Microstory 1366: Performance Art

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Art Reporter: Before we begin, I want to acknowledge that you do not generally participate in interviews. I appreciate you making an exception.

Performance Artist: Well, I was kind of obligated to do so. My publicist says we run the risk of a lawsuit if I don’t take the time to explain myself to my fans, and the general public.

Art Reporter: You have a publicist?

Performance Artist: I do, and right now she’s miming slitting her own throat to get me to stop talking about it, which is ironic, given the nature of my work.

Art Reporter: Yes, that’s an unfortunate coincidence. I’m sure it was an accident on her part.

Performance Artist: Now she’s waving her arms at me, begging me to stop talking about her.

Art Reporter: We can edit this part out.

Performance Artist: You will do absolutely no such thing, sir. The entire purpose of my art is to illustrate the lack of true truth in the world because of all this editing, filtering, hiding, and lying. And complacency. I detest complacency. We’ve all gotten so comfortable in our little bubbles, so when we see something the least bit provocative, we just can’t handle it.

Art Reporter: Is that how you would describe your art? Provocative?

Performance Artist: That’s precisely the word I would use. I’m trying to elicit a reaction from people, in order to show how easy it is to freak someone out.

Art Reporter: Okay. Would you describe your art as the least bit provocative, though?

Performance Artist: I see what you’re getting at, and that’s why I’m here. Obviously, since I am sitting with you right now, I’m totally fine. Nothing I’ve done on those streets has been real; at least not in the way you’re interpreting the meaning of the word. I don’t really slice my own neck open in front of people. It’s a prosthetic filled with fake blood. It’s all fake. But does that mean it’s not real?

Art Reporter: Yes, it does. And what exactly are you trying to say with this performance art?

Performance Artist: Well, I can’t give you all the answers. I want you to be able to come to your own conclusions about it. But the main thing I’m trying to point out how desensitized we’ve become as a species.

Art Reporter: I thought you were trying to elicit reaction, because you think people are living in bubbles. That sounds contradictory to me. Are we desensitized, or living in bubbles.

Performance Artist: Like I said, man, I’m not gonna give it all away. I just don’t want to have to stop performing my art. I’m only here to assuage some fears. Yes, that goes against my goals, but sometimes you just have to step out of character, I guess.

Art Reporter: What do you say to those who criticize your choice to involve a dog in your art?

Performance Artist: Well, I didn’t bring the dog with me today, but I assure you that he is one hundred percent okay. No animals were harmed in the making of this profound truth.

Art Reporter: After you presumably pretended to slit his throat, he collapsed on the sidewalk.

Performance Artist: [sighs] I suppose I have to break the illusion further. That was due to some incredibly well-timed sedatives. I think I executed that move quite well. I’ll ask my brother to post a video with his dog, or something, to ensure people see he’s quite alive. It’s art. Get it? I’ve already had to talk with the cops about this.

Art Reporter: Is it legal to give a dog sedatives for no medical purpose? Can we look that up? Someone find out whether that’s okay.

Performance Artist: No, don’t worry about it. You don’t have to do that. It’s totally fine.

Art Reporter: I think we’re gonna contact animal control, or someone, about it anyway. I do have a few more questions regarding throwing the knife towards the crowds after you use it. Is the knife itself real?

Performance Artist: Hey, thanks for talking to me. I think this was really productive.

Art Reporter: I do have a few more questions.

Performance Artist: That’s great, dude. You’re the real hero here.

Art Reporter: What?

Performance Artist: Let me know where I can watch this interview.

Art Reporter: This is print. Do you see any cameras here?

Performance Artist: Awesome. Catch ya later!

Microstory 1228: Baudin Murdoch

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Though he erred on the side of decent, Baudin Murdoch was a fairly neutral choosing one. His greater power afforded him immense respect amongst his colleagues. People tended to be nice to him for fear of retribution, even though he didn’t have a history of exacting revenge on others. He belonged to an extremely rare class of temporal manipulators known as builders, and the other two were related to each other. As far as time powers went, theirs was perhaps the most convoluted and hard to explain. Want to turn invisible? Well, bending light itself is impossible, but you can only trick people into seeing what’s behind you, rather than you, so that’s the workaround. More interested in traveling to other star systems? That’s also a rare ability, but at least it’s just teleportation with extreme range. These things don’t require much thought. A sufficiently-abled user only need think about what they want as an end result, and if they’re capable enough, it will happen. Building, on the other hand, requires assembling objects that would never go together naturally, and a deeper thought process. Each piece needs to be considered individually, and as a whole, so that all of them together will ultimately form the desired structure. Not everyone with this power would be able to use it with such precision and skill, and in fact, Baudin wasn’t ever even the best. When The Rogue took over Baudin’s body, he could do what Baudin could, but not nearly as well. It took him years to build Sanctuary, whereas it would have taken Baudin a couple days, on his best week. Étude Einarsson was also never as good as him, or the best ever, her mother, but that was okay, because she wielded plenty of power beyond that. Also known as The Constructor, Baudin hailed from a very old timeline, surviving into each newly created reality using protective temporal objects. He treated his ability like a business, though he never demanded payment for his services. He almost always held meetings, consulted with other professionals, drew up contracts, and did just about everything else a normal builder would do to get the job done right. He didn’t actually love the construction itself, though. It was boring, and required too much attention. Unlike Andromeda, whose work could be completed in minutes, he did still need a little bit of time to finish. So he came up with an alternative.

Inspired by the automation movement in the human realm in the 20th and 21st centuries, Baudin created a tool that could channel his power, and build the structures he wanted without him being around the entire time. Unfortunately, a tool like this came with a literal sacrifice. He commissioned the help of a woman named The Weaver. She could normally invent objects using regular parts, made of metal and plastic, but in this case, she was unable to replicate Baudin’s power with tech. The only way to do it was for him to provide a significant specimen for her to work with. He chose to use the largest bone in his body: the femur. And thus the bone stake was created. Those who knew about it called him foolish or insane, but they weren’t taking into account future medical technology. It was no big deal for him to replace his own leg with a prosthetic if it meant his job would be easier, and indeed it was. As a bonus, the bone stake could interface with computers—generally his trusty tablet—and essentially grow a building using a model designed in software, by him, or even someone else. Once the design was set, and the bone stake in place at the construction site, Baudin could leave, and do whatever it was he truly wanted. He could feel it doing its thing remotely, and he was still limited to the same point in time while it was operational, but it didn’t drain him of his energy in the way using his power had before, and it left him more time to meet with clients, or design new projects. He was an important man, known for having been at least partially responsible for a number of important buildings used by salmon and choosers alike, throughout all of time and space.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Twenty-Ninety-Three

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There were at least two stargate replicas in the universe. The first thing Leona Delaney-Gelen did after finding the time mirror was find a safe haven she and Mateo could escape to, hoping The Cleanser did not know about it. Out of uncontrollable fear of having to explain her choices to Mateo, she ran through the stargate on Tribulation Island and ended up in the jungle. She immediately regretted her decision, but was unable to go back. Not long after she stepped through, vines reached out for her and snapped at her legs. She hurt about as badly as bee stings, so she was able to pull them off and run away. She looked back and was helpless to stop the presumably sentient vines from crawling further into the clearing, eventually overtaking the stargate and blocking her way out. “Is this Minority Report? Or maybe The Ruins?”

There were no structures as far as she could see. She ultimately spent more than three months in the area and found absolutely no sign of intelligent life. If the Rogue had intended to use this as a tribulation, it wasn’t a particularly complex one. Really, all she had to do was survive. The vines had an aversion to fire, but were not completely stopped by it. There was always more waiting on the sidelines to come out and replace as much as had been lost. She even tried to set fire to the entire forest, but it always eventually died out on its own.

She was only able to make any significant attempts at escape over the course of the first few days, though. The contact marks from the vines started out as greenish bumps. But then the infection began to spread outwards across her tissue. She had no medicine around, so there was no way to stop it. Some of the nearby herbs or roots might have been able to help, but she would have no way of knowing which or how. Once the infection had reached her right knee, she stopped being able to walk, and so she made a frightening decision. She happened to still have on her person the machete she used on Tribulation Island to cut through growth. She built a fire, set a torch in it in preparation, and sat as close to it with her legs spread. Then she held the machete over the fire to both sterilize it, and also make it more kinetically effective. Seeing no other choice, and not wanting to delay any further, she raised the blade over her head. She then dropped it down swiftly, yelling out, “Hershel!” as she did so. She managed to land it just above the kneecap, as if she had done it before. Pushing through the pain, she cauterized the wound as best she could before dressing it with strips of her shirt. A couple days later, as the infection continued up the left leg, she did the same thing again.

Months later, everything was going about as well as it possibly could under the circumstances. What was left of her legs had healed up, and no longer hurt quite as much. She had constructed for herself peglegs out of wood, and a binding paste she eventually discovered how to make. They didn’t have hinge joints, but they kept her upright, and that would have to be good enough. She built a shelter off the ground and learned what plants and animals were edible. She returned to the stargate every day, hoping to find a way through, but never could. Fortunately, the vines did not leave the immediate area, so she was able to safely live pretty close to it. She chose to not seek help or better conditions farther out. It was all just a crapshoot anyway. Civilization could be just beyond the proverbial ridge, but it also could have been just beyond the next one. There was no way to know, and there was no way she was traveling around the planet on goddamn peglegs.

One day, she suddenly heard the stargate activating. As she ran up to watch the ring spin around, she also saw the vines retreating from the clearing. They were almost certainly sentient, and were getting ready to strike an unsuspecting traveler, just like they had done to her. Leona waited for the portal to open, and then at the right time, she ran for it. Three humans walked through, looking incredibly confused. “Go back!” she ordered them. “It’s not safe! Go back!” Not waiting for them to decide to follow her, or not, though, she just went on through the portal and escaped.

Once on the other side, she found herself in a windowless room made of cement. There were steps leading up to the gate, which she was not ready for. She tripped and fell down hard on the floor.

She woke up in what looked like a hospital of some kind. The first thing she asked was, “what year is this?”

“It’s 2093,” someone answered. “Where have you been? How long have you been there?”

Leona just rolled over to her side. “And where are we?”

“You are in a hospital in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania.”

“I need to get back to Kansas.”

“That can be arranged, but we have some questions.”

“I don’t want to answer anything.”

“We need to know what happened to your legs, and how you would like us to proceed with helping you.”

Leona rolled back over. “How could you help me?” she asked out of curiosity.

“Well, we have a number of prosthetic choices, ranging from exposed mechanical to mostly organic.”

She sat up and rested on her elbows. “You mean you can make them look like my real legs?”

The nurse laughed a little, but managed to stop himself. “Yes, of course we can.” Then he tilted his head in thought. “Are you...are you not from this time?”

“What? Why do you ask that?”

“The way you hold yourself. You don’t look like you belong here.”

She lied back down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Who is the president of the United States at this time?”

“I...shut up. I’m not gonna take your test.”

“This should be an easy question seeing as that the U.S. no longer has the office of the presidency.”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant,” Leona said.

The nurse waited for a while before speaking again. “I will reconstruct your leg organically, and then I will arrange transportation back to Kansas.” Then he left, probably to make preparations.

The Cleanser teleported in. “How are you feeling?”

“Did you always know where I was?”

“I did not. Have you been here?”

Leona angrily threw her bed sheets off to reveal her stumps.

“I would imagine not. I have been looking for you for a long time now. As soon as you stepped through that portal, you almost disappeared from the timestream. I could see that you were still in it, but I couldn’t see where. That’s never happened to me before.”

She rolled over again, but he just made a short teleportation trip to the other side of her bed. “Leave me alone.”

“I can take you back to Mateo.”

“No, thank you.”

“Are you two fighting?”

“Would you just get the hell out of here!” she yelled.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that. I need to know what happened to you,” he insisted.

“I accidentally walked through the gate and ended up in a jungle on a different planet where vines destroyed the tissue in my legs and forced me to cut them off by myself! That’s what happened to me.”

“Hmm,” he said. “Really?”

“Really,” she answered, annoyed.

“And these people are gonna give you a prosthetic?”

“Yes, why?”

He turned away and started thinking. “Interesting. The vines are new, but the end result is the same.”

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

“No, not on Earth. Anywhere but Earth. You’re in the middle of one of Boyce’s tribulations.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised. It was pretty tribulationy.”

“Do you know what it comes from?”

“No, I must not have seen it. I don’t really care all that much.”

“It’s from the Stargate franchise.”

“I saw all of those. Nobody’s legs were ever cut off.”

“You didn’t see these ones, Imperatrix Harmony.”

“What did you call me?”

“It was the fourth show. They didn’t make it in this timeline, I guess. One of the characters is blown across a room by an explosion. The event horizon of the gate shuts down just as goes in, removing her legs in the process. She spends months on a jungle planet alone until she finds her way back to civilization and gets prosthetics.”

“Whatever.”

“She spends about a year away from her team before she finds them again.”

“Sounds great.”

“It’s a happy ending.”

“I don’t need a happy ending! I just need you to leave!”

He sighed. “As you wish,” he said with a chivalrous bow.

“Hold on.”

“What?”

“I’m actually one of the few people who didn’t really like The Princess Bride, so if you put me through that, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“As—” He started to say the catchphrase again, but he stopped himself after Leona gave him the stink eye. “I promise that I won’t. Instead, I’ll say...go fuck yourself, San Diego.”

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