Extremus: Year 97

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Admiral Tinaya Leithe. That’s what it says on her name plate. She has one more job to do before she can rest in peace, and if what her son from the future told her is true, it’s going to be her longest job yet. That’s exciting—she wants to be alive, of course—but it’s also pretty stressful and scary. She’s already so old, and so tired. She’s really gonna be leaning on Lataran to take the brunt of the work here. Which should be okay. She’s still youngish, and is showing no signs of slowing down. It might not matter anyway. Captain Oceanus Jennings hasn’t sought either of their counsels. Still, day in and day out, they come to their giant joint office, and make themselves available.

Tinaya sighs. “What am I doing here?”

“Hold your fingers up like this.”

“Okay.” She mimics Lataran’s gesture. “Then what are you gonna do?”

“Try to flick the football between your thumbs.”

Before Lataran could do what she proposed, Tinaya drops her hands, and reaches over to her docked tablet. She puts in her search parameters. “Uhh...is this meant to be association football, or North American football? Or foosball. Are you sure it’s not foosball?”

“It’s none of those things. It’s paper football.”

“That explains why it’s a triangle, and it’s not a triangle in any of these reference photos.”

“Do you wanna play or not?”

“Not,” Tinaya answers. “You’re the one who asked, not me.”

“Well, I’m tired of RPS 101 Plus. I was just trying to change things up.”

“You could always get into Quantum Colony, like everyone else.”

“No, that game gives me the willies.” Lataran shivers. “There’s something too real about it.

“Yeah.” Tinaya stands up. “I’m gonna take a walk on the trails.”

“You do that,” Lataran replies. “You’re welcome, by the way!” she calls up after Tinaya is some distance away. She never lets her friend forget that she’s the one who built their little corner of paradise as a gift.

“Thank you!”

Just as Tinaya is reaching the entrance to the path, the doorbell rings. “Thistle, who’s that?”

A floating hologram displaying the doorbell cam appears right in front of her. “Audrey Husk. She does have Admiral Hall clearance, so she didn’t break in.”

“She’s a little young to have clearance for anywhere on this ship besides home and school.”

“I can’t explain it. Her authorization didn’t come through me. It’s just there,” Thistle replies. That’s weird. He’s meant to know everything that happens on this ship.

While Lataran has seniority here, they treat it as a democracy. She’s standing by the door, waiting for Tinaya’s go ahead. When she gets it, she opens it up, and greets their visitor.

The little girl, Audrey takes one step over the threshold. “Admirals Keen and Leithe, my name is Audrey Husk, and I’m here to speak to you regarding Silveon Grieves and Waldemar Kristiansen.”

“Oh, are you their new little friend?” Leithe asks, gesturing to her to come on in.

Audrey accepts the invitation. “Little is the right word, because I’m shorter than I will be.”

“Uhh...”

“That is, I’m shorter than I’m used to being...”

Tinaya widens her eyes, and looks over at Lataran in fear.

“She needs to know what’s going on anyway,” Audrey claims dismissively. “So go ahead and give her the deets.” She crosses her arms like she’s going to wait for it. But it’s not her call. It’s not even Tinaya’s.

“I’m afraid that I would need to consult both Arqut and Silveon, as well as maybe Zefbiri.

“I don’t have time for this,” Audrey says. “Admiral Keen, Silveon is a time traveler who sent his consciousness into his younger self’s body so he could fulfill a mission to protect the future from a violent dictator.”

Lataran absorbs the information for all of four seconds. “Got it.” To be fair, she’s a time traveler too, and it was this whole thing.

“I’m guessing something went wrong, and you’re here to give the timeline a third chance,” Tinaya says. She’s not happy about this kid spilling the beans, but she knows that they can trust Lataran, so everything will be okay.

“Oh, no, I’m not from a different timeline,” Audrey begins to explain. “Silvy and I were contemporaries. He chose to send himself back alone, believing it to be a solo mission. The others and I disagreed. I secretly sent my own mind back at the exact same moment. I’ve been watching over him without him even noticing.”

“How is that even possible?” Tinaya questions. “If he knows you in the future, wouldn’t he notice you acting weird in the past? Surely you’re making choices now that he wouldn’t predict, unless you’re a really good actor.”

Audrey chuckles. “He is a singular man of singular focus. That is precisely why we decided to do this behind his back. He misses things sometimes. He needs others more than he will admit.” She smiles, presumably remembering something from their future. “But yes, I am a good actor. I recently successfully inserted myself as the third leg of their friendship tripod, but things immediately got complicated.”

That sounds gross. “Don’t tell me there’s something going on between you three in a...romantic sense.”

“Oh, God, no. It’s nothing like that. I was chosen for the supervisory mission specifically because there weren’t any feelings in the first timeline, and because I’m the right age. I came at this mission as a total professional, as did your son. Waldemar, however, knows nothing about what’s to become of him. To him, this is just life. I’m afraid that your son’s interference with Waldemar’s childhood development has had unforeseen consequences. As I believe you know, Waldemar is incapable of love. His brain isn’t wired for it. He is also a man of singular focus, and his drug of choice is ambition. But Silveon has been teaching him to assimilate better into society, allowing him to approximate—read: fake—emotional connection. I’m trying to tell you that Waldemar has found a love interest, and I don’t know what it means.”

“Why come to me?” Tinaya questions.

“I don’t wanna out myself to Silveon if I don’t have to, but I require advice. That is your job on this ship anyway, but I am well aware that Captain Jennings is not the type to ask for it, leaving you with a lot of...” She looks over at their desks, which are mostly there as decoration. “...free time.”

“Who is this love interest of Waldemar’s? Do they reciprocate?”

“Unfortunately, yes. He chose a female, I believe, to later set himself up as a nuclear family man with biological children. I know, that’s disturbing, but I knew Waldemar very well in the future. Everything good or normal about him was fake. I don’t think Silveon really sees it, but he’s falling into the same patterns, just with a faster timeline. He had a family before. It was inevitable that he would learn to fake human characteristics, like love and empathy. That’s what sociopaths do. I’m afraid that your son’s efforts may not be doing us any good.”

“He fears that as well,” Tinaya acknowledges. “I don’t know if there’s anything that we can do about it, though. Let’s imagine taking this girl out of the equation in whatever way, so she can never become his wife. He’ll just choose someone else, won’t he, even if it’s not for a few more years?”

“That’s why I rang your doorbell,” Audrey says. “I can’t see a solution.” She looks away, almost in shame. “And I don’t wanna go to Plan B.”

“What’s Plan B?”

Audrey takes a moment to respond. She turns her head back to face them with dignity. “Waldemar will be an adult in two years. Both Silveon and I have been given the greenlight to take care of the problem permanently any time following his eighteenth birthday. It’s a last resort, but it’s not out of the question.”

“Yes, it is,” Lataran insists.

“I told you, I don’t like it,” Audrey reminds her, “but we can’t go back to the way things were. One life to save thousands.”

“No, I mean, it won’t work. I assume you know of The Question?”

Audrey is surprised that she mentioned this. “I do. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Death is not the end on this ship. What you’ll be doing is making him mad, and if anyone can find a way to return to base reality with a new substrate, it’s a man dangerous enough to warrant two time traveling assassins in the first place. Killing him will not have the desired effect. We’re not that lucky.”

Audrey considers Lataran’s position. “You may be right about that. I just don’t know what to do. I’m not even sure if I should do anything at all. Maybe I’m wrong, and Silveon is skillfully leading Waldemar down the right path, just as we planned, but I can’t see it, because I’ve had to keep my distance to protect my own cover.”

Tinaya sighs. “This girl, is she being abused, or will she be?”

“That I don’t know,” Audrey admits. “I was relatively close to Future!Waldemar, but not family close. If there was abuse with his wife, it wasn’t made public, or even an open secret. It didn’t seem like his wife could ever tell that he didn’t love her, but this new girl might suspect, and that may place her in danger eventually. I can’t predict her actions, nor his reactions to her actions.”

“I have an idea,” Lataran says, “but it’s not pleasant.”

“What is it?” Audrey asks. “What is it?” she repeats herself when Lataran hesitates to elaborate.

“I’m still new to this whole situation, but you’re only about four years younger than him. At the moment, that’s disturbing. In the future, it won’t be that big of a deal. If you really wanted to stop some innocent person from getting caught up in his lies, you could...take the job for yourself. Again, you can’t do anything like that yet, but...”

Audrey stares into space. “No, that’s a good idea. In six years, I’ll be 18, and he’ll be 22. If I play my cards right—as long as he isn’t in too serious of a relationship with someone else—I can step in. I can be a shield for any other potential mate of his, because I know what I’m up against, and I know that I can handle it.”

“No,” Tinaya says, throwing up her hands. “No. I know you’re not really twelve, just like my son isn’t really eight, but I can’t listen to you talk about this. You’re planning to gaslight a human being into pretending to love you so no one knows that he has a social disorder. You’re saying it while looking like a twelve-year-old, with your twelve-year-old eyes and your twelve-year-old voice. Jesus. Did you not study ethics before you left the future?”

“No, I didn’t!” Audrey argues. “It was banned from the curriculum...by Waldemar. This is the sacrifice that we make. I promise, I won’t do anything until I’m legally an adult, and then it won’t be so weird for you. We don’t even have to speak to each other again until that day comes, or maybe ever. But I have to do something. The ship and its total population aren’t the only concerns. The girl he’s dating has a name, and if he’s not hurting her now, he might. I have to take that bullet, because I’m the only one who can. The alternative is ethically worse. We already agreed on that, didn’t we?”

Tinaya shakes her head. “Don’t make any plans yet. As you said, you have six years before it’s even remotely okay for you to start dating. I mean, goddammit. You look four years younger, but you are several decades older. That makes it even weirder, and gives you a level of power over any partner you may choose that I am not comfortable with.”

Audrey nods. “That’s true. I don’t think that my consciousness is quite as old as you may suspect, but I see your point.”

“All right, this has been a very heated discussion,” Lataran points out. “You better get back to whatever life you have. I’ll scrub you from the logs so no one finds out that you were here.”

“Already done,” Audrey says as she spins around and heads back towards the door. “Thanks for your help!” She exits.

The two admirals look at each other, neither one entirely sure what to say after all this. “Welp. We’re not bored anymore, are we?”

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Microstory 1770: Net Loss

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I’ve always been a terrible person, who treats others poorly, and only looks out for himself. I don’t like that about myself, but no one understands how hard it is to change. I keep trying to do better, but when I think of something nice to say, it gets stuck inside my head, while a bunch of malice comes out instead. One of my therapists and I worked out the metaphor. There’s a golden net on the top of my throat. It catches all the pretty things that people want to hear, and what I wish I could say to them. These pleasantries are larger, as they should be, but it means that they can’t escape. The smaller, meaner, bits of darkness can slip out easily. After deciding to look at it this way, we began to work on ways to make me easier to work with. Before I respond to someone about something, I’m meant to force myself to smile. This apparently should stretch out the golden net so much that it breaks, and lets out all the goodness I supposedly have inside me. Well, I’ve never been able to break it, but the stretching helps a little. It opens up the holes just a little more, allowing some of the smaller pretty words to get out sometimes. It’s not enough for the Catholic church to canonize me as a saint, but I guess I would call it a start. Sadly, that’s not my only problem anyway. My biggest issue is how I behave, not just what I say to people. Sociopaths and psychopaths say charming things all the time, but if they still act selfishly, or even hurt people, it’s not really good, is it? Altering my instincts to stop just taking what I want without regard to others is going to be the biggest thing I’ve ever tried, and I don’t think I can do it alone. So here I am at this spa, upon the recommendation of one of my therapist’s other patients. They can reportedly turn anyone into a nice person. I feel like I’ve seen this movie before.

I sit on the table in the exam room. The woman who ushered me in here ordered me to remove my clothes. She took them all with her, and never provided a gown. I thought maybe it was an oversight, but when the...I guess, doctor comes in, she’s not fazed, so I guess this is how it goes. She looks me over from the door, quite clinically; not sexually, nor critically. She reaches up, and turns a dial on her glasses, like she’s seeing me through multiple filtered lenses. Once she’s satisfied with her readings, she steps over to a computer terminal on the wall, and begins to input the data. I don’t say a word. She’s the one leading this hoedown, so I wait for her. When she’s finished, she walks back over to the door with a clicker, which she uses to retract the floor. I try not to freak out, but I’m rather confident that the exam table is safe. It stops short of it, like I figured, but I’m stuck up here. It’s a surprisingly large room. There’s no way I would be able to make the jump. The maybe-doctor gives me a choice. I can wait 30 seconds, and walk out of here on the floor with a full refund, or I can take a literal leap of faith, and fix my life. With no context, she leaves. I peer over the edge, and see a beautiful glow emanating from below. My eyes adjust and I realize it’s a net. It’s a golden net. Am I dreaming? Am I just living in the metaphor? This can’t be real, it doesn’t look real. So I jump. I jump belly first. My body lands in the net, and it gives just enough to keep it from hurting. I bounce a little before it returns to equilibrium, and then I’m just lying there. Not for long, though, before I begin to feel skin ooze off my bones. It’s like the net is melting me, except it doesn’t hurt, and I’m not scared. I fall all the way through; not all of me, though; just the best parts, leaving behind only the garbage that once weighed down my soul.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Friday, July 27, 2142

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When Ramses Abdulrashid returned to the main sequence in 2140, he had every intention of completing his loop mission. He didn’t have all the facts, though. He knew this time period would be ideal, but that didn’t mean every day would be available and perfect. He discovered that there was too much activity surrounding The Sharice Davids in its hangar. It had not yet been retired, and people were still stationed there, even though there was little chance of it being deployed. He spent the next two years enjoying life in the reality where he grew up. It was nice not to have to run an intergalactic empire. No one asked him to give them powers, or alter the powers they had, or whatever. It was a lovely little vacation, and it was now over.

“You want our help?” Leona asked.

“For old time’s sake,” Ramses offered. “I don’t need it, but it might be cool to get the band back together.”

“Our lead singer is on his solo tour,” Leona informed him.

“Lead singer?” Sanaa questioned.

“It’s a metaphor,” Leona tried to explain.

“No, I get it,” Sanaa confirmed. “But...lead singer? I kind of feel like he’s more the triangle player, or perhaps the tambourine.”

“Ha-ha-ha,” Leona said.

“Well, when is he coming back?” Ramses asked.

“He could have been gone for centuries,” Jeremy reasoned. “He should have been back yesterday-slash-last year.”

“That’s not where his journey has taken him,” Leona reasoned right back.

“He could be dead,” Bran warned.

They all gave him the stink eye.

Bran scoffed. “Oh, like that’s not a possibility.”

“Let’s try to think positively,” Ramses put forth.

“Wait, you can see him?” Angela asked, looking to make sure he wasn’t wearing his own Cassidy cuff.

“Yeah, am I not supposed to?” Ramses wondered.

“It must be your superpowers,” Aeolia figured. “Anyway, we don’t require Mateo to help Ramses with his mission, and Nerakali hasn’t given us one of our own this year. So I’m in, and so is Kallias.”

“It shouldn’t be everybody,” Ramses said, uncomfortable. “It could draw too much attention.”

“Jeremy and Angela, stay with the Imzadi,” Leona ordered politely.

“Are we still calling it that, even though Imzadi is gone?”

Leona ignored the remark, because it didn’t matter. “Sanaa and I can help you engineer whatever it is you need. Bran and Aeolia can stand guard, and keep people away from us. They’re essentially invisible, but are also very...convincing.”

“And what is it we will be doing?” Sanaa asked. “I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“The Sharice Davids. It’s been decommissioned, but will rise again in half a century. I need to get on it now, to install some secret upgrades. It’s called the ol’ Bill and Ted Gambit. I’m going to be on that ship in the future, and in order to save my life, I activated a special kind of temporal displacement drive, but the TDD didn’t exist, as far as anyone was aware. I didn’t even know it was there. I’ve had to remember to go back in time, and build it for myself, but no one can use it before that moment, or a trio of evil future people will know about it, and it won’t work for me.”

“Sheeeeeeee-iiiit,” Sanaa joked. “That’ll ya had to say. Let’s do it.”

“Good luck,” Jeremy called out to them. “The two dum-dums are just gonna play games, and try not to forget how to breathe.”

“Okay, cool!” Leona called back.

“That’s a cool suit ya got there,” a young woman noted. She looked familiar, but Mateo must have only had interesting memories of her.

“Oh, you want it?” he asked as he looked around to figure out how to get out of this thing.

Imzadi’s hologram reappeared. “You have to keep it so you can get home.”

“I’m not worried about it,” Mateo said.

“I am. You may not care to go back, but I do,” Imzadi complained. It was probably getting frustrating dealing with a sociopath. “You’re not a sociopath.”

“I don’t like that you can read my mind,” Mateo said.

“Why? Not boring enough for you?”

“Do you two need some time to squabble alone?”

“No, it’s fine,” Imzadi told him. She pretended to sigh. “We’re here to help. What is the mission?”

“We’re fighting an evil religious organization that controls millions of people,” one of the other young women explained.

“Oo, that could be interesting,” Imzadi said to Mateo.

“You think I’ll get my soul back if I just have a little fun?”

A third woman stepped forward. “You’ve lost your soul? We can get you that.”

“He’s just being metaphorical,” Imzadi clarified.

“Well, maybe you just don’t know. A salorex can manipulate your soul. It should restore your soul, and if not, and the soul doesn’t exist, then no harm done. Hi, I’m Amber. These are my friends, Sheridan, Heather, and Zoey.” Zoey was the one who looked, and now sounded, familiar. “I...I don’t really know these other people.”

Curtis stepped forward as well. “They’re—”

“I don’t care.” Mateo wasn’t interested in hearing the names of a half dozen other people. He was just going to forget them.

“Right,” Curtis said. “No soul, okay.”

Mateo went off with these random people to fight some evil other people called the Thuriamen. He had a real hard time being motivated, which was his whole thing now, but luckily, Imzadi was able to take control of the supersuit. He kept the helmet on the whole time, and sort of just stayed along for the ride. He even nodded off once or twice. If Mateo wasn’t careful, the survivors would go on to tell stories about this day, and turn him into some kind of hero. To prevent this, he insisted that the others start simply referring to the entity in the suit as Imzadi, and leave him out of it completely. They all understood and respected his desire for anonymity, presumably for their own respective reasons.

Once they broke through the stronghold, and gained enough control over the right resources to command the dimensions—as the natives put it—Amber, Zoey, Zoey’s love interest, Seth, and Missy escorted Mateo to some kind of factory, or something. Dubra and Dar’cy wanted to go, but changed their minds, deciding to wait until Mateo could remember how much he cared about them. In the factory, they found golden collars that workers were manufacturing before evacuating to avoid being caught in the crossfire of the war. Now that it was safe, and they were alone, Mateo was able to climb out of the back of the suit, and stretch his legs a bit. Imzadi activated a holographic face in the helmet, and continued to walk around in it.

Amber found a collar that had already gone through quality assurance, and installed it around Mateo’s neck. “Is it comfortable?”

“It is what it is,” Mateo answered.

“Okay.” She got Imzadi’s attention, and pointed to a vault. “The diadems should be locked up in there. Would you be able to break through that?”

“I might be able to short-range teleport into it,” Zoey suggested.

“The door’s too thick,” Seth argued.

“You don’t know that.”

“I got this,” Imzadi assured them. She took hold of the wheel, and put all her strength into turning it. They could hear the insides breaking apart as she was opening it, but that was fine, they didn’t need this to be a functioning vault after this. Once they were finished helping Mateo, they claimed they would destroy all of them. Theoretically, it would restore Mateo’s drive to enjoy life, but that wasn’t what they were designed for. The Thuriamen wanted to literally control the masses, and this was their way of accomplishing that.

The door opened, and Amber went in to retrieve one of the diadems.

“Should you be the one to wear that?” Seth questioned. “Mr. Matic, do you trust her? It seems like you two just met.”

“These things require years of training,” Amber explained. “You can’t just slap it on your head, and start manipulating people on day one.” She slapped it on her head. “Unless you’re a soul psychic.” She closed her eyes.

“It is no coincidence that these things are amber-colored,” Zoey whispered to her boyfriend.

After a minute, Mateo started feeling something. It was a warm comfort around his neck that spread upwards, and started massaging his head. It then went down, and covered the rest of his body. He started waving his arms around, and swinging his legs. It occurred to him that this was dancing. But he wasn’t the one doing it. Amber was controlling his movements.

“Just testing it,” Amber clarified, eyes still closed. “Here we go.” She exhaled deliberately, and got to work fixing his brain.

Mateo didn’t just get his interesting memories back. He also started oscillating between all emotions. Happiness, sadness, anger, rage, love, hate, fear, shame; everything. Some felt bad, but they were all a welcome relief, and the more he got back, the more his memory of not having them felt like torture; like the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Bad feelings were terrible, but they were a part of life, and when he didn’t have them, he was nobody. He was nothing. That was a hell he would wish on no one. He got his memories of orgasms back, and then he had a real one, which might have been embarrassing, but he just felt lucky to be alive again. He also realized that he had met Zoey before. She was at his wedding, and had later transported him back to his home universe, utilizing the suit that he was wearing right now. That was not too long ago from his perspective, but must take place in her future. The suit would need to be cleaned first.

He couldn’t tell exactly how long the process took, but everyone was still standing about where they were when he closed his eyes in ecstasy, so it must not have been too long. Unlike when Nerakali blended someone’s brain, when it was over, he was still sporting a dumb smile, and not screaming at all.

“That looked like fun,” Seth noted. “Can I try next?”

“Shut up,” Zoey said playfully.

“Oh my God, it was great.” Mateo tried to take off the collar, because it was time.

“No, no, no,” Amber warned. “You can’t take it off yourself. This is a mind-control device.” She swept her palm to the side, which served to release the collar. Then she removed the diadem, and set it carefully on the floor. “Imzadi?”

The android walked over, and crushed the evil device underfoot. Mateo threw the collar down, and let her crush that too. It was going to take more than that to destroy the whole institution, but this was a decent start. Imzadi couldn’t read his mind anymore, but she seemed to be thinking the same thing. He smiled at her and nodded. “I don’t need you to get home. You stay here and take care of the rest. These people need you.”

Her hologram face smiled back.

“I would rather get back home in realtime, though. Zoey, where’s your knife?”

“My knife? This thing?” She reached into her boot, and pulled out a pocket knife. It was absolutely not what he was talking about. The thing she used to tear rifts in the spacetime continuum was larger, more frightening, and glorious.

“Oh, you haven’t gotten it yet. I don’t know where you find it, or what. It’ll let you travel the bulkverse.”

“I know what knife you’re talking about.” Seth turned to his girlfriend. “You seem to be able to cross dimensional barriers, but not from scratch. You need to make a hole first. The time knife would do that for you. It’s not useful to anyone else, because the larger the hole you need, the harder it becomes to tear, and then they still have no way to navigate. It’s perfect for you, because your body somehow metabolizes bulk energy.”

“Do you know where this knife is?” Missy asked.

“Missy, why do you only have one arm?” Mateo couldn’t help but ask.

“Why do you have two?” Missy joked.

“I have no clue where the knife is,” Seth answered. “We know someone who does, though. Jacob.”

“I’ll have to worry about that later,” Zoey decided. “There’s a lot I need to do in this universe first.”

Mateo started to disrobe. “Still. You should take this. I imagine future you will need it to survive the hypervacuum of the outer bulkverse.”

“Hypervacuum?” Missy questioned. She laughed.

“Yeah, I assume it’s more of a vacuum than a regular vacuum.”

She laughed harder. “It’s not a vacuum,” she corrected. “It’s an equilibrium.” Whatever that meant.

“Are you going to go back to your universe naked?” Amber asked.

Mateo carefully handed Seth the suit. “Make sure that’s cleaned. I don’t know if it’s dry clean only, or what.” He redirected his attention to Amber. “Might as well. Hashtag-freethenipple.”

Imzadi walked over and turned around, so Mateo could retrieve the homestone from the suit. “Good luck.”

“I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” He lifted the stone up close to his heart, and squeezed it. Nothing happened. He squeezed again. Still nothing.

“We may actually need to find that time knife sooner, rather than later,” Seth suggested. “How do you people feel about musical theatre?”

Before anyone could answer, a silhouette appeared in the middle of their little conversation circle. It slowly gained color, and tuned focus, until Mateo could see that it was none other than Meliora Rutherford.

“Melly?” Amber asked, surprised.

“I got your psychic message,” Meliora said.

“Oh, yeah,” Amber said. “By the way, Mateo, the two of us are now bonded for life. That usually takes time of getting to know each other, but the salorex sped up the process. I’m here if you need to talk...psychically speaking.”

“Cool.”

“I can get us home,” Meliora told Mateo. “It will take time, though. Have you ever meditated before?”

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Microstory 1386: Marriage Counseling

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Marriage Counselor: Welcome, you both, to marriage counseling. Before we begin, it’s important that you understand that this is a safe space. There will be no judgments here; not from me, and not from either of you. This is not just a guideline, but a rule, and I will be enforcing it strictly.

Husband: I understand, and agree to your terms.

Wife: As do I.

Marriage Counselor: So, what seems to be the problem?

Wife: I cheated on him, and he doesn’t care.

Marriage Counselor: Is that true, Mr. Husband?

Husband: I suppose it is, yes. I would love to say that I simply didn’t react the way she would have wanted, but I see where she’s coming from, and I honestly can’t explain it.

Marriage Counselor: Walk me through it. What happened, and how did Husband react? Mrs. Wife, you go first.

Wife: I’ve been feeling a little neglected, and spending a lot of time on my own. I didn’t go out seeking a second partner, but I often found myself at the rec center, even when I didn’t have a fitness class to get to. I met this woman there who’s kind of going through the same thing with her girlfriend. At first, we were just talking, but then things escalated. It just so happened that Husband walked in on us during the one time it went too far.

Marriage Counselor: Let’s switch perspectives before you proceed. What were you doing that led up to this, Mr. Husband?

Husband: I’ve been pretty busy at work, but that’s not the whole story. I could get it all done on time, but I’ve slowly lost the motivation to do so. The work is overwhelming, and it’s also total nonsense. I used to get really frustrated about it, but now I’m just indifferent. It’s not like the work slows down just because I don’t do it with so much haste, so it builds up even more, and I end up having to stay late just to catch up. One day, I finally just said screw it, and left for home at the time I’m supposed to. Like she said, I walked in on her.

Marriage Counselor: How did you react?

Husband: I barely did at all. My first instinct was that I was pissed; not that I was actually anger, but that I ought to be. As I stood there, looking at them in our marital bed, though, I realized it didn’t bother me. I felt like, if that’s what she wants, she should have it, because I obviously can’t provide for her.

Marriage Counselor: Did it excite you, or just not bother you?

Husband: I felt nothing. I feel nothing. I’m completely numb. I don’t feel joy or jealousy anymore, or anything else, for that matter. I don’t know why, and I don’t want to be like this. I wish I had gotten angry at her, because then we could have worked through it. But she’s just sitting here in this marriage, and neither of us is happy, but she’s the only one who’s trying anymore. I think I might have become a sociopath.

Wife: I don’t think that.

Marriage Counselor: Me neither. You would not have become a sociopath, Mr. Husband. It’s something you’re born with, or possibly develop at a very early age. And even if you hadn’t realized what you were until now, just from my first impression of you, I doubt it would be a good diagnosis. You obviously still care about her, if only in a lesser sense than you used to. Sociopaths aren’t capable of even that. You seem to be having trouble manifesting emotions, but I don’t think they’re not there at all. Are you taking any medication?

Wife: He’s not taking anything.

Marriage Counselor: Well, he’s mimicking some of the symptoms of certain antidepressants, so if it’s not that, then there’s some other imbalance in the brain. Mr. Husband, you mentioned your work. I believe that may be at the heart of what’s causing all this. Let’s dive deeper into that.

Husband: Okay.

Microstory 1274: The Jackdaw and the Sociopath

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One day, a sociopath was sitting in a field—enjoying his time away from other people, and their pesky emotions—when he witnessed a magnificent eagle drop down from the sky, and snatch a lamb from the ground. He might have been impressed by this, but he was incapable of experiencing most feelings, so he just shrugged it off. He then witnessed a jackdaw fly down as well, but there were no more lambs on the ground, and it was far too small anyway. Still, it evidently wanted to prove itself as strong as the eagle, so it attempted to lift the ram. The ram didn’t even notice. Sadly for the jackdaw, not only did it have no chance of accomplishing this, but its little feet actually got caught on the ram’s wool, so it couldn’t fly away. The sociopath walked over, and considered freeing the poor bird, but since he didn’t care about its life, he merely clipped its wings so he could return home and show his kids the funny little bird. The sociopath’s wife had always suspected her husband of having violent tendencies, but now she knew he had a problem. She called the police on the sociopath for his disturbing behavior, thinking surely his actions were illegal. Well, they weren’t. They were horrifying, and terrible—mutilating a living organism—but there was no law against it. So the police were unable to do anything to help the wife. Anger was the one emotion the sociopath had no trouble understanding, and in a fit of rage, he killed his wife. The moral of the story is don’t marry sociopaths; they can’t be trusted.

This story was inspired by, and revised from, an Aesop Fable called The Eagle and the Jackdaw.

Microstory 1094: Julius

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If it makes you feel any better, I don’t like this any more than you do. I’m not as unfeeling as Clyde, or as twisted as Nannie. I’m just trying to make my life better, and unfortunately, that means yours has to end. When Homer first approached me with his offer, I...well, I just didn’t believe him. But when he showed me what I could do, I still turned him down. I’m not a bad person, Alma, I promise you. I know these chains don’t make it look like that’s true, and I understand there’s no way you and I could ever be friends, but we’re all just doing our best here. Homer explained to me that the universe only exists through balance. There is no way for everyone in the world to be happy; it just doesn’t happen like that. Everyone’s fine with corporate executives firing their minions left and right. They’re fine with protected presidents sending poor soldiers to die in an unjust war. But they get all up in arms when we make a human sacrifice or two. Can you tell me, what exactly is the difference? In all three scenarios, people die, so why is it so much worse what we’re doing? I’ll tell you why, because we and Homer aren’t part of an institution. You’re only allowed to hurt people if you’ve gathered enough others who want to hurt people. Isn’t that sickening? We’re killing two people, while world leaders regularly kill by the thousands, but somehow, we’re the monsters. Priorities, am I right? Well, I’ve been through enough, and I’m not going to take it anymore. This town may accept me as the token gay jock, even though I’m definitely not the only one, but it hasn’t always been like that. I had to learn to filter out a lot of hate when I was a kid, growing up in the deep south. I’m one of those gays who can’t contain it, even if I tried—my mom knew who I was before I even did—so I had a huge target on my back before we moved up here. The only thing that kept me alive was football. You might think my opponents would be too homophobic to even touch me, but they were always itching to knock me down. They underestimated me, though, because I hit them back, and I hit them harder.

We’re not going to sit back and let people come after us anymore, and we’re not going to be silenced. I’m sorry you won’t be around to see it, but Homer is building a better world, with more logical rules. He’s recruited some terrible people to help him, and I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but they won’t be around to see it either. I think we can all agree that there is something seriously wrong with this world, and if our species is going to survive, something has to change. The process is not going to be easy, and it’s not going to be pretty, but it starts today, and I wish you could be proud of what you’re a part of. It’s my job to explain what we’re going to be doing to you, and the first thing you should know is that each one of us went through the same thing...except that your ritual ends differently. First, we have to submerge you in water, and hold you there until but one air bubble remains clinging to your nostril. Then we pull you out, revive you, if we have to, and lather you with mud. We’ll set you on the ground next to a campfire. If you’re up for it, you can be sitting, like Maud was, or you can be lying down, like Gertrude. Homer will then use his wind magic to blow the fire towards your bodies, until the mud hardens. After a little bit of chanting, which I suspect isn’t truly necessary for the ordeal, you will reëmerge from your cocoon a new person. This is where things change from the rituals we experienced. One of us will be chosen to kill you, while another will be chosen to carry out the second sacrifice. We don’t know who that’s going to be yet, but I will almost certainly be chosen. Wanda and Della were chosen last time, while Clyde and Sidney were responsible for protecting the sacred grounds. The girls hesitated, which gave Viola the opportunity to interfere with the ritual. The guys got distracted in an argument, and were unable to stop her. Nannie and I will probably have to wield the holy blades, while Homer takes matters into his own hands, and prevents any Viola-like magician from stopping us this time. Like I was saying, I get that none of this is going to make sense to you, but things are going to get better. If ghosts exists, which it seems like maybe they do, perhaps you’ll even be able to watch humanity’s magnificent transformation from the other side. Hell, we still don’t know what all of Homer’s powers are, so he might even be able to bring you back. Oh, we should stop talking. Wanda’s here with the second sacrifice. I believe that you and Ralph have become friends, right?

Microstory 1093: Clyde

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So, I’m driving in the big city—well, the suburbs—when I find myself behind this guy who just won’t drive fast enough. I mean, the dude’s going fifteen miles and hour on a thirty-five. I just can’t stand it, so I finally pass him. It wasn’t technically legal for me to do that, since there was one lane each one, and the street was adjacent to neighborhoods, but I hate driving that slowly. I didn’t have anywhere I needed to be, but he didn’t know that, right? What a jerk. So now I’m in front of him, which pisses him off; enough to make him start tailgating me, and honking his horn nonstop. It’s funny that he couldn’t go over twenty while he was in front of me, but now all the sudden, he wants to go fifty. Well, that sort of thing might have concerned me back when I was driving a little sedan, but I have a gigantic SUV now, so I’m not sure what he think he’s accomplishing. We keep going, and he stops honking long enough to whip out his phone and take a photo of my license plate. Whatever, man. The cops aren’t gonna hunt me down and arrest me for a minor offense they weren’t around to see. They have better things to do, and I don’t even think that’s legal. They have to catch you in the act when it comes to a traffic violation. Anyway, we keep going, and it’s starting to get a little suspicious that he’s still following me. It’s not completely out of the realm of possibility that we’re still heading the same way, but I have to be sure. I make a sudden right turn into a neighborhood. He does too. I make a right turn out of the neighborhood, onto the next main street. He does too. I make yet another right turn; he’s still there, which is insane, because we’re literally going in a circle. I start thinking the guy’s a serial killer, or a CIA assassin, and I’m not meant to know who I’m messing with. But he’s the one who doesn’t know who he’s messing with, because I’m a diagnosed sociopath, and I just don’t give a fuh. I lure him to an abandoned part of town, and pull over. I keep thinking he’ll just drive off, because he don’t want no confrontation, but he’s not that smart. We both get out of our cars; him with a tire iron, and me with nothing. He pulls into a golf backswing, and prepares to knock out my taillights, but his weapon doesn’t make it that far. I take it off his hands, and swipe his chin with it. I’m fully prepared to leave it at that, but then he has the nerve to cough blood onto my new shoes.

One man was there as witness, and I’m thinking I’ll have to take him out too, but he approaches from the darkness with a smile, and I realize it’s none other than Homer Durand. That’s right, Viola didn’t save me; he did. All the way out here I run into a kid I go to high school with. He tells me he appreciates my work, and wants to know if I would be interested in collaborating on a project with him. I have no clue what the hell he’s talking about, but I’m intrigued. When I tell him I’ve never hurt anyone before, he says that’s okay, and he can teach me how to do it better. He likes that I managed to find someone I was motivated to kill, but who I can’t be tied to. He warns me the building we’re parked in front of has a security camera, though, so I need to be more careful next time. Don’t worry, he took care of it, so that’s all over. Why am I telling you all this when I know it could get me in trouble? Why did I not listen to Sidney when he told me you have the ability to make people tell you the truth? Why am I not freaking out that it’s working? Because I know you can’t do anything about it. You wanna hear the truth, Alma? Here’s the truth. Viola interrupted a delicate ritual Homer and we were performing. It’s important, but not irreproducible. We’re going to do it again, and this time, we won’t fail. This interview series you’re working on won’t see the light of day, Alma, because Homer has chosen you. You won’t be in any position to stop us, and once it’s all finished, neither will anyone else. You’ve been wasting your time. This is it for you, Julius is here to escort you away. We just need to find one more victim. Any ideas?

Microstory 1006: Ralph

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Hey. I heard it through the bovine that you have this crazy idea to interview everyone in the senior class, to get their reactions to Viola’s death. Do you have any battle plans laid out, or do you intend to just run around blind. I have this school wired. I know who is who and who they do. You should start with the kid here who knew her the least. Let’s see, we have a few contenders, but I’m gonna have to go with Edna. She’s the newest student after you, so she doesn’t know much of anyone yet. In a town this small—so tight-knit—it’s hard to break in if you’re an outsider. Next, you’ll want to get the Vance interview out of the way. He’s kind of a douchebag, and he rejects everything about Blast City, so he’ll have little to contribute to your investigation. Blanche should technically come after that, because she’s a sociopath, and doesn’t care about anyone. But I worry if you talk to her, she’ll depress you so much, that you’ll just give up. Louise was overprescribed anxiety medication—but you didn’t hear it from me—so she’ll lift your spirits high enough to handle the Blanche storm. After that, you got Giorgia. She’s a lovely girl, ultimately from Italy. She had a lot of problems when she moved to town a few years ago. We don’t get a lot of visitors, you see, and people can be quite insensitive and ignorant. We’re all a lot more woke now, but she’s kind of been soured on us. She and Viola weren’t close, but she’ll have nice things to say about her, which you’ll need, again, after the Blanche storm. I know this is a lot of information, and I’ll write it all down for you. Maybe I could help on a more permanent basis. I can set up microphones, and transcribe your notes, or whatever you need. I don’t work for the newspaper, but like I said, nothin’ happens in this school I don’t know about. Oh, a little more about me? Well, I’m pretty quiet, and almost invisible, like the janitor. I talk to a few people sometimes, but only because they think I have some weird secret, like I’m a vampire, or a narc. Mostly I just observe, which is easy when nobody notices you’re there. Don’t worry about me, though, I’m totally fine. I’ve never tried very hard, and was always just biding my time until college. Viola’s death showed me that this is part of real life too—that the stakes are real—and I will always be waiting for the future if I don’t start living in the present. Anyway, I wish I had realized that before, and put myself out there. As much as I know about this place, there’s still a lot that I’m not privy to. If I had just been more open, she and I might have been friends. I got to get to class, but I’m looking forward to working with you. I’ll have that list ready for you tomorrow morning.

Microstory 1004: Blanche

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I’m sorry, I don’t know what you want for me, but I’m not going to cry over someone I didn’t know. Thousands of people die every day, you expect me to mourn for every one of them? No? Just the ones in some arbitrary geographical radius? No, that can’t be right either, because I know people who live in Chile, and Mongolia. I bet you would care about them too, but not about all the other Chileans and Mongolians. Look, all I know about Viola came from rumors and second-hand conversations. I’m not going to comment on a topic on which I am not an authority. I have my own problems to deal with. My parents are worried that I’m a sociopath because I didn’t shed a single tear, or even attend the memorial service. Just because I’m not emotional about everything, doesn’t mean I’m not emotional about anything. But if you really need it, I will give you a story of a notable encounter I had with her. You’re new, so you may not know this. In a town so small, we basically have two stores. You can shop at the snooty rich joint, or you can come to the regular place that’s been here almost as long as Blast City itself. Viola Woods and her ilk do not shop at the old store, because it’s beneath them. They literally built the new store on top of a slightly taller hill, just so they could look down on us. Yet there she was one day in the valley, I guess to get a look at the funny little normal people who shop there, or in my case, work there. It didn’t look like someone had dared her to do it, but she didn’t look comfortable either. Maybe it’s just that her parents have never let her go in before, and she didn’t know where anything was, but she stood out like a sore thumb. And that’s about it! She bought a few single-serving boxes of cereal, some milk, and I think a magazine. She paid in cash, then she walked out. This was about a year ago, and she never came back. Real brush with grace, I know, I almost fainted. I sure do hope the rest of your interviews are more interesting than this, because you’ve just learned everything there is to know about the infamous duo of Viola and Blanche.

Microstory 910: Croissants and Mandarin Oranges

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This is a funny one, because we all have our favorite foods, but we don’t all have the same ones. Up until now, my entries have been conceptually applicable to anyone, or everyone. Even my Stargate story was about how important fiction is to me, and every nonsociopath has something like that. This one is just about my favorite foods, and how my tastes have changed over time. I was eating a croissant sandwich a couple weeks ago when I realized it’s probably my favorite food of all. I like most types of bread, but this one is the best. That same sandwich made me sick yesterday, yet I had one at a different place for lunch not two hours prior to writing this. I also have to consider mandarin oranges as my favorite fruit. It’s less sour than other citrus, and softer, so it’s easier to eat. I guess that’s a big thing for me. I tend to stay away from difficult foods, because no food is good enough to be worth exerting the calories you gain from consuming it. Aside from these two things, I’m also known for being a huge fan of chocolate. I keep a lot of protein bars in my diet, and nearly all of them include some form of chocolate. I’m also a famous chicken-eater, but that won’t always be the case, because I will, at some point in the future, become vegetarian. Further in the future, we’ll synthesize food in 3D printers, and we’ll eat bars packed with every daily nutrient the average human being requires, accompanied by little tabs that you place on your tongue to alter flavor as desired. Further in the future, though, the majority of us will likely be nonorganic; at least I will. We will accumulate energy from our environment, like solar and wind power, and more exotic forms of energy generation and storage, that we can’t even begin to explain nowadays. I look forward to this future, because as much as I love the sensation of eating croissants and mandarin oranges, nothing compares to the satisfaction of being able to subsist without them. Satisfunction; a new word for your personal dictionary. Excuse me while I take a break from writing to put mandarin oranges back on my monthly grocery list.

Microstory 464: Floor 22 (Part 2)

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Designer: I shouldn’t have to tell you to get back.

Coworker: Hey, man, we’re just talkin’. Everything’s okay.

Designer: And don’t try that thing where you climb up here and tell me that you’ll jump if I jump. Or that you just feel like standing on a ledge. I’m not a sociopath, but I still don’t care about you. If you have a deathwish, that’s fine by me.

Coworker: No, I won’t do that. And don’t freak out. I’m just getting close so we can have a conversation. It’s dangerous for you to twist around like that, and it’s rude for you to not look me in the eyes.

Designer: Okay. Just...don’t try anything.

Coworker: I won’t. Now tell me what the problem is.

Designer: Have you been living under a rock? The company has been having major problems. People have died. And it’s all my fault. I don’t know what I did. My designs should be fine, but they won’t let me back into the system to find out what went wrong.

Coworker: Maybe you don’t need to find out what went wrong, because maybe nothing went wrong.

Designer: What is that supposed to mean?

Coworker: Maybe your designs had nothing to do with it. Maybe it’s someone else’s fault. There’s probably a legal reason they won’t release the designs, but that doesn’t mean they were the cause. Maybe Analion is keeping them from you to protect you. Have you considered that?

Designer: Of course not. Because that would be stupid.

Coworker: It’s possible, but the fact is that you don’t know anything. You don’t know that it’s your fault. You don’t know that anyone blames you. You don’t know that they’re gonna fire you. Killing yourself when you don’t have all the answers is foolish...at best.

Designer: People have blamed me for it, just not officially. I hear the whispers.

Coworker: Okay, well you show me ten rumors, and I’ll show you nine lies.

Designer: This is the tenth rumor. This is my fault. I know it. I don’t need the designs, or to be fired. I know.

Coworker: Must be nice. Being so well-informed. Perhaps when this whole suicide charade is over, you can tell me who’s gonna win the vector tournament.

Designer: Very funny. And this is not a charade. Nor is it a cry for help. I’m just...waiting for my moment.

Coworker: I say go ahead and jump. Then it’ll be my fault. But don’t worry, you wouldn’t be the first person I’ve killed.

Designer: What do you mean by that? Who did you kill?

Coworker: When I was eight years old, I was full of little else but anger. Most of this anger was directed at my parents. I felt very much that they didn’t care about me, so I decided to test that when we were at the beach one day. I swam out farther than I was allowed to, and started to pretend that I was drowning. I started waving my arms around and crying out for help. Well, help came. My father didn’t hesitate to swim out to me as fast as he could, even though he had a heart condition, and shouldn’t have been in the water so soon after surgery. He was supposed to be relaxing. He had a second heart attack, which he probably could have survived if he hadn’t drowned.
Designer: Oh my God.
Coworker: I can’t tell you to not jump, but I can tell you that I didn’t. My mother and I didn’t speak for years, but now we’re closer than we ever were. The shame never goes away, but you have to ask yourself one question. Should it?