Microstory 2544: Consort

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I have always wanted children. My problem has always been finding someone to have them with. I just didn’t click with anyone that I dated. Well, that’s too narrow of an explanation. There was always something wrong with the relationship. He didn’t want kids, or he said he did but it was a lie, or he cheated on me, or we grew apart, or he wasn’t responsible enough. I’m not saying anything special. I broke up with my past love interests for all the same reasons that other people do. I don’t have any family, and the job I had before this was very demanding. I could have cut back on the work, but only if I had a partner to help support the family. It wouldn’t have worked out if I had chosen to go it alone. The baby would have been cared for by babysitters, daycare workers, and/or nannies. Not that there’s anything wrong with those jobs, but I wanted to be part of the baby’s life. Truthfully—and this may make me sound like a jackass—I didn’t sign up to be with Landis, or to have a kid with superpowers. I signed up for a baby, and a home to raise it in. Now I don’t work at all, and I spend my whole day taking care of my little guy. There’s a roof over our heads, and three squares a day. That’s all we need. I’m not greedy. That’s kind of a barrier for entry into this program. Unless you have a job that you can do from home, you can’t really make any money from this. We’re not even given a stipend. If you want something, you request it from the Facilitators, and they purchase it for you, using their company accounts. Again, that’s totally fine with us. These restrictions are important, not only because of their inherent value in protecting the legacies, but because they don’t want millions of people signing up. If it were as easy as requesting that they ship potential mothers a sample of Landis’ seed, everyone would want to do it. Might as well. You have to be able to come here, you have to be willing to have sex with Landis, and you have to be all right with staying put, and just being a mother. It’s not for couples. And it’s not for moms who already have kids. It’s for people like me, who want to devote their lives to raising one amazing child. Superpowers or not, I love him and we’re happy.

Microstory 2532: Ethicist

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I have my fingerprints in every department. Running an organization, be it a for-profit business, or a charity, or a weird thing in between that’s never been done before, is complicated. My job is all about questions, and never about answers. The most important questions don’t have answers. I prefer to call them responses or decisions, depending on the semantics. Should you charge for your services? How much? And the weird ones like, how much should you pay? How do you decide who gets what, or gives what, or what! I came onboard rather early on to help come to the best possible decisions. They’ve not always listened to me. They insisted on this model, and only accepted a few of my tweaks, but the principle stands. We use a sliding scale fee model that charges more to people with more means. It’s not uncommon in certain industries, such as health care and legal aid. We may have come up with this particular variant, but it happens all the time. I didn’t want to do it because I generally prefer to see an organization like this run on donations. It’s cleaner, better understood by the public, and just generally easier to accept. They could still give their charitable donations to their clients, but the money would be coming in from any and all sources. Don’t limit yourself to only your own clients. That was my reasoning, anyway. I was wrong. The system works. We have a donation portal and people do contribute, but most of our revenue is supported by the wealthiest patients, who have proven themselves to be more than happy to give what they can. Never underestimate a person’s value of their own health and life. Some would do just about anything to survive, and by simply charging them money for it, we take away some of the less savory options. We would all like to see the black market organ transplant network meet its end. Anyway, I’m still here, because we still run into ethical quandaries, which require finding the best response available. The executives don’t mistreat their employees, and not just because I’m here, but it’s always safer to have someone overseeing it than to just hope it doesn’t drift. I watch for abuse of power, and mishandling of funds, and living conditions of the campgrounds, as well as our neighboring hotels. I make sure the waiting rooms are clean and stocked, and people with mobility issues aren’t left standing in line too long. I can’t make any changes to these policies myself, but I advise the leadership on what they can do to improve conditions. I’m glad that they made the decision early on to hire someone like me. Even if it isn’t me, someone ought to be doing it, and other companies could stand to model their business a little more like this one.

Microstory 2531: Accountant

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There’s not much I can say about my job. We all know what accounting is, and we all know it’s boring. Even accountants find it boring. We do it, because we’re good with money and numbers, and the job usually helps you make a lot of money. The starting wage is higher than a lot of people only start making near the end of their careers. That’s not me bragging, it’s me following in my mother’s footsteps, because I was a child of divorce, and lived in two homes growing up. My parents separated when I was five years old, which is when kids really start to pick up on how the people they see live their lives. That is, it’s when you start noticing the difference between your rich friends and your poor friends. It’s when you catch the news out of the corner of your eye, and realize that there’s a lot of pain in the world. It’s basically when you wake up to the harsh realities of life. My mom was an accountant, and my dad was a temp. She lived in a house. He lived in an apartment. He was a good guy, and they maintained a decent relationship. He found a place as close to her as possible, so I was eventually able to walk between them at the end of every week. But like I said, I saw the difference, and it moulded me into the person I am today. They say that becoming an accountant is safe, and for the most part, that’s true, but there’s a caveat. If you’re no good at math, walk away. Walk away now. No career accountant failed a math class in high school, or college. It just doesn’t happen. And that’s okay, there are plenty of great paths for you. I walked down this one, because I knew what was on the other side. That’s always been very important to me, because I was lacking that during the divorce, when I didn’t understand what was going to happen to me. Things have ended up okay, but I hated that uncertainty. Numbers are not uncertain. There is an answer to every equation, even if you don’t know what it is. I take comfort in knowing that if there’s an error in the bookkeeping, it’s possible to find it. It’s not abstract or hidden. You just have to know where to look, and that’s what I do. I make sure there are no errors. I make sure that the right amount of money is coming in, and the right amount is going out. It’s not easy, but it’s not ambiguous.

Microstory 2529: Settlement Specialist

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I was one of the first people to work at the Foundation, I’m proud to say. I’m the one who came up with my own job title. They wanted to call it a Cashier, because that’s the best they could come up with, but it’s not really accurate. No one is paying up little enough money to warrant dealing with cash, and we absolutely can’t payout in cash either, even at the smallest figures. We will agree to write you a check if you really think you can handle it, but we don’t even like that. I’m not saying that scammers and muggers hang around our hotel, waiting to steal people’s money because they know that’s what we do here, but it’s not like it’s a secret, so it’s entirely plausible. We really prefer direct deposit, but we understand that not everyone is banked. This is why we’ve partnered with WinterTree Bank to offer clients prepaid debit cards for their financial needs. They’re useless without the PIN, and can be reloaded at the ATM should they like to deposit any other cash they do receive, or a paycheck. While the Financial Evaluators determine how much a patient owes or receives, and the Accounts keep track of our finances overall, I’m responsible for making sure that money goes in, or comes out, accordingly. Once Landis finishes his healing, they come to me, or one of my teammates. We verify their ID, we confirm with them and their Guide that they did indeed receive a breath treatment, and we explain to them what the computer says about their situation. People who are making a pay-up know roughly how much money it’s going to be, but the people receiving payouts are not provided with this information ahead of time. They are quite often rather surprised. Sometimes it’s good news, and sometimes not, though, because some were hoping for a little bit of money, when it turns out they don’t qualify for either. They don’t have to pay, but they’re not getting any money either. You need to have thick skin working this job, and you need to know how to handle stress. It can be quite the roller coaster. It’s usually rewarding. For people receiving money from us, it’s almost always so much more than they dreamed of getting. But it can be hard when they’ve heard rumors of how much some people are getting, and their case doesn’t match up with their hopes. It’s a little like gig jobs, where the company will advertise that you can make up to a thousand dollars in one day, when really, that’s something that happened to one driver once, who happened to keep being at the right place at the right time, and it still didn’t give him health insurance. Even so, for the most part, the patients are grateful, even the ones who pay-up, because they’ve just been healed, and that puts most people in a good mood. This job is worth the uncertainty.

Microstory 2528: Unhoused Patient

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I have some sort of disease that I can’t pronounce, and I don’t like to talk about it. They diagnosed me at the free clinic because I was having these phantom pains all over my body. They say it’s neurological. Or I should say that they said that, because I don’t have it anymore. Yeah, I heard about this Tipton fellow, and didn’t think it had anything to do with me. Why would they take some raggedy aging woman who lives on the streets? I mean, I didn’t even get that far in my thinking. I heard the news on the radio, shrugged, and then moved on with my life. A few years later, I was sitting in the park, which I do every Tuesday, because that’s when they water the plants, which soaks the soil, which brings up the worms, which brings down the birds. I know, I’m a bit of a stereotype, but who doesn’t like birds? Anyway, I was just sitting there when this social worker comes up and tells me about a program which assists unhoused people in applying to be healed at the Foundation. I said, “you’re crazy. We live in Denver. How the hell am I gonna get all the way out there anyway?” He said that they offer transportation too. I asked him what church he was with, and he said none. This is just something the city wants to do to help out. I was, like, “okay. Sign me up. Literally!” Then I laughed, and he laughed too. And wouldn’t you know it, they actually followed through on their promise. Now, I don’t wanna sound too cynical, but you know how cities feel about their homeless. I’m sorry, you’re supposed to say unhoused these days. You know how they feel about their unhoused. They don’t like ‘em, and they wanna get rid of them. And sometimes what they do is just bus them out to a different area. I don’t know, maybe that was happening here too, but the Foundation is a real thing, and my application was real too. They gave me a burner phone so I could get my information, which told me where to go, and when to be there. I sat in the room, and I waited in line, and this kid breathed on me. But it doesn’t stop there. After I left the room, they guided me to a cashier, or whatever, who gave me money. They set me up with a special card that’s specially designed for people without easy access to a normal bank. I haven’t had a bank account in fourteen years and don’t trust them anymore. I thought they were joking, but dammit if I didn’t end up with $18,000 dollars all for me. Can you believe it? They paid me to take the cure. These people are nuts. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I kept my mouth shut, and walked away with my card. I never went back to Denver, because there’s nothing there for me. I got myself some affordable housing, took a shower or two, and now I’m currently looking for a job. Let me know if you know anyone who wants to hire a 54-year-old formerly unhoused woman who still doesn’t have a car, but did once work as a secretary for a plastics manufacturer. This new money is great, but it ain’t gonna last forever.

Microstory 2527: Poor Patient

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I used to clean toilets for a living, which speaks both to my financial situation, and my medical problems. For years, I was asked to do my job with a cleaning solution called Bartho’s. You may have heard about them in the news recently. It was discovered that Bartho’s included a chemical known as diacetyl. They were aware of its harmful effects when inhaled, but deliberately kept it off of their ingredient list. That is a huge no-no, and it’s why we’re going to win this class-action lawsuit no matter what Henderen Co. says about the ultimate solution to their gross negligence. Can you believe that they actually point to Landis Tipton as the reason why the case should be dismissed? They claim that their clear violation of safety laws doesn’t matter now that any disease that might have been caused by their mislabeled products can be cured with a simple breath. Oh, that’s not gonna fly. Not everyone has access to the cure, and even if we did, that doesn’t mean they didn’t break the law. It’s not even about the money; it’s about the injustice. Money, I have now. As a patient at the Foundation with low income, I was awarded roughly $6,000 dollars in addition to my healing. There were no stipulations or hoops to jump through. I sent them my bank statements, and they gave me free money. It’s just this extra little thing that they do. I don’t understand how the model works, but I think it all comes down to the fact that it’s a non-profit. From what I hear, it’s relatively easy for them to pay for their expenses. It’s therefore easier to charge the wealthiest patients up the wazoo, and give any extra they end up with to people like me. If you think about it, it’s not that crazy. Billionaires get sick too, and they may have access to better health resources, but there’s only so much you can do. Five years ago, very few diseases had been cured. So they can afford thousands, or even millions, of dollars to save their lives. They were probably paying more for persistent treatment, so for them, it’s still a great deal. And it supports everyone else. Which, if they have a problem with, they probably don’t deserve to be healed. Anyway, I’m still scrubbing toilets, but now maybe my son can go to college.

Microstory 2526: Middle Class Patient

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When the Foundation first made the rounds in the news, I both was skeptical, and didn’t think it applied to me. I exercise every day, even if it’s just a thirty-minute walk, and I always eat healthy. I get plenty of fiber, and the right ratio of my macronutrients. I’ve never had a problem with vegetables, even as a kid. Unfortunately, none of that mattered, because I was born with higher susceptibility to Hereditary Chorea. You can look up what that is, and what it does to your body, but it’s a genetic disease that there’s nothing you can do to stop it. It doesn’t matter how you live your life, or what exams and procedures you have done in your youth. You’re born with it, and only time will tell if you develop it. You can get tested to see if you have the gene, but you’re unlikely to even request such a test if you have no reason to suspect that it runs in your family. I was adopted by a very nice and soft-spoken man who I love very dearly, and the only thing I realized too late that I was missing in my life was the right kind of information. I never cared what happened to my birth parents. I was abandoned in a crackhouse as a baby, so family services had no idea who my mother was, let alone my father. I never had any interest in locating my birth mother, but looking back, I probably should have, for this reason, and this reason alone. I didn’t know that the disease runs in my family, and I still don’t know which side of the family it’s on. It could be both, for all we know. Had we thought to get me tested, I could have been better prepared for it. Very specifically, I would have chosen not to have children. Do not misunderstand me, I love my kids immensely, but I unwittingly placed them at risk simply by having them. That was the hardest part after the onset of my symptoms, worrying that one or both of them would suffer as I did when they got to be my age. I was so relieved when I started hearing proof that Landis was the real deal, and not some charlatan selling snake oil. I honestly didn’t think I would get the chance for a cure. I hoped that my children would have better chances when they were older. Then my thoughts darkened again, because I thought, what if Landis dies before my kids get the chance to be cured? How big is our window here? Then the news continued, and we found out about the panacea research, and I felt grateful again. If I died before they completed such research, I could leave this world confident that my young ones would likely grow up to a world with no disease. Obviously I applied for my own healing anyway, because I certainly didn’t want to leave them, and that’s how we’re here today. I put in a lot of work preparing my family for a future without me. Now I have to walk a lot of that back, and consider where we go from here. Not that I’m complaining. It’s a good problem to have.

Microstory 2525: Rich Patient

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I am no stranger to charity. I have always been on this side of it. I was born into a wealthy family of business moguls. I can’t tell you exactly what our family does, because we have our hands in a lot of different cookie jars. My ancestors liked to invest in ideas, and they were very good at telling the difference between the great ones and the stinkers. Most people in my family have kept the tradition alive, and invest in whatever they think will be the most profitable. They are not saints, but I wouldn’t call them evil either. We didn’t make our money on great instincts alone. Research is the name of the game, and we pride ourselves in supporting ethical and sustainable companies over get-rich-quick schemes that some of our contemporaries are involved in. You’ll notice, I sometimes separate myself from my family, and sometimes lump myself in with them. The truth is that I’ve never been that interested in this kind of work. It’s oh so boring. I like that we do research, but I don’t like to do it myself, so to maintain the integrity of our practices, I have simply chosen to opt out. I’m lucky to have parents who allowed me to do this, and did not insist on me following in their footsteps. They actually had a lot of children for this reason. It might sound so calculated, but really, they were just practical. Instead of having one kid, and hoping they turned out exactly how they dreamed, they played the odds. They knew that the chances of one of us being like them went up the more they had. It ended up only being four, so don’t think they went crazy, or anything, and lucky them, three of them are all in. It’s really only I who chose a different path. I’m not entirely removed. I’m entitled to a trust fund, just as my siblings are, which I use to support my philanthropic endeavors. And you know what? My siblings do the same, but in their own way. They don’t wanna have to judge people, and determine what kind of charity they deserve, or how much, so they just give me the money, and I donate accordingly on their behalf. It’s a truly symbiotic relationship. I’m still quite a bit different than them. I open my own car doors, which my chauffeur keeps forgetting, and I raised my own kids with no help beyond my husband, and a few babysitters here and there. A few years ago, I was diagnosed with a condition called Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis. That first word means that they don’t know what caused it. So it’s no one’s fault. I have had it all this time while the Foundation was running, but I hesitated to apply for a healing. I’ve never called myself old, but I’m no spring chicken either. I honestly could have died at any time while I pursued typical treatment. I just didn’t want to butt in. So many other people needed help, and I didn’t want to take anyone’s slot. I admire Landis for developing a fair system that didn’t prioritize people like me, but it still felt so icky. Then something changed. I had grandchildren. Two twin girls. I decided that I wasn’t just fighting for my life, but for the time I could spend with them. So I applied, and got my healing. I don’t know how long I would have survived without it, but...not long. I was likely weeks away from expiring. Did you know, because of all of my charitable donations, they wanted to classify me as a no-pay? I wouldn’t have it. It goes against my entire being. I insisted they recategorize me for pay-up, so I could contribute my fair share. I didn’t give them all my money, since I need to leave some for my family when I finally do die, but I think I helped keep the lights on for a few more days. It’s the least I could do.

Microstory 2516: First Coordinated Patient

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Everyone in my family calls me the guinea pig, or the first patient, but that is not entirely true. The reason Mr. Tipton was able to purchase the hotel was because of his very first patient. But even he probably wasn’t really his first. This wasn’t in the patient introduction video, but I bet Landis experimented a little bit with his abilities. You have to understand your limits, so he would have made a little burn mark on a friend’s shoulder, or had him fall from the second story. No, I dunno. I’m making stuff up. I just don’t want to go down in history as some special case. Back in the early days of this foundation, they weren’t yet a well-oiled machine. The way they have it set up now, a lot of the process is automated, and you get your little arm band, and you stand in a snaking line between the stanchions. It has to be. You got more people requesting healing per day than Landis can handle. There’s really no way to scale up this operation. When all the magic comes from one guy, you’re gonna hit a bottleneck. It wasn’t like that for me. They started out a little slow, partially because they had to figure out how they were going to organize the process, but also because people didn’t really believe it. Sure, you had one of the richest men in the country claim that he was cured, and many people believed it, but so many more figured it was a stunt. Maybe the original medical records were forged, or the post-healing ones were. Or maybe it was all a misunderstanding. There was no way to be sure. It took people like me to be brave enough to go for it without proof. I’ve always been like that, though. Life is meant to be lived; not scared of. The way it works is if you’re rich, you pay, if you’re middle-class, it’s free, and if you’re poor, they pay you. That was always the plan, but they didn’t yet have the infrastructure when I signed up. They didn’t yet have the relationships with the banks to verify a patient’s private financial situation. So for the first few months, it was all on the honor system. Of course, I am rich enough. I actually think I qualified for middle-class at the time, so I shouldn’t have paid anything, but it didn’t matter. If I wasn’t paying Breath of Life for the cure, I was paying the hospital for the treatment. At least Landis could actually fix me. There was no guarantee, since like I said, we only had evidence back then; not proof, but obviously it was worth it. Since then, I’ve been donating a little bit of money to them every month. A lot of people don’t know that. You can just support them without getting anything out of it as a secondary source of revenue for them. Everything they receive, they put back into the system to keep the place running. I won’t tell you what disease I had, because the way I look at it, it never happened. When you get breast cancer, you can go into remission, but you can’t be cured. It’s always there, and you’re always scared of it coming back. But what I had, it’s completely gone, and I was restored to perfect health, so it’s like it was never there. Naming it won’t do any good. Landis Tipton. From now on, that’s the only name you’ll ever need to remember when it comes to your health.

Microstory 2515: Appointment Coordinator

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Hello. I have been the Appointment Coordinator here for about two years. Before that, I was the Assistant Appointment Coordinator, which is a position that is no longer offered at the Foundation. Don’t worry, no one was fired. My boss, who had this job before me, had to move with his family to a different part of the country. His son secured a job working at a prestigious university, and the family wanted to stay together, even though the son is obviously fully an adult now. We’re still friends, and stay in contact. There is a reason why my previous job wasn’t backfilled, and it’s because it’s no longer necessary. Over time, we’ve incorporated more and more technology—specifically artificial intelligence—into our operating procedures. We are nowhere near a place where the application process is automated, but I no longer get a look at most appointments. I predominantly handle what we call Appeals. When you apply to get a healing from Landis, the system goes through a number of checks. First, it needs to confirm your identity, which you do either with a credit card, or facial recognition. You have to upload your medical records to make sure that you legitimately have a condition that even qualifies for healing. The system has to handshake a number of various medical databases to confirm this legitimacy. If we’re not partnered with your provider, you will have to upload your documents to them instead. We don’t need your entire life’s story. We don’t need to know every time you went in for a broken arm. We just need to know what’s wrong with you now, and what—if anything—you’ve done for it in regards to treatment so far. Similarly, you are expected to provide your financial records, and we have partnered with many financial institutions for the handshakes on that side of things too. We need to know if you’re rich, not-so-rich, or very not rich. That determines whether you pay for the procedure, or qualify for additional charity. I coordinate with other departments, like Patient Experience and Finance, to make sure everything has gone through smoothly. If everything is processed correctly, and there are no errors, the AI will find a slot for the candidate, give the patient all the necessary information, and everything will be ready to go. I only need to step in when an applicant is not only rejected, but also appeals this decision. We have an automated system for them to log their appeal too, but a human has to see all of that, so they can make a decision on the matter. I am that human. I look through every single appeal, and reach out to the applicant as necessary, as well as their associated institutions. I am not at liberty to divulge what percentage of applications are rejected, but if you think about it, I’m only one person. There is only so much time in a day, and I can only do so much with that time. Most rejections come from fraudulent claims, which the computer almost always catches appropriately. If I’m looking at it, it’s probably because the fraudster is still hoping to complete whatever scam they’re going for. I also can’t tell you how many appeals overturn the original decision, but...it’s very rare. It’s really only when there’s some missing data in the application that the computer couldn’t catch, because it doesn’t know what it wasn’t told. When this happens, I submit a reapplication, and it goes back through the automated system, but it’s flagged for me so I can keep an eye on the progress. In case it runs into another issue, it holds priority, and doesn’t end up at the bottom of the appeals list again. That’s just a little bit about what I do here. It’s a lot, but I absolutely love it.

Microstory 2514: Staff Supervisor

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I was one of the first people who Landis and the Director hired after all the contract work retrofitting the hotel was finished. He figured, if you’re going to start hiring people, you better find someone with experience doing that, so they can handle it for you. Prior to this job, I had eight years under my belt working in Staff Services at various organizations. I wouldn’t have called myself the best of the best, and that’s what Landis was looking for, I think. He was working with a tight budget, so he couldn’t waste all his seed money on someone who would demand mid-six figures. Don’t get me wrong, I knew what I was doing. He gave me a list of positions he thought that we would need to work the Foundation, I added to it, we collaborated, and I worked to fill out the staff. Unlike a lot of other startups, we kind of needed a full staff right away. We couldn’t just start with a few people, and grow our business gradually. As soon as the public even caught a wisp of a hint that there might be someone in Kansas who could possibly even plausibly come anywhere close to alleviating their conditions even just a little bit, we knew that they would arrive here in droves for help. We needed people to coordinate all the visitors, to manage all the finances, to care for the patients, to support Landis directly, to maintain the facilities, and to reach out to the community. We’ve added a few brand new positions since then, like the Research Liaison, and everyone in the Legacy Department, but for the most part, we had a solid idea of what today would look like. Yeah, I’m just looking at our old notes, and we were pretty spot on. We did the math, and determined how many people Landis could heal in one day, which gave us the number of workers we needed to keep track of them, and we’ve not had to go too far beyond that. This is the best job I’ve ever had, because I actually feel like I’m making a difference in the world. I count myself lucky to be on board, and I think pretty much everyone here would say the same thing. It’s my job to know these things. If someone were having a problem, I would know about it.

Microstory 2513: Original Hotel Owner

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I was the man who originally owned the hotel. I was told by a reputable source that the area was primed for rapid development in the coming years, and I wanted to get in on the ground floor. I spent a great deal of money on the construction, and in fact, too much. You see, in the construction game, cutting corners and handing out bribes are common practices. I had seen it in the industry before, and I wanted nothing to do with it. I did everything by the book. It cost me a lot more, and it took me a lot longer to complete the project, but it was something that I was proud of when it was done. I was proud of myself. Unfortunately, I was not the only one trying to make it big in the area, and they were all given false information too. I’m not sure who profited from the lie, but it was quite a believable one, for we all reinforced each other’s presumptions. If someone tells you there’s a great party in the house down the street, and they tell a hundred other people the same thing, and all those people go to the party expecting there to be a lot of people there, well...they found exactly what they expected, didn’t they? So I and the other developers took each other’s presence as proof that we were doing the right thing. The problem was, the interest really wasn’t there. It was the residential sector that didn’t support the vision. No one wanted to come this far out in the middle of nowhere Kansas. A few places survived, but most of us fell apart. I needed to at least make some of my money back, and I found it. Mr. Tipton paid me $11 million for my property. It was a hell of a lot less than I put into it, but a fair price for what the area had succumbed to. What came next, no one could have predicted. Landis Tipton had a monopoly on miracle cures that actually worked. Thousands a day flocked here to benefit. Too many came, in fact, and they all needed to eat, and shop for other things. The Foundation revitalized the area, and put some of my compatriots back in the black. He saved it, and from there, a brand new town was born. It is not mine anymore, which I find a little sad. Looking back, had I known what it would become, I might have asked to be Mr. Tipton’s landlord instead, so I could profit. But alas, the reason they raised so much capital in the beginning was because they wanted total control over their dream, and I would have been in the way of that regardless of my own prognostications. I played one small part in the journey that we have been on for the last five years, and have found a way to be satisfied with that. At least I did not stand in his way.

Microstory 2512: Very First Patient

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It’s true, I was Mr. Tipton’s very first patient, though no one used that term at the time. My company suffered a major blow when the truth came out that I was suffering from a terminal disease. Stock prices plummeted, and the board was worried that we would ultimately have to shut down. I wasn’t desperate, though. I was never desperate. I designed my company to operate without me, and I’ve never thought of it as being my responsibility, and mine alone. The market failed to understand my vision for a collaborative future, but they would have come to know the truth in time, and the company would have bounced back. Still. It’s not like I wanted to die. I spoke with all the experts, and tried all the reasonable experimental treatments. Nothing was working, but I’m an old man, and we all die eventually. I was understandably skeptical when these two young men approached me with the claim that they could cure me for good. But I listened to them, because I was intrigued, and I didn’t think it would do any harm. After a brief demonstration that involved Mr. Tipton’s associate stabbing himself in the arm, they only asked for $5,000 as a sort of down payment. Clearly, either they were master magicians, or it was true that Mr. Tipton could heal people, but he didn’t want to ask for all the money up front. Not to brag, but $5,000 was nothing to me. I decided that if this was all just some big scam, then these two deserved to be paid for being able to fool me, so I gladly paid it. They said, once my medical professionals proved that I was entirely disease-free, I could pay the remaining $10 million. I ended up giving them 15. Since it turned out to not be a scam at all, I felt like they definitely deserved the money. Compared to dying in a few months, I call that a bargain. Many believe that I am a silent partner in the Foundation, but I had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t investing in their future; it was just a straight payment. What they did with the money was none of my business. I’m pleased with their choice. They could have just as easily shot through to a beach resort, and gave the rest of us the middle finger, but they stuck around, and put in the hard work. So many more have benefited the way that I have, and even more will, if rumors of the panacea are even vaguely accurate. I’m proud to call myself the very first patient. That’s something that will always make me special. When I do finally leave this planet, my legacy will outlive me, thanks to one boy’s choice to include me in the very early days of his incredibly ambitious plan to heal the whole world.

Microstory 2511: Landis Tipton Himself

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My name is Landis Tipton, and I don’t like to brag about myself. I really think that anyone in my position would do the same thing that I did. They might not do it in the exact same way, but they would have done everything they could to help. For one, while being awake for several hours every day, and meeting thousands of people, is exhausting, it doesn’t compare to what lots of other people do for work. I breathe on people. That’s it. It’s so simple. I get situated in my big apparatus, and breathe. Each time I cure someone, that’s all it feels like. It doesn’t drain me of energy, it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. Anyone could do what I do and feel fine. I mean, I’m breathing anyway. I might as well cure someone while I’m at it. They take really good care of me here at the hotel. They treat me like a god, even when I don’t want them too. Yes, I have a personal assistant, a personal chef, a bodyguard, a nurse, a doctor, and a masseuse. I’m not gonna sit here and claim that I’m not living a privileged life. You expect me to say a but here, but there is none. It’s a good life. The least I can do is make it count. If I weren’t doing something to earn it—if I were just randomly born a king, or some stupid thing like that—I would have no appreciation for any of this. My dad used to try to teach me that I had to contribute positively to society, in one way or another. I never understood that until five years ago when I started this Foundation. To clarify, I knew what he meant when he would tell me that, but I failed to recognize its importance. I’m contributing now, and I feel lucky to be capable of doing it in this way. They’re getting close to a panacea, and I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life after that. Would my father still be proud if I just hid away, and stopped working? My friend insisted that I take in a salary for this. I insisted that it be a modest amount, but after all this time of everything I need being paid for by the Foundation, it’s added up to being more than enough to live happily, and without having to find another job. My problem is that I’m not all that bright, and I never actually had a salaried position before this. So I was thinking in terms of an hourly rate. I work twelve hours a day, which may sound like a lot, but again, I just sit there and breathe on people. Not exactly grueling...kind of monotonous, really. I do work seven days a week with no vacation time, but my evenings are pretty relaxed, and I don’t have anywhere that I want to travel to, so that’s not a problem. The hotel has been paid for, including the suite that I live in, and I’ll probably stay here after the panacea goes on the market. So that means no rent. Even when I have to start paying for things again, like food and utilities, I doubt I’ll ever break $2000 a month. A pay of $15 an hour for five years has added up to over $300,000. If I do that math, it should last me about...thirteen years. Hm. I’m not making as much as I thought. Well. I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’m not greedy. I’m just Landis.

Microstory 2510: Foundation Director

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Yeah, I think I should take a little bit of credit. I didn’t come up with the idea of the Foundation, but I definitely pointed Landis in the right direction. I suppose that’s why they call me The Director now. I was the first person he told when it happened. He actually gave me the whole story, and I’ve been sworn to secrecy for a lot of it. So let me start at the beginning of this journey. We were goofing off in our apartment, as we did all the time. He moved in after his girlfriend dumped him, and neither of us could afford something big or fancy. I slept on the pullout couch that didn’t pull out, because it was totally broken. Anyway, he was always so irresponsible, and on this day, he had left, like, a big knife on the counter, hanging over the sink. I tripped, instinctually tried to reach out for something to keep from falling, and ended up grabbing that knife on the wrong end. Had it been sitting right on the counter, I think I would have been okay, but the fact that it was hanging over the edge meant that I gripped it, so the blade dug deep into my palm. Well, he was freaking out, hyperventilating, and wishing that it would heal. Of course, you know how this story ends. It worked! I was healed. I won’t go into the gory details, but we spent the rest of the day testing it out, and pushing the boundaries. We made some mistakes. Like, we didn’t know right away that it was his breath where the magic was coming from. But as you can see, I’m okay now. We have all the answers. As I said, I didn’t come up with the idea of making this whole organization, but I did say that he could make money. I knew there would be people who would pay their entire life savings for a cure, and for some people in this world, that meant a lot of money. I’m the one who did the research, and found his first real guinea pig, who ended up paying a buttload of cash for it. That’s how Landis and I were able to buy the hotel, and get this whole thing officially started. That’s right, I’m part owner of the hotel. I don’t really do anything to keep it running, so my title is a bit of a misnomer. We hired a lot of great people to do all the work for us, but the staff asks me for approval to make changes and stuff, because Landis obviously doesn’t have time for any of that. I’m not this big, smart businessman, but I do speak for Landis in this regard. You might never have heard of me, and it might not be much, but that’s how I contribute to the cause.

Microstory 2501: Mother of the Healer

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You can call me Mrs. Tipton. I always knew that my boy was special. He wasn’t born premature, but he was a very tiny little thing. They had to keep him in that box for so long, it was horrible. But he came out, and he fought for his life. This was long before his literal special abilities. Once I heard about what Landis could do, I was not surprised at what he did with it. He hasn’t always had his life together, but he’s always been a caring and kind person. I think it’s because he had to overcome so much so early on. It wasn’t only that, though. There is so much darkness and sadness in the world, and he hated to see it. I could tell that he felt powerless against all the heartache, so he kind of retreated into his shell. To some, this made it seem like he didn’t care, but it was the exact opposite. He cared too much, and it was so overwhelming. You know he has a lot more abilities, right? He can tell when people are lying, and can kind of persuade people to do things. He can’t outright force them, like mind control, but there’s a lot more that he could do, and for selfish reasons. He could have become quite rich, working for the government or a corporation. They would have paid good money to have him investigate for them, or spy. I’m so proud of him for doing the right thing with these gifts. I can’t tell you where they come from. He wasn’t born with them. Lord knows, his father and I didn’t give them to him. But I know that he’s not the only one, and I know that as soon as he got them, he started doing something with them. Of course now, we’ve started to hear about other people with their own gifts, but I don’t think they would have announced themselves publicly were it not for my son’s singular bravery. How long have they walked among us without saying anything or helping? His father suggests that maybe they have been helping all along, but they’ve had to remain a secret. Maybe that’s true. I just wonder if they could be doing more by stepping out of the shadows. That’s what my son did. He jumped right into the light, and made sure everyone knew that he could help them. He bought himself some real estate, and started churning out cures. It makes you wonder, would anyone else do the same? Was this foundation inevitable? Or is Landis the only one who could have pulled this off? Just something to think about when you’re waiting in line to have your life changed for the better forever.

Microstory 2469: Gambledome

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Here’s the thing about gambling in a post-scarcity society...it’s not any fun! When money isn’t real, the stakes aren’t real, and there’s nothing interesting about it. The creators of Gambledome have managed to subvert this about as well as possible without completely shifting the paradigm of the economy. In Gambledome, money kind of is real, but only here. You start out with a modest amount of cash to spend on chips, and as you play, you win and lose those chips. If your stack starts piling up, you can cash them out, and spend it on things. You can get yourself a nice, luxurious room to stay in. You can spring for the (faux) lobster at dinner. You can give it away to your friends to make them like you. This is how it worked in other gambling communities on Earth back in the before-fore times, like Las Vegas. Here, it’s a recreation, which may make you think that your life can only get better, but that’s not true. If you run into the negative, you’re in trouble. You can’t leave the dome, and go back to the utopia that vonearthans have created since automation made fiat-based economies obsolete. You have to stick around, and pay off your debts. That’s right, there are real consequences. Some of the humans walking around as staff may be there because that is the experience that they have asked to be assigned while staying in the dome, but some are there because they have to be. Don’t come here if you don’t genuinely want to pretend to be an ancient human, because that’s the thing about gambling. You don’t know if you’re gonna win, and people lose all the time. A note on cheating: while they won’t torture you, it can land you in jail, where you’ll pay off your social debt by being locked up in a cell, unable to leave. We still have jails in the 27th century, of course, but the percentage of incarcerated individuals has never been lower, so this is rare. One woman lost her money on purpose, threw a tantrum, and tried to steal it all back, specifically so they would throw her in a cell, because it just doesn’t happen all that often anymore, and she certainly didn’t want to break any real laws. She didn’t want to go through the real justice system, and go to a real jail, where she might never get out. Overall, this place is a lot of fun, but only temporarily. I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life here, and I certainly wouldn’t want to live in a world where people are sincerely desperate enough to gamble because they think they have no other choice. I don’t know if Gambledome is fostering any real addicts, but I sure would be interested to know if it’s happening, and if it is, whether the creators have any plans to do anything about it.

Microstory 2443: March 14, 2016

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I came to this dome mostly out of curiosity. Not only does it seem so random and vague, but there’s also no information on it. Most prospectuses in the catalog have a lot of information about what you’re getting into. Even the more secretive ones, like Foggy Forest still give data about temperature and wind patterns, and the types of plantlife that can be found there. It also warns you about how dangerous or troublesome it might be for the younger crowd, or people with heart conditions, or whatever. March 14, 2016 does not have anything. There’s not even a picture associated with it, which was the weirdest part about it. All it shows is the title, and under that, the word “Perfect”. I don’t have a family, or anything going on in my life. I’m guessing that I’ll probably move here on a more permanent basis, so I have plenty of time to explore the other domes. I figured I might as well check this one out, especially since I seem to be the first person to review it. There’s a chance that I was even the first visitor ever? I don’t believe that any other visitor was there at the same time, but it can be hard to tell since the androids just look like people. Though, I will say that no one else seemed confused or weirded out, so I really do think that I was alone. Enough of the build-up, what is March 14, 2016? Well, it appears to be St. Louis, Missouri, presumably the way it looked like on that date. The only reason I say that is because there’s a big arch that looks exactly like the one in the photos. I pulled out my handheld device, and tried to figure out where I was standing at any one time, but nothing seemed to match up. All of the street signs were blank. Almost none of the buildings had signs of any kind, and I’ll get to that here in a bit. First, I wanna tell you that the buildings weren’t real either. They were basically cardboard cutouts, including only the façade. You can walk in them, but be careful with the doors. It’s very unsettling, because there aren’t any interior walls or furniture. It feels like the whole thing is about to come down. Unlike the Kansas City replica dome, this was all fake; not just a replica. Remember when I said that there were androids? Well, not a whole lot of them. They weren’t walking on the sidewalks, or crossing the streets. They weren’t driving the cars—or pretending to drive, anyway, because the vehicles were fake too. They had all congregated in one place. It might sound like a big event or gathering, but that’s not right either. There was a reasonable number of people at a store of some kind, which were common in this time period before they were replaced with free inventoria. Some were wearing blue vests or polo shirts, and name tags, so I’m assuming they worked there. Everyone else was wearing whatever, so they were probably customers. Unlike everywhere else, the store had a sign, but it too was disappointing, because it was just given the generic name of Superstore. The inside was full of stuff; the kind of stuff I’m told would be typical of the age in a store. It had gizmos and gadgets and clothes. People were buying things, and then walking out. Nothing interesting or crazy happened all day. I kind of thought maybe that there was a bombing here, or some kind of attack? Or maybe ghosts would fly out of the walls, and start scaring people. But nothing. Everyone smiled at each other. While no one actually said a word, they behaved as if they were talking to each other. There didn’t appear to be any conflict. At the end of the “day” the store shut down, and hours later, it reopened, and restarted the exact same routine over again. I tried to find any other places of activity, but couldn’t. I did find other Superstore locations, but they weren’t populated. I don’t know what to make of it. Maybe someone else can try it, and see something different.

Microstory 2427: Great Depression Dome

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Not everything on this planet has to be fun. Some of it should be a somber reflection of real life, and in this case, the inspiration is depressing. I don’t use that as a pun, but it’s a really good word to describe the nature of the source for the dome’s theme. The Great Depression was a period of worldwide economic turmoil that began in October of 1929, and continued on into the 1940s for some regions. It is defined by a global high of unemployment, institutional financial failure, and trade conflicts, among other things. I’m not here to give you a history lesson, though; that’s the dome’s job. This is a recreation of the conditions that a lot of people lived in during this time. There’s a swath of land representing the dust bowl, there’s a seemingly endless unemployment line, situated not too far from the soup kitchen line. They make excellent use of the entire area of the dome, exhibiting the various negative impacts of life on Earth in this time period. I’m glad that they put this dome here, because it happened 550 years ago. So many people alive today don’t even know what you’re talking about. There is so much to learn in your education that things fall through the cracks, and one of the biggest sacrifices we make is history. Science and math is always changing, and while it might be interesting to know how things used to be, it’s not vital. It’s more important to understand the present day concepts. History, on the other hand, never stops coming. Students today have more background to draw from than the students of yesterday, and the students of tomorrow will have even more. That is why it is so important to keep building places like this. People need to see how things were like in the past, especially in times before they were born. No one still alive right now was around to witness the Great Depression. The oldest in our population wasn’t even born yet, and that’s really sad. I don’t even know how many people can’t even grasp the very concept of a monetary-based economy. That’s where you have to start. You have to know what money is before you can comprehend what it meant to not have any of it. To not have everything you need just to survive as a living organism. Water, food, shelter. These are fundamental rights that we take for granted, but for most of human history, none of these things was guaranteed. The people who lived during the Depression understood that. I won’t lie to you, if you come here, you’re not going to “enjoy” it, but unless you’ve been studying this stuff in particular already, you are going to learn something. They do a really great job of framing the curriculum through the present-day lens, recognizing the shortcomings of conventional contemporary education, which again, must prioritize more “relevant” topics. I implore you to give it a try. Even though it’s not an adventure, and it may not be your cup of tea, it will be good for you. It would be good for everyone.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 16, 2498

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Olimpia had been working here for a few weeks now, and everything was going great. He had an assistant before her, but he was nothing special. She quickly learned to anticipate Mateo’s needs, and they had developed a nice rapport with each other. Being the Fleet Commander for the entire Central Midwest region meant that he had to do a lot of traveling. It wasn’t all over the country, of course, but it was a regular thing. He had just spent most of the last week in Cedar Rapids, which was horrible enough, but going it alone was just too much. Typically, the office assistant stayed in the office, so they could respond to driver issues from their desk, and take in any walk-ins. But with SRW headphones and a cell phone capable of accepting forwarded calls, she really could do her job from just about anywhere. Ramses always stayed next to his precious servers, so he could answer the door if anyone were to show up. Mateo really needed Olimpia there with him when he was on the road. “Are you interested in that?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“It’s not a monarchy,” he reminded her. “I didn’t hire you for travel, and that’s not in the job description. It would therefore come with a new job description, and a modest wage increase. You can say no, though.”

“I have no ties,” Olimpia replied with a shake of her head. “Before I found you, I was applying to jobs in most of the lower 48 states. I like to move around, and stay busy. Honestly—and I probably shouldn’t tell you this—I get bored with a job after a few years, and tend to start looking elsewhere. If I’m traveling, I’m sure it won’t get so tedious.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” Mateo said. “I know I just got back, but I have to fly up to Minneapolis tomorrow, and I could really use your help.”

“I didn’t think Minnesota was in our region,” Olimpia said.

“It’s not, I’m meeting with my equivalent for the Northern Midwest. The guy from the Northern Mountain region will be there too. I’m not a hundred percent sure what it’s about. I think they want to have some kind of convention, or something. This has been on the books for a couple months.”

“Well, I’m in, I’ll change the plane tickets.”

“Great! And hey, why don’t you come for dinner tonight, meet the family? My daughter is cooking something. She’s gotten really good lately. It will be vegetarian though, so if you have a problem...”

“No, I can be there, that sounds great. I really appreciate it, sir.”

“You can just call me Mateo. We’re not formal here.”

“Don’t I know it,” Ramses said, appearing at the entrance to Mateo’s cubicle. He stretched, and pretended to take a drink from a flask.

“Don’t worry, it’s empty,” Mateo explained to Olimpia. “We got those as gifts at a company retreat last year. Ridiculous, if you ask me, but I like how they etched in the RideSauce logo.”

“Oh, yeah.” Olimpia was being polite, but she didn’t care.

“Well, I’ll see you at 17:30 for dinner? I’ll be sure to get you home early enough to pack for the trip. We’ll be gone for three days.”

“I’m already packed,” she said. “I haven’t unpacked since I came to Kansas City.”

“We’ll be traveling a lot,” Mateo reminded her, “but you should still try to dig in and put down some roots.”

“I’ll get right on that. Why don’t we ride to your house together?”

“Okay.”

That evening, after work, Mateo called a RideSauce Hot. He usually went with a Mild, because he didn’t want to feel like an elitist, but he wanted to impress Olimpia. Plus, Boyd liked to hang out in this area around the end of the work day specifically in hopes of answering a request from the boss. It was unclear what he was after, because he wasn’t really on track for a promotion. Maybe he was just a bit of a kiss-ass, and couldn’t help himself. He didn’t qualify for the request today, though, not with that jalopy he was driving. A bluish-purple Aevum Magnitude showed up instead. The driver stepped out, and came around to let them in the back like a real chauffeur. That was part of what you were paying for when you selected Hot.

“Thanks,” Mateo began before remembering that he didn’t notice the name on the app.

“Dave, sir,” the driver replied. He was dressed in the full get-up, all black with a sleek driving cap.

“Dave,” Mateo echoed. He slipped him a 20-dollar bill.

“Thank you, sir.” Dave shut the door behind him, and went around to get back in the car. He received another 20-buck tip at the end of the ride.

Mateo laughed when his daughter answered the door. She was wearing 2450s housewife attire; a pink shirtwaist dress with darker pink flowers and a pleated skirt. Her hair was done up however you would think for that time period, though he didn’t know what to call it. She had deep red lipstick, and smiled in that fake, dying-on-the-inside, sort of way. “Welcome to our home? May I take your coat?”

“Why, that would be swell, ya see? Thanks, sweetheart, you’re a doll.”

“That’s the 2440s, dad,” Romana complained. She shook it off. “Hi, you must be Olimpia. I’m Romana.”

They shook hands. “Nice to meet you. I’m Olimpia. I mean—you just said that.” She was embarrassed.

Romana smiled kindly. “I really will take your coats. Come on in.”

They sipped tea and talked for about a half hour in the kitchen while Romana was finished preparing the food. Leona helped, but Romana was running the show. It was typically Mateo’s job to stay out of the way when they were in their teacher-student mode. He felt uncomfortable this time since he was expected to be in here while entertaining their guest. Fortunately, they had a rather large kitchen. This was the kind of thing you got when you lived in Mission Hills. Olimpia seemed a little uncomfortable too as she was looking up at the architecture, probably because she wasn’t used to all this fancy stuff that rich people had. Or he could have been completely misinterpreting everything. Maybe she just didn’t like him. Or she was starving, and this was taking too long. Or she was craving meat, and was just trying to get through this. That was enough of letting his neuroses take over. He could have been misinterpreting her facial expressions entirely. It was time to eat.

Dinner was lovely, Romana really was getting a lot better. It was probably time that she stepped out from under her mother’s wing, and started seriously thinking about culinary school. She was acting a little weird while they were eating, like she was keeping a secret. Maybe she was about to reveal to them that she knew exactly where she wanted to study, and Olimpia’s presence was overshadowing the announcement. “Lechuga, is there something you wanna tell us?”

“What? No.” she answered.

“Wait, why Lechuga?” Olimpia had to ask.

Mateo smirked. “Romana, romaine, lettuce, lechuga.”

“Oh.” Olimpia giggled.

“There’s something on your mind. You can tell us,” Leona encouraged her daughter. “You know we don’t tell lies in this house.”

Romana sighed, but it was more like a coo. “Okay. Well, you know that I wanted to go to culinary school.”

They nodded, even Olimpia, who just wanted to fit it.

“Well, Boyd said there’s a great one in Hawaii.”

“Boyd, who the hell is Boyd?” Mateo questioned.

“Boyd Maestri, your...driver.”

Mateo feigns ignorance. “Uh, I don’t have a driver named Boyd Maestri who is between 15 and 18 years old. I think you’re confused.” Mateo was never under the impression that his daughter wouldn’t eventually grow up and become sexually active, but there were still rules. The half your age plus seven rule may not have had any scientific basis, but it seemed sound to him. Boyd was way too old for her, and Mateo wouldn’t have it.

“Relax, dad, we’re not doing anything. We just talk sometimes.”

“Why would he be talking to you?” Mateo pressed.

“Calm down, Matt,” Leona urged.

“No. I’m going to be however I need to be,” Mateo insisted. “I get it, Romana. I want you to understand that you did nothing wrong. But he did. I don’t know what you two talk about in your secret little phone calls. It could be politics, or the weather, or cooking. It doesn’t matter. It’s about the reason that he’s talking to you. Even if you don’t see it, I do, because I was him. Your mother was a lot younger than me when we first met. But we didn’t really start talking until we were the same age.”

Romana winced, as did everyone else. “What do you mean, she was younger? How could she have aged while you stayed the same?”

Mateo uttered a single unintelligible sound before he became blocked and frozen. He could not explain what he had just said. Leona was younger? And then she got older, and now  they were the same age? That didn’t make any sense at all. He had to cover. He had to figure a way out of this. “You know what I mean, she was just a little too young for me, but as we both aged at the same time, the gap remained the same, but it became less pronounced.” That wasn’t right either. They were the same age!

“And how long would I have to wait before someone Boyd’s age would be appropriate for me?”

“Someone Boyd’s age? Maybe ten years. Boyd himself? Uh, after the sun goes supernova, I guess.”

“The sun’s not going to go supernova, it’s going to expand, cool off, and shrink,” Leona clarified.

Mateo narrowed his eyes at her wife. “Thanks.”

Romana scoffed. “For your information, I know what boys want from me. I mean...look at me. It’s irrelevant what Boyd thinks he’s gonna get in return for helping me, because if I don’t wanna give it, I won’t. He has a friend who works at the Hilo Culinary Arts Institute, so I’m using him however I must to get into that school. We can’t all have careers that fall into our laps just because we got a 100% on our first driving tests, and it inflated our egos.”

“It was 101%,” Mateo reminded her. “I corrected one of the questions for its ambiguity.”

“Oh, how could I forget?” Ramona said in a mocking tone, crossing her arms.

“You can get into whatever school you want, Lechuga—”

“You don’t call me that when we’re fighting,” she argued in a raised voice.

He closed his eyes. They did agree to that. It was a pet name, and those should not be associated with negative emotions or hostilities. “Romana. You’re extremely talented, and we are doing well for ourselves. You don’t have to go to a school nearby, though I would love to have you stay in the area. What I will not tolerate is you using someone for their connections. I’m not saying that you should give it up for him instead, but I didn’t raise you to exploit people any more than I raised you to be careless with your heart and body. You are to treat others with kindness and respect, and if that means losing out on an opportunity, then that’s what will happen. Your integrity is more important.”

This seemed to speak to her. “Yeah,” she said in a lowered voice. She let out an exasperated and disappointed sigh. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry for starting a fight.” He turned his attention. “Olimpia, I’m sorry that you saw us fight.”

“It’s okay,” she replied sincerely.

There was an awkward silence, which Leona broke. “I didn’t want to be completely useless tonight, so I made the dessert all by myself. Who here likes sand cake?”

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