Microstory 1850: Antistimulism

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I’ve taken up all sorts of hobbies, sports, and activities. I know how to sew, and how to change the oil in my car. I can recite pi to the first hundred digits, and I can’t tell you how many foot races I’ve run. This may make it sound like I like to learn new things, but nothing could be further from the truth. My parents made me do all this stuff, and it’s probably not for the reason you assume. They didn’t actually care whether I enjoyed any particular endeavor, and it had nothing to do with what they would do in my shoes. They weren’t trying to live vicariously through me. They just wanted me to have something, and they hated the idea that I would go through life with no interests whatsoever. I know they had good reasons to do what they did, but it just wasn’t me. I don’t have to be occupied with anything at all, in fact. I’m perfectly content sitting in a chair, staring at the wall for hours until it’s time to go to bed. I don’t think there’s a word for my condition. Therapists and psychiatrists have just called me depressed. Not true. I just don’t feel the need to spend my time doing things. I can’t explain it. Still, like I said, I’ve tried a whole bunch of stuff because I was told I had to. It wasn’t until I was eighteen that I started to realize that they were wrong, but also that they were sort of right. I need to eat, and stay out of the elements. I don’t need much, and it doesn’t have to be fancy, but I still have an instinct for survival, and in this world, if you don’t have a way to make money, you don’t survive. So I used the skills I picked up on the speech and debate team to get a job in data entry. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a living.

I’m not saying that everyone who does the work that I once did is a drone, but it certainly played to my strengths, and it was the best that I could come up with. I didn’t have to think too hard, or interact with people too much. My boss and co-workers were mostly happy to leave me alone as long as I met my quotas. I wish I had been born later, because then I would have worked from home, and been even more isolated and content. One day, this new guy joined the team, and was reportedly immediately smitten with me. According to others, I’m quite attractive, or rather I would be if I put a little effort into it. My inability to give a crap evidently turned most people off, but he could see past it. He wanted to know more about me, and he seemed to find it quite frustrating that I wasn’t giving him anything. I responded with the shortest sentences possible if necessary to get him off my back, and with nothing if I thought I could get away with it. This may sound like a love story, but it’s not. The guy was just the way I ended up with my new life. He told his own therapist about me, and that dude was crazy fascinated by my condition. Like I said, I had spoken to others about my feelings—or lack thereof—but he was the first one who appeared to be all in on truly believing me. He wanted to study me, and since he promised to not be too invasive, I let him. All he asked me to do was answer his questions, and he would trust their accuracy with no doubt. He published his findings anonymously, and piqued the interests of even more people. One in particular was a wealthy woman who said she had experienced irritating people who felt entitled to answers from her. She reached out, and I agreed to let the researcher provide her with my contact information. Wanting to free me from all the disturbances and distractions, she set me up with a cabin in the woods, and a lifetime supply of food and other necessities. I die today having lived an unfull, but very satisfying, unstimulated life.

Microstory 1738: Gemini

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We are a twin. I know that sentence doesn’t make much sense, but it’s the most accurate description of what we are. You see, one of us absorbed the other in the womb. There is no way to know which, but it doesn’t really matter, because it’s the end result that counts. For most people, this is what is known as a chimera. The individual will have two sets of DNA inside of their body. This can cause some health concerns, but it is mostly only a genetic rarity. We, on the other hand, are more than merely a combination of two individuals. We are two separate people, with two separate consciousnesses, living inside one body. We’re sure you think you’ve heard of this before. You probably call it multiple personality disorder. Besides the fact that this is an outdated term, it’s not what’s happening here. Like dissociative disorder, however, we have had a hard time finding psychiatric care from someone who actually believes us that we’re single body twins. Even the ones who have been willing to be patient and open with us are under the impression that we are one person who is suffering from some kind of new disorder. We assure you that this is real, and while proving it to anyone else would be impossible, we know in our hearts that it’s true, and in the end, that is all we can hope for. Our newest psychologist is at least willing to humor us, and help us work on our problems as if they believe, rather than constantly trying to find ways to rid me of my delusion. As I said before, this is not DID. Each of us is always there, always awake. We experience the same things, and move in harmony, but we possess independent thoughts. We can’t even communicate telepathically. For one to know what the other is thinking, she has to vocalize her thoughts. In order for us to have a private conversation, we have to be careful with who is nearby, because we’ll just look like one woman talking to herself.

Let me introduce myself. My name is Kelsey. For a long time, we both went by the same name, but we flipped a coin when we were five years old to see which one of us would get it. Both of us got what we wanted, because I wanted to keep the name for myself, and Selima wanted to come up with something new for herself. We were too young to realize that we didn’t need the coin. Anyway, I’m the boring one. I make sure we finish our homework, and get enough sleep. Selima is smart too, though. We’re obviously enrolled in college as one person, but we get to work together. Some of the margin notes on tests make it seem like I’m arguing with someone, but it’s in the same handwriting, so they can’t call it cheating. Selima isn’t this big mess who only wants to party, but she ensures that we enjoy our lives. Hi, yes, Selima here, that’s me, the fun one. Kelsey is right, I’m smart enough, but she’s much smarter, and if only one of us gets to have a real life according to everyone else, and be graded, I may as well let her handle that burden. I consider it my duty to keep her ground, though, and also protect her. She’s not great with confrontation, so whenever anyone is giving us trouble, I step in to take care of that. People have noticed that we seem to have a split personality, but being twin sisters, we’re not like polar opposites, or anything. Kelsey likes to have fun too. It was her idea to hike down to the valley last week, and I never would have thought of that myself. In the end, we make it work, and despite some complicated problems that require us to maintain our therapy sessions, I wouldn’t trade this life for anything. Now if we can just agree on what we’re going to do for a living.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Tuesday, October 18, 2225

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Mateo sat on the bench, pressing his forehead against the palm of his hand so hard, it nearly punched a hole in his leg with his elbow. Nerakali stood before him, patiently waiting to make sure that his rant was over. “I can’t help you, Mateo,” she finally said somberly.

“I know,” Mateo replied. “No one can.”

“I don’t mean that,” Nerakali said. “I can’t help you, because I’ve never been in a relationship before. My siblings and I were all created with two powers. I have the ability to travel through time. Zef had the ability to be an asshole. Arcadia is the one with the ability to fall in love with humans. She has an unhealthy, and let’s face it, twisted way to show her love, but it’s there.”

“Are you saying I should talk to her instead?”

“Oh, absolutely not, don’t do that. You’re the target of her obsession. If you don’t get Leona back, my sister will seize her opportunity, and come after you again.”

“Great, so it’s pointless.”

She reached down, and forced his chin up to make eye contact. “I can’t help you, but I know someone who can. You should talk to her first, but I’m certain that she’ll want to do some couples counseling.”

Mateo looked away, and searched through the version of his notebook that listed all the people he knew that he kept in his mind. “Mallory Hammer?”

Nerakali smiled. “That’s right.”

“Leona won’t go for that.”

“Leave that to me. You talk to Dr. Hammer today, and I’ll make sure Leona gets there tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

“All right, I’ll summon her.”

They were finally on their way to the stellar neighborhood. A lot of their transitions involved them crossing back into their own timelines, but that wasn’t so common anymore. It appeared that they were doing that again by going to Bungula, Alpha Centauri, which was where Leona was the first time she experienced 2225. At this point, both she and Mateo were off of their pattern, and living one day at a time. They weren’t together, though. While she was here, he was millions of light years away, on Dardius. This older and wiser version of Leona could remember pining after him, wanting desperately for them to reunite. That seemed so stupid now. She still loved him, sure, but their time apart probably did them good, and it would again. Either way, she was grateful right now, because if she had to meet her alternate self today, at least he would have no chance of also being there.

They connected the Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez to a Nexus, and jumped away to Bungula. When the transition beacon first appeared on their screens, it said that they had two hours to get there, but once they landed, the countdown started dropping rapidly. They ran out of their ship, and over to where the window was meant to be. The timer got all the way down to thirty seconds before it went back to normal speed. “What the hell was that?” Leona questioned. “Were we in a time bubble, or something?”

“I don’t know,” Jeremy said, “but there’s something different about this window.” He was looking around in AR mode.

“What is it?” Leona questioned, looking around herself. Bungula in the main sequence looked exactly as it did in The Parallel, which didn’t make any sense. While it was entirely possible that the people in this reality would deliberately recreate the design of their main sequence counterparts, the ones in the main sequence would not have done the same on their end, and this was of clear Parallel design. There was something wrong with the cuffs, or the transition window, or both.

“Uhh...Leona?” Olimpia said. “I see what’s different.”

“What?” Leona asked.

“It’s you,” she replied vaguely. “You’re the one flickering.”

“I’m flickering?” That didn’t sound good.

“Yeah, I see it too,” Angela confirmed. “What does that mean? Are you going to transition to the other side?”

“Oh, shit,” Leona realized. “I know what this is; it’s an ambu—” All of her friends disappeared, leaving her alone in what looked like a waiting room.

Dr. Mallory Hammer peeked her head through a door, and smiled. “Mrs. Matic? We’re ready for you now.”

Leona frowned. “I did not agree to this.”

“Still, you need it.”

“I wouldn’t think a reputable doctor would try to give someone counseling without their consent,” Leona argued.

Dr. Hammer sighed. “There are two doors in this room. You choose. Do you want things to get better, or do you wanna be a whiny little asshole? One of you has taken the first step, but this is a three-legged race, and he can’t go anywhere with you.”

“Oh, great metaphor,” Leona said sarcastically.

Dr. Hammer ducked back into the room, but left the door open.

Leona looked over to the exit, and then back to the first door. “Goddammit,” she muttered under her breath. She walked into the room to find Dr. Hammer just sitting down on her chair, holding her tablet. Mateo was on the couch, sitting as far from the door as possible. He somehow inched even farther away upon seeing her. He was recoiling. “Okay, you make it look like I’m an abusive partner.”

“Is that how you see yourself, Mrs. Matic?” Dr. Hammer posed.

“No, of course not,” she argued. “He’s being dramatic. I kicked him out of the house, because he was acting crazy, and I didn’t feel safe. Now he’s projecting that onto me, like I’m the bad guy.”

“No one said you were the bad guy,” Dr. Hammer assured her. “Why don’t you have a seat? Yes, right there, it’s fine. You don’t have to cuddle, but if you weren’t both trying to make this work, then instead of talking to me, you would be speaking with The Officiant about a divorce.”

“Is that even possible?” Leona asked.

Mateo twitched.

“I mean academically,” Leona clarified. “Sort of. No, I mean—” She was this close to hyperventilating.

“It’s okay,” Dr. Hammer said. “Take your time.”

Leona composed herself. “The Officiant made it sound like divorce wasn’t a thing. I don’t want to bring her into this, because I’m worried I misunderstood, and divorce actually is possible, and that she’ll force it upon us.”

“Okay,” Dr. Hammer said. “That’s good. Mr. Matic, do you agree? Do you not want to get divorced?”

“I don’t want a divorce,” he stated.

“So, we’re all on the same page. I don’t want you to divorce either. Now, we all know each other. My name is Dr. Mallory Hammer, but please just call me Mallory. I don’t say that just to sound friendly. I really do prefer my first name. Can we all use first names in here?”

“Yes,” both of them said.

Mallory straightened her skirt, and considered that path forward. “I would like to open the floor for each of you to...tell me where you believe this tension in your relationship is coming from. You will do this by taking turns, and will not interrupt each other. I spoke with Mateo yesterday, and I don’t want to poison the discussion with what I already know about what he believes, so Leona, you should go first.”

“It’s just been tough to be around him,” Leona began to explain. “He’s so unpredictable now. Ever since he and Angela had that run-in with the Ochivari, he’s been different. He had to literally lose his soul to save lives, and even when we got that fixed, he’s been weird. I just never know what’s going to happen. Truthfully, it scares me.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” Mateo argued.

“What did I say about interruptions?” Mallory questioned.

“I’m sorry.”

Leona wanted to respond to his claim anyway. “I know it wasn’t your fault. Maybe none of this is. Maybe that psychic woman who fixed you didn’t do it right, or maybe this is just an unavoidable side effect. It doesn’t really matter, I still feel unsafe.”

The two of them waited in case Leona wasn’t finished, but she was, so Mallory prompted Mateo to tell his truth. “I think she’s been just as unpredictable. She used to be so patient and understanding. And not just with me. She would meet someone knew, and always give them the benefit of the doubt, and wanted to help. I’m not saying she doesn’t help anymore, but she just looks so...tired of it. Do you want out of this pattern?”

Leona didn’t answer.

“I don’t want to do this opening statement thing,” he complained. “I want her to answer my question.”

“I don’t have an answer,” Leona said. “That’s not true, I do. Because I don’t. I don’t want off this pattern. For the first time, I feel like I am helping people. Maybe we did it a little in the beginning, but it wasn’t our purpose. We didn’t have a purpose. Now that we’re finally free of the powers that be, I feel like we’re putting some good into the universe.”

“That may be true,” Mallory jumped in. “Of course, I mean to say that it is true, you’re doing good things. But the question is, do you have to be on the Bearimy-Matic pattern to do it? Do you have to be on any pattern to do it? Plenty of people do great things with their lives, and they live one day at a time. They don’t travel through time, or go to other planets. Do you think it’s possible that you actually are perturbed by the new pattern? It used to be that you showed up every year, but now it’s sometimes three years, and sometimes it’s twenty. That must be hard”

She hadn’t been so mindful of this, but yeah. When Jupiter was in charge, it was somewhat antagonistic. He didn’t give them a choice. Now that Nerakali was the boss, it did seem a little weird that they were still bound by the same arbitrary limitation.

“That’s true,” Mateo said. He appeared to have been thinking the same thing. “Why do we skip so much time? That’s not necessary at all. Do we even need to skip any time? Couldn’t we just take off our cuffs?”

“No,” Leona replied. “Thanks to Tamerlane Pryce. When he resurrects people, he doesn’t—or maybe can’t—give people powers, but he can replicate patterns. Or maybe he can just replicate ours, because skipping forward in time isn’t the same thing as going into the past, and creating a new reality, or manipulating time in some other way.”

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot,” Mateo mused. “Still, we can suppress our pattern. Or we can just suppress Jeremy’s. Our cuffs give us those options, and Nerakali gives us access. She hasn’t limited us, as far as I know.”

“Is that what you want to do?” Leona offered. “Do you want to switch off the patterns? I suppose these cuffs are exactly what Missy, and all those people in Ansutah, were looking for. We’re using them to share, but that’s only one use.”

“Are we doing this? Are we going to try to change the game?”

“We’ll have to ask the others what they think.”

“First, what do you think we should...” Mateo looked around, but there was no sign of Mallory. “Dr. Hammer? Where did you go?”

“She disappeared,” Leona revealed. “I saw her out of the corner of my eye. It looked like she did it on purpose. She picked up her phone and cup of tea just before.”

“Why?” Mateo wondered.

“I think we’re back on track. Or at least we’re on two tracks that are about to connect with each other.”

“The question is, when we do reach the railroad switch, will we slip onto the same track seamlessly, or will we crash into each other?”

Leona stood up. “I suppose that’s for us to decide. One of us will have to get there first to avoid a collision.”

He nodded.

She reached a hand out to him. “Let me be the one to speed up. If you keep going as fast as you have been, we’ll miss each other.”

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Microstory 1397: Evidence

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Fiore Stern [on audio recording]: Yes, I agree. We should nip it in the bud, lest you poison the world with your claims about me.

Psychiatrist [on audio recording]: Mr. Stern, what are you talking about?

Fiore Stern [on audio recording]: Why don’t you stop recording, and I’ll explain.

Psychiatrist [on audio recording]: Stop. Don’t touch that. Please keep your distance, Mr. Stern. Mr. Stern! If you don’t—

Detective: That was the last recording from your psychiatrist. We couldn’t find a local copy on her computer, so I bet you erased it without realizing her sessions are automatically uploaded to the cloud so her assistant can transcribe them for her later.

Fiore Stern: Why are you playing this audio for me? If you want me to sue the psychiatric practice for breaching my privacy, then okay, I’m in.

Detective: That’s not why you’re here, and you know it. Madam Psychiatrist was killed two days ago. Her assistant happily supplied us with this evidence, because it appears to suggest you killed her to cover up whatever it is you shut off the recording to prevent anyone from finding out about.

Fiore Stern: Well, play the rest of it.

Detective: There is no rest of it. That was it.

Fiore Stern: Oh? So you don’t actually have any evidence that I killed her. All you’ve heard is that my psychiatrist didn’t want me touching her crystal awards, and then some kind of technical malfunction ended the recording.

Detective: You literally ask her to stop recording, and then your voice becomes slightly louder, which suggests you approached the microphone. You’re not going to get me to believe you didn’t turn it off. Now all I have to do is prove that you killed her. And honestly, I don’t really care why you did it; just that you go down for it.

Fiore Stern: This  is exactly what’s wrong with this country. You’re so eager to punish whoever you find first, you end up letting a lot of guilty people walk away unscathed.

Detective: You didn’t seem to hate the authorities very much when you were praising how well they handled your case with that bomb-making organization you worked for.

Fiore Stern: I was playing nice for the cameras, but the truth is that company wasn’t even on anyone’s radar. Hell, the Financial Regulation Commision didn’t even suspect there was something wrong with their books. I only needed the authorities, because I’m not allowed to arrest people. You’re completely incompetent, and totally pointless without people like me.

Detective: I suppose that’s true. I wouldn’t have a job if killers like you didn’t exist.

Fiore Stern: That’s not what I was talking about—I mean, that’s not what I meant, because I’m not a killer, and you have nothing on me.

Detective: I have an adjudicator working on a warrant for your apartment as we speak.

Fiore Stern: Great, I’m happy for ya. All they’ll find is a stack of dishes I wasn’t able to clean before you so rudely forced me to come down to the station, and a bunch of requests for book deals to tell the world my story. When you don’t find anything illegal, I’ll have even more material for a tell-all book. It’ll be a scathing indictment of Usonian Law EnFARCEment.

Detective: The warrant’s just for safety. We didn’t need one to search your greenhouse.

Fiore Stern: What?

Detective: Yeah, we had probable cause. One of our officers saw some splatter on the glass that looked a little like blood.

Fiore Stern: It was paint. I use some of those plants to make art supplies.

Detective: No matter. We couldn’t know for sure. The only way we could run a test to see whether that was true was if we went in, and procured a sample.

Fiore Stern: This will never hold up in court. A little red on the window isn’t enough for probable cause. Besides, I built that greenhouse with my own two hands in the middle of the woods, which means there aren’t any public records of a property, so you couldn’t have known about it unless you broke the law to peek at my GPS history.

Detective: We didn’t need that. Your mother told us where to find it.

Fiore Stern: She doesn’t know anything.

Detective: She’s seen you go out there. She’s worried about you, Mr. Stern. You’ve always been a dark person with a frightening fascination with deadly plants.

Fiore Stern: You can go to hell.

Detective: We have you, Mr. Stern. You don’t have to tell us anything. Everything will come out in court, but you can help your situation if you talk to us now. Start by telling me how your colleagues from the garden team died.

Microstory 1396: Soma

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Psychiatrist: Welcome back, Mr. Stern.

Fiore Stern: Thank you.

Psychiatrist: Tell me how you’ve been feeling this week?

Fiore Stern: I’m still really nervous around other people. I never thought going undercover in a terrorist organization would make me feel like this. I keep seeing people as victims, as if I’m the one who hurt them.

Psychiatrist: Well, that’s understandable. A lot of highly trained people in law enforcement come back out of undercover feeling responsible for the things they did while they were pretending to be someone else.

Fiore Stern: That’s just it, I didn’t have to do anything. All I did was teach people how to reinforce their lawns, and spread fertilizer. If the company had never told me they were terrorists, I would have just been some guy with a normal job. I’m not responsible for the things they did, even while I was working there. They would have been doing that anyway.

Psychiatrist: It’s good that you recognize that intellectually. I would call it the first step towards getting you to a better place in your life. Your conscious brain now just needs to tell your subconscious that, not only did you do nothing wrong, but that you did something amazingly heroic. That’s what these medications should be doing for you. Tell me how they’re going.

Fiore Stern: They’re all right, I guess. I get a little tired of having to remember to take them.

Psychiatrist: They have apps on your phone now that can help you schedule doses. I have one a lot of my patients use that they seem quite pleased with.

Fiore Stern: Yeah, I know. I suppose a part of me still doesn’t like taking them in the first place. I just don’t get why I know I didn’t do anything wrong, but like, the other half of my brain doesn’t? Can’t I just...I dunno, talk to myself, and convince me to be better?

Psychiatrist: That’s kind of what therapy is for, and you said you didn’t feel that was helping. If you would like to start seeing your therapist again, however, I can only see that as a good choice.

Fiore Stern: I didn’t really like her. She didn’t exactly get me, ya know?

Psychiatrist: There are plenty of others. Just like with medication, sometimes it just takes a little experimentation to find someone who’s right for you.

Fiore Stern: Yeah. I probably do need to keep taking your drugs, though. I believe they help me distinguish fact from fiction. When I’m seeing some random person on the street, paralysed in place, and bleeding from their neck, I need the meds to tell me that that’s not real.

Psychiatrist: Yes, it’s important to be able to tell what’s not really there. I have a question about that, though.

Fiore Stern: Okay.

Psychiatrist: You say you see people paralyzed and bleeding? How are they bleeding? Is it flowing from a wound, or does it kind of look like they’re painting with the blood? Do you see burn marks, or—forgive me—dismembered body parts?

Fiore Stern: Wow, you have a sick mind, don’t you, Psychiatrist? It’s pretty normal. The blood is just coming out of them. Now burn marks. Why? Does that say something about my worldview, or my personality?

Psychiatrist: Well, the organization you helped take down for the authorities was a bomb-making outfit, was it not?

Fiore Stern: It was, yes.

Psychiatrist: From what I read, they didn’t—forgive me again—cut people, or anything. Why would you be seeing victims that look like that, if you’re subconscious is feeling responsible for explosions?

Fiore Stern: Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I didn’t think it all the way through. I should have just kept it vague, and told you I saw dead bodies.

Psychiatrist: Mr. Stern, have you been lying to me to score recreational drugs?

Fiore Stern: Ha! Nothing so human, I assure you. What do you take me for, some kind of amateur?

Psychiatrist: Interesting word choice. Does that mean you’re a professional? A professional what?

Fiore Stern: Tell me, Psychiatrist. Do you have any other appointments today?

Psychiatrist: I can clear my schedule, if you really need me to. We should get to the bottom of whatever is going on with you.

Fiore Stern: Yes, I agree. We should nip it in the bud, lest you poison the world with your claims about me.

Psychiatrist: Mr. Stern, what are you talking about?

Fiore Stern: Why don’t you stop recording, and I’ll explain.

Psychiatrist: Stop. Don’t touch that. Please keep your distance, Mr. Stern. Mr. Stern! If you don’t—

Microstory 1111: Kolby Morse

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There are lots of different kinds of protectors. Law enforcement officers, military servicepeople, and emergency dispatchers are often drawn to their professions out of their desire to protect others. Kolby Morse was a lifeguard at a swimming pool when he was a kid, and as he was becoming an adult, determined that becoming a security guard was a logical next step. It wasn’t particularly glamorous, and much of the time boring, but he felt a sense of self-worth every time he put on that uniform. It was at his first job where he met his best friend and working partner. Elder Caverness was also born with an instinct to protect others, and shared many of Kolby’s values. They began to follow each other around the security circuit, so they would always be able to work together. At some point, they found themselves working for an organization they couldn’t personally believe in. They had developed a faulty product that resulted in deaths, but refused to take responsibility for it. Kolby and Elder were about to simply quit when they started noticing some strange goings on. The vice presidents all appeared to possess special abilities that couldn’t be explained through a conventional understanding of reality. One day, they simply disappeared, and no one else around them seemed to realize they ever existed. But then these VPs reappeared, with different histories, and having created separate companies. Fortunately, they all fell into the same parent company called Snowglobe Collective, which had decided to support their subsidiaries with a singular security branch. Kolby wanted to go undercover, and try to figure out what exactly was going on with these people, but Elder convinced him otherwise. One of them should be on the inside, but one should remain outside, to protect the other, should the need arise. A game of chance left Kolby on the outside, and though Elder’s life would now be much harder, at least he had a purpose. But just because he would not be investigating Snowglobe, didn’t mean he couldn’t contribute positively to society. There was still a lot to be done, and now that he knew about people with time powers, he felt like he had to do something with that. After months of searching, he finally managed to catch up to a petty thief who had a time power of his own. He could send people forward or backwards in time, then bring them right back to where they started. He wasn’t using his gifts to break into places. In fact, he wasn’t really using them at all, but Kolby knew he had potential. They started working on forming a team, eventually meeting up with a woman who could possess other people’s bodies, and a time traveling psychiatrist. And so Garen Ashlock begins to propel Quivira Boyce to the past, so she can take over someone’s life temporarily, and fix whatever went wrong in the original history. Dr. Mallory Hammer provides medical and psychological support, while Kolby does everything else. He maintains facilities, and makes sure the people Quivira switches bodies with have everything they need to be comfortable, and feel safe. Most of all, it’s his job to do what he does best. He protects.

Void: Doctor Who (Part IX)

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It was November of 2168. The salmon battalion was gone, back to some point in history on Earth, to fight in some other war. That was evidently all they did. Saga hoped they had some good mental health care. It was one thing to be a soldier, it was entirely different to alter one’s allegiances every time one is dropped into a new conflict. Did they have any role in the decisions, did they sometimes have to fight against those they once fought alongside? Did they receive any compensation?

Durus was doing exceptionally well since the battalion left. The government was strong, working under the guidance of a sensible Constitution, one written with the future in mind. The people were learning to start working for themselves, and with each other. Unemployment was coasting at a healthy low rate, and sponsored programs were supporting those in transitional periods. They still lived in separate cities, but none was isolated. They maintained relations with each other, sharing knowledge and resources, and operating under the global banner. It was kind of the first time that Saga and Andromeda felt like they could take a breath, and really focus on their private lives. No one was asking the latter to build them anything, because they realized that, though this would be easier, if they utilized human labor on a construction crew, they could pay those people, and support the economy. Paramounts were still around, and using their time powers when warranted, but the entire system didn’t rely on them. That was what the Mage Protectorate was lacking; self-sufficiency, and they knew they couldn’t make that mistake again.

For the last several months, the two of them had been discussing having children. Years ago, they couldn’t imagine bringing a child into this world, but now that things were going so well, it didn’t sound like such a bad idea. They were now fully ready for the commitment—excited for it, even. The only problem was that they were both women, and conceiving a child together would be a little complicated, especially since Durus was still an underdeveloped state. At the moment, Camden Voss was visiting from his new city of Jaydecott, to discuss their options.

“Why me?” he asked.

“You’re one of the few people here that we trust,” Andromeda replied.

“Don’t you think that makes it a little awkward?” he questioned.

“A little, yes,” Saga agreed, which is why we’ve decided that the child would be born of Andromeda. I imagine being with her would make it a little less awkward.”

“For who?”

“Whom,” Saga corrected.

Camden blinked, and repeated, “for who?”

“Everybody,” Andromeda put forth.

“I don’t know about that. Have you tried contacting a prostitute? They’re very professional, and the industry is heavily regulated. You can trust them, even though you won’t know the donor very well.”

“We want it to be you,” Andromeda said honestly.

He took a breath for the first time since sitting down with them. “I don’t know how I feel about fathering a child to whom I’m not allowed to be a father.”

Saga shook her head at that. “We wouldn’t cut you out of our lives. You would be a part of this. No, you wouldn’t be his or her father—maybe more like an uncle—but we would want your input. They would grow up knowing you, and loving you.”

He shook his own head, but out of hesitation, not complete opposition.

“If we were on Earth,” Saga continued, “we would go to a doctor for artificial insemination, but we would still ask you to donate the sperm.”

“If we were on Earth, in present day, you wouldn’t need sperm. You could have a two-parent child using your respective DNA samples.”

“Earth in 2002, then.”

He sat in thought for a moment, then a lightbulb clicked in his head. “You can have a doctor.”

“No one here can do anything like that. I mean, they might be able to, but like we were saying, it all comes down to trust.”

“No, I know of a real doctor. In 1997, I was on a mission in Tennessee when I was suddenly transported to the future, in a different person’s body. As it turns out, a choosing one was sending her consciousness back in time, into other people’s bodies, to complete her own missions.”

“She was a doctor?” Saga asked.

“No, but there was a doctor there. It was her job to help the people whose lives had been temporarily taken over not totally freak out. Of course, as a salmon myself, I didn’t need anyone to calm me down, but I benefited from some therapy, just the same. She was a brilliant psychiatrist. She’s like the choosing one version of Baxter Sarka.”

“And she can help us?” Andromeda asked. “I assume she’s on Earth.”

“She travels all over,” Camden explained.

“You can call her with your sheetphone?” Saga hoped.

“Well, I can page her. She is a doctor, afterall.” Camden’s phone had only been used once here, to contact The Officiant, yet he still carried it with him wherever he went. He took it out and dialed. Then they waited. “Could take a few decades,” he said after a beat. “She’s not going to get it for another negative a hundred and forty years.”

“What?” Andromeda squealed.

“I’m kidding.” His phone rang. “See?” He lifted the phone and pointed it away from them, like a remote control. Once he pressed Accept, a light appeared from the phone, and corporalized a body in the middle of the room.

“Mister Voss,” she said. “Nice to see you again...for the very first time.”

“Same to you. How are you, and Quivira, and the rest of the team?”

“Well, thank you,” the doctor replied.

Saga stood up and shook her hand. “Saga Einarsson. This is my wife, Andromeda.”

“Pleasure to meet you two. I’m Dr. Mallory Hammer.”

“We’ve heard of you,” Andromeda realized. “The Officiant mentioned you before our wedding.”

“Ah, yes,” Hammer said. “Couples often need a consult before they commit to marriage.”

“Do you have any idea why we’ve asked you here?” Saga asked. She wasn’t sure, because sometimes time travelers knew everything about the outcome of events before they arrived. Knowing who knows how much, and when, can make communication a little difficult, which was why you kind of had to keep a laid-back attitude towards what would normally be treated as dumb questions.

She shifted her gaze between the three of them. “If I could hazard a guess, you two are looking to spice up your relationship?”

“No.”

“No?” she asked rhetorically. “Then my second guess would be that you’re trying to have a child, and you would like me to perform the procedure.” That was likely her first guess, and the other was just her attempt at humor.

“That’s the one,” Camden said.

“I am from the twenty-twenties. Under these conditions, I will need sperm. I don’t know if you were expecting same-sex conception, or...”

“Camden is meant to be involved,” Saga said, then she turned towards him. “That is, if you’ve agreed.”

He took a reverent pause. “I would be honored.”

“Sounds great,” Hammer said. “Do both parents want to be related to the child? Camden is obviously the sperm donor. One of you can supply the egg, and the other the uterus. Or the bearer can provide the egg as well.”

The others hadn’t thought about it yet, but Saga had. She wanted the child to be part of her, but she would not be able to carry it. She requested to speak with the doctor in private. “I can’t carry a child.”

She nodded understandingly. “Okay.”

“I’m much older than I look. I’ve been thrown throughout time, and de-aged, and torn out of reality. I was considering raising a child when I was stranded on Earth a few years back, and learned then of my infertility. My eggs, on the other hand, should still be fine.”

She nodded more. “Yes, the de-aging process has been known to produce a sort of...resupply of eggs. However, it can also cause spontaneous endometrial thinning. I wrote my thesis on the effects that time travel can have on reproductive organs.”

“Wrote your thesis where? What school would understand what you’re talking about?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She set the conversation back on track, “does your wife know?”

“She does. We told Camden it would be less awkward for him to impregnate her, rather than me, but really, she’s our only option. But if I can provide the egg, I would love to.”

She nodded a third time. “That can be done. Easy.”

“Thank you.”

They went back to the other two. “All right, we’ve set initial plans.” She looked at the time on her pager. “I’m going to be back in two days.”

“Why?”

“If you still want to do it in two days,” she said, “you still want to do it. Never make a major change on the same day you decide to do it. It’s like going to the grocery store hungry. You’ll buy the wrong things. Let this sink in. In two days, we’ll iron out the details. Two days later, we’ll go over the details again. After another two days, assuming everyone understands the ramifications of what we’re doing here, we’ll begin the actual procedure.”

They didn’t say anything. They just had to concede to her expertise.

“I’ll need a sterile environment anyway, so if you could put me in touch with the hospital, or clinic, or whatever you have here, I’ll get going on my own process. Is everyone okay with how we’re proceeding?”

“I am,” Saga agreed.

“I’m going to need a verbal agreement from all of you.”

“I am.”

“I’m in.”

Hammer smiled. “Get used to making your intentions abundantly clear. I do nothing without consent.”

On November 22, 2168—one day after the report came out of Camden’s sister’s death—they made a baby.

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Microstory 546: Drug Problem Increases; Earthan Psychiatrists Deveiled

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Every known planet has eventually learned of drugs that can alter the chemicals in the human body. Each planet, however, has had a different way of dealing with these. A fair amount of research has been done on the history of drug use and abuse, and a few things have become clear. One, we all seem to have about the same drugs. Not literally. Different plants grow in different places, but there is generally an equivalent of whatever effects one has on the body wherever one may go. Some act on endorphins, others inhibit pain receptors. In other words, we tend to all have the same type of drugs, coming from plants with similar properties. The second commonly accepted truth is that there is a negative correlation between the amount of prosperity a culture experiences, and the amount of drugs discovered and used. To put it in simpler terms, if—by some miracle—a particular civilization naturally feels no pain or hardship, they won’t discover drugs. They won’t even consider it necessary. In the reverse, if the civilization is riddled with disease and stress, academics will search for ways to alleviate it. This is taken even further when one accounts for recreational use, and ultimate abuse, of drugs. The more the people need to escape from natural life, the more they will...and drugs help them do that easily.

Unlike most planets in the Lactean galaxy, Earth has experienced a massive amount of adversity and misfortune. Problems with drug abuse are prevalent throughout their history, further exacerbated by their historical rejection of global community. Storms and other natural disasters led their ancestors to grasp at various religions for comfort, and they were less willing to let go of these as time went on. Science and enlightenment were denied, making technological advances difficult to accomplish. While people were discovering all these drugs to fix all their problems, they were met with so much opposition that understanding the difference between recreational and medically necessary was near impossible. By the time governmental regulations created some of these lines, the public had already decided that certain recreational drugs were acceptable, and they were never going to let go of this. At least they haven’t yet. They regularly consume alcohol, inhale carcinogenic stimulants, and eat psychoactives. Earth is noted by experts as having the worse drug problem in the universe, but now they are not alone. And now...they’re the only ones who can help us.

A new drug has hit the streets of The Core called Tremor. It is designed to stimulate the body’s nervous system, and cause violent convulsions. It was borne out of weight-loss experiments millennia ago on Vata. The idea was to vibrate the whole body so that the user would burn calories without actually having to do anything. Of course today we have far more sophisticated ways of promoting health, but records of this drug made their way into the hands of criminals, and the product is now being distributed all over the system. No one knows where it comes from, but that is being handled. The most pressing issue is the addiction. Thousands of people are now addicted to the substance, and health professionals honestly have no idea how to help them. Sure, they can treat the addict’s physical dependence, but a seemingly insurmountable mental component has prevented addicts from ever truly being free of their desire to take more tremor. In order to combat this incredibly rare problem, psychiatrists from Earth have been deveiled, and brought to The Core. They are currently undergoing an acclimation process, but will soon be put to work. It is hoped that their experience in treating drug abuse will help us come up with solutions that our inexperience prevents us from thinking of. With any luck, and a little time, we can all go back to a recreational drug-free environment.

Microstory 265: Perspective Forty

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Perspective Thirty-Nine

My husband thinks that our family life is going to get better if we spend a night each week playing games. I thought it would be fun, but it’s started stressing me out. Intellectually, I know he’s trying his best, probably. But I can’t help but feel that he is just covering for something bad. I haven’t always been faithful in our relationship. I haven’t gone all the way or anything, but still, he knows about it, and I know that he’s just waiting for his moment to use it against me. I’m always worried that he’s going to abandon me for his mistress. Whoever she is, I’m sure she’ll treat him right. Probably. Lord knows I don’t. But that’s just who I am. I’m a bad person. What am I supposed to do about it? I was born broken, and there’s nothing I can do to fix myself. Sure, I can take the medicine my psychiatrist prescribes me, but exactly how much can that do? These tiny little pills are packed with what, magic? I’ve always had a hard time believing in that kind of medicine. if you give me a vial of something, or if you inject something into my blood, then I can kind of see how that works. But pills just seem completely ineffective to me. I don’t feel any different. I guess he did say that there was only so much they could do anyway; that the pills can only help with my anger and stabilize my moods a bit. It’s hard to take him seriously, though. He probably has dozens of other patients that he cares about far more than me. And why should he focus on me? It’s not like I have suicidal thoughts or anything. I mean, sure, that would take the pain away, and it would be easier for my family if they just didn’t have to worry about what I was going to do next, but death isn’t a good answer. Probably. All I need to do is be a better person. I can do that. I can fake it, even if it means I have to do it forever. I just need to watch how good people act and mirror them. Shouldn’t be too hard. Probably.

Perspective Forty-One

Microstory 201: Advisors and Advocates

Odalis and Isabelle Salomon were brother and sister, and Generation Two anomalies with complementary abilities. Odalis could look into people’s pasts, and Isabelle could look into their futures. At first, Isabelle stayed away from her ability, having the wisdom to understand that knowing the future can make things worse. After all the problems that came with the first couple of decades for Bellevue, the world was operating at a pretty decent level. Odalis began his career working for the Kansas City Police Department. He would look into a suspect’s past experiences, and know whether they were at fault for the crime or not. Legislation was passed, preventing him from divulging the details of his visions. His was a chiefly binary response. Was the suspect guilty of the crime in question, or innocent? Any unrelated crime—or any other event, for that matter—that Odalis witnessed was strictly to be kept secret out of respect for the civilian’s privacy. After some scientific progress, further legislation, and the right amount of money, Odalis was rendered obsolete. He continued to work for the police, but he no longer needed to. They had successfully replicated his ability with technology so that any certified Flashbacker was capable of performing this task. Within a year, this position was being filled in practically every district of the world. Feeling inadequate and unfulfilled, and after the prodding of some new associates, Odalis refocused his purpose. He and his new team realized that those not found guilty still had problems of their own. He formed a small organization designed to help these people. Sometimes they would catch criminals, sometimes prevent premeditated crimes, and sometimes they would just provide emotional and psychological support. Verner Holt was working as a psychiatrist at the time, and limited his practice to spend time working with Odalis’ clients. Around the same time that this was happening, Isabelle was having her own epiphany. She had just been given a job as a primary school librarian in a district primarily serving low income and troubled families. She began to use her ability as well, looking into the futures of her students to see whether they were headed in the right direction. She formed a little committee of sorts with other teachers. They went above and beyond their responsibility, and started to pay extra attention to the children who needed help most. Odalis and Isabelle provided unexpected assistance for hundreds of people over the years, and they all went out to impact the lives of thousands more. They and their teams were instrumental in shaping the future of the planet, and creating the evidence that ultimately allowed it to be inducted into an interstellar cooperative.

Microstory 108: Verner Holt

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As mentioned earlier, second generation anomalies were few and far between, though they did exist. Verner Holt was one of these. He was kept secret by his father, an early active member of Bellevue, for several years before being discovered, even though his ability didn’t manifest until just before. One morning, little Verner was walking down the street with his mother. A homeless veteran of war happened to be experiencing traumatic flashbacks in the alleyway up ahead. While his mother was waiting for a street vendor to complete the transaction, Verner broke away and approached the veteran. What he saw in there were enemy and friendly soldiers, battling in the trenches. He watched as the vet fought off a combatant and killed him with his bayonet. Even though he too could see the soldiers, he knew that they were hallucinations, and could no longer hurt anyone. Out of instinct, he approached the vet who was scared out of his mind, and comforted him by touch. Without saying a word, Verner was eventually able to somehow convey to the man that these were only memories, and that the war had long past. Luckily, before Verner’s mother found the alley where the two new friends were sitting, the hallucinations had depleted entirely. While he was not entirely cured of his post-traumatic stress disorder, what Verner did for him in that moment gave him the faculties and time he needed to contact Bellevue and report his miraculous encounter with the anomaly boy. Verner went on to enter the field of psychiatry, using his ability out in the open to treat severe neurological conditions. A side of effect of his profession was a cult-like following of former patients, grateful for having known the one and only person who could truly understand what they were going through.