Extremus: Year 100

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After months of investigating and compiling data, Tinaya and Lataran had to put the inquiry on hold for a bit while the latter gave birth. She named her daughter Sable, and obviously started to focus on her while Tinaya continued. It was months more before she realized that she trusted the wrong people, and a few months after that before anyone agreed to sit down with her to explain the situation.

They’re in this meeting now, in the former mirror room, of all places. This operation is clearly completely off the books, but it goes pretty high up the food chain. Tinaya still doesn’t understand why. A representative from the Bridger Section is here. She hasn’t ever met him, and doesn’t know what his role is. Also present are Doctors Cernak and Gunnarsson, proving that she was right to conscript a third party physician from Verdemus. The current Consul, Head of Security, and some woman that Tinaya doesn’t know either are all sitting opposite her, but still separate from the others. They’re apparently waiting for someone else, and being very quiet while they do.

Finally, Captain Jennings walks in. “Oceanus,” Tinaya exclaims, standing up. “You’re in on this too.”

“Whatever this is,” Oceanus replies, “decidedly no. I’ve been told something has been happening under my nose, and it has to do with you and Lataran, but I do not yet know what it is. Explain, Darling.”

Consul Darling clears his throat. “It’s not my place. I was only recently made aware of the project when it became clear that Admiral Leithe was getting close to figuring it out on her own.”

“It’s not a project if no one knows about it,” Tinaya argues. “It would be an operation. But I just call it a conspiracy.”

No one responds.

“Who is in charge here?” Oceanus demands to know.

The Bridger stands. “Please have a seat, Captain.”

Still seething, Oceanus sits down next to Tinaya. They take each other’s hands. They’ve grown close over the course of the last year, having spoken nearly every day as he’s gotten better at seeking her counsel. She didn’t read him in on her side mission because she didn’t want him to be distracted from running the ship.

The Bridger makes one step away from his seat. “As you all know, Bridgers have access to future knowledge. We use this knowledge to guide Extremus on its mission, protecting its mandate at all costs.”

“No,” Tinaya interrupts.

“No...what?” the Bridger asks.

“No, your job is not to protect the mission at all costs, but to a reasonable and ethical degree. Your predecessors understood that. Why don’t you?”

“I misspoke,” the Bridger claims.

“I don’t believe you. You’ve been violating people’s bodies on a repeated basis. I don’t care what reason you think you had for this, it’s wrong.”

“You might not agree once you hear those reasons,” the Bridger claims.

“Well, get on with it, then,” Oceanus spits.

The Bridger sighs. He kind of looks like he wants to sit back down, but he has the floor. “As I was saying, we are aware of future events. Sometimes we can change them, sometimes we can’t, and sometimes we shouldn’t. This particular issue is hopefully the former, but we’re still not sure. It’s unclear how successful we’re being, if at all. We still don’t understand what the source of the problem is, but the problem itself is totally unambiguous. We have a population decline issue.”

“What?” Tinaya asks. “Population growth is a matter of public record. Our numbers have been rising.”

“You’re right, they have,” the Bridger agrees, “but not at a fast enough rate. One day soon, this number will plateau, and then it will start going back down. Trust me, I’ve already seen it play out.”

“So you rape women?” Tinaya questions. That’s a serious accusation.

Dr. Cernak shoots out of his chair like it’s on fire. “That is not what we’re doing! Don’t you ever frame it that way!”

“Doctor. Please,” the Bridger requests.

“Ah, so it’s a framing issue,” Tinaya sees. “You’re not denying breaking the Synthetic Age Oath of Ethical Medical Practice. You just don’t want me to talk about it. I get it.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Cernak insists. “We don’t even take the full SAOEMP in its original form. We have to take a modified version of it since we don’t accept certain forms of lifesaving procedures, like healing nanites or consciousness transference.”

“Don’t you?” Tinaya questions. She leaves it at that, because Consul Darling may not know about The Question, and the Head of Security almost certainly doesn’t.

Dr. Cernak huffs. “We didn’t impregnate anyone. We simply gave them the option to procreate by hastening the degradation of the silencing enzyme.”

“Without our consent, nor our knowledge!” Tinaya shouts.

“Admiral Leithe,” Consul Darling scolds.

“No, I’m not going to calm down. You think what you did is okay because of some future problem that almost no one knows about? I don’t care which ethical oath you took, it’s either not enough, or you broke it! This is unacceptable. It is a violation of our rights to identity and self-determination. That’s why we switched from the Hippocratic Oath in the first place, because it was woefully insufficient for the needs of a population in a world where death is more of a question than an inevitability. Yeah, Cernak, I actually do understand that you take a variant of the standard ethical oath, but that involves more restrictions on care, not less. Consent is everything, and you should have known that. I swear to God, you two, despite my lack of power as an admiral, I will see to it that you are both dismissed, delicensed, and sent to hock.”

“You don’t have that power,” Consul Darling states the obvious. “Not even the Captain can do that much.”

“I can.” It’s the mysterious woman who has been sitting quietly until now. Everyone seems scared of her, even the Bridger. She stands and stares at him to strongly suggest that he sit back down. “My name is Tiere Victorian, and I serve as the Superintendent of the Bridger Section. My power lies in personnel decisions, rather than policy, just like Superintendent Grieves. I am the sole voice who decides when and if it is necessary to replace an executive crewmember of the Extremus with a Bridger alternate. So I was not made aware of this operation before, because it was not required to do my job. But I have the authority to dismiss or discipline anyone on either ship for any reason with impunity for myself. I could fire you, Dr. Cernak, because I don’t like which side your hair is parted on. I suggest you start being less defensive, and more contrite.”

He shrinks.

Tiere goes on, “I have reviewed the data that my colleagues have made available to me regarding the population crisis, and again, I do not have the power to end the program, but I can make one vital change that will most likely end it anyway.”

They’re on the edge of their seats.

“I can place Admiral Leithe in charge of it,” she finishes. Yeah, that’ll do it.

Tinaya can’t help but smirk. She’s going to shut this down, effective immediately, and come clean—if not to the whole ship, then at least to all aggrieved parties. “I’m going to need everything on this. I wanna know who came up with it, who else was involved, and who was aware of it. I need to know who on this ship was impacted by it, either directly or indirectly. I need names and details, as well as any ancillary records, messages, and notes.”

Dr. Cernak stands now. “I’m not giving you jack or shit unless I’m guaranteed to hold my position as Chief Medical Officer until such time that I retire.”

There’s a quick silence. “I’ll get you what you need,” the Bridger says to Tinaya. She still doesn’t know his name. That’s probably by design.

“You don’t have the medical files,” Cernak reminds him. “Those are confidential.”

“Doctor,” Tinaya begins, “when one crewmember leaves their post, and that job is backfilled by another, what happens to the data that they collected during their shift? Do you think they take it to the grave?” It’s a rhetorical question, but she pauses a moment anyway. “When you’re officially let go, you’ll lose all access, and your replacement will gain it. We don’t need you anymore.” She looks over at the Head of Security. “What did you know of this program?”

“Dasher Bruin, sir. Head of Security, Year Ninety-Six to Year One-Oh-Three, sir. I was read into the situation on day one of my shift, sir, and was told to not ask questions, sir. I did my job, protecting the interests of the ship at the behest of my superiors, sir.”

“I am your superior,” Tinaya tells him.

“Yes, sir,” he agrees.

“Escort Misters Cernak and Gunnarsson to a holding cell in hock, please.”

What little light was left in these former doctors’ eyes now fades. She does not have the power to strip them of their medical licenses, but she’ll make sure it happens. However long that takes, they’ve each seen their last patient.

“Yes, sir.” Dasher lifts his watch to his mouth, and whispers, likely for a security team to come assistant him in his task. He takes two packs of dynamic EM tethers out of his pocket, and tries to fit Cernak and Gunnarsson with them. They can hold their wrists between fifteen and twenty-five centimeters apart, but if they try to pull them beyond that range, the attractive magnets will activate, and if the try to push them too close, they will switch to a repulsive force. They come in specific pairs, but Dasher accidentally mixes them up, which leaves the prisoners tethered to each other. They look like lovers, their four hands hanging together like that. “Oh my God, sorry.”

“Officer Bruin, are you nervous?” Tinaya asks.

“I just don’t know if...if this is it for me. Should I put a couple of these on myself too?” Dasher asks.

Tinaya considers it. She makes a decision quickly. “You’ll be turned over to a new Head when one can be found and appointed. You’ll face no criminal charges, though. You can tell people that you wanted to spend time with your family, or start a family. I can’t say the same for everyone else.” She looks around at the people in the room.

Dasher is clearly relieved. He deftly swaps the cuffs out so they’re back in their right pairs, and starts to leave. The cuffs also have a feature where the detainee can’t stray more than four meters from their escort, or can’t get closer than two meters. So they start being dragged behind him. “I think I’ll see if I can’t start a family,” Dasher says as he’s exiting. “If the ship needs more kids, I’ll give it more kids.”

Dasher is not alone in his line of thinking. As it turns out, honesty is the best policy. Tinaya’s new temporary job as Head of Population Sustainability not only involves ending the unethical program, but finding a suitable replacement. She’s still an admiral, but she has all these other responsibilities too. Shutting down the program isn’t as easy as flipping a switch. Thousands of aging women were injected with the intentionally defective silencing enzymes, and all of them need medical appointments to correct that. But before that can happen, new professionals need to be hired to actually perform these procedures, and that’s complicated, because Cernak and Gunnarsson were certainly not the only ones on the medical team who were a part of the conspiracy. To fill the ranks, a few doctors and nurses are recruited straight out of medical school for positions that were just a tad bit above their qualifications. As a precautionary measure, they will always have oversight, and their teachers expressed confidence in their abilities to perform admirably, and more importantly than ever, ethically.

As the proverbial swamp is drained, and replacements are selected, murmurs of what’s going on begin to echo throughout the ship. Some learn the truth outright, at least from the mouths of those who had to be told something ahead of the shipwide announcement. Others just notice that the crew shift changes are out of sync with the schedule, and very fishy. There’s a lot of confusion, though, and things need to be cleared up. Once all the prep work is done, Tinaya stands on stage, and makes her broadcast speech. She reveals the truth to everyone, in disgusting and uncomfortable detail. She explains that she herself was the victim of this morally bankrupt operation, as was Admiral Keen. The reaction is angry and visceral, and not at all unexpected. People are pissed about being lied to, and about the deep breach of ethics that these people committed.

There’s no violence, though, and once the fury subsides, the outcome starts to emerge. Dasher fathers three children with three different women within one year, with plans to conceive even more in the future, though he will hopefully slow down as there is a limit to how many younglings that a parent can responsibly raise at the same time. Others end up feeling the same sentiment, and begin to conceive more children than they were apparently planning. It’s not this big, advertised movement. People are just independently inspired to aid the cause. Tinaya doesn’t have insight into any changes they might be having on the future. Tiere is executing her own disciplinary action in house, and isn’t being any more transparent than the Bridgers have ever been. But it seems to be working. They have to hire more medical staff than ever to care for the baby boomers. For a hot minute, everything seems okay. Then they encounter at least one unfavorable consequence. Twenty-year-old Waldemar is just as inspired to support the population growth efforts as so many others. He ends up getting a now fifteen-year-old Audrey pregnant, and it is not immediately evident if it was consensual or not.

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Microstory 2469: Gambledome

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Here’s the thing about gambling in a post-scarcity society...it’s not any fun! When money isn’t real, the stakes aren’t real, and there’s nothing interesting about it. The creators of Gambledome have managed to subvert this about as well as possible without completely shifting the paradigm of the economy. In Gambledome, money kind of is real, but only here. You start out with a modest amount of cash to spend on chips, and as you play, you win and lose those chips. If your stack starts piling up, you can cash them out, and spend it on things. You can get yourself a nice, luxurious room to stay in. You can spring for the (faux) lobster at dinner. You can give it away to your friends to make them like you. This is how it worked in other gambling communities on Earth back in the before-fore times, like Las Vegas. Here, it’s a recreation, which may make you think that your life can only get better, but that’s not true. If you run into the negative, you’re in trouble. You can’t leave the dome, and go back to the utopia that vonearthans have created since automation made fiat-based economies obsolete. You have to stick around, and pay off your debts. That’s right, there are real consequences. Some of the humans walking around as staff may be there because that is the experience that they have asked to be assigned while staying in the dome, but some are there because they have to be. Don’t come here if you don’t genuinely want to pretend to be an ancient human, because that’s the thing about gambling. You don’t know if you’re gonna win, and people lose all the time. A note on cheating: while they won’t torture you, it can land you in jail, where you’ll pay off your social debt by being locked up in a cell, unable to leave. We still have jails in the 27th century, of course, but the percentage of incarcerated individuals has never been lower, so this is rare. One woman lost her money on purpose, threw a tantrum, and tried to steal it all back, specifically so they would throw her in a cell, because it just doesn’t happen all that often anymore, and she certainly didn’t want to break any real laws. She didn’t want to go through the real justice system, and go to a real jail, where she might never get out. Overall, this place is a lot of fun, but only temporarily. I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life here, and I certainly wouldn’t want to live in a world where people are sincerely desperate enough to gamble because they think they have no other choice. I don’t know if Gambledome is fostering any real addicts, but I sure would be interested to know if it’s happening, and if it is, whether the creators have any plans to do anything about it.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 22, 2504

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“Who here likes music?” They were back at the Matic house now, sitting on lawn chairs in the front yard. Pacey had convened them, evidently thinking it was funny that they tried to break out of the simulation by examining blades of grass. While they were waiting to listen to his spiel, Mateo was looking at the grass himself since he wasn’t around for that test before. “I’m prepared to offer you a new home in a new dome,” Pacey finally started to say. “It’s basically a city, though the residences are minimal. It’s all about music. All the greats are there. Do you wanna see a live show with Elvis Presely? We have that, as an android who looks, acts, and sounds exactly like him. I can get you front row tickets. You can always have front row tickets. Any show from any artist, past or present.”

“What is this?” Marie questioned. “What are you doing here? Are you seriously asking how we would like to live as prisoners?”

“I mean, would you rather I just decide for you?” Pacey asked. “Seems weirder.”

“I remember you,” Leona pointed out, “but I don’t. You were...on a ship.”

Pacey sighed. “You were prisoners on that ship. You broke free, broke into my lab, and tricked me into giving you my technology.”

Their memories weren’t all there yet, but the most relevant ones seemed to come up when they were most needed. If they once had an adventure involving a ball of rubber bands, seeing a rubber band ball here would probably bring it back to the surface. But for now, it mostly had to do with their time on Castlebourne, and now Leona and Marie’s brief stay on a ship commanded by that Angry Fifth Divisioner who could not give his vendetta against them a rest. “What are you talking about?” Leona asked. “I didn’t trick you into anything. Yeah, I went in there to steal it, but you gave it to me instead.”

“You said that you were going to use it to protect a population in another universe,” Pacey said.

“Yeah, and we did,” Ramses interjected. “The Ochivari can’t get in there anymore.”

“Fair enough,” Pacey accepted, “but I told you not to use it for anything else, yet you did, didn’t you? You created something called a slingdrive, and you even managed to develop it enough for miniaturization and interdimensional pocketing.”

Mateo stood. “You’re right, he did, which is why we should be able to leave whenever we want. Right, guys?”

Pacey rolled his eyes. “I obviously put a dampener in the dome. You ain’t goin’ nowhere. So sit back down!”

It seemed unlike Pacey to get all riled up and intense like this, so Mateo did as he was told.

Pacey continued, “I don’t want to hurt you, which is exactly what would have happened if I had tried to extract the technology from these bodies. I might have asked you to switch to new ones, but that wouldn’t have solved the problem of you having this technology. You would have rebuilt it.” He dismissed it immediately as soon as Ramses opened his mouth to argue. “Even if you promised not to. Something would come up, and you would have to break our agreement. You already did! I asked you to use it once, then you explored your options. You can’t be trusted, so I’m keeping you on this planet. That is not in question. Your only choice now is which dome you want to live in. Some are obviously off-limits, like The Bowl and The Terminal. I thought Underburg was the best idea, because it’s pleasant, and inoffensive, but I guess you didn’t like how nice it was. So I’ve come up with some other ones, which is why I ask, do you like music? Melodome is the Music City...the real one.”

“How do you have control over all of this?” Angela asked. “Where’s Hrockas, and the rest of the staff?”

“They’re on the real Castlebourne,” Pacey answered. “That’s all I’ll say. Even though I’m gonna erase your memories again once it’s time to wake you up in the new dome, I don’t want there to be any memory of you understanding where you are in the cosmos. I can’t delete memories, I can only cover them up. It’s an ethics thing. I actually follow rules, even if I’m the one who came up with them.”

“What are our other options?”

“Boyd,” Romana scolded.

“What?” Boyd asked her. “He has the power. I recognize power, I’m a pragmatist.”

Pacey smiled with only a slight bit of relief, knowing that this didn’t mean everyone was on board. “Well, you can also just live in the Palacium Hotel; have any suite you want, whenever you want it. I’m sure you’re aware of all the amenities, like the swimming pools, the game room, and the spa.”

“Boring!” Boyd complained.

“There’s also Tokyo 2077.”

“I’m not familiar with that one,” Olimpia noted.

“It’s what Tokyo looked like in the year 2077. Your lives would be as interesting as you want them to be. I can even implant the Japanese language in your brains, if you don’t already speak it.”

“I don’t like city environments,” Olimpia said. “What else you got?”

“You’re not seriously entertaining this idea?” Mateo asked her, shocked. “He’s the bad guy here. We can’t just roll over.”

“What choice do we have?” Boyd posed. “As I said, he has the power. Don’t antagonize the antagonist. Isn’t that one of your rules?”

“Technically, it’s mine,” Leona said. “And technically I agree.”

“Et tu Brute?” Mateo didn’t know where that phrase came from. He just hoped that he was using it right.

“Yesterday, we thought that we were hopeless because we were in a virtual simulation, where we couldn’t even trust our own minds.” Leona paused dramatically. “That doesn’t appear to be the case. So we are not hopeless. Put us in whatever dome you want,” she said to Pacey. “We’ll get out again.”

“You’re welcome to try, but you won’t remember any of this.”

“Go on with your options,” Ramses spat.

Pacey wasn’t perturbed. “Canopydome might be nice. It’s a rainforest, but there are nice places to stay.”

“What if we refuse to choose?” Mateo asked.

“Then I’ll choose for you, and you might not like it. And if you continue to piss me off, you might really not like it.”

“We can’t just let him control us,” Ramses argued. “We have to fight.”

“You’re changing your tune,” Romana pointed out.

“It’s not hopeless anymore,” Ramses explained. “We’re physical, I didn’t know that. I can’t tell you all what to do, but I will say that I’m not going to choose my own prison. I reject it on principle.”

“I have a nice place lined up for you,” Pacey said. “Maybe pack a coat or two.”

“Do your worst,” Ramses volleyed.

“He doesn’t speak for all of us,” Angela said, trying to be clear on her concession.

“He speaks for me,” Mateo told him.

“Then you won’t all necessarily be together anymore,” Pacey decided. “But don’t worry, because most of you won’t remember each other anyway.” He glared at Mateo. “Most of you,” he repeated. “Some of you might even not be alone.” He stood there for a moment, in apparent deep thought. “Okay, I have your assignments. Go to sleep.”

His command was ineluctable. He said it, they did.

Mateo woke up with a start. It was dark, but he could see the foreboding crooked lines of bare tree branches above him. He was in the forest. It was soft and dry. He could not bring himself out of an intense feeling of fear. At first, he thought it was due to a nightmare, but he couldn’t remember having one. No, he was afraid of something here, in the real world. He darted his eyes back and forth, but he daren’t move a muscle. Something was around him, lurking...biding its time. He didn’t know what it was, but it was incredibly dangerous. This whole world was dangerous. Even if he managed to clear the most imminent threat, another would be right there in moments. He was so uncomfortable, though, on a root maybe. The more he adjusted his position—the more sound he made—the more enemies would be alerted to his presence, and his location. They weren’t just enemies, though. They were monsters. There were all monsters.

He could remember what happened now. The current antagonist dropped him under this dome with full memory of all that happened in the dome before. He even found himself being able to distinguish the true experiences from the implanted memories that Pacey used to reinforce the illusion. As Mateo lay there, still too fearful to make a move, he found his old memories returning as well. His unremarkable origins in the 1980s, growing up with his adoptive parents, being turned into a time traveler, unintentionally erasing himself from the timeline, exploring space, fighting villains, changing the past. He was Mateo Matic, husband to Leona Delaney, and father to Romana Nieman. And he had to get back to all of his friends. Get up. Get up!

Mateo sat up, at first thinking it prudent to stay on his rear, but realizing that to be the most vulnerable position. At least when he was on his back, he was theoretically concealed. So he quickly shifted to a crouch. He looked around, not seeing anything in the foliage, but knowing that they were there. Pacey never specifically said where he would be sending him, but there was only one place it could be, given recent developments. Hrockas named this one Bloodbourne. Take every horror film killer, and stuff them in one metropolitan-sized environment. That was the idea, to incorporate visitors into a world full of real danger and violence. On Castlebourne, there were safeguards in place, chief among them being every visitor’s ability to have their consciousness transferred to a new substrate whenever the old one became too damaged. It wasn’t so much an ability as a requirement. It was just as illegal to let oneself die permanently and for real as it was to kill someone else. According to Pacey’s cryptic words, though, this wasn’t really Castlebourne; it was somehow just very similar to it. Perhaps those safeguards weren’t around. The only thing to do now was to find a way to survive.

Something was in the brush. There could be rabbits here, like that common trope in fiction where that was what it turned out to be; a misdirect for the audience to let their guard down just before the true jumpscare emerged. Or it could be something genuinely frightening. Mateo didn’t want to stick around and find out. There was no reason to approach the shaking leaves, like the idiot protagonist in a movie. The only choice was to run. Cautiously, but still quickly. He took off, deftly dodging tree trunks, and avoiding getting his feet caught in exposed roots. Where was he running to? Well, the scope of these domes were limited. They each had a radius of 41.5 kilometers. So if he just kept going in any direction, he would eventually hit the wall. Now, whether he would be able to find an exit, or if there was even one to find, was a different question. Either way, it was the only logical way to go. Of course, he could already be next to a wall, and running in the complete opposite direction, which would mean he would have to travel the full 83 kilometers, but there was no way to know that.

Perhaps this was the wrong call. Maybe movie characters had the right idea by investigating one unknown at a time. His running has evidently awakened a number of monsters in the area. At first, only a couple of them showed up, but then more. And more, and more, and more. Pretty soon, two dozen creatures were chasing after him. He couldn’t run from them in a straight line either, because some of them were actually ahead in his path. So he was zigging and zagging, and desperately doing everything he could to avoid being caught by even one of them. Then he saw something in the corner of his eye. It was a human, and something about her figure made her seem less threatening than the others, even though there were plenty of human killers here. It was the mask, or rather the lack thereof. Most horror genre killers wore some kind of mask, sometimes to conceal their identities, but also to instill dread in their targets. For franchises, it was a way to become iconic, and differentiate themselves from their competitors, even though the formula was pretty much the same throughout all of them.

She wasn’t wearing a mask of any kind, and it didn’t look like she was looking to attack him. No, it looked like they were chasing after her too. Pacey said that not all of them would be alone for their assignments. But it wasn’t Leona or Romana. Not Olimpia, nor either of the Walton twins. Holy crap, it was Paige. Paige Turner, at an age that he had never seen her before. “This way!” she cried.

She seemed to know what she was doing better than he. Mateo turned when she did. They rounded a thick grove of trees, and found themselves coming up on a cliff. He couldn’t see the elevation just yet, but based on the beautiful scenic view beyond, it was probably pretty high. “You got a plan?”

“Don’t stop!” she replied.

He trusted her, though to be fair, it could have been a shapeshifter. Those belonged in horror films too. Just as he leapt over the edge, she stopped for half a second. This was just enough time for him to get ahead of her. After she jumped, she reached for Mateo’s shoulders and held on, digging her knees into his back. He wasn’t one to make a good guess at a falling height even when he was in the middle of it, but it was surely over fifty meters. He maybe could have grabbed some branches below to break his fall, but Paige might get tangled up in them, so he stayed on the straight path, and just let himself crash land on the relatively smooth ground below. He lay there for a few minutes while the nanites flowing through his body started to affect their repairs. It didn’t sound like she was worried, so the monsters probably hadn’t taken a leap of faith behind them. Once he was healed enough to move just a little, he turned over on his back. She was sitting next to him, still catching her breath. “It’s nice to see you, Paige.”

“That’s not my name,” she responded. “I go by Octavia.”

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Microstory 2277: But Also of Everything Else

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

Microstory 2168: It Mostly Breeds Resentment

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According to comments and replies to my social media, I don’t sound all that angry about what happened to me in the jail. First of all, I’m literally on drugs right now. I didn’t lie about anything that I said in my last post, but just don’t forget that when you’re reading it. Secondly, I am mad. Those guys really hurt me. I could have died, and that’s not okay. I’m not going to tell on them for strategic and practical reasons, because getting them in trouble isn’t going to help me. I have been promised that I will not be returning to that facility. Of course, my parole officer pointed out that that doesn’t mean I won’t end up running into those same people again, but the chances of all of us ending up together are pretty low. Obviously, that wouldn’t stop one of them from coming after me again anyway, but nothing is going to stop someone else from coming after me either. I knew the risks when I continued with this website after my arrest. There will always be people who don’t like what I’ve said, and some of them will be willing to do something about it. Even if I didn’t have this, they might attack me because they don’t like how I blink a little too much, or that I keep my hair so short. You don’t even have to be in jail or prison for something like this to happen. The world is a dangerous place. Anything can set someone off, and you won’t always see it coming. So yes, I’m mad, but it’s unproductive, and it has been my whole life, so I try to find other ways to channel my energy. I wasn’t always like this; it was a learned behavior. I’ve had a lot of issues with my anger. It’s not something that I’m probably ever going to get over, but I’m also not gonna let myself backslide if I don’t have to. Study after study has proven that negative reinforcement is minimally effective at best. Punishment just doesn’t work as well as the average “law-abiding citizen” would like to believe. It mostly breeds resentment, distrust, and recidivism. That’s why I’ve always felt that we should focus on rehabilitation—not just of the offenders in question, or even only their associates, but of society itself. Well anyway, I don’t know if any of what I just said makes sense, but I need to get back to bed. I’m still not feeling 40%.

Microstory 2158: No Such Thing as Extra

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I did more volunteer work today. After the storm, a bunch of people came together to help with the cleanup effort. This isn’t any sort of official organization. There’s a special social media app that they’re all on, where people can stay connected to each other based on proximity, rather than other reasons, like mutual interests. I only heard about it from my next door neighbor, because I’m not on the app, so I wasn’t a part of it from the beginning. They’ve done this sort of thing before, when there have been other issues. I picked up and broke down a lot of fallen limbs, which was not fun, but I did feel like I was getting a lot of important work done for people who were unable to do it for themselves. Working from home makes it a lot easier for me to just do stuff like this, and not everyone’s life is like that. Like I said, it wasn’t a real charitable organization, so I didn’t think that anyone could sign my community service log. So I just wasn’t going to bother, because I only did it for the one day, and I figured that it was just more of a rounding error. Apparently, that doesn’t matter for people in my position. When you’ve been sentenced to CS, there is no such thing as “extra” until that sentence has been completed, and then you’re free to choose whatever service work you choose, just like you can as a normal person. Don’t worry, though. I didn’t get in any trouble, or anything, but my parole officer is certain that he told me this before, and he’s probably right. That’s the thing about me. If someone claims that I should have known something, or that something happened in the past, I often kind of just have to believe them, because I can’t trust my own memory. Anyway, it’s fine; no harm done. I could never understand the legal ramifications, but essentially, I’m required to record it every time I volunteer my time or effort for anything more than holding the door open for someone. That’s okay. A thousand hours is the minimum, not the maximum. I think that this is all meant to get people used to the practice of giving back to the community, not just to punish them. But far be it for me to explain the judge’s intentions. That’s why they sit in that raised chair, and I’m over here. Ugh, I’m getting too philosophical. All I’m trying to tell you is that you don’t have to have a reason to help other people. You don’t have to be a convicted criminal, or a juvenile delinquent. This world is better for all of us when we all try to be better for it. That’s all I have for you today. Stay frosty, and keep shakin’ that bush.

Microstory 2156: Whoopdee-Friggin-Do For You

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The power is out. It’s out all over the metro. It was that way in jail, which made things pretty miserable in there for several hours, but it’s no picnic out here either. First, I lost a day of jail time, which I will have to make up for at some point. They had to release us, because of the air conditioning problem. It’s particularly hot these days, so leaving us in there would have constituted cruel and unusual punishment. This post will be really short, because I had to go so far to find phone service. It’s pretty bad, hopefully it will be fixed later today. I flirted with just letting it go, and waiting until later, because that would have been easier. It’s taking a lot, just to get this out. Still, I didn’t want to leave you totally hanging, especially since I have a schedule to keep, so I drove clear to the other side of Kansas City to post this one little thing. Don’t worry, I’m not breaking the law. My parole officer, Leonard is with me. He had some of his own work to conduct, so it wasn’t a complete waste. We can’t spend much time out here, though, because he has to get back to check in with his other parolees, and I have to figure out what I’m gonna do for dinner tonight. Everything in my fridge is spoiling as we speak, because I had to open it for one bottle of water, and that let a whole bunch of warm air in, which won’t ever be cooled until the power comes back on. If you’re in the area, stay safe, and try to find a shelter nearby. They set them up in such events, and they are powered by generators. They’re not only for the unhoused. If you don’t live in the area, and your life is a-okay right now, then whoopdee-friggin-do for you!

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 27, 2448

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Once Ramses was safe and sound in the Garden Dimension with the rest of the team, the Horticulturalists decided that it was time to kick everyone out. Even though the Memory Magnolia had apparently made its own decision about sending Marie to rescue their last remaining member, she was the one who partook in the fruit in the first place. She made that decision, and these were the consequences of it. Everyone else was being kicked out just for being associated with her, and they had no problem with this, because they needed to stay together, and as pleasant as the garden was, it was time to get back to work. Before they left, they warned the Horticulturalists that Bronach Oaksent and the Exin Empire were seemingly trying to get into the garden themselves. Nothing else made sense to explain why Ramses blowing a hole through the hull of Ex-42 would send them down the river towards the Magnolia conflux. If they wanted to protect their specimens from those who would truly harm it, they needed to seriously rethink their defensive strategies.

The Team was now back on Earth. They asked to be returned to the Vellani Ambassador, which was parked and invisible in the Goldilocks Corridor, but no one in the garden was capable of accommodating them. Whatever was indeed responsible for this detour in the first place was located at that end of it. They could try to investigate it themselves, whether the Horticulturalists wanted them to or not, but first, they had to figure out how to get back there. Their first thought was to seek help from Team Keshida on the Jameela Jamil, which could get them to that region of space in under five hours, but they didn’t respond directly. A voicemail message from an apparent quantum autoresponder informed Leona that the JJ was on a mission in the Miridir Galaxy, which was where Dardius was located. Quantum communication allowed FTL signals to reach vast distances, but the technology still had its limits. If they were in Andromeda XXI, they were too far away to talk to in realtime, and once they did receive the message, it would take them a month to return to help, assuming they weren’t too busy there to return at all. They were surely that far away for good reason.

Leona popped her lips several times. “Welp, back to the Nexus?”

“Yeah, the Nexus seems like the right call,” Mateo agreed.

Everyone else seemed amenable, so they teleported to the Pacific Ocean Nexus, directly inside the building, which was still neutrally buoyant just under the surface. “Venus Opsocor, are you there?”

No one responded.

“Venus, can you hear me?” Leona reiterated.

 Still no response.

“You two on the outs?” Ramses asked.

“I’m sure she’s a very busy superintelligent god,” Leona presumed. She walked up the steps, and tried to enter the control room, but the door was locked. She tried to just teleport to the other side of it, but it didn’t work either. Venus was icing her out. She must have wanted her to stay here for some reason. She let out a frustrated sigh, and banged on the door before turning around to go back down the stairs.

A man opened it from the control room, bleary eyed, and trying to block the lights from hitting him. “Can I help you? It’s a little early.”

“Do you live here?” Leona questioned.

“Yeah,” he answered, like he had every right. He blinked a lot, and looked around. “Wait, do I? Where the hell am I? Why am I inside?” He jerked his head around to look back into the control room. “Where is my apartment? Who are you people? What did you do to me!”

“Please try to relax, sir. We did nothing to you. We did not expect to find you here. What is the last thing you remember?”

“Uh, I fell asleep on the couch. My couch, in my home. Now I’m suddenly here. I could have sworn that when I heard you banging, I woke up on my couch too. It was here a second ago. Could someone please tell me what’s going on?”

“I’m going to ask you a few questions, sir, and they may sound weird, but trust me, they’re important. Just answer them honestly. We are not going to harm you, or use anything against you. We’re here to help. What year is it?”

“It’s 2024, dumbass.”

“Sir.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t assume that you’re the bad guy here. I’ve seen this move a million times. A group of people wake up in a cube, or on an island, or a weird building in the woods with a giant window-slash-mirror, where monsters watch you for fun. Or it’s a torture chamber, or a shower stall, or a spaceship, or a lobby in heaven—”

“Sir,” Leona had to repeat yet again. “You’re talking about the You Wake Up in a Room trope. I don’t think that’s really what’s happening. We came here on purpose, we just didn’t expect to find anyone else, and there is a way out. Let’s keep going. We know the year. Where is your apartment? What city?”

“Silver Shade. Silver Shade, Kansas.”

Leona nodded. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s in Mineral County,” the man added.

There was no such place as Mineral County as far as she knew. “I should have asked this before, what’s your name, friend?”

“Baylor. Baylor Alexanderson.”

Leona proceeded to introduce herself, and the rest of the team.

“Those are some interesting names you got there,” Baylor mused. “Do you have any more questions for me, or are we gonna be able to get out of here?”

Leona consulted her watch, even though she had already looked at it as soon as they left the Garden Dimension. “I have some bad news, Baylor, it’s not 2024. It’s 2448, and given the fact that you’re from a city and county that doesn’t exist here, I can only assume that you’re in the wrong world. Given your description of answering what you thought to be your own door, my guess is that you went through the Westfall, though it’s not supposed to take you somewhere this altered. You’re supposed to think that you’re still on the same world. At least that’s how it was explained to me.”

Baylor stared at her for a moment. “What the shit are you goin’ on about?”

“I know it’s disorienting, but I’m still going to do all I can to help you, if Venus would just kindly respond to me!” she increased the volume of her voice, as she looked up towards the Nexus drum. She could never quite tell where Venus’ voice was ever coming from, but it always sounded like it was from above. “Hello?”

“Wait, is this one of those—wadya call it—Voldisil things?” Baylor asked. “Are you a fabled Voldisil?”

“I’ve never heard of that either,” Leona admitted.

“I don’t believe in ‘em,” Baylor explained. “They say that this kid out east can heal people, but I don’t put stock into such rumors. I’m sure it’s all a big hoax. I mean, he charges rich people a ton of money, and then he gives his poor patients some of that money, in addition to healing them? Does that sound right to you?”

“I don’t know, sir, that’s not my world, as I said.”

“Well, if I’ve been sent through the dimensional planes, or whatever, how do I get back? Tell me what to do.”

“You could...try to...close the door?” Leona suggested. She didn’t know how it worked, or whether it could ever be undone.

“Is that a question?”

“I’m not an expert.”

Baylor sighed, tipped an imaginary hat at her, and then closed the door.

She tried to open it again right  away, and was able to this time. Baylor was nowhere to be seen, and the lights inside the control room were starting to come on. “Guys, I think it worked. Or it sent him somewhere totally different.”

“I’m here, Leona,” Venus’ voice answered.

“Venus, how long ago did I ask for you?”

“It has currently been eight point seven seconds.”

“L-O-L.” Mateo laughed at the coincidence.

“It’s been longer than that for me,” Leona told her. “We’ve been interacting with a man we believe to have come through Westfall.”

“I did not register his appearance, but that’s the one thing that could have interfered with my temporal association, and my response,” Venus said.

“That’s okay, I think he’s back home. We were wondering if you could do the same for us. We left our ship in the Goldilocks Corridor, around a planet called Ex-659. Have you heard of that? It’s about 16,000 light years away.”

“I never have,” Venus answered.

“There may or may not be a working Nexus on a planet called Ex-371. You and I spoke while I was there sixteen years ago.”

“I have no recollection of that. Either my memory was purged, or it has not happened to me yet.”

“Okay.” Leona thought about it. “Can you take us to the Dardius Nexus? I have the term sequence.”

“I’m afraid that the Dardius Nexus is presently offline at this point in history.”

“That’s disturbing.” Leona took a deep breath, and centered herself. “Then we have one last option. Could you please send us to the Nucleus?”

“Captain, that’s not safe,” Marie warned.

“It’s the only place I know that can travel such distances, unless you can put us in touch with one of the Al-Amins?”

Marie put her tail between her legs.

“Venus?” Leona went on.

“I have heard of that,” Venus said. “I can send you there, but there is no Nexus there in 2448, so you will not necessarily be in control of where you go next.”

“We rarely are,” Leona responded.

“Step into the cavity, please.”

“We appreciate your support,” Leona said genuinely as she was taking up the rear.

The light rained down from above, and dispatched them to purported the center of the universe. They did not exit to another Nexus, as Venus had explained. They were in the same expansive room that Marie had come to while she was searching for Angela, which they both confirmed. It was mostly empty now. A man started to jog over when he noticed them, but then he suddenly stopped, and continued more slowly. “You came here on purpose,” he said to them, almost accusatorily.

“Yes, it’s only a pit stop,” Leona answered. “We’re trying to get to the Goldilocks Corridor.”

“I’m afraid we don’t take requests here,” he tried to explain. “My name is Intake Coordinator Pontus Flagger. Our only job here is to keep you healthy, fed, and comfortable, until the universe decides where to put you.”

“The universe doesn’t decide anything,” Leona argued. “There must be someone in charge, even if it’s an intelligence beyond our comprehension.”

“Like I said, the universe,” Pontus repeated, as if they were talking about the exact same thing.

Leona sighed. “Have you recorded any patterns? What kind of people come here, where they go, where they’re standing when it happens; that sort of thing.”

“No pattern detected,” Pontus said apologetically. “We’ve been looking for one.”

“How long have you been measuring?” Leona asked.

He acted like that was an impossible question to answer.

“Right. Time.” She looked over at her crew, who were waiting patiently for her guidance. “So, you got a suite for us, or something?”

“Right this way, sir.” Pontus spun around, and began to walk away.

“That won’t be necessary,” came an electronic voice behind all of them. His identity was being masked by an actual mask, as well as a sound distorter. He wasn’t alone either. Thousands of black-clothed stormtrooper types were standing behind him, all pointing their space rifles at the crew. They looked exactly the same, in the same positions, as if there was only one of them, and he had copy-pasted himself over and over again. Maybe that was the truth.

“Funny, I didn’t hear you come in,” Leona said.

“Um, they didn’t,” Pontus replied. “We have alarms for mass arrivals.”

Leona nodded, and lifted a hand. She sent a ripple of light towards the crowd, using her own holo-powers to disrupt and fade the image of the holographic army.

“Shit,” the only enemy there said. He reached over to his wrist, and switched off the ruse. Leona wasn’t quite right. There were actually still two of them, rather than only the one. “I need to regain the higher ground.” He shot Leona right in the chest.

The thing about these special suits being bulletproof was that they prevented most projectiles and energy blasts from piercing the layers. They couldn’t protect the wearer from everything, but they were extremely advanced, and Ramses had already bolstered their strength with a little bit of tinkering. And anyway, Leona fell to her back, and slid across the floor, because the concussive force was still strong, and she wasn’t magnetizing her boots at the time, not that that would have been the safer option.

“You are all now conscripted into the Resonant Parallel Coalition, whether you like it or not,” the shooter demanded in his weird little voice.

Leona stood back up, almost entirely unhurt, and arched her back to get the kinks out. She looked back with the confidence befitting a captain of her calibre. “Oh, no thank you.”

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Microstory 2135: Maybe it Changed His Life

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I’m feeling better today than I have in a week. I’m still not allowed to go into jail this evening, but I can’t imagine that I won’t be able to get back to our regularly scheduled programming next weekend. I’m still frustrated that I’ll have to extend my sentence because of my medical issues, but this is where procrastination helps. People all my life have told me that I should be more responsible, and to just get things done once I know that they need to be done, rather than sitting around, and putting them off. But that’s not always true, they just might not realize it. One time I had to replace my door in my house, and then I was left with this extra door that I didn’t wanna deal with. I put it by the curb, and waited for someone to pick it up. After a while, my mom started to nag me to bring it into the garage, so we could do something else with it, but The Walking Dead was on, so no. That sounded like a job for Future!Tav. Days later, a guy knocked on my door to ask if he could have the old door. I don’t know how important it was to him. Maybe he just broke it up, and used it for firewood for one day. Or maybe it changed his life forever. I’d like to imagine the latter. There have been other times when procrastinating has helped me, and I’ve felt lucky that I didn’t waste my time. Timing isn’t always about early versus late. It’s a lot more complicated than that, and no human is capable of fathoming the profound complexities of cause and effect. All I’m saying is that maybe it will end up better that I have an extra 64 hours of jail time. I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason, which suggests that there’s some god-like critter that’s moving us around like chess pieces, and trying to attain some goal, but maybe everything will at least end up all right, if only through 20/20 hindsight. While I wait, I’m just gonna keep doin’ my thang. I’ll see ya next week.

Microstory 2134: All a Big Trade-off

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I’m back home, even though I’ve not yet recovered from my infection. My lawyer argued to the judge that it was possible that the food I was given in the prison was potentially poisoned, and my distaste for it was not simply the result of another symptom of the fungus. This would be a reach, as I’m sure you’re assuming, except that this facility has a suspiciously deep history with poison. There have been other cases that were not ambiguous, and which involved guards in more than one instance. That doesn’t prove that I was indeed poisoned, because they couldn’t pinpoint anything in my body, but that was enough to get me a compassionate release. I’m obviously not completely free. I still can’t leave my apartment, and since I can’t be monitored around the clock anymore, I can’t go back to jail this weekend for my normal two-day stint. This is a complicated situation, because skipping a weekend comes with an automatic incursion of an extra 64 hours. Here’s the math. I was originally sentenced to 1000 hours. I’m scheduled to go inside at 18:00 every Friday, and come out at 18:00 on Sunday. That’s 48 hours each time. Multiply that by 20, and you get 960 hours. That means on the 21st weekend, I could have left at 10:00 on Sunday. But now I’m up to 1064 total. So it’s more than just one additional weekend. After that, I still have an extra eight hours to take care of during a 23rd weekend. And this will keep happening each time I have to push it back, even if it’s not my fault. This is just how the law works. The judge is not at liberty to make any sort of exception due to my illness. That’s probably for the best, or people would be calling in sick when they’re not, just like they do when they don’t want to go to work, or perhaps more commonly, school. My time in house arrest doesn’t count towards my quota. My time in the prison medical ward, while it was supposed to last for seven days, only covered the original 48 hours that I owed. It wasn’t supposed to last more than a week either way. It’s all a big trade-off, but I would still say that I’m glad to be back here, even with this ankle monitor. I have more space to move around, I have better internet, and I eat whatever I want. Plus, I’m still making my own hours, which gives me extra time to sleep in my nice and comfortable bed. In the prison, I found that I could only work during certain times, or the connection was excruciatingly slow. That often meant getting up in the middle of the night, and I’m not about that.

Microstory 2121: Try to Escape, Blah Blah Blah

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I’ve been calling this weekend jail, but the real and official term is intermittent jail. I don’t know about anywhere else, but the people of this Earth decided that they wanted a lot of their criminals to be able to serve their time while still being able to contribute positively to society. Some prisons offer some sort of work program, but this is difficult to regulate, and studies a long time ago discovered a lot of exploitation, and unfair wage practices. The reason it’s called intermittent is because not everyone can do it on the weekends, because that makes the process too complicated. Everyone who works there would be really busy during these short periods of time, and they don’t want to have to do that. It’s actually harder to get a weekend schedule, because that’s what everyone wants, for obvious reasons. I was able to secure it because of my rising readership count for this website. They argued that my blog was a fixture of public interest that had the potential to paint the court system in a positive light. The system is not known here for its negative press, but good publicity is always welcome, and the judge agreed. So here’s what happened. I checked in at 19:00 exactly on Friday night. First, I should say that there are entire facilities dedicated to intermittent jail time, but some of them cater to mixed populations. You may end up as a cellmate to someone who has to stay there the whole time. In this case, we were all there for the same thing, and I think they’re going to try to keep me with the same cell mate each time, though that might not always work out. I have no feelings on this matter yet, as I have not even had a cellmate, because I was in the intake section.

The intake section is meant only for people who are going in for the first time. Well, it doesn’t have to be their first time full stop. If they’re a repeat offender, they have to go through the initial intake process all over again, so some of the people I saw there might have already known what to do. That’s the point of all this, to familiarize residents with the process before throwing them in with everyone else. So I got there at 19:00, and started filling out forms, and confirming information with the intake officers. After that, I was asked to place all of my belongings in a box after they were logged, and hand it to one of the officers while I went into a privacy room, and removed all of my clothes. It wasn’t that private, though, because we were all in there together, which I didn’t have a problem with; I just tend to notice funny language errors like that. It was just a locker room. So I removed my clothes, and put on an ugly multicolored striped shirt and ugly multicolored striped sweatpants. These did not have any pockets, because there is no reason to carry anything, such as—you know—weapons? Why were these striped and ugly? Well, if anyone breaks out, they want them to be immediately identifiable by their attire. It would be crazy for someone to break out of intermittent jail, since you would only have to wait a day or two, but I suppose there might be extenuating circumstances, like a dying loved one, or some other emergency.

After I got my new clothes on, I tucked my regulars in an aluminum tub, along with my other personal objects. I then put that whole thing in a big locker, the combination to which is known to the officers, and not to me. The normal lockers inside the privacy room serve no purpose from what I can tell. They led me down a hallway where I continued the intake process, which involved another physical exam, as well as a psych evaluation. All of this stuff is mostly for the first time you go there, but they warned me that they will periodically make me go through it all again, so I should never try to rely on a consistent schedule. Once I was cleared for lockup, they gave me a quick tour. The facility is not complicated. The common area is a hexagon in the center, which includes a gym, the cafeteria, chairs, televisions, and a few recreational amenities, like a pool table. That’s where the phones are too. On the first side of the hexagon is the Intake Sector, where the entrance is, as well as all the stuff that I’ve been describing, plus I think some offices on the upper floors. The common area is only a few stories high but the other sectors go up fourteen stories. The actual cells are in the middle levels of that first sector. The other sides of the hexagon are dedicated to all of the other cells, which is where I’ll go at the end of this week.

My first two nights here weren’t too terribly bad, but again, we were all in the same boat. Everyone there was scared, nervous, anxious, or just unfamiliar. Once I get placed in gen pop, I’ll start running into people who know the ropes. There could be drugs in there, or fights; who knows? I can’t give you a full impression since I’ve had such a limited experience so far. They did lay out the rules for me, most of which are obvious, like don’t cause trouble, or try to escape, blah, blah, blah. There are some less obvious ones too, like when mealtimes are, and how often I’m allowed to use the phone. There are times when I have to be in my cell, and even times when I’m not allowed to be in my cell, even if I just want to go in there to be alone or sleep. These vary by the sector, and by my current privilege status, so they’ll inform me of those specifics later. They will continue to update me with my status as my behavior continues to be monitored and appraised. For the time being, it felt more like staying in a hotel in Iowa. As we all know and agree, Iowa sucks, so if you have to be there for whatever reason, there’s no other reason to leave your hotel room. It’s not like there could be something that you would like to see or do, so staying in the room is the only rational way to pass the time anyway. I’m sure that it will start to feel more like a prison the more I’m obligated to go back, so stay tuned for my shifting perspective.