Microstory 2456: Bot Farm

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If you’ve been anywhere on this planet, you’ve probably run into an AI of some kind. Some of these are more intelligent and self-aware than others. Some look like humans, and some are very clearly mechanical. It just depends on their purpose, and the kind of feel they want to give the visitors. Well, all those AI bodies have to come from somewhere. I had the pleasure of getting a tour of a dome that we like to call Bot Farm. The official name is Synthetic Production Dome, but that’s a mouthful, so no one actually called it that. It’s 2500, so y’all already know, but there are different types of substrates. Some include a consciousness that was born to an organic body, while others were programmed, or primed for self-learning and growth. Some are purely mechanical—referred to as mechs—while others have some organic components. An “artificial” being that is purely organic is basically the Holy Grail of synthetic intelligence development, and something that researchers are still working on. It would be a quantum brain inside of a living being with no mechanical parts—designed from the start, but conceivably something that could have evolved naturally. Can you imagine? With today’s technology, we can only get kind of close. Most of the AIs on Castlebourne are skinned mechs, meaning they’re made of metals and metamaterials, but also have a dermal layer over them, so they look more like real humans. This isn’t to trick you, but as a way to step over to this side of the uncanny valley. There are very few stages in between full mech and skinned mech. We’re talking about very niche use cases, including some with organic eyes, ears, or tongues for sensory research. They also grow organs for medical research, though those don’t usually need a full body anyway, unless they’re testing some sort of mobility variable. There are also places where you can find mechs with certain other organic body parts that are used for...adult purposes. To each their own, I guess. I never saw a section that designed any of these types of bots. Most of these were skinned. I’ll tell ya, though, it was a tad bit eerie to see those ones being manufactured. While they were assembling the internal components, they most of the time looked no different than a car, or some other machine, but then they moved on to the skinning process. Seeing them look like half people was unnerving, and maybe horrific? This tour will be fascinating for some, but disturbing for others, even though again, it’s the year 2500, and we’re all used to synthetics by now. I asked about it, and they don’t have a tour for kids that would be a little less disquieting, so just know that if you sign your family up. There was one kid on my tour, who seemed fine. To be honest, maybe he was an adult in a child substrate. How should I know? It’s not illegal, it’s just a little weird in my book. So that’s it; that’s Bot Farm. Go see how they’re made.

Microstory 2287: Didn’t See Anyone’s Face

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I’m sorry to depress you all yesterday. Kelly called my therapist for an emergency session, so I was able to talk through some of my issues. It’s been frustrating for me. I often don’t realize when I’m being grumpy, and even when I do, I don’t always know why. It was what those people did to me, taking my organs. It’s not just about that, though. They didn’t know that I would be rescued. They didn’t even bother to covertly drop me off at the nearest hospital, or send an anonymous tip. They just left me there on the table, assuming that I would die by the time anyone caught wind of my location. I don’t think they care that I was rescued, because they were all pretty much apprehended by then, and I didn’t see anyone’s face anyway. Which is weird, when you think about it. Why did they hide their identities from me if they didn’t think I would make it? Maybe I’m overthinking it. I mean, they did take my kidneys and liver because they thought I was immortal. Well, maybe they didn’t. Maybe they only took them because they knew that other people believed as much, and that was enough motivation for them. My therapist says that there are truths about this case that I will never know, and I’ll be doing more harm than good by running my own little investigation on the side. For the sake of my mental—and physical—health, I’m better off looking for ways to put it all behind me. We don’t know how I’m gonna do that, but it’s my first priority right now. I just have to remember that they can’t hurt me anymore, nor anyone else. And I’m not going to give up on my writing, even though I offered that suggestion last night. If I do that, then they win, and we can’t have that, can we? I have to toughen up, and hold firm.

Microstory 2278: Kick Him Out of the Hospital

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Hi, y’all, it’s Dutch. Nick hasn’t had that great of a day today. It started off really good. He met the two people who donated their kidney and liver to him. After they left—and completely unrelated—he started to decline a bit. They’ve been changing his meds around to see what works, and it seems like the combination they’re on now caused problems. He is going to be okay. It didn’t cause any permanent damage to his health. This is just something that happens sometimes. It’s a very tricky and fragile balance. It’s not like there’s one perfect regimen that works with everyone. Like, sign here if you’ve had a double transplant, and then this is all the medication that you’ll need. Every patient is different, not just as individuals, but from the specific situation that led them to needing treatment. No one has lost as many organs as he did, in the same room that he was in, at his exact same age, and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. It just takes time, with some trial and error. That’s one of the reasons why they didn’t just kick him out of the hospital as soon as he could stand on his own two feet. They’re keeping him here so they can find these problems while he’s still under their immediate protection. We’re all anxious for him to be home, so he can generally be more comfortable and relaxed, but it’s obviously not time for that yet. And also, I think they found all the people responsible for doing this to him, but I’m sure you’ve read all about it in the news, so don’t go trying to use this site as your number one source for information on the investigation. They don’t tell us anything. We receive updates at the same time you do. Anyway, I’m sure that Nick will be able to give you his own thoughts tomorrow. Seeya!

Microstory 2277: But Also of Everything Else

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The doctors are impressed. I’m recovering quite nicely. Don’t you go getting any ideas about stealing my eyeballs, or my fingernails. I’m not doing well because of any supernatural magic. I have a great medical team at a great facility, the support of my friends and fans, and the luck of great health prior to this. So yeah, I guess there was something supernatural about it. I was healed from the prion disease weeks ago, but also of everything else, including any aches, and phantom pains that people at my age experience all the time. So I went into that illegal, unethical, and immoral organ-stealing surgery in tip-top shape, which gave me an edge. Plus, they found me rather quickly, all things considered. Had it taken them only a few more hours to locate the site of the crime, I might be telling you a different story today. Or I might not be able to tell you any story at all, because I also could have died. But they found me, and treated me accordingly. I’m so grateful for that; I’m not sure if I can ever say that enough. This is all just to explain that I’m going to be okay, but that won’t work a second time. If anyone tries to do anything like that to me again, I will die. And for anyone who isn’t bothered by that, and is interested in trying anyway, you will be punished for it. We’re boosting our security team, as you can imagine. Law enforcement is rounding up all of the people who were involved in taking me, or my organs. No one has won. No one has gained anything. When my original organs are located, if they don’t need to be preserved as evidence, they will be destroyed as biowaste. I don’t know what that means if they’ve already been transplanted to someone else, but I don’t think they’ll be happy with the outcome. On that negative note, I’m very tired now, so I’m gonna go back to bed. Night!

Microstory 2276: Be Genuinely Worried

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Last Friday, I was able to dictate my own post for Kelly to type for me, and we talked all about my then-current condition. Things have not changed much on that front—I have a long journey ahead of me—but what I realized hours after that posted was that I forgot to express my gratitude. I’m not ready to share the specifics of what happened to me when I was abducted, but I was out of it most of the time. To preserve the internal organs that they were stealing, they had me on sedatives, instead of something stronger, like heroin. Then they put me on anaesthetics during the surgery. By the time I woke up, I was in the hospital with the replacement organs. I was very confused, and scared. I was never able to ask for help, but people helped me anyway, so please allow me to go through the list now. Thank you to the paramedics who found me. They were working with law enforcement during the literal search, and came across me first. Thank you to the cops and FBI who investigated this matter. Thank you to the medical team that transported me, and the surgical team who treated me after. Thank you to the organ donors for your selfless sacrifice for me. Thank you to the nurses and doctors who are treating me during my recovery. Thank you to Kelly and Dutch who have stayed by my side. And lastly, but not leastly, thank all of you for your immeasurable support in this incredibly difficult time. I appreciate your concern, I really do. It’s been a huge help to see everyone be genuinely worried about my wellbeing. It has gotten me through it.

Microstory 2274: Thanks Again

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Nick is awake, and already improving. It will be a constant battle for the rest of his days, but as long as he takes care of himself, and is diligent about his medicine, he should lead a pretty normal and long life. He will always be a transplant recipient, but that won’t be all that defines him forever. Right now, they’re focusing on determining the best cocktail of anti-rejection medication, and also pain management. He doesn’t like narcotics, so that’s really limiting for him. He’s doing a lot of breathing exercises to cope with the pain holistically. Overall, there is not much that I can say so far. We’re very optimistic about his recovery, but there are no guarantees. It’s going to take work, patience, and the aid of a great hospital team. I would like to once again the donors who selflessly gave my friend what he needed to survive, live, and thrive. We still don’t know who you are, but if you give us a chance, we’ll be able to thank you in person. To everyone else, thank you for all of your continued support in these desperate times. Another CauseTogether campaign sprung up to pay for the new medical bills. He doesn’t need it this time either, so we’re just going to turn right around, and donate it to another cause; perhaps to survivors of trafficking, or something along those lines. Oh, I’m typing this up in his room while he’s trying to sleep, so I’m gonna stop here for now. Thanks again!

Microstory 2273: Skipping Out of the Building

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Against all odds, the organ donor network was able to find two matches for Nick. One person gave him a lobe of their liver, and another one of their kidneys. I couldn’t tell you anything about them, even if I knew myself. They’re not necessarily anonymous, but the information hasn’t been released yet. Some of their respective families may not even know what they did. There was apparently a really short, but really intensive, vetting processing. Normally, a person would have weeks, or even months, to prove that they understand what they’re doing, and what they’re giving up. But in this case, it was an emergency. I wasn’t part of any of that, so I don’t know how it went down, but I’m grateful to them just the same. All three surgeries are now finished, and they’re in recovery. Nick still hasn’t woken up yet. Well, he has, but he hasn’t been at all lucid. During what little time he was somewhat awake, he didn’t seem to really know where he was, or what was going on. It will just take time, but I’m choosing to be optimistic. We’re still not out of the woods, so I’m not going to break out the celebratory balloons just yet, but he has a chance now. We will know more when he wakes up, and he can tell us how he feels. That’s a very important metric that doctors can only guess. They’ll continue to keep him here for quite a while. They still couldn’t do anything about his spleen or gallbladder, so I imagine his hospital time will be on the upper end of the typical estimate. Once he is healthy enough to be discharged, he won’t be skipping out of the building, though. For the next few months, he’ll be in a state of recovery, gradually getting better and stronger. Dutch and I will be with him the whole time. Even though the surgery is over, he’s still opening doors, hoping to speed up the process, but a part of me is worried about that working. If he becomes immortal again, the donors’ sacrifice might seem to mean a little less. I dunno. I guess in that scenario, they still bought him time, and it was still a profound thing to do. I shouldn’t be thinking about any of this. I just need to go back to making sure he wakes up feeling safe and comfortable.

Microstory 2272: Tested For Compatibility

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People are coming in from all over the country, and maybe even beyond, hoping to donate a lobe of their liver, or a kidney, to Nick. That’s very sweet of all of you, and trust me, I wish it gave us more hope, but he’s in really bad shape. If this were the future, the hospital might be able to hook him up to machines to keep his whole body alive. They could replace every vital body part and organ temporarily until a more permanent solution could be found. I like the way you think. With all these volunteers, there’s surely a perfect match for him somewhere out there. The problem is that it will take too much time to find that person, and in the meantime, Nick’s body is shutting down. He’s being kept alive by the machines that are available today, however, they are limited in scope. I don’t want to discourage you from hope, but what do you want me to say to you? Do you want me to lie, and claim that he’s going to get out of this because he’s survived so much until now? I’m sorry, but I don’t see how we could succeed. They just took too much from him. He probably won’t survive the week, let alone major surgery. From my perspective, I am willing to try, but the donors would be risking their own health on a huge gamble. Believe me, he’ll be the first to promote living donorship. He thinks that it shouldn’t be so stigmatized, that signing up to donate should be an obvious choice that any healthy person should make. The fact of the matter is, though, that we don’t live in that world. We’re not ready for it. Perhaps one day we will. Perhaps this will galvanize society into making changes, not because we’re bad people now, but because we can always improve ourselves. Unfortunately, Nick is not going to be able to benefit from such a world. Like I was saying, the hospital is doing everything they can, and it’s not like I’m stopping people from reaching out to the administrators with their inquiries. I just feel the need to manage your expectations. If this crazy plan works out, it’ll be a miracle, and how many of those does one person get in their life. Dutch and I have already been tested for compatibility, and we’re no good, so it would be up to you. Sadly, I don’t like our odds. His luck and time are both running out.

Microstory 2271: It Won’t Be Long Now

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It’s so much worse than we had imagined. After everything Nick has been through; traveling through time, bouncing around the multiverse, being trapped away from his friends, getting sick over, and over, and over again. At worst, we thought that he would be dead. That would have been horrible, but at least he would no longer be suffering. There were consequences to this blog that none of us foresaw. Learning that Nick’s organs fetched such a heavy price from a reputable and trustworthy businessman, an as-of-yet still at large basket of deplorables abducted my friend, and took him to a makeshift surgical theatre. You heard that right. There was clearly an audience to this thing. It was put together quickly, but it was made with great purpose. A surgeon tore into his body, removing both of his kidneys, his liver, his spleen, and even his gallbladder. I don’t know how much they intend to make for these stolen organs on the black market, but there’s no way these assholes aren’t going to be found. The authorities don’t have to sift through dozens of other dark web postings for organs. They only have to find the one that’s advertising miracle organs for an insanely huge amount of money. They’re going to get nothing, and then they’re going to jail. Meanwhile, my poor Nick will be dead. He’s not immortal anymore, and no one can survive losing that much of their key organs. The doctors have placed him on life support, but there is only so much they can do. These five organs are literally vital to the proper functioning of a human being. It’s true, you can donate half a liver, or one whole kidney, and be fine. Yes, you can be suffering from kidney failure, and be kept alive through regular dialysis. With the proper lifelong treatment, you can even live without your spleen or gallbladder. But you can’t survive if all of these things are ripped out of you all at once. He’s going to die if another miracle doesn’t happen, but I really don’t see that happening. Dutch is running around in a panic, opening every single door that he can find. He has even demanded keys from hospital staff for locked doors. He’s trying to make another connection to the bulk to restore the magic of Nick’s immortality for but a few minutes, just like he did when he came back here from another world. Needless to say, it isn’t working. What happened that day was a fluke. If an angel is looking out for Nick, I can’t imagine they have the inclination to do it a second time. Even so, I’m letting Dutch try, because it’s not hurting anything. Well, it is, he’s causing a disruption, but everyone here has been pretty cool. They know why he’s doing it. Me, I’m sitting at Nick’s bedside, holding his hand, and hoping that he can hear me. It’s really sad to say, but...it won’t be long now.

Microstory 2253: A Hope and a Dream

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Kelly here. Nick is getting his rest in the hospital. The surgeries went really well, and the buyer is pleased with the results. They’ve transported the specimens to some secret facility, and will be studying them without any input from us. We will never know what becomes of their research, unless someone comes out with a miracle cure in five years that can fix anything. Then we’ll be pretty sure that Nick had something to do with it. He’s on the road to recovery, and will be able to return home shortly. He thought that he may have to stay here for only a couple of days, but we’ll probably keep him for the rest of the week, just so he doesn’t have to deal with the stress of moving around. You’ve all been asking for this, so I suppose I ought to just say it. Nick has authorized me to reveal the amount of money that he received for these surgeries, and after you read it, you won’t question why he went through with it anymore. He’s not greedy, but he thinks that he’ll be able to do a lot of good with it, so he just couldn’t pass on it. We’re still not gonna tell you who we did business with. You may not have heard of him anyway. He’s not one of those uber-wealthy businessmen who dance on stage at their tech bro conferences, and buy newspapers just so they’ll say nice things about them. He’s not a recluse, but he’s discreet, and so are we. But like I said, I’m allowed to tell you how much he paid for Nick’s index and marrow. The final number is 24 million dollars. Yes, 24. Yes, million. It was 24 milly bucks. That’s an insane amount of money, to be paid out in a lump sum by the end of the month. The funny thing about it is that it’s entirely tax free. The buyer knows how to navigate the complexities of tax law, and avoided them by marking it down as an investment in research, pulling it from a particular type of account, and depositing it into another certain type of account that his people helped us set up. I obviously don’t understand it, but I’m sure it will become a matter of public record someday. For now, we have tens of millions of dollars to figure out what to do with. We’ll probably build a few hospitals, and even more free clinics. Might as well help people medically before the research pans out—or more likely—in place of it. He spent his money on a hope and a dream, but we’ll be able to translate that into immediate action. I can’t wait to get started.

Microstory 2252: No Dutch! No Dutch!

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Dear Dudes, Dutch. Doy. I asked to fill in for Nick today, instead of Kelly. It’s not that she couldn’t write it for him, but I’ve been a little bored, and I wanted something to do. I don’t know what we’re gonna do tomorrow, because the hospital still won’t want him working, and his website is his job, so I may write the next one too. We’ll just have to wait and see. If you don’t read his socials, then don’t worry, he’s okay. He’s not back here for a medical issue, but because he had his surgeries. They took out his index, and some of his bone marrow. Funny thing about that first thing, when I went to another universe, the scientists who studied me wanted to see if there were any physiological differences between me and them. They did all sorts of tests...consensually, and discovered that everything was the same. We all got ten fingers, one heart, and two butt cheeks. They also mentioned that the appendix was about the same. And I’m, like, “what the hell is an appendix?” That’s what they call the index. Apparently, their ancestors thought that it was a useless organ that doesn’t do anything. Which is strange, because back then, they also thought that a magical God created humans. Why would they think such an omnipotent entity would think to include something so strange and pointless? Anyway, I just remembered that, and thought it was funny.

Welp, I think I have a little extra time, so maybe I’ll spend the rest of it telling you how I got my name. Most people assume that it’s only a nickname, but no, it’s real. Both in this world, and the other one, learning it has made people chuckle, or hold back chuckles. The Dutch are people from Nederland, or the language that they speak. My family is not from Nederland, nor even the area. Here’s the story. When my father was a child, he used to watch this old television program. Of course, as Nick has pointed out, we don’t have much of a library of fiction on this Earth, but this one was scripted, and said to have been pretty good at the time. I can’t remember what it was called, but in the first season, there was a younger brother in the family. They got rid of him in later seasons without an explanation, but he kind of became synonymous with the show anyway. The character was very protective of his toys and other belongings. Whenever anyone would come into his room, or try to do anything with his stuff, he would yell “no touch! No touch!” But he had this sort of babyish accent, and it sounded more like Dutch than touch. My father, being of about the same age as this kid, started imitating what he saw and heard. He’d walk around the house, yelling that catch phrase over and over again, emphasizing a D sound even more than the actor did. My grandmother tells me that it was annoying, but at least he didn’t really understand what the words were supposed to have meant, so he wasn’t actually ever trying to stop people from touching his stuff. Then he grew up, and forgot about all of this. But years later, as an adult, he watched some old home movies, and saw himself yelling that. His own dad was gone, but his mother was still alive, so he asked her about it, and she explained what that was. So my dad, being the jokester that he is, just started doing it again. He’ll periodically yell, “no Dutch! No Dutch!” usually at very inappropriate times. I think you can guess the rest. It became part of his personality, so when he and his future wife had a kid, naming him Dutch just made sense. I get my brains and good looks from my mother, but I got Aderyn ‘No Dutch’ Haines’ sense of humor. I think it’s a pretty good deal.

Microstory 2251: Happened Only After They’ve Happened

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The surgeon has decided that going ahead with the surgeries still makes sense, even after my poisoning. The specific poison that my attacker used didn’t have any direct impact on my bone marrow, or my index. They were probably just trying to kill me as fast as possible, so the medical examiner would determine that there was nothing worth salvaging. I dunno, that’s for the district attorney, or whatever, to decide, I guess. I’m not going to busy myself with worrying about them too much. I need to move on, and live my life. We’re still taking precautions. I’m not going to tell you when my surgeries will be, and I certainly won’t be telling you where. You’ll know that they’ve happened only after they’ve happened. In the meantime, my posts will sound like everything’s normal. The move-in is going well. The house is mostly furnished now, but we discovered that we have to do some renovations/repairs in the downstairs full bathroom, so the security people are sharing Dutch’s in the basement. He says he’s cool with it, and I believe him. That’s pretty much it for today since I apparently can’t say much about my life anymore without raising the alarms. In my free time, I’m trying to commune with my alternate self, asking him to send help. He’s definitely getting my messages, because he’s him, but I’m not getting his yet. Maybe he’s just toying with me.

Microstory 2242: Uncharted Territory

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The FBI are releasing me to my private security firm, contingent upon me scheduling an appointment with my doctors. Given the circumstances, I’m sure that this makes sense to them, but it doesn’t serve much of a purpose for me. I guess there’s a chance that I’ve been stricken ill with something new in the last couple of weeks. That would certainly fit with my M.O. I’m really hoping that it hasn’t happened, though, which is why I’m being really careful about what I eat, and where. Of course, I wash my hands religiously, but I’ve always done that. I shower twice a day too, which may be overkill, but you can never be too careful. I also don’t go outside without sunscreen on. This was something that my mom kind of wanted me to always do, and it seems that it just took several decades, and having multiple near-death experiences, to take her advice. Still, that’s not really what they’re worried about. You see, they don’t see a man who was miraculously healed from a terminal disease. They just see a man who had a terminal disease earlier this month. The doctors feel the same way, and they’re not going to let anyone take samples from me until I’ve had enough time to recover from that. Which is ridiculous, because there is no such thing as recovering from a prion disease, so right there is their failure in logic. But I get it. It’s uncharted territory, so they’re doing their best to figure out how we proceed. Their training tells them that I need to wait—that I’m not ready to undergo a serious procedure after my last health ordeal. As doctors who study science, it’s hard for them to understand that my brief immortality means no waiting period is necessary. In the end, though, it’s not really up to them. My body, my choice applies to many different situations, this one included, I would say. I’m going to let them take my index, and a little bit of my bone marrow. I’m going to do it for the money, and for science. Then I’m going to get back to my life, or at least determine what that life is from here on out. Maybe I’ll go back to working at the nursery, if they’ll let me. Or maybe it’s too hazardous there, so I won’t. Or maybe I will anyway.

Microstory 2240: Filth

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Not much has changed yet. Yes, the dude who wants my bone marrow and index and I had a discussion, and we came to an initial agreement. We’ve not signed any papers, but as a sign of good faith, he gave me a down payment, which I will be using to hire a personal security detail for myself, and my two friends. Kelly and Dutch had the option to leave me behind, and enter a form of witness protection. They could have blended in well enough wherever they were sent, but they chose to stick by me, so I have to do right by them. I won’t tell you how much money I have at the moment, but it’s enough to afford security for the three of us for at least a few weeks after the FBI lets us go. So when I said that not much has changed, that wasn’t totally honest. The government isn’t entirely keen on letting me donate samples of my body to science. I don’t know if they think that they should have it for themselves, or what. Who knows what’s going on in their bureaucratic heads when it comes to me? I don’t mean to sound mean, or to be overly critical of them. They’ve helped me immensely multiple times when I really needed it. But it may be time for our relationship to end. I need to reassert my independence, and I assume that they would benefit from diverting resources to other things. Of course, none of this should be a thing that I’m worried about. I wouldn’t need any of it if the world were safer. The violent, disturbing, and stalkery messages haven’t stopped coming. I hired a publicist, who has taken over the responsibility of sorting though the filth. They’ll handle getting the word out on that. Apparently, they have a database of dangerous individuals, so if you chose to write something to me, just know that you may end up on a list. If I understand their reach, it could affect your credit score. Just be nice, safe, and happy, okay? We’ve been over this. I am not your monkey.

Microstory 2239: Marrow and Index

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A private citizen with a whole lot of money—who I shall not name—has offered me a substantial amount of money for a sample of my bone marrow, and my index. Not just a biopsy of it, but the entire thing. I didn’t want to do anything like that, but I feel like I have no choice now. The FBI can’t be responsible for us for the rest of our lives, and it’s not going super great. Someone broke into the house that we were just living in. We’ve been moving around for security reasons, but if the suspect had been a week earlier, this might not have had a happy ending. Instead of trying to hide, and stay out of danger by remaining inconspicuous, I think a better strategy would be to be out in the open, but to become so well-guarded that I’m virtually untouchable. That’s how world leaders do it. We all know where the President of the United States lives, that doesn’t mean attacking her would be easy. This will obviously require significant capital. The procedure wouldn’t be simple, nor safe, but it would be relatively quick. I’ll only have to stay in the hospital for a couple of days, and only be in recovery for about a month as I regain my strength. I don’t know for sure what the backer thinks he’ll be doing with my marrow and index, but I explained to him that my immortality is gone, and it’s not something that can be studied in this universe. He’s willing to take that risk, and if we’re being honest, I don’t know with certainty that his researchers won’t gain any insight with it. Doctors have been taking samples for weeks, but never this much. So I think I’m gonna do it, to help myself, and my friends, and for the possibility that it helps everyone else.

Microstory 2230: How Bad It Can Get

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A pattern has presented itself. His body has a new parasite now too, and it’s going after his organs. The doctors are desperately trying to stop it, but it’s gotten its grubby little appendages in everything; his heart, kidney, liver, and especially his lungs. You name it, it’s being attacked. He’s unresponsive at this point, but he managed to say one final thing. He basically wants to be put on display, to raise awareness for prion infections. The hospital board is currently weighing the issue. They’re not sure if he’s in his right mind, though. He’s still being kept alive, because he’s still full code, but at some point, that is not going to matter. His body will continue to decay, regardless of how they try to treat the problems. We still have no clue where these damn things are coming from. They must have been hiding in there before he went into the bubble, and the decline in health from the prion allowed them to rise up all at once. They will all be very surprised if he makes it through the next weekend. I’ll let you know via social if we begin to display him on a video feed, or something. It might sound unsettling, but I do believe that it’s what he wants. He wants you to see how bad it can get, so you can be more careful.

Microstory 1757: Norma’s Kitchen in a Box

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

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

Microstory 1584: Courage

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Prompt

I wake up in a bathtub, covered in ice, and in an immense amount of pain. There is a huge sewn-up incision on my stomach.

Botner

I look at the tiled walls, look at the floor, look at the woman, whose voice I remember but whose face I don’t recognize. “So you’re the doctor, right?” I feel like a fraud.

“Doctor?”

“Doctor.”

“Yes. You won’t help me.”

I’m confused. “How is that even possible?”

“You saved my life.”

“I didn’t know you were still in here.”

She laughs. “You will help me. You have to.”

At the beginning, I was confused by the entire experience. I felt both privileged and like a fraud to be part of it. Then I remembered my PhD and the structure of the experiment that I had been part of. After a while, I came to accept the role that I was being asked to play. This person had incredible amounts of courage, strength and resourcefulness. I knew that I had to do whatever I could to help this person, regardless of whether she could do the same for me. I can remember every second of that night. Everything that transpired is still like a slow-motion film in my head. I remember my partner, Sam calling...

Conclusion

...me up, and saying that I needed to meet her at this motel. She wouldn’t tell me why, and when I got to the room, she wasn’t even here. The last thing I remember, something sharp pierced my neck, and now I’m here. I never thought my life would end like this, but at least I’m doing something good. This doctor may not have taken my organs in the most ethical way, but with them, she can do a lot more good than I ever hoped. There’s something about me—my biology—that makes my organs special. They’ve made great advances in cloning human tissue by studying me, and the time has come for me to die, so they can leap over that last medical science hurdle. I should be mad, but I guess all this was inevitable. They could only do so much without taking me apart. She says she’s going to take the heart next, but that she wanted to thank me for my sacrifice first. Now that I’m too weak to fight it is what she probably really had in mind. For my last few minutes I call Sam, and thank her for setting this all up. I wouldn’t have had the courage to do it myself, so I’m glad someone was there to force my hand. I don’t call my family to tell them I love them. They know, and hearing their voices again would just make it harder. The light dims, and I disappear, but will live on in everyone whose life this technique saves.

Microstory 934: 3D Printing

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3D printing, also known as additive manufacturing, sounded absurd to me when I first heard whispers of it years ago. Objects are made of so many different kinds of materials, so it seemed impractical to keep each one on hand in raw form at all times. As that one guy in The Graduate says, in one of only two scenes I’ve watched, “plastics.” Plastic is manufactured from a myriad of chemical compounds, and formed in a multitude of ways. It is widely available, cheap to make, and capable of assuming any form. It also lasts for thousands of years, which is why it’s so bad for the environment when wasted. Despite its issues, plastic may be our best hope to combat scarcity and inequality. One day, I believe everyone will own two 3D printers; one for synthesizing food, and another for clothing and household items. Certain places will use other types. Every hospital will be equipped with artificial tissue synthesizers, in order to replace bodily organs. Construction companies will utilize specialized mega-printers to build skyscrapers in a matter of days. The average consumer will never have to leave their housing unit to shop. Goods will be selected online—or rather, the technical specifications for them—and printed in minutes, maybe hours. Entire companies will be shuttered, and replaced by those in the business of processing raw plastic cartridges, and delivering to end users via automated drones. This, combined with other societal advances, such as universal basic income, will render jobs virtually irrelevant and unnecessary. I won’t speak more on that, though, because if you’ve been following, you know how excited I am for this future. As of now, most people have no use for a 3D printer of any kind, but in fewer than thirty years, they will be as ubiquitous as microwave ovens. It may sound crazy now, but in the same span of time, the idea of owning a tiny computer the size of a calculator, with access to the whole world, was the stuff of science fiction.

Microstory 918: Posthumanism

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If you redirect your attention to this post, and this post, you’ll see that I’ve already spoken on the subject of transhumanism. If you’ve already read those stories, and don’t feel like going back, or if you just don’t want to, here’s the gist of it. Humans are weak and fragile creatures, just like most other creatures. There are too many things that can destroy life. Even the most ferocious beasts, and the hardiest of extremophiles are susceptible to multiple dangers. A lot of people have this belief that evolution is heading towards some level of perfection, but that is not how it works. A specimen develops a trait as a random mutation, and if it’s a bad mutation—one that hinders their ability to survive—then they simply won’t live long enough to procreate. If it does happen to help, then they’ll pass those genes on to their offspring. The reason humans have hair still, even though we’ve learned to fashion clothing, build houses, and invent central heating, is because there’s no one to change it. Having hair isn’t a problem for us. At best, our descendants might evolve out of it due to sexual selection, if mates begin to favor less hair enough, but that’s so unlikely, because for humans, it takes all kinds. The point of this is that evolution isn’t going to give us gills or wings, because we don’t live in environments that would require them. Winged humans wouldn’t have an advantage over non-winged humans, because we do just fine right here on the ground. If the floor suddenly literally turned to lava, we would just die out by the time our physiology changed to accommodate our new conditions. If you want wings, then you’re going to have to have them implanted. You’re going to need two things to do this, though. One, superhuman pecs. Seriously, look at any bird. There’s a reason the breast contains so much more meat the rest of any poultry. Two, you’re going to need to live in the future, because we can’t attach wings to people yet. We can’t implant gills, or artificial eyes, or neural interface chips. But we will be able to. One day. That’s what posthumanism is all about, and posthumanism is what I’m all about. Like I said, humans are weak, and I am no exception. I have allergies; my hands are in a permanent state of pain. I wear glasses, frequently have to ask people to repeat themselves, can’t smell the black mold in a house, can’t taste the difference between a hundred dollar steak, and a ten dollar steak, and can’t ever tell when my skin is wet, or just cold. I used to be adamantly opposed to body mutilation, like piercings, and tattoos. I guess I still am, but it wouldn’t bother me to have one, even if it seems permanent, but I know a secret: it isn’t. I’m young enough to still be around when we can replace any organ with a 3D printed upgrade. That’ll let me live long enough to see a time when my consciousness can be transferred to some other body; say a robin, a dolphin, or maybe a sentient tree. Posthumanism is looking forward to breaking the limits of our birth, which is why I love it.