Microstory 918: Posthumanism

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If you redirect your attention to this post, and this post, you’ll see that I’ve already spoken on the subject of transhumanism. If you’ve already read those stories, and don’t feel like going back, or if you just don’t want to, here’s the gist of it. Humans are weak and fragile creatures, just like most other creatures. There are too many things that can destroy life. Even the most ferocious beasts, and the hardiest of extremophiles are susceptible to multiple dangers. A lot of people have this belief that evolution is heading towards some level of perfection, but that is not how it works. A specimen develops a trait as a random mutation, and if it’s a bad mutation—one that hinders their ability to survive—then they simply won’t live long enough to procreate. If it does happen to help, then they’ll pass those genes on to their offspring. The reason humans have hair still, even though we’ve learned to fashion clothing, build houses, and invent central heating, is because there’s no one to change it. Having hair isn’t a problem for us. At best, our descendants might evolve out of it due to sexual selection, if mates begin to favor less hair enough, but that’s so unlikely, because for humans, it takes all kinds. The point of this is that evolution isn’t going to give us gills or wings, because we don’t live in environments that would require them. Winged humans wouldn’t have an advantage over non-winged humans, because we do just fine right here on the ground. If the floor suddenly literally turned to lava, we would just die out by the time our physiology changed to accommodate our new conditions. If you want wings, then you’re going to have to have them implanted. You’re going to need two things to do this, though. One, superhuman pecs. Seriously, look at any bird. There’s a reason the breast contains so much more meat the rest of any poultry. Two, you’re going to need to live in the future, because we can’t attach wings to people yet. We can’t implant gills, or artificial eyes, or neural interface chips. But we will be able to. One day. That’s what posthumanism is all about, and posthumanism is what I’m all about. Like I said, humans are weak, and I am no exception. I have allergies; my hands are in a permanent state of pain. I wear glasses, frequently have to ask people to repeat themselves, can’t smell the black mold in a house, can’t taste the difference between a hundred dollar steak, and a ten dollar steak, and can’t ever tell when my skin is wet, or just cold. I used to be adamantly opposed to body mutilation, like piercings, and tattoos. I guess I still am, but it wouldn’t bother me to have one, even if it seems permanent, but I know a secret: it isn’t. I’m young enough to still be around when we can replace any organ with a 3D printed upgrade. That’ll let me live long enough to see a time when my consciousness can be transferred to some other body; say a robin, a dolphin, or maybe a sentient tree. Posthumanism is looking forward to breaking the limits of our birth, which is why I love it.

Microstory 917: Photography

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Every time I go to the bulk store, one of the first things I see is the electronics section. This makes sense. As much as they move things around in that place, they still want to make sure everybody gets eyes on the most expensive things there. I pass longingly by the cameras, wishing I could afford one, but knowing that I can’t. Years ago, I started getting into Instagram. I didn’t use it to take pictures of friends, or myself, or the cool places that I visited. I was snapping photos of random objects at close range, and overusing filters, in order to create an image that you wouldn’t necessarily be able to recognize. A few weeks of this made me realize that I was into photography a long time before the service even existed, but in order to take a class in high school, I first had to take some other art class, and I was just not into that. I’ve never wanted to be a professional photographer. I had no dreams of opening my own studio, or traveling to far off distances with Sean Penn to shoot wildlife. I just wanted to take pictures. And that would be a fine dream if it weren’t just another one in a whole cluster of them. Filmmaking, astrophysics, evolutionary biology, medicine, futurology. These, and more, are my other passions, to varying degrees, and for different reasons. I don’t have time to do them all, and I don’t have the money to do any of them. Not even my writing actually makes me any money. I’ve earned $27.45 from Google Adsense on my website over the course of more than three years, which isn’t even enough to cash out. But my writing career holds the number three priority spot over anything in my life. It’s third only to family, and revenue. Photography is probably number four. It would be nice if I could purchase a decent camera, plus lenses, and anything else that goes with it, along with a couple classes so I understand how the damn thing works. I don’t know that I would ever do anything beyond more interesting Instagram posts, but it would at least be a start. If you personally would like to see my dreams come true, then spread the word about my website. The better this does, the more chance I have of publishing a real book, and the closer I get to pursuing any or all of my hobbies. Thanks!

Microstory 916: Free Hugs

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Anyone who’s ever met me probably assumes that I don’t like to be touched. My diagnosis as autistic surely only reinforces this belief, since sensory issues are often associated with the condition. The reality is that I appreciate human contact. Yes, I will admit that I’ve never much liked kissing. If you take a step back, and try to look at the whole concept from an alien’s point of view, it’s a pretty bizarre thing that we do. Even stranger is that we freely do it in public, as the only socially acceptable form of incontrovertible sexual behavior. Hugs, on the other hand, carry no necessarily sexual intentions or sentiments. Any two or more people are capable of hugging each other without it being an expression of anything beyond friendship, no homo. That’s not to say that there isn’t such thing as an inappropriate hug. All parties involved must consent, but it’s also possible to hug a child without it being a problem. Or rather it’s possible for a child to hug an adult without causing problems. Every year, between the first of December, and Christmas, I have this tradition of watching the movie Love Actually. The pattern began as an accident. Of course, it plays during Christmastime, and I happened to just keep seeing it, but then I started watching it with purpose. The film is bookended with scenes of people hugging each other at an airport. “Fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends.” I think we don’t do enough hugging in this world. Just watch any movie where two lovers come together after some harrowing series of events. They always start making out, even if buildings are exploding around them, or the antagonist is literally chasing after them, and they gotta go. We’ve been taught to value romantic relationships over comradery; sex over loyalty. Well, I’ve never really gotten a chance to incorporate this into my stories, so I’ll just tell you that there is a world where things are different. Shaking hands is reserved almost exclusively for executing business deals. When two people who don’t dislike each other greet each other, they hug, and it doesn’t seem odd to them. I’m not suggesting we could ever make our world like that one, but maybe we could start taking steps in the right direction, because the best hugs are free.

The Advancement of Leona Matic: September 17, 2194

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When Leona, Ecrin, and Vitalie returned to the timestream, Ulinthra was there, waiting for them. She commended them for their attempt on her life, but claimed that it wasn’t necessary. “The first time this day happened,” she said, “the five of us had a lovely day on the beach. Well, I had a lovely time. The four of you were scared out of your minds, wondering what I was going to do to punish you.”

“Did you ever tell us?” Vitalie asked.

“That doesn’t matter,” Ecrin said. “Did you decide what our punishment is?”

“Nothing,” Ulinthra said, as if handing them their lottery winnings. “Darrow and I had some nice conversations while he was alive. That’s the benefit of being around for the whole year; you have time to get things done. Leona, you should look into that.

Leona would have rolled her eyes if she wasn’t so nervous about what Ulinthra was holding back.

Ulinthra continued, “I heard about your penny trick. I must say, it’s quite clever.”

Dammit.

“I’ve been wondering why the timeline keeps changing. I mean, obviously I’m having an effect on it, but I wasn’t making the connection between your daily calls, and those changes. Vitalie, if you’re ever looking for a job...”

“Where’s Brooke?”

“Brooke who?” Ulinthra asked.

“Ulinthra, where is she?”

“She’s in another unit, and she wants to be left alone. She still has her pod, but I’ve relieved her of her connection to you. Unlike our former justice system, I don’t believe in guilt by association.”

They had no response to this. While Leona wanted to be grateful that Brooke was safe, there was no way of knowing whether it was at all true.

“Did you kill Darrow?” Ecrin asked after a few beats.

“I did,” Ulinthra said, moderately enthused. “That’s what our conversations were about. You know, he’s been around a long time. He gave me an exact age, because he’s the kind of chooser who can calculate that sort of thing, but I can’t remember it. Needless to say, however, he was quite old, and so wise. He’s seen so much, and learned so much more. But he was ready to die, so I accommodated him. After months of testing, I finally took care of him a couple weeks ago. I wasn’t comfortable cutting him up, and burning his parts. So I reverse engineered a machine that would cause molecular teleportation.”

“What’s that?” Vitalie asked.

“It’s what Lucius has,” Leona said, horrified. “He can teleport individual molecules—maybe even atoms—to different places. Basically he can rip you apart into billions of pieces.”

“That’s right,” Ulinthra said. “Darrow can’t come back from that, which is what he wanted.”

“You have a molecular teleporter,” Leona noted.

Ulinthra wasn’t sure at first why Leona said that, since it had already been established, but then it clicked. “That’s right, I have one of the greatest weapons on the planet at my disposal, but I would never use it for that. I’m not as bad as you think. I suppose my attitude towards you haven’t helped your perceptions of me, but I really am trying to help. Besides that fact that the machine requires me to daisy chain every microgrid on this arc to start it up, leaving us without power for almost a week, it’s immoral. What I did was out of kindness, not malice. You need not fear it, or me.”

“If it’s more trouble than it’s worth, then why don’t you dismantle it?” Leona suggested.

“Why don’t you?” Ulinthra either asked or offered.

“What?”

“If you want it gone, then you can oversee its dismantling.”

“I..uh...”

“Don’t be coy,” Ulinthra said. “I’ll set it up for nine o’clock this morning. You best get some sleep before then. I’ll courier a pair of auggies, and send you directions.”

“Ulinthra,” Leona called up to her as she was leaving.

“Be there at nine!” Ulinthra reminded her.

The three of them sat in silence for a few moments. “What the hell is happening?” Vitalie finally asked.

“In my experience,” Ecrin began, “whenever something bad seems to be going better, it really means that it’s worse.”

Still, there was nothing they could do but go to bed.

At 8:30, Leona pulled the directions to Ulinthra’s Molecular Research Laboratory up on her new augmented reality glasses, and made her way there. Once she walked in, a team of scientists, androids assistants, and robot workers stopped what they were doing, and stared at her in apathetic anticipation. Holly Blue was there, and the only one not treating this like a middle scene in a horror film. “Don’t mind them,” Holly Blue said. “They know you have been assigned as our leader today. Arianrhod has conditioned them to follow orders without question.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Leona whispered.

“Introduce yourself,” Holly Blue suggested.

“I’m Leona Delaney,” she announced to the crowd. “You all know why we’re here, yeah?”

They nodded, but didn’t speak.

“And you all know how to do that, right?” Leona went on.

They nodded again.

“Then you may begin.”

Everyone went back to work, unscrewing screws, and ripping out wires. It was a pretty self-sufficient operation. Leona was really just there to make sure it was being done. At least that was what she was told, but there was no way of knowing if this was the only molecular teleporter, or if they were just going to be ordered to rebuild it tomorrow. This could all be a waste of everyone’s time, but if so, what was the point? What did Ulinthra really have in store for them?

“Hi, I’m usually in charge here. My name is Holly Blue.”

Leona gave a sort of frightened and confused look, but didn’t want to say anything. That was meant to be her codename, but here she was, saying out loud with no concern.

“I know, it sounds like a porn star, or something. But it is my real name.” She tilted her head down, so she could look up at Leona. “It really is.” That was all Leona needed.

“Did you help build this thing?” Leona asked.

“I designed it. Of course, our immaculate leader already had the technical specifications, but the general shape, the chamber; it’s all me and my team.”

“How do you suppose she came to something like this?” Leona asked, perhaps pushing too much.

“Well, we’ve been teleporting molecules for over a century...” Holly trailed off.

“No, we’ve been copying molecules in a second location, and destroying the originals. This is different.”

Holly Blue—which was a name Leona felt couldn’t be broken up into first and last, but required being said in full each time—just shrugged. “Progress marches on.”

They both knew about time travel, but couldn’t say anything in mixed company. They just stood there together and watched the drones do their work. They were completely finished within the hour; all parts being dropped into various material reclamators. If they were going to rebuild it after Leona left, they would have to start from scratch. But they did it the first time in only a few months, so they could definitely do it again. This farce did not make her feel much better, but she did have conflicting memories of Ulinthra’s behaviors, so maybe Ulinthra had conflicting thoughts about her own actions. Maybe some good in her was inching its way to the surface.

Once it was over, Leona said goodbye to their ally, Holly Blue, and tried to make her way back to the unit. Something went wrong with her glasses. They kept trying to get her to go a different way, even though she had easily memorized her path. She might have just taken them off, and gone on her own, but she was curious as to why the glasses were leading her somewhere else, so she decided to follow it. Before too long, she found herself standing in front of Brooke, which the glasses indicated was her final destination. She looked better than she had in a long time. Color had returned to her skin, and she held herself straighter. She hadn’t appeared this healthy since she had all of her transhumanistic upgrades. She was in the front of a classroom full of students. Diagrams of various ships and instruments were floating around. It almost looked like she was teaching these people how to fly, but that wasn’t possible. Could it?

“Shit,” Brooke said under her breath. “Class, please reread the section on interplanetary gravitational influence. We’ll be going back into VR for a formation exercise after lunch.”

“What are you doing here?” Brooke accused her once they were out in the hallway.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Leona said.

“You shouldn’t be here.” She looked up and down the hallway.

“How are you a teacher? What, your students have class once a year?”

Brooke breathed in deeper than her body required to survive.

“Ulinthra cured you permanently,” Leona realized.

“It’s not what it looks like. Things are more complicated here than we’ve seen. People are doing better than the resistance led us to believe.”

“You gave up the resistance?” Leona said too loudly.

“No,” Brooke volleyed, just as loudly. She quieted down, “I would never. I know what you’re thinking, but I’ve not been indoctrinated. I’ve just found a way to live not so...urgently.”

Leona tried to break it down. “Ulinthra. Started a war. That didn’t need to happen. The smaller arcstates were fine before her.”

“You don’t know that,” Brooke pointed out. “You don’t know shit. This planet has no leadership. Their ancestors spent so much time designing what they thought was a perfect, self-sustaining modern civilization, with no central government, that they failed to imagine what would happen if something went wrong. Things were falling apart, so Arianrhod stepped up. I’m not saying she’s the ideal candidate, but no one else was doing it.”

“My God,” Leona said, shaking her head. “Darrow didn’t betray us. You did. You told her about the penny, and everything. Where did I go wrong with you?”

“Oh, don’t give me that. You were my guardian for, like, five minutes. Xearea and Camden’s grandmother raised me more than you did.”

“Who?”

“Don’t worry about it. You need to get back to your unit, so you can rework your battle plans. Something tells me the penny trick won’t work anymore. I have to get back to class.”

“Is this military training?” Leona asked, stopping her.

“What?”

“Are you training cadets, or cargo ship pilots?”

“I don’t have to answer that.”

“You just did.”

Leona went back to tell the other two what had happened. Vitalie disclosed that she had flipped a penny already, and had come up with tails again. She wasn’t so sure they should stop trying this just because Ulinthra knew about it. She could never precisely tailor their morning conversations to happen exactly as they had the first time around. The real lesson here, however, was that it didn’t matter what the power of probability could do for them. Ulinthra still had major advantages over them; namely that she existed three hundred and sixty-five times more than they did. Now they had lost another one of their greatest assets, and while Holly Blue couldn’t say anything outright, she did imply that the resistance was pretty hopelessly dead. Something huge about their dynamic had to change, and all the pennies in the world wouldn’t be enough to make that happen. There had to be something they could do; something they hadn’t tried before. What they really needed was a new ringer.

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Fervor: Out of Action (Part VIII)

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While Slipstream, Hogarth, and Leona showed no signs that they could remember anything about their lives beyond their childhoods, they were also receptive to mine and Hilde’s help. If we couldn’t find a way to make these people trust us, I don’t know how we could have helped. We went back to the Bran safehouse, and took care of them as best we could. At first, we thought a good night’s rest would be enough to get them out of this, but they woke up just as lost as before. Then we thought we might be able to jog their memories with a few context clues, but there was only so much we could do. Slipstream was easy. We knew where she lived, where she hung out, and who her friends were. None of it helped, of course, but the tracer gang insisted she stay with them just the same. Hogarth was the next easiest, but was still without hope. Hilde tried to remind her of the time they spent together, but since their hometown no longer existed, we couldn’t show her familiar objects. Not that it mattered, because this wasn’t working anyway. There was nothing we could try for Leona, since none of us really knew her. Baby Brooke seemed to think they hadn’t known each other for that long, so theirs wasn’t a strong connection.

On the third day, nearly out of ideas, Hilde and I decided to try something crazy. One thing I’ve gathered from this time traveler underground is that if you don’t know who might understand you, there was a word you can use. Salmon are a special class of temporal manipulators who have no control over their—well, you couldn’t really call what they have powers; it’s more like nonlinear time happens to them. I don’t really quite understand why it is they’re called salmon, but it’s a really good buzzword. Normal people will just think you’re talking about fish, but a time traveler will easily figure out that you’re trying to communicate with them secretly. Unfortunately, since there weren’t any possible travelers around, all we could do was put out a local advertisement, and hope that someone relevant happened to see it. It took days for it to work.

While Mireille was babysitting one regular child, and three two grown-up children, Hilde and I hung out all day at Mendoza Park. We’re sitting on the edge of the fountain on the fourth day since the memory loss when a young woman in sunglasses sits right next to us. We think she’s here for us, but there’s no way to tell. She takes out her phone. “Hi, mom. Yes, I can go to the store after work.” She turns to face us, and slides her glasses down the bridge of her nose. “I’ll pick up some of that good salmon from the bulk store.”

“Oh, thank God,” Hilde says. “We’ve been waiting for you for two days.”

“One and a half,” I clarify.

“Well, we knew something was strange when someone noticed you put out an ad just to ask whether the fish in Cleaver Fountain were salmon,” the woman says. “I’m Agent Cabral. And you?”

“Paige Turner. Hilde Unger. Who’s we?”

“I run an international coalition of intelligence agencies,” Agent Cabral says. Does she not have to keep that a secret?

“Let me guess, the government found out about people with time powers—”

“Hardly,” Agent Cabral interrupts. “We have a few choosers and salmon field agents, but we don’t revolve around them. What can we help you with?”

“Someone erased our friends’ memories,” Hilde explains. “She might have gotten some drug from the future, we don’t know. I just want my girlfriend back.”

“Are you sure it isn’t due to quantum blending?” the agent asks.

“What is that?”

“Was it a drug, or did the person manipulate reality to make them forget? There’s a big difference in how we solve this.”

“But you can solve it?” I ask.

“If it’s a drug, I know someone. If it’s because reality’s been jacked up, probably not. My organization does not have the same resources it once did. We’re probably on our way to shutting down.”

“Let’s assume it was some drug, and go from there,” I suggest.

“Okay. Follow me.” She stands up, and leads us to a more secluded part of the park, covered by trees. She takes out her phone again, and makes a real call this time. “Ashlock? Three to beam up.”

I feel something tugging on my chest, and pulling me backwards. I’m suddenly standing in what looks like the living room of a house that someone has remodeled for small business use. I’m having trouble reclaiming my balance, and a man is pointing a weapon at us.

“Stand down, Kolby,” another man says. “I obviously invited them here.”

“We don’t know who these two are,” Kolby states.

“These two children?” the other guy asks. “I think we’re safe. I trust Ecrin’s judgment.”

“Your name is Kolby?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Kolby Morse?” I add.

He lowers his weapon. “You’ve heard of me?”

“I met your partner in J.U. Mithra Labs,” I tell him.

Kolby clears his throat. “Please don’t talk about him. It’s not safe.”

“Of course.” I turn to the other guy, and give him my hand. “You must be Ashlock. I was to understand you could help with our friends’ memory problems?”

“Uh...not me,” Ashlock says. He looks over at Ecrin Cabral. “The doctor is on a mission in 2022 Maine right now. She’ll probably be back in an hour. In the meantime, Kolby made sandwiches.”

As hard of a man as he seems to be, Kolby makes a complete 180, and starts to smile proudly. “And avocado toast.”

“So what is it you have goin’ on here?” I ask with tofu sandwich in my mouth.

“We help people,” Ashlock answers.

“Help people with what?”

“It’s a complicated system, but basically I send our field agent to the body of someone in the past to help them, and people around them.”

“You could even say you...put right what once went wrong?” Hilde prodded.

“Yes,” Ashlock says with a grin. “A friend of mine came up with the idea, and he says that show inspired him.”

“Do you only send one person into people’s bodies?” Hilde asks.

“I can only send Quivira. She’s the one with the power to possess others. If I want to send someone else, they have to go back as themselves. We do it this way so we don’t have to convince the humans to trust us when we try to make things better.”

“And the doctor?”

“She can go back as herself,” Ashlock explains, “because she carries credibility. She’s a psychiatrist, which we find to be vital to the success of our operation. You’ll meet her, but probably not Qui—.” He suddenly stops and stares into space. His eyes dart back and forth, and his lips move a little, like a child learning to read.

“What’s he doing?” Hilde asks.

“He’s talking with someone in the past,” Kolby replies. “It’s kind of creepy, but you get used to it.”

“He’s both Ziggy, and Al,” I note.

Kolby keeps smiling, and goes back to his lunch.

Ashlock comes out of the trance. “Hammer will be here soon. She says I should action the three patients here, so she can examine them at the same time.”

She wants you to do what with them?” Hilde asks, thinking she should be offended.

“That’s just what I call my power. It’s what I did when I summoned you to me. I pull you out of one time and place, and land you somewhere else. In this case, it’s time travel without the time. They call me The Action.”

“Who calls you that?” Kolby asks, obviously already knowing the answer.

“I prefer Ashlock,” I remark.

Ashlock isn’t pleased, but Kolby is. “Most people do,” he says.

After we finish eating, Ashlock sends us to our unit in the Ponce de Leon, where we retrieve Hogarth and Leona. Hilde then goes to the tracer gang headquarters alone. It takes her so long to presumably convince Slipstream’s friends that we’ve found a way to help her that a Doctor Mallory Hammer comes back from the past before they return.

“Pleased to meet you,” Dr. Hammer says.

“Do you need to rest?” Kolby asks protectively.

“I’m fine. They do have beds in 2022. Anyway, are these my patients?”

“These two are,” I say. “The third is on her way.”

“Okay, we’ll start without her. Privately.” She leads them to the examination room, which was probably once just a bedroom, while I wait here. Before she leaves, she asks Ashlock to check on her primary patient, so he goes down to the basement. While I’m not told specifically to stay out, it’s clear that the basement is a no-go zone.

Ecrin has to go upstairs to make a call, so now I’m just alone with the security guard. “Was he doing okay?” he asks of me.

“Who?”

“Elder. My partner.”

“I thought we couldn’t talk about him.”

“Not around others, but you can tell me what you know.”

“His name was Elder?”

“Yeah. Elder Caverness. I’m guess this means you didn’t spend much time with him?”

“Few minutes,” I lament. “He doesn’t seem the happiest where he is, working for the woman we’re trying to stop right now. He’s doing okay, though...convinced he’s exactly where he needs to be.”

Kolby nods. “That sounds like him.”

“I think he misses you. Do you ever see each other?” I ask.

“Radio silence, by design. Please don’t mention him to anyone else. His mission is too important.”

“Of course.” I zip my mouth closed, locked it up, and break the key in half with my bare hands.

Ashlock comes back upstairs, having actioned Hilde and Slipstream here. He escorts the latter to the backroom, then comes back to wait with us at the table.

A half hour later, Dr. Hammer comes out alone. “I’m sending samples to the time lab. I can’t expedite the testing, because there may be a temporal component to the drug itself, which could be distorted if it’s not measured in linear time. I’m fairly certain I know what it is, though. It resembles something I encountered a few hundred years from now. I think it came from another planet. The person who did this is serious business. Once I help your friends with a broad spectrum counteragent, you should all stay away from her.”

“They can’t do that,” Kolby says, having completely warmed up to them.

I look at him, then back to Dr. Hammer. “The mission is too important.”

“Well, I can insulate you from the effects of the memory loss, but the formula also requires realtime, so it wouldn’t be ready for about a week.”

“That’s okay,” Hilde says. “We don’t think it’s her main weapon, or a weapon at all. We think our friends were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Thank you for everything,” I say graciously. “All of you.”

“We’ll get your people fixed up, and on their way,” Ashlock says, standing up. “Ecrin will take you back home the long way ‘round, so you know where we are. Come for avocado toast whenever you want.”

“Thanks again,” I say. Then I add, “The Action.”

He smiles.

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Microstory 915: Indoor Plumbing/Energy Grid

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I think this is something that we can all get behind. It’s pretty easy, living in the developed world, to take for granted the basic utilities to which we have access. As I know you know, there are parts of the world without these things. They walk great distances for clean water, or just water that isn’t so clean. Not everyone has electricity, or heat, or air conditioning. A lot of these people are doing fine, so I don’t want you thinking I’m saying everyone else’s lives are terrible. I remember reading about an uncontacted tribe—I believe somewhere in the Amazon, and they may not be totally uncontacted—that does as little as possible. They wake up late, hang out most of the day, and only do as much work as they need to survive. They don’t have plumbing or energy, and it doesn’t seem to bother them. I’m not here to say that it’s unreasonable to want to return to a time before these things. In the future of my stories, you’ll see a sliding scale of technology in the world. Some will embrace amazing advances, even going so far as to upgrade their bodies to nonorganic substrates. There will be those, however, who would prefer to live without these amenities. There will be people who fall somewhere in between these two extremes. And for the most part, that will be okay. The only time the governing system should step in is if these people begin to needlessly damage the ecosystem with their way of life. We’ll let them live like nomads or pioneers, but we’re not gonna let them tear down forests for farms. And we’ll let nonorganics build superstructures, but they better be taller than they are wide. I’ve recently signed up for a special renewable energy program. Even though renewable energy sources do not exist in my area, I do pay for it. For every bit of energy I use, my bill goes towards offsetting my carbon footprint by providing wind power in regions where the infrastructure has already begun. There are still some major developments we need to make in that infrastructure, and in efficiency, but I wanted to take a moment to appreciate how nice it is to flip the lightswitch on in my home, and be fairly certain that the lights will turn on. Please note that KC Power & Light has, in recent years, been experiencing frustrating power outages. It all comes down to how much the growing population is taxing the system. What we need are microgrids, and personal renewable equipment, but that’s a story for another day.

Microstory 914: My Dogs

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I thought I had told you this story before, but I guess not. A few weeks before my sixteenth birthday, my parents told me that they would need me for a trip over the weekend. My aunt was in the market for a new (old) car, but was in Spain at the time, and unable to look for one herself. She liked a particular kind at the time, and I know next to nothing about cars, so I wasn’t fazed when they claimed the one they found was hundreds of miles away in Minnesota. I remember telling my whole health class about the upcoming road trip, for some reason, as dull as I assumed it would be. We stayed one night in a hotel, and then drove out to the farm in the morning, where the car was supposedly waiting. My dad said he wanted to speak with the seller, so my mom and I waited in the car. A few minutes later, he walked back out of the barn with a man, who was holding a smol puppy in his arms. Once I was out of the car, he offered to let me hold her, which I gladly accepted. Only then did my parents reveal that this was my dog. She was a nine-week-old American Foxhound, and the most beautiful creature I had seen in my life. The whole thing about the car was a total lie; a ruse to get me up there. On the way back home, my dad handed me a list of French names, and suggested I take one from it, since I was studying French at the time. I chose Sophie, because I was also into philosophy back then. I kept that girl for almost ten years before we lost her to the evil of Billy Rubin, and I’ve never forgiven time for taking her away from me. I miss you, Sophie Love Highfill.

Cut to nearly five years later when I’m finally ready for a new dog. I have my own house, with a huge backyard, and a nice deck. While there are fences surrounding most of the property, they’re not the kinds we want, so we decided to contract a new one. It took my family and me months to prepare for the new pup. We had to clean up the yard, hire someone to remove a few trees, and totally rearrange the first floor of my house. I got rid of the giant dining table, and moved my TV into the dining room, because that’s where the door to the deck is. We bought kennels, and a cage, and a doghouse, and food and water bowls, and everything else the dog would need. I also spent a lot of time trying to come up with a good name for her, ultimately settling on Daisy Quake; after a character in one of our favorite television series, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. On the fourth day of July of this year, my dad and I drove to the other side of Missouri to pick up the six-week-old English Coonhound. I chose her because, while her brothers and sisters were clamoring for attention, she was just chilling in their huge doghouse. As it turns out, she was probably just tired at the moment, because she’s an energetic wild one in real life. She jumps, bites, wrestles, and plays tug-o-war. And I love her just as much as I did Sophie. I regret all the time I didn’t take to spend with my first dog, and I’m determined to not make that mistake again. I never did say that these 99 things that I love are in a randomized order. If they weren’t, my dogs and my family would be tied for first place.

Microstory 913: Blood/Organ Donation

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When I was getting my first driver’s license, someone at the DMV was explaining to me what it meant to be an organ donor, and acting as if I had a choice. It was years before I started realizing that there are actually a fair number of people who choose to not be donors, which perplexes me. Why would you not want that? My instinct was that the majority of them are religious, and believe giving away parts of their former bodies is somehow going to hurt their conditions in the magical flying spaghetti monsterland, or wherever it is they think they’re going for chanting nonsense once a week. As it turns out, religion is a common reason people have in favor of becoming donors. So maybe it’s that many are so spiteful and misanthropic that, in one final middle finger to the world, they’re going to make sure their deaths lead to nothing good. Eh, those kinds of people aren’t as plentiful as it might seem. The truth is that there are many other reasons to check the wrong box. People get a lot of their education from glamorized television; this case being medical dramas. The rumor is that a doctor won’t save your life if your organs can be donated. This absurdity relies on the doctor making a choice between yours, and someone else’s life. What do you suppose the criteria are, and what makes you think you wouldn’t win? This is also related to a mistrusts in doctors, and medical science as a whole.  I guess I get that to some extent, because I’ve never met a doctor that I liked. But while there are outliers, every single one of them in the Western world took some modern form of the Hippocratic oath, and that’s not something to be ignored. The fact is that you don’t need your heart and kidneys after death, so there is no legitimate reason to try to literally take them to your grave. I do want to speak on some related issues that need to be addressed. As medical science improves, and life comes with more safety protocols, we face an even greater shortage of viable donors. People are living longer, and more easily surviving physical traumas, which means there are fewer to go around. And while this often means treatment can exclude the necessity of an organ transplant, it doesn’t preclude it entirely. We still need them, and you can help. In the future, we’ll be able to print organs in a medical synthesizer, using cells harvested from the patient themselves, to avoid any compatibility issues. But until then, do one thing for me; check that donation consent box. God forbid you die, but if you ever do, you could save up to eight lives, and improve the lives of a hundred more. And look at it this way, if you end up donating everything possible, you’ll be put to rest seven pounds* lighter than you were when you died.

*The totality of the organs you’re capable of donating upon death actually adds up to less than four pounds, but your scale is broken anyway, right? How do I do a winky face?