Microstory 1931: Great Limerick’s Fists

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Leonard: Hey. Is someone over there? [...] I heard you moving around. It sounds like a very faint stringed musical instrument, or a chirp. Are you a cricket? [...] Oh, now you’re being all quiet, expecting me to think that I was just imagining things. I’ve been in here for a few hours, I’ve not started hallucinating quite yet. I am hungry, though. Are you hungry? Hey, if you want to reply, I heard the chirping better from this corner where the sink drains into the floor. Hey. Hey. I put my mouth a little closer, can you hear me now? Can you hear me now? Oh, you wouldn’t get the joke. They don’t have commercials in your home universe. They do in your universe of origin, but not where you’re probably from. I didn’t tell them your species originated in a different place than they live now. Or they may know now. Is there a camera in your cell? I looked all around, no cameras on this side. But I can’t see through the wall. Can Ochivari see through walls? Hey. Hey. Why won’t you answer me? It’s the human you talked to the other day. I’m Leonard, remember? I’m from a separate universe. It doesn’t have a name, though, like Salmonverse, or...I don’t know the one you were living in before you came here. Does it have a name? Hey. Hey.

Ochivar: Great Limerick’s Fists! Please stop blabbering on! We can talk if you just tone it down a little. You don’t have to be so...enthusiastic.

Leonard: That’s the second time you’ve used that word. What, or who, is Limerick?

Ochivar: He is the reason we can cross universes. He is our ancestor.

Leonard: I see. From what I understand, if you want to do that, you need at least one other Ochivar, but only one of you will survive. The other will explode.

Ochivar: They don’t explode. They become trapped in the void, and yes, they die.

Leonard: Sounds risky. Why would anyone bother trying?

Ochivar: You, who does not know what it is like to be called to service. You would not understand why we do what we do. You value life above all, regardless of what that life is doing to the world that it is on. You waste, you destroy, you kill, you take, you ruin. We are the ones who stop you. I am but the vanguard. More will come, and doom these people to the hell where they belong. And then, when it’s over, they’ll move on to another. Perhaps your world will be next.

Leonard: You know, there are Ochivari out there who do not feel the same as you.

Ochivar: The Betrayers. They believe as we do, but they put too much effort into a fruitless endeavor. They think they can help the peoples of the multiverse repair their worlds. But we know better. We know that there is no hope for your kind. But we are not cruel, and we are not unjust. We do not kill. We let you live your lives. You just won’t have any more children. That is a gift we are not required to give. Consider yourselves lucky. I know I would if I were you.

Leonard: If your species evolved to have the family unit, you may consider what you do to the populations of the worlds you invade more cruel than you do now. Humans need to care for others, and they need to know that they’ll go on after they die. My question to you is, why? You spend so much time on this, is there no room for joy for an Ochivar?

Ochivar: Joy is for the weak. You’ll see. [...] You’ll see.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 27, 2398

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Ramses is responsible for taking readings in the Bermuda Triangle while Leona holes up in her little cubby to work on her fusion solution. He offered to help her with it, but she wants to do this herself. Obviously, he would never try to take credit for the accomplishment at her work—she doesn’t even care about that herself—but it still seems wrong. She’s already being dishonest with her employer regarding her background and experiences. She had to iron out a well-considered legal document that expressly barred the University from publishing her name, or other identifying information, anywhere for public consumption. In exchange, she agreed to not share the technology with any other entity. That goes against her instinct to make knowledge free and accessible, but that wouldn’t be good for her either, because it would shine a spotlight right on her face.

Before he quit his job at the electronics store, Ramses managed to steal just enough parts and equipment to build the instruments that they’re now using to conduct this research. One thing they’ve gathered is that the closer they are to the exact center, the stronger their time powers are, and the easier it is to teleport. Range appears to be stretched too, though that’s hard to test, because they’re in the middle of nowhere. They’re getting wet a lot, trying to test this out. They’re regretting the limited time they spent trying to figure out what was maintaining The Constant’s temporal energy, because it would have been a lot easier to walk around an underground bunker. This is worse since they can’t even travel all the way to the bottom of the ocean because the pressure is too high for The Olimpia to withstand. Fortunately, they’ve recently become confident in their assessment that depth is not an advantage. The energy appears to be sourced at the surface, rather than from something deep down in the abyss. The problem is, they still can’t actually find it.

This close to the center, higher concentrations of temporal energy seem to be more sporadic and—to put it in fitting terms—more fluid. It’s almost as if bursts of energy spontaneously emerge inside the water molecules, which float around until used up. They’re also pretty sure that these levels have been declining since they arrived, which makes sense, what with them being there to spend this energy. They have scooped up samples to be stored in the vehicle’s drinking water tanks, and will later study whether levels change after being removed from the area, and possibly even figure out how to compound or synthesize more energy. So far, even all this is not enough.

After the upteenth time testing to see if something changes about the water when heat is applied, Ramses trills his lips.

“Nothing interesting?” Mateo asks, knowing the answer.

“I think we should leave,” Ramses answers.

“Yeah,” Mateo agrees. “No land masses, no special shipwrecks. “It’s just a bunch of water, which somehow, for some reason, stores temporal energy. I don’t see any reason to stick around. I think it would be more beneficial to check out the other known locations, like Easter Island, Giza, and Stonehenge.”

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask about that,” Heath says, having seen it on Mateo’s list. “What is Stonehenge?”

The cubbies offer some privacy, but they aren’t exactly soundproof. Leona slides open the door. “You don’t have Stonehenge? In England?”

“What’s an England?” Heath questions, avoiding making the usual joke about thinking it sounds like the name of a band again.

Leona steps out, and walks over to the control room to initiate a map on the heads-up-display. She zooms into where the United Kingdom should be, but tilts her head in bafflement. She zooms out again, and drags it over, and back in. She keeps trying to find it, but can’t. “How have I not noticed this before?”

“Noticed what?” Ramses slides into the room, and looks at the map too. “Oh my God. Where is it? It’s just more water.”

“It doesn’t exist,” Leona utters, fascinated. “The North Atlantic Isles don’t exist.”

Microstory 1883: Air Band

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I was just playing around at a college party once. Somebody put on a record with a song that, in my day, we called my jam. I started pretending I was playing a guitar to the music, and since I knew the track so well, people got really into it. Pretty soon I was up on the coffee table, entertaining everybody. I, by no means, invented the air guitar. I did, however, do it my first time without having seen anyone else do it before, nor even having heard of it. Either way, I had no intention of turning it into a career. It was just for fun. I suppose it snowballed into it when I found myself at party after party, being asked to do it. I started having to bring my own records, so I would be better prepared to make it look real good. Not long after that, I was practicing in my apartment; all for the chance to please a few kids who would laugh about it while it was happening, and then go back home to not give it much thought anymore. During one of my weird and fun performances, a guy jumped up on the counter next to me, and started lip-syncing the vocals. It was a particularly voice-heavy song, which was my bad, so I was relieved he went up there to keep the energy up while the guitar wasn’t going. I would normally just keep dancing on my own, but it felt great to have a partner. After we were done, we left the party together to talk. He told me about his life, and I told him about mine. We both loved music, and were enamored by rockstars, but we weren’t musicians. Like, we were both really bad, there was no hope for us. Or rather there was, because as it turned out, there’s money to be made in pretending to play an instrument on stage. No joke.

This story does not involve a down-on-his-luck talent agent who discovers us at one of our not quite impromptu gigs, and decides to take us under his wing, even though his contemporaries laugh at him for it, but he believes in us, or truthfully, he believes in the cash that’ll be coming to him if he plays this right, so he gets so greedy that it nearly destroys us, but we come back stronger than ever, and go down in history as legends, and eventually end up in a sensationalized documentary. No, none of that happened. But we did start a band. We found ourselves a drummer—who was an actual, real drummer, by the way, so we never totally understood why he walked this path with us when he could have joined a legit band. We even got someone to pretend to play bass. It was my job to dance around and look pretty, while he always stayed lowkey. It sounds kind of stupid, but we made it work, and he was a pretty big draw for some of our crowds. And we did have crowds. Our rise to fame was shockingly parallel to what real bands go through. We started with small audiences, which grew bigger and bigger, until we were nationally famous, and then internationally so. Big in Japan, as my air vocalist liked to say. It still amazes me that any of this went anywhere. I guess it happened during the perfect time period. It was late enough for rock to be loud and showy, but before internet video, which might have saturated the market too much for us to make a name for ourselves. I don’t think we had much of a hand in developing the art form. Plenty of others were doing the same thing as us, though mostly as solo acts. We were just kind of this niche act that only made us enough money to keep doing it, but not do anything else with our lives, at least for as long as it lasted. The novelty wore off within a decade, and we each had to find real jobs. We remained good friends, though, and even played a final reunion gig a year ago before our bassist died. Yep. It was a wild life.

Microstory 1723: Pair of Compasses

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Pamela. You are my compass. When you found me, I was nothing. I was going nowhere in my life. My father, may his soul rest in peace, did everything he could to point me in the right direction, but when I lost him, I lost myself. Instead of honoring his memory, I continued on a pointless path, and made nothing of myself. Then you came along; my light in the dense forest. You showed me that it wasn’t too late, and that there was still hope for me. I will forever be grateful for where we have gone together, and how far we’ve come. Now, I know that I strayed from the path a little, and for that, I will forever be ashamed. But you forgave me my transgressions, and that just proves how perfect we are as a team. You knew that, even then—even after all I did—with my ex...and her ex, and your sister...and your sister’s ex—you knew—you knew that I was still redeemable. I will never be able to make up for what I did, but I believe together, we can walk towards a beautiful future. I will no longer attempt to walk alone, or find my own way. I will surrender to your wisdom. Your needle always points North, and knowing that, we can make our way to any way that we wish. Um. I think this metaphor is getting to be a little too much. Just give me a second. Notecards, I know, but...just hold on. (Let’s see, don’t want to bring this up—I’ve rethought this whole part of the  speech—my brother said that was an inappropriate—hold for laught—oh, never mind). Okay. Pamela. Poetry aside, I would just like to promise you that I have successfully changed my ways. You changed me, and you won’t have to worry about me ever again. As long as you’re by my side, I’m certain that we can get through anything. I vow to be faithful and fearless, interesting and inspiring, mesmerizing and motivating, and successful and satisfying. I can’t wait to begin the next leg of our journey together. Thank you.

Chaz. I think you’re right, I’m a compass. But you are a compass as well. You could even say that we are a pair of compasses. I don’t mean that we’re just two mariner’s compasses. We are the drafting instrument that architects and engineers use to make their designs accurate. I don’t mean to say that we are building something great, or that our home is perfect. The truth is that nothing has been remotely perfect about our lives together. Yes, you cheated on me, and I’m not sure why we needed a rundown of your offenses. Well...I think we all know that those were only about half of your offenses, and that it only includes the ones I actually know about. Who knows how many more there are? Which children here today are yours? Do we even know? I joke, I joke. You’re right, I forgave you for what you did. And that brings us back to my metaphor. (I admit, I took a peek at your vows, which is why I’m prepared to say what I’m saying now). When I took you back, my friends pointed out what we mean to each other, and what our potential is. I didn’t listen to them, but now I know that we truly are a pair of compasses. You see, the compass drawing tool involves two legs. One is steady. It stays in place, while the other makes the drawing. You are the steady leg. You plant yourself in one spot, and I revolve around you. That is our pattern. All we do is make circles. Sure, we can make smaller circles, and sometimes even larger ones, but we can never escape the pattern. We just go ‘round, and around, and around. The only way to break the cycle is for me to break the compass, and set myself free. So I’m leaving you, Chaz. You can sleep with whomever it is you want. It’s not my problem anymore. Goodbye.

Varkas Reflex: Vacuum (Part VI)

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Hokusai didn’t know what was wrong with this planet, or why it suddenly needed her help. She made a point of staying out of its business, requesting that Pribadium not bother her with such matters while they were working, or visiting. She was worried, though, that someone had decided to use her technology for evil, or maybe even just something misguided, which could have similar negative results. Katica led her down the hallway, out of the lab, across the way, and into the Capitol building.

Councilor Gangsta Dazzlemist was waiting for them in the lobby. “You were right. She got here fast.”

“May I ask what this is about?” Hokusai looked around at the walls, as if this were a trick, and the building would collapse in on her like something out of a space war movie.

Gangsta breathed in deeply, and Hokusai wasn’t sure what he did with the air, because it never seemed to come out. “I’m retiring from public service.”

“Congratulations,” Hokusai said to him sincerely.

“We need a replacement,” he went on.

Hokusai nodded. Now, she was literally a genius, and her intellect wasn’t limited to knowing how to calculate the Roche limit, or observational time through relativistic speeds. She picked up on social cues much easier than the average person, allowing her to tease out an individual’s subtext, and know when someone was lying. So when Gangsta told her they were looking for a replacement, she immediately understood he wasn’t just posting an update about his life in person. His microexpressions, coupled with the fact that they had lifted her exile, meant that she was here for a very specific reason. They were asking her to be that replacement. She didn’t know why, though. “I don’t know how I could do it. I live twenty-two parsecs away.”

He pointed at her with an upwards-facing palm. “Obviously not.”

“It’s this whole thing.”

“I understand,” Gangsta began, “that you did not simply stumble upon dimensional gravity, Madam Gimura. No one has ever done anything like it. They weren’t even looking for it. I don’t know what you are, and I don’t know how many others there are like you. I don’t really care. You’ve given us so much, and we gladly accept it. But please, do not think me a fool. I know you’re more than just a scientist, and that your expertise goes far beyond artificial gravity. I am in so much awe of you, and I will not tell anyone what little I know of your secret, including your ability to teleport between star systems.”

“It means a lot, hearing you say that,” she said, again, sincerely.

“You are not only my choice to replace me. You’re almost everybody’s.”

“How’s that?”

“Someone leaked your trial,” Katica explained. “They know who you are, and what you’ve done for them.” Leak was a strong word. The governments decided a long time ago that court cases should no longer have audiences. They were still mostly public record—unless the transparency endangered lives—but without the spectacle, those involved generally found the process to be fairer. Still, the information didn’t need to be leaked. It just required someone with the motives to raise their voice loud enough for people to hear it. Combined with artificial intelligences, there were now tens of billions of “people” in the stellar neighborhood. So being a loud voice was pretty hard. A public figure with as many fans as the most famous on Earth in 2016 would be barely considered a local celebrity by today’s standards. Any rando capable of getting a whole planet—even a low-populated colony—to listen was impressive.

“They’re asking me to become a councilor?” Hokusai questioned. “Because they think it was unfair that I was exiled? That’s a bit of a stretch.”

“It’s not because you were exiled, though that does help your popularity factor,” Katica said. “It’s because they know what you did for them decades ago. They know you’re responsible for artificial gravity, and for repairing our habitats before the colony vessels arrived.”

“That wasn’t me; that was my friends, Leona and Eight Point Seven.” The first human to set foot on Varkas Reflex was Leona Matic, when a mysterious quantum force commandeered her ship, and brought her here to fix some problems with the nanofactory.

“Close enough,” Katica contended. “You’re a hero, regardless, and the people want you to lead them.”

“That’s not really my thing.”

“We know,” Gangsta said. “We think it should be, though.”

She sighed. “I don’t even like how you run the government. Don’t get me wrong, to each their own, and I’ll gladly come back to live here, but it’s too informal. I appreciate that you wanna be laid back, but you could be so much more, if you were more motivated.” She repeated her point with an exaggerated accent that a high school math teacher she once had used to get his students interested in algebra, “motivaaation. Motivaaaaation.”

Gangsta smiled. “That’s what we’re counting on. The people aren’t looking for a new councilor. They want you to be Superintendent.”

Hokusai caught half of a chuckle before it escaped her mouth, but couldn’t stop the first half. The Superintendent was essentially the term choosing ones used to describe God. It was more metaphysically complicated than that, which was exactly why the word god was avoided in the first place. In this case, Gangsta was referring to a governmental position for someone who possessed questionable decision-making scope. A superintendent wasn’t responsible for running the state, but for managing the people who were responsible for running the state. They were staff managers, human resource representatives, the occasional conflict mediators. On the surface, they appeared to have the most power of all, since they were in charge of everyone, but they still answered to the people, and they couldn’t just fire and hire other leaders willy nilly. They had to remain reasonable, and accountable. Every colony but Varkas Reflex started out with a superintendent, but most stepped down after two or three full election cycles, because they were useful when starting out, but usually obsolete once the engine got going. Only Earth held onto their superintendent, because theirs was the highest populated world. It was just funny that Varkas was finally deciding to get on board with convention.

“You’ve been in your head for a good long while,” Katica pointed out. “Do you have a response?”

“My initial thought is no,” Hokusai answered.

“That makes sense,” Katica said. “It sounds like you. But you’re the one who hates how they run the government. What better way to fix it than to be the one in charge of coming up with a new one?”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Hokusai admitted. “While I believe what you’re doing now is not sustainable, I know that you don’t want to convert to a full mediatorial tetracameral legislature, and that’s the only one I know, because it’s the most common.” This type of government was composed of four parts. The population representative congress was there to speak for the needs of the civilians. They expressed their grievances to the two delegators, who met with separate advisory boards in order to come to decisions. Much like separate arbitration panels in the adjudicative system, the idea was, if both delegation boards came to the same conclusion, without talking to each other about it, it was probably the right one. The delegators then delegated the implementation of their decision to whichever administrators were in charge of whatever this change impacted.

This was all really complicated by design. Complexity often equaled more exploitable weakness, but also greater overall resilience. Maybe you could bribe one delegator to do what you wanted, but the other? Even if you did that, their irrational behavior would alert the mediator between them, so you would have to convince them to fall in line as well. Even so, the advisors would question why the delegators and mediator weren’t heeding their advice. The administrators would question their orders, and finally, the people would rise up against the injustice. And those people had the power to make swift changes to leadership personnel. It was practically impossible in Hokusai’s time to impeach a president, let alone remove them from office. Here, not so hard. If they wanted someone gone, they were gone. No one was entitled to power, and no one was entitled to maintain that power, once it was granted. These changes were positively unavoidable in modern times. No matter how good a leader was, there was too much risk of their control growing, well...out of control, over time. When accounting for immortality, this control could theoretically last for literal aeons, and that was probably not a good idea.

“You’re in your head again,” Katica warned her.

“Sorry, I was just going over what I would do if I were superintendent, and it always ends in disaster.”

“I don’t believe that,” Gangsta argued. “We’re not asking you to have all the answers today. Nor are the citizens. We just want you to get the process started. We all have immense faith in your ability to be fair, thoughtful, and sensitive to this planet’s unique needs.”

“Of course you may decline,” Katica started to add. “I urge you to give it some thought, though. Remember what happened the last time you made a rash decision, without knowing the consequences.”

Hokusai had never asked Katica to take responsibility for her own involvement in the memory wipe that was accidental from Hokusai’s side, but not from Katica’s. She glared at her now to remind her of this truth telepathically.

“Someone has to take care of us, and I can’t be the one to do it. Nature abhors a vacuum,” Gangsta quipped.

“Why do people always say that?” Hokusai questioned. “Nature loves a vacuum. It’s called entropy, and it’s kind of where everything in the universe is trying to get to.”

“Just think about it,” Katica requested. “In the meantime, you’re expected on the balcony.”

“The balcony?” Hokusai didn’t know what she was talking about. “Who’s on the balcony?”

“No one,” she answered. “You’re the one who’s expected. They’re waiting for your fence speech.”

“What the hell is a fence speech?” Hokusai asked.

“You’re on the fence, right?” Gangsta asked her.

Not really, but Katica was right that she should at least think about it. “You want me to go out there, and tell people I might consider maybe starting to almost kind of theoretically think about one day possibly entertaining the idea of hypothetically accepting a potential offer to perhaps, perchance, try to run for Superintendent?”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but yeah, I guess,” Gangsta confirmed. “As I said, they’re expecting you.”

“You shouldn’t have told them I would be here.”

“We didn’t,” Katica said. “Like we’ve been trying to explain, it wasn’t our idea; it was theirs. They have been waiting for you.”

“Demanding, even,” Gangsta corrected.

“Yes.”

Hokusai massaged the bridge of her nose. “They’re expecting a...fence speech?”

“Yes,” Katica confirmed. “They are not anticipating that you will announce your intention to run today. If you go out there, and humor them for five minutes, they’ll finally go away, and move on with their lives. They will want you to make a final decision within the week, though, so keep that in mind.”

“Fine. I’ll go talk to them, but I promise nothing.”

“That’s all we ask,” Katica said gratefully.

“If it’s a five-minute speech, I will need ten minutes to write it.”

“That’s okay,” Gangsta said with glee. “I’ll go back out and stall them with another attempt at playing the gravity organ.”

By the time Hokusai finished delivering her fifteen-minute long speech, she had already decided to run. She did so unopposed, and obviously won.

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Microstory 1354: Division (Part 1)

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Magnate Representative: Thank you all for coming in. We have some exciting things lined up for the next few years, and we wanted to get an idea of how some of our customers feel about what we’ve done so far. A little disclaimer, we chose you lot randomly. You have not necessarily spent more money on us than others. My department, in fact, does not have access to your purchase history. All we know is that you have bought at least one Magnate product or service. We also do not have access to customer complaints, or other routes for feedback. This is an entirely separate department. If you have voiced a concern about us in the past, however, and do not feel that the issue was resolved, please feel free to repeat it here. Does everyone understand?

Magnate Customers: [in unison] Yes.

Magnate Representative: Okay, to start us off, is everyone here aware that we sell products and services in the ten categories listed on this chart?

Magnate Customer 1: What exactly does Smart Solutions mean?

Magnate Representative: That is something we are going to talk about today. We’ve been picking up on some confusion regarding what that means, and would appreciate your input. Smart Solutions is our newest and broadest division. It encompasses everything from the materianet to renewable energy, to 3-D printing, to internet based cities.

Magnate Customer 2: Materianet?

Magnate Representative: It’s also known as the tangiblenet. We’re talkin’ non-screen internet-connected devices, like a refrigerator that tells you what you’ve run out of when you’re at the store, or even just a streaming security camera. Up until 2017, all divisions in this company have involved us getting into preexisting markets. We didn’t invent furniture, or toys, or cars. Smart Solutions is all about the future. Much of what that division does is determining what that future looks like, because right now, no one really knows.

Magnate Customer 3: Hm. Since it is so broad, maybe that is the best term for it, even if it causes a little confusion.

Magnate Customer 4: Maybe you could focus on marketing each department, since people already know what 3-D printing is, and all those other things. You can still use a term for the whole division, but that doesn’t have to be very client-facing.

Magnate Representative: Okay, okay. These are actually really good ideas. We’ve always advertised from the division down, but it doesn’t have to be like that. Let me take this note here.

Magnate Customer 5: Does the toy division include adult toys?

Magnate Representative: I’m sorry?

Magnate Customer 5: The toy division? Is it just for kids?

Magnate Representative: Uh...it is, sir. We do not have an adult toy department. All our products are very family-friendly.

Magnate Customer 5: Well, I bought an axe from you guys last month. Would you call that family-friendly?

Magnate Representative: I suppose not. There’s a safety issue when it comes to some of our products, like tools and vehicles. The problem with adult toys is we wouldn’t be able to keep kids from even seeing that they exist, and they’re just not part of our business strategy.

Magnate Customer 3: Speaking of which, what’s this I hear about the toy division being shut down?

Magnate Representative: I have heard those rumors too. That comes from an unfortunately leaked email from a year ago that discusses our long-term plans. With the increasing demand for virtual entertainment, physical toys may not have a place in the future. Nothing has been decided, and won’t be for at least another five years; probably longer.

Magnate Customer 3: Well, my kid is still gonna be a kid in five years.

Magnate Representative: Again, we don’t know what we’re going to do. We’re just going to listen to the market, and give our customers what they want. If enough people are like you, we will continue to provide them with fun, wholesome entertainment, like our line of dress-up kits.

Magnate Customer 5: I thought your whole thing was knowing what the future holds. You called it Smart Solutions.

Magnate Representative: That’s true, I said that, but no amount of predicting can be a hundred percent accurate. We still have to be able to adapt to unforeseen changes. But what I’m hearing is that you want us to be a little more confident in our decisions. Is that a fair assessment?

Magnate Customer 5: I don’t really know what that means, but I guess.

Magnate Representative: Okay, we can work on that. Let’s circle back to Smart Solutions later. I would like to ask you a few questions about your feelings on musical instruments. It is our least profitable division, but as you may know, it carries sentimental value to Mr. Burke, because of his grandfather. What are your thoughts on that?

[To be continued...]

Microstory 1051: Bert

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No, you’re not the first person to realize how many Berts we have at this school. Bertha, Herbert, a freshman named Bertil, and me. It’s actually my full name; it’s not short of Albert, or something. My parents came up with something simple, because they’re pretty lowkey, unremarkable people. That’s why I decided to start a band. Chester probably made you think it was his idea, but I’m the one who first suggested it. It may sound petty, but if we ever break up, it’s important to know who the name belongs to. Without any legal clarity, the primary founder basically has dibs. Besides, who’s ever heard of a drummer who’s in charge, am I right? I may not be much of a singer, but I can pluck a guitar with the best of ‘em, and nobody’s fawning over his drum solos, lemme tell you that. The truth is that I play a lot of instruments, but most of them aren’t heard much in bands. Many of them are brass, but I’m not much into ska, so we really need to keep away from that kind of sound. I suppose you could say we’re like Cherry Glazerr meets Of Monsters and Men. We’re great with that really rough, noisy grunge, but also love to focus on crystal vocals for some songs. Pearl was really great with that, and we’re all going to miss her. Hearing Addie, though, that’s really made me think that we’ve been going about this all wrong. She was the voice we were missing. They should have been handling that together. I don’t think we should be using her in a temporary capacity. We need to be finding a good, feminine voice that meshes well with Addie’s. I would rather sound more like Tegan and Sara than Chester’s Drum Circle Emporium. I didn’t make that up, by the way. Before I found him, he was trying to get all the percussionists in the high school band together to do an all drummers act. Can you imagine how terrible that would be? I love the guy, but he’s got some crazy ideas. I gotta remember to be more positive, and less critical, though. All bands fall apart because the members can’t work together. I don’t care what you say about your Yoko Onos, or that bullshit term “creative differences”. The one and only reason is they can’t get along, so it’s important that we continue to communicate, and find a new second singer who wants what we all want. Viola knew that, she was my girl. I don’t mean, like, she was my girlfriend, but she really understood what we were going for, even when we didn’t realize it ourselves. Did Chester tell you she designed our website, and supported us before anyone else did? She also got us this huge festival gig in Jordan that I’m really looking forward to. We can’t go in there with only three people, though. Duos and trios can sound great, but we’re not making it work. We need a fourth. I would even propose a fifth if we weren’t already in such a heavy transitional period. I’m thinking about asking Dolly if she wants to audition. Then we could change our name to ABCD. I’m fine with goin’ second. Wadya think? You ever hear her sing?

Microstory 802: Fountain of Truth

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The first thing I remember is standing in a brightly lit hallway, full of doors. I didn’t wake up, or come to. I just slowly started realizing there were these things around me that I could see, as if someone else had been driving my body, and I was slowly taking back control. “It has begun,” came a voice from nowhere and everywhere. “What do I do?” I asked. The voice instructed me to check my pocket. I expected to find a key, because of all the doors, but there was only a note that said I had to pick a fountain, and that the wrong choice would get me killed. I opened the nearest door to me to find a giant two story fountain. Leaves were carved into the base, and stone fish were somehow suspended in the jets. I stepped back out, and opened the door right across from it. There was fountain in this room too. Jets perpetually shot up from the bottom, and inexplicably disappeared into the darkness above it, forming the shapes of musical instruments. I opened a third door to find another fountain, just as large, but it couldn’t be that big, because I’ve already opened the one next to it. They should be overlapping. I’m supposed to choose a fountain, but I feel no connection towards these ones, nor with any other I check. So I run. I run as far down the literally endless hallway until I can run no more. Might as well let my muscles tell me which door to open.

Inside the room to my left is a fountain that’s much smaller than the others have been, barely reaching my waist. Water is bubbling out from the center, pooling to the sides, and spilling into a drain along the rim. It’s the simplest one yet. I’m reminded of a movie I saw once where the right choice was not the most extravagant, but the least. If this isn’t the answer, there is no answer. I reach my hand into the fountain, and let the water tickle my skin. After a few seconds, though, the water turns to acid, and begins to burn. I immediately pull it out, but the fountain isn’t about to let me off that easy. Burbling turns to spurting, which turns to shooting and spraying. The basin cracks, letting out more acid. It tips over and breaks open. Now the acid is rushing, out from the floor. I run out of the room, but by the time I get a few meters away, the threat behind me has grown into a full blown hurricane flood. There’s no way I can get out of this, but my survival instinct is not hampered, and I just keep going. Thinking I have no other options, I decide to open another random door, and hope the magic acid also magically can’t enter other rooms. “I did it! I got it right!” I hear. There’s another girl in this room, having presumably been given the same choice. She’s bathed in the luminous water of her fountain. The acid hasn’t burst open the door, but it has begun to seep under the door. The other girl is being lifted into the air, so I take a chance, and grab onto her foot. We’re lifted to safety together. Now I just need to convince her to help me figure out who did this to us.

Microstory 791: Swan

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There is no creature in this universe, or any other, with a more beautiful singing voice than the Slrdr. God created us in her image, which means that we are all human, in some form, or another. The Slrdr, however, are an exception to this that few understand. Their most notable feature may be that they have eight genders, each one vital to the development of scion, but this characteristic has a match in Slrdrn music. Regardless of gender, all Slrdr are born with two separate vocal cords, which allow them to produce an array of musical permutations otherwise relegated to artificial instruments. Since the species evolved with hearing that was superior to their other senses, music has become the most important component of their culture. A Slrdr who cannot sing is...well, not quite a Slrdr. Unfortunately, these individuals do exist, and they are—somewhat affectionately, but also somewhat dismissively—called swans. Though untrue, there is an ancient Earthan belief that swans do not sing until the moment of their death, at which point they will melodically produce a final farewell to the world. The Slrdr kind of swans are born with dysfunctional vocal cords, which either renders them completely mute, or with minimal vocal power. Indeed, when humans first met the Slrdr, they were skeptical about the concept that these people will suddenly gain a previously unhad capability, just before expiring. Yet years later, a xenopologist had the occasion to meet a swan who was nearing the end of her life. As promised, she mustered all of her strength, and belted out her own death knell. Legend has it that she could be heard all the way to the next star system, but of course this part was a gross exaggeration. At the time, the xenopologist reported his observations, but was unable to gather enough data to explain how this was possible. He postulated that her muteness was merely psychological, rather than physiological. Decades later, a group of human and Slrdr scientists set about to study the phenomenon in a more controlled environment. A swan jesh, whose gender would generally give her the responsibility to teach her ensemble’s clutch how to sing, was suffering from an incurable terminal disease, and was on her way to the end. They placed her in an imaging chamber, and discovered that her body was transforming on a cellular level. Organs usually used for breathing and temperature regulation reassembled themselves into a new configuration—one that resembled Slrdrn vocal cords. Her body was killing itself so she could make music with her voice for the first and only time in her life. Somehow, it knew that she didn’t have long left, and instinctively provided her with something she had never experienced before. Her swan song was recorded, and is to this day, the most popular piece of music in the galaxy, played in households on every planet to ease children to sleep. Leading researchers still do not quite know why a swan would be able to do this. The current theory, however, is that it’s an evolutionary reaction. Many socially-dependent species developed a trait that cause them to call out to their community when in trouble. It is believed that swans, even while suffering this handicap for their entire lives, are alloted the dignity of not dying alone, and unheard.

Microstory 782: Sax

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One of my favorite bands growing up was Sunday Think About It, in no small part because of their variety of instruments that they used. I listened to their debut album, I Miss U!! I don’t know how many times. You can imagine how excited I was when I won tickets on the radio to see their Hudson City show, which would be their only Usonian stop during their international tour. The package included, not only two backstage passes, but also the opportunity to hang out with the band after the show. My best friend, Daleka and I were so incredibly excited, but there was just one problem: we lived thousands of miles away, and we had no money, and no vehicle. Our parents were supportive of us going, but since we had no way of getting there, they obviously didn’t think it would be a problem, so maybe that wasn’t so genuine. Well, we sure showed them. Keep in mind that this was a time before cell phones and security camera facial recognition. Back in these days, if you were caught on a train without a ticket, the conductor would send a message to the next station, where a law enforcement officer would be waiting for you. Of course, if you had enough cash on you, you could just pay for a ticket without dealing with the authorities, but if you had the money in the first place, you probably wouldn’t have had to sneak on at all. We played it right, though. He came by to check tickets, and we pretended like we were looking for them, freaking out about having lost them. There were real tears, and everything. We put on a good show. Fortunately, we are on the express line, which meant the stops were few and far between, so it would be awhile before he could let us off. He took pity on us, and agreed not to involve the law, I kind of always felt bad about us manipulating him.

As far as we had gotten, we hadn’t gotten far enough. We were able to hitchhike a few more legs, but that soon got tiring, and people weren’t willing to take us very far without being paid. We needed better options, so we thought up a new approach. Daleka had brought with her a saxophone, hoping that the band’s saxophonist at the time, Lochana McGiddy would sign it for, oblivious to the fact that nothing writes well on brass. Neither of us actually played the saxophone, but I was a decent flautist, so I knew I could figure it out. Every city we went to, we would find parks with the most number of visitors, and perform for them. We realized our shtick was better off with humorous undertones, with me “purposely” playing poorly, and Daleka dancing ridiculously. Well, we made it to the concert on time, and it was great. Unfortunately, we never did get to meet the band, though, as there were some failures to communicate that were beyond our control. As it turns out, the radio people didn’t have everything in order. Then about ten years later, someone on the internet invented a website where you could post short videos. Someone else, in one of the cities that paid our way to Hudson uploaded some footage from our performance. In response to this, others realized they had seen the same act in their own cities, and uploaded our other performances. Somehow, the band members of Sunday Think About It at the time caught wind of this, and saw our morning show interview about it. Feeling bad for having failed to meet us those many years ago, they invited us to Austin; paid our way, and everything. We started a jam session, and well, granddaughter of mine, you can guess the rest. I spent the next twenty-four years as their saxophonist.

Microstory 769: Hen

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In 1867, Eoin Burke, having traveled from Ireland to the United States, began a musical instrument manufacturing company called Hudson Euphonics Neorama with his friend, Cyril Kader. Of course, it started out small, but gradually grew as word spread, and their work became popular. Their ability to create custom-build instruments at a high turnover earned them a brilliant reputation in the midwest. Things went really well for them for half a century, until Cyril fell ill, and died. Cyril’s son took over the business, and was not at all interested in maintaining their image as a family business. Through some legal maneuvering, Junior Kader managed to push Eoin out of his own business, leaving him with virtually nothing. Though he was seventy years old, he had but a few years ago fathered a son out of his marriage, then realizing his and his wife’s inability to conceive children was due to her infertility, rather than his sterility. He fell into a deep depression, which coupled with his advanced age, prevented him from effectively caring for his son. Hearing the story of his grandfather’s struggles inspired Manus Burke to start his own company, one hundred years later, almost exactly to the day, in 1967. By then, HEN had expanded into several unrelated industries, transforming it beyond recognition. Wanting to immediately begin competing with an organization he considered to be his family’s enemy, Manus started out in the furniture sector, which was HEN’s weakest at that point in time. His success with this allowed him to later start competing with HEN’s second weakest division of clothing ten years later. And then a pattern formed, with Magnate entering new markets after about five years of slowly overtaking the previous one. In 1992, in honor of his family’s legacy, Magnate began manufacturing musical instruments, and though they were never able to become more successful in this than HEN, or other competitors, the division survived by utilizing profits from other divisions. For his own reasons, Manus Burke kept the secret of what HEN had done to his grandfather to himself, not even fighting about it with the original company’s leadership, as it changed hands over time. Only after his death did the truth come to light. The new Chief Executive Officer of HEN, Cassarah Hardwick was horrified to learn of her company’s dark history, and worked to mend relations between it and the new Magnate executives, Manus Burke’s two estranged daughters. This marked the beginning of one of the greatest business partnerships in the country.

Microstory 749: Puppy Foot

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When Almevary Balik was but a few months old, as her parents claim it, her first words were puppy foot. As impressive as it was that she spoke at such a young age, and that the utterance was composed of two words, it was even more impressive when considering how unlikely it is she even once heard the pair combined. Puppies have paws, rather than feet, and her family was made up of strictly cat people. She had essentially come up with a term on her own, which is something adults do every day, but infants, not so much. The phrase stuck with her, as family members would brag to anyone within earshot how intelligent and precocious Alma was. She herself couldn’t hear the end of it either, and when her rock band was trying to decide on a name of themselves, it was the obvious choice. Alma was the band’s frontwoman, and business leader. There were many small venues available to perform in, but she knew which ones to accept, and which to turn down. She did her homework, researching bigger and bigger names that were at all involved in the music industry, tracking their movement. Basically, she was looking for them to be discovered without it being obvious. Though the gigs they chose did not necessarily pay well up front, knowing who was in the audience paid off later. In months, they were skyrocketing to stardom, first by being an opening act for Peter Fireblood, and then being invited to tour with You’re Bad Grammar. Puppy Foot was soon a global phenomenon, but good things are never meant to last. Alma started receiving uncomfortable messages from one of her fans. In once sentence, he would speak of their destiny together, then her brutal death in the next. She contacted the authorities, but they were unable to do anything about it without a name. Over time, her stalker grew bolder, showing up as a shadow behind her on the street, and then sneaking into her trailer to move objects around. Still, the police could not catch him, because he did not so much as show his face to her once. Theoretically because this distant gaslighting was becoming too impersonal, one night, he decided to take things to the next level, and confront her directly. She was alone in her apartment when a werewolf burst through her window, and started growling at her. She tried to reason with him, but he refused to back down. We may never know exactly what the stalker werewolf intended to do, for as he stood up and prepared to attack, Almevary Balik grabbed the nearest object; an elvish star flute. She swung it towards him, and sliced off his whole front paw. This distracted the stalker long enough for her to get away, and find help. He bled out in her livingroom before he could be arrested.

Microstory 737: Credos, Convention Nine: Commitment, Chapter Two

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For a long time, the girl was embarrassed of her shameful jalaxian harmony bowl performance. She immediately gave it up, and fell into a depression, spending her days in self-pity and remorse. Her father decided that she needed to get out of her own way, and stay busy. If she couldn’t play the jalaxian harmony bowl, then maybe she needed to help other people play it. Though he was not known for designing the bowls himself, he was an accomplished metal worker, and knew he could figure out how to do it. He brought her on board for a new department in his small business, where they learned to make harmony bowls together. She took to the trade quite well, enjoying the tediousness and focus that metalwork forced her to adopt. She was starting to think that she should go into the family business permanently once she was finished with her general studies. Meanwhile, her infamous recital piece was uploaded to the global network so that anyone and everyone could see it, and make fun of her. Some of the comments on her video were offensive, but many were more playful. A not insignificant number of people were actually suggesting that she become a comedian. Those closest to her made their own remarks, saying that what she lacked in talent for the harmony bowl, she made up for in her stage presence, and comedic timing. When she wasn’t in school, or building harmony bowls with her father, she was practicing her comedy act at local establishments. This was becoming difficult to manage, however. She never had time to sleep. Her studies faltered, her work at the factory was subpar, and her comedy routines were rather weak. She asked her mother, “what am I to do? I cannot handle all this at once. But I must study to earn my degree, and I have an obligation to the factory, and comedy is my passion.” The mother sat down and spoke. “You are trying to do too much. You cannot divide your attention to so many things at once. If you want to be good at any one of them, you must devote all of your time to it.” “But what will happen to the other two things?” the girl asked. Her mother answered, “you will not be able to do all three. You must decide what is most important to you.” “I don’t know what that is,” the girl said, “they’re all important.” “I cannot choose for you.” So the girl made the decision on her own. She stopped working at the factory, and started concentrating most substantially on her education. She continued to work on her comedy, but only when she had extra time, for no matter what she ended up doing with her life, she would need her degree to fall back on. When she grew up, she refocused her efforts back on comedy, committing to her skill with vigor. She utilized what she learned in school to make her jokes more meaningful and thought-provoking, able to make references to history and pop culture she would not have been able to without a well-rounded education. She even incorporated a little manufacturing into her routines, building her own custom-made props to accentuate the skits. And she became one of the most famous comedians in her world.

Microstory 736: Credos, Convention Nine: Commitment, Chapter One

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The wandering boy lifted his lower leg from the canister. “Wow, these stories all seem to be about people working together.” He filled his special communication cup with water and sought help from the fish woman. “What am I to learn from these canisters?” he asked. “They all seem to be teaching me the same thing.” “Be patient, my child,” the fish woman said. “You will understand, but you must finish the canisters first.” “Has anyone else been on this quest before? Or am I the first? If so, will I be the only?” “The canisters are meant for but one. They are meant for you. Others have tried, but failed to learn. Because of this, they have lost the new light...and have lost themselves. You must complete the task, and you must figure out what it means.” “I will,” the boy affirmed. “I will.” And so the boy placed his leg into the much deeper ninth canister, and watched the next lesson, which was much shorter than the others. There was a girl who wanted to play the jalaxian harmony bowl for scores of people. But she never wanted to practice. She dreamed of the day when she would be able to walk on stage and start playing and everyone would be soothed and happy by her music. But she didn’t understand what it took to get to that point. She figured all she had to do was decide to become a jalaxian harmony bowlist, and one day, she would be good enough. She failed to recognize all the hard work in between. Her teacher kept asking her to work harder, but she would not listen. She could not hear her own notes; that she was not playing them correctly. Finally the day of her first recital was upon her. Still she thought she was good enough to play, for she had never truly listened to herself. The performance was a disaster. She made a fool out of herself, and made it awkward for everyone else. She had not committed to her trade, and because of this she could never be great.