to do. You can ask the professionals what killed them, and they’ll give you a scientific answer, but I contend that they died from the realization that their lives were always pointless. The company where they worked for forty-five years closed shortly before the deaths, because they too were old-fashioned, and ultimately meaningless in a world that moved on without them. So here I am with virtually nothing. My parents were in so much debt that the bank had to repossess nearly everything they owned. Fortunately, it seems to have covered it, so I won’t have to make up the difference. They even managed to leave me with one thing: this damn clock. It represents the futility in work for work’s sake. It spins around in circles, and never goes anywhere. Yeah, I hate this clock, but I also need it. For as much as it pains me to see every day, it’s also a consistent reminder of what I don’t want to be, and how I don’t want to raise my own baby boy, who’s scheduled to make his debut in three months. It shows me that time only means anything when we use it to enjoy doing the things we love, with the people we love.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Tuesday, November 18, 2256

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Due to having been living on another planet for the last three years, and not paying any attention to Leona’s special time watch, the group didn’t know how close to midnight central they were when they went back to the main sequence. Before the AOC was able to scan the surface for the location of the Nexus inside a crater, it was already three years later. There was no sign of Anatol, so hopefully that meant he was on their pattern, and not that he was already in the Gatewood Collective. This was the most likely reason, as Nerakali and Jupiter had to deliberately program the primary Cassidy cuff to keep them from being bound to the Bearimy-Matic pattern. It wasn’t set that way automatically, so he would have needed time to figure it out.

They found what they were looking for, and between the two of them, Leona and Angela were able to get their ship hooked up to the Nexus. There was no space next to the Gatewood Nexus, so they had to program their exit to appear in the middle of interplanetary space. Kestral and Ishida knew what the AOC was, so after confirming the crew’s identities, they let them dock at the nearest airlock. They recommended the Nexus technician to place anyone else who came through in a hock that was fitted with temporal dampeners. It wasn’t necessarily going to be Anatol, but it probably was, so it was best to be prepared. Team Keshida was busy with something, so the debrief would have to wait until later. Until then, the crew of the AOC decided to take a rest in a family-owned lounge in the main centrifugal cylinder. It was set up like a bar, but this was a dry cylinder. The owner was massaging a glass, and watching them from across the room. Mateo went over to see if he needed anything.

“I know who you are,” the owner said.

“I can’t tell if that’s a good thing, or a bad thing.”

“You saved us.”

“It was a team effort.” That wasn’t modesty, it really was mostly other people’s doing.

“I got somethin’ for ya...if you want it.” He reached under the bar, and Mateo could hear the beeping of a safe. He pulled out a bottle of bourbon, and set it down.

“Heh. That was never my drink, and I don’t drink anymore. Thanks, though. Better put that away.”

“I don’t drink either. I keep it for preferred customers.”

A young boy came in from the back room. “Dad?”

The owner looked back. “Yes, son?”

“A ship came in. I saw it outside. Do you know who it is?”

He smirked and looked back at Mateo. “He loves ships. Wants to grow up to be a captain.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” Mateo said.

The boy regarded him for a moment, then widened his eyes. He furiously started typing onto his handheld device. “You’re Mateo Matic.”

“I’m one of them, yes,” Mateo confirmed, knowing there was some other Mateo running around out there, somewhere.

The boy turned his head down abashedly. “Wait, it was you, in the ship.”

“Yeah,” Mateo said. “My crew and I are here to take a rest.” He gestured towards his friends, still sitting in the corner.

“Whoa,” the boy said, staring over at them.

“What’s your name?”

“Halan,” the boy answered. “Halan Yenant.”

“Well, Captain Yenant. I’ll have Crewmember Walton give you a tour of our ship, if you want.” Mateo moved his eyes back up to the father. “That okay?”

The father nodded. “Of course. Just go tell your mother first.”

“Thanks!”

While Halan went back to the back, Mateo went over to make sure Angela was cool with this. She was the best candidate, since next to Leona, she was the most knowledgeable about the ship, and also had experience counseling people. She was more than happy to do it, so once he came back, they joined hands, and left. Mateo started thinking about this interaction. He was no starship captain himself, but he was technically a member of a crew, which was just insane. He was a ridesource driver back before all this time travel began, no hope of going into space. It didn’t even cross his mind back then that such a thing was an option. Now it was just his life. Until Flindekeldan, he probably spent more time in space than on the surface of a planet, non-Earth worlds included. It wasn’t bad, or good, just different; the only problems now were all these people coming after him and his friends. Without them, he might even be able to enjoy himself again.

Mateo sat back down with the group. A few other people came in, and recognized them, so they got to talking. As it turned out, there were others who wanted to fly in spaceships. Apparently, space travel as a real concept was taught to children living in Ansutah. But this was kind of annoying, because they knew it would never be possible for them. Not only was there very little space to explore, but humans weren’t allowed to so much as leave their continent, or it would place the entire species at risk against the Maramon, who dominated the world. Now that they were actually living in what was technically a spaceship, some were frustrated that they still didn’t go anywhere. After more discussion, Mateo realized that it was no coincidence that so many such people frequented the same lounge. They deliberately formed a community for this reason. They wanted to be close to the Nexus, and the main docking sections. No one traveled to Gatewood, except for those who knew it was populated by aliens, and those few always came through here. Other docks on this cylinder, and in the other cylinders, would be out of use if not for the ferries.

After a while, Angela came back with Halan. They were soon followed by a man that Mateo recognized. It wasn’t Saxon, though, and it definitely wasn’t Julius. His name was Omega Parker, and he was a clone of Saxon’s, who chose to become independent, and ignore his duties. He was now evidently working closely with Team Keshida, and everyone in this lounge knew who he was. They didn’t seem to hate him, but they weren’t in love with him either. He took off sunglasses that didn’t make him look as cool as he probably thought. “I’m glad that most of you are here,” he said with a grin. “I have a proposal for—what the hell are you people doing here?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mateo said coolly. “What’s your proposal, I’d like to here it.”

Omega was nervous.

“Go on, Omega,” Mr. Yenant echoed.

He decided to continue. “My associate came up with an idea. I thought we should move forward with it, but they have chosen not to. I’ve been trying to convince them for a week, but they’re occupying themselves with other projects, and I’ve determined it’s useless to keep trying. Still, I think it’s a good idea, and if you want to do it for yourselves, I doubt they’ll do anything to stop you.”

“What is it?” someone in the crowd asked.

“They call it Project Extremus. The idea is to send a ship full of people to the other side of the galaxy. You’ve been looking for an excuse to get in a ship, and this is that. You tell ‘em you want a new home, I don’t think the bosses will say no to it.”

“How long will it take to get there?” someone in the crowd asked.

“About two hundred years,” Omega answered, “with this technology.” He held up a virtual storage device. A woman stepped forward with the air of authority. She reached for the device, but Omega pulled it away. He lowered his voice to speak directly to her, but everyone else could still hear. “I need verbal confirmation that you’ll fight against any sort of punishment that Keshida tries to dole out for me for giving you this.”

“I promise to defend you,” the woman said after snatching away the device. “As I have always done.” Strangely, she handed it right to Halan, the only kid in the room. “You know what to do.” As the boy was running off, she turned back to Omega. “Thank you. You can go now.”

Omega nodded. “Yeah.” He left.

Now the leader stepped back to address the crowd. “We’ll convene a full roster meeting in three days, after we’ve had time to look over the data, and discuss the proposal formally. Everyone here think that’s a good idea?”

The crowd nodded and agreed.

“All right,” Mr. Yenant said to break the silence. “Drinks on the house,” he joked.

“Mateo Matic to the throne room, please,” came Ishida’s voice on the intercom. “Mateo and friends to the throne room.”

They all walked down to where Team Keshida operated. The two of them were waiting in front of the strategy table. An android was next to them, holding Anatol Klugman in custody. He had a muzzle over his face, like some kind of cannibal.

“Why did you come here with him?” Captain McBride asked.

“Gatewood was the only destination from the Nexus where we came from,” Leona explained.

Kestral started shaking her head mildly. “Someone needs to figure out how to make those more programmable. Can you imagine buying a phone that only calls one number?”

“I think that’s the point,” Leona continued. “We didn’t buy the Nexa. They’re gifts, and we can only use them however we get them.”

Lieutenant Caldwell sighed. “We don’t want him in our star system. We don’t want him within ten light years of our people.”

“We don’t want him here either,” Leona agreed. “Now that he’s arrived, we can all leave.”

“You have two options,” the Captain said. “You can step through the Nexus, and go to whatever other Nexus you want, or you can take your ship there. We don’t care which. You just have to be out within the half hour.”

“If we connect the ship to the Nexus from the outside—” Leona tried to begin.

“We won’t let you butcher our machine,” Ishida said dismissively. “You have your two options.”

“We need our ship,” Leona said to the group. “If we use the reframe engine, it will only take us three days.”

Anatol muffled something that no one could understand.

Kestral made eye contact with the android guard. She closed her eyes, and nodded once, prompting the guard to removed the mouthpiece from Anatol’s muzzle.

“Thank you,” Anatol said. “What I said was that I’m not taking off your cuffs. I’m still wearing the primary, and nothing can be done about that.”

“We could have his arm surgically removed,” Kestral suggested.

“Don’t worry about it, but thanks for the offer.” Leona took a moment to think through a plan. “We’ll all take the reframe engine back to Sol. I’ll program the AOC to land on an icy planetesimal that has not yet been colonized for Project Oort Shield. It will be waiting for us...” She stopped. “Can we at least suppress Jeremy’s pattern, so we’ll return in 2257?”

“No,” Anatol replied simply.

She didn’t want to fight in front of company. “In that case, the AOC will be waiting for us in 2275, at which point we can teleport to Earth, and deal with whatever is going on here. Keshida, if you could give us access to Oort Shield plans, it will help me choose a celestial body that won’t come online sometime in the next nineteen years.”

“We have access to that schedule,” Ishida confirmed. “We’ll give you an extra half hour to look them over before you have to leave.”

Kestral gave her a look, which Ishida could see, but she was unfazed by it.

 Mateo gave Leona his own look, hoping the magical psychic message came across correctly. She appeared to understand when she shook her head slightly to indicate that no, they would not be telling Team Keshida about what Omega told the residents at the lounge. Perhaps if they weren’t being kicked out so quickly, they would have considered being honest with Keshida.

“Very well,” Kestral said. “While you’re finding those plans, I’ll help the android escort Mr. Klugman to the AOC. I know you don’t have a holding cell—”

“I know what to do with him,” Leona promised. “Thank you for hosting us, if only briefly.”

Kestral bowed her head a little.

They executed the plan. Leona found a pretty random icy rock orbiting the Earth’s solar system near interstellar space. An outpost wasn’t destined to be built there for another hundred and fifty years, which would give them plenty of time to get out of there, and plan their next move. Something had to be done about Anatol, and it had to be done before he gained some kind of advantage over this stalemate. Without the Cassidy cuffs themselves, only so much could be done to suppress a choosing one’s time powers. He would break free at some point, and become another antagonist for the team to defeat. For now, they locked him in grave chamber four.

As soon as they entered reframe time, they were suddenly struck by the next midnight central, which instantly jumped them all to the year 2275. The AOC had landed long ago, and was waiting for them at the destination. They expected to just be sitting on the surface of IOO-TH-2-44-256-83, completely alone, but they appeared to be inside a hangar.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Tuesday, November 15, 2253

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Flindekeldan was a beautiful planet. If they were going to be stuck on one world for the rest of their lives, this was a good choice. They spent the next three years here, just being normal, and not thinking much about time travel and transition windows. There were no specific rules for what kind of lifestyle they could choose. Though it was only populated by several million people, it was fairly diverse. Some worked, because they didn’t like not doing anything. Others focused on personal hobbies. Technically everyone did have a job, though. Those who didn’t work were backfilled by an android substitute. This was not an assistant, who fetched coffee for their human, or washed their clothes. It was there to work when the human did not want to. Everyone was free to choose how much it worked in their stead, be it all the time, or none of the time. A few hundred people who came here were androids themselves, but they were still assigned a Flindekeldanian android, and the procedures were the same.

Olimpia did most of her work herself. She had never had a job before, because she wasn’t part of society back on Earth in the main sequence, and she wanted to know what it felt like. She worked her way up pretty quickly, eventually becoming a supervisor for a Helium-3 mining operation. Mateo learned how to surf, and did a lot of rock climbing, which he never thought he would ever get into. Jeremy took up animal watching. He liked to go to the other side of the world, where no one had settled, and just observe the little critters in their natural habitat. Studying their habits was both part of his job, and a hobby. He and his android worked together, sharing the load. Angela really just relaxed every day. She was always rather busy in the afterlife simulation, helping people, or learning new things. Now she just wanted to do nothing. She spent most of her time on the beach, but she sometimes got into an inflatable raft, and wandered the sea, letting the water control where she drifted. And Leona? Leona was different. No one fully understood what it was she was up to; not even Mateo. They knew it was some kind of secret society, and while she returned home to Mateo at the end of the day, she didn’t talk about her work.

“Again.”

Leona did it again.

“Quicker.”

Leona did it quicker.

“Good. Keep practicing when your friends aren’t around. Your legwork is fine. Your arms need to be more precise. Remember to pay attention to the way the air is moving. Cut through it, don’t let it slow you down.”

“Understood,” Leona said.

“All right, Ellie, your turn.”

Ellie did the same move, but she was better at it, which Leona found annoying, because she hadn’t been here as long. This was actually an alternate version of the Ellie Underhill that they knew from before, though not really. Ellie was tens of thousands of years old, but not because she was immortal, or even ageless. Her body had only been around for a few decades, but her mind had experienced many, many lives. When she found herself nearing the end of her lifetime, she would send her consciousness back to the past, and overwrite her Past!Self. Everything she did in the future was completely erased, and no one could remember it having happened, except for her. This adventure was an exception, because it was taking place in The Parallel, which was why Leona was here for it, even though Ellie would one day undo the timeline.

“Very good, Miss Underhill, as always.”

Leona made a fake scowl at her training partner. Ellie chuckled silently.

“That will be all for today.”

“Really?” Leona questioned. They never cut the training sessions short.

“It’s November 15, 2253, according to the standard main sequence Earthan calendar.”

“Oh, umm...” Leona trailed off. “I don’t find much significance to that date.”

“Your husband does. Go home, Leona.”

“Thank you, Crucia Heavy.”

“Thank you, Crucia Heavy,” Ellie echoed.

The two of them started walking out towards the exit together, but Ellie would not be leaving, because this was where she lived. She decided not to reveal her presence to the transition team. There wasn’t any real reason they weren’t allowed to know the truth, but there wasn’t any reason they should know either.

“You gonna think about what I said?” Ellie asked.

“I thought you were joking,” Leona said.

“No, I think you should consider it. Today would be the optimal time.”

“Ellie, if we use your method of transitioning, I’ll have to explain how I found out about it, and you’ll be exposed.”

She shrugged. “I can think of worse things to happen. Leona, there’s a Nexus on the other side. You’ve completed enough of your training. You can go back, and fight as Mateo’s champion. Isn’t that why you agreed to join The Highest Order?”

“I joined in case The Warrior ever caught up to us. I stayed, because I wanted to—because I like it—because I belong. And I’m not done with my training. I’m never done.”

“Exactly, you’re never done, which means you could be here forever. That is not what this place is designed for. You’re supposed to go out, and live a real life. That’s what I’m going to do. You graduate when you’re ready.”

“I’m not ready. Maybe in another three years. That’ll put us back on the Bearimy-Matic pattern.”

“Talk to him.”

“I can’t do that,” Leona contended.

“They’ll see who you’ve become someday, and then you’ll have to explain why you claimed this was all a secret, when it isn’t.”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.” She stepped onto the first of 576 steps back up to the surface.

“I just hope you can cross it, and it’s not just a pile of ash by then.”

Leona went up to the next step. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ellie.”

“If you say so.” She turned, and headed towards her room.

Leona walked up the steps slowly. She would sometimes run them to get more exercise, but now she was worried about what conversation awaited her when she got home. Would Mateo want to go back if they could? More importantly, how would any of them react if she told them it was indeed possible; that there was a loophole she had known about for over two years now. Angela would probably be cool, and Jeremy liked his new life fine enough, but Olimpia often spoke of seeing Earth again, and eating fried chicken once more. Leona didn’t want to go anywhere. She didn’t want to stop her training, and she didn’t want to return to the Milky Way. This was her home now. No, she had to keep it a secret. Perhaps she would never tell them, and they would just live here forever. It would be difficult to hold back for quite that long, but not impossible. They had not yet qualified for full immortality, but they were receiving longevity and youth treatments, and there was still a chance that it would end there, and they would eventually die.

Leona opened the door to their house to find the whole team waiting to have dinner together, which she didn’t know was happening. It wasn’t surprising, though, as this was the day they would have returned to the timestream if the cuffs weren’t suppressing their pattern. They smiled as she walked into the dining room, and sat down. The food temperature suggested she was about fifteen minutes later than they expected, but they weren’t upset. She had stalled for time on the stairs, and on the walk through the park, but she still should have arrived earlier than usual. She glanced down at her watch. Nope, it had actually taken her a lot longer than it should have. She was more paranoid about the conversation than she realized. She was right to be. They immediately started reminiscing about their old lives, and lamenting not being able to do the things they once loved about Earth. It was like they knew what her secret was, and were trying to goad her into fessing up. Or maybe she was just imagining a tell-tale heart, and it had nothing to do with her.

“There’s a way back to the Milky Way galaxy,” her asshole voice said before she could stop it.

“I’m sorry?” Mateo prompted.

Leona closed her eyes, knowing there was no way to backtrack without looking as big of an asshole as her voice. “It’s called the Suspended Pond of Glieremé. If you swim deep enough, you’ll go through a transition window, and end up on Flindekeldan in the main sequence, where there is a working Nexus. It only has one unlocked destination, but we can go anywhere from there.”

Silence.

“I suppose we wouldn’t have to swim,” Leona went on. “The AOC is small enough to fit right through.”

“Did The Order tell you about this?” Angela asked calmly.

“I can’t tell you who told me about it,” Leona said. “Spoilers.”

Jeremy wiped his mouth on the napkin, and dropped it down on the table. “Goddammit.” He stood up in a huff, and left the house.

“I’m sorry I lied to you about it. I don’t know why I did. I guess I was scared Anatol would find us. I don’t know.”

“He’s not mad because you didn’t tell us,” Mateo said.

“He’s mad because you did,” Angela finished for him. “I must say, I’m not so pleased about it either.”

“I don’t understand,” Leona admitted.

“When we were stuck here,” Olimpia began to clarify, “it was fine. We all settled into our new lives, because it was all we could do. Now you’ve given us the burden of choice again, which means we’ll have to figure out what to do.”

“We can still stay here, if that’s what everyone wants,” Leona tried to promise. “I only told you, because the longer I waited, the worse I thought it would be when you inevitably found out. The Pond of Glieremé isn’t exactly a secret. It’s just ignored, because you can take the Nexus back to the Milky Way, but there’s no way back to the Parallel once you’re there.”

Olimpia shook her head like a teacher whose student didn’t quite get the right answer. “Now, no matter what we do, each one of us will worry that the others don’t really want that. We don’t want to resent each other, or even think that there’s any resentment.”

Leona was mortified. She had no idea they felt this way. Yeah, that was a good point; she had no idea.

“Leona, we’re not mad at you. We understand that you didn’t know.”

“Exactly,” Leona said, standing up. “I didn’t know, because apparently you all have this group text that I’m not on, where you discuss these things. You made a mistake by working together to explain to me how you feel, because now I know I’ve been left out of a lot.” She tried to walk away too.

“Leona, you’ve been so wrapped up in that fight club,” Mateo argued. “Yeah, we have conversations that you’re not there for. What, you want us to sit in silence in case you decide to come home on time? If we always waited for you, we’d never eat!”

“That’s bullshit, you could have filled me in on some of the more important things. Maybe I don’t hear about what mountain you climbed yesterday, but I should at least know how you’re feeling. What else are you keeping from me, and how did you know it’s a fight club? I mean, that’s not what it is, but I can see how you would come to that conclusion if someone told you a little.”

“We see the bruises,” Mateo explained. “You’re exhausted every night. Hell, you even walk differently than you used to. Leona, you aren’t playing board games down there.”

“Well, I’m glad you know so much about me, and I apparently don’t know any of you people anymore!” Leona shouted. She walked away for real this time, but she didn’t get far.

Jeremy came back into the houses, forced there by the edge of the Warrior’s blade. “I can’t tell you what I went through to find out where you were. I had to do a huge favor for a timeline interpreter. You owe me the five months I spent spotting his nephew at the gym.”

The group stood from their seats, and approached him cautiously

“Anatol, you don’t have to do this,” Mateo warned.

“You also owe me your lives,” Anatol reminded him. “Don’t think I have forgotten about our little deal.”

“What does it matter?” Mateo questioned. “Why is everyone so obsessed with us? My God, the powers that be, Zeferino, Arcadia, Jupiter? What’s the deal?”

“You’re just so fascinating,” Anatol explained, possibly sincerely. “Now put your cuffs back on, and give me the primary.”

“Anatol...”

“Put them on!” he ordered.

They did as he demanded. Jeremy carefully helped fit Anatol with the primary.

“You’re going to regret this,” Mateo warned. “They always do.”

“Or they switch sides,” Leona added.

Before Anatol could make some snide remark, he fell to his side, losing his grip on Jeremy’s neck which he was at it. Ellie Underhill turned out to be the attacker. “Go,” she commanded Leona. “We can’t subject this planet to whatever it is he would do with it, so you’re going to lead him through the pond, and I’m going to make sure he never comes back.”

“I’m sorry, Ellie,” Leona said.

“This is not your fault. Enemies gonna enemy.”

The team ran out of the house, and across the field, where their ship was waiting for them in the same place they had landed years ago. The Flindekeldanians didn’t even bother moving it. They just constructed a big tent to protect it from the elements.

“I’m sorry, Jeremy!” Leona cried as they were running.

“Don’t worry about it!” he cried back. “Now we’re back to only having one choice!”

They climbed into their ship, and initiated rapid launch protocols. Evidently, Angela was secretly coming back here regularly to learn about how it worked, and maintain the systems. This was good, because it wasn’t designed to just be left unattended for three years. They blew right through the tent when they took off from the ground. They didn’t make it all the way into space before coming back down at an angle, and heading for the Suspended Pond of Glieremé, like a guided missile. The AI navigated them right into it, and the pond did what it was meant to by delivering them back to the main sequence.

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