Microstory 2472: Anadome

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Let’s talk about the Amish and the Mennonite communities. First, actually, let’s discuss what they’re not. They are not people who simply reject all forms of technology. After all, the plow is technology. It’s millennia old, but its novelty was never the concern. The only concern that these Anabaptists have is whether something supports their community, or harms it. Does it please God, or does it pull you away from Him? Vehicles, for instance, are not the issue. It’s whether that vehicle will be used to take a driver away from their family and community. If it’s being used to transport their wares to buyers, they’ve never had a problem with it, but that is why they held onto the horse and buggy for so long, because it would have been an impractical form of escape. Their way of life has changed over time, but their goals and principles have not. Work within the community, serve God. It’s a pretty simple concept. While religion has all but died out in the galaxy, the Anabaptists have persisted, and that’s because their beliefs inform their practices to a degree that other religions and sects could never have hoped to replicate. Sure, if you were Catholic, you went to service once or twice a week, and you performed your rituals. And maybe every night you prayed over your bed. That’s all well and good, but you didn’t live Catholicism. You just did things here and there, and while your convictions could inform your behavior in general, they couldn’t necessarily survive across the generations, because children come up with their own relationship to God. That was usually encouraged, but it was also the source of religion’s ultimate fading from the world, because people focused less and less on it, and it became less vital to how they lived their lives, and the choices that they made.

Anabaptists were always different, because God lives at the core of their ideals, and their daily patterns. In the past, the Anabaptists were able to maintain their practices by having a symbiotic relationship with society in general. They sold us their goods, and used our payment to support their communities. Centuries ago, however, currency disappeared from modern society, as we transitioned to a post-scarcity economy. A new relationship was developed to prevent the Anabaptists from going extinct. Instead of selling what they make to us, they barter it. In return, we give them whatever they require to survive, be it medicine, protection, transportation, etc. We don’t ask for a certain amount of goods in order for them to get a certain amount of return. It’s not simply symbolic—their customers benefit from the human touch and the craftsmanship, which is hard to find these days—but it’s not perfectly ratioed either. We take care of them regardless of the price. If one community gives us ten chairs one month, but can only make five chairs the next, we still give them whatever they need. That’s not us being generous. That’s how we operate internally anyway. We don’t ask a whole lot out of our citizens, so why would we ask anything out of these fine folk? Over a century ago, some of the Anabaptists decided that they wanted to found a new community on Castlebourne. They wanted to start from scratch. Till new lands. So Castlebourne made room for them. You can’t visit Anadome, and gawk at them. I’m here as an anthropologist, to educate you on what this community is all about. Click below for my full report.

Microstory 2457: Horseback Mountain

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I love horses, and if you don’t, then we can’t be friends, so don’t @ me. Horseback Mountain is a pretty simple concept. It’s all about horses, and horseback riding. It’s not one mountain, though, which I think is a little weird, but I don’t really care, because I love horses. The first thing I did when I heard about Castlebourne was access the prospectus, and look for a place like this, and it was the first thing to come up. There’s another dome that has ranchland, and a few other horse-inclusive environments, but this is the one where that’s all there is. You can ride horses on a mountain (of course), but there are other areas too. There are plains and prairies, muddy trails, dirt roads, and even beaches. The ocean next to it isn’t real. Curious, a member of one of my riding parties got off, jumped into the water, and started swimming. He was still within yelling distance when he reached the dome’s walls. A hologram makes it look much bigger than it is. This isn’t a complaint, by the way; I really don’t care. The point is to have a place for the horses to run, and the can’t run in deep water anyway. If you want the ocean, go to one of the big ones on the poles. Now for the big question. Are the horses real? The answer is...it’s your choice! There are many real horses available, though they are in limited supply. It takes a long time to grow an animal this large, and they have to be introduced to their environment—and to people—using safe and ethical methods. I much prefer a real horse, but the same can’t be said for everyone, which is why there are other options. There’s more variety, though, than simply organic versus automaton. Your horse can be programmed with whatever temperament or personality you chose. We passed by a group of kids whose horses were fully intelligent. There was only one adult with them. From what we could gather, the horses were the children’s chaperones. They were keeping them in line when they got too rowdy, and teaching them about nature, particularly horses, as you can imagine. I believe the human adult was there in case there was an emergency that required adult hands. I don’t know what kind of intelligence she was, because she didn’t speak while we were passing by. I just think that’s a cool little feature that I wouldn’t have thought of myself. Before you ask, all kinds of equines are here, including donkeys and mules,  zebras, and a few other things. Yes, there are unicorns and pegasuses. You cannot ride either of these things, because if they existed in the real world, they wouldn’t let you, at least according to the Castlebournian interpretation of the mythology. The pegasuses can’t fly. I don’t know how they would without breaking any law of physics, but they have wings, so they look cool. They’re supposed to be rare, but you can go on a particular tour where you’re guaranteed to see what you’re looking for, because they’re either programmed or trained to be in sight. I honestly don’t know if they were mechanical or organic. I didn’t ask, because I don’t care about mythological creatures. I’m a horse girl, and a purist. That’s why I never want to leave. This isn’t a residential dome, but I’ve requested that they make an exception, and build me a home to live in, so I don’t have to take the vactrain here every day. I’m waiting for their response. Wish me luck.

Microstory 2326: Vacuus, November 18, 2178

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Dear Condor,

I’m sorry to hear that you were having so much trouble sleeping. If you ever need to take a few days to respond, that’s okay. You’ve already extended me the same courtesy when I was gone for weeks. It would be crazy of me to not give you a little bit of extra time if you need it. I mean, if there’s nothing to say, then there’s nothing to say. When I first wrote to you, I didn’t think that you would respond in the first place, let alone that we would start conversing on any sort or regular basis. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume that you’re waiting for something interesting to happen, or that you just don’t feel like talking. Yes, I will worry about you, and wonder if something’s happened to you, but that’s just the nature of interplanetary correspondence. I spoke with an expert on this side of the void who says that the FTL communication research has stalled, despite what some might be trying to convince the public. He’s not as hopeful as people may be making it out to be. He can’t say for sure that it’s impossible, but it’s unlikely to work any time soon, if ever. For now, we’re stuck with the light lag. Back in the old days, it was not unheard of for a letter to take weeks to get from one place to another. They were riding in carriages, and directly on horses, and even in some cases, just walking on their own two feet! Can you imagine? There was no way for them to know if their messages were being received unless and until they received a reply. At least we have the option of read receipts for our digital signals. I like when that comes in. It makes me feel a little bit better, because it would know if the message had been intercepted, which of course, it hasn’t so far. What it doesn’t tell us is whether the other twin is doing okay, but maybe there’s a way for us to handle that ourselves. I suppose that we could come up with a protocol where we reply right away with a very brief acknowledgement as a sort of manual read receipt. That way, we know that the other is still alive, but can’t reply fully yet. What do you think of that idea? Please respond at faster than light speeds so I don’t have to wait too long for your input.

From the other side of darkness,

Corinthia

Microstory 2030: North Carolina

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Papa made many friends while he was in college, and a lot of them were Mormon, but not all of them were. He had at least one who was Jewish. She lived in North Carolina, and after college, she went back there. She met a man at the place where she worked, and decided to marry him in 2011. It wasn’t too long after papa went to Michigan for the corporate retreat. Papa’s friend and her fiancé lived in Charlotte, North Carolina, but they wanted to hold their wedding on the beach of the ocean, which is on the other side of the state. They chose Atlantic Beach. My dad found pictures of it online. It looks pretty and nice. The wedding and the reception were held there at the same place, but they didn’t stay there the whole time. There weren’t a whole lot of people invited, so papa must have been pretty good friends with her to be invited. After the reception was pretty much over, they all took a boat out to an island called the Shackleford Banks. It’s a barrier island, which is basically like an extra beach that’s on the other side of some of the ocean water. There’s something very special about Shackleford Banks, though. A herd of wild horses live there. Most horses in the world are domesticated, which means that they all belong to humans. They feed them, and ride them, and even give them jobs. The Shackleford horses, though, do whatever they want, and humans aren’t allowed to live on the island with them. Luckily they’re allowed to go visit, and watch the horses from a safe distance. They don’t want them to be disturbed. The people at the wedding had fun there. I hope to go see the horses myself one day. That would be really cool.

Microstory 2007: Oregon

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In summer of 1987, papa was 14 years old, and about to start high school for the first time. But remember, this would be at the same school he was before, but it was still going to be different. His mother was a teacher, so she knew how important schooling was. She knew that it was going to be a lot harder for papa than it was in the lower grades. She wanted him to have one more experience as a kid, where he could have fun, and not worry about grades yet. She also wanted him to be away from his family, because she knew that he was going to have to go off to college when he got older, so he had to learn. She found a summer camp that went for a whole two months! I went to summer camp once, but it was only for two weeks. Papa only saw his parents twice while he was there, and his sister once. I remember him telling me that he had a lot of fun, but he was sad to be away from his family and friends for so very long. He made friends there, though, that he stayed friends with. They did a whole lot of things there, like swimming, horseback riding, and even archery. The camp was in Oregon, so it took them 9 hours to get there, which is why his family didn’t get to visit him very often. The place was called Antelope Reservoir Camp, and it doesn’t exist anymore, because the people who owned it ran out of money. I would have liked to see where my papa spent so much time, but maybe when I’m older, my dad will let me go to a place that’s like it.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 23, 2398

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When Mateo and Leona Matic first arrived on the island on Thursday, they wanted to treat it like a real honeymoon, which means that they consummated their relationship like bright eyed twentysomethings who hadn’t lived and died a number of times together. Huge mistake that was Mateo’s stolen valor notwithstanding, they were having fun, and it took them a bit of time to realize why they were so in sync. Their faux wedding night was the first time they slept together since Mateo returned from the past. The reigning theory is that Mateo spent so much time in The Constant that he was able to absorb a certain amount of temporal energy. It was evidently not enough to give him even temporary teleportation powers, but his empathetic connection with the team is back. Well, at least he feels Leona’s emotions. She seemingly feels his because he was able to unwittingly share it with her. It probably won’t last, but they have it now, so they’re going to enjoy it.

They have also been enjoying all that Bermuda has to offer, including horseback riding, boating, and other water activities. They’ve done a lot already in only a few days, so right now, they’re just sitting on the beach, watching the calm of the waveless water. They’re just minding their own business when two men approach them from the side. One of them takes off his sunglasses, and the other does not.

The first one is obviously in charge. “Dominus Matic?”

Mateo clears his throat. The excitement surrounding his presence at the resort has died down, but anyway, they’re on Clearwater Beach, which is about 30 kilometers from the Sutton. No one should be looking for him here. “I am,” he answers regretfully.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.” He reaches his hand out, forcing Mateo to stand up respectfully. “I’m Executor Ebraim Hardashev. This here is Premier Goran Peck.”

Mateo looks down at Leona in his periphery. She covertly and briefly drops her thumb down, indicating that those ranks fall below Dominus. “Happy to meet you two.”

“Listen, we were wondering if we could buy you a drink.”

“Umm...I’m here with my wife, and we have a day planned, so...”

“Oh, I understand,” Ebraim says with a nod. “But hey, if you change your mind, you’ll find us at this little nice place by the runway they call The Short Cut, not a click and a half from here. I’m sure you’ll love it. Lots of vets call it their second home away from home, as compared to this whole island, of course. Anyway, we’ll probably be there all night.”

“That’s a nice offer. I’ll consider it.”

Ebraim bows with his head, waves a short goodbye, and walks away. Goran, meanwhile, remains for a moment before turning away stoically without a word.

“You know you can’t go,” Leona says.

“Obviously.” That doesn’t mean this isn’t still a problem. If people all the way out here know who he’s lied about being, nowhere is safe. Who knew that traveling a thousand kilometers from the states would cause him more trouble than the exact center of it would? Maybe it will be okay. They’re going to leave tomorrow early afternoon, and then he’ll go speak with that forger himself about getting this all resolved. Military credentials are not worth the danger. Unfortunately, he may never get the chance to fix his mistake at all. He’s abducted from his bed in the middle of the night by four men.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 22, 2398

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Word spread throughout the resort that a military officer had arrived, placing Mateo in an awkward position. Now when he walks into a room, people applaud his valor, unaware that it was stolen. They’re not sure how the resort found out that he had military credentials, because he certainly didn’t advertise it when they requested a room, but it doesn’t matter now. The imaginary cat is out of the bag, and of course, being imaginary, it’s much more difficult to put it back in. The honeymooners are determined to stay out of the spotlight, which means signing up for activities on the other side of the island. They just hope the fake news hasn’t somehow circulated beyond the grounds.

“Why is this such a big deal? I mean, I know it can be a big deal, but they don’t know anything about me. They don’t know what I supposedly did.”

“It’s your rank,” Leona explains, still looking at the computer. “Dominus is a fairly high title. You’re theoretically responsible for about two thousand people.”

“Jesus. Why did that forger do that? I just thought we might need to steal some weapons from a military base. I don’t need to have this huge, complicated backstory.”

Leona spins her chair around. “You know why she did that. She probably thought she was doing you a favor, making you look like a big hero.”

“Am I a hero?” Mateo questions.

“Looks like it. Your specific exploits are as classified as you would expect, but you have a few pretty major medals.”

“Two thousand people,” he echoes. “If even one of them comes forward...”

Leona turns back at the screen. “It doesn’t say which regiment you ran. But yeah, people here might expect you to tell them. I’m surprised, but glad, that no one has yet.” She shakes her head, trying to figure out how they’re going to get out of this. “Look, people like you’re pretending to be are often expected to look and act a certain way. That can cause us problems, but it can also work out in our favor. You can be the strong, silent type. Say few words. Don’t react too strongly to stimuli.”

“I shouldn’t pretend to be triggered by PTSD?”

“Absolutely not, Mateo, that would make it worse. You’re already far over the line. Just don’t give people any opportunity to ask too many questions. Now here’s the hard part; it’s really hot, but I can’t seem to find any evidence one way or another for what kind of tattoos you’re expected to bear. You’re going to have to cover up, just in case a savvy person walks by and wonders why you don’t have your district emblem on your shoulder, or whatever it may be.”

“Maybe we should just go.”

“That would make things worse too,” Leona warns. “Then people will wonder why you only stayed one night, and maybe they mention it on social media...”

“They could say something on social media now!”

“You’re right, which is why I’m calling Ramses, and asking him to make a visit to that forger. She put you in this mess, and she’s going to get you out of it, by whatever means necessary. If that means forging more documentation, or scrubbing the internet of your presence, then so be it. We’re going to have fun on this vacation, fraud or not.”

“Okay. In that case, which do you want to do first; snorkeling, or ziplining?”

“Neither. I’ve always wanted to go horseback riding.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 7, 2396

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As soon as Mateo and Ramses jumped to April 7, 2396—or what passed for the date in this reality—the friend detector alerted them to the relative proximity of one of their people. They didn’t know which reality they were in, or who it was, but Mateo couldn’t help but feel hopeful that it would turn out to be Leona. He loved Olimpia, Angela, and Marie, but not like he loved his wife. “Is this going to work?”

Ramses sighed. “We may not have much time to think about it. I’ve done all I can to prepare. But if our target is in a hostile environment, it’s best that we get to her as soon as possible.”

“Then do it,” Mateo decided.

Scientists from the Parallel created these devices for them. The one that accessed other realities was originally designed to grapple onto the target, and pull them here. It wasn’t meant to actually go to that reality. But Ramses wasn’t satisfied with that. He wanted to leave the Parallel, and never come back. Mateo pointed out that they may still have to in the future. When Dalton separated them throughout time and space, there was no guarantee that they each landed nice and neatly in their own special pocket of the cosmos. It was neither predictable, nor necessarily evenly distributed. Leona could show up here ten years from now, or ten thousand. However, Ramses could tell that they were going to a different reality right now. Three realities, three years, each falling on a proper day on their pattern. That was a pattern in its own right. “Okay. Hold on.” He pushed the button.

It felt just as it had before, when Ramses pulled Mateo from the Fourth Quadrant, except in reverse. They were pushed across dimensional barriers, and gracelessly dropped at their destination. Mateo wasn’t knocked unconscious, but he suffered a terribly annoying headache, and was on the verge of retching. “Ow,” he said plainly.

Leona was hovering over him. She helped him off the floor. “Mateo. Do you know why we’re back here?”

“I don’t know where we are.” That wasn’t true. He looked around, and quickly realized they knew what this was. It was the wreckage of the Suadona, back in the Fifth Division. All that, and they were right back where they started. “Where’s Ramses?”

“I only saw you, but it was a blur. I’ve only just arrived myself.”

“Ramses? Ramses!”

A weak voice came from the other side of some debris, “here.”

They climbed over it to find their friend badly hurt. A metal bar of some kind had impaled him through the stomach, perhaps at his kidney. “Oh my God! What do we do?”

“We have to cut him out of it,” Leona determined.

“No,” Ramses said amidst the coughs. “Just pull me off.”

“That’s not how it’s done,” Leona argued.

“I’ll be fine, my body will heal,” Ramses insisted, “but it can’t do that until you get it out of me. Don’t worry about how much it hurts along the way. That will go away too.”

Though Leona never took the Hippocratic Oath, this still felt wrong. Even so, Ramses obviously knew more about these bodies than she did, so she chose to trust him. They carefully lifted him off of the spike, and laid him back down in a safe space. “What do you need? What kind of medical attention will help?” She opened her bag, and awaited a response.”

“I don’t need anything,” Ramses answered. “I’ve rested recently, absorbed sufficient amounts of sunlight, and consumed the necessary nutrients. I just need time.”

“Do we have time?” Leona asked.

“Matty?” Ramses prompted.

Mateo checked the friend detector. No one else was close enough to sense. “So far, so good. Just let your substrate do its thing, buddy.”

Leona was hesitant to leave him alone, but they needed to get out of the wreckage of the ship to assess their situation. There could be danger nearby. Perhaps this reality contained scavengers. They began to teleport around the ship to see if they could find any sign of more recent activity. “Report.”

“Dalton screwed up. He separated us. Ramses went to the Parallel, but didn’t travel through time. I stayed in the Fourth Quadrant, but jumped forward a year. You jumped two years, and came here. The others are theoretically elsewhere, and elsewhen. We may all have been sent to different parallel realities.”

“The math doesn’t check out,” Leona warned. “There are only five concurrent realities, and six of us.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve only heard of five.”

“Maybe there are more that you’ve never heard of.”

“We’re time travelers, Mateo. If anyone ever discovers a sixth reality, and if they ever return to report this development, that information can travel in both directions of time.”

“You had heard of the Fifth Division before we first came here?”

“Yes. I didn’t know anything about it, and I didn’t know we would ever come here, but it was a known unknown.”

Mateo thought about it. “What’s the last one; the one we haven’t gone to yet?”

“They call it the Third Rail. I don’t know much about it either, except that we’re—to some degree—not supposed to go there.”

“We’re probably gonna go there.”

“I know.”

“And there may be another one after that. There are a lot of things we don’t know about until we know them. I was at my own memorial service on Dardius. Billions of people were aware both of the fact that it happened, and that I survived it anyway. Like you said, information moves in both directions of time. Yet no one ever talked about it beforehand. As soon as I killed Hitler, and created the new timeline, somebody could have shown up to warn me about it, but they didn’t. They don’t tell us everything. That’s just one example.”

“You’re right. Just because information travels, doesn’t mean it’ll come to us.”

Mateo tilted his lizard brain, which given the fact that he was now genetically engineered, he shouldn’t really have anymore. “Do you feel that?”

Leona smiled. “Yeah, he’s not feeling any pain anymore.”

“When I was shot, it happened even faster than that.”

She shrugged, but made no attempt to explain the discrepancy.

Once they were finished checking the perimeter, they were about to go back to Ramses when a small ship approached them from the mountains. Its shape reminded Mateo of a container of floss. It was smooth and rounded, with no sharp corners.  “Let’s assume they don’t know about him, and stay here.”

“Of course.”

The ship hovered before them for a moment. Then lasers came out of it, and transported them inside against their will. Before them stood a man that only one of them recognized.

“Hello,” Mateo said politely. Rule number fifteen, don’t antagonize the antagonist. Except maybe he wasn’t an antagonist at all, what did he know?

“Hi, Mithridates,” Leona said a little less politely.

“I heard you left,” Mithri pointed out.

“We came back. It was an accident.”

“Well, you’ll be happy to know that I have not wavered in my promise to be an agent of peace in this reality. Rátfrid and I have been making real progress. Xerian Oyana of the Security Watchhouse Detachment absorbed the Dominion Defense and Offensive Contingency Detachments, and they have all been standing down. Unfortunately, the Warmaker Training Detachment detached again, and declared war on the rest of us, but I have faith in the future.”

“Glad to hear it,” Leona acknowledged.

“I would like to ask if you also kept your promise, or if you found a way to age yourselves up,” Mithri asked.

“No,” Leona lied. “It’s just been awhile for us since we’ve been here.”

He squinted at her. “You’re lying. Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not lying,” Leona dug in deeper.

“It’s okay,” Mithri said with a kind smile. “I never specified you had to stay that way. Time travelers gonna travel time.”

“Thank you. It was just...”

“Impossible to have sex? I bet. That was the joke, but I’m older and wiser now.”

“Since you’re being so understanding, is there somewhere here on Earth where we might find refuge? It seems pretty desolate, but I haven’t exactly circumnavigated it.”

“I have a place you can hide,” Mithri said as he turned to the controls. “We’ll pick up the injured Mr. Abdulrashid before we go.”

“We’re hiding?” Mateo asked while Leona was making sure Ramses was okay after he was transported inside. “Are you expecting an attack of some sort?”

Mithri placed his hand on a big lever, but waited to pull it. “Rule number sixteen, when Team Matic is involved, always anticipate conflict.” He pulled the lever.

What he didn’t say was that he was taking them through a Nexus, and transporting them tens of thousands of light years away. They were on a world so deep in the void that it would still have been outside the Milky Way galaxy proper if the stars were as spread out as they were originally. It orbited a Stage Tau Gerostar, which in the main sequence would be called a blue dwarf.

Leona placed her hands on the glass, and stared at it like a long lost lover. “How is this possible? Wait, you must have accelerated time.”

“We have only been here for tens of thousands of years,” Mithri explained, “and it was waiting for us, as was the Nexus building that we just came through. Even if we had accelerated to one second for every year, we wouldn’t have had time to make this. It would have taken two hundred thousand years. Besides, we don’t detect any temporal energy around it. You can check for yourself.”

“Could someone please explain this?” Mateo requested. “Why is it a big deal?”

She stopped gazing to address her husband. “Mateo, that thing would have to be six trillion years old, or older.”

“The universe isn’t that old, is it?”

Leona scoffed. “Uhh...no.”

“So how do we know a blue dwarf is even a thing?”

She sighed. “It’s science, Mateo, I can’t explain it.” She returned to gawking at the apparent anachronism. She surely could explain it, but she didn’t want to.

“It just looks white to me,” Mateo noted.

She growled.

“Is there somewhere I could rest?” Mateo asked Mithridates.

“Downstairs, pick any of the pods. Not the full-sized bed, that’s mine.”

Mateo giggled when he got down there. The sleeping pods along the wall were shaped just like the ship itself. The man must love to floss. Prestons were such an odd bunch. He wasn’t all that tired, so he just started snooping instead. There weren’t a whole lot of things to find here. The floors, walls, and ceilings were all white, and smooth. Pretty nondescript, he would say—aesthetically pleasing and classy, but not particularly interesting. That was until he opened the door to a pocket dimension. Inside was a full stable, with hay, and manure on the floors. He walked through it, peeking over the doors to see if there were any actual horses, but there weren’t. It wasn’t until he got to the last stable that he came across another lifeform. It was undoubtedly a centaur. She was saddled, but not wearing any other clothes.

“Oh, hello. Are you Mithri’s friend?”

“That’s a strong word,” Mateo answered. “I don’t really know him. Does he...um?”

“Does he ride me like I’m an actual horse?” she figured.

“Uhh...”

“My son is still in regular human form. This is how I get him around on our home planet. It’s only weird if you make it weird.”

“I don’t think it’s weird.” Mateo looked around the room. “Where is he, and where is your planet?”

“They’re in the same place. He’s at school right now. Mithridates agreed to help me get back to him after rescuing me from my captors.”

“You don’t seem that anxious about it?”

“My planet is safe, he’s fine.”

“I’m Mateo.”

“Delintza,” she returned.

“Delintza, we were to understand that consciousness transference isn’t a thing here, nor is cloning. No one realized after we had done it.”

“I’ve never heard of it either,” she said. “This is my real head and torso, and this was a real horse. A surgeon put us together.”

“Oh, so...the horse died? That doesn’t bother you?”

“No, why would I care? It’s just a dumb animal.”

The friend detector began to beep, which was good, because he didn’t want to have to get into an ethical debate with this stranger.

“What’s that?” she questioned.

“Sorry, gotta go.” He ran back upstairs.

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Microstory 1735: Foals

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

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

Microstory 1719: The Centaurs

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My people have been cursed to wander the continent forever. We may stop to rest for the night, and gather resources, but then we must continue. Legend says that anyone who spends too long in one place will be turned to stone. This is not entirely true, but it is not completely false either. A body cannot transform into stone, but it can become stone-like. Their skin will harden, and their feet will root into the ground. The enemy who cursed us decided that we would have a choice, and treated this choice as a great gift. We can either keep moving, or we can never move again. Of course, that is no choice at all. Some say the stonemen are kept alive where they are forever, but there is no way for us to know that. If we ever see someone become stonelike, the only course of action is to get moving again, and we are always long gone before the stonemen can die... or not, if that is the case. No one here was alive when the curse fell upon us. We were all born into this way of living, and most of us accept that there is nothing we can do about it. I am not so sure. I know that there is a way out of this, and it’s all because of something I once saw when I separated myself from the group for a brief period of time. Going off is a fine thing to do. In fact, our tribe has been split a few times over the decades. Some groups would prefer to go another direction, while a few individuals have determined that they would survive better on their own. Many of us just like to walk alone for a while, but then we rejoin later. One day, when alone, I encountered something I had never seen before. We have come across many other tribes, but we try to steer clear, worried that the curse will befall them as well if they spend too much time with us. We would wish this on no one. The few individuals I saw that day were different. They were sitting upon great beasts, which evidently walked for them. They called these creatures horses, and referred to themselves as The Centaurs. I was in awe, and hopeful that there was some way for my tribe to rest and walk at the same time.

I begged these Centaurs to follow me, so I could show my people what they have discovered, but they were worried. To begin, they did not want to incur the wrath of the demons who cursed us in the first place. I have never seen one of these demons myself, but I have seen stonemen, so I know that someone must have done this to us, and that it is not some kind of elaborate lie to control us. Still, the demons could be watching us in secret, and if so, would be capable of punishing us further for attempting to find a way out of our predicament. The Centaurs were also worried that we would steal their horses for ourselves. We are noble and just, and would never do such a thing, but I understand the concern. All I want to know is where they found their animals, and whether we could find more for ourselves. In the end, they did not agree, and I was forced to return to the group with only my word. Many believed what I told them of the Centaurs, but not everyone, and of those who did, some did not believe it would be a good option. As far as I knew, only eleven horses existed in the entire world. That would not be enough to sustain our entire population. I urged them to reconsider, assuming there to be greater number of the animals somewhere, but also pointed out that eleven would be enough for us to take turns. It did not matter, they believed. We didn’t know where any of these horses were, and there was every chance we would happen upon them as we continued to wander. Looking for them on purpose would not increase the odds. It would, I explained, if we spread out more, but still, they refused to hear me. Frustrated with their skepticism, I have now separated myself once more, and I am not sure if I will ever rejoin. I keep walking in a lateral direction, always hoping to randomly come across more Centaurs, or better yet, unused horses. Instead, I have found something else. It is a massive object that I can barely describe. It’s yellow, but covered in black rectangles. There are four black circles on the bottom near each corner, which rest upon the ground. I step inside to find dozens of seats that would make quite comfortable beds, but one looks special. It’s in the front, and there are tons of objects along with it, like little dots, and another black circle. I see something shiny underneath it, and feel a compulsion not to take it out, but to turn it. The yellow object roars and shakes, and for a moment, I’m worried that it’s going to eat me. I cannot let it, so I sit down in the seat, and start tinkering with everything I find that moves. A couple of things are at my feet. When I step on one, the entire thing lurches just a little bit. I keep moving things around, trying to figure out how this thing works, and eventually realize that the entire yellow object is some kind of motion machine. After some trial and error, I manage to make it go for an extended period of time, all the way back to the group. I am the Centaur now.

Microstory 1544: Communication Skills

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I was born with a ________ ability that, for some reason, people have ________ understanding. They think I can ________ with animals, but that doesn’t make much sense, because most animals have no ________ language, and the ones that do still can’t hold a ________ conversation. All I do is manipulate the ____’s emotions and demeanor. I can make it feel ________, or ________, or combative. Or I can do what I normally do, and just make it ________ safe and comfortable. Most of the time, it’s a temporary ________. I can prevent a rabid dog from ________ his neighbor’s young ________, or make a feral cat relax so the vet can ________ it. If I try hard enough, though, I can also tame an animal ____nently. I can ready a ________ horse for a saddle, or give zoo-goers the ability to ________ right up to a tiger, and pet it on the ________. I don’t generally do this sort of ________, however, because I kind of feel like it’s a violation. Sure, they’re not ________, but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to be respected, or to make ________ choices they feel are necessary. Who am I to control their ________? One thing you have to understand is that humans are ________ as well, and while commanding their ________ and behavior is much more difficult than it is for other ________, it is not im____. Obviously, it’s even ________ of a violation, however, so I’ve only ever done it ________. And that was just to ________ if I was capable of it. The subject consented to my ________, and I ________ him from any hold I had over him ________ afterwards. I possess no ambition to ________ any____, for any ________. I worked very hard to prevent ________ from knowing that my ________ could extend to humans, and while I was successful in that, I couldn’t stop a smart ________ from figuring it out on his own using ________ logic. Now I have the government breaking down my ________, trying to get me to ________ for them. I could help so many ________, they say, make the ________ a better place, they claim. I’m not interested, and I won’t do it, but these ________ are relentless. They leave a white van on my street permanently, and someone ________ on my door every day. I would change my ________ and move if I thought it would help, but they would find ________, and I wouldn’t be able to use my gift anymore either way. Today, I’ve had ________. They’re going to drive ________, and leave me alone, or they’re gonna get an earful. I powerwalk across my ________, and approach the ________. We get into a heated ________ which escalates by the minute. I’m yelling, I’m imagining the evil ________ yelling too, but they’re truthfully staying ________ calm. They still won’t let up, though, and I just can’t take it ________. I ________ at them to drive away, never return, and forget they ever knew I ________. To my ________, that’s exactly what they do. I watch my window for ________, but I never hear another ________ out of them. Perhaps I have underestimated the ________ of my abilities.

Microstory 1272: The Donkey and the Dog

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One evening, after supper, a farmer went out to bid his animals goodnight. The cows mooed graciously. The chickens clucked in delight. The pigs oinked with glee. But they all knew that they were not his favorites. The farmer could only allow himself to grow attached to the animals he would not one day slaughter, like the horses, the sheep, and the goats. But even they could not compare to the farmer’s love for his dog, and his donkey. The dog would hop around, and try to get the farmer to play, but the farmer was old and weary. The best he could do was sit on the milking stool, and let the dog rest in his lap. The donkey wanted to be part of this as well. He hopped around playfully, but could not match the dog’s agility. He tried to mimic the dog’s adorable barks and bays, but his voice only came out in screeches, irritating the other animals in the barn. But the donkey did not give up. He gently nudged the dog off of the farmer’s lap, and attempted to take her place. “No,” said the farmer. “You are too big for my lap. You would surely crush my legs, and break my knees.” So the sad donkey slinked off to stand alone in the corner. The farmer stood up from the stool, and followed his donkey over there. He gently petted the donkey. “I am too old to ride upon your back, and you are too big to sit upon my lap. But that does not mean I do not love you. The dog ran up and affectionately bit the donkey on his leg. “I love you both equally.”

This story was inspired by, and revised from, an Aesop Fable called The Ass and the Lapdog.

Microstory 1197: Melinda Carson

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Melinda Carson loved animals, and knew that she would want to work with them one day. Unfortunately, she was born with really bad allergies, and it was looking like it wasn’t in the cards for her. She kept trying to fix this, taking all kinds of medicine she could find, and undergoing the best treatment available, but it just wasn’t doing enough. Her body rejected just about everything she tried to put inside it, including food. She didn’t technically have food allergies as well, but nothing really sit well with her, so she was kind of always physically uncomfortable. She continued to try to resolve her issues, even as the time approached when she needed to really figure out her career. Finally, she decided that, while she wouldn’t be able to realize all her dreams, she wasn’t going to let her own body beat her either. She specialized her work on reptiles and amphibians, which she had no problem with. They were just as cool as elephants and horses, so it wasn’t like she was miserable. She had to narrow her focus more than she would have liked, but there was plenty of work to be done in the field, and she always felt productive. She was content in her rather unexciting life, and never knew what other wonders the universe held. This was not the only reality in which she existed, however. Other versions of her found themselves thrown into the world of time travelers, and were regularly placed in great danger. Of course, she lived her life with no memory of timelines where different things happened to her, but she had a few strange encounters she could have been able to explain had she fully understood what alternate versions of her had gone through. People she never met—or at least never remembered meeting—on multiple occasions greeted her as if they were friends. She never did realize why, and that was probably for the best.

Microstory 1031: Carl

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Did Herman really not say anything about magic club? Well, that is just like him. He’s too cool to be part of something larger than himself. He’s not ashamed of being in it, but he’s definitely one of those people in the band who think they can go off and start a solo career. I’m not like that; I’m a team player. That being said, I should have been president of the club this year. It’s been Alfred every year since it began, just because it was his idea. I could have come up with it too, if someone had first told me that it was an option to start your own club. I was a dumb little freshman at the time, so you couldn’t have expected me to know how to do that. But I was one of the first people to join, and I’m proud of that. It’s not the only thing I have going on, though. I have many interests. I play darts and pool, just like Finley. My parents belong to the Masters Country Club, though, so I never needed to sneak into a bar. History is my best subject, just like it is for Bertha. Right now, Minnie is helping me learn how to train horses to do dressage. I already know how to ride real well, so I’m ready for the next level. My favorite thing to do is kayaking, and everyone knows this about me. Masters Creek is basically my territory. I should charge a toll for other people to use it. I tell ya, Viola wouldn’t have died if I had had something to do about it, I tell ya that much. Wow, that made me sound really conceited, but I really am a...master on the water. See what I did there? Too soon, I guess, that’s why you’re not laughing. Well, I knew Viola from magic club, but we didn’t talk much. She was clearly there just to keep our numbers up, or we would lose our status. There was one time outside of all that that I saw her, if you wanna hear about it. I was just floating down the creek, not working hard; just enjoying the serenity. School was in full session, but I skip every year on my uncle’s birthday. We were really close, you see, and the administrators and I have this unspoken understanding that I’m just not going to be there. I have perfect attendance otherwise, and wonderful grades, so they’re fine with it. I mean, they haven’t said anything to me about it. Anyway, I was peeing in the weeds on the bank, and to my surprise, Viola showed up. I ducked down when I saw her walk up on the other side of the creek. She was gazing at the water with this shockingly beautiful, but indescribable, expression on her face. It was somehow simultaneously a frown, and a smile. She was watching a very specific section, where the stream goes all still. It was like she and this spot on the water were old pals who would never see each other again after one of them moved across the country. But I shook it off, assuming she stumbled upon a family of tadpoles, or was just admiring her swirly reflection. Well, it appears that I should have told someone about it, because like, a week later, she died. They found her body in that exact same spot, I swear to god. I pee there all the time, because I have the same routine, and it’s nice and secluded, so I’m not mistaken. I’m calling it her body of water. Is that too dark? Either way, I’m pretty sure she predicted her own death.

Microstory 912: Fandom

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I have mixed feelings about this topic. On the one hand, I love that people love to love things, but I think they can take it a bit too far. Back in the day, men were allowed to like sports, boobs, explosions, and more sports. Women were allowed to like horses, and making sure my dinner was ready by 5:15. These days, it’s cool to like comic books and video games, and it’s not really cool to like those traditional things. I take issue with this too, because while the jocks ruled the school of yesterday, the nerds run the show now. There’s just as much judgment and animosity as there was before, but now with different divisions of people. I admit that this is getting better already, with the mini-generation after millennials basically not caring what anyone does, as long is it doesn’t negatively impact the world. I also think there is quite a bit of materialism going on, even more than there used to be. Man, my goal of being more positive for this series isn’t going all that, is it? I’ll do better next time. For now, I want to talk about all the stuff. Major content creators make more money off of merchandise than they could ever hope to make from the source material. Why is that? Why do full-grown adults find satisfaction from owning an action figure, while doing nothing with it but set it on a shelf. Or they own so much of this crap, they can’t even display it all. Do you not find that absurd? Exactly how many plush porgs do you need? If you’re about to look around the room and count your porgs, don’t bother. The answer is a hard zero. I’m all for expressing your love for whatever, but there’s a way to do it without losing half your income. You need a cup to put your drinks in, so buy a cup with some insider quote from your favorite show, like “I’m the one who knocks” or “time out on this game of thrones; I need to pee!”. You need a bag to carry your essentials, so that one works out as well. But all these little stickers, trinkets, figurines, and costumes you never wear; it’s all just useless junk to which one of two things will happen. Either you’ll die, and burden your family with all that stuff you overestimated how much they would want, or you’ll become immortal, your priorities will shift, and you’ll wish you didn’t have it anymore. And you won’t be able to sell it, because guess what, everyone around you feels the same way. So now the world is down in resources, but up in full-sized pokeballs. Like I said, it’s all about priorities. If you have some disposable income to burn on a real 1940s police box, why not instead give that money to charity? You’re not gonna make me feel bad about trying to make you feel bad for wasting your money on a sonic screwdriver that stopped making noise after a week.

Microstory 911: Outdoor Activities

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I hate sportsball. I hate football, I hate North American football, I hate baseball, I hate basketball. It would be easier for me to tell you which sports I like than which ones I don’t, because I don’t like any of them, so none. I do not, however, hate outdoor activities. I would certainly never want to watch someone else participate in one, but I enjoy them myself. When I was a boy scout, we would go on a camping trip pretty much every month. During the eight years I was involved, I can probably count on two hands the number of these trips that I missed; perhaps even one hand. Sometimes it was just all about tenting and cobbler, but we also went for specific things. We would always go on a bike ride in the fall. We would go to the slopes for skiing and snowboarding sometime in the deep winter. I didn’t think I would like skiing, since I’m afraid of heights and high speeds, and cold weather, but I got pretty comfortable with it. One time, I spontaneously belted out the Star-Spangled Banner when the other scouts were being particularly rambunctious in the cabins the night before. They must have thought I was meant to do that, because no one made a peep the rest of the night. It probably wouldn’t have been as fun if we had been too tired the next day. I especially enjoyed the canoe trips. I could paddle down a river for an entire day, across multiple days, if given the opportunity. Of course, there were also hiking and backpacking trips. My dad and I went down to backpack in the Arkansas hills with a small group, and one in the mountains of New Mexico that lasted longer than a week, and also involved horseback riding. My favorite trip was Seabase. We spent a week on a tiny Florida Key that was designated just for us. I experienced zero problems the whole time, developed a profound fondness for the mysterious deep, and uncovered inspiration for what I thought for years would be my first novel. I miss most of those things today, and wish there was an adult form of scouting that coordinates similar trips. Maybe there is, and I just haven’t really been looking. I suppose the closest thing to that would be Meet Up, but I feel like I’ve tried that. I guess I can try harder.

Microstory 872: Equipathy

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My mother grew up on a farm, and had two horses when she was younger. I can’t recall their names, but I remember her telling me stories of them getting to know each other, and about all the shenanigans they would get into together. I’ve always loved horses, even though boys are supposed to be more into monster trucks, and...like, blowing stuff up, I guess. I hate big cities. They’re noisy and there are too many people, and you can’t see the stars. I don’t much like the country either, though. Everything is too spread out, and it takes too long to get places. I much prefer the suburbs, which is where my family lives now. The only thing I don’t like about it is that I can’t keep a horse. If our backyard had access to some extra spatial dimension that would add acres and acres of space, I would have asked for a horse a long time ago. It’s my sixteenth birthday, and instead of getting me a car, though, my parents finally fulfill my most precious dream. They buy me a horse, which I didn’t think was possible. As it turns out, if you head due East, which I never do, because there’s nothing there, then you don’t have to drive very far before reaching more open land. On the very edge of town is a little farm apparently known for taking in stray animals of all kinds. Pigs, ducks, llamas, goats, dogs, cats, and of course, my wonderful horses. The owner agreed to keep my new horse on his property, and charge me discounted stable fees. I can go ride and take care of him whenever I want, but I have to be able to do it often, because he’s now my responsibility. I’ve also been asked to spend a little extra time helping out with the other animals. I agree to this deal completely, because why wouldn’t I?

I try to name my new horse Satchel, but I immediately get the feeling that he doesn’t like that, and prefers to be called Estenavorissegabaladon, which he claims means flying water in his language. I don’t know why I made up that word in my head; I’m not a particularly creative individual. I’ve always been better at math; real math, by the way, not this new math. After some coaxing—fully aware that I’m not actually communicating with an animal—he agrees to let me shorten his name to Tenavori. I start off slowly with him, but even though I’ve only ever ridden on a few family vacations, he makes me feel like an expert. We’re completely in sync that it’s almost like I don’t have to do anything. He’s leading the way, and I’m just along for the ride. You’re gonna have to buy me a few more carrots for a real ride, he says. But he doesn’t say it. He sends the thought straight to my brain. But he can’t have done that either, because that’s ridiculous, he’s a horse. Then he says, a horse is a horse, of course, of course, and no one can talk to a horse, of course; that is, of course, unless the horse is me, bitch! What the hell is going on? I don’t say that word, so why am I thinking it? I don’t know that you can think at all, Tenavori says with a laugh, and I see snot shoot out of his nose. Okay, that’s freaky. “Can you understand me?” I ask. If you’re trying to talk to me, don’t say it out loud, he instructs me. I basically hear feedback and static. Just...think it. I stay quiet, and try to project my thoughts. He starts dancing according to my instructions, to outwardly prove that he’s the real deal. To the left, take it back now y'all. One hop this time, right foot, let’s stomp. Left foot, let’s stomp. Cha cha, real smooth. Turn it out, to the left. Oh my God, this horse is even better than I thought. We do a little bit more funky dressage before I decide it’s time do what horses and riders do best. We start racing over the prairie, and through the woods. For a moment, he’s going so fast, it almost looks like he’s running over the river. All the while, we talk. I complain about high school, and he tells me about how horseshoes actually do hurt, but he knows it’s all just in his head. It is the greatest feeling in the world. I’ve never been able to make good friends with humans, and now I don’t have to anymore. It’s getting late, and I have to go back home. But tomorrow, we ride again, headed due East...and we’re never coming back.

Microstory 809: Seven Year Stitch

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From the moment I was born, I knew that I was put on this Earth to protect people. Okay, well that might be a bit of an overstatement, but no matter when I realized this about myself, it’s a integral part of me that I can’t change. I had no short supply of options when it came to what I was going to do with my life. I had a few ideas, but they all seemed to be so minimally impactful. I worked as a lifeguard in high school and college, but that was generally uneventful. I would have to move to a beachtown to be any sort of active protector, and even that was only on an individual basis. What I wanted was a way to protect massive numbers of people; something more general, perhaps even something secret. I went to the Bureau academy for a little while before I was recruited into the CIA, which seemed like the best choice at the time. What I didn’t know then was that there was a lot going on in the agency that seemed pretty unproductive, and I wasn’t likely going to be an international spy. I was ecstatic when I was told I would be joining an elite reconnaissance team in the midwest, but that excitement quickly faded when I realized what I was in for. The term elite was being used in this context to describe a group of agents operating mostly autonomously, but that didn’t mean they were doing anything of great significance. I was given a new partner, which was the most thrilling aspect of the situation, because we were then planted in a small town to do practically nothing. As part of something deemed Operation Stich, we were instructed to act as if we were happily married, and live the simple life, doing little work beyond taking mundane notes on everything we encountered.

Now, I’ve never been one to belittle the contributions that so-called unimportant workers make, but this was almost literally nothing. We kept track of what our neighbors were doing, which was nothing interesting or illegal, and sent encrypted emails to an address that never responded. After years of this, we started questioning whether what we were doing at all mattered. Was anyone on the other side of those emails, or did they forget about us? What were they doing with the information? Were we missing something about some kind of underbelly in this town? Was it ever going to end? We started coming up with explanations for why we were there, each one more imaginative than the last, and not one of them making any real sense. And then after seven years, everything ended. I mean, the whole country went down the tubes. Every single major city was attacked by some unknown enemy, all at once. The only people left alive were those living in smaller towns, and rural countrysides. Someone rode right up to our house on horseback, and revealed that Operation Stich was now fully activated. When we asked what that meant, she handed us a manila envelope, and rode away. The documents explained that we were there to create a new world order, as a contingency plan. Should anything happen to the original form of government—which was exactly what ended up happening—we were meant to pick up the pieces, and join a new national police force. We requisitioned two of our own horses and began our journey halfway across the country, to the provisional capital of this, the nation we live in now. And that, kids, is how your mother and I became founding fathers of Nusonia.