Microstory 2373: Earth, October 6, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

I’m relieved that you’re feeling better, but I’m still worried about you. What are your message quotas? Maybe you could send me daily updates? Yeah, I’ll always be a week behind, but I’ll feel better if I can count on something coming in every day. Or maybe that would be even more stressful, because what if you’re too busy, or you forget? It might make me start freaking out. I dunno, you decide. I just want you to be okay. Who else do you have in your life besides Bray? Does Velia help too? Is she someone you can rely on when things are rough? It’s so frustrating being so far from each other. Okay, I don’t wanna be too pushy or overprotective. You live your life however you think you should. In school, we learned about the dangers of living in space. They told us how risky it is just being out in the vacuum, and how lower gravity can impact bones and muscles. But they didn’t say anything about the pathogens that do—or more important, don’t—start going around. You’re in such a controlled environment, which sounds like a good thing, but I guess there are consequences. We’re probably going to experience the same thing here on Earth, with our giant dome habitats. Or maybe the giant part is a good thing.  Perhaps they’re big enough where it’s basically like living on Earth before the poison gases. I don’t know anything about this stuff. Have they done studies on it? Do space colonists have weakened immune systems because they’re not exposed to random environmental foreign contaminants, or whatever? Perhaps someone should be comparing twins for this instead of behavioral differences. I shouldn’t say that out loud, give anybody any bright ideas. For all I know, that was part of what they were trying to study in us.

Thinking of you always,

Condor

Microstory 2322: Vacuus, October 18, 2178

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Dear Condor,

I’m back online. Whew, that took longer than we expected/hoped. Home Day—which I forgot to tell you is what we call the triennial holiday that we observe to celebrate coming out of survival mode after landing on this world—was two days ago. The IT team had some major issues while they were trying to upgrade the hardware. I don’t know much about what they were dealing with, since that’s not my department. All I know is that my systems always get changed over at the end, because I still need to be on the lookout for radiation issues. Our servers were down for almost a month, which we’ve never had to endure before. Again, it didn’t really affect me, except that I wasn’t able to converse with you, so that was annoying. A lot of people had it a lot worse, though. They didn’t plan to have to stop their work for so long. Everybody was happy to have a vacation, but at some point, they wanted to get back to their jobs. That’s their purpose in life, to contribute to scientific advancement, and make a name for themselves. It was too dangerous to leave the habitat most of the time, because everything would have to be done manually, and most of the safety redundancies were gone. So people got a little bit of cabin fever. We even had a lockdown for two days, because they were testing the lockdown protocols, but couldn’t figure out how to get it turned off. I guess it was good that they learned from their mistakes before there was a real emergency. No one was able to leave their designated area for that entire time. Fortunately, I don’t really leave my room anymore anyway, now that our mom is dead. I sleep and work in the same compartment, and I’m all stocked up. Not everyone lives like that. Since I’ve never been able to leave my workstation unmanned for extended periods of time, I have special permission to store an expanded cache of rations. As long as the plumbing, electricity, and ventilation keep working, I reckon I could remain in my quarters for at least two months. It might even be longer with the carbon scrubber that I don’t use, and since I have this packet of seeds that I don’t bother with. Other people like to grow their own plants, but I prefer the prepackaged stuff. Gardening just isn’t my thing, but I could do it if I had no choice. Okay, sorry, I’m rambling again. Let me know how you’ve been. Surely our dad has been able to make contact again by now.

Back from radio silence,

Corinthia

Microstory 2321: Vacuus, September 26, 2178

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Dear Condor,

Thank you for the sentiment regarding my job. I’m okay whether it’s important or not. It gives me something to do, and besides, it’s not like I have to sit and stare at the alarm for hours on end. There are other tasks, like making sure communications are running smoothly. I mean the communications between various outposts on Vacuus, not to other planets. It would give me a lot more freedom if I had full access to those systems. I would probably know more about Earth than you! Speaking of interplanetary communications, I should have said earlier that they’re going to be down for the next couple of weeks or so. They’re overhauling the entire system, which is something they do every three Earthan years. We’re still on your schedule, which I’m sure you’ve noticed since I’m dating these messages according to your calendar. That’s not just for your benefit. There are certainly no local periodic astronomical phenomena to base anything off of. Anyway, back to the explanation about the systems. Obviously, they update the software about once per month to make it faster, more efficient, and just better overall. But at the end of what they call a Research Cycle, they also upgrade the hardware, because those software updates stop being enough to keep up with advancing technologies, and operational needs. We have all sorts of anniversaries here. The day we launched, the day we landed, the day the first baby was born on Vacuus. One of these “anniversaries” only happens every three years, because we were on this planet for that long before people finally felt like we weren’t just trying to survive, but actively starting to conduct stable daily research as true Vacuans. I dunno, it seems kind of arbitrary to me. No one day marked the end of survival mode, and the beginning of thriving mode, but it’s a pretty big deal. It doesn’t actually happen until the end of October, but that’s when we celebrate it, so they always want the big overhaul to be finished by then. I definitely won’t be able to send you any messages, but it’s a two-way street as far as the transceiver goes, so your messages to me won’t come through either, and in fact, may not even be waiting on a server somewhere for me to read later. I may not ever be able to read a message that tried to come through during the upgrades. If you do try to send something—as people used to say in the olden days—it could get lost in the mail. I’ll hit you back when systems are up and running again. I apologize for not warning you about this sooner. I just forgot about it, because I have to do so much to prepare as part of my job, and I’ve never spoken to anyone who doesn’t already know everything about it.

Until we can talk again,

Corinthia

Microstory 2283: Is How it Goes

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I’m sorry to disappoint you, folks but there’s nothing special to report in regards to my sleep study. Why am I sleeping poorly, besides the pain that I’m still in? Stress, mostly. Stress and anxiety. We were pretty sure that that was the issue, but we tested for it in case it was something weird. They took a lot of blood and other samples, though, and there’s nothing out of the ordinary. I’ve always had problems sleeping. When I was a kid, people would tell me that you need eight hours of sleep per night, so I would ask whether that meant we need six hours total, accounting for the two hours it takes to fall asleep, or if I need to give myself a ten hour window. They had no clue what I was talking about. It was taking them ten or twenty minutes to fall asleep. That’s when I realized that I hated people. Not really, lol, but...kind of. I apologize that I’m giving you such an unexciting explanation, because my readers may tune out because of it, but this is how it goes, and it should be for now. Maybe it’s not great for engagement, but that’s what we want. I prefer it to be boring, after all that I’ve been through this year. Stress, I can handle. I have been dealing with it my whole life, even as a child. I’m sure I’ll start to sleep better now. Speaking of which, let’s go test that out now. Goodnight, everybody!

Microstory 2281: Their Favorite Bloopin Snooters

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Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3. The story below is also partially AI Generated by Google Gemini Advanced

No updates for you today, so instead, I’ll post a bad story that I wrote while I was still on narcs soon after my surgery just to see how it would turn out.

So, like, there was this dude named Bob, right? Bob the Squirrel. Not actually a squirrel, but he, like, thought he was a squirrel. Don’t ask me why, it’s a long story. Anyway, Bob’s chillin’ in this oak tree, munchin’ on some sewing machines, when BAM! A freakin’ UFO crashes right into the tree next to him. Aliens, dude! Little green dudes with antennas and laser guns. They’re all like, “Take us to your leader,” and Bob’s just starin’ at ’em like, “dude, I’m a alligator. I don’t even know what a leader is.”

But these aliens, they’re persistent, see? They zap Bob with this weird money offering, and suddenly, he can speak fluent Orangutan. Or maybe it was bleep, I dunno, alien languages all sound the same to. Anyway, Bob’s like, “whoa, cool! I can talk to fresh prince now!” And the aliens are all excited, thinkin’ Bob’s gonna lead them to the yogurt coma or somethin’.

But Sam, he’s got other plans. He’s always wanted to go to dream-dream-dream-dream. So he hops on the spiked cartwheel, tells the ghosts to set a course for the happiest place on birth. The renegades, they’re a bit confused, but they figure, “hey, why not? We’re on an intergalactic blood trip!”

So they zoom off to ashtray, and Albert is havin’ the time of his life. He’s ridin’ track, eatin’ home keys, and takin’ selfies with invisible red blankets. The sisters, they’re not so into it. They keep tryin’ to get Ronald to focus on the whole flood paper folder thing, but Grace’s all like, “dude, chill out. Let’s go fall green again!”

Meanwhile, back on laptop, the government’s in a panic. They’ve lost contact with Fulton the Squirrel, their top secret agent who was supposed to be infiltrating the alien dadaship. They don’t know what to do. The emperor have, the generals yellin’ at each other, and the scientists are scratchin’ their butts...

But Mary, he’s oblivious to all the chaos. He’s too busy havin’ a blast at rodeo clowns, hangin’ with Peanut Butter and Arsenic. The edgh, they’re startin’ to get fhd. They miss their rthrth, their weird wetwe pejyyts, and their favorite bloopin snooters.

And as the Unidentified Fillorian Objection disappears in, Bob the Squire, the accidental interhouse ambassador, waves goodbye to all the nothing, ready for his nex adventure. Or maybe he just fell asleep and dreamt the whole thing. Who knows, it’s all.

The end...or is it? Maybe I’m still out there, explorin’ the universe, trying to try to try, and having an existential rices. The possibilities are not, just like this story, which could go on forever if I let it push me around like I usually do because no one can see if drip. But I gotta stop somewhere, so... yeah. That’s it. And then there were two people.

Microstory 2187: I Overstay My Welcome

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Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 2, and by Pixlr AI image editor

This is my world. Hi, my name is Jasmine Soun, and I’m Nick’s assistant. He’s been swamped at work today, conducting live interviews, chat interviews, and phone interviews. He’s looking through résumés, and taking meetings with his bosses, as well as his clients. I say it’s my fault, that I overbooked him. He doesn’t blame me, but I offered to write up a quick blog post, so he doesn’t have to skip a day. Of course, he’s still taking a break from it, which is probably a good thing. I’m worried that he won’t get any sleep tonight. I will say this, we’re making progress with this team. Our clients have filled one of the positions that will be working with our team, but which will not report to Nick, or the company that we work for. We’ve also filled one position on our end. It’s the logistician, and he says that he can start right away, so he’ll be taking on some of the load during this intense hiring process. I can’t tell you anything about him, of course, but we’re happy to have him on this new team. I think that’s all that I can say before the legal department gets mad at me. I’ll end this here before I overstay my welcome, and I promise you won’t have to worry about me taking over ever again. You’ll go back to reading your favorite blog tomorrow.

PS: And yes, believe me, we are aware of the slight drop-off in subscribership, and the minimal complaints about minimal updates. We would love to talk more about how this is all going, but it’s a whole legal thing. We’re not allowed to just say whatever we want. When Nick set about to start this site, he didn’t think that anyone would visit, let alone become invested in it, and he certainly had no clue that it would end up like this. But a lot has changed since the beginning, and he has to follow the rules same as everyone else, lest he ends up being back on the other side of these bars. You’ll have to understand, or you can stop reading, and in that case, he’ll be the one who understands.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: February 2, 2399

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Angela is asleep again. Marie and Dr. Farlind woke her up for a few minutes to update her on the current situation, but she had to go back down so she won’t unintentionally purge the immortality water from her system. It’s been about a half hour, and they’re miles and miles and miles away from Earth now. Even so, the computer beeps.

“What is that?” Dr. Farlind asks.

Marie tilts her head at the screen. “It’s another ship. It just disappeared. It’s back again. It disappeared again.”

“Someone’s come after her. How long has it been on Earth?”

“Two weeks,” she answers. They’re about to be boarded. Marie goes over to the food synthesizer, opens the cabinet, and starts to pull the nutrient cartridges out. In the back are various parts. Half of the grip, the other half, barrel, trigger, magazine. In seconds, she expertly assembles them into a gun. She’s finished and aiming at the dark figure who has transported into the ship, and would have been able to shoot if Mateo had not been the one to step into the light. “Oh my God, I nearly killed you.”

“Wouldn’t have been the first time,” Mateo says nonchalantly. He looks around. “Room for three more?”

“Three who?”

“The McIver boys, plus another.”

“If need be, yeah, but who is this other?”

“It’s a newcomer. Name’s Cedar. I don’t know his last name. He’s good people. Constance is after him too. He can’t tell us why. We’ve accepted as much.”

Marie looks at the camera feed showing Angela sleeping in her grave chamber.

“Where’d you get the gun?” Mateo asks.

“Never mind that,” she replies. She tucks it into the back of her pants. “Bring ‘em on board. Then, unless you’re staying, you better get going. You’ve been here for almost an entire day already.”

“I know.” He holds up a portable drive. “This is the updated AI system.” He looks between the two of them. “One of you, or the other, can come back. This ship no longer requires human monitoring. It knows where to go, and how to get there.”

“I’m not leaving my patient,” Dr. Farlind says.

“I’m not leaving my sister,” Marie echoes the sentiment.

“Very well. You still need to upload this. It comes up with a full update on our lives since you’ve been gone. Not only does it tell you what we’ve been through, but you can ask the avatar for clarification. You can also ask it the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow, or how many dimples are on a golf ball.”

“Three hundred and thirty-six,” Dr. Farlind answers proudly.

“Well. I guess you don’t need the AI then,” Mateo jokes.

He jumps back to the Bridgette when it pings again. It’s not traveling at relativistic speeds, since it’s not a ship. It has to teleport within range, and then Mateo can reach it. He returns with Carlin and Moray, then makes a second trip for the last passenger. “Marie and Dr. Farlind, allow me to introduce you to...Cedar.”

“We’ve met.”