Microstory 2385: Vacuus, November 27, 2179

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Dear Condor and Pascal,

We’re terribly sorry for the delayed response. This was one of the longest times when one of the Valkyries interfered with our communications. We thought that the attack was going to end much sooner than that. Researchers have been very worried about this phenomenon overall lately. There’s about a 24% chance that the long-cycle interruption is going to fall upon us soon, but it’s impossible to tell for sure. They don’t show up in a predictable pattern, or we would have been able to develop a reliable schedule by now. Some believe that each meteor resonates on its own frequency, which even makes it hard for us to plan for the way in which it will disrupt our signals. These electrostatic charges make random perturbations, and alter each other’s properties in more ways then just gravity. It’s basically like the three-body problem dialed up to hundred and eleven. Velia and I spoke, and we wanted to assure you that we intend to send you a message at least once a week. One of you should hear from one of us within that timeframe. Condor, you’re still getting my daily health stats anyway, but if you ever see a break in those, please don’t worry yet. There may be some other issue, like a quota constraint, which I will have to work through. I can’t get trigger reports each time there’s an error—especially not if that error comes from your end—so I may not realize that something needs to be corrected right away. Just wait a week, and you should get a regular message from Vacuus. I’m saying all this to make it clear that if you don’t hear from us at all, it’s because communications have been completely taken out, and that could last for years. We really just don’t know. I wanted to warn you about it, even though I explained it previously, so you’ll remember that I love you both, and I wish that it wasn’t out of my control. Condor, Velia wants me to let you know that she loves you too. We had a little...scuffle about it the other day, but then we talked calmly, and worked it out. She’s determined to stay connected with you in whatever way is possible given the chasm that divides you. We hope that the Valkyries will fly off into the void, and leave us alone forever, but if not, don’t forget that we’re thinking of you. And hey, maybe they’ll have that breakthrough in FTL communications, and the Valkyries won’t be able to block it. Here’s to hoping our conversations never have to end.

Best regards,

Corinthia and Velia

Microstory 2064: Naïve and Trusting

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I had a phone call with a guy who claimed to also be from another universe, and it was pretty interesting. Out of respect for his privacy, I’m not going to tell you his real name. He hasn’t consented to me talking about him. Though, I think he would kind of be okay with it. How can I put this? He’s the opposite of a conspiracy theorist? He isn’t paranoid about the government, or anything like that. He’s very naïve and trusting, which is why he responded to my ad in the first place. As it turns out, he’s been looking out for any message like mine, which is why he receives the Kansas City Post even though he lives in Chicago, among reportedly tons of others. Surprisingly enough, I’m not one hundred percent certain that he’s not also from another universe. Have you ever heard of the Mandela Effect? Of course you haven’t. You’re too boring to come up with psychology terms like that. Basically it refers to a phenomenon where people believe something is true that is not, like maybe that a particular mascot has always worn a hat, when in fact, the hat never existed. Maybe you remember a character from an old TV show having a brother, when what you’re probably thinking of is an episode where he pretends to be a neighbor’s brother so they can get a discount at the arcade. I just made those up, but you get what I mean. That’s essentially what may or not be happening with my new Chicago friend. He wasn’t talking about all these crazy differences from where he supposedly grew up. There are lots of little differences, like street names, and the biggest companies in the world. All of these can be attributed to poor memory, or more severe mental health issues, but they could also mean he came through Westfall, and for some reason, is aware that it happened. I will need to speak with him more to get a better understanding of what he’s been dealing with. No valid conclusion yet.

Microstory 1821: Coulrophobia

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I’ll tell you about the worst period of my life, since it’s all I can think about right now. But first, a little backstory. When I was seven or eight years old, the circus came to town. Well, it wasn’t really in town; we had to drive an hour to get there, but it was worth it. I grew up poor, so it was a real treat to get some entertainment besides skipping rocks across the pond, or singing songs with my siblings. I loved everything about the show, but I especially loved the clowns. Even the sad ones looked like they were having the time of their lives. They were so energetic and fun, it was all I could do to resist the urge to jump out of my seat, and start dancing with them. Of course I never did, but I didn’t let go of that feeling either. Most kids my age were hoping to get into college, but I set my sights on something else. I wanted to go to clown school, which I could read about at my local library. Again, local is a strong word since it took two hours to get there on foot. My parents didn’t have the time to take me, but they encouraged me to learn, so they didn’t stop me from getting there on my own. It was a different time back then. Kids were regularly left alone to take care of themselves. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I raised myself, but I had to develop independence at a pretty young age to save my family the trouble. Anyway, clown college. They didn’t even have one in my country. The closest one was probably in France, but those were mostly mimes, so my best bet for a regular happy clown program was the U.S. Getting there wasn’t as hard as you might think, but finding my place there, and figuring out how to thrive in an alien environment, proved to be quite tricky. But I did it. I made it to the school, gave them my money, and began my education. In those days, it was a three-month program, rather than two.

I adored being a clown. It was everything I hoped it would be when I was young. I had a unique name, and a unique makeup pattern. I decided to stay in the country, because I was comfortable here by then, and there was plenty of work to be had. I was getting so many gigs, I couldn’t accept them all. We developed a network of clowns in the area—like a miniature union—where we would refer business to each other when we were too booked. We developed a set of rules too. We had to kick clowns out when they didn’t fulfill the spirit of the art, or match our moral standards. Then, several years ago, things got real bad for us. You probably heard about this; fake clowns started appearing all over the country, and into the next. They always showed up at night. It was always in the suburbs, or rural areas, presumably so they wouldn’t get caught by a dense city population. They didn’t do anything, but stand there, and look menacing. It scared everyone who saw one, and even those who had only heard about it on the news. As for me, it was really damaging to my business. Nobody wanted a clown at their birthday party anymore. We just could not be trusted. Some believed that it was some kind of publicity stunt for a horror film, but no one took responsibility for the phenomenon, and such a film never materialized, as far as I know. I didn’t exactly look into it, but I imagine I would have heard the truth. I was fortunate enough to have been old enough to retire, but many of my colleagues weren’t so lucky. They needed those jobs, and they needed the good reputations to get them. Sure, the sightings only lasted a few months, but the damage was ultimately permanent, and the industry never fully recovered. Business was hard enough already, but I fear—after I’m gone—all clowns will die.