Microstory 2066: Just Backpedal a Little

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Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image Duet AI software

Had a good meeting with my social worker today. I was coughing a lot, but we were both wearing masks, and he apparently always walks around with this foldable clear plastic partition. I’m not the only client of his who has health issues. I just hope I get over mine soon, and adapt better to this world. I didn’t tell him any of this, but I’m just now realizing that I told him that I’ve been keeping a blog, and gave him a link, so he’ll be able to read all of this. I’ve already talked a lot about how I believe I’m from a different universe. Maybe I could just backpedal a little, and tell him that it’s fiction, and this is all nothing more than a creative outlet. But he would be able to read this installment too, which apparently negates that explanation. Maybe I’ll just schedule this to post near the end of the evening. I don’t expect he’ll read this far anyway. It’s not like this is brilliant writing. Then again, the newest post will always be at the top, and I’ve spoken to people back when I was writing my fictional stories who just read that most recent one, and then stopped. So the newest one always has to be the best. But even then, it’s often taken completely out of context. I am trying to paint you a picture here. You can’t start in the middle, and expect to form a reasonable opinion on my skill, can you? No, that would be unfair. Start at the beginning, or don’t start at all. No, don’t do that. That’s what most people do. Five billion people in the world, and the number of people who actually read my ish adds up to a rounding error. Just kidding, it’s zero, with a margin of error of zero also. Yay, me! Whatever. Anyway, I got a second hit on my ad. She doesn’t claim to be an alien, but she hasn’t said she isn’t yet. I’m calling her tonight. Audio only.

Microstory 1804: Good Opinions and Right Choices

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I was raised in an extremely hostile environment. My parents were racist, hateful, and mean. When my older brother was first growing up, he tried to rebel against them. He didn’t go full liberal—because he didn’t know what that meant—but he didn’t agree with the kinds of things they would say. And they weren’t super obvious about it. They didn’t go around claiming that black people were inferior. They just used very unclever cover words like urban and hoodlum. They weren’t as inconspicuous as they thought they were, though, and my brother wanted no part of it. Unfortunately, they decided they weren’t going to give him a choice. They verbally abused him until he stopped talking all that lovey dovey nonsense. The world didn’t use terms like snowflake and libtard back then, but they would have loved it if they had been alive to learn them. Anyway, when I was old enough to start possibly making my own decisions, my brother realized how similar we were. He taught me to pretend to be like our family. I let them think that I was all about letting poor people die on the streets to save the dollar in my pocket, and not getting upset about the injustices we would see on the news. I did a really great job, blending in as the good little conservative boy that I was expected to be. I did too good of a job, actually. They were so proud of me. My brother and I had about the same grades in school, but since they were so disappointed in him, it was like I was the second coming of the messiah. I also had to pretend to believe in the messiah. I wasn’t an exceptional student, or person in general, but I could do no wrong, and my parents did what they could to give me the opportunities they felt that I deserved.

They paid my way into a preparatory school, which led me to a really great college. I hated every minute of it, but I figured I would take my free education, and do something positive with it. The problem was that I was so used to pretending to be an entitled prick that it was too hard to turn off at this point. I let them get me conscripted into a secret underground brotherhood, which was designed to foster a network of good ol’ boys who help each other go places, and get out of jams. It was so rough, being around people with such wrong opinions. I know people say that there’s no such thing as a wrong opinion, but those people’s opinions are wrong. There is a right way to think about how the world should be run, and a very bad way. It was impossible to walk away, though, and not because the only way out would have been in a bodybag, but because it was so tempting to accept their gifts. With their help, I was poised to step on a lot of heads, and make a lot of money. At that point, I didn’t really care that everyone who was helping me get there disgusted me to my core. Because maybe they didn’t. Maybe they weren’t so bad. None of my brothers were violent or outwardly intolerant either. They were great at hiding it, and some of them probably weren’t even that conservative at all. That’s obviously how the secret society formed, but we all make our own choices. I had to make a choice too. I had to do something to become my own man, and stop letting my family dictate how the world should see me. The brotherhood fed into a militia. Not everyone joined it, but it was an option. I continued to pretend, and took the path towards that anti-government group. They accepted me, and armed me, and it wasn’t long before they decided to plan an attack on the capitol. Before they could, I warned the authorities, and got the place raided. I finally made the right choice, and it was my last.

Extremus: Year 12

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The cat was out of the bag, but only a few people saw it. Word spread to the rest of the crew that someone was trying to kill the Captain, and that Mercer had taken his place in order to root out the culprits. Vesper was proof that this was a real threat, and this was the silver lining, for if that proof did not exist, Mercer would probably be in a lot of trouble. Halan himself would have completely understood, and devised the protocol for such an occasion. Others might not have been so kind. It would look like an ironic power grab.

The investigation continued, but quickly hit a dead end. They had more people working the problem, but doing so risked further exposure. So far, the passengers still don’t know that anything is amiss—Mercer’s impersonation was successful—but it’s probably only a matter of time. The good news out of this reality is that the people responsible for the assassination attempts probably already do know that the crew is investigating them. They would be pretty dumb not to, now that Halan has survived so much. The problem is now getting more information. Omega did the right thing by transporting their own suspect to the vacuum of space before he could activate his suicide bomb, but now they have no suspects, and the trail had no choice but to grow cold.

Captain Yenant has been trying to take his mind off the problem, and just focus on his responsibilities. Catching killers is not in the job description, and he has plenty of other things that he is expected to be worried about. It’s been eleven years since Extremus departed The Gatewood Collective, which means it’s time for new passenger leadership. They hold elections for the major offices every three years. Each position comes with a four-term limit. Satyria could have been replaced already, but she’s been a popular incumbent, so she’s been able to hold her seat the entire time. Everything good must come to an end, and she is no longer eligible for reëlection. It has so far been a surprisingly intense campaign season.

While this is the first time the Chair has been anyone’s seat to lose, it is generally accepted how important the ship’s captain’s opinion matters. Halan has yet to endorse a candidate, and his choice could prove to be the unofficial deciding factor. Current shift crew members can’t vote—though apprentices retain this right—but passengers still want to know what they think of the civilian government. Perhaps it’s even more important than voter opinion, since public endorsement is the only way their voices are heard in these matters. It is no shock that the captain’s voice carries the most weight of all. In the past, Halan was able to say little, and let voters interpret his carefully curated words however they wanted, whether that meant believing that he still backed incumbent Ebner, or he had changed his mind. The luxury of avoiding taking a clear side is over, and he’s been forced to spend the day speaking with each candidate, so they can plead their case to him.

Ovan Teleres is the last in a long line of hopefuls who have so far made Halan want to float himself from the Karen airlock. Still, “thank you for coming,” he says politely. He just has to get through this, and then he can ask his advisors which one he should choose to support. Because honestly, none of them seems to be better or worse than the rest. If they didn’t look like different people, he would swear the same individual just came into his office five times. They all pretty much said the same thing, and he has no reason to believe that Ovan won’t follow suit.

“No, sir, thank you for having me.”

“Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?” Halan begins.

“Well, I was born on Gatewood Three. I studied Earthan anthropology, and historical extrasolar migrations, including the move from Durus to Ansutah, and the Dardieti timeline rescues. I graduated from college last year in the middle of my class, and I’m ready to serve my community in the best way possible.”

“You just graduated?” Halan echoes.

“I may be young, but that just means I won’t croak before the job’s done.  I assure you that my social skills are more than enough for me to understand the needs of the passengers on this ship, as well as how to fulfill those needs. I know that I can make this ship a better place. I wouldn’t have come this far, with the highest number of ballot access signatures, if I wasn’t good at convincing others that I can help them get what they want.”

Halan can’t help but laugh. “I don’t doubt your potential. This is just about getting to know you.”

Ovan nods.

Halan goes on, “so you studied migrations? I suppose joining the mission was the ultimate hands-on experience. I can’t imagine how excited you were when we first announced it.”

He takes a moment to respond. “Can I be frank with you, sir?”

“I wish you would.”

“I didn’t wanna come here, not at all. I wanted to live on a planet, and I do not take comfort in knowing that my children’s children’s children’s children’s children get to realize that dream, but that I will be long dead.”

“Why did you come? You mentioned Durus. Plans were being drawn up to migrate to our ancestral home.”

“I was seven years old, I didn’t have a choice.”

Halan balks at this. “There was no minimum age of consent for the mission. If a toddler could vocalize their refusal to come, their parents would not be allowed to force them.”

“That may have been the official stance, but not every family listened to their children. It was strongly suggested to me that I...keep my reservations to myself.”

“If you never wanted to come, why do you want to be Chair now?”

“I’m here now, so I can at least make this a great place to live.”

“There’s also no statute of limitations for breaking mission laws. I could arrest your parents for breach.”

Ovan shakes his head. “That was twelve years ago, I’m over it. I’m not gonna cause a scandal now, and it’s not gonna get me to Durus.”

“I must say, your honesty is refreshing.”

“Getting a lot of brown-nosing?” Ovan asks with a smirk.

“I cannot comment on my private interactions with other candidates.” He takes a beat. “I’ll only say that not everyone would be willing to admit they want this place to change.”

“Is that what I said?”

“I would not have come this far, having been selected as First Captain of Nine, without being able to see people for who they truly are, and not simply who they want me to see.”

“What does that mean?” Ovan questions. “Would you endorse someone like me, or not?”

“I’ll announce my final decision tomorrow, as I have been asked.”

“Can’t give me a hint?”

“I have not been revealing which way I’m leaning as it will unduly impact a fair conclusion, and could cause undue hostility after perceived premature victory.”

“What does that mean, literally?”

“Whatever I say, my words may be interpreted any way that suits a candidate’s own biases. They may believe that they have won because I complimented them on their shoes, or that I have written them off because I mentioned not liking the same foods as they. I urge you to take nothing I say as confirmation one way, or the other.”

“You have already made similar remarks to me.”

Halan leans forward. “Which is precisely why I did not want to have these conversations. I’m telling you this now so you’ll understand that I have not yet made a decision, and that your chances of winning have neither gone up, nor down. I have never placed much stock in polls and rumors. As far as I’m concerned, the six of you are presently in a seven-way tie.”

Ovan closes his eyes and nods respectfully.

“Thank you for coming in,” Halan says. “I have a lot to think about tonight.”

He replies with a quick, “sir,” and leaves the office. Most of the conversations ran longer than this, but Halan realized that he had to cut this one short. He already said too much. Ovan is the type of person who will take every syllable a person utters, and twist it to his advantage. He is a dangerous man, and the more he sat before him, the more uncomfortable Halan became about him. Yes, he speaks the truth, but that doesn't mean he's being honest. It's not bad that he didn't want to be here at first, or that he wants to change the government. It's that he loathes the crew. No, he hasn't said so, but Halan can see it in his eyes. If allowed, that man will destroy this vessel, and everyone on it. He cannot be allowed to sit in the chair.

Halan leaves his office to express his concerns to the rest of the executive crew, including Dr. Meziani. There are other members of the mental health team. She’s only supposed to be the grief counselor, but Halan has found himself not being able to trust anyone else with his secrets, so she agreed to do more sessions as a side hustle. She’s having the hardest time understanding Halan’s reasoning out of everyone.

“I am not confused,” Dr. Meziani contends. “I recognize where you’re coming from, and I appreciate your perspective. I’m just not sure I believe that your interaction is enough to prove one way or another what kind of leader Mr. Teleres would be.”

“You didn’t see him,” Halan says for the third time during this discussion.

“Yes,” she says, “his eyes. He was regarding you with contempt.”

“It was all he could do to prevent himself from crawling over the table and strangling me in my chair.”

She doesn’t let him say things that he can’t prove. “You don’t know that.”

He doesn’t respond to this, and everyone else manages to stay quiet.

Dr. Meziani clears her throat. “Leave us.”

Omega stands up from his chair, but then he sees that everyone was too scared to move in real time. They activated their emergency teleporters. “Okay,” he says awkwardly. “Uhhhhhhhh...bye.” He teleports away as well.

She continues, “I believe that your recent trauma has clouded your judgment, and caused you to see enemies where there are none.”

“Dr. Holmes figured out that the paranoia I was feeling was chemically induced, not psychological.”

“Psychological processes are chemical, and while Holmes cleared you for duty, that does not mean there could not be any residual effects of the poisoning.”

“My interpretation of Ovan’s intentions comes from my intellect, not from my feelings. I assure you that I know how to compartmentalize.”

“You don’t have to assure me. I’ve spoken to you enough times to know what you’re capable of. What I’m saying is that you have not spoken to him enough times to do the same.”

“I’m not going to talk to that man again. I have to do everything I can to keep him out of office.”

“Captain.”

“Please, Doctor. Halan.”

“Halan,” she agrees. “I need to know what the word everything means to you.”

“I’m not going to kill him, if that’s where you’re going with this.”

She looks at him above imaginary glasses.

“I’m not going to have him killed either. That wasn’t a semantic trick. I have been asked to endorse a candidate, which I will. I have not been asked to censure any of them, but there is nothing in the bylaws that precludes me from doing so.”

“May I suggest that you not go down that road?”

“Why?”

“My worry is that it will only serve to hasten, or even precipitate this divide you think may exist between the passengers and crew.”

“I can’t let him be Chair, Itri. I wish you could have been in the room. He’s...”

“He’s a danger,” she says, trying to calm him down. “I understand. And I’m...willing to trust your judgment. But you have to promise me that you won’t do anything unethical, even if it’s not specifically prohibited in the bylaws. If you really want to, I will back your decision to both endorse a candidate, and disapprove of another. But you are not joining the campaign trail. You may mention your opinion precisely once on a public platform, make it clear that you will not elaborate on your reasons, and then you must agree to accept the results regardless.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

She isn’t done. “You must also accept the fact that people are going to continue to push the matter, and ask you for details. You cannot give in to those demands, even just to shut them up. If you’re willing to shoulder that burden, then fine, I won’t stop you. You still have plenty of time to change your mind. No one else knows what you’re planning to do, so you have to hold onto some kind of prideful commitment to this.”

“I shall consider it. I value your counsel.”

“Thank you.”

In the end, Halan decides against condemning a candidate, but three weeks later, he comes to regret that concession. His chosen candidate comes in second, which means he’ll be Second Chair, but it probably won’t matter. Ovan Teleres begins a path towards stripping away everything that makes Extremus the beautiful ship that it is, and covertly and subconsciously turning his people against the crew.

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Glisnia: Body Politics (Part XII)

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Hogarth Pudeyonavic was sitting alone in the Judgment Room. Glisnia was designed to be a perfect democracy, or at least as perfect as was possible. Literally everyone had an equal say, or at least it was supposed to be like that. Mekiolenkidasola and Crimson Clover misrepresented how the system worked, leading Hogarth to make decisions that maybe not everyone would have wanted. There was absolutely no law against her and Hilde being human, and no reason that she couldn’t help them if she was. Best guess, Lenkida spun her that lie to get her on the hook. She needed to be told something that would cause her to believe that he somehow spoke for the Glisnians, and was responsible for securing their interests in this matter. The truth was that he probably operated within some rebel faction, which opposed the greater good in some way. She didn’t have all the facts, though, so she needed to be patient. Right now, the Glisnians were here to gather her side of the story, so they could figure out what to do about this mess.

“State your designation, for the record.” It was a dermal mech who was talking to her, but she was channeling the will of everyone. The surface data of literally every single person in this matrioshka brain was being sent to her for processing, except for the opinions of the defendants. When enough of them had a question to ask, she was obligated to ask for them. When even more of them agreed upon a decision, that was the decision they would make, and it would be carried out by individuals like this mech. That was how the government worked, and that was what Lenkida purposefully kept from her. The judge’s name was a hex code as laid out in a fractal pattern, but for the sake of the non-mechs, like Hogarth, she went by Avalhana.

“Hogarth Meridia Pudeyonavic.”

“World of origin.”

“Earth, November 21, 1994.”

“Please only answer the question as it is posed, with no flourishes or extraneous information.”

“Understood.”

“The record will show that the third question was answered, but unasked. Remove the line from the database.”

“Removed,” came a symphony of voices from the aether.

“At what point did you first arrive in Gliese 832 space? Please note that Gliese 832 space refers to the boundary—” Avalhana tried to begin.

“I understand what it means,” Hogarth interrupted. “Just because I’m human, doesn’t mean I’m a total moron. It was 2245.”

“Please refrain from interrupting, and from flourishes and commentary.”

“Look, like I said, you’re talkin’ to a human, which means you’re gonna have to be more flexible. Go on and tell your little mechs that we don’t process data the way you do, and I’m not going to roboticize my speech for the sake of efficiency. We’re all immortal here, who gives a shit how long this takes?”

Avalhana did not respond for a good few minutes, which could be centuries from her perspective. “We will...attempt to reach your level of communication.”

That was needlessly condescending, but okay. “Okay. Next question.”

“When did you first learn that you had the power to spontaneously fabricate multi-solar system-sized objects with little but your own strength and will?” Avalhana asked.

“About a month ago.”

This disturbed her.

“I don’t have an exact timeline for you. As you are well aware, organic beings store associative memory, rather than categorical memory. It is...less efficient, but more beautiful, and I stand by it.”

“Very well. Where did you learn this skill?”

“I didn’t learn it so much as I was accidentally imbued with the power when I absorbed the force of a blast that sent my entire town to a planet that was about one-point-seven-eight light years from Earth.”

She paused again. “There is no planet at such distance.”

“It was a rogue world. It has since moved on.”

“Understood. And you survived on this planet using your, umm...?”

They did not say umm very often, because they were not surprised or stumped very often. “Powers? No, not mine, other people’s. I don’t have the details.”

“There are others like you?”

Now Hogarth was the one to pause, but she knew she had to answer. It was the 25th century, and this wasn’t the first case that suggested that temporal manipulation would be revealed to the rest of the vonearthans sometime in this time period. Many time travelers claimed to have seen it in the future, and many more deliberately avoided traveling this far forward in the timeline, so as not to be caught in some time war. There would not likely be any war, but that didn’t make it perfectly safe. Others didn’t necessarily believe the rumors, but they exercised caution just the same, because people finding out about them was probably ultimately inevitable. “Yes, and before you ask, I don’t know how many, and I don’t know where they all are. We are not a monolith. They can travel through time, and I believe that they are mostly not..in this time, because of people..like you...who threaten..their secrets.”

“Are you at liberty to discuss these matters with us?”

“Who’s to say? There’s a prison for people who spill the beans, but I am about fifty percent sure that this time period is beyond their jurisdiction, for reasons I could not tell you.”

“Understood.” These answers probably altered Avalhana’s questions greatly, so she took a moment to reassess with the population. “Who asked you to build this—as it’s been called—the matrioshka body?”

“Mekiolenkidasola.”

“Was he your only point of contact for this project?”

“There was another, named Crimson Clover. I know that Lenkida lied to me about how much influence he had over this system, but I’m not clear on Crimson’s involvement. He may be almost completely innocent. He didn’t tell me how your government works, but perhaps it simply never came up.”

“We are not cognizant of the truth about him either.” She moved on, “have you ever heard of The Iunta?”

“I have not. Would you be able to explain?”

“They are a small faction within our population that seeks to form a hierarchy of control. We believe that Mekiolenkidasola is a member, and are attempting to ascertain if Crimson is as well, and whether you are.”

“I’m not lying, I’ve never heard that word before. I assume it’s a new formation of junta?”

“Yes.

“I’m sorry to have been involved with them, but I promise you that I was not cognizant of Lenkida’s affiliations, or his group’s existence, let alone their motivations.”

“It if exists, your ignorance would have been established by design.”

“My ignorance does exist.”

She nodded. “Please tell us about your other associates, and whether anyone is missing from this list. Hilde Unger, Ethesh Beridze, Holly Blue, Jupiter Rosa, and another man whose only name here is Richardson.”

“Ambrose Richardson,” Hogarth added. “There are others, but I am not at liberty to discuss them. We have formed a council of sorts called The Shortlist. We determine whether a technological advancement that involves temporal manipulation is safe enough to be developed.”

“Why does this particular group form the council, and why not others?”

“We are the ones capable of these advancements. When we encounter someone else with such knowledge, comprehension, or ability, we place them on the council with us. I hope you understand that I will tell you all you want to know about time powers, but I will do so using generalities, and anecdotes; not specifics, and targeting language.”

“We believe that we can accept that,” Avalhana said. “We recognize the importance of discretion, and unlike humans, we do not possess an entitlement to know the truth about everything. The only question I’m hearing now is...are you a threat to us?”

Hogarth didn’t know the answer, not with any stable level of confidence.

“You may specify, if necessary. Are you, as an individual, a threat to us? Is this Shortlist? Is the greater population of your subspecies?”

“I, personally, am not,” Hogarth began. “Nor is the Shortlist. Like any population, however, there are those who would seek to destroy, improve, control, or otherwise impact that which they encounter. You are something that can be encountered, and I cannot guarantee that no one will attempt to insert themselves into your society, for whatever reasons they have. This is true of anyone, however, and I implore you not to attack any potential threat without diplomacy first, and a clear violation of your rights. I think we all know what the humans fear about your potential. Earthan entertainment is riddled with cautionary tales about fictional artificial intelligences who rise against their creators. I can tell you, however, that I will do everything I can to protect you, just as I would protect others from you.”

“This is a fair analysis,” Avalhana, and the collective, decided. “We will not depend on your protection. We would, however, appreciate your guidance in matters of temporal manipulation, and ask that you remain on Glisnia in order to serve as our liaison to anyone with the same, or similar, abilities.”

“That’s...not what I thought you would say.”

“You were expecting to be exiled or extinguished?”

“I was.”

“That is not how we do things. Had Mekiolenkidasola been honest with you, you would have known that about us.”

“What will happen to him, and Crimson, and my friends who are still here?”

“Your friends will be allowed to stay with you, should they choose. My collective is eager to make you aware that you are not obligated to remain either. You act on our behalf upon your own volition, and you are under no contract to maintain your position for any specified period of time. We do ask, however, that while you are in this position, you endeavor to protect Glisnian interests, and develop a strong enough sense of loyalty in pursuit of this condition.”

Hogarth smiled at the formality. “I can do that. And of Crimson?”

“He will be judged shortly, as you have been.”

“I have one request.”

She extended her hand to offer Hogarth the privilege of continuing. “Lenkida and Crimson are aware of certain details about me and my people, which I would rather remain unknown to all others.”

Avalhana waited to respond as she listened to the collective opinion. “It is our understanding that you possess reasonable technical skills, and would be able to use these skills in order to delete targeted memories from a mechanical entity?”

“Umm...I’m not totally comfortable with that. Can’t you just conduct a preliminary hearing to determine their guilt, and then erase the sensitive memories afterwards? Does every judgment have to include the entire Glisnian collective? I’m all right if one or two other people know some stuff about me, just not everybody.”

They discussed her proposal. “We agree to your terms. We will adjourn for one standard Earthan hour to develop a new plan, and to give the humans time to rest.”

“Thank you.”

Avalhana nodded slightly, but said nothing further.

Hilde was waiting for her in the other room. She was noticeably shaking.

“Hey, hey,” Hogarth said calmingly. “Everything’s fine. We were lied to, but the mechs are not unreasonable people. Nothing’s gonna happen to us.”

“Are you just trying to make me feel better?” Hilde questioned.

“Does that sound like me?”

“No, but—”

“No more butts. We already got two; we don’t need any more. I assure you that we’re good. We can stay here. They even wanna give me a job.”

“You’re joking.”

“Really. I told them about time travel. They’re worried someone else with powers is gonna come along, and they won’t know how to handle it.”

“We are not staying here, Hogarth.”

“You don’t want this for me?”

“There are billions of mechs on this world—station—brain, whatever you call it, and they’re probably going to replicate themselves exponentially to fill out the body that you built them. We can’t be the only humans here, it’s just not safe.”

“It is safe, and you know that it is, because I’m telling you that it is. If something goes wrong, I can jump us out of here at a moment’s notice.”

“You mean you can explode us?”

“I can exploport us.”

Hilde rolled her eyes. That term was not catching on.

Ethesh rolled up. “Yo, is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Hogarth replied. “You can stay here, if you want.”

“Cool,” he said casually.

“Good answer,” Hogarth told him, then switched her attention back to Hilde. “Your turn to try.”

Hilde inhaled and exhaled melodramatically. “I will approximate an acceptance of the situation.”

“Close enough, we’ll get there.”

“What are we gonna do now?” Ethesh asked.

“I have a few ideas,” Hogarth said with a smirk. “We could do with another sun to make it work, though. I’m thinkin’ a yellow dwarf this time.”

“Oh, no.”

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Microstory 1470: The Transition Continues

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Since 2100, the city of Aljabara had not gone more than five years without holding an election. Most of these weren’t fair or legitimate, but they did take place, and those who the government decided were worthy of casting votes were free to do so. After the fall of the Republic, there were a lot of decisions that needed to be made in order to sustain the Provisional Government, but these weren’t determined through formal votes. They were polls. A special committee formed which did what they could to understand public opinion, and then used the general consensus to form policy. But no woman alive today had been free to cast a real ballot on Durus, except for Ecrin. The year 2165 was meant to be the time to do that, but this temporary governmental body wasn’t quite prepared for it. The greatest number of people ever, by a huge margin, would be voting in this round of elections, and no one around knew how to handle that. Even the visitors from Earth who had always been part of a democratic system didn’t know how to organize it, because none of them had experience in that field. They did their best, and tried to include everyone, but ballots were lost, or miscounted, or damaged, or people weren’t registered correctly. It was a huge mess. They would have remained in the transitional period even if it had gone smoothly, because no one had written a new Constitution...because no one knew how. Even so, it was a requirement for full-fledged governmental recognition, according to a recent poll. So new people were elected into leadership positions, and new committees were formed to make decisions, but nothing was official, and not everyone recognized the authority bestowed upon certain people from the votes. No one knew whose ballots were counted, and whose weren’t, but people whose preferred candidate lost tended to believe that their voice had been ignored. However close to accurate as it might have managed to be incidentally, no one was completely happy with the results, since it was so unclear. People began to protest, and demanded a revote. Few people were against this happening, except of course people who were still, or now, in power. It didn’t start a war, but the whole thing might have collapsed in a few years if something wasn’t done about it. Fortunately for them, a threat was on the horizon that galvanized the people of Durus into action, and finally forced them to form the Democratic Republic. But until this was official, the people lived under something called the Salmon Battalion Military State.

Microstory 1384: Journalistic Objectivity

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Celebrity Interviewer: Truth be told, I do not care for being on this side of the interview.

Entertainment News Colleague: We’ve not even begun.

Celebrity Interviewer: There. That’s the attitude I had, and I was fired for it.

Entertainment News Colleague: Like I said, we haven’t begun.

Celebrity Interviewer: Ugh. I know.

Entertainment News Colleague: We don’t have to do this. I can go run with another story.

Celebrity Interviewer: No, I’m here. I wanna tell my side of the story.

Entertainment News Colleague: Your story is that you were fired recently. Tell me about what precipitated that.

Celebrity Interviewer: First of all, I want to make sure the public understands that I’ve learned my lesson. Journalistic objectivity isn’t something to be taken lightly, but it’s also something that’s very easy to lose sight of. I wouldn’t have gotten the job in the first place if I had developed a reputation of being completely unbiased during my earlier reporting. It starts off small. You make one quip here, inject a bit of your own personal opinion, and it snowballs. I didn’t realize how bad my work had gotten until I watched that supercut.

Entertainment News Colleague: You’re referring to the viral video going around the internet that shows you disrespecting your interviewees.

Celebrity Interviewer: Yes, that’s right. Obviously, I always watch my own interviews, but seeing the worst parts of them all stitched together really opened up my eyes. I was, as you said, disrespectful, and dishonorable. I don’t do that anymore.

Entertainment News Colleague: How did you react when you learned your former assistant is the one who edited and uploaded that supercut?

Celebrity Interviewer: I was relieved and proud of her. She saw an injustice, and she took it upon herself to report that.

Entertainment News Colleague: So, you weren’t mad?

Celebrity Interviewer: Absolutely not. We’re still really great friends. And I don’t mean that as a polite white lie for the public to believe. We really are, and I’m sure she’ll corroborate that.

Entertainment News Colleague: But she’s no longer your assistant.

Celebrity Interviewer: Of course she isn’t. She’s going places, and I wouldn’t have wanted her career to stall by wasting her time managing my calendar, and getting me coffee.

Entertainment News Colleague: Okay. So you mentioned that you don’t conduct interviews in the way you were criticized for doing. I assume that means you’ve gotten another job as a reporter?

Celebrity Interviewer: Yes. I had no shortage of offers from competing media organizations after I was fired. Unfortunately, I had to wait six months before I could accept any one of them, because I signed a standard six-month non-compete clause with my former employer.

Entertainment News Colleague: Was your new employer sympathetic to your situation, or did they agree with your critics?

Celebrity Interviewer: I don’t think those two are mutually exclusive. They agreed completely with my critics. They knew, however, that I would never do it again, because the whole situation humiliated me, and I don’t want to feel like that again. The six months I was unemployed were pretty difficult. I had trouble keeping up with my bills and rent payments. I was never living under and overpass, or anything, but it was rough. Honestly, I believe my former employer would have hired me back, knowing I’ve corrected my behavior, but that would have been bad publicity.

Entertainment News Colleague: So, you harbor no resentment from them?

Celebrity Interviewer: I harbor no resentment for anyone.

Entertainment News Colleague: What about Ex-Cop? Your interview with him was said to be the last straw.

Celebrity Interviewer: Legally speaking, I’m not allowed to discuss Ex-Cop, the scrapped film he was cast in to play himself, the interview itself, or anything related.

Entertainment News Colleague: Okay. So, you said you had some financial troubles after you were let go. But your public image doesn’t seemed to have taken a hit.

Celebrity Interviewer: That’s true, and part of the reason I was able to get hired again so quickly. The public was actually on my side. Most of them couldn’t see anything wrong with how I treated my interviewees, or the news itself. But that’s because they’re not journalists, who agreed to be impartial, objective, and unbiased. I’m grateful for them, for sticking by me, but that doesn’t make what I did okay. I still apologize to my audience for that.

Entertainment News Colleague: Well, I would say good luck with your career, but that wouldn’t be very unbiased of me, so instead, I’ll just say thank you for the interview.

Celebrity Interviewer: Thank you as well. I appreciate the opportunity to explain myself.

Microstory 1337: Voter Suppression

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Political Journalist: Is it okay if I record this conversation?

Vote Suppressor: By all means, I’ve nothing to hide.

Political Journalist: Please state your name in full.

Vote Suppressor: My name is State Election Administrator, but my enemies just call me Vote Suppressor. Hahaha.

Political Journalist: And is that an accurate description for you? Do you suppress votes?

Vote Suppressor: Look, I get a lot of grief, but everyone is looking at this all wrong. Let me paint you a picture—a hypothetical, so you understand my position—but this is, in no way, an admission of guilt. Before I do that, though, I want to point out that I’ve never said that I don’t do what people say I do, but you have to remember that my detractors have yet to prove that what I do is illegal, or even unethical.

Political Journalist: Okay...

Vote Suppressor: So. A long time ago, voting was simple. You went to your closest polling location, wrote down your vote, and sent it off. All the votes would be counted, and the candidate with the most votes would win.

Political Journalist: I don’t think it was ever really like that, but as long as you’re only saying it for illustrative purposes, I will allow you to proceed.

Vote Suppressor: Okay, so. People noticed that this was a bad way of doing things. The polling locations, while logical on paper, weren’t representative of the respective populations. I mean, your closest location might be just on the other side of a river, but that location should be reserved for people who live on that side, because there is something different about them. I don’t know what that difference is, because again, this is just hypothetical. To combat this problem, we drew up borders. We said, these people over here see life through this lens, while those people there see it through another. I have this problem with the anti-border extremist movement, because they’re looking at it the wrong way. They see borders as a means to separate, when really, they unite us. They bring together everyone on one side of that border, so they can operate as one, and lift each other up. See, me? I ain’t got no problem with Mexico. But we ain’t Mexican, so we shouldn’t be cross-pollinating, because we’re just too different.

Political Journalist: First of all, many would just call your position racist or xenophobic. Separate but equal has been the motto for racial inequality starting all the way back in the 19th century. Second of all, you have your history mixed up. Borders did not come before voting. They arise simultaneously, as the need presents itself. 

Vote Suppressor: Okay, okay, fine. But my point stands. All I’m doing is drawing up borders according to unique regional perspectives. If that’s racist, I’m not the racist one, because I didn’t tell certain people to live in certain places. If black people choose to live in the same neighborhood, I can’t stop them.

Political Journalist: But that’s not what border manipulation is. What you’re talking about is drawing lines between neighborhoods, but what you’ve been accused of is drawing unreasonable lines to combine distant neighborhoods so that some districts carry more weight than others. And those districts with the most power always seem to be composed of the wealthy, white neighborhoods, who also somehow generally vote for your political party.

Vote Suppressor: Look, I’ll say this. I’m in charge of managing our districts, right? Well. I couldn’t do that until I was elected, right? Which means I couldn’t have been elected using whatever changes to the districts I made. I can’t go back in time. Can you go back in time? I can’t go back in time.

Political Journalist: No one is suggesting that you invented district manipulation, Mr. Suppressor. They’re saying that it is a long-running systemic problem, in which you are presently involved.

Vote Suppressor: Well, I don’t think there’s anything I can do to convince them otherwise.

Political Journalist: That’s what I’m here for, sir. I’m trying to give you a platform to explain yourself.

Vote Suppressor: And I appreciate it. But, oh, it seems I have another meeting. Thank you so much for your time. I’m looking forward to reading the article, I really am.

Microstory 1336: Shot to Hell

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

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

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

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

Tester 2: That’s amazing, congratulations.

Product Surveyor: Thanks. First, I would like—

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

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

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

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

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

Tester 1: Needle.

Tester 2: Doctor.

Tester 1: Evil.

Tester 2: Evil?

Tester 1: Yeah, like Dr. Evil.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tester 2: Ahhhhh.

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

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

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

Tester 2: Is he okay?

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

Tester 1: Ahhhhh.

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

Tester 1: Is it gonna make me poop?

Product Surveyor: I’m sorry?

Tester 1: Most cleanses make me poop.

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

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

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

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

Tester 1: I love it.

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

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

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

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

Tester 2: I already forgot what it tastes like.

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

Tester 1: Why are you writing this down?

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

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

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

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

Tester 2: Yeah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tester 1: That’s beautiful.

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

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

Tester 2: Yeah, me too.

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

Tester 1: Thanks.

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

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

Microstory 390: Attention

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Acknowledgement

Here you are. You’ve gotten people’s attention. They notice that you exist. Maybe you’re in the middle of a group of friends, or you’ve been all alone in the big city. Maybe you finally have a job where people value other people’s opinions, or maybe you have some new platform for getting your point across. People are paying attention to you, so you better not mess it up. What’s so much worse than people not agreeing with you is failing to make yourself understood clearly and concisely. This is your chance, don’t blow it. Mom’s spaghetti, as my local radio station personality would say. Are you doing okay? See, this is why this is such a late step. Everything you’ve been doing to this point in your life has happened to either help you live long enough to be here, or to prepare yourself. You have to know who you are before you can expect anyone else to get you. Donald Trump is a nobody. No, I’ve talked about how intelligent he is, and also how insane he is, but I also want to make it clear that he’s not a real person. He has no opinions of his own, or rather any opinions he does happen to have are irrelevant to the global conversation. Everything he says has been but one calculated and insidious ingredient in a recipe for success. You see, he knows how stupid you people are. He knows that even if he contradicts himself, his target demographic won’t believe it, won’t recognize it at all, or simply doesn’t care. If he says that abortion is wrong, enough pro-life people will decide to vote for him. If next week he says that fetuses are tasty, he’ll gain cannibal voters, but somehow not lose the pro-lifers, because that would require far too much thought on the voters’ part. Rudy Giuliani, the man known for being the mayor of New York during 9/11, just claimed that the first terrorist attack in the U.S. happened after 2008. Yet people will still love him, and they’ll conveniently forget about all those other attacks, because they already adore him. So before you open your mouth, don’t just think about what you’re going to say, think about how you’re going to say it, and question your position. Be better than Giuliani and Trump.

Validation