Showing posts with label trauma. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trauma. Show all posts

Thursday, December 12, 2024

Microstory 2299: Panic Attack

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We’re putting the finishing touches on the arrangements for the memorial service tomorrow. It’s going to be a lovely, mostly somber event. But it won’t just be all wails and cursing at the gods. We’ll be playing both of their favorite music; moreso Dutch, since he had more time to develop a taste for what this planet has to offer. I’ll be giving the eulogy, of course, and I’m really nervous about it. I’ve never spoken in front of this many people before. The publicist keeps reminding me that I already have a huge audience, because Nick managed to build one for this blog, and I’ve been posting on it exclusively for days. That’s an interesting way to frame it, and I’m trying to hold onto that. You’ve been listening to me talk for a while now, even before Nick died; it’s just that it’s been through the written word, and now you’re going to hear my real voice, and see my real face. Oh God, I think I’m having a panic attack.

All right, I’m back. That white space between paragraphs is where that panic attack happened, but I’m okay. As a medical professional, I know all the tricks, but it’s one thing to give advice to someone else, and another to follow through when you need it yourself. I closed the lid of my laptop, shut the shades, and turned off all the lights. I sat upright in the hotel bed, and focused on my breathing. Despite the darkness, I could make out enough objects in the room. I could see the television on the opposite wall; the painting hanging over the refrigerator, depicting a frozen ice skating pond with scratches on the surface, but no skaters; the faint outline of the DO NOT DISTURB sign; the luggage I had sprawled out on the other bed; and the half empty glass of water on the nightstand. No, it wasn’t half empty, but half full. I could touch the soft sheets I was sitting upon; my overheated phone that I’ve been meaning to upgrade; the highlighter that I was using while researching eulogy commonalities; and the brass gooseneck reading lamp coming from the wall above the headboard. I could hear the sound of children running in the halls while their mother tried to shush them up; the hum of the furnace; and the ticking of the analog clock by the door to the bathroom. I could smell the half eaten box of cheese crackers on the table in the corner; and something dank that I couldn’t place wafting in through the vents. I could taste the toothpaste in my mouth that I should have more thoroughly rinsed out before I sat down to write this post.

I had to take another break, which is why I’m posting this later than usual. Everything is okay, and I think I’m gonna be okay, but as the memorial approaches, it’s like it’s all happening again. I never talked about it before, and I will probably never publicly go into too much detail, but obviously, I was there when they died. I remember the lurch of the vehicle as we slid on the ice, and finally came to a stop. I remember running out of the car, and one of the security guards holding me back so I couldn’t see the wreckage. I remember seeing the wreckage anyway, and feeling the heat from the flames on my face, which felt like they were going to burn me, yet somehow still could not protect my toes from freezing under the tyranny of the snow as it seeped into my socks. I remember thinking that no one could have survived that fall, even though I was still bleary eyed, and confused. There was no hope, and now these memories are coming back, which will only make the eulogy harder to write, and even harder to give. I need a third break.

Monday, November 11, 2024

Microstory 2276: Be Genuinely Worried

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Last Friday, I was able to dictate my own post for Kelly to type for me, and we talked all about my then-current condition. Things have not changed much on that front—I have a long journey ahead of me—but what I realized hours after that posted was that I forgot to express my gratitude. I’m not ready to share the specifics of what happened to me when I was abducted, but I was out of it most of the time. To preserve the internal organs that they were stealing, they had me on sedatives, instead of something stronger, like heroin. Then they put me on anaesthetics during the surgery. By the time I woke up, I was in the hospital with the replacement organs. I was very confused, and scared. I was never able to ask for help, but people helped me anyway, so please allow me to go through the list now. Thank you to the paramedics who found me. They were working with law enforcement during the literal search, and came across me first. Thank you to the cops and FBI who investigated this matter. Thank you to the medical team that transported me, and the surgical team who treated me after. Thank you to the organ donors for your selfless sacrifice for me. Thank you to the nurses and doctors who are treating me during my recovery. Thank you to Kelly and Dutch who have stayed by my side. And lastly, but not leastly, thank all of you for your immeasurable support in this incredibly difficult time. I appreciate your concern, I really do. It’s been a huge help to see everyone be genuinely worried about my wellbeing. It has gotten me through it.

Tuesday, September 10, 2024

Microstory 2232: Death’s Doorstep

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Nick is finally out of the hospital, and back home on his cozy couch. This all happened so fast that getting out of the lease wasn’t on his radar at all. I would have kept paying the rent, and lived there myself if it had come down to it. It’s not like they could have charged a dead guy. His will was clear, that all his money was to go to charity upon his passing; nothing was set aside for debts. I’m sure it would have happened anyway, but I did not study law, and neither did he. Now it doesn’t matter, and we don’t have to worry about that anymore, yay! He’s not quite ready to get back to this website, and not because he’s not feeling up to it, but because he needs to reconsider his life choices. I mean, he had to leave his job because of his poor health, and he knew fairly early on that he was never going back. Now things have changed, but does that mean that he should start leading the team again? Jasmine is doing fine job work, and he wouldn’t want to take that from her. It’s not like he was ever more qualified for the position. He’s not sure if he would want to get back into the business anyway. Things were going on in his head while he was dying that he was unable—or unwilling—to express. I’ve been updating you on what’s going on with his life, but his personal thoughts were a big part of the posts that he wrote himself, which I obviously couldn’t have provided. This has changed him in ways that we could never understand. The first time that he was on death’s doorstep, he gained his immortality right away, but this time, he sat in it. He lived through it for an extended period of time. That would change anyone. We’re going to take his reintroduction to the world of the living one step at a time, so please be patient with us while we figure it out. I have my own life to consider. I was hired to keep him safe and comfortable, in ways that he was unable to do for himself, but my job is over now. Per protocol, I should be moving on to my next patient, but this experience has changed me too. I need to think about whether I even want to do this anymore. Nick says that I should, because that’s why I went to school, and my motivations for doing it ought to still be there, but of course, it’s complicated. Stay tuned, I guess.

Wednesday, April 27, 2022

Microstory 1873: Disturbing Others

In my day, in my country, homosexuality wasn’t just frowned upon, it was outright illegal. I’m talking death by a thousand cuts, illegal. While the rest of the world was coming to terms with it—and in some parts, embracing it—mine was strictly against the so-called lifestyle. I didn’t think much about that sort of thing while I was growing up. I just dreamed of having a real family. I was too young to recall my parents, and the people who ran the orphanage either didn’t know anything either, or didn’t care enough to give me an honest answer. One thing I’ll say is that they were not abusive. They gave us very little food, mind you, but I think that was less their fault, and more due to a lack of funding. But they didn’t hurt us, or execute unreasonable punishments, or any of the other things that may become the catalyst for your favorite creepy horror film. I knew about the homophobic thing, but I was so young that it never came up. Until it did. One day, two twin sisters were introduced to us. One thing I remember noticing about them is that they never wanted to be apart. They held hands the entire time, and I’ve since wondered whether that had to do with whatever trauma broke up their family, or if that was just the way they were. One of them happened to be assigned the bunk under me, while the other was right next to her. The problem was, this whole codependence thing didn’t go away just because the lights shut off. That night, they asked me and the girl on the other top bunk to come down, and then they dragged one of them over, so they could sleep right, right next to each other, just like they probably did at home. I remember finding it funny that they didn’t ask, but it didn’t bother me. It didn’t seem to bother the other girl either. The two of us were friendly, but we weren’t friends. Not yet anyway.

The next morning, our surrogate mother came into the room to make sure we were awake. She immediately noticed the joined bunks, and scrunched her nose at it, but she didn’t make the twins put them back as they were. She didn’t even say anything. She probably wasn’t worried about it setting some kind of precedent, and since boys and girls were obviously separated into different rooms, it wasn’t going to cause any other problems as we grew older. I think it didn’t quite occur to her, though, that two unrelated girls were also part of this sleeping dynamic. But seeing her face is what made me realize it was a little weird. But not that weird, right? Well, we made it work. The twins were happy, and I was getting to know my new friend. It was a lot easier to whisper to each other in the middle of the night without disturbing anyone else, so that was a pretty special perk. As you may have guessed, things changed over time. We were both aging, processing hormones, and developing feelings. I honestly can’t say if she ever felt the same way about me as I did about her, and looking back, it might have been best if I had stuck around to find out. But I was so scared, and I was just thinking about myself. I knew that my feelings were real, and they weren’t going away, and the only way I was going to survive was if I left. So that’s what I did. With no money, no connections, I fled the country. It was easier than you would think. Other refugees were fleeing for other reasons, and as long as I always hung around an older woman, people would just assume that we were together. I lived like this for years, crossing borders, and spending some time on the other side before moving on. It wasn’t until I crossed the ocean before I felt comfortable being myself, pursuing my truth, and living without fear.

Saturday, April 9, 2022

Extremus: Year 39

“Good late night. My name is Taila March, streaming live from a secret section of the ship that you’re not allowed to go to. Pause of laughter. The time is midnight central according to the Earthan clock, on September 12, 2308, and you’re watching Extremus Measures. If you’re under sixteen, maybe you wanna shut your eyes, and cover your ears—or just go to bed—it’s about to get real.”
She walks up and over to her desk, forgoing her usual slew of topical jokes. It’s not the first time she’s done it. She alters the format when she’s going to be discussing some more serious topics. She sits patiently as the band completes its song, pretending to read through notecards and the show’s agenda. She goes on when the music stops, “tonight, we have two very special guests. The first is our very own Captain, Kaiora Leithe. This is a real treat, guys, I hope you’re tuning in. Traditionally, members of the executive crew don’t do civilian streaming, but she wants to clear the air on a few things, so she’s agreed to come talk with us. Second, former First Lieutenant Rita Suárez is here. She returned to the ship about two years ago after having been missing for over thirty years. She’s spoken up a little about what she went through in that time, and has suggested that she didn’t experience the same amount of time apart as we did, but tonight, she says she’s ready to provide us with a bit more information. I hope you all have, and will continue, to show her a warm and caring welcome. As always, this stream is live, and any form of recording is forbidden. We’re off the cuff here; unadulterated, unedited...and sometimes unprofessional, but always respectful.
“That all being said, please welcome my first guest, Captain Kaiora Leithe.”
The studio audience cheers.
Kaiora steps through the curtain, and waves to them as she approaches her chair. It’s true, being on this show is very unorthodox. But it’s not against the law, and as long as she doesn’t reveal any sensitive information, everything should be fine. She’s here to discuss her personal life. As the most famous person on the vessel, she doesn’t have the luxury of privacy. Sure, she has the right to keep some things to herself, but if the captain is going to be dividing her attention between the ship, and a love interest, it’s not outrageous for people to question her competence. She didn’t want to come on here and talk about it, but as the last nine months rolled by, it became clearer that the less she said, the more the public made up about her and Ima. It’s time to take control of the narrative. “Thanks for having me, Miss March.”
“Thanks for agreeing to meet with us, Captain, we’re all very excited.”
“Oh, please, we’ve known each other for over twenty years. Call me Kaiora.”
“Is that true? Do other people who happen to have known you for so long get to be on a first name basis with you?”
“That’s a good point. I suppose it will have to be more of just a you thing.”
“Hear that, kids.” Taila holds her cards to the side of her mouth. “Don’t call her by her name, or it’s off to the hock with ya! Oh, I joke, I joke. But seriously, Captain—Kaiora, you’re here to officially announce a personal romantic relationship, right?”
“Well, I think that ship has sailed,” Kaiora replied. “We’ve been open with everyone since day one. We didn’t hold a press conference, but it’s been out there.”
“But of course, this must have begun before. I mean, you didn’t just fall in love on day one. You had been working together for years.”
“No, it kind of was a sudden thing. The feelings were there, yes, and we exchanged some glances, but neither one of us had anything close to confirmation of mutual attraction. Then, one night, I had a hard conversation with someone else, and I just...felt like I had to take a chance. I raced over to Ima’s office, and we started talking. So it wasn’t love at first sight, but it wasn’t a long courtship either.”
“Is love the right word to use, or no?”
“It’s what we use, but not in the beginning. We both felt it was our responsibility to be honest with the crew and passengers regarding our connection. Not only was it better for the health of the mission, but keeping it secret would have made it—I think—less real, like we weren’t fully committed. So you’ve all been with us as it’s evolved. Though, of course, we do keep some things to ourselves.”
“Of course, of course. Now, you said you had a hard conversation, which somehow inspired you to have this epiphany. Can you tell us anything about that?”
No. She definitely can’t drop Daud’s name, but she doesn’t even want to give the audience a hint about what might have gone down. This isn’t about him, and he deserves to remain anonymous. “That’s internal, and classified,” she states simply, hoping to imply it was just some kind of random crewmember behavioral issue.
“Very well.” Taila clears her throat to continue. “I understand that Dr. Holmes is here with you tonight, but she won’t be coming on stage?”
“No, she has chosen to let me take the reins on this one. She’s here for support, but she prefers to stay off camera. I’m the one who signed up for public scrutiny.”
“Well, that’s true, but that doesn’t mean you’re obligated to appear on screen like this. We all really appreciate the candor. Don’t we?”
The crowd claps at an appropriately subdued volume.
“Lovely. Perfect. Not to cut us off, but it’s time to bring out our second guest. We would like you to stay here, and keep talking, though. And obviously you’re always welcome to come back to the show anytime you want. Is that okay?”
“I blocked the time for it,” Kaiora replies with a half smile. “For tonight, that is.” She recognizes, however, that Taila is ending the interview before getting to the real questions, because it will prompt the audience to complain about it, forcing the Captain to return for a second interview. It’s just a coincidence that this will result in another ratings boost.
“Great, so that will be your new chair,” Taila says, pointing before turning back to the camera. “Crew and passengers of Extremus, please welcome Rita Suárez.”
The audience claps subdutifully again, giving Rita a standing ovation in deference to her. She comes out of the curtains unsmiling, and more slowly. Wearing a flowy, robey sort of outfit, she carefully climbs the two steps, and crawls into the chair like she’s worried it’s going to change shape on her. She had to notice Taila’s attempt to shake her hand, but acts like she doesn’t know what it means.
Truthfully, Kaiora hasn’t been keeping track of Rita’s life back on the ship. She’s really relied on the expertise of the people trained to handle this sort of thing. They never said she was a threat to the mission, so it wasn’t the Captain’s business. Rita hasn’t expressed a desire to be reinstated onto the crew, so the crew hasn’t needed to be involved. Even so, she seems different now, like she’s regressed. According to the limited psychological reports that Kaiora has received, she should have improved more by now. It’s been two and a half years, and nothing she’s heard would suggest she would behave like this.
Taila doesn’t seem to notice, though who knows how well she knew Rita before today? They don’t exactly run in the same circles. “Thank you for coming, Miss Suárez. How are you feeling?”
“I’m great,” Rita says unconvincingly.
“How have you been adjusting to life?”
“It’s been wonderful.” She’s saying the words, but she doesn’t seem to believe them. It feels like she’s reciting from a script.
Now Taila seems to be picking up on the same awkwardness that Kaiora is. “Care to elaborate?”
Rita runs her fingers through her hair as she looks up at the lights, as if she didn’t even hear the question. “No.”
“Okay,” Taila begins, hoping to salvage this interview. “Could you tell us what happened to you after you disappeared back in 2272?”
Rita smiles. “I saw the light.” She’s still literally looking at the lights, which is presumably why she finds her own answer amusing.
“You did? I was to understand that it was a harrowing ordeal, full of constant dangers, and even some near-death experiences.”
“Yeah,” Rita responds lazily. “That’s what happened, but it’s not what happened, ya know.”
“I’m afraid I don’t. I don’t understand.”
“I know.” Now she’s acting like a frustrated and sad child, but not angry. “No one understands. You haven’t seen the light.”
“Rita,” Kaiora steps in. “What’s going on?”
Rita jerks her face around to face the Captain, like she didn’t remember she was sitting next to her. “Everyone’s always calling me that. It’s dreadful, don’t you think? Rita Suárez,” she mocks. “It’s sooo...human.” She’s so disgusted by this.
Kaiora stands up. “Security,” she prompts rather quietly.
Rita stands up too. “Yeah,” Rita agrees. “The more the merrier, as you people would say.” She reaches up to her shoulders, and removes the outer layer of her clothing, revealing a suicide vest. Because of course there’s a suicide vest.
The three members of civilian security rightfully stop, and take a half step back in shocking unison. Without hesitating, Kaiora reaches for her teleporter, and tries to banish Rita off the ship, but she’s unable to. Something’s blocking her. She keeps pressing the button, but it still doesn’t work.
Rita turns around and smirks. “You think I didn’t prepare for that?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“This is exactly what I would do in this situation,” Rita contends. “You don’t even know me.”
“Rita,” Taila tries. “Please.”
“Stop calling me that!”
“Okay, what do you want us to call you?”
“I...” Rita takes hold of what’s most likely the detonator. “...am Oblivion.” She presses the button with her thumb. Instead of her blowing up, though, she just disappears. Was that it? Was it not a bomb at all, but a bizarrely intricate transporter?
Kaiora looks over and sees Daud between cameras B and C. He’s holding a sort of tennis racket sort of thing towards the stage, and panting a little. “Did you do something?” she asks.
“Cut the feed,” Daud demands.
Taila swipes her fingers in front of her neck. The broadcast lights turn off.
“Report,” Kaiora says.
“You remember when we found her?” Daud asks as he approaches. “We finally figured out that she was in another dimension, which only made her appear to be a teeny tiny person?”
“Vividly,” Kaiora recalls. It was a traumatic experience.
He waves the weird racket thing around. “We also figured out how to replicate that.”
“Why? I didn’t give you authorization to conduct such research.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Kaiora says, changing her tune. “You just saved our lives.”
“Why did he need to do that?” Taila questions. “Why would Rita Suárez want to kill the two of us, and herself, and this randomly selected audience?”
It wasn’t her. It was just someone posing as her, so they could gain access to the ship, and move about at the lowest clearance level possible. And to what end? To assassinate the Captain? What would that accomplish, besides ushering in a new captain? If that’s the case, this secret organization—be it new, or still the same old True Extremists—would have to have a candidate in mind who would be more amenable to whatever insane agenda they have. Rita is presumably dead now, so they can’t ask her, but they will have to begin a formal investigation to make sure nothing like it ever happens again. People have always called Kaiora a peacetime captain, but now she’s starting to think that designation will have to be amended.

Saturday, April 2, 2022

Extremus: Year 38

Rita was exhausted as she tried to continue her story, so Kaiora escorted her out of hock, and up to her new cabin. After she slept, Rita was still unable to continue with the story. Explaining as much as she did proved to be more traumatic than she thought it would be. It was tough, reliving the experience. After about a week, she felt comfortable restarting the process, but only with a therapist, who was trained to converse with her in a safe and nonjudgmental environment. Of course, the therapist did not reveal any details to Captain Leithe, or anyone else, but she was able to report that Rita’s truth would not endanger the Extremus mission, or the people. So nobody else had to know anything about it if Rita wasn’t willing to tell them herself. Even so, she could tell them, because others having this knowledge would also not threaten the mission. Until then, they moved on, and slowly reintegrated her into society. She no longer had a responsibility on the crew—nor did she want one. And for the most part, the other passengers weren’t pushy about her giving them answers.
To be honest, Kaiora hasn’t thought much about it for the last 21 months. She wasn’t even born yet when Rita disappeared. And as a Lieutenant, Rita didn’t make too much of a mark on the mission, since she spent so little time on it. She’s important, no doubt, and Kaiora’s glad she’s returned, but if she doesn’t want to talk about it, she doesn’t have to. The Captain has a ship to run, and that’s what she needs to focus on. As interesting as Rita’s tale might be, her therapist was quite clear that it’s not relevant to the ongoing operation of Extremus, so that means it’s personal. And Kaiora doesn’t have time for personal.
The door chirps. A very well dressed Dr. Daud Kreuleck is on the other side of it. “Is there a science awards event tonight?” Kaiora asks him.
He briefly doesn’t realize what she’s talking about. Then he looks down at his garb. “Oh, no. I was...uh, on a date.”
“Oh. Did it...not go well?”
“It went great,” he answers.
Awkward pause.
“But you needed to leave, and come to me for something?”
“I did,” Daud says with a nod. He’s acting really weird, like he’s just on autopilot, and doesn’t know what he’s going to do next. “His name was...”
“His name was what?”
Daud remembers, “Yusef. It was Yusef, sorry. We had a great time. As it turns out, we have a lot in common—”
“Why are you telling me this, Dr. Kreuleck?”
“Can I come in? I would like to come in.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“I just was hoping for some privacy.”
“Okay.” Kaiora selects a contact on her wristband. “Lieutenant Seelen, could you please jump to my cabin as soon as possible?”
Corinna appears in the room behind Kaiora. “All right,” the Captain says to the scientist as she’s stepping back. “Come on in.”
This is privacy?” Daud questions.
“This is what you get when you ask for privacy with a captain who’s in charge of a spaceship of thousands of people.”
“I’m just.” He growls. Then he walks in, and sits down. “Sorry.”
Kaiora sits down across from him. Corinna remains standing off to her Captain’s flank.
Daud takes a breath. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “This is all making me sound like a creep, and that is the furthest from what I mean. I’m trying to tell you that, while the date was perfect, I just kept seeing your face on his head.”
“I thought you were trying to not be creepy,” Kaiora points out.
“I just mean, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Well, that’s understandable. Like I just said, I’m the leader of a ship.” She looks up at Corinna. “I’m sure there’s some kind of psychological complex going on there?”
“Yes, sir,” Corinna agrees insincerely, trying to remain detached from the conversation. She’s not there to listen, but to protect her superior officer. It’s still not clear if that’s necessary, and the longer this goes without an answer, the riskier the situation becomes.
“It’s not because you’re the Captain, I don’t care that you’re the Captain. I mean, of course I care that you’re the Captain. I just mean—it’s you. It’s just you. I care about you. I’m falling for you. There’s chemistry between us, and you can trust that that’s true, because I know chemistry. You have to agree that there’s something between us. You’re nice to everybody, but you’re particularly nice to me. If you could—”
“Daud. Daud, Daud!”
“What?”
“Stop talking.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You keep having to say that.”
“I’mmmm...” He stops himself from the irony.
“Dr. Kreuleck. I am not interested in your company on a nonprofessional level. I respect you as a scientist, and a member of this crew. But I will not be pursuing a relationship. I apologize if anything I did, or said, led you to believe that there was anything between us beyond mutual professional respect.”
Daud can’t stop fidgeting. He’s heartbroken and upset, but he will get over it. This was the best way to break the news to him. It would be so much worse if Kaiora tried to talk about it, or let him down easy. The hard truth was the only way through. He leans his head back against the top of the couch cushion, stuck in a daze. “Could you please just spirit me away to my cabin? I know you don’t use your teleporter for that kind of thing, but—”
Kaiora does as she’s asked. She sighs once he’s gone.
“I thought you did like him?” Corinna reminds her.
“Fleeting thoughts,” Kaiora dismisses. “Besides, it’s not like I can be with anyone, whether I find someone I truly like, or not.”
“Why not?”
“I’m the Captain, as we established.”
“So what?”
“So the captain can’t be in a romantic relationship. It’s a conflict of interest, or something.”
Corinna frowns. She fiddles with her watch, and uses it to project a hologram of the book of Extremus laws. “Show me in here where it says you can’t be in a relationship.”
“Well, it doesn’t explicitly say that, I mean, but come on...”
Corinna closes the book. She wasn’t expecting Kaiora to literally look for the law. Because it’s not in there. It can’t be. “I’m not saying you should go after...that guy, whoever he is. But if you meet someone, or you’ve met someone, don’t let your job get in the way of that. You are entitled to happiness, and having a responsibility doesn’t mean you lose that. Yeah, it’s true that there are some things you can’t have because you’re the leader, like a completely private or anonymous life. Love isn’t one of those things.”
“Halan never pursued anybody,” Kaiora points out.
“Halan is aromantic. That’s why they chose him.”
“Huh?”
“Obviously it’s not the only reason they chose him—or even necessarily the deciding factor—he’s absolutely qualified for the job, but he was a great candidate, because they didn’t want him to be distracted.”
Was that true? That might actually be true. It would have been almost impossible to pass any laws restricting anyone’s right to love and partnership, so they may have decided that their best alternative was to find someone who wasn’t looking for that. “So you’re only proving my point. Whether it’s an actual law, or not, it means I don’t have time for all that.”
“No, because those people aren’t here anymore. They’re all dead. Well, I think that one of them might be still alive, but he wouldn’t matter. That was their sneaky way of protecting the ship’s interests, but they weren’t infallible. You make your own choices, and when it comes to your personal life, no one can stop you from doing whatever the hell you want. Again, I don’t know who that guy was, but do what you want, and don’t fret over other people’s reservations. You’re not Halan Yenant.”
Kaiora takes a moment to think about Corinna’s words. Hoping they’re true, she reaches over, and selects a destination point on her wristband.
“Are you...going to someone?”
“Thanks, Lieutenant. You’ve been a big help.”
“Squee,” Corinna squees.
Kaiora teleports herself to the executive infirmary, specifically the Chief Medical Officer’s office.
Dr. Holmes is staring at some x-rays on the wall, and looking at a chart on her tablet. “Captain, is there a problem?”
Kaiora gently takes the tablet away from Ima, and replaces it with her hand, to get a feel for it at first.
“Captain...”
Kaiora doesn’t say anything. She just holds the doctor’s hand with her own, caressing her thumb carefully.
Ima reaches up with her other hand to match and begins to breathe heavily. “Captain,” she repeats for the third time.
“I would like to kiss you.”
Ima continues to try to steady her breath. “I’m thirty-four years older than you.”
“Is that right?” Kaiora lays her forehead against Ima’s.
“Actually, it’s...thirty-four years...three months, and six days.”
Kaiora doesn’t let Ima pull away. “You’ve calculated it.”
“Yes,” Ima whispers.
“You don’t know the hours and minutes?” she whispers too.
“One hour, eight minutes,” Ima says, barely audibly.
Now Kaiora pulls aways, and backs up a few steps. “I’m going to stand here. Ten seconds after I stop talking, I’m going to pucker my lips, and kiss. That might mean I’m kissing the air, or I’m kissing you. You will have to choose which.”
Unable to last ten seconds, Dr. Ima Holmes lunges forward, and initiates the kiss. They hold it forever before letting go, each taking a half step back again. “Why did you come here?”
“I had to.”
“This isn’t appropriate.” Ima steps back even farther.
“Yes it is.”
“You’re a baby.”
“No I’m not.”
“I mean I saw you as a baby. I didn’t deliver you, but I’m good friends with the doctor who did. I lived so much before you even showed up.”
“I don’t care about any of that.”
I do.”
“If you thought you couldn’t get past it, you would have let the ten seconds run out.”
“Ten seconds isn’t enough time to make an informed decision.”
“Ten seconds is sometimes all you have, and I don’t know how many ten secondses either of us has left, but I don’t want to spend them unhappy.”
“I’m going to die comparatively soon, whether we pursue this, or not, and you will have a lot of ten secondses without me.”
Kaiora shrugs. “That’s what you did. You had thirty-four years of ten secondses without me. Calculate that.”
“I didn’t know you. I didn’t...know your smell.” She finds herself walking forward again. “I didn’t know how your bouncy brown hair frames your face, or how my heart flutters when you come into the room, but calms when I hear your soft voice. I was so ignorant back then. If this is mutual, and you feel anything for me like I do for you, I don’t want you to lose it, because I know how I would feel if I lost you.”
“I would rather have and lose you than not have you at all. The distance between us feels like a firestorm, and the closer we get, the cooler it becomes.”
“People will talk,” Ima laments.
“I’ll order them not to,” Kaiora jokes, but she’ll do it for real if she has to.
“I won’t be anyone’s secret. If we start something, we have to go public right away. Can you handle that? Can the mission survive that?”
Kaiora doesn’t wait long to answer, “yes.”

Saturday, March 26, 2022

Extremus: Year 37

Three and a half months later, and they still don’t have any answers. They can’t explain what they’re seeing in the mysterious box that the drone they sent out for resupply returned with. The person living inside of the box is too small to be seen with the naked eye. The glass the box itself is made of can be adjusted to magnify the image a little bit, and a microscope can make the image even larger, but it’s so far not enough to communicate. They can’t even make out the individual’s face, but she appears to be feminine, and she recognizes that giants are gawking at her. She mostly sits in a tiny chair, reading a tinier book, inside of a sort of living room that looks more like a movie set since there are two walls, and a floor, but no roof. She shows no signs of fear, insecurity, or general helplessness. The scientists placed in charge of figuring this out posit that she’s patiently waiting for them to do just that. One thing they’ve learned is that she refuses to leave the box. They drilled a little hole on the side, but she won’t crawl out of it for further testing. They don’t know why, so they’ve come up with a way to reach out to her.
“You wanna shrink somebody?” Kaiora questions.
“No, Captain,” Dr. Kreuleck says. He’s not in charge of the team, but the man who is has trouble communicating with anyone who doesn’t have at least three advanced degrees, so Daud usually finds himself as the interpreter between them. “The envoy will be piloting a miniature avatar. You’ll still be much larger than the specimen, but if you speak the same language, you ought to be small enough to carry on an intelligible conversation.”
“When you say you, you mean generic-you, right?”
“Umm...no, we were thinking actually you, sir,” Daud clarifies.
“Why would I be the one to do it?”
“We assumed you would want to make first contact.”
Kaiora hadn’t considered it. It sounds right, though, doesn’t it? She’s responsible for the crew and passengers, and she represents them in a way that no one else does, even compared to First Chair. Surely the technology is safe. Surrogate piloting is old technology that has only improved over time. There should be no danger to this. “That’s not what an envoy is,” she can’t help but point out. “You can’t be an envoy for yourself.”
“You mean yourself,” Daud jokes.
The Captain always tries to maintain a distance from everyone, for obvious professional reasons. She would be lying to herself, however, if she claimed to not find Daud’s company to be pleasant and enjoyable, but of course, no matter what she feels, she has to lie to everyone else. “Right.” She sighs, and takes another look at the nano-human, who’s presently sleeping in her little bed. “Tell me what to do. If it’s ready, I’ll make contact when she wakes up.”
Daud goes over the specifications of the interface pod. Everything is pretty standard. They will lie her back in the chair, hook her brain up to the machine, and then link her neural signals to the nanobot. It may never have been done at this scale before, but billions have experienced it in the history of mankind, so Kaiora isn’t worried. A few hours later, the specimen gets out of bed, cleans herself up, and then goes back to her books. That’s when they initialize the program.
Kaiora finds herself standing at the entrance to the box. The hole they drilled is as big as a building from her perspective. She has to climb up the side just to get to it, but it’s not that hard, because the glass is pretty rough, with lots of handholds. It’s not like she can get tired of it either, because she’s not really there. The bot is doing all the work, she’s just controlling it. After a little while, she reaches the edge, and walks over the threshold. Before she can climb down on the inside, everything changes. She can no longer see the box, or the movie set that the specimen lives in. She just sort of sees shapes and colors. Nothing looks distinct. She can’t orient herself. It’s all just a meaningless blur.
Kaiora forces herself back to her real body, and works hard to catch her breath. The experience was more traumatic than she even realized while it was happening. It was surreal, but now she’s shaken, and doesn’t want to go back. What the hell was that? “What the hell was that?”
“Tell us what happened,” Daud prompts.
She describes the images to the best of her ability, and slows down when the scientists seem to be having some kind of simultaneous revelation. “What? Tell me.”
“It was just a theory, and we tried to test for it, but we found it impossible to penetrate the box,” Daud doesn’t explain.
“You drilled a hole in it,” she points out.
“I mean, we can’t get our sensors in. We can’t take any readings. It seems that only visible light crosses the barrier.”
Barrier?” Kaiora echoes. That word is really only used for one thing in regards to temporal manipulation. “You mean dimensional barrier.”
“Yes. She’s not actually tiny, she’s just in another dimension, which is being generated and sustained by a powersource somewhere inside the box. The glass serves as the boundary, and when you crossed it, you became part of it. You were in the form of a nanobot, so in the other dimension, you’re still in a nanobot, so from the perspective of everything else in there, that is how you appear...or rather don’t appear, because you were so small. At that point, to us, you were smaller than an atom.”
Kaiora nods once, and points to the box. “So in reality, she’s regular size; it’s just a different reality?”
“We believe so.”
“So if we teleported someone into the box, they would become her size.”
“Theoretically.”
“Why didn’t we do that in the first place?”
“If we were wrong, it could have destroyed the box, and the specimen. It would be like if we teleported a planet inside the Extremus.”
“Fair enough. But can’t you teleport her to this dimension?” Kaiora suggests.
Daud looks at the rest of the team. “We didn’t...think of that.”
Kaiora continues, “if we transport her from inside that box to our dimension, she should show up as a normal-sized person from our perspective. And if she doesn’t, she’s still safe, because we’ll know exactly where she is.”
Daud scratches the back of his head, embarrassed. “We’ll build the environment, and the laser teleporter. We have to be more precise than most teleportation jumps require. It should take us a few hours to be safe.”
“I’ll come back in a few hours.”
She does come back in a few hours, and the team is ready for the procedure. Kaiora takes one more look in the box. The specimen has straightened up her living environment. She’s made her bed, and shelved most of the books. She’s holding a large stack of some of them, though; presumably the ones she hasn’t read yet. She looks ready. She knows they’ve finally solved the problem. “Push it,” the Captain orders.
“We thought you might want to.” Daud lifts the single-button remote, and presents it to her with both hands.
Without thinking about it too hard, Kaiora unceremoniously presses the button, and activates the laser teleporter. A woman appears in the egress chamber, still holding her books. The bookcase behind her managed to come through too. The woman looks at it over her shoulder. “Oh, good. I was only able to hold about half of the ones I wanted.”
Kaiora recognizes her immediately, now that she can actually see her face. “Lieutenant Suárez, welcome back the Extremus. I’m Captain Kaiora Leithe, Third of Ten.”
One of the other scientists steps over, and carefully removes the books from Rita’s arms. “It’s nice to finally be back. We have a lot to discuss, but before I say anything, could someone please escort me to the hock. I need to talk to Halan first.”
Kaiora looks over at Daud. She knows that Halan is locked up, which begs the question how she would know such a thing after having been gone for nearly 34 years. “I suppose...that’s...a fair request. You’ll need a medical examination first, though.”
“I suppose that’s a fair request,” Rita echoes.
They’re careful not to let anyone else know that Rita is back. The Supply Recovery team that discovered the box in the first place agreed to secrecy, and still won’t be told this much anyway. Kaiora escorts Rita to Dr. Holmes’ office, and once the exam is over, to the hock, which adds yet another person to know the secret in Caldr Giordana. Hopefully that’s the last one besides Halan. Kaiora still doesn’t know what they’re going to do with her, and honestly, a former captain’s opinion will be invaluable in that regard.
After the pleasantries, Rita sits in the guest chair, nervously scratching her upper teeth against her index finger, but fortunately not biting down.
“Take your time,” Halan assures her.
“You’re safe,” Kaiora adds.
“Old Man knew what was going to happen. He was wearing a sort of survival pack. When Debra—that was Airlock Karen’s real name; I don’t know if anyone here ever knew that. Anyway, when she and I landed on the planet, there was no air. We were just in the vacuum of space, dying. I woke up however long later in a tent barely sufficient for two people. All three of us were in there together. Apparently, he had shot us with a teleporter gun, since we were a few meters away from him. Then he wrapped us all in the self-assembling tent. The rest of the survival supplies were in his bag. He called it the Heskit; Harsh Environment Survival Kit. It was equipped with carbon scrubbers, but since they take time to get going, he also had an oxygen tank that was good enough to last us six or seven hours. We didn’t have to share a mask. He just opened the valve, and filled the tent. I thought we were gonna die, but he just kept walking us up the steps. He had enough meal bars to last him a month alone, but we rationed them together, and still made it through that month.
“While we were waiting for the hydroponics to grow, a meat bioreactor printed meat patties for us. They weren’t particularly flavorful, and they took a shockingly long time, but they did the job. Everything was powered by small scale fusion reactors. He programmed and released nanites to build us a larger structure to live in using materials found on the planet. When we finally teleported there, we found that we were not alone. He was there, and he was a lot better off than we were. He was already wearing a vacuum suit, and brought with him far better supplies. To him it wasn’t an emergency, but a planned move. He wanted to live there. That was his temporary home, before...”
“Before he built a time machine to take over the galaxy before the Earthan humans could,” Halan tries to finish for her.
“Oaksent didn’t build shit. He forced Old Man to do everything. He also had a gun; not a teleporter gun, but a real one with bullets. A schism formed between us. It quickly became clear that Debra was on his side, and Old Man and I were on the other. I never much liked Elder, but he was a lot better than that megalomaniac. In response to our impudence, Oaksent modified the orders so that the time machine would only fit two people. The two of them then went off on their merry mission in the past, leaving us only with that second structure, and a microreactor to power it. He took everything else, including the hydroponics, not because he needed it, but because he didn’t want us to have it. Now I thought we really were going to die, but then we saw it. A vehicle was driving over the regolith, heading our way. Long story short, they were descended from the embryos or whatever that Oaksent stole from the Bridger Section. This small faction had broken off from the rest of the empire. They didn’t have any strong feelings about us, or Extremus, but they figured they might as well execute a mission to rescue us, just to make sure we were all living in the same timeline.
“They agreed to let us join their group, and we did so, because we didn’t want them to kill us, or just let us die. I mean, you fall in with whoever you can to survive, right? I didn’t love the life, because it was needlessly difficult. The empire is clearly technologically advanced, but this faction subsisted on outdated and worn out technology, I guess as a means of expressing some kind of rebellious sentiment. Stuff constantly broke down, and we were always in danger of dying. I made it work, but Old Man couldn’t. He wanted to get back to the ship, so he built another time machine in secret. He tried to get me to go with him, but I refused. It was too risky. I don’t wanna mess with time. So I stayed, and that’s when my story begins...”

Monday, November 15, 2021

Microstory 1756: Bee of Paradise

I’ve moved past the most traumatic experience of my life, and I’ve been able to reach some semblance of normalcy. I can’t say that it no longer affects me, but it at least no longer consumes me. I have prosthetic feet now, and while I can’t feel sensations down there anymore, I can walk just fine. I don’t even tell people my situation anymore, because it’s not relevant, and they can’t tell. I’m happy now. I have a better job than before, with better benefits. My boss calls me her busy bee, so she forced me to take a vacation, which is why I’ve agreed to this island getaway. I still find it rather difficult to trust others, which is one reason I’ve come alone, but I decided that I’m okay with that. This is about recharging my batteries, and remembering what I want out of life. It goes well at first, but then I start to get a bad feeling as I’m walking around the resort, and my excursions. I can’t point to an actual reason for my spidey senses sounding sirens, but I don’t think I’m imagining it. There is an evolutionary advantage to detecting the presence of a potential threat even when you can’t pin it down. Something or someone is out there who doesn’t want to be seen.  They’re watching me, and making me nervous. I keep telling myself that I might just be paranoid, but the sirens don’t go away. I really don’t think I’m making this up. I can’t ask for help, of course, because what is who going to do? The staff isn’t qualified to suss out a hypothetical stalker, and the police never help. I have no proof, just my instincts. I try to shrug it off, but the feeling grows worse, and I catch a glimpse of a shadow every once in a while. Finally, I cancel all of the activities I had planned for one day, and lock myself in the room. It’s not enough.

Presumably having decided he’s ready to show himself, my stalker breaks down the door, and enters my room. I didn’t come with pepper spray, or anything, so I’m helpless to fight him off. I head for the balcony, but I’m on the eleventh floor, so I don’t know where I thought I was going with that. It’s him. It’s the one who abducted me from my own home, and burned my feet so badly that they had to amputate both of them. They said they caught him, and he committed suicide by cop. How could they have been so wrong? Did they not look for evidence after the incident? Did they just assume they shot the right guy, and let it go? Who did they actually shoot? Obviously I shouldn’t be worrying about any of this right now; I just need to get away from him. I don’t know how he found me. I don’t even know what he wants with me, or how he knows me. But I know it’s the same man, and I know I can’t just run away. I won’t let him hurt me again, though. I’m going to fight back. I’m going to fight back hard. Not doing that before has been my greatest regret, and while I can’t go back in time and change it, I can do better this time. First, I scream. No one comes running before he manages to cover my mouth with his gloved hand, but that doesn’t mean they never will. It’s the off-season, but there are plenty of other guests here, and hopefully they’re not all at the bonfire. My attacker is stronger, so it’s not hard for him to overpower me, gag me, and start dragging me down the emergency stairs. My right foot gets caught on the edge of a step, and falls off, which gives me an idea. When we’re on a landing, I swing my left leg up, and take hold of my remaining foot. Hitting him once in the face is enough to get him to let go. Then I start bashing him over and over again until he stops moving. Only then does someone come to my rescue, but it’s too late. This time, I’m here to make sure he’s dead.

Friday, November 20, 2020

Microstory 1500: Introduction to Poems

I’m not much of a poet. I wrote several of them in college for my Tumblr, and I can only hope that they were taken down at some point, because I lost my account information, no longer have the email address that was attached to it, and don’t even remember the web address. For as much as I call this a short fiction website, it is a creative writing website. I use a variety of formats, many of which one might call experimental. I’ve done all perspectives, most tenses, blocked dialog, nonfiction, fables, adapted dreams, and even fake news stories. A lot of my work can’t even be considered stories. They’re more anecdotal, where I give a run-down of the things that happened, while avoiding a beginning, middle, and end. Some are part of a series, while others stand alone. I have an ongoing series that I’ve posted pretty much every Sunday since 2015, and associated longer-form multiseries and single series that run on Saturdays. I’ve done everything else that fits in a blog format, so of course I have to do poetry. I don’t know how this is going to go, and I’m really nervous about it. If someone doesn’t like my regular fiction, I can generally take the criticism. When they say the flow is choppy, or the climax was anticlimactic, I can see where they’re coming from. But I don’t know what a good poem looks like, and I certainly don’t know how to replicate that magic. I’ve been through a lot of crap in my life—mostly when it comes to education and employment—but I’ve always had food on the table, a good family, and I’ve never experienced true emotional trauma. I also have shockingly bad memory, annoyingly so.

Several months ago, my dad was telling me about some bullies I had in middle school. I knew they existed, but I don’t really remember the things that they did to me; and not because my fragile mind blocked them out, but because that was all two decades ago, and it’s not important anymore. So if I don’t feel so much pain and strife—if I’ve never been a starving artist, or a soldier, or a victim, or a survivor, what can I say? I can absolutely put my feelings into words, but that’s not what poetry is, is it? Poetry is twisting those words until they become new words on the other side, so when someone tries to translate them back, they become less obvious, and more up to interpretation. How can I hope to move you with the poetry of my life if I don’t even think my own life moves me? Well, if everyone felt like Emily Dickinson, or Edgar Allan Poe, then I suppose everyone would be a poet. The only people who do poetry are probably the only people who should be doing it. So where does that leave me? With the compulsion to do it anyway, even if I don’t belong in this world. But again, how could I possibly accomplish this when I don’t really even have anything to say? I’ve realized that I’ve never had much to say before, but that hasn’t stopped me yet. A lot of writers use fiction to express their ideas, but I usually go a different direction. I use fiction to express other people’s ideas, to tell other people’s stories. I don’t see any reason I can’t do that here too. So as you’re reading this poetry, be gentle with your criticisms, because I’m a newbie, and none of these is from my true self anyway.