Microstory 2148: Wokest of Folk

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I agreed to have dinner with my neighbor yesterday evening. She framed the invitation as a friendly stranger passing by me in the hallway, but she knew who I was, and has read some of my blog. She’s not a crazy stalker, though, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve just been pretty good at marketing my site in the local area. There’s a bulletin board in the lobby of our apartment complex, for instance, where people can post lost animal flyers, or musical instrument lessons. I printed out a slip of paper that just gives my address, and tacked it up there. It doesn’t even say what the site is, so people have to try it to see. There aren’t enough people living here to make much of a dent in my readership—especially not these days—but marketing is all about cost versus return, and it cost me almost nothing. Anyway, the dinner went well, she was very nice, and a really good cook. She’s a vegetarian too, so I didn’t have to worry about making her feel bad about making something special on my account. She prepared us sweet potato and black bean enchiladas with avocado crema. Sweet potatoes are one of those foods that I had to grow to like later in life, and I’m glad I did for this situation. I’m sure you’re all wondering if sparks were flying, but please don’t. Where I’m from, it’s annoyingly taboo for a man and a woman to be friends. Even the wokest of folk think that it doesn’t work, but as an omnisexual, I say, what even is a man, and what is a woman? Your “theory” may stop making sense when you answer that. There’s nothing romantic going on between us, and there wouldn’t be even if I weren’t loyal to Cricket.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 10, 2398

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It actually was helpful when Erlendr told Alyssa that she would be forty-two kilometers from the center of the island. Relatively speaking, that’s not too far from where the Capitol is, and if she has to walk the entire way, it’s going to take her a long time. That’s what she did all day yesterday. She snacked on the rations on the way, and only stopped to pee. She kept in contact with Leona and Mateo through her earpiece, which is working flawlessly. Everything is reportedly going fine on their end. They didn’t stay where they were, instead deciding to walk along the barrier, all the way up to a campground around where Smithville Lake should be. Part of it made it within the radius of the bubble, but most of it was not duplicated, and is just ocean. They walked through plenty of grass to get there, but that wasn’t the point. There is a non-zero chance that bodies of water serve as loopholes to the barrier, so they’re going to try today when the sun gets higher.

Alyssa found an abandoned house to stay in for the night. It wasn’t a difficult task as they are all over the place. These buildings are ancient by today’s standards. Most people live near the center now, in superstructures that are far more efficient, and environmentally friendly. This is a closed ecosystem with no resources available for import, so protecting what little they have is important. They have let the wild reclaim these areas for the most part. She hasn’t even seen a single soul since she crossed the threshold. Until now. She’s passing through an empty parking lot, distracted by the eerie sight of the towering rides at the amusement park that the residents don’t waste their energy on anymore. The bridge is only five kilometers away. She hears a noise, but doesn’t realize what it might be until it comes into a view. It’s a horse-drawn wagon. It looks new, not like it was found and recycled, but built for use in the modern day. The back is filled with some kind of grain, and only one man is on it.

She’s sick of walking, and if all he’s doing is going across the river then that will at least give her a break. Now, she could probably sneak onto the wagon, and hitch a ride without him noticing, but what happens the next time she has to sneeze, or accidentally bumps against the walls? He looks like a nice enough person, perhaps he can be trusted. She runs over to some trees before dropping her invisibility illusion, and then comes out, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible. Let’s see, how might a farmer in another reality talk? Anything like her people would? “Morning, friend! I was hopin’ to trouble you for a ride into town!”

“What are ya doin’ all the way out here, Miss?” he asks, stopping his horse.

“I was on an urban hike,” she says, turning her shoulders a little to show her daypack. “I went a little farther than I was originally plannin’. Now I’m straight tired.”

“Where exactly you headed?”

Leona comes in through the earpiece, “don’t tell him you’re going to the Capitol. There’s a residence near it called the Parkview Megablock. Say you live there.”

“I live in the Parkview Megablock,” she goes on.

“I’m not goin’ that far West. “I’m distributing wheat at the Blue Valley Market.”

“That’s a big area. No way to know exactly where the market is. Tell him that’s fine, and to just drop you off at twelfth.”

“If you could just drop me off at twelfth street, I would much appreciate it.”

He waits to respond, hopefully weighing his options, and not picturing her with her clothes off. “Hop on in.” He scoots over on the bench to give her room. “Name’s Buck on account of the fact that I’m the last resident of Buckner, Missouri.”

“Umm...Jessie. Jessie James.”

He nods, but might still realize she’s lying. If he does, he’s not saying anything. They make the occasional remark to each other on the way, but mostly sit in silence. She enjoys watching the horse’s head go up and down as it trudges along the road. It reminds her of home. It seems to take them longer than she would have thought, but she’s not all that familiar with Kansas City, especially not in this reality. Now she sees that there’s a reason Leona called it a megablock. She finds them surrounded by tall structures, much wider than a skyscraper. Each one looks like it covers the distance of several blocks. Through the earpiece, she explains that they’re self-sustainable and carfree, and can accommodate tens of thousands of people. Some of them have storefronts on the ground floor on the outside, but others are gated up. That’s all just a generalization of what a megablock is; the Fourth Quadrant version of Kansas City has their own socio-political framework that she doesn’t know too well.

“Here we go.” Buck stops the wagon.

Here she sees some real skyscrapers. “Thanks, I’ll walk home from here.”

“If you really wanna go to Parkview, it’s about a mile that way. He points back the way they came.”

“We passed it?” she questions as she’s getting out of the wagon.

“If you lived there, you’d a’ noticed. You’re trying to go to the Capitol, though.”

“I’m sorry?”

Buck taps at his ear. “Superhearing implant. I can hear your associate on your comms. It’s okay, I know you were trying to be safe. I am too. You’re obviously on some kind of operation, which is why I lied about who I am, and where I’m from. I suspect you’re from pretty far away, or else you’d know that Buckner is on this side of the river.”

“I just don’t know who to trust.”

He nods, and engages his horse, who starts to walk away slowly. “Like I said, I understand. You don’t gotta worry about me. I don’t know nothin’.” He rolls away.

She watches him go for a minute. “Which building is it?”

“Tallest one that isn’t incredibly tall. It’s a normal skyscraper, like what you’re used to,” Leona explains.

Alyssa steps into an alleyway for cover, then reëmerges invisible. She walks right into the building, slipping through unnoticed as someone else is coming out. She walks over to the elevators, and tries to go to the top floor, but the button won’t light up, presumably because it requires an access card. It just defaults to the thirty-ninth floor. She tries to press the other buttons, but the thirty-ninth button blinks every time, and then stays on. It’s the only one she’s allowed to go to. At least it’s relatively close. “What’s on this floor?” she whispers as she waits for the ride to end.

“I don’t know,” Leona replies. “I didn’t know anyone would have superhearing implants either, so we better go radio silent. You’re gonna have to improvise, okay? That might mean revealing yourself. Can you handle this?”

She’s determined to get her sister back. “Yes.”

“Click your tongue five times to signal you need help.”

The doors open, letting Alyssa out to a hallway. There is a door to her left, and one to her right. Then all the way down at the end is another door. The first two don’t open, so she keeps going. Nervous, she turns the knob, and enters the room. An old woman is lying in a hospital bed, and a man in a lab coat is nearby, monitoring the medical equipment.

“Hello?” the old woman asks, staring at the ceiling, and not moving. “Is somebody there?”

The doctor looks over. “The door opened on its own, Señora Rendón. I don’t see anyone, it must have been a draft.”

Alyssa quietly steps over to the bed, and takes a look at the patient’s chart. Trina Rendón. “Trina?”

“Hello?” the woman asks again.

“Who’s there?” The doctor gets in a defensive position.

Alyssa drops the illusion, and comes into view. “Alyssa McIver. My sister’s name is Trina.”

“Aly,” the patient says with joy in her voice. “You’ve come to see me off.”

“What is the meaning of this?”

The doctor sighs. “Miss McIver, this is your sister. She’s older now, but it’s her.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Let’s talk in the hallway.” The doctor leads her back out. “I don’t have the whole story, I’m just here to treat her pain. From what I’ve heard, your sister, Trina came to the main world sharing a body with someone else. They used technology to separate them, and give her a new body. It was, I think, modeled on what Trina looked like before. Umm...I don’t know what she did with her life, but she lived it. She came to us two years ago—somehow found a way into the bubble—and I’ve been in charge of her medical needs ever since.”

Alyssa looks at the door. “Is this hospice?”

“I’m a hospice doctor, yes.”

“So she’s dying.”

“Yes.”

“But you can fix her.”

He hesitates a moment. “Señora Rendón has refused life extension treatment beyond Level II.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“On a scale between zero and five, the second level allows for generalized scientific medication, but not targeted medication, death-inhibiting therapies, or indefinite life extension technologies. She has let us keep her alive, but only to a point.”

That can’t be the end of the story. There has to be a way to undo this. “You can reverse aging, right? Or someone can. Your world has all sorts of technology.”

“Technically, yes, but I wouldn’t recommend it. She has experienced all those years. She’s not a child anymore,” he explains. “I’m sure it’s hard for you to wrap your head around this, but she has been able to tell us stories. She grew up, and she met someone, and they had children. They’re here, if you’d like to meet them, but you should speak with Trina first. She can explain it better, and she doesn’t have much time. I think she knew you were coming, and she was waiting.”

“You’ll regret it if you don’t go,” Leona warns.

Alyssa wants to, but she can’t convince her legs to move. Sensing this, the doctor physically helps her through, so the two McIver sisters can have one last conversation.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 15, 2398

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Heath Walton awakens in darkness again. His head feels better, and he’s comfortably lying down in a bed. He doesn’t know how he got here, though, or how long he’s been asleep. He has to regain his memory once more, but this time, he isn’t going to move around, and look for clues. He’s just going to lie here quietly and think about it.

“I know you’re awake,” comes a voice from the other side of the room.

“Who’s there?”

A light flips on, startling and blinding him for a moment. Once his vision returns, he sees a little girl sitting in the corner, holding a book. She turns off the tiny reading lamp she was using, and stands up. “He’s awake!” she calls out towards the hallway.

Heath looks around, realizing that he’s in the med bay of The Constant, where his wife, Marie is meant to have her abortion. Judging by the fact that at least two strangers are here, that’s probably not going to happen anymore. “What are you doing here?”

Three more people walk in, all of them children. The two boys are probably a few years older than the girl in the corner, and the last one might technically be an adult, though not likely their mother. She inspects Heath’s vitals on the monitor above him. “You have a concussion, but the computer thinks you’re gonna be okay.”

“Who are you?” Heath asks. “Do you live down here?”

“No,” the young woman replies. “We were driving into town to secure a booth for the farmer’s market when we noticed a hole in the ground by the side of the road.”

“A giant-ass hole!” one of the boys exclaims proudly.

“Language, Carlin,” the leader scolds.

“Sorry,” he says with a frown.

“You saw a hole, so instead of calling the cops, you decided to climb down a five-kilometer deep elevator shaft using the emergency ladder?” Heath questions.

“We didn’t climb down the ladder,” the woman denies. “We took the elevator.”

“There is no elevator,” Heath argues.

She nods. “There was a little hole in the side of the big hole. We dug into it deeper, and found a door, which leads to an elevator. It lets off at the bottom at what appears to be a hidden entrance down here too. Did you fall in the big one? How could you have possibly survived that height?”

“I didn’t,” Heath begins. “I fell next to the hole, and hit a rock, which knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, I climbed down the ladder, looking for my friend, and I guess I lost consciousness again.”

“You’re lucky we found you. You were asleep all day yesterday, and into this morning. It’s May 15 now.”

“You’ve been down here this whole time? Did you touch anything?”

“Of course we did,” the woman responds. “We didn’t do anything dangerous. This is a nice place. It kind of looks like an underground hotel, but clearly no one actually lives here. Did rich people build it centuries ago to survive one of the older wars?” 

“Yeah, let’s go with that.”

She can tell he’s lying, but appears to recognize his claim to this facility is much stronger than hers, and she’s not entitled to answers. “Anyway, you’ve already met little Trina, and foul-mouthed Carlin. This is Moray, and I’m Alyssa. We’re the McIvers.”

Heath perks up, and can’t help but ask, “Alyssa McIver?”

“Yeah. Have we met?” she asks him.

“No, of course not.” And it’s true, they haven’t, but he has heard the name before. Or rather, he’s read it. Mateo keeps a list of every person he’s met, even those he knew before becoming a time traveler. Anyone from his past or future could return, and he finds it hard to keep all that in his head. Heath has no such memory problems—at least, not unless he has a concussion—so he became pretty familiar with that list just by reading over it once. Alyssa McIver is on it. He knows she is, but what does that mean? Was that an alternate version of her? Does this one standing before him end up traveling to the main sequence at some point? Has she already been to the main sequence, and now she’s trying to keep it a secret? That wouldn’t be an outrage. What was that code Marie told him about, the one they sometimes use to find out if a stranger is like them, or oblivious to time travel? Oh, yeah. “Do you like salmon?”

“Huh?” she asks.

Oh, wait. He has to emphasize that word. “I mean, do you like...salmon?”

“I’m vegetarian.”

“I’m not!” Carlin announces.

Well. They could still be lying, but it’s not his job to decide what to do about them either way. He starts to get out of bed. “I have to call my friends.”

Alyssa steps over and gently presses his shoulders down. “Whoa, you are in no shape to go anywhere. There is no service down here, and there’s not enough room for a hospital bed in the elevator, and this bed doesn’t move anyway, and the computer says that you need more rest.”

“You have to leave, and pretend you never saw any of this,” he orders.

“Go back to sleep,” Alyssa orders right back. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Microstory 1814: Walking on Water

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My parents owned a ship-building company—specifically, barges—so I’ve been around the ocean my entire life. I know how to row, sail, tie knots; everything that’s associated with ships and boats. It pretty much consumed my being. It wasn’t until I was in my twenties that I started to get into hiking. I was kind of sick of the water, so I wanted to do something land-based, and that was the best I could come up with. I loved it, so I started doing it more and more. Meanwhile, my parents were trying to put themselves on the map by constructing the longest barge in the world. At 500 meters, it surpassed all others by a great deal, and they were proud of themselves for it, even if there weren’t many uses for the darn things. They were also faster than most ships of the day. With no cargo, they could reach a cruising speed of nine knots, which was pretty impressive. Oh, and they could move on their own, so that was cool. The company spent most of its money on these three giants, and they weren’t shaping up to give us much return on the investment. They needed to show the world what they were capable of. They needed to market themselves. They needed a big show. So I came up with a plan. It was ridiculous and silly, but if I could just get people to hear about the company, it would have been worth it. I decided to try to walk from my home country of Russia to the Nation of Alaska. Crazy, I know, but with these barges under my feet, I figured that there was no reason I couldn’t get this done. It’s good that there were three of them, because I don’t know if it would have worked with just two. They could be attached to one another back to front, allowing travel between them. They weren’t meant to move across the water like this, but they could stay together just fine for long enough to allow me to step from one to the next. Again, we were all well aware of how crazy the plan was, but it worked.

After I stepped onto the second barge, the first one would be detached, and propelled past the next two. By the time I reached the end of the third barge, the first one was attached in front of it, and the second one was already on its way to getting in front of that one. It took a lot of fuel to make this happen. The idea was for me to walk all the way from the Easternmost tip of Russia to the Westernmost tip of Alaska by foot. If the barges moved  significantly forwards, it would have defeated the purpose. The drivers had to be really good at not letting them drift too much, and keeping the undertaking as authentic as possible. In total, I walked over 83 kilometers. I probably walked farther than that actually, because the rule was for the drivers to err on the side of Russia, meaning that if the ships drifted at all, they would have to compensate, and usually that meant they were overcompensating. The distance itself was obviously not that big of a deal. Fifty miles is a relatively easy trek for even an only moderately experienced hiker. Still, the barges weren’t the most comfortable surfaces to walk on, and it was pretty boring most of the time. Even so, I’m proud of myself for having accomplished it. The barges themselves didn’t get much use after that, since they were still so absurd, but the publicity stunt worked. I mean, just hearing about it put my parents’ ship-building company in people’s minds, and when they were in need of a ship, they thought of us before all others. The company thrived after that, and they were able to sell it off for a pretty penny. They knew that I didn’t want to inherit it from them, but I still got a decent cut of the sale, because they considered me so instrumental in its value.

Microstory 1757: Norma’s Kitchen in a Box

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Marjorie Norma did not invent 3D printing, but she was instrumental in standardizing it. And when her competitors came for blood, she ended up on top, because she still had the best product, and brand loyalty. The science of additive manufacturing was still in its infancy when she started working on it as a pet project. She knew that speed and sophistication were going to progress on their own, and that all she had to do was keep up with it. She was focused on how people would begin using such things in their home. This meant that industrial synthesizers, and biomedical synthesizers would be less useful to most customers than food synthesizers. For the most part, she found that the current machines were either very large, or very small. Many of them were designed with a specific result in mind, or had unfortunate limitations. If people were going to place these things in their homes, they needed to be versatile, and be capable of making more than just a single pastry at a time. It was never going to transition from a novelty item for people with a disposable income to a ubiquitous household appliance, unless anyone could download any program, and print anything. She got her idea when she walked into her kitchen one day, and looked around. By the entrance was the refrigerator. It took up the most space, and it wasn’t always full. She also had a stove/oven combo, above which her husband had installed a microwave oven. Then there was a sink, and a dishwasher. She owned a fairly small kitchen, and she made pretty good use of the space, but she wasn’t much of a cook, and neither was anyone else in the house. What if she could put everything together, or almost everything? She kept looking back at that fridge. Yes, it was the largest, but it was also the most important. A lot of foods don’t require any cooking, but they all require storage, unless you want to go to the store every day. Some people do that, but it’s not very efficient, and that lifestyle isn’t marketable. There was a solution, and she could find it.

She used that refrigerator as the basis for her new design, knowing that most living spaces were capable of accommodating it. Some units were only large enough for a mini-fridge, but people who lived in such places already knew how to make sacrifices. The top of her design was a water tank. It didn’t necessarily fit in every space, but it would be optional, and customers could connect a waterline either way, just like they would for that refrigerator. Under that would be where the cartridges went. Here she took inspiration from the toner bottles in the copy room down the hall from her office. For the synthesization cavity, she found herself limited by the dimensions of everything else, but it was still larger than the capacity of any standard oven, so that was more than enough. Since the cavity is where her users would be retrieving their food, they couldn’t put this on the floor, but at a reasonable height, which meant everything below it could be dedicated to storage. She chose to include a utensil drawer, and then an extra cartridge cabinet. All told, she figured that a fully stocked synthesizer could feed one person for about six months. Her original model did not include a dishwasher, but later ones did, allowing customers to keep almost an entire kitchen in the space of a refrigerator. It could be programmed to make just about anything, cool food, heat food, and supply water. What more could a normal person need? Well, they needed tools, and they needed organ and tissue replacements. She started to work on those machines next.

Microstory 1651: Wiping the Slate Clean

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When the bladapods first showed up in the brane that would come to be known as bladapodoverse, they didn’t do anything but breed. Once they were discovered, they seemed to have felt so trapped that they just kept having offspring at an alarming rate. It was only when they were distributed across the world to make them feel safe that they started releasing their bladapod gases. Since then, studying the bladapods in captivity was both dangerous, and illegal. They were sentient creatures, who deserved to be left alone. Yes, the gases they produced into the bladosphere were causing problematic base modifications, but there was no telling how bad things would get if anyone attempted to interfere with their natural habits. Of course, this being a world with eight billion people on it, curious criminals were bound to figure some things out. After a lot of work, and some unfortunate side effects, a team of rogue researchers managed to kill and dissect a bladapod. Eventually, they were able to synthesize bladapod blood, so they could replicate the effects of bladapod gas without actually needing the gas. They started selling wipes that a customer could wipe on their body, which would transform them in unpredictable ways. After further study, they hoped to create a line of wipes that were designed to modify people and things in predictable ways, so they could make some real money, but they never got to that point. The global authority found them, and shut down their operation. They stuffed all the scientists, and other workers, into blacksite holding facilities, where their secrets could never get out. They destroyed all the evidence, so that no one could do this again. They weren’t able to find a list of customers, so the wipes that were already out there could not be brought in, at least not right away.

These customers quickly discovered that any base modification they experienced from a wipe, as opposed to the gases, was only temporary. So good or bad, it would only last a few weeks before everything reverted back to the way it was. This only gave people more incentive to try them out, because it shouldn’t do any permanent damage to their lives. The problem was that when someone underwent a base modification, but then reverted back, it would be immediately obvious that they were a black market customer. It wasn’t technically against the law to modify yourself on purpose, but there were consequences. The government wasn’t obligated to help if you chose it for yourself, because you would be taking resources from innocent people, who had no other choice. Over the course of the next few months, nearly all of the customers were caught by the authorities. Again, what they did being not illegal, they couldn’t be arrested, but their stashes were seized, and destroyed. One man avoided capture for a pretty decent amount of time, but then he came across a wipe that changed him in a way that no bladapod gases had ever changed anyone before. He could undo other people’s base modifications, and put things back as they were. As a somewhat decent human being, he knew he couldn’t just sit on this. He walked right into the nearest Base Modification Center, and turned himself in for testing. They studied his new physiology every day for weeks, trying to figure out how to replicate his ability. While he wasn’t undergoing tests, he would help people who wanted to be transformed back to their natural state, in case the scientists never figured it out. They never did. His ability wore off, just as it always did, and though they continued to test him, he never got that ability back, and was not able to help any more people. The clients who got to him in time were grateful, but in the grand scheme of things, it probably would have been better if it had never happened at all, because now they knew it was possible, but likely forever inaccessible.

Microstory 1374: Internal Candidate

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Internal Candidate: I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me. I understand that people like me aren’t normally given the opportunity to apply for this position.

Hiring Manager: People like you? I want to assure you that our company does not discriminate against a candidate or employee based on race, gender, age—

Internal Candidate: I mean an internal candidate. You always hire at this level from the outside.

Hiring Manager: Do we?

Internal Candidate: Uh, it’s my job to examine and understand trends. Yes, you definitely do. You’ve never promoted someone to this—or a comparable—level from the inside. Employees call it the promotion ceiling, because, as you said, it doesn’t seem to be based on protected classes. You regularly promote people all the way into my current level, but for the next one, you always look for external candidates, and then continue to promote from there.

Hiring Manager: Really?

Internal Candidate: Yeah, you don’t even post this on the internal job listings.

Hiring Manager: I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this. I don’t normally conduct these interviews personally. I’m just the one who’s in the office right now.

Internal Candidate: Yes, because I requested this meeting via email, since I wasn’t allowed to apply through the system.

Hiring Manager: You couldn’t have just found it on one of the job board sites?

Internal Candidate: The questionnaire asks whether you or a family member works, or has worked, for this company. If you check yes, it will disqualify you from consideration shortly thereafter. It doesn’t technically say that’s why, but...I’m pretty sure that’s why.

Hiring Manager: We use a contractor, of course, to manage our listings. I was not aware of this problem. I assure you that this is entirely an error. At least, if it’s not, I was somehow left out of the decision-making process.

Internal Candidate: Yeah. So, does this mean you’re willing to interview me?

Hiring Manager: I think I already am.

Internal Candidate: Okay.

Hiring Manager: Have you noticed any other issues like this? Have you seen discrimination of any other kind, or unfair disadvantages, or other weird things?

Internal Candidate: Well, in terms of the hiring structure, not really. I’m sure there’s plenty of discrimination happening we don’t know about; either because the manager doesn’t let on that they’re doing it, or they don’t even realize their prejudices themselves. I do know of one thing that’s frustrated our customers, though.

Hiring Manager: Oh, please, what is it?

Internal Candidate: Well, we have a product return policy of sixty days. You can request an extension, starting on day sixty-one, and ending on day ninety. It’s a form you fill out online, and an actual person has to review these every single time.

Hiring Manager: Yes, I am aware of this policy.

Internal Candidate: Well it’s fine, except I guess the system has some sort of software bug. To fill out the form, you have to input the order confirmation code, of course, and if the order was placed sixty-two days ago, the form just won’t submit. Which obviously just defeats the purpose, unless you happen to be precisely one day late. Customers have been forced to print out the form, fill it out manually, and either fax it in, or send it through snail mail.

Hiring Manager: Oh, that’s terrible. I don’t remember the last time I sent a fax, or used the mail service for anything short of a package.

Internal Candidate: Same.

Hiring Manager: I suppose it’s at least good that they do have some kind of workaround.

Internal Candidate: Yes, and no. The fact that there is a workaround has prevented us from correcting the mistake. If it just didn’t work at all, we would be flooded with complaints, and someone probably would have done something to solve it. Though, I have heard anecdotal evidence that some customers just give up, and keep the tools they don’t really want.

Hiring Manager: That’s a good point.

Internal Candidate: Yeah.

Hiring Manager: So, you’re applying for a management position in the marketing department?

Internal Candidate: That’s right, sir.

Hiring Manager: As a hiring manager, I have the authority to contrive new positions, within any department in this division. I can, however, speak with my counterparts in other divisions, and increase that scope.

Internal Candidate: I’m sorry, I don’t understand.

Hiring Manager: I’m formulating a plan. I think the company as a whole would benefit from a job—or even an entire department—that’s solely responsible for catching these types of errors, and coming up with solutions. How would you like to get a real promotion, and really break through this ridiculous promotion wall?

Internal Candidate: Wow, um...yes.

Microstory 1362: In Need of an App

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Viscom Student: Thank you all so much for coming to this survey. I’ve been racking my brain, and I can’t come up with any good ideas. I need you guys. Now, I can’t pay you, but I might be able to get you extra credit if you’re taking psychology, or business administration, or something. I make no promises, though.

Fellow Student 1: How long do you think this will take?

Viscom Student: We’ll be done as soon as one of us comes up with a good suggestion, or after twenty minutes; whichever comes first. I ain’t lookin’ to keep you all night. This is my assignment for my Visual Communications Design class, and I know it’s not your responsibility.

Fellow Student 2: If it’s only twenty minutes, we don’t need compensation, or anything.

Fellow Student 1: Yeah.

Fellow Student 2: What exactly is the assignment?

Viscom Student: I’m meant to come up with a new app. I don’t have to actually create the app, but I have to have an idea how it works, draw out the design, and prepare a little marketing presentation. There are a few stipulations, though. Even though I don’t have to program something real, it has to be technologically feasible. I can’t think of an app that reads your mind, or mows the lawn. Two, it has to be at least mostly original. I can, for instance, come up with a new photo-sharing app, but there has to be some way to differentiate it from all the others. What makes this one special, and why would someone download it, instead of a competitor’s? So, what kind of app do you think is missing from your life?

Fellow Student 3: I think I have an idea.

Viscom Student: Shoot.

Fellow Student 3: You know how everyone’s working from home these days, right? Because of the virus.

Viscom Student: Yeah, I like we’re you’re headed.

Fellow Student 3: But people hate that, because they can’t just walk up to each other’s offices, and have an impromptu conversation. They have to send an instant message, or set up a video conference. What if people had full-length mirror-sized video screens in their home offices? Instead of calling, you walk up to your own screen, knock on someone else’s “door” and then just talk. You could leave the door open all you want, too, and let people come and go as they please. You could even expand it, and have giant screens all over the walls, to simulate an open floor plan. Then people can just walk up to each other whenever they want.

Viscom Student: That’s a cool idea, Fellow Student 3, but it’s not an app. It’s a tech product that would require hardware.

Fellow Student 3: Umm, you could invent the app that manages everyone that’s part of the same network.

Viscom Student: Yeah, that app would probably exist, but I need something that anyone interested can download and use without buying all these other things, ya know?

Fellow Student 4: Piggybacking off of Fellow Student 3’s idea, though, what if you made an app that was a virtual working environment. Customers would be able to design their own working spaces, assign workers to specific zones, and let them control an avatar. The avatar wouldn’t just be some cartoon version of someone, but an accurate representation of the individual. When the avatar goes to meetings, it can raise your hand, and maybe even get up to grab a drink of water; just to make it feel a little more natural. My dad is always complaining about how awkward his web conference meetings are.

Viscom Student: That’s a very interesting idea.

Fellow Student 2: Does it work, though? Is that technologically feasible?

Viscom Student: I’m not sure. I mean there are virtual worlds out there, right? There just aren’t any dedicated towards this niche.

Fellow Student 3: It’s not a phone app either, though. I mean, I guess it technically could be, but it would be better on a laptop or desktop.

Viscom Student: That’s true. I might be able to get away with it, though, if we market it the right way. I think you’re onto something here, Fellow Student 4. Let’s run with this, and see if it can work. What other features would you all like to see in something like this?

Microstory 1336: Shot to Hell

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Product Surveyor: Thank you all for coming in. I mean, both. Thank you both for coming. Please have a seat. No, no, these are not refreshments. You’ll get a chance to sample all of the products, but I would like to start with introductions.

Tester 1: I’m Tester 1. I came into the mall to browse. I hear they’re shutting down, so I wanted to see whether it looked like a ghost town. I don’t have much to do with my life, so I figured I would come in here and see what this was all about.

Tester 2: My name is Tester 2. I too have nothing to do, but I also have no one to talk to. My landlord shut off my internet, so now I have no outlet for my opinions. I like to go around, answering surveys, so that at least someone will listen to me.

Product Surveyor: Okay, cool. Well, my name is Product Surveyor. I’ve been working for this company for two and a half years, but I’ve been using my expertise to conduct surveys for the last twelve.

Tester 2: That’s amazing, congratulations.

Product Surveyor: Thanks. First, I would like—

Tester 1: I too would like to congratulate you on your long and wonderful career.

Product Surveyor: Well, I appreciate that. Anyway, before we move forward, I want to point out that this is not an energy drink. And for legal reasons, nor is it medicine. Our marketing team has chosen to refer to these as Daily Cleansing Shots. My first question to you is, how does that name make you feel?

Tester 2: Well, we don’t know what it is. What exactly is it meant to do?

Tester 1: I too, must know what it is before I put my name on it.

Product Surveyor: No, you’re—you’re not putting your name on it. I just need to know, when you hear the phrase Daily Cleansing Shot, what does it make you think of?

Tester 1: Needle.

Tester 2: Doctor.

Tester 1: Evil.

Tester 2: Evil?

Tester 1: Yeah, like Dr. Evil.

Tester 2: Oh, okay. Umm...pinky.

Product Surveyor: All right, it’s not a word association chain. We’re really just trying to get your initial thoughts on Daily Cleansing Shot.

Tester 1: It makes me think of a needle, I said that.

Product Surveyor: Okay, I can accept that. It makes you think of needle shots. But you have heard of drink shots, correct?

Tester 2: My father was an alcoholic, so absolutely.

Product Surveyor: Okay, so that’s important to hear too. There are some negative connotations to the word shot. I will write that down.

Tester 1: I never said his alcoholism is a bad thing.

Product Surveyor: Right. Umm, why don’t you try the first cup there?

Tester 2: Ahhhhh.

Product Surveyor: Tester 1, do you want to try it?

Tester 1: It looks like he drank the whole thing.

Product Surveyor: No, you have your own. All these little cups here are yours. They’re each just one shot. You’re supposed to drink the whole thing. Yeah, whole thing. Tip it all the way up. You almost have it.

Tester 2: Is he okay?

Product Surveyor: Tester 1? Tester 1. I’m sure it’s all gone now. You don’t have to get every molecule.

Tester 1: Ahhhhh.

Product Surveyor: Now, on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate the taste of that first sample? We call it Mornin’ Orange.

Tester 1: Is it gonna make me poop?

Product Surveyor: I’m sorry?

Tester 1: Most cleanses make me poop.

Tester 2: Uh, I too, would like to know if it will make me poop. I can’t remember what underwear I’m wearing today.

Product Surveyor: Well, it’s not a laxative. It does have some fiber, which can regularize your bowels, but unless you have underlying medical conditions, you should always be able to make it to the restroom. Are bowel movements important to your daily health? Is it something you find yourself worrying about?

Tester 2: Not really. I could take it or leave it.

Product Surveyor: I’m not sure what that means. Did you two like the taste, or dislike it?

Tester 1: I love it.

Tester 2: That wasn’t one of the choices, dude. I liked the taste.

Product Surveyor: Okay. Why don’t you try the second one; the green one? While these are designed to be taken one shot each day, you get to choose when you want it, and it’s okay to have more than one, so don’t worry about that today. This one is better suited for lunchtime. We just call it...Verde.

Tester 1: Oh my God, no. Dislike, dislike!

Product Surveyor: Oh, I’m very sorry to hear that. Tester 2?

Tester 2: I already forgot what it tastes like.

Product Surveyor: So, that’s a zero from one, and a bland from the other.

Tester 1: Why are you writing this down?

Product Surveyor: This is a survey. We need to know your reactions to our products, so we can market them better.

Tester 2: I see, and then we get a cut.

Product Surveyor: This is an unpaid survey. The poster outside was very clear on that. We’re paying you with free samples of our products!

Tester 1: Well, which is it. Is it unpaid, or is it paid?

Tester 2: Yeah.

Tester 1: My brother used to be paid, but they let him go.

Tester 2: Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Where did he work?

Tester 1: I don’t know, I’ve never met ‘im.

Tester 2: I have a pretty good job. It’s called life. Maybe you’ve heard of it?

Tester 1: That’s my job too. Where do you live?

Tester 2: The whole universe is my home, my man.

Tester 1: That’s beautiful.

Product Surveyor: Would you please try the blue sample? Effervescent Evening is a dinner shot. Great, thanks; we...got it in one try. How did you like that?

Tester: I think I’m gonna go back to work.

Tester 2: Yeah, me too.

Product Surveyor: That’s wonderful. Thanks for stopping by. It was..profoundly unhelpful, and I hope you don’t find us at our next location.

Tester 1: Thanks.

Tester 2: Thanks! Hey, you wanna grab some food?

Tester 1: Nah, I just ate. It was these weird shots that you put in your mouth, instead of a needle in your butt...

Microstory 1310: College Graduate

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College Graduate: Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Warehouse Supervisor. I know you were wary of me at first. Though, I’m not entirely confident I understand why.

Warehouse Supervisor: Yes—oh, you can go ahead and sit in that rolly chair. I have to stand right now, because of this medical condition. Yes, I originally filed your application away, because it says you have a college degree.

College Graduate: Is that not a good thing?

Warehouse Supervisor: Well, it is in general, but not only does this position not require it, but I’m not sure we should allow it.

College Graduate: I don’t understand.

Warehouse Supervisor: I think you do understand, and that’s why you had your aunt swing this interview.

College Graduate: I didn’t ask her to do that.

Warehouse Supervisor: Okay, then I’ll tell you that, beyond this interview, I will offer you no special treatment. Nor will I hold your aunt’s actions against you. You came in for an interview, just like anybody else. I’ve already forgotten the circumstances of the schedule. But that doesn’t mean the college aspect of your résumé doesn’t lower your chances of getting the job. We’re in a warehouse, son, and the people I employ to work it are here because they can’t get anything else. Some passed high school, others earned their GEDs on the side while they worked; one guy’s doing that right now. A couple never got their diplomas in any form, and have no intention of doing so. We don’t have anyone like this on payroll right now, but we’re also our policy to be open to hiring convicted felons. None of my guys, however, has so much as gone to a semester of college. We’re all just normal, and people with your experience just don’t get people like us.

College Graduate: I recognize that I am, quote-unquote, overqualified to work here, but I do not believe that means I do not deserve it. The fact is that I’ve not been able to find work anywhere else. I have a degree in marketing, which opens me up to all sorts of industries. Unlike, say, a chemist, I could potentially work anywhere. Everyone could do with a good marketing strategy, because everyone is selling something. Yet here I am before you, because I’ve been looking for two months, and have only managed three interviews total. So maybe I’m overqualified for this, but I am also evidently underqualified for anything else.

Warehouse Supervisor: There are lots of jobs that are less fancy than marketing, but better than warehouse picking. Besides, everything you just said? You can’t talk like that here. Quote-unquote, yet here I am before you. No one’s gonna show you any respect if they think you think you’re a king.

College Graduate: No way could you interpret the way I talk to mean that I think I’m a king.

Warehouse Supervisor: Son. I can’t give you a job. I mean, we already have a hostile professional relationship.

College Graduate: Something tells me I’m not the first person here you’ve disagreed with. And what, you fill out human resources reports when there’s a personnel issue? You can’t have it both ways; claiming this to be a team of normal people, but also that you think you can’t get along with someone who’s a little different. You may think people with more education look down on you, but have you considered the possibility that it’s the other way around? Because from where I’m sitting...it is you who’s looking down on me.

Microstory 1298: The Burro and the Bust

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There was a burro whose responsibility it was to carry food and other goods over the mountain to sell at the market. It was a thankless job, but he was proud of it, and always felt that things could be worse. One day, a man approached the burro’s owner, and asked her if he could borrow the burro. They wanted to transport a very important statue through town, so that all could gaze upon its magnificence during a small parade. The woman agreed, and so did the burro, even though he didn’t really understand what was going on. He was just happy to meet a new friend. The man loaded the burro with the statue, and led him down the path. When they reached the town, the crowds came out and cheered. They smiled and laughed, and some even wept a little, for the statue was a bust resembling their late leader. She was a wonderful woman, who did so much for the whole county, and they were grateful to be honoring her in this way. The burro still did not understand, though. He thought the people were cheering for him, so in response, he grunted, and he groaned, and he brayed. And the people cheered louder. They had no problem with it, because the statue didn’t have any feelings, but the burro did. There was no point in ruining his day, and the truth was that he was pretty great anyway, so it wasn’t like they were lying to him. It made everyone happy. The burro continued to walk through town with the bust, smiling with pride, and the day was better for it.

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

Microstory 1288: The Mule and Its Burden

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A mule was carrying a load of salt for his master, so that the master could sell his product at the market. The trail there was treacherous and long, and there was one particular spot that always gave them trouble. The mule was always able to cross the stream, but it required a lot of patience and care, and there was always a risk that something would go wrong. The master once tried to take them on an alternate route, but the trail was far longer, and was more dangerous overall. Their luck ran out when the mule slipped on a wet rock, and fell to his side. Luckily, he wasn’t hurt, and was able to stand back up. In fact, he felt better than ever, because much of the salt had spilled into the stream, to be lost forever. The master was disappointed, but he knew it was only a matter of time. Hopefully it would never happen again. But the mule had other plans. The next time they took the journey, he had the idea to slip again, and lighten his load a bit. His plan worked perfectly; too good, actually. He lost more of the salt than he had planned on, which made his master become suspicious of him. Still, they kept trying. When it happened a third time, the master knew that something was wrong. He was unable to communicate with his mule, but he realized there was only one solution to the problem. The next time they went out, he loaded his mule up with less salt than normal, and carried the rest of it himself. The mule was grateful, and decided to cross the stream safely once more. All was well.


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

Microstory 1287: The Father and the Snake

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A father and his son were coming back from the market one day when the son accidentally stepped on a pile of eggs. The father examined the remains, and discovered that they belonged to a snake. The son was upset about what he had done, but his father assured him that these things happen. He was also afraid the mother would return, and be stricken with sadness for what happened, but the father also knew that this variety of snake always abandons her eggs, and would move on with her life, never knowing something had happened. Unfortunately, he was wrong. This particular mother snake was a little different. For whatever reason she felt the urge to return to her nest, and check on her babies. She was horrified by what she found there, and even though it was not in her nature, felt compelled to seek revenge on whoever killed her young. She sniffed around, and picked up the scent. Then she slithered off to hunt for the culprit. She found him, and bit the boy in the ankle. The boy nearly died, but the father acted quickly, and got him medical attention. He was angry, though, so he hunted the mother snake right back, and cut off her tail with a shovel. Now even angrier, the snake returned to the father’s home, and bit several of his cows. She bit each one of them many times, in the dead of night, so he would not be able to tend to them in time. Angrier too, the father went out to get his revenge again, but this time, he was determined to kill her, and just be done with it. But the son did not want this to happen. While he was still recovering, he struggled out of bed, and followed his father to the woods. He finally caught up with him just as they were coming upon the snake. She was prepared for a fight, and so was the father. “No,” the son declared. “You will not do this. No good can come of it.” He continued his speech, trying desperately to dissuade them from their bloodlust. The cycle of violence had to end, and both of them knew it. Neither believed the other should concede first. It was just that each worried the other wouldn’t take kindly to a truce, and that it might make things worse. But someone had to risk it. The boy’s words were enough to change them both for the better. The father apologized for the snake’s young, and the snake apologized for his cattle. She tried to apologize for the boy, but the boy insisted that all was forgiven on his end. The father and the snake did not become friends that day, but they were no longer enemies.

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

Microstory 1281: The Little Fish and the Big Net

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There was a fisherman who was proud of his work. He did not care to go to the market and purchase the tools he needed for his trade. When the seas were too dangerous, or when he just wasn’t up for going out on the water, he liked to sit in his cabin, and create his own tools. He carved his own fishing rods, strung his own fishing lines, and even weaved his own net. He was so proud of his net that he couldn’t wait to go back out there, and give it a try. He dropped it in the water, and dragged it along to pick up as many fish as he possibly could. Now, the fish he caught were large, which were great, but he noticed that a great many smaller fish escaped his clutches. He was not happy with this. He wanted to get all the fish he possibly could, so he went back home, and started weaving a new net. He made it as tight as he possibly could, so barely a drop of water could pass through. “No fish will escape me now,” the fisherman said after months and months of working on it tirelessly. He dropped it in the water, and scooped up a hefty haul. When he took his catch to the market, he noticed that people were still only buying the larger fish from him. “Why don’t you take some of these instead?” he would ask. They always answered the same, that there was not enough meat for them to get anything out of those tiny little fish. “But I worked so much harder to get these ones,” he complained. It didn’t matter. His efforts were not just pointless, but counterproductive. Had he only focused on gathering the fish he would be able to sell, he would have been able to catch more than one school. No one cared how much effort he put into his profession; only the results of those efforts. They would have been just as happy with the larger net.

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

Microstory 1175: Tonya Keyes

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The powerful Prestons, originally living in a different dimension, were born to serve the timeline. They weren’t helpless salmon, but they were created for the purpose of protecting the timeline from paradoxes, and other inconsistencies, or just because certain butterfly effects were considered undesirable in the new timeline. Until Zeferino rebelled, they didn’t really have that much understanding of what it would mean to make their own choices, so they never tried. Tonya Keyes possessed similar abilities to loose cannon, Arcadia, but she was a choosing one, which meant she never had to do anything she didn’t want to do. The first few years of Tonya’s life were pretty normal. If any inconsistencies popped up in that time, she might have ignored them as a typical feature of reality, or simply didn’t notice. Once she was old enough to realize that people weren’t seeing things the way she saw them, she started to question this reality. She discovered that people were going back in time, and making changes to the timeline, yet her memory remained intact. If they, for instance, with knowledge of how a given company was going to do, shorted a company’s stock, she could tell how that impacted the market. She wasn’t the only temporal manipulator with what’s known as multi-real perception, but other than Arcadia, she was the only one who could do anything about it. It took some practice, but she developed the ability to access those old realities. Not only that, but she could extract parts of an old timeline, and splice it into the current timeline, without having to accept the entire thing. She wasn’t just undoing the changes the time travelers made; she was making more changes. She was picking and choosing which changes took hold. Let’s say, because of how terrible that stock did, the president of the company commits suicide. Well, there’s a reality out there where he didn’t do that, because some other time traveler created a reality where the stock did okay, which was only later negated. Remember, these people are making these changes all the time, and it’s almost impossible to track all of them. Tonya could retain the bad stock, but bring in the reality where the president survives. She could even alter the president’s perception, so he doesn’t question the disconnect between the current outcome, and his memory of it. She came to be known as The Stitcher, and she made a lot of pretty random alterations to the timeline before anyone approached with the idea to do something good with her power.

Microstory 1107: Judy Schmidt

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There was nothing particularly special about Judy Schmidt. She grew up with a normal family, in a normal town, and ended up with a normal job in marketing. She was raised as an atheist, and after careful study of the world’s religions when she was older, decided she still was. She wasn’t superstitious, and she didn’t believe in anything that hadn’t been officially recorded in history. She believed in dinosaurs and meteorites, but not ghosts, and definitely not time travelers. After a few years of working for the company, she finally felt comfortable with her career status. She wasn’t interested in doing the same job, for the same rate of pay, forever, but she wasn’t overly ambitious either. She was ready to hold steady for awhile, and maybe focus a little more on her personal life. Her friends had been wanting to set her up on a blind date, so she agreed. She and Rebecca started off slow. First they had coffee, then lunch, then dinner, and then they had a date that took place in two locations. This occurred over the course of a month, and it seemed to be going so well, that they both decided they wanted to take the next step. On the first night that Rebecca stayed over, she disappeared...literally. They were sitting up in bed, just talking, and in the blink of an eye, she was gone, right in the middle of her sentence. A frightened Judy immediately called poison control, thinking she had ingested something bad, but there was nothing they could do for her if she didn’t specifically remembering taking something. They directed her to urgent care, where the doctors and nurses were unable to find anything wrong with her. There was no sign she had been given a hallucinogen, or anything else. There wasn’t even any alcohol in her system. She finally had to surrender to the odd, but still plausible, possibility that she fell asleep, and by the time she woke up, Rebecca had simply left. Sure, her recollection of what the clock read didn’t account for this, and sure, Rebecca wasn’t picking up her phone, but that didn’t mean she was magic. But she was, sort of. Two days later, Judy was getting ready for work when Rebecca suddenly returned. She was wearing different clothes, and covered in mud. As it turned out, she had just spent the entire time in 2011, providing aid for families displaced by the Sidoarjo mud flow in Indonesia. Judy had a hard time believing it, but couldn’t deny the fact that she never did receive a more reasonable explanation for Rebecca’s disappearance. Three days later, it happened again. This time, she was only gone for about eight hours, and returned apparently from the same time and place as before. This continued to happen every day. She was sent off to work, as if it were any other job, except it was taking place over thirty years in the past. She tried to break up with Judy, but Judy wouldn’t accept it. Though this was all new to her, Judy could tell that her relationship with Rebecca was real, and it would be unfair to the both of them if she just ignored their potential. So she stayed, ultimately forever, and she never regretted it.