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 987: Wireless Technology

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This one is going to have to be short, because my dog hurt herself, and I spent a lot of time waiting for her at the animal hospital. I’m not entirely sure what I was thinking when I put this on my list. Wireless technology is great, of course, but is it worth an entire installment. Nah, not really. I will say that wireless tech came out several years ago, and it hasn’t gotten much better. I remember reading a few months ago about a wireless energy device that could reach up to one meter. That’s a significant improvement over the millimeters most wireless chargers use, but it’s still not good enough. In the future, I imagine a smoke-detector like instrument, attached to the ceiling of your home, that’s capable of powering all of your devices as long as you’re there. Maybe it only reaches that floor, and you have to buy more for larger houses, or maybe it’s like WiFi routers, which can cover an entire standard house. Some cities may even blanket the entire area with wireless power antennae, supporting the whole community all at once. Either way, we have to get rid of all these wires. It is the last thing tying us down. Thank you, and goodnight. I’m not even gonna edit this.

Microstory 986: UBI Trials

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In the early days, everyone was responsible for themselves, and their family. But our ancestors quickly realized how much safer life was when groups of families stuck together. Many traits humans carry today were formed thousands of years ago to promote survival. We use it for slapstick comedy now, but there’s a very good reason why seeing someone throw up makes you throw up. Involuntary vomiting is a result of bad food, so when it happened to one tribe member, those whose gag reflexes were triggered had a better chance of surviving, thereby passing on their genes. The ones who weren’t triggered to vomit as well, may have died of whatever poison was in the food, and never had children. Even yawning is believed to be have some sort of tribal evolutionary component, which would explain why it’s so fascinatingly contagious. So believe me when I tell you I understand why our predecessors chose capitalism. Their best means of survival was to distribute skill across the population. It was impractical for every single person to know how to make pelts, and cook, and hunt, and gather, and so on. Giving everyone a responsibility to focus on allowed our species to develop at a phenomenal rate. This has served us well, on the whole, for all this time. The best thing it’s done for us was to get us to a point of technological achievement so great, that we will soon no longer need to work at all. We have been unfortunately indoctrinated by society to believe we must work forty hours a week to be fulfilled. As an autistic person, I find it incredibly grating when I hear someone in the elevator talk about how it’s not yet Friday, or if it is Friday, how great it is that it’s Friday. As the song goes, everybody’s working for the weekend. So I know you don’t actually like your work, which is why it’s so baffling how fundamentally invested you are in it. I do my job so I can make money. I don’t personally care whether my clients get their pieces of mail. Why would I? It has nothing to do with me. If they stopped paying me, I would stop doing it.

A bunch of smart people out there have come up with brilliant alternatives to work, and these new plans are being tested in trials all over the world, as we speak. Money has no real value, which is why we call it a fiat. In our country, it used to be backed by gold, but even gold doesn’t have as much value as we think. The market is based on whatever arbitrary value we place on things, and it changes all the time. Gold has many uses. It’s probably in your phone. But it’s also in your jewelry, and jewelry doesn’t do anything. The only true commodity on the entire planet is labor. Everything comes down to labor, so what do we have if we get rid of that? You may think nothing, but in reality, it’s everything. A lack of work would allow us to explore hobbies. I would probably take up painting, even though I’ve never really tried it. I would go backpacking, and skiing, and I would write more. What would you do with your time if you didn’t spend twenty-six minutes commuting to work, eight hours working, an hour at lunch somewhere necessarily close to work, and twenty-six more minutes going home? Automation will allow us to receive the same benefits that human labor does today; more even. This automated labor will generate revenue for large corporations, and since those corporations don’t have to pay their workers, they’ll be expected to contribute to a government fund. The wealth from that fund will be redistributed to all citizens; possibly with variable conditions, like age or lawfulness. We can do this, but we’re going to need a dramatic shift in the general psyche. The 40-hour work week did not become standard in this country until 1938, and there is no reason to not lower it again. Studies have suggested shorter working hours would help stave off climate change, actually increase gross domestic product, and lower suicide rates. I know you’re all real big on fixing mental illness, since that’s the only reason for gun violence. I would like to say thank you to everyone who has created, or participated in, a universal basic income trial. Even when it doesn’t work, we learn valuable data, so we can institute something ubiquitous. I fear that, if we don’t ever do this, then we will all perish, and leave this world to talking sea otters.

The Advancement of Leona Matic: Prime

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Vito and Khuweka split the group in half, and teleported everyone back to the Prototype. Kallias tried to hand the goggles over to Leona, but she figured it would be best to keep all their ingredients separate, for now. She possessed the Compass of Disturbance, and Kivi was in charge of the Book of Hogarth, because Hogarth herself didn’t want nothing to do with it. Vitalie kept the Incorruptible Astrolabe in her bag, Hogarth had the Rothko Torch, Khuweka kept the Jayde Spyglass, and now Kallias could hold onto the HG Goggles. Once everyone was inside, Leona interfaced her tattoo with the machine once more, and started up the engines.

“How long will it take to get there?” Kivi asked, increasing her volume with every word, as the engines grew louder and louder. “Some of us won’t live forever!”

“We’re here,” Khuweka said, interpreting the screens. It was one thing to speak Maramon conversationally. Reading the script, and understanding the monitor outputs, were entirely different skills, so they still needed her to operate this thing.

“Really? Wow,” Vitalie said. “Why did the last one take months?”

“The Composite Universe, and Universe Prime are quantum entangled with one another,” Khuweka began to explain. “As far as hyperdimensional relativity goes, they’re right next to each other. When the original Prototype exploration crew found what we call the biverse, they decided to stay away from both of them. Most human civilizations die out before growing too technologically advanced to become a threat to us. The residents of the biverse are exceedingly more powerful than anything you’ve ever seen. The only reason we were safe in the Composite was because that world, at that time, was largely abandoned. When we step out to Earth here, there’s no telling what we’ll find. Tread lightly, I will probably go invisible.”

“This is Earth, though,” Hogarth asked.

“Yes,” Khuweka said. “Though it is a very different than your own, much is the same. Technology, for instance, has advanced at about the same rate, according to a strikingly similar arbitrary calendar.”

“What year is it right now?” Leona asked as she was looking at a very underdeveloped village a couple hundred meters from their position.

“Sixteen-ninety-nine,” Khuweka answered, looking at the monitor again. She turned away from it, but did a double-take. “Oh, sorry. Negative sixteen-ninety-nine; about seventeen hundred years before the common area, and the birth of some random guy named Jesus.”

Though she was strictly atheist, Leona’s husband was born and raised Catholic. Fortunately, Mateo didn’t exist in the timestream, and no one else here seemed to be offended by Khuweka’s remark. The way Leona understood it, disparate universes were completely unrelated entities, and quite unlike alternate realities. Even Earths that began with the same start values would have developed under radically different conditions, resulting in not a single individual from one having an alternate version in another. Still, there seemed to be some exceptions to this rule, in some cases; apparently people whose lives so profoundly impacted history. Donald Trump, Adolf Hitler, and Jesus of Mary and Joseph, appeared to exist in multiple branes, which they shouldn’t, suggesting some level of quantum entanglement that permeated the bulkverse. What about these few people led to multiple versions of them having been born? Then again, human beings themselves ought to be extremely rare in their familiar form, due to minor differences in the environment in which life evolved. Perhaps these constants were simply quirky extensions of whatever principle allowed humans to be so unrealistically pervasive.

“There’s someone at the door,” Kivi pointed out as she was looking at the view monitor. Her comment was quickly followed by a knock on that very door.

Vito set down his drink, and walked over to the entrance with a strut. “I will protect you from harm,” he said, embracing his immense power. “Can I help you?” he asked, out of sight of either the camera, and blocked by the antechamber.

“Step aside,” came a reply.

Leona recognized that voice. She ran over, and tackled Missy Atterberry as she tried to round the corner. “Oh my God, you’re here. It’s been so long!”

Missy hugged her back, but with only one arm. The other was missing.

“What happened?” Leona asked.

“Occupational hazard,” Missy replied after Leona finally let her go. “I’m the one what caused the Crossover to explode. My arm didn’t survive.”

“I can build you a prosthetic,” Hogarth said. “Hell, you come with us back to our universe, I could regrow your limb.”

Missy shook her head. “Not possible. The most advanced scientists in the biverse have attempted. There’s a neurological block between my brain, and the nerve-endings. A lot of people experience something called phantom limb, which causes them to feel pain from appendages they’ve lost. I have the opposite condition, where my brain is indissolubly aware that my arm is no longer there. I can’t even trick it. I’ve survived, though.”

“I’m so sorry,” Leona said.

“No,” Khuweka said. “I’m sorry. I’m the one what did this to you. You wouldn’t have been in the machine had I not dropped the canister of Serif nanites.”

Missy smiled lovingly. “That was millennia ago, I’m totally over it. I’m a doctor now. I can diagnose absolutely any illness.”

“How did you know we were coming?” Leona asked her. “You couldn’t have just happened to be living in the area?”

“I planned my travels accordingly,” Missy explained. “A friend of mine predicted your arrival. If he’s not busy, you may meet him. Come. It’ll be easier to turn this thing invisible if you’re already outside of it.”

“You knew you could turn things invisible?” Khuweka asked Missy.

Missy laughed as she ushered everyone out, one by one. “Of course. I just diagnosed my own time powers.”

“Damn, I should have thought of that,” Khuweka said.

“You’ve spent your whole life as an immortal,” Vito said comfortingly. “You probably never had reason to wonder how your body works, because it never breaks down.”

Once everyone was outside, Missy turned the Prototype invisible, and synced up her teleportation coordinates with Vito and Khuweka, so they could all jump at once.

Leona looked around with wonder. They were standing in the middle of a bustling city. There weren’t any skyscrapers, but there were streets, and electricity. “I thought this was the second millennium BCE. Did you jump us through time?”

“No,” Missy said. “This island was founded by aliens from a different universe, just like us. They call it...Atlantis.”

“Atlantis?” Vitalie asked. “I’ve heard of that from other choosers. The powers that be supposedly live here.”

“It’s a different Atlantis,” Hogarth tried to explain. “Remember?”

Missy laughed again as she walked up to a door, and rang the bell. “No, it’s not. There is only one Atlantis in the whole bulkverse.”

A man opened the door before anyone could ask Missy what the actual hell she was even bloody talking about.

“Meino, these are the ones you foretold would come; my friends from my homeverse.”

Meino looked them over, not with suspicion, but curiosity. “Have the council responded to your requisition?”

“They’ve not,” Missy responded. “I was hoping you could put in a good word.”

“They’re not just going to hand a weapon of mass destruction over to a bunch of random travelers.”

“Yes,” Missy agreed, “they’re travelers...from the universe of origin, which means it belongs to them more than anyone.”

“That doesn’t mean it belongs to them,” Meino said. “Now, if they had some sort of family claim to the artifact, I might be able to convince the council. Otherwise, I doubt my words would hold much sway.”

“We have a family claim,” Hogarth said. When everyone looked at her, she lowered her head in embarrassment. “My wife is the mother-in-law of the lighter’s original owner, Lubomir Resnik.”

“L.R.,” Meino said as he stared at Hogarth. “It’s engraved on the bottom of it. The museum always suspected it was a personal item.”

“It was a gift from a mage who fancied him,” Hogarth continued. “Rumor has it they were having an affair, but that was never confirmed. He had the power to form a mental map of everyone on the planet, and communicate with them telepathically. Well, it was more like hypnotism.”

“That makes sense, based on what the muster lighter can do. Very well, I will call in as many favors as I need to make this happen for you.”

“Thank you, Meino,” Missy said. “You are a good witch.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said nonchalantly as he stepped out of his house, and let the door close behind him. He then jumped up, and flew away like superhero.”

“What kind of time power lets you fly?” Kivi asked, eyes wider then a dinner plate.

“He doesn’t have a time power,” Missy said. “I just said it, he’s a witch. He has telekinesis.”

While the group waited for word on whether they would be allowed to take the Muster Lighter out of this universe, they had a beachview picnic. Those most concerned with how the powers that be maintained control over salmon pressed Missy for details on the matter. Leona, specifically, wanted to request audience with them, assuming this council of leaders were the ones responsible. Missy was clear that the council had nothing to do with it, and in fact, could do nothing to stop it. What was happening to Leona and the other salmon in their universe would not come to pass in this universe for many, many years. There was simply nothing they could do at the moment to affect any change. It was out of the question for them to somehow jump forward in time, and do something about it then, because that could prevent Leona from getting Mateo back. She resolved to come back later, hopefully further in the timeline of Universe Prime.

Meino contacted them about an hour later, and informed them the council was still considering their request, but would need to hear a plea from the family. When Hogarth stood up to go with him, she exploded.

“That seems like something the powers that be would do,” Kivi noted. “Why does she keep disappearing, if they don’t have control over us anymore?”

“She’s not salmon,” Kallias answered her. “Nor was she born a choosing one. She’s hypothesized that she was infected with temporal energy when the machine that she built exploded. Though the explosions seem random, she believes time is aware of itself, and is reacting to something in the timestream. We’ll probably never know what triggers them, if anything.”

“If she can’t speak,” Meino said, “the council will need someone to speak on her behalf. Or you can come back later, it doesn’t matter to them. No one else is asking for the muster lighter. Could you do it?” he asked of Kallias.

“I will,” Leona said. “The lighter may belong to her by way of family, but I’m the one who’s here to use it. I should explain to them why.”

“Very well,” Meino said. “One of your friends can teleport you, or I can let you fly.”

“Oo, fly,” Kivi said excitedly. “My mama always said, if someone asks you if you want to fly, always say yes.”

“She always said that?” Vitalie questioned. “She ever said that?”

“I wouldn’t mind the experience,” Leona said to Meino.

After becoming a time traveler, Leona saw and did a lot of things. She met famous historical figures, battled super powerful villains, and even died a few times. Nothing could compare to the feeling of flying through the open air. Her only regret was how small the island was, though it seemed like Meino was taking the long way around to give her more time. They flew onto the balcony of the top floor of a highrise, and walked right into the council room. A group of people were carrying on with their own conversations, and only passively acknowledged their arrival. They were an eclectic bunch. One of them was drinking what was either a bloody mary, or just blood. It did look like she had fangs, and her eyes were a vibrant shade of violet, so Leona was inclined to assume she was a vampire.

Once they were finished, the council leader spoke, “is this the relative of the original owner?”

“I am not,” Leona replied. “She is indisposed.”

“She’s lost somewhere else in time,” Meino clarified when the council leader looked to him.

Leona continued, “She was here to help me, however. I require the muster lighter in order to bring my husband bank from nonexistence.”

The council looked amongst each other. “How do you remember him if he no longer exists?” one of them asked her.

Leona rubbed her belly deliberately. “I’ve felt the evidence.”

They nodded, understanding her situation better than she would have expected. “We accept this change,” the leader said. “I am Council Leader Erica Phoenix. How will you use the artifact to retrieve your husband? How does it have this power?”

“It alone does not seem to,” Leona said. “My source indicates it will be working in tandem with several other objects, each with their own power. This source is designed to give information piecemeal, so I couldn’t tell you exactly how it will work, if at all.”

“The lighter is a powerful tool, but also profoundly dangerous. We believe it’s already been reverse engineered for nefarious purposes. Our inhouse seers do not see good things happening with this technology. Their visions, however, cannot reach beyond the biverse. How can we be assured of your good intentions?”

Leona took stock of what she had learned since arriving here. Meino was a witch with telekinesis, that woman was almost certainly a vampire, and the wolf at the end of the table was demonstrating active listening skills. People who could see the future were mentioned on multiple occasions, and technology this island utilized was far beyond anything that should exist in this time period. The leader’s name reminded Leona of an entity she once met named Monster, who referred to itself as a phoenix. She took a stab in the dark, and guessed there were lots of other wonders she had not had the pleasure of encountering. “I would be happy to submit to a telepath, or an empath.”

The council members looked at each other again. Maybe they were all telepaths, and never needed to say anything out loud. “We have decided to trust you. Besides, my great great grandchild vouches for you.” She stood up, prompting the others to do the same. “I’m afraid we must dispense with ceremony, however, as we have run out of time.” She pulled a lighter out of her pocket, and tossed it over to Leona. “Safe travels. It is my understanding you’ll be dealing with the bladapods next. Good luck with that.”

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Brooke’s Battles: Business (Part IX)

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After the captain disappeared, the rest of the crew of the Sharice Davids started brainstorming where she could have gone. The general consensus was that the white monster teleported to standard limit, and stayed in dark mode. They spent two weeks hanging out in the immediate vicinity, sending search probes in various directions, hoping to find evidence of the vessel. They then left a proximity buoy, and ventured deeper into the solar system to continue the search grid. They spent several months on this mission, declining to take on any other until Ecrin could be found. Meanwhile, the interplanetary police agency fleet grew to decent numbers, and no longer really needed the Sharice anymore anyway. In all this time, they never found any evidence of where the Maramon and Ecrin had gone. The only reason they eventually found her was because the buoy worked as planned. She was exactly where they had left her, but upon arrival, she straight up refused to tell them where she had been. She claimed she was fine, but that they didn’t need to know where she went. Holly Blue had her suspicions, but was unable to prove anything. The IPA didn’t conduct an internal review of the matter, because again, they were all but done with the Sharice.

Their ship still had its uses, however, so once Ecrin was back in command, she continued requesting assignments for work. At the moment, they were parked in the L4 Sun-Mars Lagrangian point. They weren’t investigating a crime, or hunting for terrorists. Instead, they were hosting a meeting. A small but growing group of people were interested in regressing the solar system back to full capitalism, the likes of which hadn’t seen since the mid-21st century, back when Mars was nothing more than a semi-permanent settlement. System leadership was dispatched to essentially negotiate with this group, ultimately hoping to convince them to end their plans. Humanity tried capitalism for centuries, and history was littered with war, inequality, and all kinds of death. Only when the nations united, and money was abolished, did true progress begin to take shape. Life in the solar system was not utopian, but there was a reason the introduction of the IPA was such a big deal. For a long time, no significant interplanetary law enforcement organization was necessary. Despite there now being tens of billions of independent intelligent entities, over a much greater jurisdiction, crime was almost at zero. The Sharice Davids really only stayed in business because people like the Freemarketeers occasionally sought to deliberately upset the peace.

This was not their first encounter with the Freemarketeers either. They had been around ever since Brooke accidentally create unregulated artificial intelligence, and Holly Blue began to invent temporal manipulation technology. These developments sparked a sense of greed amongst a few. They quickly created a capitalistic underbelly that the historical figures who envisioned a world without inequality failed to predict. They didn’t realize that a black market is an inevitable institution when privateers are faced with limitations. If a product or service has intrinsic value, it will have a market, in some form or another. The only difference now was that it was the only true market in the whole system. Most people in these modern times were happy with their allotted provisions. Food, shelter, and basic amenities were provided for every citizen with no expectations whatsoever. Access to the network, virtual reality, and transhumanistic upgrades were optional additions that came with conditions of positive contribution. That is, if you wanted to participate, you had to support society’s needs. The Northwest Forest circlers rejected these advances, so they were left to fend for themselves. The more work an individual put into bettering the community, the more they could potentially get out of it. But there was still no money. There was never any money. If the Freemarketeers wanted to go back to a world of money, they were in for a fight.

Ecrin Cabral was currently in the negotiation room serving two purposes. She was there in her capacity as captain of this ship, and also for everyone’s protection. She was a generally well-liked individual, with even more experience in police work than most people knew. If negotiations went bad, she could be there to protect the innocent, and if they were attacked by an outside force, she could protect anyone and everyone. She really was responsible for everyone, because though the system leadership was once infiltrated by a rogue faction of the Freemarketeers, it was those infiltrators whose lives were in danger when the anarcho-primitivists escalated to violence.

Being of little use to the process, Brooke was left sitting around with a good book, but something suddenly stopped her midsentence. Over time, she and Sharice had grown closer, each one learning to anticipate each other’s moves. Sharice was about to say something in the meeting room, and Brooke didn’t know why. “Shari, what are you doing?”

“I was going to help.”

“You can’t help.”

“Sure, I can.”

“This is not our business. You are just the vessel today. Think of it like a vacation.”

“I don’t do vacations.”

“Neither do I, but here I am with this book.”

“Why is it taking you so long to read that thing?”

“I’m thirty pages in, I started two minutes ago.”

“I can read a book instantly. Surely you can do it only a little bit slower.”

“I’m not reading so I know what happens. I’m reading to feel the joy of experiencing every sentence, one at a time.”

“That’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

“I’m the smartest entity in the solar system, and beyond.”

“Debatable.”

“I have an idea of how to save these talks, so I’ma do it.”

“Don’t do it.”

“I’m doing it.”

“Goddamnit.” Brooke tapped behind her ear. “Holly Blue, jump me to the meeting room immediately.”

“Bungula,” Brooke heard Sharice say after jumping into the room. Her voice inflection indicated she was repeating herself.

“We heard you the first time,” Ecrin said. “Why did you say it?”

“I’m suggesting that the Freakmarketeers be moved to Bungula.”

“What did she just call us?” the apparent leader of the Freemarketeers asked, offended.

“I apologize,” Sharice said. “That is internal nomenclature. I meant Freemarketeers.”

“Miss Prieto, please control your daughter.”

“She’s my mother, not my slavemaster,” Sharice defended. “I’m here to help.”

“Sharice, we’re leaving,” Brooke tried to order.

“No,” Sharice defied.

Ecrin sighed. “Signups have already begun for the first colonization wave to Bungula.”

“Not technically,” Sharice corrected her. “An interest gauging survey was sent out, but formal registration proceedings have not yet begun. There is still time to scrap it.”

“We have no interest in being exiled to Bungula,” the Freemarketeer leader said. “That goes against—”

“Shut up,” Sharice said.

“I beg your pardon?” the Freemarketeer questioned.

The Futurology Administrator, who was there mostly to provide perspective to all parties, stood up. “At current technology, it’s unrealistic to manage an interplanetary empire.”

The Mediator turned to him. “Admin Montagne, what does that have to do with anything?”

“When the colonizers left for Proxima Doma,” Admin Montagne continued, “they were informed that contact with Sol will be complicated. They will be expected to fend for themselves when they arrive, forming their own form of government. They will live and die by their choices, and the home system will be unable to help them.”

“Again, what’s your point?” Mediator Fenning asked him.

Admin Montagne addressed the Freemarketeer leader. “President Treacy, there is no way we are going to conform to your capitalistic ideals. Comparatively few people who experienced any bit of our species’ long history of inequality are still alive today. We’re not going backwards, and I think you know that. We’ve built something here, and we look to the future, which is even better. We won’t let you destroy that, no matter how hard you try. If you would like to go to war, we’ll do that too, and we’ll win. We’ll win, because we share our technology, and innovate on its intrinsic value. We aren’t hindered by low-balling, and corner-cutting, and selfish agenda. When we do something, we do it right, because we put everything we have into the effort.” He was showing a fierceness unbecoming of a system administrator. She didn’t even know his given name, but Brooke couldn’t help but be attracted to him in this moment. “This is our system, and you can’t have it!” He took a breath, and composed himself. “However, we are not without our empathy. We are willing to give you an entire solar system of your own. Well, not the entire thing, I guess. You’ll have the colonizers of Proxima d to contend with, but that’s not our problem. You can call it exile, or you can just say you’re moving. You can stay here, and be good little boys and girls, but if you want money, it’s on Bungula.”

There was silence for a good long while.

“I suggest we separate for internal deliberations,” Mediator Fenning said. “I must reach out to the rest of the system leadership, as the administrator does not technically speak for all of us.”

President Treacy nodded delicately. “Very well.”

The mediator stood up smiling as the Freemarketeers left the room. Her demeanor changed dramatically as she faced Ecrin. “I need to speak personally with the captain, and the Prietos. Goswin, you come too. We’ll convene in the executive meeting room.” She walked out briskly.

Brooke closed her eyes and shook head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to Ecrin.

“She’s your daughter, but this is my ship, and I’m responsible for everyone on it, including her. She may have ruined this for everyone.” Ecrin tapped her fingers sequentially with her thumb, from pinkie to index, which activated a command that prevented Sharice from being able to hear a private conversation. “Or she saved it.”

They walked down the corridor, and into the executive room, where Mediator Fenning and Administrator Montagne was already waiting.

“What in the worlds was that?” Mediator Fenning asked.

“Mediator, I would like to express—” Brooke started to apologize.

“I want her to answer,” Fenning interrupted.

“I stand by my actions,” Sharice replied bluntly. “Your discussion was failing, and you were getting nowhere. I had to give them something. You may think you would win the war, but capitalists are ruthless. They don’t care about life. You would end them quickly, but not before suffering a number of casualties.”

“I agree with her,” Montagne said.

“Of course you do,” Fenning snapped. “You were so far over the line, you would have needed an emergency teleporter to get back to it by the end of your lifetime. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I stand by my actions. Our discussion was failing, and we were—” he tried to echo Sharice’s answer.

“Oh, goddammit, just save it!” The Mediator centered herself. “What’s done is done. I have to go start the phone tree. This isn’t over yet, but it better work. The people are going to be livid that we gave up Alpha Centauri. I don’t know how we can spin this. You may be out of a job.”

Montagne wasn’t perturbed by the prospect. He just nodded to her cordially, and smiled as she left. “Sharice, where did you come up with this idea?”

“It worked for the Fosteans in that old TV show, The Light of Day.”

“No,” Ecrin said, “it didn’t.” She walked out of the room as well.

Admin Montagne smoldered at Brooke. They weren’t quite alone yet. He lifted his hand, and ran his thumb from pinkie to index, just like Ecrin had. “My name’s Goswin. What’s your sign?”

Brooke blushed, or rather she would have if her transhumanistic upgrades didn’t precisely regulate blood flow at all times. “I was born on a planet millions of light years from here. The constellations were wildly different, and as far as I know, did not have names.” She stepped closer to him, and smoldered back. “And one more thing.”

“What?”

She stepped even closer, so that their faces were centimeters away. She spoke softly, “only crew can do the tetra-tap. It requires an implant. Sharice can still hear us.”

“Hiya, Goswin!” Sharice laughed.

“Oh.” Goswin took Brooke by the wrist, and manipulated her fingers for the tetra-tap. “Now, where were we?”

Brooke smiled knowingly, and whispered again, “wrong hand.”

“Still here!” Sharice exclaimed.

The senior administration opened the door. “The Freemarketeers came back.”

“That was quick,” Goswin noted. “Did they agree to the initial proposal?”

“Yeah, but they want the Sharice to take them there.” He was about to leave, when he remembered one more thing. “Oh, and you’re fired.”

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Microstory 985: The FBI

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One thing you may not know about me is that I’m very wary of law enforcement. The idea of it seems reasonable; I even wanted to be a policeman when I was quite young. You might have heard of something called the Myers-Briggs Personality Test, but there’s also the lesser known version called the Keirsey Temperament Sorter. I prefer the latter, because it better categorizes personalities according to how people behave—rather than simply how they feel internally—which I find to be a more practical use of the test. I tested into the Protector temperament, which correlates to ISFJ. I get how important it is that we have people who are responsible for the safety of others. So, as I said, the idea makes sense, but there are two fundamental problems that arise from it; the corrupt justice system as a whole, and the corrupt individual actors. The system is designed to punish offenders for their crimes, and once that has been accomplished, they can be sent back into the world with almost nothing. Then when they’re busted for further crimes, they’re punished again, so the vicious cycle can continue until they either die, or commit such a terrible offense that they’re never released again. Few come out of prison both better people, and with the tools they need to enact their new philosophy by contributing positively to society, which is now how it should be. In all the centuries we’ve been doing this, you would think we would have caught on by now to the fact that punishment absolutely does not work. The name of the game is rehabilitation. That’s what gets people to stop coming back for more. Some people are born with certain psychological issues that cause them to want to hurt others, while some people develop these tendencies later. I’m no doctor, nor psychologist, so I can’t tell you how to help those ones, but I can tell you that the majority of offenders do so out of, if only by their own perception, necessity. Poor people steal, because they don’t already have what they need, and they’re expected to live like that without complaining. The American Dream gets touted around as if everyone here has equal opportunity to better themselves, and too much privilege prevents the elite from recognizing, if they were to care, that the American Dream is actually total bullshit. Outside of the mentally ill, nearly all crime would go down to negligible numbers if money didn’t exist. If every citizen was given a baseline amount of food, water, shelter, and protection, they wouldn’t need to steal, or find unhealthy ways of protecting themselves.

As we see all over the news, dirty cops are a problem that’s either growing, or we’re hearing about it more than before, but regardless, it has to stop. We have to stop shooting innocent people for the crime of existing while black, and we have to penalize these heinous crimes with the same response we give to murder. Any other individual kills someone, and we send them to jail, but if a cop does it, suddenly everything is what they in the business call a “good shoot”. This all being said, I believe that our system can improve, as can similar agencies around the world. I often find myself defending people or institutions that I never thought I would. I had no strong feelings about Taylor Swift until Kanye West disrespected her so thoroughly on national television. And now I feel the need to express my gratitude for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The point of law enforcement is to investigate, and appropriately act upon crime. The first mandate is important, because if we only worried about a crime that’s proven simply by a miraculous and unprovoked confession, then the country would be more crime than non-crime. The FBI has to investigate foreign interference in our elections, and King Dumpster’s ties to Russian espionage, before they prove that the connection exists. You can’t just dismiss that investigation because you don’t like the idea that you voted for a Russian asset. When confronted with this possibility, Trump-voters react one of two ways: straight up denial, or a complete 180 degree shift from their original position with an endorsement of these activities. It’s absurd how literally the exact same people who were distrustful of all Russians due to the cold war are suddenly, not just indifferent to Russian influence, but completely on board with it. You can’t call yourself a patriot while promoting treason against your own nation, and I’m not sure I can make that reality any clearer. Thank you, Robert Mueller and team, for your integrity in the face of internal adversity, and your persistence toward discovering the truth, even if it means that just under half the country voted for a real Russian pawn.

Microstory 984: Live Theatre

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I grew up in the same world that you did, even though I make a lot of jokes about being born on a Keserint space station orbiting Pluto hundreds of thousands of years ago, or in the future. One of my biggest regrets is allowing myself to be influenced by so many bad sources of information. As a man, I’ve had it extremely easy, never feeling like I had to transform myself into the perfect people in magazines, or like I wasn’t allowed to wear pants. I did, however, contribute to the negativity this world has offered, almost always without even realizing it. My parents were always very loving, and believed in diversity, but there were so many other things vying for my attention, that not even their good teachings could insulate me from everything. I once had a teacher in middle school who got off on a tangent about some associate of hers who underwent gender reassignment surgery. She talked about how gross that was, and charged us to never do anything like that. She wasn’t an absolutely terrible person, but she was a clueless jackass who didn’t know what she was talking about, and that sort of behavior would never be tolerated today; not even in Kansas. I didn’t feel as sick about the idea as she did, but I didn’t question her position either. I spent years being indifferent to transgender people; time I could have spent being a vocal ally. That teacher fucking blocked something good in me with ignorant darkness, and I will never get that time back. People have died because children are highly impressionable, and are being taught to agree with just about everything a role model says. I’m optimistic about that teacher, and have enough faith in her that she’s changed her beliefs, possibly without even remembering—and thusly not feeling guilty about—the damage she inflicted on young minds. I recall her being fairly open-minded and liberal otherwise. She was just as much a victim of society’s rules as I was; more so, because she was older. The reason I’m saying all this is because, especially when I was younger, I’ve been conditioned to be resistant of certain things that I later realize I like. I had to overcome society’s expectations that I not like live theatre, because I am not a girl. I was expected to like sports and boobs, and nobody outside of my family even thought to let me question these assumptions. I like RENT, and I like listening to show tunes, I miss Smash, and I very much wanted to win the lottery for Hamilton tickets when my family took a trip to New York City in 2016. I even determined the physiological characteristics of a species in my stories based on the possibility that I may be able to help write a musical about them decades from now. They have two sets of vocal cords, so they can sing notes humans can’t, and singing is vital to the conception, and early development, of their offspring. The point is that gender roles are a social construct, rather than a biological one. You would probably agree if you saw Book of Mormon.

Microstory 983: Drones

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When people hear the word drone, they tend to think of two things; pointless little remote-controlled toys, or remotely piloted killing machines used for wiping terrorists off the map. Drones have so many more applications, and I’m sad to admit that I believe we’re very far behind on these developments, based on how long they have existed. I’m not sure what the amateur drone pilot is getting out of flying around the neighborhood. Are they spying on hot housewives getting out of the shower? Or is that pile of bricks in the back of their neighbor’s yard a fascinating thing to watch? This technology can be used to save lives, or increase safety. In a pretty early installment of The Advancement of Leona Matic, way back in 2015, a car broke down in the middle of nowhere. Instead of waiting for a tow truck that’s hours away, they summon a patrolling drone, who shows up within minutes. Using advanced software—possibly including artificial intelligence—it was able to scan under the hood, and diagnose what was wrong with it. It was then able to call for a driverless rental vehicle, accept payment via thumbprint, and even play music while they waited. Had a serial killer showed up to attack them, it would have been able to record his face, and contact emergency services. This is just one example of what a solar-powered drone could do. Besides regular maintenance, these little things can keep watch over rural roads pretty much indefinitely. Even deeper in the wilderness, a similar device can guard the hiking trails. A hiker can buy an emergency beacon to call a nearby drone in a dire situation. It can carry water, minimal rations, medical provisions, and other supplies. Hell, you could even commission one of these to literally follow you around everywhere you go. Maybe they can boost a signal to a satellite phone, or keep in constant communication with some kind of OnStar type service. Two to four of these can come together and take hold of a stretcher, if it’ll take too long for traditional rescue solutions to arrive. In a major disaster, a fleet of drones can be dispatched to hunt for the injured, and other survivors. After it’s all over, they can look for victims in hostile environments, long before it’s safe enough for a human rescuer venture there. Drones don’t have to be used only to murder people, or for fun that you get tired of after awhile. They don’t even just have to be used by law enforcement agencies for reconnaissance, or general surveillance. It’s estimated that millions of drones will be in the skies within the next two years, for various purposes, 30,000 of which will be stateside. Let’s try to make that number refer primarily to socially responsible usage, rather than unethical privacy invasion, or death. Drones have the capacity to make life safer and easier. Or they can destroy everything humanity holds dear, and lead the way to the destruction of civilization. I don’t love drones now. I love more what they have the potential to become.