Microstory 2057: Precision of Language

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The interview went about as well as it could. He didn’t seem to have a problem with the fact that I didn’t have a résumé. I spent so much time traveling the bulk, and dealing with all sorts of wildly different people, I almost forgot how unusual I am. I’m neurodivergent, which doesn’t mean much in the extreme diversity of the multiverse, but it matters here. The reason I’ve been saying this planet is boring is not just because the headlines are pussycat tame compared to the kind I’m used to, but people seem to be mostly humorless too. At least when people back home would make absolutely dreadful approximations of jokes, I knew that they were trying. They wanted to be funny, they just weren’t very good at it. Metaphor, simile, analogy, hyperbole; these all go over these people’s heads. By that I mean, you failed to comprehend it, not that an object moved over your physical head. I told the interviewer that I’ve been to a thousand parks in my day, and he wanted to see my log of them, which he assumed I would need in order to come to such a precise figure. He didn’t understand that I didn’t mean it literally. I’ve just been to a lot, but probably still under a hundred, I don’t know. When I explained as much, he understood, so these people are not like Drax in the Guardians of the Galaxy franchise. They don’t have to take things literally, but it’s not intuitive for them to pick up on things like sarcasm and emotional nuance, and they have to think about it for a moment once you clarify. Fortunately, they also don’t seem perturbed about it, like the society in The Giver, which emphasizes something called precision of language. Listen to me, making pop culture references that you don’t get, because these stories don’t exist here. I guess that’s what I’ll do with my time. You do have fiction here, but it’s got to be different than the kind in other worlds if they’re more about just telling the story, and less about the poetry. Hopefully I hear back from the garden soon. I’m ready to get my hands dirty. Just so you understand, getting one’s hands dirty is an idiomatic expression that usually means being able to put in the work to accomplish something, rather than just sitting by and letting others do it. It can sometimes mean doing something bad, but it doesn’t have to. In my case, it’s to be taken seriously, though, so don’t worry. Gardening is dirty work.

Microstory 2056: Good Word For Me

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My mother always told me that the best way to succeed is to know people. I never put much stock into that, because I didn’t want to believe it. I remember watching some movie or TV show a couple of years ago. A guy was trying to get out of a speeding ticket, or something, so he promised the cop to help his son get into college. I think he was lying about knowing the Dean, or whatever. It was a ridiculous scenario. The speeder didn’t know this kid, or whether he belonged at that college, but the cop was willing to overlook that, because he was desperate. I guess he expected the speeder to make a phone call, and just randomly drop the name of an applicant who should go to the top of the pile. I can’t remember how all that turned out, but the fact is that networking is real. Only twice have I applied to a job, secured an interview, and then gotten that job. When I was still a kid, my dad signed me up for my lifeguarding certification. A friend from church owned a maintenance contractor. A friend of a friend knew about a warehouse who was hiring a lot of seasonal employees. That’s mostly how I’ve conducted business, and I find it incredibly annoying. Don’t put out a want ad online for employees if you’re just going to hire your old roommate’s slacker nephew, okay? But despite my “principles” I’ve played along with the game. I’ve taken my opportunities. I jumped at the chance to sleep in this finished attic from the nurse at the free clinic, and when she had a lead on a job, I jumped at that too. I have an interview for an entry-level gardening position tomorrow, but my landlord is pretty confident that I’ll get it, because no one else seems to be applying, and because she put in a good word for me. That’s all it takes sometimes. I don’t like it, but I’ll benefit from it, because if I tried to go through this life without any help, it would turn out to be a rather short one, I’ll tell ya that much. So anyway, wish me luck, and all that. Or don’t, if it goes against your principles.

Microstory 2055: My Real Problem

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Not much to report today. The medicine is working, and I’m feeling better. I’m trying to focus on getting a job, and not worrying too much about my requirements for that. It just has to give me some kind of steady income, and my employer can’t get hung up on my lack of social security number, or whatever other info this country expects out of me. I’ve not found anything yet. Unemployment seems to be rather low here. There are about as many jobs as there are people, and my arrival has thrown off that balance. I don’t know why I said that. I don’t really know how any of this works. I try to spend a little bit of time every day getting an idea of what exactly is different about this world, but there’s no real way for me to understand. My real problem is that I don’t have any résumé to speak of. I mean, I do, but I can’t prove any of it, since I lived in a different universe at the time. Still, I’m putting out feelers, as they say. Nothin’ yet, but I’ll keep looking. It’s only been a few days. I’ve spent months looking for work before, so I’m not going to be discouraged quite yet. Then again, I was living in a lot of privilege before. Now I have nothing to fall back on. I’m alone. That’s not true. I have this great finished attic, and I’m so grateful for it. Still, I don’t want to overstay my welcome. It’s important that I figure out how to take care of myself. I think I’m going to have to start hanging out in the side lot of a home improvement store as a day laborer, if that’s even a thing here.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: January 16, 2399

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          Arcadia takes a breath, recalling the techniques she learned in her pregnancy classes. She badges into the lab, and smiles at Mateo. He jumps out of bed when he hears the sound of the door, almost like he’s scared. They’ll have to talk about that. Or rather, she’ll have to take it out of his brain. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“This body slept for the first ten years of its life,” he explains. “I didn’t sleep.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” She argues.

“It does. I feel perfect, because I haven’t been alive long enough to be worn out.”

She paces a little, like a psychologist brought in to speak with the psychopath in his cell, because he may have vital information on a case that the police who employ her are working on. “Is that how you see it, a rebirth?”

“In a way, I guess. Is this gonna be on the test?”

“No test,” she says. “We’re just talkin’.”

“I can feel you trying to get into my head.”

“I wasn’t aware your superempathy had a more general psychic component.”

“It’s not superempathy,” he corrects. “It’s just a psychic bond that I share with my team. Well....most of my team.”

“You’re referring to newly added member, Alyssa McIver.”

“Miss Preston, if you would like to read my mind, all you have to do is ask.”

“Fine. Ramses doesn’t know how to build a simpatico detector. He’s asked me to come in and verify your identity.”

“Great. I’m not lying.”

“You may not be, that doesn’t mean that you’re who we need you to be.”

“You think my mind has been tampered with.” Not a question.

“It’s an undeniable possibility that we can’t ignore.” She pauses. “Especially since I’ve already caught you in a lie. I don’t know why you fibbed about your timeline, but I can already tell that you’ve been back on Earth for longer than you said. By my reckoning, you returned on January 14.”

“Okay, I know that looks bad, but it’s not what you think. I was just trying to time my arrival to coincide with the AOC’s since I was supposed to be on the AOC.”

“You’re telling me that it was a lie to cover up another lie. It’s not looking good, Mateo, if that even is your real name.”

“I wanted to protect Leona. She didn’t need to hear about my supposed death.”

“And you figured you would be able to expect Ramses and Alyssa to go along with it without any preparation?”

“I didn’t get the timing right. I thought I would be able to sense him once they got into orbit, but it wasn’t until he was in the lab already. At that point, it was already too late. But yeah, I was hoping he would see reason without any coaching. He’s a genius.”

Arcadia pretends to be receiving him. She begins to walk around the chamber, forcing him to rotate to keep her in sight. He’s still resisting her psychic intrusion, which isn’t a good sign. She made up with the real Mateo a long time ago. He would welcome the chance to prove his identity. She needs some real intel. “Let me into your mind.”

Mateo doesn’t do anything.

“You said that you would let me in if I asked.”

“That didn’t sound like a request to me.”

“Would you please let me into your mind so that I may verify your identity?”

“As you wish,” he says with an evil grin.

He opens his mind, except that it’s not his. It can’t be. An infinite expanse of isolation and loneliness. Billions of years of almost nothing but emptiness. Arcadia can feel it. She can feel what he’s feeling. It’s so cold. It’s so sad. It’s so terrible. It takes a minute for Arcadia to realize that she’s screaming.

“Arcadia, Arcadia, Arcadia. Shhhh. Shh, my darling, it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re back, everything is gonna be fine.” It’s Vearden.

She’s freaking out. “I’m back? Where did I go? Where was I? Tell me! Tell me what happened! Did I jump through time!”

He keeps trying to reply, but she’s not really letting him. She’s hyperventilating. “Put the oxygen back on, please,” he says to someone else in the room.

“No!” Arcadia cries. She starts ripping out the other medical things attached to her. That’s when she feels her belly. It’s gargantuan. “Wha—what the hell happened? She looks up to her love, tears in her eyes. “Vearden? How long have I been away?”

“You haven’t been away, dear. You’ve been in a coma. At least that’s the best diagnosis that the government doctors could provide.”

“How. Long.”

He frowns at her. “Two and a half months.”

“The baby? How’s Kendra?”

“She’s perfect. She’ll be coming soon, Dr. Best thinks.”

Arcadia nods. “What happened to Mateo? Where is he? He’s dangerous. There is something wrong with his mind.”

“That’s all been dealt with,” Vearden assures her. “You don’t have to worry about anything except taking care of yourself, and our little girl.”

She nods again. “Hey, Vearden.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s happening.”

“What’s happening?”

“The baby. She’s coming.”

“Now?”

“Yeeeeeeeeeaaaaaargh, right now!”

Vearden reaches up and pushes the big mauve button. When more nurses flood into the room, Vearden shouts, “she’s going into labor!”

They all move to their stations, and start getting things ready. One of them checks under Arcadia’s gown. Another handles the IV bag and monitor. A third leaves again to retrieve the doctor. It takes a really long time for him to return. When he does, Dr. Best is not the one following him. It’s some random woman in a white lab coat.

“Where is Dr. Best?” Arcadia demands to know.

“I’m afraid Dr. Best is trapped in an elevator, and won’t be able to help you. It’s my first day at this facility, but I’ve been a gyniatrician for eighteen years, I have full clearance, and I’ve been fully briefed on your situation.”

“Someone needs to teleport to Dr. Best,” Arcadia begs.

“That’s not possible,” Vearden says apologetically. “Not these days.” He looks back up at the substitute doctor. “What’s your name? It’s important.”

“I’m Dr. Suggitt. Dr. Cheyenne Suggitt.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: October 7, 2398

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Derina Torres accepted the position, though she took it under false pretenses. She believes that she will be working for Angela, and has no idea that Angela has plans to leave. It’s not going to be an immediate transition. Their best estimate for being able to escape this reality is still months away. That gives them plenty of time to make sure that Derina knows what she’s doing, and feels comfortable taking on more responsibility. She won’t be alone, which is what they’re working on today.

It was very important to Angela that the half of her replacement who will be in charge of the business side of things would be a woman. This was a woman-led company from the beginning, and she doesn’t really want to change that, especially not after all the misogynistic bullshit that she and Marie had to go through at their last company. Leona convinced Winona to convince whoever needed convincing to grant her temporary access to the United States Database of Working Individuals, or USDOWI, for short. No matter which world, in which reality, in which universe you go to, the government loves acronyms. Sorting the table of employed people was more complicated than it sounded when Leona first brought it up, but it still only took a day to create her top ten most wanted, and then pare it down to the best candidate. On paper, the best candidate is a man, but Angela is willing to sacrifice perfection for best fit.

Syntyche Söderberg, Soldier of Sustainability is not named for the reason you may think. Sustainability, in this case, does not refer to her feelings on environmental, or even social, responsibility. What she’s known for is dropping into startups and struggling businesses, and fixing whatever is wrong or lacking in them so well that their success lasts indefinitely beyond her departure. Her main competitors boast the same accomplishments, but the persistence of that success is dubious for most, and non-existence for a few. She knows what a company needs to thrive in the marketplace now, and in the future, and she does not accept the job if she thinks that it can’t be done. She stays on an assignment for as long as it takes, which may mean a week of observation and consultation, or a year of running the organization from the top down. If she can’t teach Derina to lead independently, she’ll find her own permanent successor.

Syntyche isn’t famous for her high ethics, but she’s not evil, and she does not allow the abuse of power, or the mistreatment of employees or consumers. Her focus is on profit and growth, which often leads to utilizing cheap materials, and overcharging for finished products, but according to anecdotal reports, she will forgo these objectives in order to conform to the principles of her clients. Well, at least she’ll meet them halfway. Let’s not go crazy here, she has a 92% success rate that she has to maintain.

They’re lucky to have caught her near the end of her current project. If she agrees to the contract, she will be able to begin in two weeks. She had her lawyer look over the paperwork yesterday, and is now sitting across from Angela, Alyssa, and Derina, silently crossing eyes and dotting teas. She takes off her reading glasses. “Where are you going?”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m just contracting you to help us grow.”

Syntyche chuckles, and looks back at the contract. “This binds me to seven months, with an extension to a full year, if necessary.”

“Right,” Angela confirms.

“Extend the extension to two years, and you have a deal.” She holds out her hand.

Microstory 1822: Child Support

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When I was growing up, my family told me to get a hard-working job. It may have been the very first thing they said to me. I bet I came out of my mother 65 years ago, and they said, son, you need to know the value of honest manual labor. They didn’t care how well I did in school, or how good I was at socializing with the other kids. They could still remember the great depression, even though a long time had passed for them already, and they didn’t want me to go through the same problems they did. It was a nice sentiment, but it wasn’t very forward-thinking. Since they didn’t value education, I didn’t have much of a chance to explore my strengths, and learn new skills. I went from one blue collar job to the next. This factory, that warehouse, this office basement, that farm. I know it sounds like I kept getting fired, but that’s not what it was like. I would just keep getting better opportunities, or have to move somewhere else. In those days, finding work wasn’t all that hard. People always needed people like me to do the things that they didn’t want to do, and which robots hadn’t figured out how to do...yet. That’s kind of what this story is about. I had heard that someone or something would be coming for our jobs, but I didn’t know that meant every job I was possibly qualified to do. I didn’t know the last job I lost would be the last I ever had. I had picked up so many skills along the way, but it seemed like they were all out of date before I was old enough to survive on my retirement. You may think I was bitter, but I wasn’t. I saw it coming. I am not against automation in general. I even made sure my kids got themselves some skills that would make them indispensable within the workforce. But my daddy didn’t teach me the same, so I was unprepared for it to happen so soon.

I’m sure glad I raised my children differently than my parents did. It was a bit of a double edged sword, though. Now that they were grown, and had built great careers for themselves, they had more than enough amongst them to support me and my wife in my early forced retirement. Her parents were even worse. No daughter of theirs was going to work a day in her life. She was expected to find a man to take care of her. That was meant to be my responsibility, and I was failing everybody. Not once did my kids make me feel bad about giving us money even though I wasn’t even 60 years old yet. They said they were more than happy to give back what we gave to them. I know that this happened. I know that I raised them, and taught them, and helped them. It just didn’t feel like enough, and it felt like they were giving back far too much comparatively. Things did not get any better as the years went by. It was incredibly stressful, asking them for a little help when my social security benefits weren’t enough. It was a little less stressful when they started sending us what was basically an allowance, so we didn’t have to ask, but it was still difficult. It was better for the most part when they decided to set us up with some kind of fancy computer account where money would automatically transfer from their banks to ours, but in other ways, this was worse, because I felt like such a disappointment. One thing I let go was my health. We chose to eat a lot of fast food, because it’s cheaper, of course, and we wanted to stay frugal, since we had not truly earned this money. On the upside, my early death is going to release the kids from some of the burden. On the downside, I’m worried about my wife’s health, and there’s also this annoying thing about suffering a lethal heart attack at age 65. That’s not great.

Microstory 1791: First Reflection

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I’ve always known that I was born a voldisil, but I’ve never had any special gift. For most of my life, I lived during a time when my kind could only be ourselves in secret. We didn’t tell anyone what we were, or what we could do. We weren’t out in the open until a man with the ability to heal felt he had to go public to save as many people as possible. Some of us weren’t happy about it, but I always admired his bravery. As I watched the news talk about him, and suggest there were others like him, I wondered whether I would finally find out what I could do. It didn’t happen. I lived the last couple years of my life without a purpose; at least in the voldisil way, that is. It’s only this last moment that I have finally figured out who I am. According to current statistics, about a hundred people die in the world every single minute of every single day. As I lay dying, the histories of each of these fallen strangers are flooding my brain. We’re not dead yet, but I just know that these are the people who are on their way out with me. If there is something on the other side of the death barrier, then the hundred of us will cross that threshold together. It is overwhelming and inspiring. Get something to record this, because I only have a couple of hours to live. I will be spending my last breaths on telling you these people’s stories in first person perspective. They’ve been through a lot. For some, their time has come, but for others, it is tragic and unfair. In the future, scientists will synthesize the healer’s abilities, and create a panacea, but until then, this is life. It always ends, and I am no exception. I shall begin this series with my own story.

Since I didn’t seemingly have any special abilities, my life was fairly normal and mundane. I really liked to paint, but I was never particularly good at it, and even if I had been, I don’t think I would have wanted to translate it into a career of any kind. I like for people to see my art, because I think it’s something that should be enjoyed, but I don’t need them to pay me, and I don’t need to become famous. I made a living working as a groundskeeper at a cemetery. You know, no one is really sure what makes a volidisil a voldisil. No one has been able to study them until recently, because we had not yet gone public. One of us that I met called us spirits, which evidently means our abilities come from our souls, as opposed to our minds or bodies. It appears that voldisil is merely one kind of these spirits, but I’ve never heard of any other, so perhaps she was mistaken, or they’re just straight synonyms. The point is, does my ability have to do with death because that’s what I dealt with my whole adult life, or was I drawn to the field because of my future ability? Is there any connection at all, or is it just a coincidence? After all, like I said, everyone dies, so maybe the link is just something that I’ve wrongly perceived. I suppose it doesn’t matter in the end, but it would be nice to understand where we come from, and how we are the way we are, and whether any reason is strong enough to combat the chaos. I’ll die happy and satisfied with the small way I contributed to the world, helping families move on despite the sadness. Others are not so lucky, like this next reflection, from the perspective of a man who couldn’t be nice to save his life.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Tuesday, October 21, 2228

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Now back on Earth once more, the AOC teleported to the transition window, and the crew waited for it to open. When it did, about a dozen men and women were standing there, holding weapons. They were extremely confused, having never seen any form of time travel before. Mateo decided it was best that he approach alone, with his hands up. “We mean you no harm,” he promised. “Why don’t you go ahead and put down those guns? You don’t need them here.”

They quickly retrained their guns on him. “What is this?” one of the men questioned. “Some kind of holo-trick?”

“Not a trick,” Mateo said. “You’re in a different reality. Whatever quarrel you have in the other world, it doesn’t exist here.”

“Bullshit!” he fought back. “Hold steady, boys! They’re just trying to get us to give up!”

“Give up what?” Mateo asked.

“Our land!”

“Who’s trying to take your land?”

“Like you don’t know.”

“Assume I don’t. You ever given anyone the benefit of the doubt before? What if I’m not lying? What if it turns out you’re pointing those things at friends, rather than enemies? How bad would you feel if you pulled the triggers, and you were wrong.”

The man faltered, but did not relent.

“Tell me your story. Perhaps I can help.”

The man waited a moment to respond. Then he eased himself, and held up three fingers. Everyone else lowered their weapons as well, except for three of them. They were clearly a team, since they knew which three his instructions were referring to. They were all dressed differently, though; not wearing uniforms. They didn’t look like soldiers, but farmers. Were they farmers? Was that still a thing? “We’re farmers,” the man explained. “We work at The Last Farm on Earth. Every job—every single job—has been taken over by some robot. We are the last human laborers in the world, and we can’t let go, no matter what you say!”

“I don’t know who’s trying to take your jobs, but I’m not. That’s not me. I’m just here to help. My windows, I don’t control them. They open up, and someone comes through. It’s my job to provide whatever it is they need, so I know how important it is to feel useful.”

“We don’t feel useless. We dig in the dirt with our hands, and we provide for our families, and we like it!”

“I don’t doubt it,” Mateo said. “Keep going. Who were you holding those guns against before the window opened?”

“The government, of course. They want to shut us down. They say we can keep farming in one of those giant towers, but that’s not real farming. That’s more like lab work. We wanna feel the sun on our necks, and the sweat in our eyes, and the bugs on our skin.”

“I get that.” He didn’t. “Why do they want to close the farm?”

“They want to turn it into another nature preserve, as if the world doesn’t already have enough of those already. That’s all there is now! Nowadays, people just live in computers. They don’t struggle. They don’t know the value of work.”

Mateo nodded. Personally, he didn’t care about any of this. Work was dumb, and he always admired the future people for figuring out how to get rid of it. Nerakali probably didn’t open the window to fix their stupid little farming problems. It most likely had something to do with whoever it was they were about to shoot. But still, these people were radicals, and even if he could stop them today, they would take up arms again tomorrow. The transition team wouldn’t be here tomorrow, so the solution had to come now. “All right,” he began. “How much money did you make last season?”

“Money? We don’t have money anymore.”

“Then how are you providing for your family?”

“With the produce that we...produce.”

“Okay. Your only customers are yourselves?”

“No, we distribute to the wandercrafts.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what those are.”

The farmer was taken aback. “They’re hover vehicles that people live in. Instead of arcologies, seasteads, underwater stations, or in space, they fly over the lands, enjoying the beauty of this world.”

“I see, so the establishments provide their own food, but the wandercrafts rely on farms like you to provide.”

“Well, I mean, they can always pop into the nearest arcology for a resupply. And...”

“And what?”

“And we’re the last farm, I told you that.”

“Oh, you did, yeah.” Yeah, Mateo wasn’t really listening to his ranting. “When was the last time a wandercraft came through?”

He mumbled something under his breath.

“I can’t help you if you’re not honest.”

“A year and a half!”

“Jesus, man. You’re not farmers, you’re toilers.”

“It’s just because people don’t—”

“...know the value of work, I get it.” Mateo sighed. Honestly, he tried real hard in the beginning, but his heart wasn’t in this one. It was just so ridiculous, and his mind kept drifting back to his relationship. Things were okay for now. Both of them just wanted to take it slow, and focus on their missions. It looked like that might be coming to an end, however. There just wasn’t a lot of danger in the world anymore, and people like them weren’t so necessary. If a farmers union was their biggest problem, then the main sequencers were probably doing okay too. He spoke into his cuff, “Leona, could you teleport to my location?”

Leona appeared next to him, and the farmers reacted by lifting their weapons once more. She paid them no mind. “Yes, my love?”

“What’s that, uhh....?” Mateo tried to remember. “What was that planet, the first one you went to? When you brought me back to life?”

“Proxima Doma,” she replied.

“And didn’t they have that one dome...?”

“Yeah, the Oblivios live in a special dome, where they think it’s the entire world, and they live like pioneers.”

“Yeah,” Mateo remembered, “you ever heard of that?”

“The Oblivios?” the farmer echoed. “Yeah, we don’t want our memories to be erased.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Mateo asked Leona.

Leona shook her head. “Not in this time period. In the future, there will be other primitive worlds in the stellar neighborhood, but not for a while.”

“Are you immortal?” Mateo asked the farmers.

“No, we’ll die one day, as God intended.”

“You got kids, though.”

“Of course we have kids.” The farmer seemed offended.

“How do they feel about farming?”

“They’ll learn one day, before we die. Our legacy will live on.” He looked proud of the decisions he had made.

Mateo started walking forward with a purpose. “I’m going through the window to take care of this. Please step back, so you don’t get sucked in. We’ll reach out when it’s safe to return.” He didn’t try to contact Nerakali. She was definitely listening at all times. He just kept walking forwards until the window opened up, and delivered him to the main sequence.

Two drones were hovering over the shoulders of a woman. She didn’t seem surprised by his arrival, or by the farmers’ original disappearance. “Greetings. I’m Inês Coleman.”

“I’m here to solve this crisis. I’m pretty sure you were about to die,” Mateo warned.

“That was my guess as well,” Inês agreed.

“Why are you pushing so hard to shut then down?”

“We’re not pushing that hard,” Inês defended. “This is the first time we’ve asked for them to relocate to one of our vertical farms.”

“They don’t want to do that.”

“Yes, I was picking up on that before you transported them to your reality.” Hm. She seemed to understand what he was.

“Just leave them alone. Their kids don’t wanna do this. Their parents will die out, and the era of human labor will officially be over.”

“Yeah, I really just came to make sure they knew all their options. We would love to close this sector. In fact, I’m not allowed to leave this planet until I return the last of the farmland to the wild. I can wait, though. I can wait them out.”

“Very well, so it’s settled.” Mateo turned to go back through the window. “Wait, where do you wanna go?”

“Gatewood,” she answered.

“Are you packed and ready?”

She looked down at herself. “I always have what I need on my person. I’m an elevated human.” Elevated humans were a form of transhumans that focused on biological upgrades, rather than technological implants. They didn’t feel the need to be able to interface with computers, or have superstrength. They just wanted to be able to live pretty much forever, and not worry as much about all the little inconveniences of being a regular human. They could last longer without sleep, rest, or nutrition, but they remained at least a little reliant on such things. They were immune to genetic disorders, and extremely resistant to disease.

“Nerakali, let’s just switch places,” he said into his cuff. “Send the both of us to The Parallel, and return the farmers to their farm in the main sequence.

“Can you really take me to Gatewood?” Inês asked, hope in her eyes. “I know they’re planning a mission there, but it’s classified. We’re all thinking the probe found signs of aliens.”

“I know people.” Mateo assured her. “I can get you there. And no, there aren’t any aliens...yet.”

So Nerakali sent the farmers back to toil in their lands for no reason, and brought Inês through to start a new life. They transported back to Kansas City, where Nerakali opened yet another window, right where some friends were preparing for their mission.

“You want us to take her with us?” Saxon questioned.

“Will that be a problem?” Leona asked.

“It’s a two-person job,” Thor clarified.

“Is there room for a third person?” Leona pressed.

“Space is not the problem,” Saxon replied.

“Then she can go.”

Saxon was suspicious. “What do you know of the future? Is this her destiny?”

“We’re from an alternate reality,” Leona explained. “She wasn’t there before, but she will be this time around.”

“Okay, well we don’t leave for another two and a half years,” Saxon told them.

“That’s fine,” Inês said. “I really appreciate it.”

Thor wasn’t convinced. “You do know that no one lives in the Gatewood Collective, right? We’re meeting up with the only two other people stationed there.”

Mateo smiled. “That’s what you think.”

Thor nodded, knowing it was best he not push the matter. He was different in this reality.

“Good luck,” Mateo said to the trio. “Two to beam up, Madam Preston.”

« < » > Table of Contents

Sic Transit...Labor (Part I)

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Freya and Limerick watched in horror as her mega dragonfly babies flew away. He reached up, and prepared to start plucking the strays out of the air, but was hesitating. “I...uh.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Do you want me to kill them, or...?”

“Yes, of course!”

Limerick grabbed one, and smashed it in his hands. It was a hell of a lot larger than a regular dragonfly, but as a newborn, still small enough for him to destroy in one move. He was able to snatch five more, but the rest managed to escape. “Sorry, I just...”

“Do you think that I think of those as my babies?” Freya questioned.

“Well, I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Freya said, shaking her head. “It’s not like you could have killed them all. And we both know what becomes of them. This is where the Ochivari begin. We did it. We created them.”

Limerick frowned. “Stable time loop. Engineers of our own fate.”

“Yes.” She frowned as well. Then she winced. Then she screamed.

“What? What is it?”

“It feels like a contraction.”

“There are more in there?”

“It’s different. That was incredibly uncomfortable, but not really painful. This is pain. It’s starting to be the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced.”

“Okay,” Limerick said, calming himself with some deep breathing. “I remember what you taught me when we thought you were just pregnant with a human baby. We have to assume this is that human baby, and work from there.”

“Whatever it is, get it out of me!”

She had technically been in some form of labor for the last several hours, so the real baby came out in a matter of minutes. She was crying and screaming, as any good baby should. Ten fingers, ten toes, and most importantly, no wings. The problem was that she wouldn’t let up. She just kept screaming and screaming. Both of them had heard babies before, but imagine the loudest baby in the world, and then turn that up to eleven. Finally, the scream seemed to reach some kind of apex. It was so powerful that it tore a hole in the fabric of spacetime, and sent all three of them to a different universe.

Once the technicolors faded, the baby’s cries stopped, like she knew she was in a safe place, or even knew how to navigate here. They found themselves in a very small clearing in the woods. It was beautiful and peaceful. Limerick rested his chin on his fist, and admired his little girl. “She must get that from you,” he joked.

“You make light of it, but this could be a problem.” Freya was still in a lot of pain, but being here made her feel safe and comfortable.

Limerick kept smiling. “She knows what she’s doing.”

“I don’t doubt it.” A young woman appeared from behind a tree. “You should name her. It’s bad luck to travel without a name.”

Now Limerick was defensive. “Who are you?”

“Thack Natalie Collins. I’m the one what brought your little team together. I see the goingson in other universes. This is where Landis is from.”

“Voldisilaverse,” Freya uttered.

“Your baby is a hundred percent safe here,” Thack claimed. We will always protect her.”

“We?” Freya questioned.

Thack reached up, and twirled her finger in the air. Other people started coming out of the woodwork, and approached nonthreateningly. They kept a little distance, though, presumably out of respect. “We are all voldisil. I foretold your arrival, and I gathered only the best, and most virtuous, among us, to help me create a haven for the little one.”

“They look like they’re waiting for something,” Freya pointed out.

“We’re waiting to take you to your new home,” Thack explained. “You really should name her first, though.”

Freya looked down at her precious love. She recalled a personal conversation she once had with Diamond Zek. Zektene was a teleporter Freya met a couple years ago, who was accidentally transformed into a diamond in the attempt to boost her abilities. They were talking about Freya’s new name, and Zek pointed out that the goddess, Freyja from Norse mythology bore two daughters of lore. One was named Hnoss, and the other Gersemi. Both of them meant treasure. Diamond Zek admitted to thinking it would be a good name for a girl. They weren’t really thinking about Freya having an actual child at the time, but looking back, it felt like destiny. “Treasure.” She sighed blissfully, and looked up at her daughter’s father. “Treasure Hawthorne.”

He smiled gratefully.

“Treasure Hawthorne,” Thack echoed, as if addressing the heir apparent. “This will be your home...for now.” She took a beat. “Come. You should see a doctor. Your physiology may be too different from ours, which could potentially lower the efficacy of the panacea. Once we determine that it will work, you are welcome to start taking it like everyone else.”

“This is the Landis panacea, correct?” Limerick figured. Landis Tipton was another member of their crew on the Cormanu. He had many abilities, but one of them allowed him to heal any wound or medical condition. He used it to cure millions of people on this version of Earth, and only stopped because biomedical scientists were finally able to synthesize a drug that people could take whenever they needed it.

“Yes. We call it Tiptokois.” Thack turned, and started walking away. The others waited until Limerick was able to help Freya up. They formed a security barrier around them, looking out for all dangers. Voldisil was a general term for anyone who was born with some kind of ability in this universe. They could be good, or they could be bad, and some chose to be bad. Neither Freya nor Limerick knew much about the culture here, or how prevalent bad voldisil were, and even if Landis had given them details, they didn’t know how much time had passed since he left to join their crew. These could all, in fact, be bad people pretending to be on their side. They didn’t know anyone here, though, so they had no choice but to trust them, and hope it didn’t backfire later.

They walked for maybe a kilometer before Thack stopped, and turned towards one of her people. “Are these good?”

A man stepped forward, and carefully inspected two trees standing opposite each other. He waved his hand in the space between them. “This will work. Gather inside.” They all crowded around, and waited. The man continued to wave his arms around, this time like he was dancing without his feet, or like he was playing a game with the wind. This wind picked up, and after a minute, blew them away. They instantly transported to a pair of different trees in an urban setting. They were spaced about the same distance apart as the first trees, and as they looked around, Limerick and Freya could see other pairs, at different spacings. It was an interesting form of teleportation that was unmatched by anything in Freya’s universe, despite the fact that a lot of people there could do it in some way, or another. Tree portals, she presumed to call them.

Thack continued to lead them forward, all the way to a small hospital. It looked like something out of an old timey one-horse town, but this was clearly a big city. Freya figured that made sense, because most people here would have access to Landis’ panacea, which mostly negated the need for traditional medical practices. The receptionist greeted them kindly, and then stood up from her chair, showing that she was wearing a lab coat. The others stayed behind while she led Thack, Freya, Limerick, and little Treasure to the back, where she revealed herself to be the doctor as well. Again, with such little need for medical infrastructure, there wasn’t much reason for anyone but a doctor to work in what might very well have been the only hospital on the whole planet.

They spent the rest of the day being examined, and undergoing tests. Blood draws, CAT scans, and urine samples; they were all quite familiar to them. Once it was over, the doctor sent them on their way, saying that the results would be ready in the morning. Thack and the voldisils accompanied them to their new home. It was just large enough for two people and a baby, but very nice and clean. This world was all about simplicity and efficiency. It didn’t need to be luxurious to be comfortable, and to have everything they needed. Their only neighbors were Thack and the other voldisil. There was no telling how long they had been preparing for their arrival. Different universes operated on totally unrelated timestreams. The moment they left salmonverse, and the moment they arrived here felt consecutive, but there was no telling how much actual time these people had to plan for this.

Time was simultaneously important, and not all that important. Freya and Limerick wanted to get back to their friends, but again, it didn’t matter how long they waited. There was no rush to leave when this world was perfect for them right now. So they stayed. They stayed for over sixteen years. All three of them were taking the monthly tiptokois pill, and keeping a stash of emergency class pills at all times. The former kept them young and healthy, and they never found themselves ever needing the latter. According to the history, volidisil once kept themselves hidden, working in the shadows to either make the world a better place, or a worse one. Landis was the first to step into the light, and show people what he could do. It inspired others to use their own gifts out in public. This transformed society, creating a one-world government, and shedding a lot of the pain and suffering that most civilizations lived through.

On a personal note, Treasure was a great child. She was nice, caring, and affectionate. She was disciplined, patient, and interested in learning. Thack taught a special study program at a community college on exoversal cultures. It was generally limited to adults, but they made an exception for Treasure for obvious reasons. Everyone loved her, but she didn’t have any close friends. This world loved and accepted people who were different, but she still always felt so foreign, and never really got over that. People didn’t realize either, or they probably would have tried to help. She was just so popular that no one noticed she didn’t hang out with a specific group, and didn’t have anyone outside her parents who she could trust fully, and confide in. She wasn’t depressed exactly, but she wasn’t super happy either, and that was a realization she had to come to herself. It happened this morning.

“Treasure Lydia Hawthorne, get in here right now!”

She knew what her mother was angry about, but she was going to hold firm. So she took a deep breath, and prepared for battle.

“What is this doing on the table?”

She couldn’t yell, because if she yelled, it would give her mom even more reason to think that she needed it, which she didn’t anymore. She could control herself just fine. “I’m sick of it, and I’m over it.”

“It doesn’t work that way. This necklace is for your own protection.”

“It’s not a necklace,” Treasure argued, “it’s a collar. Your flowery language doesn’t work on me anymore.”

“I don’t understand, you used to be fine with it. You know what it’s for.”

“I control my voice. I’ve taken it off before, and didn’t have a problem.”

“What is this right here?” Freya asked, pointing.

Treasure sighed, realizing her mistake by claiming there was never a problem. “That’s my elbow,” she recited in monotone.

“We left that scar to remind you that if not for the panacea, you could be dead right now. That weird bird creature was this close to eating the rest of you. Your father found you in an uncharted universe after making four—four!—shatter portals. You realize how hard that is for him? It wears him out, he could have died trying to rescue you. He got lucky that time, because of Miss Collins, but if you scream just once, you could end up too far away for even her to detect. If you see a spider, or a boy gets too handsy, that could be it. You could be lost forever. That is why the amazing scientists on this planet built you that necklace, and that is why you can’t ever take it off unless he’s there to go with you. Which you’re not going to do until you turn eighteen, which you agreed to ten years ago.”

“I’m not asking you to let me train with dad. I just don’t want to wear the collar anymore. I’ve spent my whole life not raising my voice, I think I’ve been conditioned enough.”

“Or maybe you’ve been stifled for so long, it’s all just waiting to burst out all at once,” Freya argued.

“All the more reason to let me get used to taking it off!” It wasn’t a scream, but her voice was indeed louder than it had ever been since that time she got stranded. She was still a baby back then, though, and had no memory of that.

Steam came out of Freya’s ears. She held up the collar. “Put this goddamn thing back on this instant, before you do something you regret. I’m your mother, and you’re going to listen to me.”

“I’ll show you,” Treasure claimed. “I’ll show you that I can control it.”

“Yeah, you will, because you’ll be wearing your necklace.”

“Stop calling it that. It’s a collar, and I’ll put it on in five minutes.”

“What are you going to do in the next five minutes?”

“I already told you, I’ll show you that I can learn control. I’ll be back before you know it.” She ran down the hall, and into her room, ignoring the complaints from her mother. And then she screamed.

< > Entire Story

Microstory 1555: Fate: The Causal Saga

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Prompt

Some people think that they have free will, while others believe in fate, but the truth is that it’s impossible to ever be sure one way or another, so why ask the question?

Botner

The answer is, for me, something that should be applied to the whole question of what we believe and why we believe it. What we believe to be true and what is true are relative terms. The thing is, free will is based on what we can control. Even when we say we’re playing the random number generator, the results are as predictable as any calculation. It’s not that we can’t be lucky, but even chance is ultimately determined. I suspect that we will only really start to understand the mystery of free will when we realize that there’s nothing we can do, that there’s no one for us to blame, and therefore no one to control. That’s when we’ll understand what true freedom is. About a week ago, I finished a book that has kept me away from blogging and reading for a while. I first heard about it a while back, when it was on the list for a discussion I was having with someone, and was intrigued by the idea. It’s the story of a family living in northern Alberta, and how that environment changes the lives of those involved. The wife is pregnant and has gone into labor, and leaves her husband to go to hospital, with her young son and her mother in tow. As she’s being wheeled away...

Conclusion

...a man rushes in, and claims to be the father. It’s not the husband, though, and you probably have a pretty good idea where this is going. So what does this have to do with fate and free will? Well, all the characters in the story had the opportunity to make whatever choices they felt necessary. They might have regretted it afterwards, or not. It doesn’t matter, it can’t be changed. Furthermore, each character is beholden to whatever choices the other characters made, as well as other people who aren’t characters. They’re also influenced by the weather, the geography, the time in which they were born. Now, when you add this all up together, a lot of people think this spells fate, but that’s not the case. Just because you don’t have control over everything, doesn’t mean you have control over nothing. If you could control all of reality, that would be omnipotence, and that is neither the opposite of, nor answer to, fate. So what’s the answer to this? Does fate exist? Or just free will. I say neither, really. We’re all just trying to make the best choices we can with the cards we’ve been dealt. It’s all about causality, which started with the big bang, and will end with the heat death. Trying to figure out any more details is futile, unnecessarily taxing, and unproductive. Just live your life, and be as happy as you can, while helping as many others as you can, as much as you can. Or don’t, who am I to judge?

Microstory 1428: Waterloo

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A great many people turned out to compete in the second vicennial Mage Selection Games. There were now four separate towns on Durus, with a fifth one in the middle of being built, and a sixth one in its planning stages. Knowing that these, as well as two more, would require mages to protect them by the time the next competition could backfill their ranks, the source mages selected a great many winners. Each town was thusly being protected by about fifty per cent more than they figured they needed, with further excess being sent off on other missions, like dam repair, and exploration. Most of the new mages wanted to be assigned to one of these other things, because it gave them a chance to get out, and look around. People otherwise didn’t generally go anywhere. They didn’t even travel to each other’s towns all that often. Being a mage, in some ways, meant more freedom and agency. Rumat Dunn was particularly disappointed when he was sent off to work in Splitsville. There was nothing wrong with this town, but it was the least coveted role, because it still maintained a lot of its border protection through the use of technology. The mages stationed there knew there wasn’t much work to do. Many were perfectly happy with that, being the backup force in the event the power grid suffered some kind of failure. Still, there were not enough of these volunteers, so some just had to accept their positions. It wasn’t like they would be stuck there for the entirety of their twenty-year contract. Transfers happened all the time; they just weren’t known to happen at a town mage’s request. It was something the source mages, and their advisors, decided, using whatever protocols they had in place. It was all a delicate balance that involved placing people where their work would do the most good for the community. For instance, temporal anomaly detectors—which were capable of sensing when a time monster was near—were great for any town to have, but no town really benefited from having more than one. So if there were only four of those, they would necessarily be placed separately. A new town mage spent two months in extremely intense training after being sourced, during which time their powers, their skills to use those powers, and their other talents, would be assessed. So when the source mages told Rumat that he belonged in Splitsville, that meant he belonged in Splitsville. Unfortunately, Rumat never accepted where he was assigned, and spent a lot of his time trying to prove that he was worthy to be transferred somewhere else. He was specifically interested in helping construct the as of yet unnamed fifth town, which was being built by a single construction crew, in realtime. It was located nearest to the broken portal that was sending the time monsters to their world, so Town Five was notably more dangerous than the other four, and required some pretty powerful mages to protect it. Rumat was good, but he wasn’t the best, and either way, Splitsville needed him, and in the future, others would too.

He had the power to open what came to be known as filter portals. No object of significant size would be able to pass through, so it wasn’t like normal teleportation. The best application of this ability was irrigation. He could instantly transport fluid from anywhere on the planet, to anywhere else. For now, Splitsville was located the farthest from Watershed, so it benefited most from this power, but the people in charge of planning Town Six were interested in choosing a site that was even farther away. Rumat didn’t care about any of this, and didn’t have the patience for delayed gratification. He thought he could use these powers to attack the monsters, if the authorities simply gave him the opportunity. They wouldn’t, so he grew angry, and lashed out. He flooded Splitsville from within by portaling massive amounts of water into its borders. They wanted him to irrigate, so he was gonna irrigate, and they weren’t going to be able to stop him. Well, they did stop him, and he didn’t like the way they did it. Now that he was contained, however, there was a problem. They didn’t have any clue what they were going to do with him. The source mages had never come to a decision of what to do about someone with powers who caused problems such as this. They had a jail, and forced labor, but neither of these things would be able to keep Rumat down. Some suggested exile, but that wouldn’t work either. Durus was a very, very small planet. It might even have actually once been a moon. The only reason the surface gravity was comparable to Earth was because it was so dense. There were no oceans or islands, so there really wasn’t anywhere to exile anybody. They might have made him go to the broken portal, but that would be a death sentence, and capital punishment hadn’t been legal here since the Smithtatorship. The source mages only had one option, and they were saving it for such an occasion, because they didn’t want people to know they were capable of it until they had no choice. They stripped Rumat of his powers completely, which few people were aware was possible. This changed everything about the Mage Protectorate, and how people viewed the sources. The good news was that their plan worked, and Rumat would go down in history as the first and last criminal mage ever.

Microstory 1339: Doorkeeper

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Security Supervisor: This may seem like a waste of time, but I do hope you take this interview seriously.

Janitor: I don’t think it’s a waste of time. You’ll be giving me keys to rooms that house confidential information, correct?

Security Supervisor: It’s a keycard, but yes.

Janitor: Then don’t feel bad about it. I understand the importance of discretion. And understand this, I do not care about the files you keep. I’ve never been curious or nosy. When I’m standing next to someone who needs to log-in to a computer to show me something, I always turn away. It’s my instinct to protect people’s privacy, even from myself.

Security Supervisor: Well, it’s good to hear that. But if you were a corporate spy, that’s exactly what you would say.

Janitor: It’s also what someone would say if they’re not...which is the case here.

Security Supervisor: Speaking of here, do you know what it is we do?

Janitor: I do not, and again, I do not care to know. It makes no difference to me. I will be stepping into the rooms to take out that trash, and clean whatever is required of me, and then leave immediately.

Security Supervisor: Okay, good. I do have some more questions for you. I’m sure you went over all this with your supervisor, but I am a curious person. It says here you attended a cleaning school in Switzerland?

Janitor: That’s right. Here in the states, cleaning work is treated as an unskilled job. In other countries, such as Germany and Switzerland, janitors are professionals, with full careers, and years of education and on-the-job training.

Security Supervisor: Are you from Switzerland, or were your parents in the military...?

Janitor: No, sir. I actually found out about the program, and moved there for four years so I could train with the best. This work is very important to me. I’ve always found it very cathartic and soothing, the physical labor itself. Wiping down surfaces, mopping floors; it’s tedious for most, but relaxing for me.

Security Supervisor: Well, your résumé looks very impressive. I imagine it’s tough to find work stateside that effectively utilizes your skills. We don’t pay our janitors very well. Or rather, other companies don’t. We see things differently.

Janitor: Yes, that’s why I applied here. Your organization has a great reputation in regards to your treatment of employees. You would be surprised, however, at how well a janitor can do. Average salary is probably higher than you would think, even for someone without the amount of intense training that I’ve had.

Security Supervisor: Did you apply to any of these other places then?

Janitor: I have some money saved up, so I didn’t put a lot of feelers out, or cast a wide net. I’ve been applying to one position at a time, and seeing it through, before moving onto the next one. This is the third job I applied to, and my third offer. I declined the first two.

Security Supervisor: My, my. Aren’t we the selective one?

Janitor: Employers sometimes forget that workers have standards as well. Most people aren’t just lucky to not be unemployed.

Security Supervisor: Of course, of course. Well, your background check went through, and everything looks good here. You will shadow your supervisor for the first week, and then she’ll shadow you for a week after that. After that, you should know that we’re a security camera company, so we have security cameras...and most of them are hidden.

Janitor: I have no problem with that. Thank you, sir. I appreciate the opportunity.