Microstory 2500: Welcome to the Landis Tipton Breath of Life Foundation

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Welcome. And thank you all for coming to the Landis Tipton Breath of Life Foundation. In a few moments, I’m going to start the video, which will give you a more comprehensive idea of what we do here, and how our principles have guided our vision for the future. You all came to this place either because you are suffering from a debilitating or terminal disease, or you are chaperoning someone who is. You have all already filled out your preliminary applications, and would not be in this room if there were some reason to reject you. So congratulations, you’re about to be cured! Let’s go over some reasons why some people face rejection, so you’ll better understand why you were selected for treatment. First, we handle otherwise incurable diseases only here. We do not treat injuries. No one is here because they broke a leg, or suffered a cut on their cheek. Those are not life-threatening conditions, and conventional medicine should be able to help them. We also do not accept patients for holistic benefits. Someone who just wants to feel better overall will not be given a place in line. Landis also can’t treat what we like to call conditions of state. You may be considered overweight, by popular medicine, your doctor, or even yourself, but this is not an acute or chronic illness, and Landis is unable to make changes to these types of systemic issues. There is simply nothing to repair in these cases. It may be unhealthy, but nothing is broken, and in the end, that’s what Landis can do for us. He can fix what is broken, not simply make something more preferable.

It’s important to understand as well that, while you were granted allowance to add more than one medical issue on your form, Landis is unable to selectively decide which conditions are cured, and which are not. I doubt any of you would like him to leave anything out anyway, but we have to make it clear that if you left anything off of your form, it will not be excluded. If you have poor eyesight, but don’t care about that, Landis’ breath has no way of knowing that, or ignoring it. In fact, if you do happen to have some minor injury along with your illness, that will be cured too. The breath doesn’t choose. It is the program, and our policies, which choose what to spend Landis’ time on, but once you’re here, everything that can be repaired will be repaired. We have yet to find a disease that Landis cannot cure. Our mission is to one day rid the whole world of all disease and pain, but for right now, due to the sheer number of requests, we have to prioritize, and sacrifices must be made. I don’t say any of this to scare you, but to excite you for what’s to come. This is literally a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I know you’ve all been waiting for your chance to be healed of what ails you, even before this organization was founded. You’ve been through great hardship. I can’t tell you that life will be easy from here on out, but we can at least take this off your plate. Now, please sit back and relax while you watch the introductory video, which will provide you with a history of our foundation, beginning with the mystery of the origin of Landis Tipton’s powers, and explain how we are providing the community with more than just cures. We’re building the future, and finding a place for everyone in it.

Microstory 2489: Coasterdome

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It’s the largest amusement park in the known universe. Varkas Reflex has some pretty crazy stuff, but there’s not as much diversity with their rides. When I say that this one is the largest, that doesn’t mean it takes up the whole dome. In fact, I believe they intentionally left room for expansion, basing their future plans on feedback from the fans. So I’ll use this space to discuss my ideas. First off, the rides they have are great. I have no notes on them. There are so many of them, and they’re all different, and there are hardly any lines, and people just kind of naturally spread out. One thing is when you show up, you’re transported to a different entrance using an underground local vactrain network. So I think they were always aware of the concern for bottlenecking, and deliberately assign you an area to start with. It’s not like you’re not allowed to travel as far as you want, but this helps with overcrowding. I will say that as far as the layout itself goes, there doesn’t really seem to be any sense of organization, which I think is probably a consequence of this multi-entrance thing. There’s no dedicated area for the slower rides, or one which aren’t really rides at all, but still belong in an amusement park. There’s no gaming zone, or eating establishment neighborhood. They’re all spread out, and the map is hard to get a handle on. It’s interactive, so you can tell it what you’re looking for, and it will give you options, and show you the directions, so it’s not like all hope is lost. I dunno, I guess this is how they’ve designed it, and there’s no changing it now. As far as new rides are concerned, you could take the megaengineering aspect of Castlebourne more seriously. I propose a drop tower right in the center that goes all the way up to the apex of the dome. That’s 41.5 kilometers, in case you forgot. It would be the most impressive ride I’ve ever heard of. You could also go to the other axis, and design a coaster that flies around the whole perimeter without any lulls. It would be like the trains in Eldome, but much faster. Of course, organies might face health and safety issues with a ride that long, or a drop tower that tall, but that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t exist. You just tell people who can’t handle it that they can’t go. I already came up with some great names for these new rides, but I don’t want to share them here, because I don’t want someone to steal them. Perhaps you’re already thinking about these things, I just thought I would offer a few ideas. You can even contact me if you want more. I got loads of ‘em. I’m kind of famous in certain circles for designing the craziest of rides in VR. I have a bit of a following, no big deal. But I’m just telling you that I do have experience, and I’m not just some rando. HMU, if you want.

Microstory 2468: Internal Security Dome

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I can’t say too much about this dome. It wouldn’t be secure. But I can assure you that security personnel have ears and eyes everywhere while still managing to protect your privacy. Internal institutional domes like this one don’t typically have a review section for obvious reasons, but my boss asked me to write something up after my audit in order to maintain at least some connection to the public. I don’t work in ISD, but in Castledome. An unattached intelligence will periodically be sent to any given dome at any given time to assess productivity and general soundness of the facilities in question. Of course, each dome handles its own internal audits, but it’s always good to have a second opinion. It’s not that we don’t trust our various branches and divisions. We’re not trying to catch them in any mistakes, but you know, things break down, and procedures start to drift. Or they can, rather. The system overall on this planet is quite robust, full of non-wasteful redundancies, and resource-efficient protocols. The security is good. I only suggested minor improvements, but that is to be expected. There are more people on this planet today than there were yesterday, and there will be more tomorrow. The number of people who visit far outweigh the number of people who leave. We have a very low turnover rate in general, and that makes security an ever-changing beast. It is not easy to keep up with it, but our security team manages to do it with flying colors. I kind of wish that I could keep auditing it myself, but as I’ve explained, that would defeat the purpose of it being impartial, and having fresh eyes. It’s the only one that gets these evaluations on a very strict basis, but now I have to move on to something else, and let one of my colleagues handle the next one here. I’m sure they’ll pass the test just as well next time. I have full faith in these intelligences.

Microstory 2467: Tagdome

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This is a funny one. It’s several giant games of tag, each one made up of a lot of other subdivisions of tag. You can come in here with just about any substrate you want, but you’ll be grouped according to strength and speed. We can’t have superstrong mechs barreling through normal organics, now can we? There aren’t too many of what they generally call weight classes, but you stay in your respective sectors, and don’t interact with the others. But you do interact with everyone else in your sector. That sector is further divided into regions, zones, districts, territories, and neighborhoods. I honestly couldn’t tell you how they decide where you’re assigned beyond the weight class for fairness. But whatever it is, the divisions are based upon the modern standardized Dunbar grouping system. Your neighborhood will have 21 people total, which is a fairly normal and manageable number of contestants to contend with. You will ultimately compete with other neighborhoods. Seven neighborhoods makes a territory of 147 people. There are three territories in a district of 441 people, then four districts in each zone of 1,764, and four zones in each region of 7,056 players. Finally, there are seven regions in the whole sector. Sorry if that was confusing, but this game is confusing, by its nature. The best players are the ones who can figure it out. How about gameplay? You play a simple game of tag in your neighborhood for some period of time, based on your sector’s weight class. Higher classes theoretically have more stamina, and can go for longer. Don’t worry about those. Only consider your own. We’ll use the example of a normal organic human sector, which is only expected to play for half an hour. As you play against each other, your points start racking up. The longer you avoid becoming a Pursuer, the more points you end up with, and the longer you are the Pursuer, the more points you lose. At the end of your neighborhood’s allotted time, your points will be tallied up. It’s entirely possible that the entire game only ever had one Pursuer who never managed to catch anybody. That’s okay. They’re always watching you. Some people got closer to being caught than others. There will be leaders on the leaderboard, who will move on to compete at the territory level. The top seven will represent their neighborhood in a game of 49 players and begin to run as a team. Things start getting more complicated here as you can work together to build enough points to open gates to other territories. If you invade them, you can get in on their game as an opposing force, and start taking away their points while making some more of your own. The games get progressively more complicated, with more intricate environments, obstacles, and even vehicles like bikes and cars. Everyone wears special clothing, which color-coordinates the teams and alliances in realtime, but it’s not uncommon to get lost and confused. That’s part of the game, and your intelligence is factored into those weight classes I was telling you about. I know this was less of a review, and more of an overview, but I don’t really want to give you my opinion. I want you to see it for yourself. If you’re not much of a runner, or you don’t feel ready for the competition, there is a spectator component, so you can just check it out to get a better sense of what I’ve been talking about.

The Sixth Key: Kick Rocks (Part II)

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Clavia helps Echo learn how to use his parents’ guns. They’re energy weapons, which means they’ll be able to fire indefinitely as long as he doesn’t fire too much, and they have a source of charge, like the sun. Something called radio waves would charge it too, but there aren’t any of those around here. He doesn’t become an expert marksman in only a few short hours, but at least he has the basics down. Point and shoot, that much was immediately apparent, but the safety and handling was a little less intuitive.

According to the sensors on board the shuttle, as fed into Echo’s new suit, a ship appeared out of nowhere, and began to orbit the planet. It scanned the surface in some way, but hasn’t done anything else since. Clavia taught him how to set up an alarm to wake him when anything changes, so he can go to bed, and get some rest. The next morning, he checks the sensors to find that the alarm hasn’t failed. The orbiting ship up there still isn’t doing anything. They’ve not fired any weapons at the tree, or come down in a shuttle of their own, or anything. What are they waiting for?

“My mind is clouded,” Clavia explains. “I cannot see detail. I can sense that people are walking around inside the vessel, but I can’t tell what they’re doing. Unfortunately, I need to focus my strength on other pursuits.”

“I understand.” He doesn’t, but she should do whatever she needs to. “Do you think they know that we’re here?”

“It depends on how sophisticated their sensors are, and on the nature of the planet we’re on. This appears to be a lush garden centered on a desert. If the rest of the world is just as barren, this will stick out like a sore thumb. But it may be one of many oases, in which case they would need to pick up on you as an individual. I also don’t know whether your suit and shuttle are sufficiently shielded, or what.”

Echo nods, and decides to go back to practicing. The great thing about guns like these is that he can shoot blanks as much as he wants while barely dipping into the power reserves. Indeed, while the sun is shining, solar power will keep it running even if he never stops squeezing the trigger for the duration of daylight hours. He’s not doing any damage, as he’s just sending beams of light towards the rocks and the flowers, but it gives him a good idea of what it will be like if he ever has to do it for real.

Either as a coincidence, or because the visitors detected his weapons fire, they finally send a landing party in a shuttle. They don’t land too close to the garden, which is respectful of them, or maybe it’s also a coincidence. Echo doesn’t walk over to greet them halfway. He just stands under the Clavia tree, holding one of the guns at what Clavia called high ready. The second one is leaning against the trunk. He has extra cartridges attached to his hips too, but it doesn’t look like he’ll be needing them. One of these things would be able to take out the entire crew of the shuttle. It appears to only be four people, though obviously there are more still up on the ship. Clavia doesn’t know what kind of weaponry they have, up there, or down here. The four who are walking towards them now don’t appear to be armed at all.

“Can they hear you, or is your voice in my head?” he mutters out of the corner of his mouth.

“They can hear me if I want them too, and not if I don’t.”

“Let me do the talking. They may not know that you can talk, and I would like to keep that as an advantage until we have no choice.”

“Agreed,” Clavia says.

“Hello, kind soldier,” the leader guy says once they’re within earshot of each other. He’s keeping a safe distance, showing a healthy fear of Echo’s gun. The other three strangers are scattered next to and behind him. “My name is Klavis Zakan Scrivenor. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to today?”

“Klavis?” Echo echoes.

“No relation,” Clavia replies simply.

“It’s my rank?” Zakan answers like it’s a question. “I command a single flotilla of ships...four to be exact.”

“What is your business here?” Echo asks.

Zakan is confused. “Um, do you have a name too?”

“Oh.” Echo feels like he’s just lost the upperhand, especially since he just said oh. He should have just been steadfast, and refused to answer. But now it’s too late, he has to just go ahead and respond appropriately. “Echo Cloudbearer.”

“Do you own this world, Echo Cloudbearer?”

“I do.” I mean, he might as well. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else to claim the title, and if making such a claim grants him the legal powers to protect this tree, then he’s comfortable making it.

“What is it called?”

This is where it gets tricky. His parents could never agree on a name for it. They kept coming up with new ideas before Echo was even born, but eventually narrowed it down to Supercloud or Echo. About half the time, they would joke that their son was named after the planet, and the other half, that the planet was named after their son. He never knew which was true, or if Supercloud was the superior choice anyway. “Echo”.

“Hm,” Zakan says. “I like it. We are representatives of the Temporal Energy Management Project of Relative Associated Logistics. Basically, we’re in charge of making sure that there’s enough temporal energy to go around, and that no one is abusing the power that they have, or exploiting the substructure of the universe to their own gain, or to the destruction of reality.”

“I don’t know what any of that means,” Echo admits.

“Well, we’re relative, because the power is not evenly distributed, which some people believe sounds unfair—though, it isn’t—and it’s associated, because every time someone is allotted power, it has an impact on everyone else. That’s why it needs to be managed. It’s—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, no, no, defining it isn’t going to help me understand it. It sounds like you just really wanted your acronym to spell out TEMPORAL.”

Zakan just clears his throat.

“Why are you here? I keep to myself. I don’t have any power.”

Zakan gestures to Clavia. “That tree behind you would seem to contradict your words.”

Echo decides to play dumb. “This is just a tree. It can’t contradict anything. It can’t even walk.”

Zakan smiles and sighs. He looks around the vast empty flatlands surrounding them. “We detected the energy spike that was prompted by some kind of temporal event right at this location. I don’t know if it teleported here, or if it was here all along, and suddenly absorbed a whole lot of power, but my guess is that you were around to see whatever it was. After all, you’re standing in front of it right now. You were up there when we showed up. You must think it’s meaningful too. If you thought you needed to protect your garden as a whole, you’d be standing right here.” He points to his feet where the grass of the garden gives way to the dirt of the desert.

Okay, maybe he needs to switch tactics. “Does it matter? If it’s here, it’s mine. And since this is all mine, so are you. So you four have two choices. You can fly back up to your little ship, and tell your captain to leave, or you can stay here and do my bidding. The atterberries are about ready to be harvested.”

“What did you say?”

“The atterberries,” Echo repeated. “Those pink things over there. You could pick them, or you could leave. You have no jurisdiction on this world, though. My word is law. My word is the only law.”

“What’s—what’s this stuff here?” He slid the sole of his shoe along a rock.

“That’s amanda moss. It’s not edible. I use it for...other things.” Wiping.

“And that?”

“It’s, uh, vearden hay. I use it as a ground cover. Why all the sudden interest in my garden? I thought you only cared about some tree.”

“Just curious.” Zakan steps forward. “What do you call this creature warming itself on this boulder?”

Echo can’t see from this far away, but he knows what the man’s talking about. “It’s probably a clemens newt.”

“One last thing, this one here?”

“A savi tree.”

Zakan exchanges a look with his people. “Which reality is your family from?”

“Um, this one?”

“No, I mean originally.”

“I have no clue where you’re going with this.”

“I don’t recognize that kind of gun. Do you?” he asks the woman standing at his flank.

She shakes her head quietly.

“My guess is Parallel or Fifth Division,” Zakan goes on cryptically, “but the main sequence had some nice stuff before they were copied here.”

“Can I help you?” Echo interrupts the internal conversation they’re having down there. He’s done playing nice. He wants them gone. He doesn’t want to have to hurt anyone to do it, but he will if they give him no choice.

“I’m afraid we can’t leave until we run our tests. We need to know what sort of impact this tree is having on the rest of the galaxy. It’s for the safety of everyone in the universe.”

Echo tenses up. “Get closer.”

Zakan himself doesn’t move, but his people reach their arms out to magically materialize their own guns. “We don’t need to get very close.”

“That’s enough!” It’s Clavia’s voice, but there’s something a little different about it. It sounds like it’s coming from a specific location, instead of just around him in general. Someone appears from behind the tree. It’s the dead woman who he buried here. She lives. It wasn’t just a magical seed, but it had something to do with who was holding it.

“Who are you?” Zakan asks.

“Who you seek, in humanoid form.”

Zakan holds his hand up by his shoulder. The other three lower their guns in response. Two of them make them disappear again, but his lieutenant keeps hers. “You are the tree.”

“We are,” she replies. “You may call us Clavia.”

“We’ll have to confirm that,” Zakan insists.

“Do that, and only that,” Clavia replies. “Do more, and you’ll regret it.”

Now Zakan lifts his other hand, and shakes it twice towards the hill. The now unarmed pair of visitors cross the boundary of the garden, and walk up to Clavia. She holds her own hand towards to stop Echo from reacting further when he tenses up again. The strangers begin to run their tests. They hover little devices over Clavia’s human body, and over the tree. They look at the little screens to interpret the readings, whatever they may be. Echo wouldn’t know the first thing about what they’re looking for, but Clavia seems calm, so he’s just gonna follow her lead.

One of the testers nods over at Zakan. “It’s her. She’s the tree.”

“Okay. Pack it up, kids. We’re leaving.”

“Wait,” Echo says. “Not that I’m complaining, but what just happened? What did you do? What did you discover? Why is it making you leave?”

“The source of the temporal energy is sentient,” Zakan begins to explain. “It’s natural and unregulated. As you said, we have no jurisdiction. It would be like me telling you that you’re not allowed to use that moss to wipe your ass. That’s someone else’s department.”

“Well...” Echo paused. “Thank you and goodbye.”

“You’ll be filing a report, though, won’t you?” Clavia guesses as most of the team is walking back towards their shuttle.

“I have no choice,” Zakan says apologetically.

“So the right department might show up too,” Echo calculates.

“Undoubtedly,” Zakan confirms. “She’s an interesting find.”

The shuttle takes off. About fifteen minutes later, the ship breaks orbit, and flies away into the black. Echo’s shuttle’s sensors stop picking any signals, and the world falls silent once more.

“You’re a person,” he points out.

“It’s complicated.”

Echo smiles. “I don’t have anything else going on. Tell me your story.”

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Microstory 2394: Earth, January 2, 2180

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Dear Corinthia,

I hope this message finds you well. Remember that? That’s the first thing you ever said to me. I remember reading that a year and a half ago. It’s such an old-timey thing to say, but I was immediately hooked. And then you told me who you were, and who we were to each other. I’m so grateful to you for having the courage to reach out. You really are the bravest person I know; going for it with Bray despite the obstacles, confronting Velia’s dad, just living your life the way you want. You’ve inspired me. I’m sure Velia has told you by now that I quit my job, and I’m leaving the platform. I’m actually boarding the transition boat in a couple of hours. I want to send Velia one last letter, but not until she gets back to me first. It’s going to be tight, but I think I’ll make it. I was just going to wander in Australia for a little bit, but word spread that I was on the market, and I started getting job offers. One in particular intrigued me. I won’t necessarily be doing anything very glamorous myself, but there’s a newish group of people who are trying to find a way to bring the Earth back to its former glory. They have their hands in all sorts of pies: detoxifying the atmosphere, developing plants that can withstand the noxious gases, making peak settlements more comfortable to live in. They’re even considering bolstering interplanetary travel, possibly for mass exodus efforts way in the future. It sounds like really exciting stuff, and my experience all over the world has gotten them interested in my expertise. I’m still not sure what I’ll be doing for them, but they’re calling me a consultant. They keep using that word. I think it’s vague enough for them to not worry about being clear on my role and responsibilities. I’m telling you all this, not only because I want to update you on my life, but also so you’ll understand that I may be incommunicado from my end for a while. I really just don’t know, but the Valkyries may not be the only thing standing in our way. I will always be thinking of you, and all the Vacuans, and I’ll reach out when I can. Hopefully, there will come a time soonly when you and I are both on the same frequency, so to speak. Until then, find your bliss. That’s all the advice I can really give. I wanted this letter to be epic, but that’s not really our style. We will speak to one another again. It may not be in the way that we’re used to, but this isn’t the last you hear from me. I love you more than anything. You take care of yourself.

See you on the other side,

Condor

Microstory 2320: Earth, September 19, 2178

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Dear Corinthia,

That actually sounds like a great job to have. It may not be as glamorous as field work, but you’re gonna outlive all your peers, which is good for me, because now we have more time to get to know each other. I’m in a bit of a different situation. My work is boring, but not because there’s nothing to do; it’s just really terrible. I am our father’s assistant, but only when he’s here. When he’s not, I report to his boss. He’s not a bad guy, but he gives me these tedious tasks that don’t really need to get done. I swear, he asked me to file a batch of documents last year that I just refiled last week according to case number instead of tracking number. For an explanation, while these two numbers are different, they only ever refer to the same thing. One case will always have one tracking tag, and one tag will only have one case attached to it. It doesn’t matter anyway, because everything is electronic, and these are just for backup! That is merely one example, and I won’t bore you with any more. Suffice to say that I would take your job over mine any day. You may never have encountered an issue yet, but it’s quite important, and if something does come up, you could be instrumental in saving lives. Mine is pointless, and utterly redundant. As far as the pictures go, you don’t have to do anything you can’t afford, or don’t want to spend money on. I really mean that. I’ll send you one photo of my place, but you don’t have to send anything back at all. I’m happy just to read your words. I don’t know if I really thanked you for reaching out. A lesser person would have suppressed their emotions about it, or at least waited until they could wrap their minds around it. I want you to know how brave you are for speaking up, and giving us this opportunity. Attached is an image of my quarters, from as far back as I could step, so it would get as much in frame as possible. What you’re not seeing is the shared lav around the corner, and the closet that isn’t deep enough for a coat. I don’t want to complain, though. As I’ve said, I know how fortunate I am to have any of this.

Wishing you were here,

Condor

Microstory 2295: Stress Out of the Process

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What I’ve learned is that the publicity firm that Nick was using to protect his life story from rumors and lies is no stranger to memorial services. A few of their clients have died while they were working with them, and their survivors can purchase a new package to help with arrangements. Some clients even purchase it ahead of time in anticipation, like one would reserve a burial spot in a cemetery because they know they’re gonna die eventually. Nick didn’t do that, because he didn’t even think to hire anyone when his health started to decline from the prion infection. Well, I think he did consider it way back then, but he didn’t have the money, and didn’t follow through until later. Anyway, I purchased the memorial package, so they’re handling everything. I’ll be signing off on all decisions, but I won’t have to think them up myself, which takes a lot of the stress out of the process, so I’m grateful for their help in this matter. Or perhaps they should be thanking me for my help, if they’re the ones taking point. I did secure a reservation for the Causeway Center in Chicago, though. It’s so last minute that someone already had the auditorium booked. Homes for Humankind and CauseTogether.hope have assured me that whoever it was was happy to push it back to another day, but it’s hard for me to imagine how that’s possible. That room can accommodate hundreds of people, which means that they have to contact hundreds of people to alert them to the change in dates. I suppose that’s not necessarily true. Maybe they booked the whole place for an audience of eleven. I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure out who it was, and if they’re really okay, but I can’t seem to find any information. You would think that an event like that would be advertising somewhere so customers could sign up for their thing instead. If you know what was supposed to be happening in the auditorium next Friday, shoot me a message. I feel that I owe them a thank you. In the meantime, I’m flying up to look at the venue this weekend, but I’ve already seen photos, and it looks great.

Microstory 2294: Mostly Long and Narrow

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What Nick’s publicists and I determined is that people from all over the country, and indeed all over the world, are interested in coming to his and Dutch’s memorial service. Because of this, we decided that it didn’t have to take place in Kansas or Missouri. If you’ll recall, there were some issues months ago when someone created an unauthorized CauseTogether.hope campaign for him. Despite the issue, he’s maintained a healthy and amicable professional relationship with the website. At the same time, he was working with Homes for Humankind. As it turns out, the house-building organization and the charitable fundraising platform teamed up some years ago to build a sort of convention center. It is here that charities come together, and reach out to their donors, volunteers, and beneficiaries. It’s located in Chicago, which is fitting, since the three of us went there one time on the Heartland Expressway, and Nick visited the city many times in his home universe. The Humankind Causeway Center is mostly long and narrow to fit the theme of its namesake, but there are two larger buildings on either end. One contains a large ballroom, and the other boasts an auditorium that can fit about 900 people. I can’t imagine that quite so many mourners will sign up to attend the service, but it should be great for our needs. We’re still working out the dates, but I’ll keep you updated as needed. Gratitude for all your words of love and togetherness during this difficult time.

Microstory 2174: To Be Distributed

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I had my last official meeting with my parole officer today. Since my sentence has been commuted, it’s no longer a legal requirement. You’ll recall that I was only assigned one in the first place because on paper, I went to prison, I just didn’t have to literally step foot inside of the facility. Well...I mean, I did later while I was staying in the infirmary section for my fungal infection a couple of months ago, but you know what I meant by that. I still have my community service left to do, but lots of people complete their hours without a PO at all, so the judge decided that I didn’t need one either. I hope that we can still be friends, though I recognize that this may not be appropriate, nor even possible. He’s a great guy who I think goes above and beyond in his job. He’s helped me out in a number of ways that I don’t think he was ever expected to. I’ve actually met a couple of his other parolees, and he wasn’t giving me any special treatment. That’s just who he is. He actually cares about us, and wants us to succeed, and isn’t just waiting for us to screw up. He derives no joy from putting people back in jail, though it has reportedly happened a few times over his career. I dunno, maybe I’ll just never see the man again. That would be all right too. I’m starting a new chapter in my life. I have a new job, and I still have to figure out what to do with all this money that y’all donated to me. It’s processing to my account. It could be a few days until it’s fully ready to be distributed.

I have some ideas of where it’s going to go, but I still need to do the math, because it’s going to be split amongst a number of different charitable organizations. They all involve the previously incarcerated. They need jobs, homes, and therapy to help them cope with being back in a world where their daily routines are no longer being controlled by someone else. Having been in intermittent jail, I didn’t experience much of this, I only got a taste. But it’s an overlooked characteristic of prison life. Yeah, for the most part, you’re not stuck in your cell 24/7, only eating slop, and drinking contaminated water. You usually get to go outside. But only at certain times, and for a certain duration. And it can be taken away from you if you do something that they don’t like. You can’t see your friends whenever you want, you can’t even choose your sleep schedule. That’s a hard life, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to go back to the way it was before you were placed in there. I feel compelled to give back, so I suppose I should thank you for contributing to my unauthorized CauseTogether campaign. Do not take that as an invitation to start a new one in my name. I won’t tolerate that a second time, I’ll seek legal action, and if nothing else, make you look bad for not respecting my wishes. If you want to do some good for the world, then that website has a number of other campaigns that will be more than willing to take your money. Or you can start your own that doesn’t have anything to do with me. That site also has other features besides just temporary campaigns, so check those out. I’ll post the complete list of the organizations that I choose for the 50K later, so you can give directly to them too. You could perform community service too. When I’m better, I’ll be going back to Homes for Humankind, which actually has a special program that focuses on halfway homes, which have more specific needs. I’ll probably be giving them some money too. I know that it’s not an either-or situation, where you either donate or volunteer, but it does feel like I should kind of share the wealth a little more, doesn’t it?

Microstory 2164: Whiny Babies

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A while back, a company reached out to me for a business opportunity. They wanted me to promote their products in my videos, which I do not make, but we still thought there was something there, so we kept talking. An agreement was made, and a deal was quite nearly finalized with a steak dinner. I’m a vegetarian, so I lamented how that affected my mental health. The company didn’t like that, so they pulled out of the deal, and I thought that was the end of it. It’s come back to haunt me today. Now they’ve taken it a step further, and sent me a cease and desist letter. They’re threatening to take legal action unless I remove the posts that mention the issue, and release a public apology. Honestly—and I recognize that saying this might only make things worse—but they’re total morons. I have yet to tell you which company this is, and I will continue to keep that a secret unless they leave me no choice. If I apologize publicly, you will necessarily find out who they are. Now, you might end up on their side because of that, but something tells me that you’re going to continue to side with the lone blogger who was only exercising his freedom of speech over a corporation with an amount of money that I can’t even ballpark, because it would narrow down your list of suspects, which I don’t want you to be able to do. But obviously we’re not talking about some local family run shop with only one location. People tend to not like corporate executives for being the biggest whiny babies in a world that gives them everything they need and want. I don’t think that this will end well for them, which is why I’m doing everything I can to help them move past it. I’m trying to keep things civil, private and confidential, and productive, but I think they’ve just seen how popular I’ve grown to be, and they want in on that action. I guess they think that I’m a millionaire by now, or something. I assure you, I’m not there yet. I may never be, as I’m a blogger, not a movie star. I’m not too worried about where this little legal issue is going to go. They’ll back down when they realize that even if they win, they lose. Their reputation is so much more important than mine is. I can fall into obscurity if I have to. I could live naked in the middle of the woods with nothing, and still survive. A company can’t do that. So come at me, bro.

Microstory 2163: Your Greatest Weakness Is

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Leonard and I had another meeting with the jail warden. He’s not mad, but I think I needed some time to collect my thoughts about what he proposed in the first place. That’s why I’m a writer, and not an improv comedian. We discussed options further, and there’s actually a chance that I could stop having to go to jail altogether. There is precedent for this sort of thing. A few cops who were convicted of various crimes throughout history have gone back into the field during emergencies, and earned their freedom by proving themselves redeemed. In one case, a really dangerous convict broke out of prison, forcing his not-so-bad cellmate to tag along. The latter ended up not only bringing his cellmate down, but also stopped his associates from committing a horrendous crime while he was still on the other side of the walls. So he was set free too. If I went the same route, it would be nothing as glamorous or intense as that. I would just start working for the jail, trying to help them better sort and schedule the guests. I would love the chance to have my sentence commuted, but I’m still not confident that I’m up for the job. I suppose I always thought of myself as someone who wasn’t necessarily talented at anything, but maybe good at finding talented people elsewhere? I could probably come up with a list of desirable positions, and then figure out how to seek out professionals who sufficiently fit the criteria. My dad was in human resources, so while he didn’t exactly ever sit me down, and teach me the ropes, I did pick up a few skills from him. I’ve also had tons of my own job interviews, so I know which questions are too dumb to be asked, like what kind of animal you would be, or what your greatest weakness is. Ugh, that’s such a terrible one. Nobody has a good answer to that, and even if they do, what qualifies you to analyze it to determine some sort of insight into that person’s fitness for the job? I’m getting off track, but none of this is probably going to happen anyway. Remember that business partnership I was working on that went up in spectacular flames? I don’t see things going that sour for this situation, but I doubt the jail that keeps me locked up every weekend is going to turn around and hire me before I’ve completed my sentence. I can’t imagine they would do it even if I had served my time in its entirety. I will admit, though, it’s kind of nice that they’re even entertaining the possibility. I had never, ever, ever been recruited before until I came to this planet, and now it might happen twice? That’s insane. A con can dream, can’t he?

Microstory 2162: Don’t Say No to a Warden

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I finished my work hours a little early, so my parole officer could pick me up, and drive me back to jail, but I wasn’t staying there as a guest. I had a meeting with the warden, which was agitating the butterflies in my stomach. I put it like that, because I always keep butterflies in there, they just don’t always move around this much. As it turns out, it wasn’t bad, but I’m not so sure that it was good either. He read my story, as he apparently does every evening, and he thought that I had some good ideas. I hadn’t even realized that I had presented any ideas, but this was in regards to the disharmony that sometimes arises when guests that don’t get along well with each other are forced to live together in an enclosed space. To me, that’s kind of the definition of jail and prison, but he wants to find a way to put an end to it anyway. That sounds like a lovely sentiment, but I’m not sure that it can be done. Perhaps with a sufficiently advanced artificial intelligence, you could figure out how to accurately profile and categorize everyone in need of being housed in the system with as many labels as necessary, and organize them to prevent gang conflicts, or other major disagreements. But here’s the thing, you wouldn’t just want to stop two gangs from going to war with each other, you would want the gang to stop from forming in the first place, or they’ll just translate all that into the outside world once their sentences were up. That’s why you can’t just sit down with everyone’s psych profile, and sort them like you’re simply planning the seating arrangements for a wedding reception.

If you think that I’m being dismissive of how difficult it is to plan a wedding, you’re mistaken. Wedding receptions are hard. This would be virtually impossible. First thoughts, you’re gonna need a team of behavioral psychologists, and sociologists, and who knows what else, maybe a logistician? See, I couldn’t even tell you how to form the team. While it might have kind of been my idea, I can’t be a part of it. But that’s what he wants. He wants me to start a taskforce of sorts to figure out how to schedule the guests at the jail. But you would have to account for people’s job situations, the judges’ particular rulings on each person’s specific sentence. Again, I think you need an AI to do all this for you. Even a team probably wouldn’t be able to figure it out. I didn’t say no to the request, because you don’t say no to a warden, but I’ve not agreed to it either. I would need to discuss it with my lawyers, and my current employer... It would eat into the time I need for my site and socials. It would also seem weird to me if I were both a staff member of the jail, and a guest who had no choice but to be there for 48 hours a week straight. I know that prisons have work programs, but this is not the same thing as shelving books in the library, or renovating the CO break room. Those are references that, fortunately, none of you gets. Anyway, I guess this is more a long-term shift in strategies. The warden says that if this hypothetical pilot program works, they could theoretically institute it at other facilities. I suppose nothing would really start until after I completed my sentence, assuming any of this gets off the ground, and that there’s a place for me in it at all, which sounds ridiculous right now. Until then (or until never) I’ll just go back to doing my thang, and not worry much about it. The stress would not get me anywhere. My butterflies move around enough as it is.

Microstory 2096: Before I Came Out

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When I was pretty young, my dad told me that he once jumped off a cliff in Boy Scouts. I think he said it was a hundred feet or something, which may or may not have been an exaggeration. Because of the way my brain works, I interpreted this to mean that jumping off a cliff was some kind of a requirement, which immediately took me out of the running, because I’ve always been afraid of heights. That’s not a phobia, by the way, because it’s not irrational. You fall down, you could die. It doesn’t even have to be that high. You could fall from your own height, and still crack your head wide open. Some time later, I either learned that it wasn’t really a requirement, or I forgot all about it, because I did join Cub Scouts, and eventually moved up the ranks as appropriate. I graduated to Boy Scouts with a group of other boys, and we stuck together for a little while. Over the course of the next several years, almost invariably, when one of them would attain the highest rank of Eagle, they would stop coming to meetings and camping trips. I started noticing this throughout the whole troop. If they didn’t quit sometime before, they ended up seeing reaching Eagle the end of their journey. By the time I turned 18, I was one of only a few kids my age left. Everyone else was younger, placing me in a de facto leadership position in many cases. Despite the fact that I initially ranked up faster than most of my peers, I was the last to finally get Eagle. In fact, it was four weeks before I turned 18. I don’t think there was a rule that said that I was disqualified at that age, but I definitely wanted to finish by then either way.

Shortly thereafter, we went on a canoe trip, which we would do every year. It was set to be my last. I knew that I wasn’t going to be involved in the organization for much longer. Since all of my “friends” were gone by then, I shared a canoe with my dad. In the middle of the trip, we came across a cliff that looked like we could climb up to from the side. It was not a hundred feet up, but it wasn’t six feet neitha, I’ll tell ya that much. I was still afraid of heights—which, like I said, is rational—but older, stronger, and more confident in my abilities. So we got out, checked the depth of the water below the cliff, and then made the short trek to the top, where we jumped off together. I dunno, I think it’s rather poetic that the one thing that almost stopped me from experiencing those ten years of my life was one of the last things I did for my scouting career. I left the scouts, and I never looked back. I don’t regret the activities that I participated in, but I can’t look back on the whole experience fondly either. Those people suppressed my sexuality for many years beyond that. I just got so used to being someone that I wasn’t, and it took a lot for me to decide to live as my true self. I was in my 30s before I came out as omnisexual, and I will never forgive them for that. I could have been so much happier. How many others went through something similar? I’m still attracted to women, so at least I wasn’t lying about everything, but there are those who can’t express themselves at all, and that was never okay. I do not tolerate the excuse that it was a “different time”. A part of me wants/wanted them to change, but another part of me just wants to see them destroyed. I’m vengeful like that sometimes.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: October 9, 2398

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Fairpoint Panders is not working alone, and he has control over everything. Evidently, Palmeria is a coveted prize. There is an organization that has dedicated itself to figuring out how to breach its short borders. They believe that it must contain something so valuable that it would set them up for life. The truth is that, other than universe-hopper, Keaton Palmer himself, there is nothing particularly special about the islands. It has dirt, trees, and other plants. There are a few small rodents, and birds. Fish swim nearby. The resort is a wonderful and tranquil place that can transform the most stressed out individual into the epitome of contentment and chill. It’s a cool place, but its main draw is its exclusivity. That’s what keeps the business going. A limited number of people will ever be allowed to enjoy the amenities, which makes any potential vacationer that much more intrigued by the possibility. It’s not like a real life Fantasy Island, or whatever this organization is imagining. It’s just really nice here.

As far as they can tell, Fairpoint is not a member of the so-called Palm Readers, but he did make contact with them, and convince them to take their methods to the next level by finally making good on their promise of breaching those borders. As it turns out, they were closer than Keaton knew. Here they are, having taken everyone hostage, and demanding answers. Of course, Fairpoint doesn’t care about any of that. He just wants to know what happened to his ex-husband, and Marie is not doing a very good job of explaining it away. Brain damage? How? Under what circumstances? Can it be undone?

“I’ve told you everything that I can!” Marie shouts back. “We didn’t mean for this to happen, but it did, and now I’m doing everything I can to reteach him.”

“But he won’t be the same.” Fairpoint questions. He’s heard all of this already. He just keeps expecting a different answer. “There’s no recovering those memories.”

Marie looks over at Dr. Merrick, who doesn’t think so, given the information at his disposal. He’s right, this is a different Heath. “No. The memories are gone.”

“So my Heath is dead,” Fairpoint reasons.

“No. My Heath is gone. Your Heath left you years ago, because you’re the type of person who would take children hostage.”

“I didn’t know that children were here,” Fairpoint claims. “They’ll be free to go once the Palm Readers find a way to safely transport them off of the island without your shadowy government agents being able to sneak through.”

“You could just give up,” Marie argues. “You can’t undo what’s been done to Heath, and your little friends aren’t going to find whatever they’re looking for here.”

“She’s right,” the Palm Reader who was assigned to watch them says to Fairpoint. “We were wrong. There’s nothing special here.”

“Then go,” Fairpoint says dismissively. “I don’t care what you do. I just used you to get me across the border.”

“We didn’t sign up for hurting kids,” the guy explains. “We can’t leave until we know that they’ll be safe.”

“Take them with you, and hand them off to the authorities,” Fairpoint suggests.

“Then we’ll get in trouble for transporting children across national borders.”

“You’re already in trouble for kidnapping them, what’s one more charge?”

“Mr. Panders, you need to stand down, and you need to convince our leader to do the same. He’s going crazy in the other room. He insists that there’s a secret basement entrance somewhere.”

“We couldn’t build a basement on this island,” Keaton tells him. “The ground isn’t stable enough. We don’t need one. I assure you, there is nothing here but good vibes and good food. And nice bedsheets.”

“I believe you,” the Palm Reader replies. “But try telling him that” He jerks his head back towards the door, in the general direction of his boss.

“Fairpoint,” Marie says, trying to get them back on track, “this has gone far enough. Let us go.”

“No.” He frowns over at Heath 2.0, who is smiling dumbly in the corner, totally unable to grasp the gravity of the situation. “No, I came here with two objectives. I wanted to know whether he could be fixed, and also to punish the responsible party.”

“The responsible party is in the wind,” Marie says for the upteenth time. “In fact, your little stunt has diverted resources that are meant to be used to track him down.” Marie doesn’t technically know that Kivi and Arcadia’s team are the ones on the other side of the border, trying to correct this situation, but her position is sound.

“He may have done the deed, but I blame you too.” He turns away from Heath 2.0 to face Marie. “I blame you for everything.” He takes out a gun, but doesn’t aim it.

“Whoa, dude,” there’s no need for that,” the Palm Reader contends. They’re mostly nonviolent, but Fairpoint lit a fire under their ass, and corrupted their mission.

Fairpoint walks over to Heath 2.0. He gently caresses his cheek with his free hand. Heath smiles wider, and leans into the hand. “I love you. I always will. I’m the only one who loves you enough to free you from this prison.” He lifts the gun, and shoots Heath 2.0 right in the forehead.

Marie yelps.

The Palm Reader walks out of the room. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope.”

“You were destined to be arrested as soon as you stepped foot on this island,” Marie says to Fairpoint in a quiet rage. “Now you’ll get the death penalty.” Very few countries have banned capital punishment. “I will see to it.”

“You won’t be seeing anything after the next few days,” Fairpoint tells her. He takes what looks like a puzzle box out of his bag, and sets it on the table. He slides his finger across the faces, edges, and corners in a pattern to release the locking mechanism of the puzzle box. Inside is a mostly spherical object that comes to a point at the top as a cone dropped upon its ice cream. Upon that is a needle. He then takes out his knife and knicks Marie on the arm. He lets several drops of blood run off the blade and land on the needle. “This is a gene bomb. Do you know what that is?”

“Yes.” They used those in Carnage World in the afterlife simulation. They would target specific code, so that the explosive could go off, and only damage specific people. They were inspired by base reality weapons, which used DNA instead of computer code.

“Mr. Palmer, thank you for your hospitality,” Fairpoint says in the tone one might use at the end of a pleasant dinner party. “I’ll be taking my leave now.” He walks out.

Keaton pulls the rope binding his wrists under his body, and stands up. He runs over to grab the bomb. “I’ll take this as far as I can.” He crashes through the window, and hops out. It proves to be pointless. The bomb’s range is very wide. Marie feels the blast a few minutes later. She’s going to die.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 6, 2398

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The team tried to play it cool with Amir. They let him get a few meal vouchers for them, so they don’t starve. Heath is the one who needed these the most. Leona and Marie have realized that they can last a little bit longer without food, even though their upgraded bodies aren’t operating at full capacity. Kivi is apparently in the same boat, even though she supposedly originates from this reality, and never received any upgrade. Perhaps all Kivis are like that. She certainly does have a special ability, which they’re thinking now may not be just this thing that she happens to be good at, but which is actually somehow supernatural. She found Amir pretty quickly, as if he was giving off a smell. If it’s real, and not a coincidence, that is certainly a talent that they could use in the future.

Amir has been very helpful and kind, but they’ve gotten to the point today that squeezing information out of him covertly is no longer working. It’s time to take a more direct approach, and just tell him why they’re here. “Listen,” Leona begins, “thanks for all your help, but I think we need to be honest with you.”

Amir drops his whole face towards the floor. “You didn’t just think I looked like a nice guy,” he figures. “You were sent in here to retrieve me.”

“So you know?” Leona asks.

“I’m only in here to get away from people like you. Who do you work for?”

“We weren’t sent here to extract you,” she begins. “We ended up across the border for unrelated reasons, and I think the Senator just thought it would be a great opportunity to exploit our skills again. We had no idea you existed until a couple of days ago, I swear.”

“Senator Morton has something on you?”

“No, Honeycutt,” Marie clarifies.

Amir shrugs. “Never heard of him. Who knows how many links in the espionage chain are between you and me?”

“Do you want to live here?” Kivi asks him.

“Not particularly,” Amir answers. “It’s just the safest place to be. I didn’t think anyone would be able to find me, and even if they did, the government wouldn’t want to help. I’m not sure how your boss convinced them, but maybe he’s more powerful than Morton.”

“He’s not our boss, he just has a grip on us,” Heath contends.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m afraid I’m not going anywhere. Either you get out without me, or you stay here for the rest of your lives. I don’t care what it takes, I’m staying away from Arctos.”

“Arctos? What is that?” Leona asks, thinking about it, but still needing answers.

“That’s what they call themselves,” Amir says. “Their symbol is a bear.”

Marie looks at Leona. “Leelee, is that...?”

“Bears eat salmon,” Leona says. “That must be what it means.”

“Yeah,” Amir remembers, “they used to talk about salmon all the time, like it was some kind of rival organization.”

“We’re not rivals,” Leona tells him. “We’re targets. Did you hurt any of them? Did you work for these Arctos people, or something? Did you escape?”

“I didn’t work for anybody,” Amir claims. “I was their prisoner. Or their test subject, it was always unclear to me. They thought I was salmon at first until tests somehow proved that I had nothing to do with them.”

“What kind of tests?” Kivi asks.

Amir shakes his head. “Mostly involving water? I don’t know, it wasn’t torture, but it was weird. I couldn’t say what they were looking for. Yes, I did escape, because some of them thought that I should be let go since I wasn’t really salmon, but others seemed to think that I was associated with them in some way. I really don’t know, can we stop talking about this, please?”

So the Honeycutts know more than they have let on so far. Or maybe they’ve been letting it on just fine, but the team has been blind to the truth. There are people here who are aware of time travel, and now they know that there are other time travelers. Amir must be connected to them, perhaps by relation, or he saw something as a child he didn’t understand. Regardless, they all have to get out of here. They don’t know how long Amir has been on Melville’s radar, so maybe he’s not any less safe than before, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s definitely not safe now. “We can’t,” Leona says apologetically. “In fact, we’ll need your help more than ever. Can you get us back to the shore? Can you get us to the Dead Sea?”