The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 23, 2398

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Meredarchos’ plan presumably hinges on this idea that the team is not meant to know that he has transferred to Trina’s body. While the authorities were looking for Andile, he would apparently be free to move about the world unnoticed. Except that he would be noticed, because we’re talking about an unaccompanied six-year-old girl. His plan just doesn’t make any sense, especially considering the fact that Ramses knew about the secret refrigerated room, and would discover it eventually, if not immediately, which he did. Of course, little Trina was not capable of carrying Andile out of the building, so he couldn’t take the body with him after the transfer, but then why didn’t he just take Trina’s body, and make the transfer somewhere else. This is all sloppy work, and Ramses believes that he has an answer for why.

“Erlendr is in there.”

“They’re sharing a body,” Leona understands. “That’s always been a theory, but it doesn’t explain why they would use Trina’s instead of Andile’s, and risk us finding out.”

“I think it does explain it. They’re both alpha males, trying to control the outcome of whatever it is they’re doing together. They have their own objectives, and their own ways of accomplishing them. It’s sloppy because they can’t agree on anything, and neither of them will concede to the other, which means that nothing gets done right.”

“The problem with this possibility,” Mateo begins, “is that we have a short window to take advantage of their disarray. Eventually, one of two things will happen: either they’ll learn to work together—though this is less likely—or one will win out over the other. It depends on who is the stronger psychic, I would guess.”

“There’s at least one other option,” Leona says. “They may be able to split their minds to a second body.”

“Whose?” Mateo asks. “The only other vacant body we know of is Leona Reaver, who is being protected by layers and layers of agency security.”

“Who says it has to be vacant?” Ramses poses.

Mateo shakes his head. “If they can share the body of someone who doesn’t want to share it, why take Trina at all? Why not go straight to the guy who owns the pizza place down the block, or any other random stranger?”

“Erlendr may not be able to resist the poetry,” Rames suggests. “The pizza guy means nothing to us, but he doesn’t think we can hurt Trina. Again, sloppy.”

“Well, that’s another problem,” Leona says before a pause. “Can we? Can we hurt Trina’s body? Can we hurt any child?” That is the classic question issued in philosophy classes the world over. Would you be able to kill Hitler as a child, knowing what he would turn out to be? Except they don’t know what Meredarchos is, or will be, and Erlendr has already done his worst.

They’re silent for a moment before Mateo speaks again. “We still have the Livewire, right?”

“Yeah,” Ramses answers. “Meredarchos apparently doesn’t need it to control the Insulator of Life, so he didn’t steal it too.”

Mateo looks at his wife. “I would hate to kill someone who looks like you, but...”

“But it would be easier than someone who looks like little Trina, and honestly, we would probably ask Arcadia to actually do it for us.”

“If you place someone in Leona Reaver’s body, they’re not going to die,” Ramses reminds them. “They’ll fall back to her original timeline, and then be dropped right back here in that parking lot.”

Leona nods. “I’ve been thinking about that. I need you to do something for me.”

“Okay. What might that be?” Ramses is worried now.

“I need you to build me a prefrontal cortical scanner, unless they exist in this reality already, in which case, you would just need to procure one.”

“Lee-lee, what is that?” Mateo asks.

“Leona Reaver and Alt!Mateo keep subverting death because an extraction mirror keeps saving them. They thought that they couldn’t get out of the loop, but I believe that they’re not trying hard enough. It’s true that it is difficult to let yourself die when you see a way out, even when you’re suffering from suicidal thoughts. That’s why people who genuinely want to die can’t just strangle themselves with their bare hands. These decisions are made in the frontal lobe, and with enough science, you can manipulate which decisions an individual makes.”

“Are you talking about inventing a suicide inducer?” Mateo questions.

“They already exist in the main sequence, and probably the other advanced realities,” Leona reasons. “Or rather, they could. Whether anyone has ever actually used such technology is irrelevant. It’s possible regardless. I’m not talking about using it on all my enemies, but I think it might be worth the risk.”

Ramses is torn between the two of them. “I’ll investigate the possibilities, but I make no guarantees.”

Leona tilts her head as she’s standing up to leave. Sometimes she wishes this were a dictatorship. Sometimes.

“I know my wife,” Mateo says after she’s left. “You may also know her well enough to know what she’s really planning.”

“I do. She’s not interested in making Meredarchos and Erlendr suicidal. She’s going to copy her own brain, and upload all three consciousnesses into her alternate self’s head. She’ll kill herself, and the other two will just be along for the ride.”

“How do we suppose we stop her from doing that?”

“Not how you’re thinking,” Ramses warns. “Don’t forget, I know you too.”

“It’s the only play that makes sense.”

“Sacrificing yourself to prevent her from doing it isn’t a fair trade.”

“It won’t really be me. It’ll be a different me. But it won’t even be that, right? It’ll be a lesser me. No memories, no real thoughts...just the impulse to get out of the extraction mirror loop, and end it once and for all.”

“You can get semantic on me all you want, Mateo. This is a murder-suicide pact. Whatever happens, you both need to appreciate that truth.”

Mateo stands up as well. “It won’t be the first time, and I doubt it will be the last. And hey, won’t they end up in the afterlife simulation anyway?”

Ramses shakes his head. “I don’t think so. It’s an old timeline. We don’t believe it existed back then.” He watches Mateo leave the lab too. Then he unlocks his Completed equipment locker, and takes out his neural scanner. It’s funny that the two of them are under the impression that she’s the one who came up with the idea to copy consciousness. He was working on this for weeks, and now he knows how he’s going to use it. He’ll scan his own brain, and end this once and for all.

Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida: Beyond (Part V)

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I was named for a play on science words, which if you knew my father, would make perfect sense. I’m not certain what he would have done if the woman he impregnated had any other surname, but I wouldn’t have put it past him to just make one up for me. Abigail Genifer Siskin. Abiogenesis is the process by which nonliving matter evolves into living matter. At some point in Earth’s history, nothing was alive. There were rocks, and gases, and lots of other elements, including carbon, but there were no organisms. Then later on, there was life. How long did that take, how did it happen, and why? These are questions scientists have still not answered, but we’re all pretty confident about the idea of abiogenesis, because any competing theory would be paradoxical. Life had to start somewhere—even if it happened a million light years away, a billion years ago—and my father says I’m the embodiment of that.

I’m nobody, though. I mean, I’m not nobody, but don’t expect some crazy story about how I came into being. Tamerlane Pryce didn’t create me by shooting a bolt of lightning into a stone. He conceived me with my mother the old fashioned way, so him calling me Abiogenesis is really just about his compulsion to make everything about science, whether it’s relevant or not. And again, he didn’t give me her surname to be progressive, hip, or woke. He did it for the nickname, because—and I say this with all the love he deserves—he a basic bitch.

I hate my father, which is why I locked him in his tank, and I haven’t let him out for months. He’s the stellar neighborhood’s foremost expert in consciousness transference. The good people of Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida asked him to come here so he could use his expertise to build up their recreational ventures. Well, he’s done that, and we don’t need him anymore. People come here to temporarily load their minds into artificial animal bodies, and explore those animals’ natural habitat without interfering with them. They use his technology on Earth now too, which is presently the only planet we know of with such diversity of life. Anyway, this obviously isn’t the only application of it. There are many ways in this day and age to be immortal, but one of the ways he uses to avoid death is to transfer his mind into a backup body whenever anything goes wrong with the one he was in before. What he didn’t consider is the fact that he can’t kill himself and trigger a transfer if he’s unconscious and trapped in a clone tank, waiting for his rebellious daughter to decide to let him out. I won’t do it, though. He’s not a good person, and he’s been around for centuries, and if I killed him, I would be doing the galaxy a huge favor. The only reason I haven’t is because I don’t know how. I don’t know how to prevent him from transfering, or from just having an outdated backup somewhere else. I don’t tell people that, of course. They all think I’m keeping him alive because killing is wrong, or whatever.

I’ve moved on from him, and I’ll only go back to worrying about it once I discover a weakness to mind transference. It’s pretty difficult, because there’s always a chance he’s set aside a contingency I never knew about. If I were him, I would send a darkbursting automated ship to the Andromeda galaxy in case a cataclysmic failure took out all my other clones.

Right now I’m with my new family. Thor Thompson is another immortal human, who Pryce used as his test subject for a new substrate that would have turned my father into even more of a threat. There’s also Trinity Turner, who literally created this world. Nearly everything here was toxic to humans when she set foot on it, so she spent decades altering the native organisms on a molecular level, without changing anything else about them. Good thing she’s from the future, or her dream would have been impossible. Our friend, Ellie Underhill also has a time power; one which Thor and I are presently learning more about. “You’re bringing everyone who has ever lived in the history of Earth, and the stellar neighborhood, back to life?”

“Yeah,” Trinity confirms. “I know, it’s—”

“I don’t think it’s crazy,” I assure her. “I’m just...what are ya gonna do with them?”

Trinity and Ellie give each other a look, which they’ve been doing a lot lately, since they keep a lot of secrets from me. “We’re going to put their consciousnesses in a simulation,” Ellie answers.

“Why?” Thor questions.

“We don’t think they would do well in base reality,” Ellie continues. “I mean, well, some people would. You take anyone from, maybe the 22nd century, and you can get them up to speed. Hell, it might even be okay if we tried to integrate someone who regularly used a personal computer while they were alive, because at least they can fathom the concept. Anyone earlier than that, though, is going to freak out.”

“So, will you convince them they’re in heaven, or are you going to simulate the world they were living in at the time, and make them just think they survived death?” Thor knows what kind of questions to ask.

“A little bit of both,” Trinity says. “They’ll know they died. We’re not going to try to convince them that nothing happened. They’ll eventually wonder why nothing else has killed them, or why other people aren’t getting hurt, and all that. We’re not sure where to go from there, though. Can we tell them this is the afterlife when it’s not true?”

“Well...” I start to say. “It will be true. If this is universal, it’s no less of an afterlife than a so-called real one. Perhaps this is all destined to happen, and every theory about the afterlife is partially true, because you’re building it for them.”

“Hmm.”

At that, we stop talking for a good period of time. We all sit down, and stay in the room together, but we think on the matter in our own heads. I don’t know exactly what they’re thinking about, but I know what I’ve come up with, so I speak first, hoping it’s something reasonable. “When are you planning to start this? Will we bring back our primate ancestors? What is a human?”

“We’ve chosen five thousand years BCE,” Ellie replies.

“That’s as far back as my camera will go,” Trinity adds. She carries a magical camera with her that lets her travel to the past, and even the future. Someone else apparently invented the camera for her, and it automatically took pictures from all throughout history.

“We don’t have enough data from before that. So when we say we’ll bring back everyone, that’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

“Either way,” Thor jumps in, “how are you going to explain that? I don’t know much about the brain, but this neural implant you came up with, you’re going to give it to everyone in the past? Won’t people notice they have one, but their ancestors didn’t?”

“Those are the logistical issues we’re still working on,” Ellie says with a nod. “Neurolemmocytes already exist, but there’s no difference between the ones found in the central nervous system, and the ones in the peripheral system. What we would have to do is replace the ones in the brain with ours.”

“Won’t people eventually figure out there’s something strange about them?” I presume.

“They’ll probably give them another name, because they will see a distinction,” Ellie explains, “but they will function just as the real ones do. They’ll just also have this mind transferring characteristic they would never think to test for.”

“And do our primate ancestors have them?” I press.

“They do,” Trinity answers. “Evolution invented them a really long time ago. Even invertebrates have them.”

“This sounds incredibly complicated,” I tell them apologetically. “And when I say complicated, I think I mean impossible.”

“That’s why you got me.” Oh no. It’s my father. He’s somehow broken free.

Trinity and Ellie have known him longer than me, so they’re not exactly pleased he’s awake, but they’ve developed coping mechanisms. I’m pissed because my plan didn’t work, and Thor’s the worst off, because he doesn’t fully understand what this guy’s deal is. All he knows is that they’re never gonna be buddies.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised and upset,” he says to me. “I always have another plan, and I don’t blame you for trying to sweep me under the rug.”

“What was your plan? How did you get out?” I ask.

He chuckles. “I obviously can’t trust you with that information. Just know that there’s nothing you could do to get rid of me.” He sizes Thor’s new body up. “I built this new substrate to make myself stronger, but I don’t need it to be a survivor. I accomplished that a long time ago.” He claps his hands together abruptly. “That’s not what we’re talkin’ about, though, are we? You’re trying to save the human past. You’re gonna need me to do this. Trinity’s got the connections, Ellie’s got the power, Abby’s got the ideas, and I got the brains.” He looks back over to Thor. “Oh, and I guess you’re still here too.”

Ellie and Trinity have another one of their infamous psychic conversations. I’m starting to think that’s not just a metaphor about their facial expressions. They may have actually formed some kind of psychic bond that either can or can’t be intercepted.

“Don’t do this,” I say to them, shaking my head.

Trinity sighs. “There’s a reason I brought him to this planet in the first place. To be honest, waking him up was probably inevitable. I don’t like it any more than you do, Abigail.”

“I doubt that,” I contend, standing up defiantly. “He’s my dad, and that can never be undone. You, on the other hand, chose to associate yourself with him, and I won’t be a part of it.”

“Wait,” Thor says calmly. “He was right when he said we need you too. These three are clearly strong and capable individuals, but they don’t have your creativity.”

“We just met,” I argue.

He smiles at me. “I’ve grown pretty good at knowing when I encounter someone who’s the polar opposite of me. Before he interrupted us, you were saying you had an idea. I would like to hear it.”

“His interruption wasn’t a single moment,” I say. “It’s still happening.”

Thor nods understandingly. Then he stands up coolly, and punches my father in the throat so hard, it collapses his windpipe, and kills him pretty much instantly. I think there’s something seriously wrong with me, because I’ve never been more attracted to anyone in my whole life.

Ellie rolls her eyes, and starts swiping on her device. “He was listening to our conversation before he walked into the room. He must have hacked into our security system, and I don’t feel like correcting that right now. So if we want to continue our conversation, Trinity can transport us somewhere he can never go. I honestly don’t know where this photo was taken, but the person who took it claims there’s nowhere safer, and I trust him with my life. He said I would know when I needed it. Maybe this isn’t it, maybe it is.”

Trinity takes a look at the photo. “You say you trust him? This could be anywhere, anywhen. Who are these people?”

“You trust him too,” Ellie says. “I don’t know who the people in the photo are.”

“All right. I could do with a break from this place,” Trinity decides. “I wanna hear your ideas too, Abigail.”

We crowd around Ellie’s device, which is displaying a jungle. My eyes burn, as they do when Trinity is traveling to a different time and place through one of her pictures. In a second, it’s over, and we’re standing in that jungle.

“Whoa,” I hear behind us.

We all turn around to find a small group of people. There’s only one person I recognize, though. I saw a clone of his body in a tank for decades of my life. Mateo Matic.

“Ah,” he says. “This is unexpected. We were told there would not be a transition window today.”

“Where are we?” I ask.

“This...” he begins, building suspense, “is The Parallel.”

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Microstory 896: No Small Parts

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Our only saving grace when the aliens came to take over our planet was that they severely underestimated our will to fight back. They didn’t send enough ships at first, and while they were able to enslave a good chunk of the population, they left the rest of us enough time to learn their ways, and come up with countermeasures. What we discovered was that once an individual was being controlled by one of the aliens, their minds could never be saved. Even if you killed the alien that was controlling them, they would just continue doing whatever their last order was; whether that meant walking in one direction without stopping, or shooting at other humans. We were forced to start killing our own kind, and I tell you, I do not envy the people responsible for that front. A team of brilliant scientists managed to capture some of the invaders, along with the humans they had enthralled. They spent months studying the permanent neural link between them, and could find no way of severing that connection. Then one woman showed us the way, but not because she somehow knew how to stop the aliens, but because was already a visionary before this all began. She was what one would call a transhumanist. She believed that man should shed his biological limitations, and “upgrade” to more advanced systems. While her achievements were remarkable, before the war started, they were also illegal in most jurisdictions. She had to conduct her experiments in secret, using a handful of extremely willing volunteers, as well as herself as guinea pigs. She realized that she and her people were incapable of being influenced by the alien mind control, if only to some degree. Simple math proved that the higher the number of upgrades one possessed, the easier it was for them to resist the control. That was our solution, but that doesn’t mean it would be easy, or quick.

Humans evolved to be what we are today due to a series of happy accidents, and genetic traits that mostly only passed down because they just happened to support the species’ ability to survive. All of our organs function automatically, so that we don’t have to concentrate on each process all the time. We feel pain to alert the brain that something is wrong. We form clots to patch wounds. We are simply not designed for modern medicine, which is why every major biomedical breakthrough has come after years of finding ways to trick the body into accepting aid. Just as it’s possible to transplant certain organs, under certain conditions, from one individual to the next, it’s possible to install nonbiological components. But this requires a lot of time, because the body always needs to adjust to the foreign object. It’s primed to reject it; because it could be a threat to the body’s survival, which means people can’t be upgraded all at once. The scientists began the process of upgrading as many people as they could, as fast as they could, but it was proving to not be enough. Finally I had to come out of the shadows. You see, transhumanists weren’t the only ones immune to alien control. Since I only had a sample size of myself, I had to guess, but I suspected the reason aliens couldn’t break my mind was because that mind is not what they expected. When I was in college, I was diagnosed with autism, which is a medical condition every single person I met told me was a disadvantage; something that we must try to correct. It took me a long time to get over the stigma, and to realize that I was not diseased; I was just different. Even before all this happened, if I could have flipped a switch, and stopped being autistic, I wouldn’t have, because it’s a part of me, and it’s made me the kind of person I am today. And the kind of person I am is one with the natural inclination to help and protect people. I didn’t need to replace my body with the upgrades, so I knew it was my obligation defend those who did need that. My latest assignment is to protect the princess, and she is proving to be a handful, but I’m honored to do it, because we have to win this war. We just have to.

Microstory 883: Forced Perspective

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You are all here because you understand what we’re doing, and what’s at stake. This job will not be easy. We are investing heavily in counseling services, and while we’re still working out the details, one thing we do know is that witnesses will be limited to the number of cases they’re allowed to work over the course of a yet-to-be established duration of time. This is extremely dangerous technology; it can have lasting effects on a person’s psyche. Anyone who finds joy in their work will be immediately removed from the program, with zero compensation. I expect you to have trouble seeing the horrific things you will undoubtedly see, but at the same time, I expect you to do your job. One thing we haven’t explained yet is that there is an unusual component to the memories that we can’t seem to figure out. Has anyone ever heard of the medical condition known as prosopagnosia? Well, it’s also known as face blindness. It’s a less rare than you would believe cognitive disorder wherein the patient has trouble recognizing faces. They could conceivably be standing right next to a loved one that they’ve known their entire lives, and not have any idea. They interact with other individuals using context clues, like fashion, and hairstyle. Out of all of the survivors who have agreed to this program, not one of them suffers from this condition, so it has nothing to do with them personally. For some reason, when the memories are fed into the image interpreting software, it doesn’t come out right. You will be able to see through their eyes, as clear as they could; better, even, because you will not be experiencing the same shock and trauma as they did. You will not, however, be able to discern the face of their attacker, even if they weren’t wearing some kind of cover. Again, we don’t understand why this is, and we haven’t found a workaround to include this data into the system. If we could, we wouldn’t have to hire most of you, because we would be able to solve these cases with nothing more than a few memory fragments. It will be your job to look for clues from these scenes. You’ll still be able to see distinguishing marks, like tattoos, or moles. Think about how the attacker smells, how stronger they are, their balance of rage, resentment, and feelings of inadequacy. If you do manage to see their face, please let us know, so that we can further study this problem. This is important work, and if the pilot program succeeds, it could be a great boon to our justice system. No one in the world deserves to experience rape, which is why you will have every opportunity to back out of this program at any moment, with no legal consequences. You can even quit in the middle of a procedure, if you just cannot take any more of the pain. If no one has any further questions, then we will begin. We only have one machine at the moment, so who’s first?

Microstory 642: A Fool Made Intelligent

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Decades ago on Earth, there came about a film media adaptation of book called The Wizard of Oz. It’s about a young girl who ends up in another world, where she meets an eclectic group of people and creatures. Her new friends each have their own problems, and they find themselves working together to those respective ends. A humanoid feline needs courage, a robot needs an organic heart, and...uh, some guy made out of straw needs a brain. Though we in Fostea have our own art to produce and distribute, we do like to keep up on what’s going on in other systems. For defense tactics purposes, mostly. We sometimes even develop our own franchises based on the ones created somewhere else. Lactea is famous for this with their Hitch franchise, which seems never-ending, and is just as a banal as its Earthan progenitor. Even with this overwhelming amount of entertainment, from all corners of the universe, The Wizard of Oz has ended up being a man named Keir Banister’s favorite movie of all time. In fact, he does very little with his life unrelated to the canon. He cosplays the character’s costumes every day, apparently cycling through them in a complex and orderly manner. At one point, he asked his parents to transition his body into that of a humanoid feline. He chose to stop midway through the procedures, remaining in a hybrid form for a couple years before switching back to a standard human form. His parents incidentally got him into the film when he was a child, not knowing that it would basically become his entire life. They were just trying to give him some joy since he was born with neurological problems that prevented him from contributing to the economy on his own, and could not be helped by modern neuropharmacology. Wizard of Oz paraphernalia were his proverbial security blankets, providing comfort in the face of unintelligence. That all stopped as soon as the godlike being, Aurora Meeker finished her gray doorway message to the galaxy. Banister was suddenly one of the most intelligent human beings in the galaxy. He was knowledgeable, eloquent, and sophisticated. He immediately started explaining extremely complicated things about how the universe works, then soon moving on to making previously only theoretical claims about science and progress. It was like they switched him out with an entirely different person who looked exactly like him. It was clear that Keir Banister was helping Lightseers fulfill the forty-second taikon.

Microstory 572: Amnesia Patients Receive Erroneous Memory Infusions

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When then-President of Development at Sikie International Knowledge Insights Enterprises. stood before a press conference, he promised us one thing; the cure for all memory-related neurological disorders within ten years. That was five years ago, and it has recently come to the attention of the authorities that this is a promise Sikie will not be able to fulfill. The board of directors, according to documentation recovered by SDS detectives, has been acutely aware of this fact for at least a year, however. In response to this problem, they redirected resources towards a new strategy. They decided to refocus all efforts on one singular technomedical advancement: memory infusions. By aggregating data from medical histories, correspondence, criminal reports, second-hand accounts and other anecdotal evidence, along with many other resources, Sikie believed that memories could be reconstructed and implanted in the damaged brain. They believed that the brain simply possessing the verifiable evidence of past events could be enough for that brain to fill in the gaps, and possibly even restore the actual memories hidden away in broken neural connections.

Historically, amnesia patients, for instance, have been told about who they are. They meet their loved ones, and are shown photographic evidence of their adventures together, with the hope that something will spark their memories. Sikie’s new process was an attempt to expand on this by actually inserting these data into the neurosubstrate itself, thereby allowing the brain to absorb that information physically. Unfortunately for Sikie, and its early program testers, this method does not work. At best, patients possess a distant understanding of these ‘memories’ but no emotional attachment to them, as if recounting nothing more than a fictional narrative. At worst, the process further damaged the patient neurologically, leading to a life of even less quality than they had before. It is for this reason that a second round of testing was ordered, but with even more unethical parameters. Recorded data is supplemented by the transferred memories of others. Without their reasoned consent, the brains of the patient’s loved ones were scanned. Their memories were then extracted, and inserted into the patient’s brain. The hope was that the memories of their events together, coupled with the original data, would create an even clearer picture of their time together, and these memories will enrich other memories through a snowball effect. Of course, this method did not work either, leaving patients with altered perceptions, and dissociative disorders. They no longer felt like themselves, but a horrific amalgamation of other people they knew. So far, only ground floor researchers have been arrested by the SDS, but an investigation into everyone who possibly knew what was going on the department is presently underway.

Microstory 540: Telepathic Students Cheating on Tests

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A conspiracy was uncovered two days ago by the SDS. A few weeks ago, teachers started noticing an inexplicable rise in high scores from several of their students. Instead of being but a fluke, the number only grew from there. Eventually it seemed like the entire school was scoring higher than they ever had before. No amount of teacher competence could account for this. They were, however, unable to find any proof of what was happening, or really that anything was helping at all. None of the students was talking. Believing there to be a possibility that this was the result of some phenomenal technological advancement, the school administration contacted the Secret Detectives of Science. An elite team, infamous for having broken many unusual cases in the past, arrived at the school, and rather quickly discovered the truth. These students were not passing notes, nor were they wearing bionics, or even just taking illegal memory-enhancement drugs. They were communicating with each other...telepathically.

More specifically, the students were communicating with a single individual named Rufus Durante. Rufus is an eleven-year-old homeschooled boy who lives on the edge of Bellevue. An exceptional student, his parents did not feel like any school could provide him with the care he needed to excel. His family has known him to invent a great many things during his free time, some of which may be found in your home. What they didn’t know was what his latest creation was. He recently developed a natural form of telepathic communication. Customers first have their brainwaves analyzed by a scanner. They are then strapped into a brainwave therapy machine, which conditions their neural patterns to accept a level of telepathy without further technological aid. Once this noninvasive procedure is complete, they are semi-permanently connected to the network. This allows them to contact each other remotely, as if making a simple phone call. Each call is routed first through Durante, like an operator from the late seventeenth century. It should be noted that Durante underwent a more invasive procedure. In order to maintain his status as telepathic operator, he needed to implant a special governing device in his wrist. It has yet to be removed.

New customers were required to go through a training program so as to not give the secret away. Without this, each time they connected to the network, they would not be able to concentrate on anything else, producing suspicion from those around them. With enough practice, this process can be seamless, with no one around a telepath having any idea that anything is happening. As of now, Rufus Durante has been taken into custody, as have his parents for negligence. It is unclear what will become of the family. Research of this magnitude is heavily regulated, and cannot be done without some level of oversight. The fact that it involves a medical procedure makes the situation more severe, but the fact that it was created by a child makes it complicated. Durante was able to keep track of his customer base in his head, so very few of them have been found. The SDS is currently working on other ways of determining which students participated, but it unlikely that they will face criminal charges. They will, however, likely suffer from punishment by the school administration.

Microstory 389: Acknowledgement

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Station

As I’ve said about a million times here, I have autism. I honestly didn’t know if I was going to mention it here. Actually, no, the thought didn’t even cross my mind. I had no intention of bringing myself into this site except in the usual “write what you know” kind of thing. I was diagnosed as an adult, but even before I knew, I knew. In fact, I can go back to a journal entry I wrote in either middle school or very early high school where I admit this to myself. Basically the deal with autism is that, whatever other kind of psychological problems you have going on, they’ll really just be part of that. Because autism is not a disease. It’s an array of conditions found, to a certain degree, in a quantifiable fraction of the population. Ultimately, I have a neuroatypical brain, and you have a neurotypical brain, but they’re both just human brains. This is the way I am, it’s integral to my identity, and though I do want to become a better person, I don’t want to get rid of it. That would be lobotomy, and no one wants that. Before I understood all this about myself, and even since then, I’ve been “the quiet one”. Those who don’t know me can be confused by this. People have actually been pissed off that I don’t engage them in a stupid goddamn conversation about the meaning of the temperature today being one degree different than yesterday. Man, stop talking about the weather. I really need you to let it go. Anyway, here’s the kicker. Those who do know me know that I prefer to be quiet, so they let that happen. They go about their conversations and leave me out of it, because I usually don’t want to contribute. But sometimes I do, and how am I supposed to get their attention? This is a very literal example of what I’m saying here, and I can confirm and not deny that I told this story so I could stretch out the next few entries. The first step to being an accepted and respected member of a group or society is acknowledgement. People have to first realize you’re even there, and only then can you possibly get them to hear what you have to say.

Attention

Microstory 318: Neuropsychological Function

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Disease Prevention

When I say neuropsychological function, I’m really just using it as an umbrella term for all things that have to do with the brain and mind. As with many other needs, I struggled to find a place for it in the list. It sort of feels like it’s something you don’t want to worry about until other issues are resolved, but there is an argument for its earlier placement. I suppose, in the end, I decided to treat it as a bridge between personal needs and societal needs. Most, if not all, needs I’ve discussed thus far have involved an individual’s ability to survive. Everyone needs those things somewhat independently of how they relate to others. Psychological health, however, is a global issue; one that every nation and subculture has a responsibility to deal with, in some way. If there is no general drive towards a world of well-adjusted, fulfilled people, then there is probably no world at all. As I’ve said before, I was recently diagnosed with Autistic Spectrum Disorder. Autism, as a word, comes with a lot of stigma, so it’s not a perfect description, but the word disorder probably does people like me the biggest disservice. I’m personally happy with who I am, and I wouldn't call my autism a mental health issue. My duty to find my place in the world is no more important than anyone else’s. It is, perhaps, simply more difficult. All this means is that I’m not one to believe we should all possess the same brain chemistry. But there are things that people of certain mental conditions struggle with, and these problems should be addressed accordingly. Likewise, a population must consider these problems as a whole, and try to find ways to make everyone capable of enjoying life. The first step in solving any problem is education. We could all learn something from the mental state of someone else.

Safety from Chaos

Microstory 225: Perspectives (Introduction)

What the hell is happening here?

There is an old expression that goes something like “judge not a man before walking a mile in his shoes”. I say it’s an old expression, and fail to provide you with a proper source, because there does not appear to be one. Many have attempted to pinpoint its origin, to no avail. Regardless of where it came from, there is a lot of wisdom in its words. I was recently diagnosed with autism, and this opened my eyes—not to how I see the world, since I already understand this—but to how others may see me. I’ve always been “the weird one”. I’m extremely quiet and reserved. I generally speak only when spoken to, not because I submit to others, but because I see little reason to communicate unless we’re trying to accomplish something. Whenever you talk about the weather, or your other aglets of conversation, I just cannot relate. I’m not saying that every conversation you have must be all business, or that I don’t want to hear your anecdotes. It’s just that my brain isn’t wired for appropriate response, and my default reaction is silence. Though I did not know my specific mental condition, I grew up having a pretty decent grasp of who I was. I developed coping mechanisms to function in the world. It’s still easy to notice how strange I am, but I can get through a sentence, if need be. I can convey information, if need be. It may be more difficult for me, and it causes a huge amount of stress and anxiety for me, but I’ve become surprisingly good at faking it. Sometimes, I even convince myself that I’m human. If I acted the way my brain is constantly demanding me to, however, I wouldn’t have so much as gotten through middle school.

I’m not telling you this so that you’ll treat me differently, or stop judging me. That’s not going to happen. I’m at this sweet spot on the spectrum where people can tell that there’s something wrong with me, but they still think that I should be able to “get over it” and “act normal”. I’ve accepted this, and I know that the only way I’m going to survive is to pretend to be a neurotypical. I don’t know that I could raise much awareness about this one specific issue, mainly because I’ve not researched it as much as I probably should. Instead, what I’m going to do is spend the next 74 microstories trying to give you—what’s the word...perspective. Each installment is going to be told from the point of view of a different person. I’ve not thought much about the kind of people I’ll be profiling, but I feel the need to note that any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This is still microfiction, and even though I occasionally open a door through the fourth wall, I do not intend to tear it down completely. Except for the 100 stories coming after this series. I’ve not yet decided how those are going to work. Lastly, my Word Origin of the Day entries will temporarily step aside to make room for Name Origin of the Days.

Enjoy, and please...keep an open mind.

Perspective One

Microstory 123: Hosanna Katz

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Little baby Hosanna Katz was a very fussy child, and there was nothing his parents or his doctors could do about it. He would show no symptoms of illness, he was well fed, and was kept clean, but would still continue to cry. As he grew older, he began to understand his ability, but still not control it. Hosanna’s empathy level sat at an extreme. He could sense what others were feeling to such a high degree that he could feel their physical pain, and not just emotions. The problem with this was that each individual has their own mood at any given time. Hosanna was being regularly bombarded with conflicting emotions coming from multiple people simultaneously, and this generally manifested as nausea. He would always feel more comfortable being around a single person at any one time, because being alone left him feeling empty. His parents were able to convince themselves that they tried everything they could to help him, but in the end, they were forced to place him in foster care. He remained in the system for a few years until he was discovered by two other anomalies. They took him in as their grandson and little brother. Both Don and Valary had been using meditation and other calming techniques to channel their abilities so that they could use them on command. They taught Hosanna to do the same, and soon his power increased. He could not only sense other people’s emotions, but control them; ease their pain. He possessed powerful mirror neurons that allowed him to mimic the complex movements of others in real-time, even without seeing them with his eyes. His new family’s love for him allowed him to let go of his anger regarding his old family so that he could use his gift for good. He had a wide range of interests, and could be found floating between the departments of Bellevue, helping wherever he could. He considered his time on the medical team, providing the most natural form of anesthesia in the world, to be the most rewarding. He even had to do that for himself once. Unfortunately, he died before managing to settle into a regular position.

Crossed Off: Someone Else’s Goat Tails (Part III)

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Though Starla felt awkward, Magnus Shapiro and Denton stared at each other like they were in the middle of an intense game of Polygon. She had checked in with their minds briefly while reading the menu; only long enough to find that they had all decided to order soup because it was the quickest thing to swallow, allowing a more fluid conversation. Shapiro could somehow feel her inside his head, so she was forced to leave quickly. “You’re a telepath.”

“Not in so few words,” Starla answered, trying her best to reach their intellectual levels.

After the waitress left, Magnus Shapiro placed his elbows on the table and pursued a line of question. “Tell me. Can you control my actions?”

“I can control your movements.”

“The difference?”

“I can possess your body and make people think I’m you. And when I’m there, I can either give you my body, force you to be a passenger, or put your mind to sleep. But, I can’t change your thoughts, so you’ll notice a time shift if I take full control. My ability to read minds is just a required secondary power, and I don’t use it that often. People have messed up thoughts.”

“Fascinating. And you, Mister Wescott?”

“I can learn what others know just by being around them. I can’t read their minds, but I absorb their knowledge after I’ve been around them for long enough. There are downsides to this. I crave the knowledge to a greater level than you crave tomato soup, and everyone has to be conscious for it, which means that I don’t get a lot of sleep. I was hoping you could somehow teach me self-restraint and discipline.”

Magnus Shapiro, who insisted they call him Dathan from then on, nodded his head and processed the information. “Due to my—honestly, there is no subtler way to put this—superior intelligence, I intuited that there were others, but what you’re implying is not what I predicted.”

“What did you expect?” Denton asked.

Dathan went on, “I assumed that others like me would simply be either more or less intelligent than I. My theory was that, if we could harness our brain power more effectively, we could do anything within the laws of physics; but all laws would remain at a constant. If Subject A is telepathic, and Subject B is empathic, it simply means that Subject B has not yet learned telepathy, and also that Subject A must necessarily be empathic as well. But you two have latched on to niches. I have no reason to believe that you, Starla could one day absorb knowledge passively. Likewise, I can’t imagine that Denton would ever be capable transferring his consciousness to others.”

“Because we’re too dumb for it?” Starla asked.

Denton laughed. “No. He’s saying that it’s not about how smart we are. The fact that the three of us present completely different abilities suggests that something else is the cause. We’re not dumb, but we aren’t this way because we’re smarter. We’re this way because our genetic code is different than that of normal people.”

“Yes,” Dathan responded, this time not concerned that the waitress could hear them. “What I want to know is why. The only reason organisms evolve is because certain individuals in a generation possess a random mutation that turns out to be beneficial to their survival. They pass on these genes either because they live long enough to propagate their species—to the disappointment of those without the mutation—or because potential mates find the mutation in question to be desirable, to the frustration of less desirable rivals.”

“And is that not what’s happening here?” Starla was more lost than ever.

“Well, we’re human. We aren’t born with a fur coat, because we kill animals and take their coats. We don’t have large sharp teeth to build shelters with trees because we’re smart enough to develop sophisticated tools that do that for us. Do not misunderstand me, evolution is still going strong for the human race. You can’t stop mutations, despite what eugenicists might love to believe...” Dathan trailed off and stopped himself. He had just discovered a truth. “That’s it.”

Denton leaned forward. “What’s it?”

“Eugenicists. That’s the only explanation.”

“I don’t follow,” Dathan said. “I mean, I do follow. I know exactly what you’re talking about, but I don’t quite know how you came to the conclusion that you could rule out all possibilities besides eugenics.”

Starla adjusted herself in her chair. “I just plain don’t follow.”

Denton explained it to her while Dathan remained in his trance. “Eugenics is built on the idea that we can pick and choose desirable mutations purposely. Instead of a fish being able to survive better than its brothers because it has larger fins and is thusly a little faster, a person protects that fish and forces it to mate with others it has chosen, sometimes killing fish they don’t like. It’s basically breeding. We’ve seen it with the kaidas. Someone liked goats, but they didn’t like how bad goats were with the indoors, so they only kept the baby goats that could be better trained. Only those goats were allowed to make more babies, and eventually you have a completely docile and obedient kaidas who would have a hard time surviving in the wild, and even looks noticeably different than a wild goat. And some of them were bred for their milk, meat, and fur, so you have farm goats which are neither docile nor wild. That doesn’t sound like much of a problem until you apply these same principles to humans, and try to decide who is allowed to live and procreate, and who is of no use and needs to be discarded.”

“That’s awful.”

Denton shrugged, clearly used to being the smartest one in the room. “It’s what the War of 1899 was about. A disgraced lawyer who lives on the other side of the world reads articles about eugenics from our scientists and becomes responsible for the killing of thousands of people because they weren’t good enough for him and his followers. We blame his country, and bomb the hell out of it.”

“I guess I should pay better attention in history class.”

Denton looked down at his soup, first realizing that he had yet to try it. “I cannot relate to that. I often wish I could.”

Dathan finally came back to the discussion. “I as well.”

Starla laughed. “Oh, you’re still here? Have you figured out what’s wrong with us?”

“Absolutely nothing, of course. I haven’t really figured out anything. Mister Wescott was right. There are other possibilities that I cannot yet rule out, but my instinct is that this was done to us intentionally.”

“But the timeline doesn’t work out,” Denton countered. “Not with how slow evolution is, and how recently scientists would have needed to have so much as attempted this.”

Dathan scratched his hair vigorously. “No, you’re right; it doesn’t. For our abilities to be so ingrained in us that we use them without thinking, experiments would have to have been done to our ancestors many generations back. But for the necessary technology to exist, it couldn’t have happened more than a century ago, even assuming the rogue scientists were twenty years ahead of the standard.”

“Sounds like we’re in a pickle.” Starla took a bite out of her pickle.

“If our crazy theory about ancient rogue scientists is true, you know what else this means, right?” Denton asked of Dathan who nodded in agreement.

“That they probably didn’t limit themselves to neurological enhancements, and that if we’re not alone, other people could have drastically different abilities that have barely anything to do with the brain?” Starla slurped up the remaining pickle seeds and prepared to go back to her soup. When they looked at her funny, she simply said, “what? Is that wrong?”

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Crossed Off: Students (Part II)

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When Starla woke up the next morning, the first thing she did was complain about Alec lying to her. “You had the entire rest of yesterday to tell me that you’re planning to drag me to Kansas City.”

“I was trying to choose my words carefully.”

“Yes. You are known for not speaking clearly when you don’t have the whole night to think about it.”

“We’re doing this, Starla.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what normal people do; they go see their friends, physically. They get in a car, train, or plane, and they move through space in real-time. I think you kind of need to see what that’s like.”

“That sounds incredibly exhausting. I don’t know how you get through the day like that. I’m fine the way I am. I won’t kill myself, I promise.”

“If you think that this trip is only about that then you obviously don’t understand what friendship is.”

“It’ll be rather awkward, won’t it? I just met Kathleen, and now we’re going to visit her brother four states over? What’s your cover again? How does she think you even know Tristan?”

“We told her that we met at archery camp.”

“You haven’t picked up a bow in your life.”

“I’m thinking about picking it up. Tristan makes it sound interesting.”

“That he does. He doesn’t care about anything but Kathleen and archery.”

Kathleen came back into the room with a towel wrapped around her still dripping body. “What’s this?”

“Uh...what?” Alec asked.

“This door isn’t very thick. What did you say about not doing archery?”

Oh no. Alec and Starla tried to come up with excuses for what they had meant during the conversation, but nothing sounded plausible. They ended up breaking down and just telling the truth about Starla’s ability to switch bodies with people. Kathleen was surprisingly open to the idea, and requested proof politely, which Starla obliged. They would have called her healthily skeptical.

“This is going to make things a lot easier, isn’t it?” Kathleen asked. “Not having to tiptoe around me anymore? I did always found your relationship with my brother a tad bit suspicious. I didn’t think too much of it, though. He’s always been into younger guys, but doesn’t think I know, so I figured you were together, or at least had been before.”

“No,” Alec laughed. “We’ve actually never met in real life.”

“Well.” She slapped her knees with finality. “I’m going to get dressed first, and then spend the next few days going to classes. Then we’ll all go up together. It’ll be a fun road trip!” She dramatically pulled her towel away and finished drying off.

She’s taking this a little too easily, Starla said to Alec telepathically.

You’re so hesitant of people, Alec thought back to her. Just because you didn’t read her thoughts—and you definitely shouldn’t do that—doesn’t mean she has something to hide.

I don’t read people’s thoughts anymore, Starla countered. You taught me how to stop that, and I haven’t anymore. Don’t judge me.

Kathleen eyed them curiously while she was putting on her shorts. “Are you two talking to each other?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

“Were you talking about me?” Kathleen asked.

“No,” Starla replied. “We were discussing the events during yesterday’s sports competition.”

“Oh yeah?” Kathleen put her hands on her hips. “What sport?”

Starla thought about it for a second. “Vector?”

Kathleen laughed and looked to Alec. “How has she not yet been caught? She’s a terrible liar.”

“Could you teach me?”

Kathleen stopped getting dressed for a second, assessing the situation to make sure they were no longer joking before she answered, “I most certainly can.”

Starla spent the next few days attending Alec’s and Kathleen’s classes as a prospective student. Kathleen was particularly interesting in bringing her to a special lecture on neurobiology, targeted at students interested in pursuing the subject after completing the general requirements. They sat next to Kathleen’s gracer, Denton. The first thing the guest speaker did was throw up a slide with an image of a human brain in the middle of surgery. “This is a brain,” Magnus Shapiro said. “More specifically, this is my brain.”

A young man covered his mouth desperately with his hand and struggled to leave the room.

“Lost another one I see. If you can’t handle this, you are in the wrong field of study. Neurobiology, and really biology of any kind, is not for you.” He paused to let people leave as they needed, but no one else did. “The human brain is the most powerful machine in the universe. It is highly efficient, potentially limitless, and shockingly underused. You are all idiots. Evolution gave this gift of an intelligent mind, and you fail to utilize it properly. Don’t be sad, it’s not your fault. Because biology also placed roadblocks on your mind. If you could fire your neurons to the absolute best of their ability, there is no telling what you would do. Possible results of a less hindered mind include accelerated learning, control of normally involuntarily biological processes like breathing and heartbeat, superior body temperature regulation, and even possibly the subversion of death. If you could somehow...” he gathered her words “...tell your body to regrow limbs, repair damage, or fight off a disease in a certain way, you would never reach death.”

A girl in the front row raised her hand and Magnus Shapiro called on her. “Magnus, if we were all immortal, the planet would be overpopulated, and we would run out of resources.”

“Would we?” Shapiro asked rhetorically. “Before we reach that level of intellect, surely we would have solved other problems. Food, land space, and construction materials are only restricted by our current situation. There are hundreds of billions of stars in this galaxy alone. It is estimated that there are 500 million planets capable of supporting life to the level of ours, and many more with other resources. All we have to do is figure out how to get there. One man can do that. Just make one man smart enough to solve these problems, and ask him for his help. He’ll lift everybody else up.”

Starla looked over and saw that Denton was enamored with the lecture, almost like he was in a trance. Kathleen looked between him and Starla, like she had a secret of her own. She smiled and nodded to Denton. Starla shook her head, unclear what she wanted. Kathleen just urged her on, and continued to motion to Denton. Did she want her to possess his body? Assuming that to be her intention, Starla closed her eyes and prepared to jump into Denton’s body. She had to think about it beforehand, otherwise she could choose the wrong method and give herself away. She took a deep breath and jumped, leaving her body looking like she was only sleeping, continuing to listen to the lecture from Denton’s point of view. The experience was fascinating. Denton was eating up the Magna’s words. He was processing the information at a rate that she had never felt before. He seemed to be gathering information from other people as well, even though they weren’t speaking. He wasn’t reading their minds. It was more like he was absorbing their knowledge. Had she met another avatar? Could he teach her to do the same?

“...who knows what kind of powers a hyperintelligent human being might have,” Shapiro went on. “Is telekinesis possible? Could someone be so empathetic to others that their own body can be altered on a glandular level?” As he was scanning the crowd for their reactions, he stopped on Starla and Denton. He watched them for a second, causing the students to wonder what was going to happen next. “Could a person use their mind to see what life is like from another person’s perspective? The literal manifestation of walking a mile in someone else’s shoes?”

Out of fear, Starla quickly jumped back into her body and gasped for air. Everyone looked up at her. “Sorry, I’m fine,” she lied.

Magnus Shapiro kept looking at her for a moment before moving on with his speech. He looked back up to them every once in a while, especially when he hit points that were eerily relevant to Starla’s ability. After it was over, Kathleen said that she had to get clear across campus quickly, and asked Denton to take Starla back to the dorm room.

“I can do that, but I was hoping to speak with the magnus first,” Denton said

“I’d love to do that as well,” Starla said. “So that works out perfectly.”

Other students had flocked to ask Shapiro questions, but he was pretty much ignoring them. He was staring at the two of them as Denton was wheeling Starla towards him. He waved his hand to the rest of the students. “I’ve stolen Magnus Björkman's office for the rest of the week. I’ll answer any questions tomorrow.” The students didn’t know what to do. “That’ll be all. Thank you very much,” he clarified. They finally took the hint and dispersed.

Denton nodded with respect. “Magnus.”

“I’m pretty hungry,” the magnus said to him. “Could you recommend a nice quiet place to eat in this town?”

Denton smiled. “I sure could.”

“Great.”

“Would you have room for company?” Denton asked.

“I hate to eat alone.” He looked down at Starla. “As long as you’re coming too.”

She was a little anxious, but she had to understand not only how Denton’s special mind worked, but also how the professor was somehow able to sense them. “Sure.”

“Wonderful.”

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