Microstory 2295: Stress Out of the Process

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What I’ve learned is that the publicity firm that Nick was using to protect his life story from rumors and lies is no stranger to memorial services. A few of their clients have died while they were working with them, and their survivors can purchase a new package to help with arrangements. Some clients even purchase it ahead of time in anticipation, like one would reserve a burial spot in a cemetery because they know they’re gonna die eventually. Nick didn’t do that, because he didn’t even think to hire anyone when his health started to decline from the prion infection. Well, I think he did consider it way back then, but he didn’t have the money, and didn’t follow through until later. Anyway, I purchased the memorial package, so they’re handling everything. I’ll be signing off on all decisions, but I won’t have to think them up myself, which takes a lot of the stress out of the process, so I’m grateful for their help in this matter. Or perhaps they should be thanking me for my help, if they’re the ones taking point. I did secure a reservation for the Causeway Center in Chicago, though. It’s so last minute that someone already had the auditorium booked. Homes for Humankind and CauseTogether.hope have assured me that whoever it was was happy to push it back to another day, but it’s hard for me to imagine how that’s possible. That room can accommodate hundreds of people, which means that they have to contact hundreds of people to alert them to the change in dates. I suppose that’s not necessarily true. Maybe they booked the whole place for an audience of eleven. I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure out who it was, and if they’re really okay, but I can’t seem to find any information. You would think that an event like that would be advertising somewhere so customers could sign up for their thing instead. If you know what was supposed to be happening in the auditorium next Friday, shoot me a message. I feel that I owe them a thank you. In the meantime, I’m flying up to look at the venue this weekend, but I’ve already seen photos, and it looks great.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: November 6, 2398

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Ramses tries to deliver The Bridgette back to the park in New York, but it seems that Winona has managed to lock him out of all systems. That’s impressive. These Third Railers are more resourceful than he thought. He’ll have to remember that moving forward. He doesn’t like being surprised, or the one beholden to someone else. He’s always meant to be in control, and once he clears the override feature that Winona installed on this craft, he’ll get back to that. For now, he has to do what she says. They need their starship back, and this is the way they’re getting it. It’s not the first time their plans didn’t go as planned. They always figure out a workaround to the obstacles.

Winona sets her tablet on the console, and lets it sync with the Bridgette. “Constance, please navigate us to these coordinates in realspace.”

“Prepare for liftoff,” the AI replies.

“I’m sorry I had to do that,” Winona says to Ramses. “I like Leona; I consider her one of my own. But I had to make a call. We will get her up into space, I promise you.”

“You can’t promise that,” Ramses says, “but I can. I can also promise you that getting on my team’s bad side never works out for people. You live in your own little reality, but we always win. You apologized with words, now do it through action.”

Winona nods. The computer beeps. She looks down at the console. “We’re here.” She activates the radio. “Amberjack, this is Pelican. Come in, Amberjack.”

“Amberjack Actual here, go ahead.”

“Permission to land and come aboard. Three visitors total, limited equipment.”

“Permission granted.”

“Constance, please land. Once we’re aboard the Amberjack, dive to a depth of thirty meters, and travel three hundred kilometers to the Northeast, avoiding detection along the way. Once there, resurface, launch, and return to base.”

“Understood,” Constance replies.

She regards Ramses’ expression. “The Bridgette will be fully yours after today.”

“Clearly.”

They land the Bridgette, and board the sub. They’re surprised to see what must be a full crew waiting for them. It’s hard to walk through, there are so many people. They were to understand that there would only be a few left around, while the rest rested and relaxed in Bermuda. Winona and Executor Ongaro go into his office to have a chat about it. When they come out ten minutes later, Winona explains to Ramses and Alyssa that rumor spread about what kind of mission they were going on, and everyone wanted to be a part of it. She questioned why he didn’t just order them to go on shore leave, being the Executor and all. He claimed that his own curiosity made him feel like he couldn’t rob others of the opportunity. Bad leadership, if you ask Ramses, but nothing can be done about it now. They have already begun the dive.

By the time they reach the bottom, Ramses has started to receive a signal from the AOC. So not only is it close, but it’s on and operational. That’s good, it strongly suggests that life support is still active. Even if it’s not, it shouldn’t be too hard to re-engage it. Once they’re close enough, the sub’s lights shine upon the vessel. It’s sitting neatly on the ocean floor, right between two little rocky cliffs. Either it was damn lucky to have fallen right in the perfect spot, or the AI is still on, and navigated it well enough to protect hull integrity.

“Wow. This is yours?” one of the crewmen asks.

“Yes,” Ramses replies, not super happy about having all these eyes on his ship.

“It can fly to the stars?” another asks.

Ramses looks over to Winona. “You have some leaks to plug up.” He’s not referring to the sub, or the ship.

“A lot of people had to be read in for this, Winona defends.

“How do we dock with it?” Executor Ongaro asks them.

“We don’t.” And now for the hard part. There are more people here than Ramses was led to believe. Keeping the secret amongst a smaller group would have been easier, but they probably know enough already anyway. He’s just gonna teleport in, now that he has a target. “You have a torpedo room, right?”

Executor Ongaro laughs. “Yeah, but you’re not going to be able to fire one from there, if that’s what you’re thinking. That’s just where they’re loaded.”

“That’s not what I was thinking. I just need privacy. Can you give me that, or are we gonna have a problem?”

Ongaro sizes him up, but decides to agree. “That will be fine.” He doesn’t think there’s anything he can do in that room that they won’t be able to find out about.

The torpedo room offers them a plausible way off of the sub, and onto the AOC. It’s ridiculously impossible at this depth, but they will probably assume that Ramses used some kind of crazy supersoldier serum that allowed him to traverse the distance safely. What he won’t guess is that he can inject himself with a magical formula that will allow him to teleport over there without getting a single drop of water on him. Ongaro leads him down to the other side of the vessel, and shows him into the room, ordering the crew manning their stations to leave. He makes a mistake, though, when he accidentally looks up to the security camera in the corner. That’s fine, disabling basic surveillance is incredibly easy for Ramses with his trusty mission kit.

Winona closes the door behind them. “They’ll still be watching.”

“They’ll try.” Ramses presses the button on his signal scrambler, and shuts off the cameras and microphones. Then he places a magnetic lock on the door, in case going blind pisses them off enough to try to get back in here.

“You’re not going to try to stop me from coming with you?” Winona asks.

“I can’t leave you here with these warmongers,” Ramses tells her. “I’m mad at you right now, but we’ll get through this. That’s what it means to be on our team. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yes.”

Ramses injects himself with the Existence Water. “Then hold onto me tightly.”

Both Alyssa and Winona take him in a bear hug, and let him transport them into the AOC. He was right, life support is fine. A cursory glance at the diagnostics screen shows that everything is fine. The hull did suffer a few scrapes on the way down, but it repaired itself without any prompting. Ramses takes out the data drive where he keeps the base code for the AI that he got from The Constant. He plugs it into a dataport, and uploads it as an upgrade. “Constance, can you hear me?”

“Five by five,” Constance replies.

“Run full diagnostics on yourself, please.”

Once the perfect diagnostic finishes, Ramses says, “okay, then. Please teleport to the last New York coordinates where the Bridgette was.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 8, 2398

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In general, the afterlife simulation was cut off from base reality. Pryce made this decision with good reason, it wasn’t just to keep control over the residents. As great as the virtual construct was, it wasn’t real by most people’s standards, and having a link back to the people they left behind could be psychologically detrimental. There were eleven status levels that one could earn or lose, though the bottom level was true death, and the top was incredibly rare resurrection. So really there were nine; each level up affording the resident more privileges. Level Seven Pink Elite was the best for the majority of people. The upper levels demanded a level of responsibility that not everyone valued. But within this level were sublevels. Just because you reached it, didn’t mean you had everything. Only a select few were given insight into the events down on Earth, and in later years, outward to the stars. Angela was one of these people, having proven herself worthy of the honor.

Near the beginning of the 21st century, a certain television series premiered, featuring a shady intelligence agency known as SD-6. She described it to the team, but Heath shook his head, not thinking the two had anything to do with each other. No such show existed in the Third Rail. The version of SD6 to which Leona apparently now belonged was probably as secretive, but not as nefarious. It wasn’t really one organization, but six—hence the name. The National Intelligence, Domestic Affairs, National Police, National Military, Court Agent, and Transportation Regulatory Authorities came together for a joint task force that kind of had carte blanche for any mission necessary to protect the country’s interests. For the longest time, the existence of this task force remained only rumor for the general public, but it now features an overt director, which holds press conferences, and the occasional accessible budget or ethics hearing. Still, this is a big deal. Leona is a big deal. More to the point, if her credentials are as good as they seem, this forger’s powers are greater than they thought to consider until now.

“Oh, I got a little six-thing in the corner too,” Mateo says. He hadn’t really looked at his own new badge until this morning.

The others hadn’t checked it either. Marie takes it from him, and inspects it carefully. “Commandant in the National Military Authority. Mateo, this is, like, five ranks higher than you were before.”

He shrugs. “You know me, I excel at everything I do.”

“What does she want from you?” Marie asks, shaking her head in disbelief.

“What does she want from us?” Angela corrects.

“She never asked anything of the two of us when we first got Marie her new identity four years ago,” Heath explains. “What’s so special about you? No offense, because I know you’re special, but how does she know that?”

“Maybe it doesn’t really have anything to do with us,” Mateo suggests. “Maybe she has a gambling problem, and lost all her money the day before we walked in her door. Maybe her brother’s been locked up in a federal prison, and she wants us to get them out. Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”

Leona is grateful that her husband came up with an alternative to her theory that Heath is a mole. “That’s really creative, honey, but we don’t have the luxury of believing in coincidences. I haven’t seen a coincidence since 2028.”

“Trying to figure out what she’s up to isn’t going to do any good unless we can speak with her directly,” Angela believes. “For now, we have to plan tomorrow’s events.”

“Tomorrow’s events?” Marie questions, confused. “We’re not leaving until Wednesday.”

“Yes,” Heath begins, “so we’re going to spend the whole day together, just the six of us. We’ll have a special breakfast, a special lunch, and a special dinner, along with a few other surprises.”

“Don’t worry,” Angela continues, “we’re not gonna parade down the streets. We’ll just secretly see you off. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Marie replies with a smile. “That’ll be great.”

Microstory 1890: Forced Pair

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I was one of two new kids when my family moved to a new town for my fourth year of primary school. I was nervous about fitting in, but I had no idea how difficult it would be. The other kid was—for lack of a more reasonable term—weird. He wore baggy pants, tight shirts, and a baseball cap that was missing the bill. He had a strange way about him, and didn’t seem to understand topical references. I was more or less normal. Quiet but responsive; capable of smiling, but not overly bubbly. I should have found a group of friends, and done so sooner than later. Probably because the teacher sat the two of us next to each other, everybody got it in their heads that we were friends. I didn’t know him, we had never met, and we didn’t hang out, but they started calling us inseparable. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t break free from this total misunderstanding. I suppose I could have tried harder, but that would have required me to say mean things about him, and I didn’t want to do that. He was an odd duck, but he was gentle, and polite, and he didn’t deserve the ridicule. So I eventually let it go, and decided things would get better when I was older. We were bound to be placed in a different class the next year, and it would go away on its own. I don’t know if the school caught wind of the rumor, or what, but that’s not what happened. It would seem that we were stuck together, so if my social life was going to be entirely dependent on this one person, I figured I might as well get to know him. At least I would have someone to talk to.

When asked about it, he would tell people that the cap was for religious reasons. They still thought it was funny, but it stopped them from messing around with it for fear of being labeled bigots. The truth was his parents were conspiracy theorists, though they would never use this term; they considered themselves believers. In particular, they believed in aliens, telepathy, and telepathic aliens. They didn’t want nefarious forces to read their minds, and they were under the impression that this special headwear could protect them from the brain scanners. The inside was lined with aluminum, which is a trick I recalled having heard of. But those were usually crude and cheap-looking. His was smooth and well-tailored; his parents had put some real time into constructing them. He wasn’t sure he believed in all that stuff, but he didn’t want to upset them, so he did as he was asked. We remained friends over the years, though we had to contrive common interests at first. Eventually we formed a genuine relationship, and I found myself feeling grateful that we met, and that the universe worked so hard to pair us up, as unlikely as it seemed at first. We went to college at an institution distant enough to allow him to stop wearing his hat, and it was there that we learned better how to blend in with the crowd. We found new friends, and our lives were good. There was never anything romantic between us, but there was a strong financial connection. We both wanted to be super rich, and to be in charge of a company. But what could we do? What were we experts on? Aluminum foil hats? I know it sounds crazy, but yes! We adapted the misguided paranoia into a lucrative business. You see, while mind-reading isn’t real, electronic scanners are, and as the world was becoming more and more reliant on digital technology, customers needed a way to protect their data. They can do this using signal-blocking material. We hold a number of patents for techniques that make this technology work. So even if customers don’t buy directly from us, we still make money off of nearly every sale. Who’s laughing now?

Microstory 1574: Nap

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Prompt

I just woke up from a very unfulfilling nap where I dreamt that...

Botner

I think I had a dream once that my future husband and I were in our bedroom talking. We were talking about what a close relationship he wants to have with his parents. I remember talking about how he needs to talk to them before he tells them about our relationship. The problem is, they are moving and they are leaving the state before he can tell them, or they are moving to another country. He left to go talk to them and I got mad because I was supposed to tell them before they moved. I went to go talk to them and found that they had moved and I wasn’t invited to the wedding. My fiancé was there though. He was not at the wedding. I was so mad. I looked over at my fiancé and he had tears in his eyes. I felt bad. Then I woke up. I am always very, very glad that I am not still in that relationship. When I had this dream, I always thought, man, maybe I’m about to have a really bad life. I’ve recently gotten into reading the Harry Potter books. And I think I’m in the...

Conclusion

...minority here, because everyone else has already read them, and they managed to do it before all the news broke about the author’s transphobia. I’m in the middle of the third one, and I don’t know if I should keep going. It’s one thing for an actor or filmmaker to be cancelled. You can still enjoy their work, because it’s not just their work. A lot of people worked very hard to make that, and why should they suffer because this one person screams at young women, or does worse to them? This is different. She’s the only person who made these books, and I feel committed to them, but I also feel dirty. The nap was meant to make me feel better, but I only feel worse now, because the doorbell rang in the middle of a cycle, or something, and my heart is racing. I can’t even remember what happened in the dream, and it was only moments ago. That’s why I started talking about an old dream. Though, maybe it’s more relevant to my anxiety than the recent one was. People around me were making decisions, and they weren’t asking for my input, or even warning me about them. That’s kind of how I feel about cancel culture. So much of it is happening too fast that I don’t have time to really dig deep, and find out what happened. I’m just supposed to accept that we don’t like this person anymore, and not ask questions. The author thing is a pretty easy answer, but they’re not all like that, I just don’t know. I guess that’s what the dream was trying to teach me, that I have to slow down, and make time for the facts, or I’ll make bad decisions, and piss off everyone else.

Microstory 1573: Party of a Lifetime

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Prompt

Last night, I tried to have a few people over to watch the season finale, but more people showed up than I expected, and things got way out of hand.

Botner

I wasn’t prepared for that kind of party. I had food, of course, but no hostess gift, no place to put people, and no clue as to what to expect. The shower gifts in particular were way too much: three washers and dryers, six cell phones, two electric grills, and all sorts of other things. I was scrambling around at the end to get the whole thing wrapped and ready to go before 10:00 PM (when the new episodes of House start!). I have no idea who all came. I’m sure most of my current neighbors, and the ones I invited. In fact, there are four people who are sure to come. I have no clue as to who else was invited. At least, I didn’t think so until after I had left. Maybe those four won’t show up. Maybe they weren’t invited. Maybe they don’t know that there’s a party! I’m going to hope that my neighbors will be polite enough to give me a day or two to have a good, clean-up party before they show up for dinner. There’s something about riding along on the big tractor that is so relaxing. It’s...

Conclusion

...not something I did as a child, even though I grew up on a farm. My father didn’t want me to work in the fields. He always said he worked so hard so he could send me to college, where I would presumably figure out what I wanted to do with my own life. I chose to live in the city, and quickly earned enough money so that he could help him retire, and live nearby. He died a few years ago, and I miss him more than anything. I suppose that’s how the party ended up traveling to the farm, where I finally rode on the tractor. I wanted to honor him, and everyone who showed up for the party wanted that for me too. It was then that I discovered the confusion. I got so wrapped up in planning the event that I made an error on the invitations. I said it was for my finale, and didn’t even bother mentioning the show we would be watching. I still think people should have assumed that it was a show, but word somehow spread that I was dying, and this was my farewell. I dunno, that’s not what I would have thought if I were them. Or if I had, I would have tried to confirm it. I suppose a rumor will just take on a life of its own, and even when people question it, no one will be able to give them a decent answer. So I give all those gifts back, and thank them for their concern, while assuring them that I’m quite all right. Still, it was a nice evening, even if it had a strange reason for being, and I’ll remember it forever.

Microstory 1330: Judgment

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Judge: Please, sit down.

Attorney One: I’m all right, Your Honor.

Attorney Two: As am I.

Judge: These are my chambers, and you will sit down when I tell you to. Understood?

Attorney One: Understood.

Attorney Two: Of course, Judge.

Judge: Okay, now stand back up! Good, you’re getting the hang of this. Now, tell me, what is going on with you two?

Attorney Two: Your Honor, I can’t do my job if Attorney One objects to every question I ask.

Judge: Some of those objections were sustained.

Attorney Two: True, but half of them weren’t. This is a tactic. He makes me look foolish in front of the jury. It doesn’t matter that some of them were overruled. The jury will only remember that I couldn’t get any of my questions answered.

Judge: He has a right to object to anything and everything. That is the cornerstone of our judicial system.

Attorney Two: Absolutely, but there must be some limit. That’s what you’re there for; to judge—not the case—but the proceedings of the court.

Judge: I understand my responsibility here perfectly, Attorney Two, thank you very much.

Attorney One: Could I say something?

Judge: If you must.

Attorney One: This has nothing to do with the case. Attorney One is still pissed that I stood her up for a date, and she’s attacking the witness, because she knows she couldn’t get away with attacking me.

Judge: Attorney Two, be careful with how you dismantle his argument regarding your personal relationship.

Attorney Two: There is no personal relationship. I asked him if he was going to be at the bar the other night for Attorney Three’s birthday. He said he would, but then he didn’t show up. I asked him about it the next day, not because I wished he had been there, but because I was making conversation. I am not upset about that at all. I went there myself with a date. This man is comically delusional, but in the saddest way.

Attorney One: All right, there’s no need for that. I think we can both agree that this was a misunderstanding, and move on.

Judge: Yes, I agree.

Attorney Two: I don’t. He’s been spreading rumors all over the office building about how I’m obsessed with him, and how I chose this case, just so I could see him.

Judge: I was not aware that you two worked for the same law firm.

Attorney One: We don’t. Our firms operate out of the same office building. We don’t usually cross paths in court, but the nature of this case demanded both of our respective expertise, on either side, of course.

Judge: Well, I’m going to help you resolve your issues, so we can get back to what’s really important, which is finding a resolution to this case.

Attorney Two: No, he was right. I can be professional if he can.

Attorney One: I can.

Judge: Oh, good. For a second there, I thought you thought I was serious. This is the last time I call you in here on a personal matter. If it comes to this again, you’ll both be in contempt.

Attorney One: Thank you, Your Honor.

Attorney Two: Sorry, Your Honor.

Microstory 1085: Buster

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Viola Woods was my girlfriend for a time. Now that we’ve learned so much about what she really was, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. I know she can manipulate time in some way, or perhaps the perception of it, but it still seems like she wasted so much of it on me. I mean, I’m a decent human being, but I’m no prize. My mother says I am, but the truth is that I’m unremarkably average. She couldn’t have been dating me as some kind of project, so she could fix me. She also couldn’t have been dating me so we would be a status couple. I get mostly Bs in school, I’m going to a respectable in-state college, and I know how to catch a ball. You know that, even though you haven’t quite released this interview series, people are already talking about its contents. I’m not so surprised about all the supernatural rumors going around, though I definitely didn’t know about them at the time. I keep racking my brain, trying to come up with some way that she changed my life. I asked her out the first time, and she accepted unenthusiastically. We never did anything, if that’s a question you were dying to ask. She implied that she was asexual, but I don’t actually know if that’s true. We broke up, I think now because she realized she couldn’t be totally honest with me. I was okay; not devastated. It didn’t make me stronger, or give me new perspective. It didn’t inspire me to turn my life around, or find my passion. All in all, I believe she had relatively little impact on me. As egotistical as it sounds, I think I simply didn’t need her help. I suppose it was bound to happen, right? No one can get through life all on their own, but I’m not alone. I have a good support system from my family and friends. I was born into middle class privilege, on the good side of town, but I see what the world is really like outside my bubble. As powerful as she may have been, she wasn’t capable of saving every individual on the planet, so I’m just another one of those people who missed out on her personal attention. I’m nothing special, and I’m totally fine with that. She did a lot of good for a lot of people here, but I guess I’m just the exception to the rule.