Microstory 2417: Racetrack Dome

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I’m gonna say this real slow. This is a racetrack dome, which means there are...racetracks. That’s all it is. It’s hundreds of racetracks just all over tarnation. A racetrack here, a racetrack there. There’s even a track that runs the entire circumference of the dome, which is something like 260 kilometers. That sounds boring to me, but hey, you do you, right? I would much rather stay close to the inner tracks. They’re so much more interesting. The vehicles are electric, obviously, but they’re also electromagnetic. This allows them to do all sorts of crazy stuff, like drive up the wall, or even do loop-de-loops. There are jumps and shortcuts, and drops into rivers of lava. Yeah, this particular dome was chosen for its proximity to a volcano. The volcano isn’t inside the dome, and if there were ever an eruption, there are safeguards in place to seal off the lava flow, and protect the dome. But as long as everything’s copacetic, it’s there. Plus, they have clear emergency procedures in place. I mean, this hasn’t actually happened since I’ve been here, so there’s no way to know how effective their plans are, but they claim to be ready. Of course, the lava they do have is dangerous, as are all of the other tracks. Well, almost all of them. They have bumper cars, and some go-kart tracks too, for the kids, or people who want something a little lighter. If you do get hurt, and don’t want to just jump your consciousness to a new body, they have excellent medical teams on standby. I was never injured, but I did walk in once to find someone having just crashed on one of the traditional intermediate tri-ovals. I heard the collision from the corridor, and by the time I rounded the corner, they were already loading the driver into an ambulance. I asked after him later, and he’s fine; didn’t even have to switch to a new body. I can’t even begin to describe what other kinds of tracks they have here, but if you’ve ever played a racing video game, they’re pretty much all recreated here. They don’t have boats, planes, or spaceships, though. Man, people kept asking about that. I’ll say again, it’s a racetrack dome, not races in general. Look for that in another dome. I’m sure they’re somewhere. I see all these negative reviews from morons who are disappointed when the name alone tells you everything you need to know. Just think it through, and you’ll be pleased with what you find.

Microstory 2132: Don’t Have Anything Special

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The thing about being in prison all day and all night is that nothing about your situation changes. I promised that I would only use my computer for work and to update this blog, and I’ve held to that. You don’t know how hard it’s been to not sneak a peek at the news, or watch a funny video while I’m on a break. I don’t, though. When I’m not busy with something, I just go over to my bed and sit down to stare at the wall. I’m not even allowed to have anything to read, because books can’t be disinfected. The warden said that it would be okay if I read something on the computer, and that he would be more bothered by videos or games, but as I said, I made a commitment. I’m not going to go back on my word just because my life is now even more boring than it was before. I made the conscious decision to leave Kansas even though I was meant to stay put, and regularly report my goingson. If I hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t have been anywhere near the warehouse where I contracted the fungus in the first place. That’s on me. The work I’ve been doing has been interesting enough, but I can’t tell you about it, since it’s privileged information. The rest of my posts this week are going to be short, I’m sure, unless something crazy happens, like if Michael Scofield suddenly showed up through a hole behind the toilet, and told me that we’re breaking out. That’s a reference to a TV show that you don’t have in this universe. Maybe that’s what I’ll do every time I don’t have anything special to tell you about my day; tell you more about how my homeworld worked, and how it’s different than yours. We’ll see. For now, I’ll just end this here, and implore you to use me as a cautionary tale. Things might not seem that bad, since I’ve been given so many accommodations, but my story is not typical, and it still sucks here. If I had the choice between prison or jail, or being completely free, I would choose freedom every day of the week.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 22, 2443

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With their advanced substrates, the team was capable of surviving any number of harsh environments, but that wasn’t something that they were going to seek out on purpose. It was really only something they should use when they had no other choice, and this wasn’t such a case; it was a test. The reframe engine was ready, but there was still a chance that it would vaporize the whole ship upon initiation of reframe speeds. So they didn’t want to be anywhere near it when they first turned it on. Ramses created an interfacing computer, which would allow him to operate the Vellani Ambassador from Ex-382, where it was safer. It wasn’t safe, per se, because the world itself was dangerous in its own special way, but it was manageable for a period of time since they were staying within the self-contained atmosphere of their pocket dimension, and because they had vacuum suits for excursions.

The entire surface of Ex-382 was a toxic wasteland. No one lived here, and hopefully they never did. They at least didn’t detect any signs of civilization here, except for the piles and piles of garbage. It was all over the place, randomly strewn about. The smell was unbearable, even here at the South Pole, where there wasn’t as much as there was elsewhere. This wasn’t just a planet-wide landfill. They dumped truly dangerous materials here, namely radioactive waste. By the time the ship Extremus was built, fusion power was ubiquitous and unremarkable, which meant that Bronach Oaksent would have been able to utilize it as soon as he went back in time, and began to build his empire in the Goldilocks Corridor. There should be no real reason for him to make any plans that included nuclear fission power plants. It was a perfectly fine alternative for Earth during its developmental years, but when one was starting from scratch, it just didn’t make much sense.

One of the hardest obstacles to overcome when pursuing fusion and antimatter solutions to energy needs was manufacturing the stuff. It didn’t exactly grow on trees. That was why it took so long for these both to be adopted, even when power generation techniques were perfected. Mining fissile elements was not easy, but it was relatively straightforward. Hydrogen was the lightest element in the universe, which was why it literally floated away, making it difficult to capture, and even to store. Still, Oaksent was an immortal who came from the future, and had untold time to formulate his new civilization. Using resources to maintain the infrastructure for nuclear fission production was probably only done as yet another form of control over his people. He didn’t have to use it, but making people labor away in the mines, in the plants, and on the ships that brought all the waste here, was keeping everyone reliant on him, and not letting them be too happy. He didn’t like happy people. That much was clear from whatever psychological profile they could cook up in their collective headcanons. He wasn’t dumping the waste on the planets where people lived at least. That should also be in his profile, that he didn’t want his people to die; not prematurely anyway.

“Ugh, I can still smell it,” Marie noted.

“Switch off your olfactory receptors,” Ramses instructed. He was tweaking the interface system, making sure that he was linked to every single system on board the Ambassador, no matter how small or seemingly inconsequential.

“That...what? That’s something we can do?” she questioned.

“Did no one read the manual?” Ramses asked with a sigh.

“Be careful,” Leona warned Marie, and the rest of the team currently present. Smell is highly linked to breathing, and also serves the evolutionary purpose of alerting you to smells that could lead to death. Don’t keep it off all the time. You may still get sick, and just not know it.”

“So...” Marie pressed.

“You can shut it off right now because of the smell,” Leona allowed. “I would lock up our suits, but we have to keep them close and accessible in case of emergency. Just remember to turn it back on once we live. I’ll remember to clean and disinfect the suits thoroughly later.”

“I’ll do that,” Mateo volunteered. “You have more important concerns to worry over, Captain.”

“Did you guys know that Earth is 70% water? I’ve never seen that much water in my life.” Korali was still reading about Earth from the central archives, and had come to the conclusion that all of these simple facts were not likely to be lies that the team made up in order to brainwash her, but that it was the other way around. They were trying to show her what the galaxy was really like, and even though she had by no means switched sides already, she was starting to accept that some of the things that she was brought up to believe were not entirely—or maybe not at all—accurate.

“Hmm. You’re right,” Mateo realized. “The worlds that we’ve gone to have been mostly barren, with fairly little water. The resort world had the most, but they were nowhere near the levels of Earth from the orbital images that I’m remembering.”

“More control,” Leona guessed. She was spraying an air purifier on their suits to mask some of the terrible smell until they could be fully detailed.

“I’m ready,” Ramses announced. “What about the backup?” Leona asked him.

“It’s been coded, and will only take a year to manufacture,” he answered.”

“The pod is fueled?”

Ramses laughed. “It’s fine. It’ll get us into space. I wouldn’t let us go into this half-prepared.” The dimensional generator was attached to one of the personal pods. These were capable of traveling through a star system in a matter of months, and landing on an orbital, maybe to refuel hydrogen levels, or to manufacture other structures, or just to wait for rescue. They weren’t really designed to launch from the surface of a massive terrestrial planet, but they were technically capable of it. It would use nearly its entire reserve of isotopes to make it happen, but it was better than staying here if the Vellani Ambassador was destroyed during the test. Ramses planned to install teleporters on them, but that would also require temporal batteries or something, because they didn’t use any less fusion power than the rocket equation demanded for a regular launch, so it wasn’t like that solved the problem. Hopefully, the test of the reframe engine would go perfectly, and none of this would matter.

“I appreciate all of your hard work,” Leona told him. “It does not go unnoticed. Go ahead and start the countdown.”

Ramses switched on all of the camera feeds, including the satellite that they had dropped out to watch the event from the outside. He started counting down from eleven, hovering his hand over the button. Everyone held their breath, including Korali, who managed to peel herself away from her studies long enough to bear witness. “Three, two, one, max.”

The ship disappeared in a flash of light. They all looked at the other views now, which were coming in from the interior. The bridge looked perfectly normal, and was completely intact. The corridors and rooms were all still fine. The camera from the engine room was a problem at first, which prevented everyone from exhaling. It was showing them snow for the first several seconds until the spatio-temporal distortion resettled, and the image returned to normal. The engine was holding as it was meant to. It was vibrating at an incredibly high frequency; so high, in fact, that it was imperceptible to human vision, even with these advanced eyes that they had. If the ship was going to vaporize, it should have done it by now due to the immense stress that these intense oscillations were causing the machine to experience. Still, they wanted to be sure that the nanosealant was permanent, and not merely holding temporarily.

For the next three hours, the Ambassador flew away from them, managing to make it out about 15,000 astronomical units. The engine then shut off for an hour while an army of microbots spread all over the engine to check for nanofractures. Leona knew exactly where the original ruptures were. If the bots found these to have returned, the smart ones here would know that the sealant hadn’t fully worked. If they found new ruptures, that would tell them that there was some kind of systemic issue that might not be repairable by what they had, or by any efforts at all. By this time, most of the group had begun to breathe again. Mateo and Marie occupied their time teaching Korali how to play RPS 101 Plus. Ramses worked on other projects while he kept an eye on the quantum data coming through from the diagnostics. Leona proverbially held her breath the whole time as she focused on nothing but the data. It was her only concern. If this wasn’t successful, they could build a new ship, but their plan to free the people of the Corridor from its despot would have to be placed on hold indefinitely until they regathered resources.

“How’s it lookin’?” Marie asked after their game was over, and Mateo’s sponge was finally too bigged by her wall.

“I think we’ll be safe. We’ll know in another four hours,” Leona answered. The ship would make the three-hour trip back here, and then go through the whole diagnostic process all over again. Only then could they leave for their next stop.

“Good,” Mateo decided, still bitter about losing the game. “I’m ready to go.”

“Did y’all know that something called a cow has four stomachs?” Korali asked.

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Microstory 1784: Little Bear

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There are a few things you would expect to find in a cabin in the middle of the woods, especially in an area that experiences very cold temperatures. The place is small, and you can tell as much from the outside, so you wouldn’t expect it to be a comfortable glamping getaway with multiple rooms, or even electricity. The logs are rotting slightly, and the porch swing has one broken chain, leaving it dangling against the floor awkwardly. I would have bet on a few essentials once I stepped inside, like a wooden table with wooden chairs; a bed that’s low to the ground, or even just a cot; an old black metal stove thing that I feel like Benjamin Franklin invented? None of that is here. None of what’s in here makes any damn sense, and if I would leave if it weren’t freezing out there. It doesn’t look dangerous, just bizarre. The first thing I notice is the arcade game. Besides a novelty table lamp in the shape of an elephant that’s hanging on the wall, the game machine is the only thing that’s giving off any significant amount of light. I don’t recognize the name of it, but that’s no surprise. I’m too young, and not hip enough to know anything about the history. Bear Bonds could have been the most popular game in the 80s, for all I know. Anyway, the screen isn’t the only thing producing light. The whole thing has what look like Christmas lights strewn about, except they’re built into the paneling, so I think that’s just how it comes. Next to it is one of those Japanese toilets with a touch screen, and probably a bidet, and I’m sure it talks to you. I can’t tell if it’s connected to the plumbing, but on the other side of it is the real bathroom. There’s a metal prison sink, and one of those space-age shower pods from the 1970s that I saw on a funny picture website once. There’s no toilet in there at all, so maybe he just likes to spread out more. I best not think about it. There are plenty of other weird things in here.

There seems to be no closet, but there’s a rack on casters. He has one three piece suit on it. It looks really nice, like maybe it was tailored by an expensive professional who only serves an average of one client a month. That wouldn’t seem so weird, maybe this guy is a stock broker who comes here to unwind. Except the rest of the rack is occupied by hanging fish, a few of which are still flopping on their hooks a little bit. How are they still alive in the least? I also swear to God that the suit was on one end of the rack, but now it’s spontaneously moved to the right. I kind of hope that didn’t happen, and I’m suffering from exposure delirium. That is a fancy platter of rotten strawberries, right there on the floor. Next to it is a ship in the bottle without the bottle. The way it’s staged, it’s like a child was eating the fruit, and playing with the ship, but they haven’t been back in a long time, and the man never cleaned it up. There is no dining table, and no chairs whatsoever, nor a bed. The curtains are made of Latin language newspapers. I don’t mean they’re taped on the glass to prevent snipers on the roof of the next building over from spotting the bank robbers. He carefully glued the pages together, and hung them up on the rod. I suppose that’s one way to reuse, reduce, and recycle. A mail cart has been upturned near the corner. A whole encyclopedia collection is stacked on top of it. I don’t know why he didn’t just put them inside the cart, but it’s not what matters. That’s not the strangest thing. Hiding behind that cart, I finally notice a baby bear. It’s sitting up and peeking out from behind the books. When it sees me see it, it comes out of the shadows, and smiles at me. Then it holds out its hand like it wants me to shake it.

Extremus: Year 17

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The ship has been running smoothly for the last two years, though they remain short one Omega, and one Valencia. One thing that Ovan never counted on was the fact that Halan would be onto his plans, and thwart him at every turn. What Ovan wants is to create a divide between the passengers and the crew, and not really because of any particular hatred he has for people who are in service of others, but because those are the two most obvious camps on the vessel. Had he grown up on Earth, he likely would have done the same thing between organic humans and mechs, and on Ansutah, he would have incited premature war against the Maramon. He wants to create a stir—but not chaos—inside of a complex dynamic that puts him at the center of everything. No matter what happens; no matter who wins this conflict, he’ll be recorded in the ship’s logs as the primary historical figure. He knows he won’t live long enough to reach the Extremus planet, but if students one day learn about him, it’ll be like he survived. That’s what he really wants out of life, to be remembered, and if Halan is going to come out on top, he has to find a way to make Ovan think he’s achieved that without actually giving anything up.

He’s back in Perran’s office. This is their pattern, apparently, where the Captain seeks guidance from the Admiral only every several years. In the meantime, he’s supposedly just been rotting down here. There’s no rule against him mingling with the rest of the crew, or the guests, but he rarely does. The now pretty old man is tapping on the rim of his glass. He doesn’t act like an alcoholic. He gives Halan the impression that he pours one glass in the morning, and sips on it throughout the entire day. “I do have an idea, but you’re not gonna like it.”

“I...would not expect to,” Halan replies.

“A long time ago, on Earth there was a politician. I don’t remember his name, I’m sure the history warped his story anyway. No one took books to Ansutah, so everything was word of mouth until our ancestors could write things down again. So forgive me if you’ve heard this one, and know more about it than I do. But here’s how it was told to me. There was a politician,” he repeats. “He didn’t care about other people. He helped pass laws that supported the rich people who gave money to his campaign.  He had a weirdly open philosophical stance. He, for whatever reason, hated people with disabilities. People in wheelchairs, seeing-eye dogs, and the like. He didn’t simply not worry about making sure they were okay. He actively worked against their best interests, always trying to take money from programs that would help them, and reallocating it to those rich friends. I don’t know how he kept getting elected since he was such a clearly repulsive person. I suppose it was all that money.

“Anyway, one day, this unnamed politician gets into a land vehicle accident. He’s paralyzed from the waist down; has to sit in a wheelchair. Oh, suddenly these public welfare programs don’t seem so ridiculous. He does a complete one-eighty, and starts trying to make his life easier by requiring ramps be installed at certain facilities, and demanding car companies do more research on accessible operating technologies. He didn’t become a saint overnight, mind you. His priorities changed, because his own circumstances changed. He remained the kind of politician whose only concern was himself. Still, even though the only reason he switched platforms was to help himself, the results were the same. Businesses had to install ramps to accommodate all of their customers, and hand-operated cars were better than they were before. Everyone benefited because this asshole became one of them. So, Captain, that’s what you’ll have to do if you want to stop Ovan Teleres from turning the passengers against you. To stop him from taking the ship from you, you have to give it to him.”

“I have to make him one of the crew?” Halan asks, knowing the answer.

“You don’t have to do anything, but his platform will disappear from under him if he becomes one of the people he hates so much. He can’t convince others to rise up if he too lives on the top of the hill.”

Halan sighs, and can’t believe he’s actually considering this. “A member of the passenger government can’t be part of the crew.”

“Bonus,” Thatch says. “He can’t campaign for a third shift.”

“What role would I give him?” Halan presses. “I can’t give him power, because he’ll still do bad things with it, but if I make him a janitor, then he won’t really feel like he’s won.”

“What are your Lieutenant’s responsibilities?”

“I’m not making him my Lieutenant, that would be absurd. Mercer has been great, and Ovan certainly doesn’t deserve that. I just said he can’t have power.”

“I never said you should give him Mercer’s job. What are his responsibilities?”

“Well, he’s first line of defense for me. He responds to conflicts, and brings me in when they can’t resolve themselves.”

“He has power, right?”

“Yes, he can put people on suspension, or even in hock. He can alter work schedules, change a passenger’s living conditions, and give orders, to a certain degree.”

Thatch nods, pretending that this is all news to him. “Sounds like a busy man.”

“It’s the hardest job on the ship. Mine is considered more difficult because of the pressure of being in charge, but as far as day-to-day work goes, he definitely has more to do.”

Thatch nods again. “You know that I was on the committee that formed the structure of the ship’s crew, right?”

“Obviously. That’s why they selected you for this job.”

“What you may not know is that the original plan was to give you two people; one on your right, one on your left. The idea was to have a coordinator who responded to issues without being able to do anything about them themselves. If necessary, they would run it up the chain, and let the real Lieutenant make decisions. You were never meant to even be this involved, but in the end, we decided that this was unnecessary. It made the captain’s seat far too cushy, and kind of pointless. Still, we didn’t just make the lieutenant the captain, and the second lieutenant the only lieutenant. All of the second lieutenant’s duties were absorbed into the one lieutenant position, and the captain became more accessible to the crew, which is what has made your job busier.”

“Okay...” Halan says. “So you’re suggesting we vote to make a new second lieutenant rank?”

Thatch smiles and shakes his head. “You don’t have to vote. The framework for the second lieutenant is written into the bylaws. You can institute it whenever you want, unilaterally. You can give Ovan that rank without asking anybody for permission, and that rank will look like power, but not actually come with any power. Mercer would still have to be called in if the situation demanded disciplinary action, or some other decision.”

“How long is the second lieutenant shift?”

Thatch leans back, and acknowledges a problem. “Well, see, that’s the thing. It’s a sixteen year stint, designed to promote a little bit of continuity when the captain and first lieutenant both retire at the same time. That’s in the bylaws too, and you would not be able to change it without a crew vote. I wouldn’t recommend doing that, though, because then Ovan would sniff out your deceptive plan.”

“I just don’t know if I can bring myself to force Ovan Teleres upon the next captain.”

“You would still be there, to help them, like I’m helping you right now.”

“Well, if Second of Nine comes to me with their problems as infrequently as I come to you, then that probably won’t be good enough.”

Thatch takes the first sip he’s had since Halan came in. “Believe me, I know it, brother. There is a possible way to social engineer that problem away too, but you’re not gonna like it any more than my last idea.”

Halan chuckles and shakes his head. “What would that be?”

“Bring me into the light.”

“What does that mean?”

“An admiral can’t do anything without the captain’s invitation. If you put me on the bridge, and give me a fake job, it will set a precedent. Second of Nine will be more likely to do the same for you. Maybe even more so, since you have actual experience with their job.”

“Is this what you’ve been vying for, a job?”

“Yes it’s all part of my evil plan to assume control of the lights. You know that’s there, right? There’s a person on the bridge whose entire job is to make sure the internal lighting system doesn’t waste energy. That could all be automated with simple infrared sensors, but we chose to use a human. And do you know why we did that?”

“No, Perran, why?”

“So that you could assign that role to the dumbest person on the crew, which gives you one opportunity per shift to avoid firing someone without giving them any chance to fuck up anything important.”

“So you wanna be the lights guy?”

“It’s not for me, it’s for you.”

“Sure, yeah, sure.”

“The second captain won’t make you the lights guy. They’ll give you something meaningful, which keeps you in their ear, which is what you’re looking for. I know you don’t need much help from me, but your successor will quite likely need help from you. Isn’t giving me the lights worth the confidence you’ll have that you did everything you could to make yourself a real admiral?”

“Just to recap, you want to be the Lighting Technician, and you want one of the greatest threats to the prosperity of this ship to be Second Lieutenant of the crew?”

“Well, when you say it in that voice, it makes me sound like an ass.”

“It’s not the voice.”

“Ha-ha.”

“I’m gonna talk to Mercer about this.”

“I would hope so.”

“I’ll also be consulting with the Consul to make sure everything is legal.”

“Seems reasonable.”

“If this is some trick...”

Thatch looks genuinely offended by the accusation. “One day, Captain.” He stands up, and downs the rest of his drink. “One day you’ll see that you can trust me. And that will be the day that I died.” He then walks out of the office, and into his cabin.

Halan isn’t going to do anything if his real lieutenant, Eckhart Mercer isn’t okay with it. Like he was saying, his is the hardest job, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like it, or doesn’t want to keep it the way it is. He won’t force anything upon him, but he will still try to convince him that this is the right call. They’ve been dealing with Ovan for the last five years, and haven’t come up with any better ideas in that time. He sits his best friend down, and lays out the plan.

Mercer widens his eyes, and breathes in deeply, but it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking. “Oh my God, yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes! Why didn’t we think of this before? He can’t turn people against us if he’s one of us, of course! Plus, it will give me more time to play Quantum Colony.”

“Is that a band, errr?”

“It’s a role-playing video game that’s based on the whole galaxy. You start out on Teagarden, where your avatar has been given access to a quantum terminal, which will allow you to cast your consciousness to any world that has a Project Stargate outpost on it already. At this point in history, that’s only thirty-six light years from Gatewood, but it’s always expanding. Everyone on the ship is playing it, you’ve never heard of it?”

“What do you do when you get to these planets?”

“You explore, and you build structures, and sometimes you even have a population to take care of. But that’s pretty rare, and players who find those worlds are pretty protective of them. It operates in realtime, so not much has happened yet, but you can communicate with other planets, and establish diplomatic relations. Theoretically, you could also start a war, but I’ve never heard of any interstellar wars.”

“Hm. I don’t think that’s my kind of thing.”

“Well, I’m obsessed with it. Don’t worry, it doesn’t eat into my responsibilities, but honestly, I could do with a little more downtime. I think the second lieutenant rank is a great idea, whether we give it to our enemy, or not.”

“If you’re cool, then I’m gonna talk to Legal.”

“Definitely. Do you want me to come with you?”

Halan squints at him with suspicion. “I feel like you really just want to play Quantum Colony instead?”

“Not gonna lie, Captain.”

“Very well. At ease.”

Now they have a goal, but they don’t have a real plan. In order to pull this off, they’re going to have to strategize. That will take time.

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Microstory 1749: Balance Board

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Life is all about balance, ya know? Don’t eat too much fat, but don’t eat none at all. Playing video games is fine as long as that’s not all you do. We don’t ever stand on one leg, or keep one eye shut while we’re driving. A lot of people like the cold, and a lot prefer the heat, but just about everyone is at least fine in mild temperatures, right in the middle. That’s really what it is, isn’t it? When in doubt, stay in the middle, and be ready to move to either side as new information comes along, metaphorically speaking. Balance has been no more important to me in my life than it is today. I actually am standing on one leg. My right eye is closed, I’m playing a driving simulation—not a racing game, but one that simulates following the rules within typical traffic scenarios—and I’m expected to finish something they call a lard shake with a crazy straw. To make matters worse, the room goes from scalding hot to near freezing in a matter of minutes. If I pass this last challenge, I’ll win the million dollars, but if I don’t I’ll have to pay as much. That’s why they call this show Balance Board. Right now, the board is at plus or minus a million. By the end of the contest, that number has to go back to zero, whether it comes out of my pocket, or the show’s budget. What I’m doing is betting on myself. In the first challenge, I was only asked to bet a hundred dollars that I could walk on a straight line of tape on the floor. No big deal, right? If I had lost, it would have been over, and I would have owed, but I would have been all right. Believe it or not, people have lost that challenge, and nobody wants to be that contestant. It’s so embarrassing, and those people usually never get over their tainted reputation.

The second challenge is the same thing, except instead of tape, it’s a balance beam; just as narrow, but with a smaller margin of error. You’re still only betting 200 bucks at that point, but obviously the bets get higher, and the challenges get harder. You can stop anytime you want, of course, as long as you’ve not already begun the next stage, and that happens all the time. It’s a risk in more ways than one. Betting on yourself again shows that you have confidence in yourself, but if you fail, it can have a negative impact on your life. And I don’t just mean socially. Employers look at your Balance Board record, and take it into consideration when deciding whether you would be a good fit for the organization. Giving up is worse than going for it and losing in most people’s minds, but not everyone’s. The only way to truly be safe is to win the whole darn thing. It’s rarer to get this far, and even rarer to succeed, but if you do, it pretty much sets you up for life. It’s a national phenomenon, but most contests aren’t broadcast nationwide. Every city has its own local programming. They only put you on the national circuit if they think you’re gonna go far, or if they want the attention you’ll receive to make things even more stressful for you. For me, I’m sure it’s the latter reason. I’m sure I looked like an underdog to them. They lucked out, because I’m just about to do it. Five more seconds, and...there! I’ve done it! I can’t believe it, I’ve actually won! One million bucks, baby, tax free! “Congratulations!” the announcer shouts. “And now, something we’ve never done before: an extra challenge! For the two million dollars, complete the next level in the traffic game, just as you did it before, but in the center of a wooden plank that’s laid between two high-rises, with no net below. As always, the choice is yours, but once you’ve made it—say it with me, folks!” The audience joins in, “ALL! BETS! ARE! OFF!”

Microstory 1578: Nameless

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Prompt

I found a package on my porch. It was addressed to me, but had the wrong address. I don’t know how it got here, but I shrugged, and opened it up. Inside was...

Botner

...a huge bag of Reese’s Pieces (I don't even like Reese's Pieces) and...a shirt, and pants, and...a cardboard license plate? Who did this? Hey there! Yes, I know, that license plate looks pretty strange, but I thought it might help you identify yourself if you ever get pulled over. Here are the parts of it. There’s a 4x4 strip that says “Pickles Drive”. There’s a piece that says “Raging Bull” and another that says “Scotty Doesn’t Drive”. There’s a plate holder. It’s hard to make out the rest because the back part’s missing. I’m very disappointed to find out that it’s not just some kind of joke. I’m so excited! Did someone send me a gift? Can I open it now? Can I say thank you? Can I wear it? I think I’m going to cry. From: The [Nameless]. To: [Me]. From: [The Nameless]. Date: 12/16/13. Subject: Greetings and salutations and other nothings. To: [Me]. I really appreciate it! I haven’t tried the Reese’s Pieces yet, but my brother really likes them, and it would be a shame if I didn’t...

Conclusion

...at least eat a little bit of it. Someone went through all this trouble to make this care package for me, and it would be rude for me to completely ignore it. The fake license plate intrigues me. I feel compelled to use it, even though I obviously already have a state-issued plate on my car, and this would be extremely illegal. I remove that one, and affix the fake one in its place, just for fun, I guess. To my surprise, the cardboard transforms into metal, and looks totally authentic. You would never know that this isn’t the real thing. I now feel the urge to get in my car, and drive as fast as I can. I’ve never been much of a daredevil, and I don’t break the law. This is so not me, but I can’t stop myself. I stick to normal speeds while I’m in the neighborhood, and don’t go too terribly fast in the city, but once I’m out, all bets are off. I’m going ninety on a sixty-five, and pissing everyone off as I weave in and out of traffic. I pass a speed trap that we all know is there, because it’s not a very good hiding place. The cop pulls out of their little spot, and switches on the sirens. They match my speed until they’re right behind me, and then they do something strange. They turn off the siren, and pull back over. Since we’re in flat Kansas, I can see them in my rearview mirror for quite awhile, even at these high speeds. They’re just sitting on the shoulder as if this were a video game that’s not programmed well enough for the NPCs to notice the player once they pass a certain point. I turn around, and start heading back towards them. I don’t mean I get onto the other side of the highway. I’m driving the wrong direction on the shoulder. It’s dangerous as hell, but as I was saying, I don’t care anymore. I can’t. This Nameless person isn’t letting me. I keep going until I’m face to face with the cop. He just smiles at me through the windshield, and gives a salute. What the hell is going? Curious and bold, I step out, and approach from the passenger side. “Mornin’ officer,” I say.

“Mornin’, sir,” he replies in between bites of his own giant bag of Reese’s Pieces. “Almost got up to ninety-five today! Still can’t make a hundred, I see! Ah, I’m just playin’. Anything I can help you with?”

Again. What the hell? Where does this license place get its power?

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Friday, July 2, 2117

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RPS stood for rock, paper, scissors, which was a simple game to play on its own. A player can throw one of the three choices, and can beat or lose to the other player, depending on which one they choose, or draw if both throw the same one. RPS-101 was an insane variant of this game that involved ninety-eight additional gestures, each one capable of beating about half of the others. It was practically impossible to play without a cheat sheet and patience, or genius-level intellect. RPS-101 Plus was a computerized version of this, complete with graphics, visualized consequences, and a total abandonment of the original concept of throwing gestures. It was a video game. Each player will choose a gesture out of the entire list, and stick with that gesture throughout the whole round. It will be represented by an actual interactive image. Should a player choose lightning, for instance, they will see their lightning bolt on the screen, and control how it moves about. They will then use this character to navigate a hazardous playing field, where other characters attempt to attack. But since only half of them pose a threat, the other half of the gestures are available for the player to attack instead. Doing so will gain that player points, speed, and agility. This game was designed to be played by one to a hundred and one players, with all unused gestures falling under control of the computer. Upon learning from Sanaa that the AOC’s system contained a local copy of it, the group played for hours together, and barely got any sleep. Before they knew it it was 2117, and their cuffs were directing them into the city.

The window wasn’t going to be for awhile, so instead of teleporting to the location, they decided to walk, and get some fresh air. Since they didn’t really talk about anything during the games, they took this opportunity to catch Mateo up with what they figured about Xearea. The reason her story didn’t match up with their recollection of it was because she was from a different timeline in the main sequence. In this version of events, the bad men from the future were more successful in their mission, and would have been able to finish the job if Leona hadn’t intervened. It was presumably with knowledge of this outcome that prompted The Cleanser to conscript Mateo, Gilbert, and Horace to fix things.

“So, wait,” Mateo said. “You sent Xearea back to her timeline, knowing that it would collapse soon anyway.”

“No, we didn’t,” J.B. clarified. “Jericho went back, even though we warned him he might not survive, just like Ariadna wouldn’t have. We kept her here, though.”

“Where is she now?” Mateo asked.

“We don’t know anymore,” Ariadna replied. “Ramses showed up, and offered to help set her up with a new life here. We never spoke to her, though. She was still asleep when they took her away.”

“I’m right here.” It was Xearea, but she was much older now. Seventeen years had passed for her.

“Oh, Miss Voss,” Leona said, surprised. “You’ve fully recovered.”

“Of course,” Xearea said. “These people have excellent medical technology. I was intending to finally reunite with you, and thank you for saving me, but then I caught wind that you have an appointment here.” She looked towards the building they were standing in front of.

“What is this place?” Sanaa asked.

“It’s like an airport,” Xearea answered. “It’ll take you to other worlds. Your trip is scheduled for the Andromeda room. Follow me, I’ll show you where to go.”

“We’re going to Dardius, aren’t we?” Leona guessed.

“That’s the thing,” Xearea began. “It says you have an appointment there, but no final destination is listed. We don’t know where you’re going. Andromeda 21 isn’t the only galactic neighbor.”

“Surely it’s the island, isn’t it?” Mateo figured. “That’s what makes the most sense to me.”

“We can’t know that for sure,” Leona advised him.

Perhaps Tribulation Island only seemed like the logical choice, because that was where they were in this time. But they didn’t have a personal connection to everyone they rescued, like Jericho. Still, Jupiter sent them to the intergalactic portal, so…

“Sanaa?” J.B. prompted.

She consulted her cuff. “The cuffs can access information from satellites orbiting the planet we’re on, so we don’t just have to follow the arrows, but they can’t see beyond that. There’s no proof we’re going to Tribulation Island, or even Dardius, for that matter.”

They arrived at the Andromeda room, where a portal operator was waiting for their coordinates.

“If we go to the wrong place, can we come back, and try again?”

“Certainly,” she responded. “You may make as many jumps as you need.” People here were really friendly and accommodating. It was even better than the future in the main sequence. All these god-like powers probably made it really difficult to encounter an inconvenience. The way they understood it, energy and other resources were infinite, so there was no reason to deny anyone anything unless it infringed upon someone else’s wishes. If someone wanted to have an entire galaxy to themselves, for instance, where no one else could go, that was kind of all right, as long as that galaxy wasn’t already occupied, because whatever.

After the operator input the coordinates, everyone stepped onto the platform, and transported across millions of light years of space, to Tribulation Island, Dardius, Beorht, Miridir. The operator on the other side greeted them politely, and welcomed them to the island. They expected it to be heavily developed in this reality, but it was actually more sparse than it ultimately became in the main sequence. They were presumably conserving the wildlife here. The portaling seemed to have interfered with the Cassidy cuffs, but after they recalibrated themselves, the directive arrow came back to lead them down the beach.

“Who is it?” Sanaa asked them. “I’m not alive yet, so I don’t know that much about y’all’s time here.”

“I don’t know anyone who it could be,” Leona said, “unless they’re from a different timeline. No one disappeared that we can remember.”

“Maybe they’ll only disappear briefly, and then we’ll put them back,” Ariadna suggested.

“Why would we need to transition anyone?” J.B. asked. “I thought you said Jupiter admitted that we’re rescuing people. Is someone in danger here?”

“I don’t think so,” Leona answered. “Vearden dies here, but that’s not for several years. I think everyone else is okay.”

“Whoa. This is a nice place. What is that, a helicopter?” They had come into a clearing, where a lavish resort sat up against the water.

“It’s a jet with vertical take off,” came a voice from behind them.

“Baudin!” Mateo shouted, with a little more excitement than he would have liked to express. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been here for eight years,” he answered. “This is where I live now, I s’pose.”

“Wait, you don’t exist anymore,” Leona said to him.

“I don’t?” Baudin feigned shock, and looked at the palms of his hands. “Oh, no. What about the others? Do they exist?”

“Stop screwing with them.” Samsonite was walking out of the hotel, followed by Gilbert. “We do exist. You can’t stop people from existing. You can just make other people think that’s what you’ve done.”

“This is the explanation,” Leona asked rhetorically. “When Arcadia was taking people out of time, all she was doing was bringing them here?”

“No, some other guy is doing it for her,” Samsonite corrected.

Mateo nodded. “Jupiter.”

“This is crazy.” Leona mused. “That means either all of you lie about it when we see you again, or someone alters your memories. I don’t even wanna think about what this means for when it happens to you, Mateo.”

“Well, I’m different,” Mateo reminded her. “The Superintendent was the one who took me. Maybe he really can rip people from the timeline. That’s not really the point, though, is it?” He directed his attention back to the other three. “You’re not alone here, are you?”

Gilbert smiled, and lifted one eye to a window above them. A group of people was watching them from inside their hotel room.

“Aldona’s family,” Leona realized.

“They’ve been here the longest,” Samsonite acknowledged.

“We’re here to add to your ranks,” Ariadna told them. “We don’t know who, or exactly where.”

“Yes, we do,” Sanaa said. “It’s across the ocean.”

“Lorania,” Mateo confirmed. It’s 2117. We’re here to save Xearea Voss. Again.” He looked back up at the Buchanan-Lanka-Calligaris window. “Those people don’t seem to wanna talk to us. Could you ask Gino to come help us, though. We need a doctor.”

Aldona’s family simply didn’t know who they were, which was why they didn’t come out initially. Aldona’s husband, Gino was more than happy to provide his services, once he understood the need for them. They didn’t need anyone else to go, though, so while everyone else stayed at the resort to relax, only he and Mateo flew off to retrieve Xearea, who was about to be stabbed by a very unstable immortal named Ambrosios. She came through the transition window, Gino stabilized her on site, and then they transported her to the mainland, where she could be treated in the Parallel facilities. Mateo wasn’t worried about whether she would survive or not, because he knew she would later return to the main sequence, and continue with her pattern as the penultimate Savior of Earth.

Jupiter Fury showed up while Mateo was alone in the waiting room, and sat down next to him. “You were working with Arcadia the entire time?” Mateo presumed. This was just another layer to the mystery of what happened to them during Arcadia’s expiations. A lot was going on in the background that they never knew about.

“No, I’m not,” Jupiter contended. “Everything she says is the truth as she sees it. She believes that she’s taking people out of time, because that’s precisely what she’s capable of. What she doesn’t know is that her memory-wiper is working with me. I’ve been transitioning your friends at the moment Arcadia attempts to pull them. She has a lot less influence over people than she thinks she does. I don’t really need you for this, because most of them aren’t in danger, and they won’t be receiving egress windows until it’s time for all of them to go back at once. I only brought you into it now, because it fits with your pattern, and I wanted you to see it for yourself.”

“So, who will we be saving next year, and then on?” Mateo asked him.

Jupiter breathed deeply, and stared into empty space. “You have about a week to figure out how you’re gonna save Vearden Haywood’s life, if it’s even possible. You cannot alter the timeline. Whatever the truth, everyone in the main sequence has to believe that he dies on Tribulation Island, millions of years ago. You have to preserve that, so the future unfolds as it should. Yet you still have to rescue him, so he can transition for medical treatment. Again, I’m not sure it’s possible, but that’ll be your responsibility. Until then, go back to the resort. You’re on vacation.” He patted Mateo on the knee, used it to help himself out of his chair, and then he walked away coolly.

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Microstory 988: Video Games

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My parents weren’t the richest of people when I was born. I grew up having everything I needed, though, and didn’t realize all the amenities I was missing until we moved to the suburbs of Kansas City. I always had food, and a safe space to sleep, but I’ll never totally know what my parents had to sacrifice to make sure that was always the case. One thing we didn’t have that all our friends did was a video game console. Because my dad’s work needed to keep up to date with the latest technology, we were never without a computer—if only as a hand-me-down—so we used that for some gaming, but they were mostly educational, if not just Tetris. I played a little at friends’ houses over the years, but I never really got into them. Whenever anyone asks me if I play Fortnite, or whatever is the current trending game, I have to be clear on my reasoning for not participating. My family likes to spend time together watching TV, and I’m a writer, so it’s just that I have other forms of entertainment. Many other people who don’t play are like that because they think video games are dangerous, or will rot your brain, or at the very least, they’re a waste of time. I am absolutely not like that. Video games are not just okay, they can be a valuable tool for child development, and even into adulthood. Video games, especially today, teach you a number of skills in a fun and exciting way. You’ll learn problem-solving, critical thinking, teamwork, healthy opposition, and failure. That last one is profoundly important, never more so than now. These days, when the only achievement awards that are given out are for participation, it is vital that children learn how to persevere in the face of failure. Unrealistic Disney lessons, and overly positive parenting, are threatening the next generation’s ability to cope with the real world. You are not always going to get what you want, and you’re not going to excel at everything you try, and that’s okay. Even when I myself was a child, I hated this nonsense that anything is possible as long as you believe. Billions of people believe that God has a unique and personal interest in their well-being, and judging from all the goddamn dead children, that’s obviously completely untrue, so belief alone does nothing. You can’t do anything just because you put your mind to it. It takes opportunity, natural talent, and a hell of a lot of practice. It also takes true passion, and most people are only truly passionate for a handful of things. We need to be encouraging our children to find their strengths, and not exert so much energy on improving weaknesses; not none, but also not 100%. If everything goes well in a video game, it’s not any fun. Overcoming a challenge is so much more satisfying than simply being given something. There is little to no scientific evidence that violent games cause real world violence, so let your kids play, if you can afford it. They will grow up to be well-rounded individuals with respect for the amount of effort that is required to contribute to society. If they continue to play into adulthood, that’s great too. They’ll be okay, as long as they don’t do it too much, but isn’t that true of anything? Even water is poisonous if you drink enough of it.

Microstory 912: Fandom

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I have mixed feelings about this topic. On the one hand, I love that people love to love things, but I think they can take it a bit too far. Back in the day, men were allowed to like sports, boobs, explosions, and more sports. Women were allowed to like horses, and making sure my dinner was ready by 5:15. These days, it’s cool to like comic books and video games, and it’s not really cool to like those traditional things. I take issue with this too, because while the jocks ruled the school of yesterday, the nerds run the show now. There’s just as much judgment and animosity as there was before, but now with different divisions of people. I admit that this is getting better already, with the mini-generation after millennials basically not caring what anyone does, as long is it doesn’t negatively impact the world. I also think there is quite a bit of materialism going on, even more than there used to be. Man, my goal of being more positive for this series isn’t going all that, is it? I’ll do better next time. For now, I want to talk about all the stuff. Major content creators make more money off of merchandise than they could ever hope to make from the source material. Why is that? Why do full-grown adults find satisfaction from owning an action figure, while doing nothing with it but set it on a shelf. Or they own so much of this crap, they can’t even display it all. Do you not find that absurd? Exactly how many plush porgs do you need? If you’re about to look around the room and count your porgs, don’t bother. The answer is a hard zero. I’m all for expressing your love for whatever, but there’s a way to do it without losing half your income. You need a cup to put your drinks in, so buy a cup with some insider quote from your favorite show, like “I’m the one who knocks” or “time out on this game of thrones; I need to pee!”. You need a bag to carry your essentials, so that one works out as well. But all these little stickers, trinkets, figurines, and costumes you never wear; it’s all just useless junk to which one of two things will happen. Either you’ll die, and burden your family with all that stuff you overestimated how much they would want, or you’ll become immortal, your priorities will shift, and you’ll wish you didn’t have it anymore. And you won’t be able to sell it, because guess what, everyone around you feels the same way. So now the world is down in resources, but up in full-sized pokeballs. Like I said, it’s all about priorities. If you have some disposable income to burn on a real 1940s police box, why not instead give that money to charity? You’re not gonna make me feel bad about trying to make you feel bad for wasting your money on a sonic screwdriver that stopped making noise after a week.

Microstory 467: Floor 19 (Part 2)

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Senior Buyer: Hey, Procurement Specialist. How are we doing? Are we feeling okay? Is the lockdown getting us down? You know you can talk to me about anything.

Procurement Specialist’s Mind: This is my boss. He’s not a bad guy, but he’s very...affectionate. I wouldn’t call what he does sexual harassment, but he’s certainly not aware of the concept of a personal bubble. He’s also not smart enough for a job in management.

Specialist: I’m doin’ all right, actually.

Senior Buyer: Ya know, death is a natural part of life. There is one inevitable truth, and that is that everybody dies. This is how it’s been since the beginning of time, and so shall it always be.

Specialist’s Mind: Actually the transhumanist movement’s goals of virtual immortality are closer to reality than most people know.

Specialist: Yeah, I know. I’ve seen death before. All my grandparents are gone.

Specialist’s Mind: None of them is dead.

Senior Buyer: Oh, I’m so sorry about that. Were you close with them?

Specialist: I was.

Specialist’s Mind: I’m not at all.

Senior Buyer: I’m so very sorry about that. You shouldn’t be working. Why don’t you go ahead and go head home?

Specialist: We’re on lockdown. No one can leave...

Specialist’s Mind: ...dumbass. And I didn’t say they all died today.

Specialist: And I’ve not been able to work anyway because we’re also locked out of the system...

Specialist’s Mind: ...and it’s not like I spend a lot of my daily time working anyway. I’m mostly squeezing sweets and pig-revenging and raising virtual animals on a farm.

Senior Buyer: Oh, that’s right. Well, have you seen Purchasing Intern 2?

Specialist’s Mind: He’s in the closet...with the other intern.

Specialist: I think both interns got caught on another floor.

Specialist’s Mind: Honestly, I didn’t lie to him about where the interns are because I care about their privacy. I lied to him because I would be worried he’d invite himself into the closet with them, and then things would get real weird.

Senior Buyer: Well, if you see him, would you let him know that we’re letting him go?

Specialist’s Mind: Really? He wants me to do it? I’ve always wanted to fire somebody.

Specialist: Really? You think I’m ready for that?

Specialist’s Mind: Can I fire them both? Can I make ‘em duke it out for the one remaining position? What is our policy on making people cry?

Senior Buyer: You’ve proven yourself invaluable. Somebody messed up an order, and I’ve traced the problem back to Purchasing Intern 2.

Specialist’s Mind: Yikes, that was actually my fault.

Specialist: Oh no, that’s terrible.

Senior Buyer: I don’t like having to lose people.

Specialist’s Mind: Lemme guess, cuz it harshes your mellow.

Senior Buyer: It’s the worst part of my job.

Specialist: I think that the worst part of your job is you.

Senior Buyer: What did you say?

Specialist’s Mind: Shit.