Showing posts with label soup. Show all posts
Showing posts with label soup. Show all posts

Monday, March 24, 2025

Microstory 2371: Earth, September 22, 2179

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

I forgot to tell you that the word don’t isn’t in my vocabulary. So to me, all you said was “get mad”. So I got mad. I’m not mad at Bray, as long as you’re not mad at Bray. Are you not mad at Bray? Okay. I just support you. But I am mad at our parents. It seems that every few weeks, we find out this horrifying new secret about our pasts, or our lives. The answer is yes, I was sick. I was apparently very sick as a child. I confronted my father yet again for answers, and he confessed to everything. To his credit, he’s not a doctor, and it didn’t occur to him that you might be suffering from the same condition. We couldn’t afford to visit a doctor back then. Things were bad, the entire industry sector was suffering. There was a huge gap between supply and demand for medical help, and as a result, prices were exorbitant. We could only afford a nurse. He claims that he never lied by telling me that she was a babysitter, so I guess I just grew up assuming that. She wasn’t even a nurse yet either, though, but a nursing student, so she was willing to help for less just for the experience. According to him, she was incredibly kind and helpful, and while he didn’t have the education necessary to assess how she was helping, the results were rather clear. Whenever I was showing signs of my illness again, she slipped me medicine—often hidden in the chicken noodle soup—and then I got better. She had no clue that it was hereditary, however, I’m still mad, because he should have said something recently. He should have made the connection, especially when he was compiling his list of people who might have been responsible for studying the Earth twin. It could have been her, for all we know. We don’t know. Anyway, I’ve looked her up in a database of medical professionals, which I have access to for potential telehealth needs. She’s currently living under a dome in what was once South Africa, before the borders collapsed. I’ve reached out to her, and am awaiting a response. Someone needs to fix this. I have attached a copy of all of my medical records, so you can look for yourself, and give it to your doctor. I also attached our dad’s file, with a signed cover sheet that proves he authorized it. Please take care of yourself. Don’t overdo it.

Love you so much,

Condor

Thursday, March 20, 2025

Microstory 2369: Earth, September 6, 2179

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

I was trying to decide how to send this to you. I didn’t want it getting mixed up with the open letter I wrote to the whole base. I really should have sent this first, and the open letter the next day. So, sorry for the delay, and I’m sorry you’re feeling bad. I’m really hoping that you feel better by the time you get this. Actually, I’m hoping you felt better by the time I got your letter about it. I might know of a way to help. When I was still young—so young that I can’t entirely trust my memories of those days. The poisons had not yet destroyed the environment, but things were pretty bad already. I guess I’ve never really gotten into it, but the gases were kind of a breaking point for preexisting struggles all over the world. They were nowhere near the beginning of conflict. That was a hard time for us, but I was oblivious, because I was too young to understand. I was a little hungry some of the time, but not starving, and definitely not neglected. Dad did the best he could to provide for us during a difficult period in history, and that often meant spending time away from me to make money. Since he had to be away so much, a babysitter cared for me. We couldn’t afford much of course, but she must have been willing to do a lot for not very much money. She was so kind to me, I always thought she just enjoyed my company since I was a pretty cute kid. Thinking on it now, though, maybe there was something between them. Maybe she was never a babysitter at all, but a girlfriend. They didn’t tell me her last name, so I can’t look her up, and I’m afraid to ask. I have never otherwise known him to date. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It’s just that, I was having my own troubles during all that where I was getting sick kind of regularly, and in different ways. Man, maybe I really should ask dad about that to see what was going on. Was I terribly ill, with something concrete and diagnosable? No matter what was wrong, one thing that my caretaker did for me every single time was make me chicken noodle soup. Also looking back at that, I doubt it was even real chicken. However, I still have the recipe, and I’ve attached it here in case you have the right ingredients to supplement what isn’t available. Maybe you have nothing that works. Or maybe you have chicken noodle soup all the time, and I sound like a patronizing doofus. Just...I hope you’re feeling better, and that things are going okay with you, okay? How’s Bray? How was my letter received by your friends? When are you coming down to Earth for a visit?

Take care of yourself,

Condor

Saturday, July 25, 2015

Crossed Off: Someone Else’s Goat Tails (Part III)

Though Starla felt awkward, Magnus Shapiro and Denton stared at each other like they were in the middle of an intense game of Polygon. She had checked in with their minds briefly while reading the menu; only long enough to find that they had all decided to order soup because it was the quickest thing to swallow, allowing a more fluid conversation. Shapiro could somehow feel her inside his head, so she was forced to leave quickly. “You’re a telepath.”
“Not in so few words,” Starla answered, trying her best to reach their intellectual levels.
After the waitress left, Magnus Shapiro placed his elbows on the table and pursued a line of question. “Tell me. Can you control my actions?”
“I can control your movements.”
“The difference?”
“I can possess your body and make people think I’m you. And when I’m there, I can either give you my body, force you to be a passenger, or put your mind to sleep. But, I can’t change your thoughts, so you’ll notice a time shift if I take full control. My ability to read minds is just a required secondary power, and I don’t use it that often. People have messed up thoughts.”
“Fascinating. And you, Mister Wescott?”
“I can learn what others know just by being around them. I can’t read their minds, but I absorb their knowledge after I’ve been around them for long enough. There are downsides to this. I crave the knowledge to a greater level than you crave tomato soup, and everyone has to be conscious for it, which means that I don’t get a lot of sleep. I was hoping you could somehow teach me self-restraint and discipline.”
Magnus Shapiro, who insisted they call him Dathan from then on, nodded his head and processed the information. “Due to my—honestly, there is no subtler way to put this—superior intelligence, I intuited that there were others, but what you’re implying is not what I predicted.”
“What did you expect?” Denton asked.
Dathan went on, “I assumed that others like me would simply be either more or less intelligent than I. My theory was that, if we could harness our brain power more effectively, we could do anything within the laws of physics; but all laws would remain at a constant. If Subject A is telepathic, and Subject B is empathic, it simply means that Subject B has not yet learned telepathy, and also that Subject A must necessarily be empathic as well. But you two have latched on to niches. I have no reason to believe that you, Starla could one day absorb knowledge passively. Likewise, I can’t imagine that Denton would ever be capable transferring his consciousness to others.”
“Because we’re too dumb for it?” Starla asked.
Denton laughed. “No. He’s saying that it’s not about how smart we are. The fact that the three of us present completely different abilities suggests that something else is the cause. We’re not dumb, but we aren’t this way because we’re smarter. We’re this way because our genetic code is different than that of normal people.”
“Yes,” Dathan responded, this time not concerned that the waitress could hear them. “What I want to know is why. The only reason organisms evolve is because certain individuals in a generation possess a random mutation that turns out to be beneficial to their survival. They pass on these genes either because they live long enough to propagate their species—to the disappointment of those without the mutation—or because potential mates find the mutation in question to be desirable, to the frustration of less desirable rivals.”
“And is that not what’s happening here?” Starla was more lost than ever.
“Well, we’re human. We aren’t born with a fur coat, because we kill animals and take their coats. We don’t have large sharp teeth to build shelters with trees because we’re smart enough to develop sophisticated tools that do that for us. Do not misunderstand me, evolution is still going strong for the human race. You can’t stop mutations, despite what eugenicists might love to believe...” Dathan trailed off and stopped himself. He had just discovered a truth. “That’s it.”
Denton leaned forward. “What’s it?”
“Eugenicists. That’s the only explanation.”
“I don’t follow,” Dathan said. “I mean, I do follow. I know exactly what you’re talking about, but I don’t quite know how you came to the conclusion that you could rule out all possibilities besides eugenics.”
Starla adjusted herself in her chair. “I just plain don’t follow.”
Denton explained it to her while Dathan remained in his trance. “Eugenics is built on the idea that we can pick and choose desirable mutations purposely. Instead of a fish being able to survive better than its brothers because it has larger fins and is thusly a little faster, a person protects that fish and forces it to mate with others it has chosen, sometimes killing fish they don’t like. It’s basically breeding. We’ve seen it with the kaidas. Someone liked goats, but they didn’t like how bad goats were with the indoors, so they only kept the baby goats that could be better trained. Only those goats were allowed to make more babies, and eventually you have a completely docile and obedient kaidas who would have a hard time surviving in the wild, and even looks noticeably different than a wild goat. And some of them were bred for their milk, meat, and fur, so you have farm goats which are neither docile nor wild. That doesn’t sound like much of a problem until you apply these same principles to humans, and try to decide who is allowed to live and procreate, and who is of no use and needs to be discarded.”
“That’s awful.”
Denton shrugged, clearly used to being the smartest one in the room. “It’s what the War of 1899 was about. A disgraced lawyer who lives on the other side of the world reads articles about eugenics from our scientists and becomes responsible for the killing of thousands of people because they weren’t good enough for him and his followers. We blame his country, and bomb the hell out of it.”
“I guess I should pay better attention in history class.”
Denton looked down at his soup, first realizing that he had yet to try it. “I cannot relate to that. I often wish I could.”
Dathan finally came back to the discussion. “I as well.”
Starla laughed. “Oh, you’re still here? Have you figured out what’s wrong with us?”
“Absolutely nothing, of course. I haven’t really figured out anything. Mister Wescott was right. There are other possibilities that I cannot yet rule out, but my instinct is that this was done to us intentionally.”
“But the timeline doesn’t work out,” Denton countered. “Not with how slow evolution is, and how recently scientists would have needed to have so much as attempted this.”
Dathan scratched his hair vigorously. “No, you’re right; it doesn’t. For our abilities to be so ingrained in us that we use them without thinking, experiments would have to have been done to our ancestors many generations back. But for the necessary technology to exist, it couldn’t have happened more than a century ago, even assuming the rogue scientists were twenty years ahead of the standard.”
“Sounds like we’re in a pickle.” Starla took a bite out of her pickle.
“If our crazy theory about ancient rogue scientists is true, you know what else this means, right?” Denton asked of Dathan who nodded in agreement.
“That they probably didn’t limit themselves to neurological enhancements, and that if we’re not alone, other people could have drastically different abilities that have barely anything to do with the brain?” Starla slurped up the remaining pickle seeds and prepared to go back to her soup. When they looked at her funny, she simply said, “what? Is that wrong?”