Showing posts with label regulation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label regulation. Show all posts

Monday, June 30, 2025

Microstory 2441: Power Crystal Factory (PCF)

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3
Not to be confused with scifi examples of power crystals, or examples in fantasy where crystals have magical properties. Disclaimer over. For the most part, ships and orbiting stations in the system fleet are manufactured in outer space. The only reason we ever did it on Earth was because we were not capable of space manufacturing in the early days. Once we built up some infrastructure, and bolstered the industry overall, we were able to free ourselves from the gravity well. We still needed ways to actually get up to these vessels, but that was easy after everything. There doesn’t seem to be a name for the host star, or the star system as a whole, so we’ll just call it a Castlebourne thing. They build their ships on a secret moon base, which is easier for them to take off from. I caught a peek from a telescope once, and saw the mass driver that they use for launching. That’s all I know about that, and the crystal regulators. Every ship, no matter how big or small, or what powers it, or what it’s used for, has a need to distribute its power. Our ancestors used to use various technologies, like adapters, to control the flow of electrical power. These were crude by today’s standards, but the principle remains vital to the safe and efficient operation of a moving vehicle. Crystals have a variety of uses in this regard. I won’t bore you with the details, but some of them serve as conditioners, which maintain the smooth transference of power, where it’s needed. It makes sure that everything, no matter how remote, is powered at all times. But sometimes it’s too much power, so you also need crystal capacitors, which can buffer the power temporarily, and release it more gradually. If it’s buffered too much, then they can also redistribute it safely, if only to a waste heat ventilation system. Crystals are also used as nodes, redirecting or splitting the power when powering multiple independent systems at once. I say all this so you understand why this dome has to exist. So now you know why the crystals themselves are important, but that doesn’t explain why they need to be manufactured here, instead of the moon, where nearly everything else is made. It has to do with gravity. Crystals aren’t made, they’re grown. They start small, and build themselves from there, almost like a plant. For some types, this process requires 1G surface gravity, or close to it. There’s some evidence that Castlebourne’s slightly lower gravity is beneficial to the process, but they’ve not completed enough studies on this phenomenon, and there are a lot of other variables to account for. What we do know is that Castlebourne-grown power crystals are at least as good as any others. You may be asking, why don’t you just grow them in a cylindrical habitat? And I’ll tell you, that’s not real gravity. It’s only simulating gravity. For everyday living, if the spin is programmed correctly, everything feels normal. But crystals are more finicky. They also need to be still, and they can tell when they’re in motion, which is presently the only way to fake gravity. So for now, they’re grown on the surface of a full-sized planet. That’s what we do here in this dome, and we do it well. Most of this is automated, as one would expect, but I still have an important job to do here. They still like to have humans inspect the merchandise. If you ever ride in a ship that uses my power crystals, you can rest, assured that it’s been created using the highest of standards, and you’re safe. At least from crystals. Any other components, I don’t know...that’s not my department.

Saturday, April 26, 2025

The Sixth Key: Kick Rocks (Part II)

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Clavia helps Echo learn how to use his parents’ guns. They’re energy weapons, which means they’ll be able to fire indefinitely as long as he doesn’t fire too much, and they have a source of charge, like the sun. Something called radio waves would charge it too, but there aren’t any of those around here. He doesn’t become an expert marksman in only a few short hours, but at least he has the basics down. Point and shoot, that much was immediately apparent, but the safety and handling was a little less intuitive.
According to the sensors on board the shuttle, as fed into Echo’s new suit, a ship appeared out of nowhere, and began to orbit the planet. It scanned the surface in some way, but hasn’t done anything else since. Clavia taught him how to set up an alarm to wake him when anything changes, so he can go to bed, and get some rest. The next morning, he checks the sensors to find that the alarm hasn’t failed. The orbiting ship up there still isn’t doing anything. They’ve not fired any weapons at the tree, or come down in a shuttle of their own, or anything. What are they waiting for?
“My mind is clouded,” Clavia explains. “I cannot see detail. I can sense that people are walking around inside the vessel, but I can’t tell what they’re doing. Unfortunately, I need to focus my strength on other pursuits.”
“I understand.” He doesn’t, but she should do whatever she needs to. “Do you think they know that we’re here?”
“It depends on how sophisticated their sensors are, and on the nature of the planet we’re on. This appears to be a lush garden centered on a desert. If the rest of the world is just as barren, this will stick out like a sore thumb. But it may be one of many oases, in which case they would need to pick up on you as an individual. I also don’t know whether your suit and shuttle are sufficiently shielded, or what.”
Echo nods, and decides to go back to practicing. The great thing about guns like these is that he can shoot blanks as much as he wants while barely dipping into the power reserves. Indeed, while the sun is shining, solar power will keep it running even if he never stops squeezing the trigger for the duration of daylight hours. He’s not doing any damage, as he’s just sending beams of light towards the rocks and the flowers, but it gives him a good idea of what it will be like if he ever has to do it for real.
Either as a coincidence, or because the visitors detected his weapons fire, they finally send a landing party in a shuttle. They don’t land too close to the garden, which is respectful of them, or maybe it’s also a coincidence. Echo doesn’t walk over to greet them halfway. He just stands under the Clavia tree, holding one of the guns at what Clavia called high ready. The second one is leaning against the trunk. He has extra cartridges attached to his hips too, but it doesn’t look like he’ll be needing them. One of these things would be able to take out the entire crew of the shuttle. It appears to only be four people, though obviously there are more still up on the ship. Clavia doesn’t know what kind of weaponry they have, up there, or down here. The four who are walking towards them now don’t appear to be armed at all.
“Can they hear you, or is your voice in my head?” he mutters out of the corner of his mouth.
“They can hear me if I want them too, and not if I don’t.”
“Let me do the talking. They may not know that you can talk, and I would like to keep that as an advantage until we have no choice.”
“Agreed,” Clavia says.
“Hello, kind soldier,” the leader guy says once they’re within earshot of each other. He’s keeping a safe distance, showing a healthy fear of Echo’s gun. The other three strangers are scattered next to and behind him. “My name is Klavis Zakan Scrivenor. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to today?”
Klavis?” Echo echoes.
“No relation,” Clavia replies simply.
“It’s my rank?” Zakan answers like it’s a question. “I command a single flotilla of ships...four to be exact.”
“What is your business here?” Echo asks.
Zakan is confused. “Um, do you have a name too?”
“Oh.” Echo feels like he’s just lost the upperhand, especially since he just said oh. He should have just been steadfast, and refused to answer. But now it’s too late, he has to just go ahead and respond appropriately. “Echo Cloudbearer.”
“Do you own this world, Echo Cloudbearer?”
“I do.” I mean, he might as well. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else to claim the title, and if making such a claim grants him the legal powers to protect this tree, then he’s comfortable making it.
“What is it called?”
This is where it gets tricky. His parents could never agree on a name for it. They kept coming up with new ideas before Echo was even born, but eventually narrowed it down to Supercloud or Echo. About half the time, they would joke that their son was named after the planet, and the other half, that the planet was named after their son. He never knew which was true, or if Supercloud was the superior choice anyway. “Echo”.
“Hm,” Zakan says. “I like it. We are representatives of the Temporal Energy Management Project of Relative Associated Logistics. Basically, we’re in charge of making sure that there’s enough temporal energy to go around, and that no one is abusing the power that they have, or exploiting the substructure of the universe to their own gain, or to the destruction of reality.”
“I don’t know what any of that means,” Echo admits.
“Well, we’re relative, because the power is not evenly distributed, which some people believe sounds unfair—though, it isn’t—and it’s associated, because every time someone is allotted power, it has an impact on everyone else. That’s why it needs to be managed. It’s—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, no, no, defining it isn’t going to help me understand it. It sounds like you just really wanted your acronym to spell out TEMPORAL.”
Zakan just clears his throat.
“Why are you here? I keep to myself. I don’t have any power.”
Zakan gestures to Clavia. “That tree behind you would seem to contradict your words.”
Echo decides to play dumb. “This is just a tree. It can’t contradict anything. It can’t even walk.”
Zakan smiles and sighs. He looks around the vast empty flatlands surrounding them. “We detected the energy spike that was prompted by some kind of temporal event right at this location. I don’t know if it teleported here, or if it was here all along, and suddenly absorbed a whole lot of power, but my guess is that you were around to see whatever it was. After all, you’re standing in front of it right now. You were up there when we showed up. You must think it’s meaningful too. If you thought you needed to protect your garden as a whole, you’d be standing right here.” He points to his feet where the grass of the garden gives way to the dirt of the desert.
Okay, maybe he needs to switch tactics. “Does it matter? If it’s here, it’s mine. And since this is all mine, so are you. So you four have two choices. You can fly back up to your little ship, and tell your captain to leave, or you can stay here and do my bidding. The atterberries are about ready to be harvested.”
“What did you say?”
“The atterberries,” Echo repeated. “Those pink things over there. You could pick them, or you could leave. You have no jurisdiction on this world, though. My word is law. My word is the only law.”
“What’s—what’s this stuff here?” He slid the sole of his shoe along a rock.
“That’s amanda moss. It’s not edible. I use it for...other things.” Wiping.
“And that?”
“It’s, uh, vearden hay. I use it as a ground cover. Why all the sudden interest in my garden? I thought you only cared about some tree.”
“Just curious.” Zakan steps forward. “What do you call this creature warming itself on this boulder?”
Echo can’t see from this far away, but he knows what the man’s talking about. “It’s probably a clemens newt.”
“One last thing, this one here?”
“A savi tree.”
Zakan exchanges a look with his people. “Which reality is your family from?”
“Um, this one?”
“No, I mean originally.”
“I have no clue where you’re going with this.”
“I don’t recognize that kind of gun. Do you?” he asks the woman standing at his flank.
She shakes her head quietly.
“My guess is Parallel or Fifth Division,” Zakan goes on cryptically, “but the main sequence had some nice stuff before they were copied here.”
“Can I help you?” Echo interrupts the internal conversation they’re having down there. He’s done playing nice. He wants them gone. He doesn’t want to have to hurt anyone to do it, but he will if they give him no choice.
“I’m afraid we can’t leave until we run our tests. We need to know what sort of impact this tree is having on the rest of the galaxy. It’s for the safety of everyone in the universe.”
Echo tenses up. “Get closer.”
Zakan himself doesn’t move, but his people reach their arms out to magically materialize their own guns. “We don’t need to get very close.”
“That’s enough!” It’s Clavia’s voice, but there’s something a little different about it. It sounds like it’s coming from a specific location, instead of just around him in general. Someone appears from behind the tree. It’s the dead woman who he buried here. She lives. It wasn’t just a magical seed, but it had something to do with who was holding it.
“Who are you?” Zakan asks.
“Who you seek, in humanoid form.”
Zakan holds his hand up by his shoulder. The other three lower their guns in response. Two of them make them disappear again, but his lieutenant keeps hers. “You are the tree.”
“We are,” she replies. “You may call us Clavia.”
“We’ll have to confirm that,” Zakan insists.
“Do that, and only that,” Clavia replies. “Do more, and you’ll regret it.”
Now Zakan lifts his other hand, and shakes it twice towards the hill. The now unarmed pair of visitors cross the boundary of the garden, and walk up to Clavia. She holds her own hand towards to stop Echo from reacting further when he tenses up again. The strangers begin to run their tests. They hover little devices over Clavia’s human body, and over the tree. They look at the little screens to interpret the readings, whatever they may be. Echo wouldn’t know the first thing about what they’re looking for, but Clavia seems calm, so he’s just gonna follow her lead.
One of the testers nods over at Zakan. “It’s her. She’s the tree.”
“Okay. Pack it up, kids. We’re leaving.”
“Wait,” Echo says. “Not that I’m complaining, but what just happened? What did you do? What did you discover? Why is it making you leave?”
“The source of the temporal energy is sentient,” Zakan begins to explain. “It’s natural and unregulated. As you said, we have no jurisdiction. It would be like me telling you that you’re not allowed to use that moss to wipe your ass. That’s someone else’s department.”
“Well...” Echo paused. “Thank you and goodbye.”
“You’ll be filing a report, though, won’t you?” Clavia guesses as most of the team is walking back towards their shuttle.
“I have no choice,” Zakan says apologetically.
“So the right department might show up too,” Echo calculates.
“Undoubtedly,” Zakan confirms. “She’s an interesting find.”
The shuttle takes off. About fifteen minutes later, the ship breaks orbit, and flies away into the black. Echo’s shuttle’s sensors stop picking any signals, and the world falls silent once more.
“You’re a person,” he points out.
“It’s complicated.”
Echo smiles. “I don’t have anything else going on. Tell me your story.”

Friday, April 18, 2025

Microstory 2390: Earth, December 18, 2179

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

Ah yes, my voice was breaking a little bit, because I was so nervous. I wasn’t...really...upset about what I learned from Madalena. I understand why she did what she did, and why she thought it made sense. The truth is that she treated me for very little money, and I would love to blame her for my condition, but I had a consult with a doctor recently, who ran tests. She was sure that I would have developed my epigenetic disease no matter where I lived. As you said, Madalena could have remained a partial observer. We all now know that she was always a doctor, not only a nurse, but from what my father knew of her back then, she shouldn’t have been qualified to treat my symptoms at all. She went above and beyond to keep me alive. Watching me wither away and die while she kept me comfortable to maintain her cover would have been really easy. Plus, wouldn’t that have been part of the study? You observe these two twins in vastly different environments, one of them dies, and you try to determine what caused it. The experiment was doomed from the start, because they were going into it with far too much bias. They should have secured regulatory approval, instituted a double-blind study, observed from afar, and with impartiality, and let whatever happened happen. If they couldn’t get that approval due to its ethically questionable premise, then they just shouldn’t have done it! Perhaps researchers would like to know what it looks like when a million people are shot into the sun, but that’s morally wrong, so no one’s done a study on that, as far as I know. Anyway, Madalena is a human, and I forgive her. But it’s a lot easier for me, because she lives so far away, and I don’t think that she ever plans on coming here. We don’t need her kind of help, we’re doing well. You’re stuck with your observer, but here’s the good news. I sent her another message after your last letter, and asked her to confirm that Elek Katona was the only passenger on your ship that had anything to do with the study, and she was pretty adamant that he was. She didn’t even think that it was a possibility that someone else was working with him in secret. She knew quite a bit about what was going on, back then, anyway. There was some compartmentalization in the organization to protect their secrets, but she was part of designing those levels of secrecy from above. I think there was very little that she was not aware of. That being said, she admits that she hasn’t spoken to Elek, or anyone else who was a part of the project, in many years. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that he recruited someone after the fact. Her guess is that he partnered with your mother, and saw no reason to include anyone else, but there’s no way to know. Honestly, as scared as I am for you, I think you’re gonna have to confront Elek. Take Bray with you, do it in public. Don’t talk to Velia first. I know you don’t want her to be surprised, but what if she turns on you? What if she warns her father? What if she doesn’t realize what he’s capable of. Don’t take any risks. I love you.

Your younger or older twin,

Condor

PS: Oh my gosh! We don’t know which one of us was born first! Did your mother say?

Wednesday, January 15, 2025

Microstory 2323: Earth, October 25, 2178

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

Yeah, you would think that our dad would have reached out again by now, but he still hasn’t. Not really, anyway. He sent me a text message about having to travel to one of the other domes, but he didn’t say much about it. This sort of thing happens in politics. You’re trying to negotiate with one party, but they won’t give you what you need unless you get them something that you don’t have, so you have to go to someone else. It can start this whole chain of favor after favor after favor. He’s never had to be away for quite this long before, though, so I’m kind of thinking that he’s avoiding our impending conversation. It seems like a lot to go through. I mean, he has to register his itinerary with the travel office, which I have access to. Movement on this planet is heavily regulated except in the poisoned regions themselves, so he is definitely going to the other dome, and they definitely won’t let him in unless he has a good reason, so I guess he’s not lying? I don’t know. I’m trying to get approval to travel myself, so maybe I can confront him earlier than he was planning. I’ll try to let you know if I do secure the approval, but after that, I might have trouble staying in contact with you. I can’t exactly send out a quick message from my personal device to outer space 1200 AU from Earth. I doubt it will happen anyway, though. I don’t have that good of a reason to leave. Anyway, thanks for getting back to me. Sorry about the whole lockdown situation, even though it doesn’t sound like it was as bad for you as it was for some. We have lockdowns all the time, so I kind of know what you went through. Like you, we’re always pretty well-stocked. We don’t have any restrictions on it, but we try to be mindful of what others will need, so we don’t take more than our fair share. That’s not to say that you were taking more than you deserve. You need it because your job demands constant monitoring. We have extra because of my dad’s job, but only insofar as he has special privileges here, not because of any inherent need. That reminds me, should I be calling him my dad or our dad? I think I’ve said it both ways in our previous letters. I’ve not asked him if he wants to speak with you, because I don’t think he deserves to get to know you, but if you want to get to know him, I don’t have a problem with it. I suppose that’s the true issue here, whether you consider him family, or have any interest in becoming that one day, or what. Just let me know what you feel more comfortable with; what to call him, and whether you want to hear from him directly.

Glad you’re back,

Condor

Tuesday, March 9, 2021

Microstory 1577: Watching History

Prompt
My family and I are glued to the screen, watching the horror unfold before our eyes, which we painfully muse will one day demand the majority of pages in history books dedicated to this time period.

Botner
Americans are grasping for answers, finding themselves unable to even form a sense of understanding, let alone a coherent response. The media is seizing upon every small tidbit of information, only to discard it as irrelevant, when in fact the story of this nightmare may not be as complicated as it appears on the surface. The violent tragedy in Aurora, Colorado has become the final straw in a series of extremely divisive and emotionally charged social debates, from gun control to the treatment of those with mental illnesses. Let me be very clear, and as informed as possible. This violence is a hate crime. The perpetrator, [redacted], has a documented history of mental illness and a multitude of anti-social behavior and mental health issues. Additionally, a large number of literature highlighting his mentally ill tendencies. The link between mental health and mass shootings is painfully clear, and is the same in regards to the NPI (National Alliance on Mental Illness).

Conclusion
But let us not use mental health issues cloud and forgive personal accountability. So easy is it to let someone off the hook because there is something wrong with their brain. However, no amount of mental problems will lead someone to immediately, and suddenly, start killing people. Mass murderers are made over time, through years of trying out lesser evils, and not being treated properly. Someone who is like that cannot always seek help, but they must be given this help just the same. It is a systemic problem that can be corrected through social changes, policy updates, and a general sense of duty among all of us. I wasn’t diagnosed with autism until I was twenty-seven years old. My parents could not have understood what was going on with me, but my teachers should have had the training to see the signs, and the tools to seek guidance. I’m fine, I developed coping mechanisms, which have helped me survive, even when I didn’t understand myself. Others are not so lucky. Know this, though: even without the ability to test and evaluate each and every child, we should be more wary of just handing out guns to anyone who asks. At the very least, everyone who tries to buy one should undergo some sort of mental health evaluation. If you are deserving and worthy, then you should have no problem letting such legislation pass. If you think you’ll fail any test that the experts devise, then fail it, you should. That’s sort of the whole point. That’s all I’ll say about it.

Sunday, August 11, 2019

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: November 6, 2244

Before Leona disappeared from the timestream, they went back down to Hokusai’s lab, and read newcomer Pribadium Delgado into yet another situation. It was quite a bit to expect someone to take in all at once, but if she was feeling overwhelmed by it, she sure wasn’t showing it. Fortunately, she wasn’t all that familiar with Leona, so even before they explained to her that the other Leona was from the future, her brain just assumed they were twins. Leona had met a lot of smart people as she sped through the timeline. Hokusai, Hogarth, Holly Blue were just a few of the latest. Brooke and Sharice weren’t exactly humans, so interacting with them was kind of like talking to a computer. Even taking them into account, Pribadium, as an organic, might have been the most intelligent person she had ever met. She had hyperthymesia, and an eidetic memory. She was hyperobservant, critically thoughtful, and had excellent pattern recognition skills. If you rolled the smartest people from fiction, like Mycroft Holmes, Shawn Spencer, and Brian Finch into a ball, Pribadium would be smarter than whatever abomination oozed out of that ball.
She immediately understood the concept of dimensional gravity, which was a good thing, because they now needed her to figure out how to turn the reframe engine into a true time machine. The roller coaster facility could wait. Time was of the essence here, and even with their minds combined, there was not enough. Midnight central hit, and sent both Leonas to 2244. When they returned, the full-fledged anti-gravity generators were completely finished, and already supporting the Varkana resort. They were still beautifying the facilities, and working through the regulatory hurdles, so they would not open until 2247. Plus, visitors did not even want to start the long journey across the interstellar void until they were sure there was something to see when they got here.
“Did you see that?”
“See what?” Present!Leona asked. They had just this very moment returned to the timestream.
Future!Leona didn’t know what she was talking about either.
“I’m talking to Eight Point Seven,” Pribadium clarified.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Eight Point Seven said.
“Recalibrate your visual sensors, or rather your memories of them. Focus on temporal progression on the magnitude of milliseconds.”
Eight Point Seven tilted her head inquisitively, but seemed to be complying with the suggestion. “Holy shit.”
“So, I was right?” Pribadium asked for confirmation. “I could sense it, but I’m mostly human, so my perception is still limited.”
“Four milliseconds,” Eight Point Seven confirmed.
“What happened?” Present!Leona questioned. “Did she disappear before I did?”
“After,” Pribadium answered. She started pacing around the room. “That’s interesting. “Tell me, what time was it when you fell back in time?”
Future!Leona looked sideways at her alternate self.
“I know, you’re worried about creating a paradox. We’ll wipe her memory. Just tell me a number.”
“Fourteen-oh-nine, central standard.”
“What time was it when she arrived?”
“Twelve-twenty-seven,” Eight Point Seven replied.
“Hmm...” Pribadium went back into her own head. “That’s a much bigger discrepancy, yet you didn’t follow it.” She directed her attention to Future!Leona. “If that had any impact on your time jump, you would have done it an hour and forty-two minutes before her. So that’s not what happened. You gained some time in your life, which is interesting. Though, that could all be reversed when we figure out how to send you back.” She began to pace again. “So why did you not jump at the exact same time?”
Everyone else just waited patiently.
“Who’s Mateo?” Pribadium asked.
“My husband,” both Leonas answered simultaneously. They had already been over this, and Pribadium doesn’t forget things, so she was just asking to get her audience on the same logic path.
“He’s offworld right now,” Pribadium asked rhetorically. “Do you have any footage of one of their supposed simultaneous time jumps?”
“No,” Present!Leona said. “No such footage exists.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Eight Point Seven corrected.
“What?”
Eight Point Seven almost looks ashamed. “When my predecessors were trying to figure out who you were, they requested information from Proxima Doma, which apparently did create such a recording. Eight Point Three evidently asked them to delete it, and I’m the only other one with a copy, but I can’t be a hundred percent certain that they complied.”
The Leonas frowned. Hopefully that wouldn’t come back to bite them in the ass.
“Let’s call it luck,” Pribadium suggested. “Can we see it?”
Eight Point Seven simulated a deep breath, then activated a hologram. “Apparently, the Proxima Domanians heard Mateo’s outburst when he was...upset about some terrible news.” She was talking about when Leona had to tell him that their unborn children miscarried, and Mateo trashed the room they were in. “They sent a microdrone to investigate, and it ended up filming this.” She pushed the proverbial play button, so they could watch Mateo and Leona lying in bed, then disappearing at the same time.
“Analysis,” Pribadium prompted.
“Exact same time,” Eight Point Seven said. “I calibrated for nanoseconds. They left the timestream at the exact same time. We have to assume they always do so. What would cause two parallel versions of Leona to be slightly out of sync?”
“Does this matter?” Loa had been pretty quiet until now. She could not help them in any way, but she was a friend. Sanaa was testing the roller coaster at the moment, but was almost certainly spying on them remotely, which made it weird that she hadn’t jumped into the conversation yet.
I’m trying to respect your boundaries, Sanaa said psychically.
No one else was reacting to it, so this was a private telepathic conversation.
I can’t talk to Eight Point Seven, because she isn’t human. I don’t care about Loa’s thoughts. I don’t understand half the things Hokusai thinks about, and Pribadium’s brain is moving too fast for me to even tease one single thought. I can’t hear the other Leona either.
“What?” Leona accidentally asked out loud. “What do you mean, you can’t hear Future!Leona?”
I dunno, Sanaa answered. She’s inaccessible. Some people are like that. With Pribadium, it’s like watching a car race on fast forward, but there are those who can block me completely. Some even aren’t doing it on purpose; they’ve just built walls around their minds that I can’t penetrate. I tend to not even try, because I assume I don’t want to see what’s on the other side.
I didn’t know about any of this, Leona said, in her mind only. There’s no reason for Future!Me to be able to block your telepathy. I just...I wouldn’t do that. Unless...unless she’s keeping something from us, and knows you’re the only one with the power to detect it.
“What is it, Leona?” Hokusai asked, concerned. “What are you and Sanaa talking about?” She had gotten pretty good at knowing when they were in the middle of a conversation.
Present!Leona didn’t have time to answer Hokusai’s question. She was trying to work through it in her head. Something was wrong here.
I know what you’re thinking, Sanaa said. It’s not out of the realm of possibility.
Present!Leona narrowed her eyes, and stared into those of her supposed alternate self. She didnt recognize the person staring back at her. Very erroneous. If her assumption was wrong, then no big deal; Future!Leona would be fine. But if she was right... “Who the fuck are you?”
“Leona,” Eight Point Seven scolded.
“No,” so-called Future!Leona said dismissively. “She’s right.” She jazzed her hands in front of her face, until pulling them apart, and revealing a different person. It was Arcadia Preston.
This made Pribadium step back. “Oh my God!”
The enemy held out her hand. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Arcadia.”
“Don’t shake her hand,” Eight Point Seven warned Pribadium.
“Circuit Breaker,” Arcadia called Eight Point Seven. “You wound me.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” the only real Leona demanded to know. “Where are you in the timeline?”
“Exactly a hundred years ago,” Arcadia answered. “Well...a hundred years and about three months.”
Leona closed her eyes. She didn’t even have to do the math. “My wedding.”
“That’s right,” Arcadia said, her intense anger growing with each passing second. “It was a lovely service. You were there...twice!”
“What in the hell are you talking about?” Leona questioned.
“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know. You latched onto Sanaa’s invitation. Apparently, you finally become friends in this future, so when her letter comes in, you just..hold on tight! That was not for you, Dudley Dursley!”
“That never happened,” Leona argued.
Sanaa walked through the door, having finally come here in person. “She’s right. I haven’t gotten any invitation.”
Arcadia looked between Leona and Sanaa a couple times, then grimaced with embarrassment. “You’re not lying, are you?”
“No!”
She grimaced again. “I guess I got my dates wrong. Wull...it doesn’t matter. You’re gonna, and I didn’t authorize it.”
Leona widened her eyes, shocked at the insolence. “I don’t care! If I want to go back in time, and revisit my own wedding as an audience member, that’s exactly what I’m going to do! You’re a time traveler, and a pretty smart cookie; I think you always knew that your hold on me and my friends wasn’t going to last forever. The forty-plus years you were jacking with my reality might have been the most important of your life, but for me, it was Tuesday.”
“Fine,” Arcadia said. “I guess I’ll see you later.”
“Wait,” Leona stopped her from disappearing. “I’m going to see you again, whenever Sanaa’s invitation comes in. You, on the other hand, have seen the last of me. This is it, baby. If I ever see you again, wearing anybody’s face, I’m going to kill you.” She stepped forward, and got all up in Arcadia’s grill. “And if you think I can’t find a way to do it, just ask Ulinthra.”
“Who’s Ulinthra?” Arcadia asked sincerely.
“Exactly,” Leona whispered in a threatening tone.
“Very well,” Arcadia said, trying desperately to hide her legit fear. “We’ll call this; you..dealing with me—having your busy schedule interrupted—your punishment. So, I won’t punish you further. I have to make another stop anyway.”
“Don’t you do it,” Leona warned. “Don’t you dare.”
Arcadia cupped her hand over her mouth, and mimicked the sound of bad phone reception. Krsch-krsch—you’re breaking up—krsch!” And with that, she disappeared.
“Goddammit,” Leona lamented, shaking her head.
“Where did she go?” Pribadium asked.
Leona sighed. “She’s going to wherever Mateo is, so she can punish him instead. And I am helpless to stop it.”
“She’s probably going to punish him after you see him again at your wedding,” Loa suggested. “So you can warn him.”
“What makes you think he’ll be there too?” Pribadium asked.
“That’s how she operates,” Leona explained. “She doesn’t punish people for things they haven’t done yet. They have to understand why it is she’s upset with them. I’m going to see Mateo again, and probably soon. I can’t imagine she was off on her calculations by more than a few years.”
“I’ll go check the mail,” Sanaa joked, “and get myself a nice dress.”

Wednesday, April 10, 2019

Microstory 1078: Elmer

I don’t know much about my father. Way she tells it, my mother didn’t know him very well either. It wasn’t a one-night stand, but they didn’t have much time together. It was evidently love at first sight that resulted in an unplanned pregnancy, but they were fully intending to stay together. After he died suddenly, she moved back home to Blast City, so my grandparents could help raise me. One thing I do know about my dad is how much he loved cars. He was apparently working on restoring some kind of classic model before he left us, but his brother inherited it, so I’ve never seen it. It’s not that we don’t get along with my uncle, but he and the rest of that side of the family live halfway across the country, so it’s always been awkward. Several years ago, I was sneaking around the attic when I found a box that once belonged to my father, which mom forgot was even up there. We actually had a few of his possessions that she tucked away, since they were too painful to look at. I discovered detailed plans in the box for the design of a new car. There wasn’t anything unique, or special, about the designs. He theoretically drew them up, because he wanted to build one with his own two hands from scratch, but it was never meant to revolutionize the industry. I decided I wanted to pick up where he left off, and build it myself in my neighbor’s workshop, but I did not know what I was in for. I personally have no strong feelings about cars, but I figured I could do it if I saved up, and took my time. I wasn’t entirely right about that. The fact is I didn't know what I was doing when I started all this. I kept working at it, and working at it, hoping things would eventually come together. But they never did, and I found myself more lost than I ever had been before. Then Viola came along. She spent time with me every day after school in our sophomore year, teaching me what parts I would need, and how to fit them together. We used heavy machinery to manufacture individual parts that didn’t exist, because my dad had come up with them. We contacted regulation authorities, to make sure what we came up with would be street legal. She even helped me tweak the original design, because it otherwise would not have been legal. One day before my sixteenth birthday, everything was finished. It was all put together, tested by engineers, and given full approval to drive. I waited to get in the driver’s seat myself until the next day, just to observe the symbolism of it. I’m so proud of what we accomplished, and so grateful for the opportunity. I almost never had any passengers in it, because I’ve always pretended my dad was with me instead. There was only one time when someone very important asked me for a ride, and I gladly made an exception for her. I’m the one who drove Viola Woods to Masters Creek, and ultimately, her death. I did that. I haven’t driven an inch since.