Showing posts with label patience. Show all posts
Showing posts with label patience. Show all posts

Monday, April 28, 2025

Microstory 2396: Vacuus, April 28, 2182

Generated by Google VideoFX text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 2
Dear Pascal,

It has been over two years since we have been able to contact Earth. Vacuus as a whole has been able to make contact for the last couple of weeks, but due to restrictions, the common man was unable to send any messages. Basically, it was a waste of time for us to try to send any signal out, so it was temporarily against the law, and that law had to be repealed, which took a little time. Once capabilities were finally restored for me and my own equipment, I immediately tried to send a letter to Condor. I actually had it all written up already. I wrote in a few months after the blackout started, and every few months, I would rework it to include more updated information. I was so excited, and so happy, but ultimately disappointed. Two weeks after my message, I received a bounceback. Condor’s server could not be reached. That is so weird, because even if he couldn’t check it himself, it should still be online somewhere. I tried again, and two weeks later (today) it bounced back again. I’m really hoping that nothing terrible happened, but I’m so afraid. Nothing happened to the Earth overall—that much I know—so please, is there anything you can tell me? How long has it been since you’ve spoken to him? Do you know where he could be? If he’s dead, then just be honest. If it’s time to grieve, then I need to know it, and I need to tell Velia... Oh, I don’t want to be so negative, but that’s the only answer that I can think of for why he wouldn’t be able to receive my message. I mean, I don’t know for sure that you terminate people’s comms credentials when they die, but that’s part of protocol here, so there’s no confusion. If you can think of a better explanation, but still don’t know the truth yourself, please tell me that instead. Basically, just tell me what you know, and we’ll sort it out later. I hope you are doing okay, and I’m going to be waiting for two whole weeks for the other shoe to drop. That’s assuming you receive me, and respond to me right away. What if something happened to you or your credentials too? Well, if that’s what happened, then I guess no one will ever read my frantic and desperate words, and start to question my sanity.

Impatiently waiting for your reply, and hoping for only good news, but prepared for the truth either way,

Corinthia

Tuesday, April 1, 2025

Microstory 2377: Earth, October 20, 2179

Generated by Google ImageFX text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3
Dear Corinthia,

I have indeed been appreciating the health updates. You’ll notice that I started sending you mine too. If you would rather not receive them, though, just let me know. I can’t remember if you get charged for incoming messages, or what. Speaking of which, I did send one to Velia. I’m sure she’s told you about that, though. I talked a lot about clothes, because that’s all I really know about her. It’s nice to know that she’s been there for you since I can’t, and never could. I’m glad that you’re back to your normal self. Our conversations have been pretty negative lately because of it, and that’s all my fault. If you want to be more positive, we can move on to lighter topics. I still want to make sure that you’re doing okay, but I’ve let go of some of my anger about the whole thing, and I won’t harp on it anymore. I’ll let you take the lead on it. I will tell you that dad is going on a trip. He says that it’s for his job, but what he doesn’t realize is that, as his assistant, I have access to his travel forms. He used the code for new trade opportunities. He really shouldn’t be looking for those since we’re preoccupied with Australia at the moment, and it wouldn’t make any sense for him to fly all the way to Eastern Seaboard, U.S.A. while we’re down under. He’s obviously on the hunt for our old neighbor, and while he hasn’t admitted that he’s found the guy’s current location, I’m sure that that’s where he’s going. I guess we’ll know eventually whether he uncovered new information about our pasts, or didn’t. Don’t worry, he’s not breaking any laws or policies by traveling for personal reasons. As long as he does some work out there—talking to producers, vendors, and other domes—he’ll be fine. This isn’t the first time he’s caught up with old contacts, and our superiors are fully aware of how it works. It’s all about networking, so almost nothing is off limits unless he just lounges on a beach, or something. Last bit of news, I received a message—not from my nurse from when I was a kid—but her office manager. He said that she’s presently incommunicado in a really dangerous territory, trying to save lives. He hasn’t relayed my letter yet, but once she returns, he’s sure that she’ll want to talk to me. If this were an emergency, he would try to get through to her, but this isn’t a rush, so I’m just going to have to be patient.

Home alone,

Condor

Monday, January 20, 2025

Microstory 2326: Vacuus, November 18, 2178

Generated by Google ImageFX text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3
Dear Condor,

I’m sorry to hear that you were having so much trouble sleeping. If you ever need to take a few days to respond, that’s okay. You’ve already extended me the same courtesy when I was gone for weeks. It would be crazy of me to not give you a little bit of extra time if you need it. I mean, if there’s nothing to say, then there’s nothing to say. When I first wrote to you, I didn’t think that you would respond in the first place, let alone that we would start conversing on any sort or regular basis. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume that you’re waiting for something interesting to happen, or that you just don’t feel like talking. Yes, I will worry about you, and wonder if something’s happened to you, but that’s just the nature of interplanetary correspondence. I spoke with an expert on this side of the void who says that the FTL communication research has stalled, despite what some might be trying to convince the public. He’s not as hopeful as people may be making it out to be. He can’t say for sure that it’s impossible, but it’s unlikely to work any time soon, if ever. For now, we’re stuck with the light lag. Back in the old days, it was not unheard of for a letter to take weeks to get from one place to another. They were riding in carriages, and directly on horses, and even in some cases, just walking on their own two feet! Can you imagine? There was no way for them to know if their messages were being received unless and until they received a reply. At least we have the option of read receipts for our digital signals. I like when that comes in. It makes me feel a little bit better, because it would know if the message had been intercepted, which of course, it hasn’t so far. What it doesn’t tell us is whether the other twin is doing okay, but maybe there’s a way for us to handle that ourselves. I suppose that we could come up with a protocol where we reply right away with a very brief acknowledgement as a sort of manual read receipt. That way, we know that the other is still alive, but can’t reply fully yet. What do you think of that idea? Please respond at faster than light speeds so I don’t have to wait too long for your input.

From the other side of darkness,

Corinthia

Sunday, January 19, 2025

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 1, 2483

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After adjusting to the lights of the infirmary, Romana looked over at her father, but seemed to be focusing on her own breath. It started to look like she was trying to speak, but she was home now, and everything was going to be fine, so there was no reason to rush this.
“It’s okay. I’m here, and you’re safe. Only talk if you can,” Mateo encouraged.
She struggled to bring her lips closer together to formulate words. She didn’t look like she was in any pain, though, and the pod didn’t indicate that there was any medical issue to be worried about. She didn’t make a sound until she was ready to produce the word, fully and clearly. “Report.”
They told her what had happened, and asked if she remembered anything.
“Nothing,” Romana answered. “Ramses turned his new machine on, and then I woke up here.”
“That might be for the best,” Olimpia hoped. It didn’t appear that she was ever tortured or abused, but there was no telling how difficult it was to be trapped in Buddy’s particles. They might try to find out more information later, but for now, they were just grateful that she was back.
Romana needed physical help getting out of the pod, and then into the tub to be washed up. Olimpia graciously assisted with that. Mateo didn’t feel comfortable participating, and Romana probably preferred it this way too. While she had no apparent memory of the dark particle prison, she still looked traumatized. Perhaps the ordeal had a nuanced impact on her psyche, or maybe her mind was repressing it to protect itself. This gave Mateo an idea, to find a way to let her use his rendezvous card, so she could speak with Dr. Hammer. That was against the rules, but if it could improve his mental health, the Center might make an exception. And anyway, once he made sure that Romana was better, Mateo probably wouldn’t need the support group anymore.
He gave the two of them space, and went back to the bridge. “What’s the word with this thing? Are we in danger of another tangent?”
“Probably,” Leona replied. “But the risk can be mitigated with some careful planning.”
“Two jumps,” Ramses added. “I can probably only muster two good jumps a day, though it’s best that we spread them out by several hours. And I’m only guessing that due to our past experiences. We’ve obviously pushed the limits before, but it hasn’t always worked out, so for the sake of a successful jump, we should probably consider that the safety margin. That doesn’t mean I know what’s causing it. It could be a design flaw, an inherent limitation from the ship that the slingdrive has been retrofitted to, or it could be because of the quintessence itself. Perhaps it doesn’t like people to mess with it until it’s had time to settle down. I need more time, and more tests...again.”
“Before, when we were testing the navigation function,” Mateo began, “it was to save Romana’s life. Now we’re okay. Now we can afford to take a little time. Do what you need to do, but take the pressure off.”
Ramses nodded with a frown.
“And don’t feel bad about what happened,” Mateo continued, noticing that this was not his friend’s real concern. “Buddy is an antagonist who took advantage of an accident that you even predicted. We all knew the risks, including her. I’m not holding it against you, and I would like to see the day when you don’t hold it against yourself. Romana will be fine. She’s back now, and the tethers are holding. We’ll never lose her again. I love you, man.”
“Love you too,” Ramses replied.
“There’s something else,” Leona said, now that the serious conversation was over. “It’s about the Insulator. While he was getting us back, I was conducting my own research.” She stepped to the side to reveal the glass object sitting on the console. “As you can see, it’s missing the dome that’s supposed to go on top. Glass insulators have no moving parts, yet it’s been removed as if it could be popped off like a snap fastener. We scanned for the dome out in the black while we were at our last pitstop, but it might be lost forever.”
“Cool,” Mateo said. “I don’t care about it, though.”
“You should,” Leona insisted. “I was able to make minimal contact with the inhabitant. I can hear her, but she can’t hear me. Mateo, it’s Dubra.”
“My sister?” Romana was here, totally naked, but not worried about it.
Olimpia rushed up, and wrapped a towel around her body. “Sorry, she suddenly hopped out of the tub, and ran off.”
I could hear their conversation in their minds,” Romana explained. “If Dubra is in there, I can turn that minimal contact into a real conversation.”
“Be my guest,” Leona agreed, moving away even farther.
Romana stepped up to it, took a deep breath, then lifted her arms, apparently to prepare to touch it. Her towel fell right back off of her.
“Maybe you should get dried off and clothed,” Mateo asked.
“I got this.” Olimpia was wearing a splash tunic, which was a hydrophobic garment caregivers used to aid someone in bathing, whether as a family member, friend, or medical professional. She pulled it off of her own body, and dropped it over Romana’s, since the latter didn’t seem to be bothered by the mixed company. Now Olimpia was the one without clothes on, but that was fine.
Romana adjusted the shoulders of the tunic, then refocused on the task at hand. She placed fingers from both hands upon the Insulator. She stood there for a few minutes, occasionally showing mild signs of active listening. She nodded definitively, and separated. “Okay.”
“Okay, what? Is she all right?” Mateo asked.
“Yeah, she’s fine.”
“Is that all she said?” Leona pressed.
“No, she said quite a bit.” Romana was acting like these were perfectly complete responses.
“Such as what?” Ramses asked.
“Oh, uh...sister-sister confidentiality.”
“That’s not a thing,” Mateo argued.
“Yes, it is.” Marie was walking onto the bridge, followed by her own sister.
“I’ll just talk to her myself. How do we get her out?” Mateo questioned.
“I’ll have to build her a new substrate,” Ramses reasoned, “but I don’t have her DNA, so I can’t make her look as she did.” He consulted his watch. “And it will take me a real year.”
“Go on and get on it,” Leona said. “Just give her something temporary, and we’ll transfer her to something else later. She might know how we can acquire a sample of her DNA somewhere in the past.”
“Let Romana ask for consent first, please,” Mateo suggested.
“Yes,” Romana said. She went back to briefly speak with Dubravka. “She’s in. Something temporary is fine. It will take some effort to make her the real thing, and she wants to be involved in that. I’m so glad I won’t have to wait a whole year to meet her for real. I really don’t care for telepathy.”
Romana had to wait an entire year before she even had a chance to meet her half-sister in person. She was sixteen years old when Mateo and the team returned to the timestream. Instead of jumping forward like she was used to, she found herself stuck in realtime. She spent that year trying to stay busy by helping Hrockas to prepare for the Grand Opening. There was nothing else she could do. Ramses and Leona were the only ones with any hope of figuring out what might have gone wrong, and more importantly, how to fix it. She certainly couldn’t understand it herself. She didn’t have a whole lot in the way of a formal education. She knew what little she knew thanks to books that her family was able to procure for her over the years, but her unstable lifestyle was not conducive to studying in a classroom. She didn’t have access to Ramses’ ground lab either, or she might have tried to initiate Dubra’s download process herself.
She was depressed, and feeling left behind, but she had all year to come to terms with missing the bus, and the delay in the big family reunion. She also grew up hearing stories of Team Matic’s fantastical adventures, with their top-notch engineer and captain. Together, they could fix anything. So she was confident that they would solve the problem quickly.
“You noticed these, right?” They were back in the realspace infirmary on the Vellani Ambassador. The patient was sitting on the exam table, legs hanging off the edge. Leona was no doctor, but she had a penlight, and she knew how to point it at someone’s eyes.
“Yeah,” Romana replied. “I’ve tried to flush them out, but they’re not exactly...tangible.”
“What are you talking about?” Mateo was standing off to the side, arms crossed, and thinking about the most painful way to tear Buddy’s limbs off of his body.
“The dark particles,” Leona answered. “There are still some in there, floating around. I can’t tell exactly where; behind the cornea, maybe? Or they’re in another dimension...”
“Then figure it out!” Mateo cried.
“Stop it,” Leona instructed. “We’ve talked about your anger.”
Mateo took a deep breath. “I know it’s not your fault, I’m sorry.” He pulled the rendezvous card out of his sleeve pocket. It was red, just as anyone would expect out of someone this angry.
“What are you thinking?” his wife asked.
“I’m thinking that Dr. Hammer is not just a psychiatrist. She has diagnostic equipment that Ramses wouldn’t be able to develop, or know how to use properly. She may have even seen this before.”
“That’s not what that card is for,” she reminded him.
“My daughter’s back, I don’t need therapy anymore. I need her to be healthy.”
“Maybe it’s a good thing.”
“No,” Romana jumped in. “I know what you’re saying. But Matics are time-skippers. It’s what we do. I don’t wanna lose that.”
“I’m just making sure you understand your options,” Leona told her.
“My options,” Romana began before a pause, “are to find the man who did this to me, and make him fix it.”
Mateo shook his head. “I get the impulse. Believe me, I want to ring his neck. But Rule Number Fifteen is probably the most important one when it comes to us, so if you’re going to be a part of our team in any capacity, you will need to learn to follow it. Buddy is powerful, fragile, and whimsical. In my experience, that combination equates to sudden outbursts of excessive retaliation. His objective is to bring a fruit from the past into the future. He has the power to simply go back to the past, and pick one whenever he feels like it. He’s going to extreme lengths to accomplish something stupid and pointless. You can’t reason with someone like that, and we certainly can’t fight him. We try to handle this on our own. Locating him is a last resort.”
“Okay,” Romana agreed. “Then can someone help me get back down to the planet? I want to be there when Dubra wakes up.”
“Okay, but then we’re talking about Snake Island,” Mateo called to her as she was trying to leave.
“Whatever, just let me get this gown off!
Leona sighed. “We’re not going to Snake Island.”
“Leona...”
“We’re not going to Snake Island. We like Dr. Hammer, but we don’t know her all that well. Your own cousin became an adversary in the Third Rail. We need to be cautious, and follow the rules. Now go get your daughter, and go down to see your other daughter.”
Ramses’ ground lab was a lot bigger and better than the one he had in the pocket dimension attached to the ship. He had been wanting this forever, and finally found a place to build it. Starter nanites constructed it for him while they were gone, with the first room being dedicated to the Insulator of Life, as well as the equipment necessary to produce a new body.
Mateo peered at it, floating there in its amniotic tank. “What DNA did you end up using, since we don’t have hers. I assumed it would just be one of those public-use template things.”
Ramses was running through his tasklist before the download procedure. “Uh...don’t worry about it.”
“I wasn’t too terribly worried before, but now I really am. What did you do?”
“It’s fine, don’t—it’s fine.”
“Ramses Abdulrashid,” Mateo enunciated like a disappointed parent.
“Yours,” Ramses answered. “Yours and Leona’s. I mixed them together, like what would happen if you had your own kid.”
The room grew extremely tense. “Oh,” Romana said quietly and accidentally.
“Ramses. Leona and I did conceive twins. She lost them.”
“This isn’t either of them,” Ramses reasoned. “Couples have multiple kids, they don’t look the same. The DNA always combines differently.”
“Ramses,” Mateo said once more. “You can’t give my daughter that I had with Serif a body created from what might have become the daughter that Leona and I had together. It will remind her of that trauma.”
“Well, I can’t undo it.”
“Make her a new one.”
“What?”
“Make a new body.”
“Well, what am I meant to do with this one?” Ramses questioned.
“Whatever you do with it, don’t tell anyone; least of all my wife. Start over, and just use one of the templates.”
Ramses breathed deeply, and looked over at Romana as if she would somehow be able to alter the outcome of this situation. It didn’t matter how either of them felt about it. This was Mateo’s decision, and nothing was going to change it. Mateo shut his eyes and nodded. “Okay. It will be another year for us. I’ve obviously developed a method of accelerating time to expedite the maturation process, but I still don’t have it down to less than a day.”
“Sorry, kid,” Mateo said to Romana. He then looked back over at Ramses. “Get it going, and automate the process. Then focus on my other daughter. Let her jump with us. She shouldn’t have to wait a whole other year.”
Ramses got to work on the second major project, but couldn’t figure it out. The team jumped forward without her, and came back to a seventeen-year-old. Fortunately, she wasn’t alone. Now with access to the lab, she was able to initiate the download process herself, and meet Dubravka for real. They had grown quite close over the last several months.

Friday, January 17, 2025

Microstory 2325: Earth, November 10, 2178

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Dear Corinthia,

I had a dream last night, instead of responding to your letter in a reasonable amount of time. All that happened in this dream was that I sat on my computer to write a message to my father. It’s been frustrating, anticipating his return. You may be okay with waiting for answers, or even never getting them, but I don’t think I can do that. I appreciate your plea to not leave the dome, and I promise that I won’t go try to intercept him. I suppose my brain was trying to reconcile that, so it came up with a fantasy scenario where I got to tell him off anyway, and express how I really feel about what he may or may have done to us. I don’t normally write or read in dreams, but now that you and I are connecting almost every week, my mind is getting used to the concept on a subconscious level. The dream felt so real, and even does now that I’m awake. If I had been flying over the oceans, or fighting off giant monsters, my waking self would acknowledge that that couldn’t have happened, and been able to move on. But this, the way that it was so mundane, and something that I actually could have done, I can’t let it go. What’s even more annoying is that I can’t even remember what was in the letter! I keep sitting down to rewrite it in the real world, but nothing comes out. I will never get it back, which is a shame, because it was so perfect. That’s how it seemed anyway. I know that it wasn’t real, but it feels like I spent a lot of time crafting a perfect speech, and now, not only is it gone, but it probably wasn’t all that relevant. It was most likely total nonsense. And I still need to come up with something good. I need to write him something for real, whether it’s as amazingly pointed as the fake original or not. On top of this whole ordeal, I didn’t get very much sleep. Or rather I didn’t wake up well-rested. So maybe I should wait to write it either way. Maybe I should delete what I’ve written to you here, and start over with your letter too. What do you think? Give me your thoughts on this message right away, so I can write you a new one tomorrow if I need to. Lol, I’m joking, but I really should get some sleep, because it almost feels like breaking the laws of physics makes sense as an idea.

Your catfish,

Condor

Wednesday, September 18, 2024

Microstory 2238: Stress Will Kill

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I made a decision this morning to be a more positive person. It doesn’t make much sense that I’ve had to be such a downer lately. I beat death! That’s a good thing, even though it doesn’t change the fact that everyone else is going to die eventually. So will I, even if some other Westfaller opens a new door, because they can’t keep it open forever. Believe me, if I knew how to help you, I would. In my stories, I had trouble being able to kill characters off, because I built a world where there were so many ways around it. Even when I did come up with a way, I rather quickly undid it, and placed all the dead people in an afterlife simulation that was essentially heaven—even for the not-so-great people (because at least they still existed)—but digital. There was even a way to get out of the simulation, and return to true life. I hate death more than the average person, which I know is saying a lot, because most people don’t like it a-tall [sic]. I could tell you about all of the technology that those people used, and which others did in other universes, but I would never be able to develop them for you. It’s a lot easier to conjure a genius character than to be as smart as them. It’s nothing that you guys have not already contemplated, I’m sure, like longevity treatments, telomere restoration therapy, cybernetics, mind-uploading, etc. Anyway, I don’t wanna get hung up on this, because that’s negative, man, and I don’t wanna be negative anymore, man. Let’s all just be chill, and only move around when we need to relax. Sound good? In the end, stress will kill you faster than anything. So, what does this all mean for the future? I’m not sure yet, but I’m going to try to remain calm, and not worry about things too much. I’m sure everything will be all right, one way or another. I’ve never had that kind of attitude before, so I’m not sure if it will work, but I may as well try.

Tuesday, September 17, 2024

Microstory 2237: Good Number of Zeros

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3, and by Pixlr AI image editor
Okay, I’ll make this brief. People did not like what I wrote in my last social post. I told you yesterday that I wasn’t going to be making any book deals, or anything, but I think most of you know that that’s not really what I meant. I was saying that I’m working on my own timeline, and contemplating my future privately. Dutch came back to this world through an interdimensional doorway while I was starting to wonder whether it even existed. For the first time in months, there is hope for me to see my friends again, and maybe even my family if I’m lucky. So no, some of you misunderstood me. I did not reject the concept of making money, and I am not being a hypocrite. I told you that I would be doing this on my own terms, which means not accepting just any offer that comes with a good number of zeros. Let’s do it right, not just quickly. This is all happening so fast, I don’t know what tomorrow holds, let alone the next year, so just be patient. For now, I’ll ask you to read my site if you want, and not try to give me any ideas. I appreciate the thought, and I’m not mad, but this is all I need for now. One thing I will tell you is that the internet is the only place where I share my thoughts. I don’t see any reason to write an autobiography that you have to buy. That ain’t me.

Thursday, September 12, 2024

Microstory 2234: Apologies for the Interruption

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[Apologies for the interruption. This is Halya Perugia, current Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We are developing protocols which will allow Mister Fisherman and Miss Serna to continue contributing to their social media presence. This is an unprecedented situation here, but we feel that it is necessary for the public good that their website remains active. This is in no way an endorsement of their words or actions by the United States government, or the FBI. Their message is not our concern. It is our responsibility to keep them safe, and part of that mandate is allowing them to reassure the public that they are exactly where they need to be. Mister Fisherman and Miss Serna will make occasional—and highly secure—public appearances to reinforce the cooperative nature of our new professional partnership. We will not be simply hiding them away. The US government and this agency will take every threat to their safety, and the national security of this country, seriously, and will take any action necessary to ensure the domestic tranquility of this nation. We appreciate your patience while we work through our new protocols to allow the frequently visiting, and ever-growing, audience of Mister Fisherman’s website to continue to be part of a centuries-long global conversation that ensures governmental transparency, social justice, and public advancement. Thank you for your time.]

Tuesday, August 13, 2024

Microstory 2212: All the More Alarming

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We met with a diagnostician today who normally works out of New Jersey, but he flew down here, because he’s an apparent avid reader of this site, and is fascinated by Nick’s case. Nick laughed when he heard where he was from, but he wouldn’t tell us what that’s all about. He promises that his laugh is not a symptom, and that he had genuine reason to find the news humorous. The diagnostician was inclined to believe that, though he does not believe him about much else. He has to operate under the assumption that Nick’s belief that he’s from another universe is a part of this mysterious disease. If that’s true, then he’s had whatever this is for several months now, which would make his decline all the more sudden, and all the more alarming. He’s scheduled a bunch of lab work and scans to perform over the course of the next few days. Today only involved a comprehensive examination. It included everything you get from your periodic physical exam, plus a whole bunch more. He had him hold his arms out to his side, and try to keep them still, which Nick found difficult. He had trouble walking in a straight line, and reciting simple prompted phrases from memory. Now that I write it all out, I realize that it sounds like a sobriety test. But obviously that’s not the cause as Nick doesn’t drink. The diagnostician had him walk on a treadmill, and ride a stationary bike. They weren’t measuring stress, or anything. This all seemed to be about his motor skills. So far, the doctor can’t come to any conclusion, which frustrated Nick, even though he understands that this was never going to be a quick or easy fix. It’s only the first of several tests. The doctors and techs have to start at the beginning, and move forwards from there. Even if one of them doesn’t diagnose the right disease, it will give us more information than we had before. We need to be patient. After a couple of hours of this, Nick was tired, and ready to go home, so it was good that we were done for the day. I drove him back to his apartment, and made him some dinner. His former personal assistant ate with us, and told us how the work has been going at the jail. They have kept the spirit of his vision alive, and are making real progress on their prison reform ideas. It saddened him to hear it, since he expected to be there working on all that himself, but he’s pleased that the project is still very much alive. I think the dinner gave him a boost of positivity, even if he would never admit it. I don’t know Jasmine very well, so after I tucked him into bed, she and I stayed up to get to know each other a little bit. We have more tests to get to tomorrow, so I turned in too before too long.

Friday, July 19, 2024

Microstory 2195: Should Not Have Jumped

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I had this whole thing planned. I was going to welcome our first staff members with a little party. It wasn’t going to be a huge celebration, but I thought it was a good idea to give people the chance to meet each other in a more social environment. I, for one, do not like parties. Crowds make me uncomfortable, and I tend to say the wrong thing. I’m much better in a professional context. Jasmine pointed out that we would just have to keep doing this every time someone new came along. A lot of them are starting on Monday, but not everyone, and I guess I just wasn’t thinking it all the way through; probably because of everything else I have on my mind. It makes sense, to wait until we’re all together. We can call the early days the soft open, and then have a grand opening party later on. I’ll have to find someone else to eat this ice cream cake. I cannot keep it in the house, because I can eat the whole thing myself at once, and I will. Don’t test me. So we’ll work first, and wait for the party. I should have not jumped the gun, and maybe I shouldn’t have told you about it—I don’t know—but it’s fine. There’s nothing left to say. Who knows what I’ll be able to divulge in this setting next week? I’ll have to feel the situation out with my new and growing team.

Monday, May 13, 2024

Microstory 2146: To Participate

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There are consequences to your actions, people. Never forget that. I’m not saying that I’m being punished here, but my website does get read by a number of people, including the jail’s personnel. Based on my weird last two installments, it has been suggested to me that I start to struggle more when I’m unable to have my usual weekly therapy session, for whatever reason. I don’t think it always matters so much what she and I discuss, just that I have time to talk to someone who has been trained to listen and try to understand others. I think that’s a fair assessment. Just looking back on my past posts, and reflecting on my recent life, it sounds about right that I go a little crazy sometimes. I think I was meant to have group sessions all along while I was in jail, but I sort of forgot about it, and the expectation is that I manage my schedule myself. No one is going to force me to talk to anyone about anything in particular. Some people are given more detailed sentences in this regard, but mine was purposefully vague. Even so, it’s a good idea, so I participated in group on Saturday. I didn’t really want to participate directly. In fact, I think maybe it should be expected that a newbie keep their mouth shut on their first day, and just listen to the veterans first. I don’t mean to imply that no one has anything worthy of being heard during their first session, just that it might foster a safer and more welcoming environment to not introduce people so shockingly suddenly to an established group. Give us time to acclimate, ya know?

Well, I was forced to talk, because as I’ve explained, I’m kind of famous. Some were not happy that I was there, and/or not happy about the developments on my website. Due to my belief that I’m a traveler from another universe, they think that I should be given stricter rules when it comes to my personal mental health journey. I’m obviously crazy, and need to be medicated, heavily therapized, and maybe locked up 24/7. I must say, I totally see where they’re coming from. If I’m so convinced that time travel is real, then a group session where I talk about how much I miss my dog—who is supposedly being taken care of by an alternate version of me—is probably not enough. It might be taking time away from people who have more grounded problems. If I were trying to work through what they perceive to be my delusions, that would be a different story, but since I’m holding firm to them, and the group leader is making no effort to change that, I imagine that that can get pretty annoying. That’s one reason why I didn’t want to talk the first time, and why I don’t know if I ever want to talk at all. I am from another world, and I’m never going to claim otherwise, because it would be a lie, and that would be worse. I hope that my fellow patients can learn to accept that, as I make an effort to accept their drug addictions and domestic violence issues, which I’ve never had a problem with personally. For now, I have no reason to believe that I won’t be able to have my regular private session with my own therapist this coming Wednesday, so hopefully I can get back on track then. Oh, and one more thing, for this Sunday’s social media post, I wrote this cryptic question about a snake eating its own tail in real life. There’s no hidden meaning behind that. I just didn’t have anything real to say, so I just kind of randomly started typing words, and that’s what came out. If you interpreted it as a puzzle, or thought experiment, or something, don’t worry about it anymore. I just don’t like to skip days. Maybe I should talk to my therapist about that.

Saturday, January 28, 2023

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: November 25, 2398

Well, that happened. Curtis was gone, as well as Cheyenne, and they left them using a tactic that no one else ever thought to try. Ramses asked Leona whether The Officiant ever gave her the means to contact her again through a divorce declaration, and she had to say that she didn’t. Perhaps it’s something that the Officiant instituted sometime after their wedding according to her own personal timeline, or she’s cognizant of every couple’s ultimate fate, so she only gives the secret words to the ones she knows will need them later. The question is whether Leona could potentially use this tactic to summon one of the few people they know without suppressed time powers, and if she did, would she and Mateo have to go through with the divorce just for the attempt? Cheyenne had to give up a favor to convince the Officiant to spirit them away, so if Leona doesn’t have anything to offer, it might not work regardless.
Right now, Leona is spinning her wedding ring around her finger. She wants to leave for the Oort Cloud, but it’s not time yet. It could take a really long time to find that proverbial nonmagnetic needle in a haystack. She still has commitments and responsibilities down here on Earth. First and foremost is the reintegration of one Bhulan Cargill into her real body. They have been communicating with her through the Insulator of Life interface, and she says she’s ready for the procedure, but that she still won’t answer any of their questions. Ramses is hooking her up to the virtual construct, so they can have a conversation in private. Erlendr’s consciousness has been restricted to a separate partition, so he doesn’t hear what they have to say.
“Hi,” Leona begins.
“Hello,” Bhulan replies politely.
“We don’t know each other very well. You don’t know any of these people very well, do you?”
Bhulan tilts her chin. “I know you well based on what I have been able to see with my time power, but I assume that’s not what you mean. No, we have not interacted much. It is in my nature to stay out of people’s personal lives.”
“Right, you meddle with the timeline all you want, but as long as you don’t talk to anybody, it’s like they’re not real people, so you don’t have to catch feelings.”
Bhulan takes a beat, but ends up confirming the truth with a, “yes.”
The construct is more elaborate than it was when Ramses first created it. He didn’t have time to program too many details back then, but he has since made a nice little fake house for her in the middle of a vast field of daisies, which are her favorite. They’re on the front porch right now. Leona sits down on the swinging bench. “This is a nice place you got here.”
“Yes, I appreciate it.”
“Have you seen where Erlendr is living?”
“I got a quick look.”
Leona nods. It’s based on the Level Two environment in Tamerlane Pryce’s afterlife simulation. You know him, right?”
Bhulan turns away to avoid betraying any telltale microexpressions.
Leona smirks and nods, because that is a macroexpression. “Level Two Static; the Reds. They’re trapped in a dark room. No windows, no light beyond the faint reddish glow that comes from nowhere, and everywhere. There’s not even a door; there doesn’t need to be, because it’s not real.” She nods again, and breathes in the false fresh air. “Kind of like this. It’s just an illusion; electrical signals being swirled around in a particular pattern. Some say that that’s all life is. We’re a brain in a vat, and everything we see is what we come up within our own minds.”
“What are you getting at?” Bhulan asks.
Leona takes a second. “Well, you’re not a brain in a vat, are you? You’re a bit of code inside of a glass insulator, and it doesn’t matter what you come up with in your mind, because you’re not in charge of your reality.” Now she gets all serious. “I am. I can put you in that fucking room with Erlendr, or I can put you in a separate one. I can turn these daisies into knives. I can remove all your fingers. I can do whatever the hell I want, and you won’t be able to do a goddamn thing about it! I am the angry one. If you wanted patience and compassion, you should have protected my husband!” She takes a moment to recapture her breath, and composure. “Fortunately, as far as we know, he’s not a lost cause, and you have a chance to redeem yourself, but Miss Cargill, you only have one chance. If you don’t give me some real information about where he is, and how I can get him back, I swear to god, I’m gonna program a Nietzschean abyss, and throw you over the edge. You’ll never stop falling, you’ll never get your body back—I’ll cremate it myself—and I won’t let anyone come save you.”
Bhulan turns to face her now, but turns away just as quickly. “You may have to get that abyss ready, because you’re not going to like my answer.”
“I don’t have to like the answer if it’s the truth.”
She sighs. “We don’t know.”
“Excuse me?”
“We don’t know where he is. Danica went into a room with him. It’s the same one that we use to erase people’s memories. You’ve been there, you just don’t remember. I don’t think she was going to do anything to him; she just wanted to talk. She needed to explain that he couldn’t ever leave, but...then we heard a scream. It didn’t sound like either of their voices—”
“Was it the Time Shriek?” Leona interrupts.
“No, it definitely wasn’t that, but it had the same level of energy attached to it. By the time we got through the door, Mateo was gone, and Danica was the one with lost memories. That room, Leona, it’s foolproof. One door, no windows, built of temporal containment materials. He could not have teleported or time traveled out. Nothing in the universe explains how he escaped.”
“Nothing in this universe, maybe.”
Bhulan winces. “You’re right, we don’t know much about all that, so we wouldn’t be able to protect ourselves against it. We’re aware that other universes exist, but we are quite ignorant of what else is out there, so...yeah, I guess that’s the best explanation.”
“Okay. I’ll tell Ramses to transfer you out, and then you can go wherever you want. Or you can stay. People seem to not realize that that is an option.”
“Thank you, and I’m sorry.”
“Lying is annoying more than anything. Just remember that when you start your next chapter. It makes everything worse, for everyone, including your damn self.”
“What will you do? How will you find him?”
“Trust is earned. You’ll have to prove yourself worthy of knowing our secrets. Goodbye, Bhulan.”

Friday, April 1, 2022

Microstory 1855: Man in the Street

Once upon a time, I was sitting at a red light, second in line, waiting for it to change, but in no big hurry. A car pulled up behind me, and started to wait too. Before too long, I felt a lurch. I checked my sideview mirror, and saw that he had knocked into my bumper, and he hadn’t even attempted to back away. My dog’s kennel was still in the back, because we had just gone to the dog park the day before, and if I lived with one fatal flaw, it was my procrastination. So I couldn’t see how the other driver was reacting to this with my rearview mirror. I could tell, however, that he wasn’t getting out of the car. There was probably no damage, because he was moving at less than a kilometer an hour, but I still felt obliged to exchange information. So I did get out, and approached him. I could immediately see that something was wrong. His face was pressed up against his steering wheel, and he wasn’t moving. I instinctively started knocking on the window, and trying to open the latch, but he wasn’t responding, and of course, it was locked. Just due to my interference, he slumped down a bit until his head was pressing against the horn. So it was blaring, the light was green, we weren’t moving, and the people behind us were honking too. There was only one lane, so they couldn’t go around. They probably thought we were stupid for not making a right turn, and dealing with this in that empty parking lot. I knew I had to do something; not for those people, but the hurt person in the car. I remembered that my son bought me and my wife both a special tool that could break through car glass. I ran back to retrieve it, and bashed the back window so I could unlock the stranger’s door. I didn’t know what I was going to do. This was just before cell phones, so I couldn’t call for help. I had once learned CPR, but I forgot all but the basic concept behind it, and I wasn’t sure I could pull it off safely.

As I was dragging him out, a motorcycle cop pulled up. He didn’t know what was going on, but he could see the broken window, and the unconscious man in my arms, so he assumed the worst. He pointed his gun at my head, and started screaming at me. It took a surprising amount of effort to convince him that I wasn’t the bad guy here. The man was hurt, and I needed help. After quickly calling for an ambulance on the radio, the police officer actually began to perform CPR, and I stood back to let him do his thing. Meanwhile, the other cars managed to find openings where they could drive on the wrong side of the road, and get around us. It was a slow process, but it was working, and people just needed to have some patience. One driver wasn’t patient. I don’t know if he didn’t see what was happening, or if he didn’t care, but he was going far too fast, and he was uncomfortably close to the line of cars waiting their turn. I had to think fast. I ran past the cop, and the unconscious man on the ground, took hold of the motorcycle, and summoned all the strength in my body to throw it to the ground. The reckless driver slammed right into it, and that was just enough to divert him away from the cop and his patient. I wasn’t so lucky. A piece of shrapnel shot out of the bike, and lodged itself in my chest. The first guy was still hurt, the bad driver wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, so I could see him halfway up on his dashboard. I think some shrapnel hit the cop too, because his forehead was bleeding. And I thought I was probably going to die. Obviously I didn’t. We all survived, and I’m still friends with the man I helped save, and the police officer. The reckless driver found himself going in and out of jail. This wasn’t his only offense.

Monday, January 25, 2021

Microstory 1546: Waiting

I have been ________ in this waiting room for an ________. I don’t have anything else to do ________, but that doesn’t mean I want to ________ it here. I’m not usually that kind of ________ who will get up and demand to be ________, but this is getting ridiculous. Most of the ________ were here before me, but they don’t seem fazed. They just keep ________ backwards through their magazines, and fidgeting with their ________ forms. Maybe I should get up, not just for me, but for ________ too. They haven’t called ________ back this whole ________, so something is holding the entire process up, and if no one ________ is going to try to find out what that is, I suppose it will have to be ________. I nonaggressively stand up from my ________, and walk over to the counter at a reasonable ________. I politely ask the ________ for an estimated wait ________. He just looks at me like he doesn’t speak ________. No, it’s more like he thinks I’m speaking a ________ language. He reaches over, and closes the ________, not aggressively either, but it’s still rude. It’s ________ enough to upset me, so I reach over ________, and just open it back up. He’s gone. It hasn’t even been one ________, there’s no way he could have gotten up, and walked ________. I have too wide of a view of his ________, and the hallway behind him. Plus, he has all these ________ piled up on the floor, it would have been too much to navigate. I ask if anyone else saw that as I’m turning ________, but they too are gone. The noises they were making—flipping through book ________, coughing, sipping ________—it lingers for a while, but dies ________, like they were able to disappear faster than the sound ________. I suppose that makes sense as ________ moves faster than sound. No, that doesn’t mean this makes any ________. They shouldn’t have ________ at all! What the heck is going on here? I turn back to the reception ________. The folders are still there, but they’re knocked over, and ________ dust. The ________ are out, and there’s a draft in here that wasn’t there before. I turn my ________ yet again. The paintings have fallen to the ________, and the wall____ is peeling. Chairs are turned ________, and a few are broken. I have either just ________ to the future, or ________ to some kind of eerie upside down silent ghost dimension. I have to find help, and ________. That’s what’s important right ________. I leave the waiting ________, and then exit the ________. The rest of the ________is as dreary and dead as it was ________, there’s probably nothing useful to ________. I have to try at least, though, so I keep ________. I start out by walking on the ________, but without any ________ around, I wonder why I’m wasting my time. The ________is less damaging to my ________ and knees. I wander down the ________, only headed in one particular ________, because the fading painted lines tell me so. I hear a rushing ________ around me, and then squealing. Then I hear some honking ________, and as the traffic is coming back into ________, a pair of ________ take me forcefully by the shoulders. “Let’s get you back to your ________. How do you keep escaping? I swear to ________, this time you literally disappeared before my eyes.”

Wednesday, February 26, 2020

Microstory 1308: Clearance Investigator Job

Clearance Investigator: I appreciate your patience during this process. As you can imagine, as clearance investigators, it’s very important that we make sure the people we allow to be hired—or remain employed by the government, as you recently experienced—are investigated to the best of our ability, with the resources we have at our disposal. It’s doubly important that the people we hire to be those investigators be vetted even more thoroughly, to avoid any conflicts of interest, or other issues. We are the gatekeepers for so many agencies, and if you want to be part of that, we have to make sure you’re both up to the task, and worthy of holding the keys.
Postal Worker: I understand. I consider everything I went through during this most recent background check to be part of my preliminary training. The other checks were part of my training too, I suppose, since they are still relevant.
Clearance Investigator: Very good. Now, you have worked for the postal service for the last four years, correct?
Postal Worker: This is a fact, sir.
Clearance Investigator: Were you surprised when you got called up for a reinterview process?
Postal Worker: I wasn’t surprised so much as I didn’t know it was going to happen. I guess that is the very definition of surprise. Perhaps I mean only that I wasn’t bothered by it, nor concerned.
Clearance Investigator: What made you decide to apply for this position?
Postal Worker: It was the whole process. I was a bit scared the first time it happened, because I didn’t truly understand what was going on. I made a writing error on my application, and you threw it back to me, so that was upsetting. But I was a little more mentally prepared when the renewal came up, and I started really thinking about what was happening in the background; what you guys were doing, and why you were doing it. I became fascinated by it, and I realized how incredibly important, as you said, it was to make sure you know who it is you’ve hired. A lot of my co-workers were put off by it. They didn’t think it mattered, since we’re just mail sorters, but I never saw it that way. We have access to a lot of sensitive information that the citizens of this country are counting on us to protect. Maybe it’s not always national security, but every letter matters to someone.
Clearance Investigator: You seem eager to work for us.
Postal Worker: Oh no, I wouldn’t say I’m eager; I definitely wouldn’t use that word. I’m ready. I mean, I just... I...I—
Clearance Investigator: Don’t worry, I don’t think you’re a terrorist who’s trying to become a mole in our department. You have the position. This interview is just one final formality to give you one more chance to back out, if you are so inclined. If you think an initial background check is hard, just wait until you see our exit process. Quitting this job, or—God forbid—getting fired from it, can be even more stressful, because now you have all this confidential knowledge we can’t let you walk away with unless we’re sure you won’t misuse it. If you really want to do this, we’ll get the paperwork started.
Postal Worker: I really want to do this.
Clearance Investigator: All right. Wait here a moment.

Monday, February 10, 2020

Microstory 1296: The Fisherman and His Small Catch

There once was a humble fisherman who possessed no skills but fishing, no assets but his little hut, and his fishing gear, and no hope for a better tomorrow. He lived day to day, surviving on the catch he made when he went out to the center of the little pond near his home. Over the years, the fisherman noticed his catches were getting smaller and smaller, and the fish themselves were getting smaller too. During one of these times, he caught a very, very small fish—probably the smallest he had ever seen on his line. The tiny fish begged for its life, claiming that the fisherman should throw it back into the water, and wait for it to grow much bigger. The fisherman scoffed, for he felt he was too old and wise to be fooled by such nonsense. “I might as well keep you, because you may be small, but I would rather eat very little tonight than nothing.” But the fisherman was wrong. You see, even though he was the only one who ever fished in that pond, he did it every day, and what he didn’t realize was that he was cleaning it out more and more each time. The fish population was shrinking by the week. Some small fish were meant to be food for the larger fish, but with nothing to eat, these larger fish died before they could lay eggs. The fisherman needed to learn that good things would come to those who wait. A small catch wasn’t better than nothing if he had to put too much effort into it. He was better off being patient, and waiting for something more rewarding…more useful. But the fisherman was not patient, and did not think things through, and he thought he would spend his whole life fishing in this pond without a care in the world. As it turned out, he was the architect of his own demise. He was starving, and near death, before he finally gave up on that pond, and moved somewhere else.

This story was inspired by, and revised from, an Aesop Fable called The Fisherman and the Little Fish.

Wednesday, February 28, 2018

Microstory 788: K-Boy

At some point in the history of the bulkverse, a version of K-Boy ended up in a universe unlike his own. Here, though special abilities were possible, they were rare, and not nearly as ubiquitous as the time powers he had come to know in his home brane. His powers remained while in this universe, but they were significantly limited, as if the laws of physics—though outwardly exactly like the ones he was familiar with—were ever so slightly different. While still faster than any normal human being, he was significantly slower than before. He could run, but within the bounds of normal spacetime, and could be seen doing so by the naked eye. He found himself attached to a group of heroes, most of which had no special abilities of their own, but he was most known for his entanglements with a man named Michael Fintan, a.k.a. Boom Mike. Fintan was an actual boom operator, working on a number of popular and high-budget productions. He was not well-liked personally, for his reckless attitude, and juvenile behavior, but he was coveted professionally. He could hold the boom microphone for extended periods of time, like a statue, with some claiming his record to be forever. The truth was that he learned his patience and stamina while fighting in war. It was the characteristics he picked up here that caused K-Boy to gravitate towards him. As much as they fought their feelings for each other, it was ultimately useless. But their relationship would not be without its problems. K-Boy was strictly a hero, fighting for good and justice, while Boom Mike had become disillusioned with the government from his time in the military, eventually leaving it behind for the private sector. He became a mercenary, lending his services to anyone who was willing to pay him enough money. This created great tension between the two of them, and when it came time to choose sides, it was unclear whether Boom Mike would choose the right one. He was not a lost cause, and redemption was just around the corner, but he would have no hope without the dedication, and love, that he found in K-Boy.

Friday, July 7, 2017

Microstory 620: Silence of the Blasphemers

If there’s one complaint any Lightseer can have about our great galaxy of Fostea, it’s that there are some things we would just like to change. I know, that’s vague, but our faith has a few stipulations for our way of life that make it a little difficult to be around people who do not share it. Not everyone knows about, wants to understand, or can truly appreciate the glory in The Light. We have an evangelical side of us that goes out to the stars and spreads the Word to others, but we must restrain ourselves, for being too aggressive could go against other people’s rights to be as they choose. This patience can be arduous for some of our kind, which is why not ever one of us is an evangelical. There are those, however, who do not share our level of tolerance and respect. We call these the blasphemers. Not only are these people not Lightseers, but they actively work against our practices, and try to destroy our way of life. The Book of Light discusses often the dangers of dealing with blasphemers, for they bring only darkness. It teaches us that light is more powerful than dark, but also that this does not mean it requires no effort. Like the fragile flower, light must be nurtured, fed, and protected. One of the most well-known quotes from the Book of Light says, there will always be more darkness in the universe than light, but light is the only one of the two that moves...that moves others...that truly is. Darkness...is nothing. It’s important to remember these truths whenever you’re having a crisis of faith; when you doubt your beliefs, be it on your own, or by someone else’s harmful words. It is not you who should change; it is the blasphemers. They are the ones who need be silenced. Lucky for us, this very thing was foretold in the taikon passages.
After Eido Ivanka was covertly removed from the segregated Anter star system, she was taken back to Istamas so that she could recover from not having lived in civilized society for however long it was. Even after a medical examination, a shower, and some real food, Ivanka never spoke a word. But she kept pointing to a tablet that was lying on the counter. Once she got her hands on it, she navigated to the galactic map, and presented the others in the room with the coordinates to one of the worst places in Fostea. On the edge of the galaxy is a star system with a planet called Castanea Beta. It follows Fostean law, and practices Fostean traditions, but it is the furthest from Lightseed a place could possibly be. This is where a group of atheists live, but not just any atheists; they’re also wildly outspoken against Lightseed. It’s unclear exactly what their motives are, but they are one of the most dangerous threats to our faith. As far as we know, they have not successfully recruited a Lightseer to their heathen ways, but not for lack of trying. Unfortunately for them, their days of blaspheming our religion are over. A ship transported Eido Ivanka to Castanea Beta immediately upon request, and it was there that they witnessed a real-life miracle. With no apparent technological advancement, Ivanka held out her arms and literally silenced the blasphemers. Try as they may, they are to this day physically incapable of uttering so much as a cough. And with this miraculous act, Ivanka’s own voice returned. The first thing she said was, “let us move on to the next one.”