Tuesday, June 11, 2024

Microstory 2167: Recall the Bad Stuff

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This is Nick again. I’m having a little trouble keeping my eyes open, and staying focused, but I’ll be all right eventually, and I wanted to share my own thoughts as soon as possible, even though my doctors would rather I abstain. I promise, Leonard will schedule it to post for me, which can sometimes take just as long as the writing itself. It’s true, a group of other jail guests ganged up on me last weekend, and beat me up pretty good. I never lost consciousness, but I did have to keep my face covered, so I remember more about how it felt than anything. In some ways, that made it worse, because I never knew when the next kick was going to come. Fortunately, we were in a camera blindspot, so the jail won’t ever find out who it was. I certainly couldn’t tell them, even if I wanted to. This was not a mixer, so people don’t shake your hand, and introduce themselves. If I ever learn anyone’s name, there’s a strong chance that I’ll forget it, especially since the intermittency of the schedule often means that I don’t see them again for a couple of weeks. People think that it must be awful, having such a bad memory, but I’ll refer you to the above, where I describe the terrifying sensation of being kicked repeatedly by multiple assailants. I would sure like to be able to forget this experience one day. Unfortunately, I tend to recall the bad stuff. Plus, they put me under general anesthesia, and repairing the internal bleeding was not a trivial matter. There was every chance that I would die on the operating table. I would never see my family again, my dog, Cricket and Claire. That’s what’s truly terrifying. I keep hoping that some bulk traveler will show up, if only to grab a quick bite at a fun unfamiliar restaurant. Just a few seconds of that portal opening could be enough to heal me. That could give me the time I need to accomplish my goals. But alas, that’s not going to happen. This is my life now, and it could also be my death. I’m at a pretty high risk of an infection, or there could be something else wrong with me that the doctors didn’t catch before. I know that none of you need a lesson on “how precious life is” but just don’t forget it, okay? If you want to do something, just do it; don’t wait. You never know what’s waiting for you under the next camera blindspot.

Monday, June 10, 2024

Microstory 2166: There is Violence Everywhere

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This is Nick’s parole officer, Leonard Miazga. Nick has asked me to write up a short post on his behalf. He was badly beaten by other inmates. They were displeased with his claims that the governor might commute his sentence, and allow the warden to hire him for a paid position at the jail instead. If it were to go through, it would be a massive change in dynamic, and that did not sit well with some of them. Nick has refused to name names, partially to protect the guilty, partially because he struggles with memory and recognizing faces, but also because he’s suffered brain damage as a result of his injuries. The attackers also broke three of his ribs, and two of his toes. His left shoulder was dislocated, and he has lacerations all over his body. They also discovered internal bleeding, which is why he’s currently being transported to the hospital for surgery. I’m sure that we will receive further diagnoses when the surgeon and other doctors perform their own examinations. While they’re doing that, I’m going to be in a meeting with the warden and the governor to discuss options. Nothing like this has ever happened before. There is violence everywhere, but this is the worst that this particular facility has ever reported. I will be strongly advocating for his release from his sentence, but either way, he should never be sent back in to this jail as he is no longer safe there. In addition to his prior work with the FBI, Nick is a model jail guest, and a positively contributing member of society. He has been gainfully employed for nearly two months, and has been working hard on this website, which readers have expressed gratitude for, for his ability to show what it’s really like to experience intermittent jail in this universe. I’ll update you tomorrow since I do not see him being well enough to write a post on his own so soon.

Sunday, June 9, 2024

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: The Rock – Part 3

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The Rock diplomatic discussions were over. Of course, the various representatives for the five former realities currently living side-by-side in the Sixth Key were going to stay in contact with each other, and diplomacy was never over. Even if they managed to integrate into a single unified peoples, internal conflicts would require constant care and consideration. Everyone was happy and unhappy at the same time, and that was all anyone could ask for when it came to something like this, especially at this incredibly unprecedented scale. The two major issues that they needed to cover were how to distribute resources, and how to organize some sort of joint form of governance. Things could always take any number of steps backwards, but they were ready to deal with that on their own, without any help from Pryce Tree, Team Matic, or the Vellani Ambassador. They found suitable locations in their own universe to handle anything new that came up.
There was only one thing left to do before the team could finally get back to their mission in the Goldilocks Corridor. As soon as the meeting was officially adjourned, Pryce Tree and Princess Honeypea disappeared, as did the delegates from the true main sequence. Everyone else still needed to get back to present day, and to the Sixth Key, or to its membrane twin, Fort Underhill. This other universe was attached to Salmonverse, but it could only be accessed at one location, for security reasons. Even a bulk traveler could not realistically enter the brane from a different spot, as the walls of the membrane were hyperdimensionally thicker than natural ones. For now, there wasn’t much traffic between the two conjoined universes, but that could change in the future, so Hogarth Pudeyonavic was currently erecting a checkpoint station to facilitate border crossings. Until that was finished, they just had to drop their own names to the little guard vessel, and go on through the breach.
Theirs was not the only biverse in the bulk. A few others were linked, like two stars orbiting each other. There were even rumors of a triverse somewhere out there. And when this happened, for whatever reason, the region of equilibrium between them was given a special name. They were now in the kasma. No one on the Ambassador was aware of the difference between the kasma, and any other part of the outer bulk. Perhaps it was an otherwise meaningless distinction, there only to designate its proximity to the connected branes. There was a bit of a lurch as their ship’s inertial dampener array began to recalibrate itself for the difference in environment. In a vacuum, you would be in a constant state of freefall, drawn towards the strongest source of gravity. In an equilibrium, gravity operated at an even distribution, which made it feel like every atom in your body was being pulled in every direction all at once. The strength of this pull wasn’t enough to spaghettify you, but it took some getting used to. That was why the internal dampeners were so necessary. They were taking longer to recalibrate. Hopefully, this would not be a problem on the way back.
“I would think that we would not feel such a thing from our little pocket dimension,” Carlin noted as he was stepping onto the bridge. Everyone else was either in the visitor’s pocket, or sitting around Delegation Hall.
“I wasn’t sure either,” Ramses replied. “I don’t know that much about it. I wish we were spending more time here, so I could take some more thorough readings.”
Olimpia shivered. “We’re spending long enough.” She hadn’t technically been in the kasma before, but was trapped between the two halves of the daughter universe. It too existed outside of the membranes, so it probably operated under the same physics. Her feeling of unease was not out of nowhere, and something that they should have been concerned about going into this final leg of the Rock mission. Fortunately, she lived there for untold time. This trip, however, would only take about an hour and a half.
Leona hugged her from the side with one arm. “We’re almost through.” The kasma was about three AU wide, at least here, which could have been incidental, or deliberate on the creator’s part. The reframe engine did not work inside, and in fact, they were unable to travel at high subfractional speeds. They were maxed out at about the quarter the speed of light. Their attempts to push it faster than that threatened to tear the ship apart at the seams.
They were watching on the viewscreen, but there wasn’t much to see. As they were too close to the nearest brane to view it in its full form, there was almost nothing but utter darkness. A pinprick of light marking their destination into Fort Underhill had appeared, now that they were only several hundred thousand kilometers away, but that was it. They were decelerating for safe entry, but they still would have covered the distance in a matter of minutes. Suddenly, a spacetrain appeared out of nowhere, roughly perpendicular to their vector. It was the Transit, of course.
Leona slammed her hand down onto the shipwide intercom. “Brace for gravity turbulence!” She pulled her hand away so she could slam it down again to the emergency stop button. There weren’t many physical controls on this thing, but that was an important one to include in the design, along with the touchscreens. “Full stop!”
The ship came to a complete stop, though Leona’s cry was her instinct to be safe rather than sorry. If anyone had an open glass of liquid, some of it would have splashed out, but they were otherwise okay. In normal space, a stop was a misnomer, as everything in the universe was in perpetual motion. But they were no longer in the universe, so it was extremely possible to be totally still. They just sat there in the equilibrium, and waited for the Transit to make its own stop in front of them. Everyone looked around. Someone was being recruited for the Transit Army. It could be any one of them, or hell, all of them. Usually, when the Transit appeared, time would stop for all but their target, but no one reported this happening. Everyone stayed in realtime, but perhaps that was a consequence of being in the kasma.
Unidentified beautiful purple ship, this is Azura of the Transit, please respond.
Leona opened a direct channel. “Transit, this is Leona Matic of the Vellani Ambassador. Who are you here for?”
A different voice came back after a mic bump, and some feedback. “Leona, this is Saga, but I go by Freya now. I’m looking for my daughter.
“Does the Transit have anti-teleportation tech?” Leona asked.
No, it does not,” Azura replied.
“Prepare to be boarded.” Leona switched off comms to address the team. “Olimpia and Angela, please stay with the delegates. Ramses, man the bridge. Mateo and Marie, you’re with me.”
At the last second, Carlin took Mateo in a bear hug to tag along. They were now all four in the Transit, which none of them had ever seen from the inside before. “Not cool, dude,” Mateo complained.
“Sorry, I had to see this,” Carlin responded. “No regrets.”
Leona approached the woman who looked just like Saga, but something shifted in her brain, forcing her to be absolutely certain that she was actually called Freya. In fact, she wasn’t even an Einarsson anymore, but a Hawthorne. Still, they reunited with a hug. Leona then shook the hand of the woman standing next to her. “Azura, I presume?”
Mateo was searching through his handheld device as Azura was nodding. He found what he was searching for. “I thought I recognized the name. I’ve heard it before, and saw you briefly. You’re an agent of the Maramon.” Centuries ago, when Mateo and Leona were separated for a long time, he was trying to rescue billions of human refugees from the universe and planet of Ansutah. During this desperate act, a Maramon broke into the facility, and co-opted the portal machine towards his own ends. Azura was one of the people that he sent off to god knows where. There were other names in this section of his list, including Cain, Abel, Seth, Luluwa, Awan, and Lilith. They were named after characters in the bible, no doubt. Then again, this involved time travel, so which came first, those chickens, or their eggs?
Azura nodded again. “I’m a hybrid, human and Maramon. You’re right, I was sent to spy on Missy Atterberry in Universe Prime, but I abandoned my post immediately. Actually, I abandoned it long before that. I secretly swapped my destination to Universum Originalis, billions of years before Missy would ever show up. I was bred to despise humans, as were my brothers and sisters, but that did not work on most of us. We make our own choices.”
“My daughter trusts her,” Freya explained, “and if Treasure says she’s okay, then I choose to believe as much.”
“Your daughter is Treasure Hawthorne?” Mateo flipped through his list again. “She’s on here too.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Azura said, “but best not give us any information about it. There is little chance that she has yet experienced meeting you in her personal timeline.”
Leona nodded acceptingly, and moved on. “What made you think that Treasure was here?”
“Thack,” Freya answered. “She can witness events in other branes, but not outside of other branes. The last she saw her, Treasure was taking my former ship, the Cormanu out of Salmonverse, but they never exited. Well, they do show up eventually, but Treasure isn’t there, and the ship has been repaired, so that’s some other point in the ship’s timeline. Time, right?”
“So if Treasure left one universe, and never entered another, she has to be in the outer bulk somewhere, including possibly the kasma?”
“That’s right,” Azura confirmed. “We had no idea that you would be here, but we were hoping that you knew something. Have you encountered anything unusual here? Anything at all?”
“No,” Leona answered apologetically. “It’s been smooth sailing. No anomalies detected. Though, we’re not experts on the kasma,” she added per Ramses’ interjection through comms. Yet. He was loving the chance to spend more time here to gather data. They all suffered through an awkward silence for a moment. “Well, we would help you find her if we could, but we have no idea. We actually need to get over to the other side to drop off all of these deleg—” She stopped herself when saw the viewscreen. “Are those readings accurate and in realtime?” she asked.
“Of course they are,” Azura replied.
“Ramses, where’s the aperture? I don’t see it anymore. Are we drifting?”
Hold, please,” Ramses said, leaving them holding their breaths for a minute. “No, the aperture is gone. They’re both gone actually. I’m only getting faint readings.
Don’t bother trying to make it the rest of the way,” came a familiar voice through the Transit’s communication array. It was that angry Fifth Divisioner who kept coming back to irritate them, like a latent disease. He was the herpes of the antagonists world. “My alt closed it on the other side. You’re trapped.
Freya opened a channel. “This is Freya Hawthorne, Engineer of the Transit. You do realize that we can travel to other universe, right? We don’t need a permanent aperture to fly through.”
We reinforced the membranes too,” A.F. clarified. “Your little toy train isn’t going anywhere. Some of you will die there. Others will be retrieved shortly.
“Sir, there may be a chance if we try to breach the cleavage between the two universes, but we have to go now,” one of the Transit crew members claimed. “That’s the main difference between the kasma, and any other region of the outer bulk. It carries the same properties, but is cut off from everything else, as a pond could be just like any other body of water, but still isolated by vast swathes of land.”
“Before you escape,” Leona began, “can you take on some extra passengers?”
Freya turned to her engineer. “Get it ready.” She turned back to Leona. “Get your people over here. You’ll have to leave your ship, though.”
Leona laughed, “no, we won’t. Rambo, get ready to pack up the Ambassador. We’re taking it with us, but I want everyone on board the Transit first, so Waltons and Olimpia, start teleporting them over two by two.”
Mateo jumped back to help with those efforts without being asked.
“There’s plenty of room,” Azura said. “We’ve only recruited a couple of cars worth so far. The problem is, I don’t know where to go.”
“Just take us wherever. We’ll figure out how to at least get back into Salmonverse later, even if that means seeking help from whoever runs the Crossover. I assume they use better tech?”
“Does a smartphone use better tech than a flip phone?” Azura asked rhetorically. “The membrane for Fort Underhill is already too thick for us. That’s how Hogarth designed it. We actually would need that aperture, just as you do.”
Freya’s engineer reported that they were ready to go just as Ramses was reporting that the Ambassador was empty, and ready to be folded into its pocket dimension.
“Come on over!” Leona ordered Ramses.
A minute later, he appeared, grasping the model size of the Ambassador. He was on the floor and unconscious. It would seem that surviving in the equilibrium was not the same as surviving in a vacuum. Mateo scooped him up, and demanded to know where the medical car was. Azura told him, and he teleported away.
Freya pushed the button, and the Transit flew off at the speed of light. According to her engineer, the kasma was like a tube, about three astronomical units apart, but theoretically several dozen AU long. At one of these ends, they theorized that it tapered off so that the branes weren’t technically touching each other, but there might have been a passageway just large enough for them to squeeze through. “We were wrong!” she cried as they drew nearer. “There’s no cleavage! We’re just gonna crash into it!”
“If there’s no space for us to get through,” Olimpia said, pulling the Sangster Canopy out of her bag of holding, and opening it up. “Then I’ll make space.”

Saturday, June 8, 2024

Orthogradient: Antitheses (Part V)

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Hundreds of thousands of years from now, the universe will be a very different place. No world, no culture, no daily routine would be recognizable to someone from the present day, or even thousands of years later. In this future, three boys were born. They lived on Earth, the surface of which had largely been abandoned, and left to thrive in peace. A small sect of humans remained throughout this time, incidentally keeping their population small by emigration, and otherwise avoidable life-threatening diseases and dangers. There were fully organic humanoids elsewhere in the galaxy, but they were genetically engineered one way or the other. This tiny Earthan village was composed of normal people who were the last in a line of natives. Being of the same sex, the trio was unable to further the species, finally marking the end of an era. After their respective parents died, they were all alone in a universe that they despised, and did not understand. They were inconsequential. Or at least that was what anyone who found out about them believed. But there was one thing that set them apart. They were not normal humans. Being the final members of the race had intrinsically made them special, which time itself took to be significant.
The boys grew up, and eventually forgot their own names. They adopted new ones, based on their individual time powers. Time travelers were still around, but only because they traveled through time. Except for these three, they were no longer being born, because the conditions were no longer suitable for them. Antichron was so named because he was a true time traveler, who was capable of freely moving backwards and forward along the timeline. Antiparticle could teleport multiple particles to a single point in spacetime, forcing an unnatural collision that resulted in the annihilation of them all, and an explosion correlative to the number of the particles, and the speed of transport, and reversely correlative to the size of the point. Antintropy could reverse entropy, repairing what once was broken, or healing what once was damaged. He could theoretically restore all of reality to a more ordered state. But to do that, he needed power. To do that, he needed the other two. Together, they became The Antitheses, and set about to change their present. This turned out to mean changing the past first.
A war ravaged the galaxy centuries prior to their time, which contributed to the dwindling natural human population. To win this war, the Antitheses could go back to the beginning of it, and use their considerable powers to win without breaking a sweat, but they did not want to reveal their powers to those who would misunderstand or fear them. They needed to become heroes in their own time, not villains before they were born. They had to win this war using traditional tactics. It was going to take a lot of work, but it was not impossible. To prepare for the mission, they went back even further in time, to an even more primitive technological period, hoping to steal an obsolete warship called the Sharice Davids. It was a powerful vessel, but limited in its advancements, which made it perfect for the future war. There were vulnerabilities in more advanced starships which the Davids did not have to worry about. Unfortunately, this mission proved to be more difficult than they thought it would.
They faced far more opposition in the 23rd century than they ever expected. Antichron’s ability to read the timeline was less refined than he hoped. The ship kept slipping from their grasps. Every time they tracked it to a new point in spacetime, it would move to another before they had any chance of boarding it again. At one point, it appeared to be destroyed, but then it showed back up on their temporal radar, and they were able to pursue once more. Annoyingly, it was traveling much faster than it should have been, and they were having trouble keeping up. Antiparticle was capable of teleporting them from one point to another without annihilating the particles, but this took a lot more concentration, because that wasn’t what he trained himself to do. Destruction was the name of the game for him, and reapplying his skills in another way proved tiresome. It was now the year 2337, though, and the ship was right before them. They were nearly there.
“It’s gone!” Antiparticle exclaimed.
“Again?” Antintropy cried. “How could it be gone again? They were staying in one place! We’re in the middle of nowhere. Why would they come all the way out to this region of space, only to disappear yet again?”
“No idea,” Antiparticle replied. “Follow them, Antichron. Where have they gone to next?”
Theirs was less of a ship, and more of a small snowglobe-shaped lifeboat, protected by a semitransparent plasma field. They didn’t think that they would need anything else, and besides, the more massive the object, the harder it was for both Antichron to jump through time, and for Antiparticle to teleport. Antichron didn’t say anything. His eyes were closed.
“Antichron!” Antintropy shouted.
“I’m looking!” Antichron shouted back. He shook his head. “I can’t find it.”
“That’s impossible!” Antintropy was never really not angry. “We would detect debris if it were destroyed, even if it were vaporized by something. It went somewhere, through a portal, or via the new teleportation drive it seems to have. And if it’s anywhere in the timeline, Antichron, then you should be able to pick it up. All of time and space at your fingertips. Find it!”
“I can’t. I’ve looked,” Antichron insisted. “It never comes back. We have attempted to intercept it at every moment that it has existed after the moment in its personal timeline where it was historically destroyed. I’m telling you, wherever it is, it’s not in the timeline, and it never returns.”
“Not in the timeline,” Antintropy echoed. “Where could they be if not in the timeline? There is no outside of the timeline.”
“Not as far as we know,” Antiparticle reminded him. “We could not find a teacher to help us learn the ways of the time traveler. If we were to find someone now, they might be able to illuminate us.”
“Stop suggesting that!” Antintropy demanded. “We’re not going to look for help. We’ve always done this on our own, and will continue on that way.”
“It’s obviously not working,” Antichron said. “Perhaps we underestimate these primitive people. They may have escaped in a way that none of us is familiar with, and are now cloaking themselves from detection. We’ve been chasing them relentlessly. They could have learned something about us.”
“What can ants learn of gods?” Antintropy questioned.
“Wait,” Antiparticle said, looking at the screen. “There’s something out there. We may have picked up a piece of debris afterall.”
“Plot an intercourse immediately.” Antintropy was not always the leader. Their trio had no predetermined leader, but power shifted periodically when one of them managed to bully the others into submission. It would continue to change if they never came up with an agreed upon hierarchy. This was assuming, of course that they didn’t destroy themselves by the time they accomplished their objectives anyway.
Antichron did as he was told, and flew their platform towards the only known object in the area. It was very slow, yet still difficult to maneuver. They passed by it a couple of times before they managed to sync up with its drift. It appeared to be a person, wearing a vacuum suit, but they were also sitting down. Antiparticle programmed the plasma barrier to accept them as a non-threat, then floated up to bring them in.
Once their mysterious visitor was completely inside of their transporter, the helmet opened, revealing a man. He was not surprised to see them, but also did not look upon them with any level of familiarity. He moved his eyes from one to the next, to the next. “You are here to steal the Sharice Davids?”
Antintropy cleared his throat, and took a half step forwards. “Yes, we are. Do you have a problem with that?”
“I personally don’t,” the man replied, “but you’ll find it difficult since the Sharice Davids no longer exists.” He paused, only to continue before they could respond. “They changed the name. It is now known as the Cormanu, so depending on what you’re after, you may be too late to the party.”
“Who are you?” Antintropy asked.
“My name is Meredarchos, but I’m currently in the body of a man named Carbrey Genovese. I can help you get to the universe that they have escaped to, but you will have to do everything I say without question.”
“Why would you help us?” Antichron questioned warily. “What’s in it for you?”
Meredarchos nodded as if they had already come to an agreement. “I have been searching for someone to help me in my home universe. I keep believing that I have found my champions, only to be thwarted by someone else, or even my targets themselves. I am trapped where I was born, and cannot leave on my own. I can teach you how to travel to where the crew of the Cormanu have escaped to, but before we do that, I demand that you use this technology to rescue me first.”
“Your physical form is stuck where it is, and you can only leave with your mind?” Antiparticle summarized.
“This is correct,” Meredarchos confirmed. “I seek out the weakest of minds, which might be the mentally vulnerable, or the injured. This man here was too busy trying to recover from truly severe wounds to keep me out. Unfortunately, my intrusion suppressed that recovery further, leaving me in this lame shell. I had to stay dormant for a while to survive. I need strength to find another host, but that does not matter if you can get to my real body. It is dying, and I cannot fix it where it is. It must be transported somewhere else, or I may end up trapped in a faulty new body, such as this one. The Cormanu is of no concern to me, but I’ll help you. As an added bonus, I’ll ignore your universe, and only conduct my work elsewhere. Trust me, that’s a good deal.”
“What exactly is your work?” Antintropy asked him.
“You cannot be made aware of that. It is a non-negotiable stipulation. If you want the Cormanu, you’ll have to agree to that, as well as a few more details. You may add your own requirements as well as we continue to discuss this.”
The Antitheses negotiated with Meredarchos, and laid out their plans. He taught them how to synthesize something called an atomic lance, which tapered to a point so small, it could pierce through the nucleus of an atom. With this, they were able to access hyperdimensional space, also known as the outer bulk. Bulk energy would leak into their lance, and fill the storage tank. This took a very, very long time, but they did not need to stick around to wait for it. All four of them jumped a few hundred years into the future, but they left the snowglobe where it was. When they returned to the timestream, the bulk energy reserves were full, and they were ready to make the jump. The whole thing shook violently, tossing them around like rag dolls. They did not bother installing seats on this thing, nor protective belts to hold them in place. Meredarchos was able to stay put by magnetizing his hover chair to the floor. The Antitheses, however, had to alter artificial gravity to keep themselves against the plasma barrier, which could be as hard as rock, or in this case, as soft as pillows.
They waited patiently as the shaking continued for several minutes before finally reaching critical mass, and falling through the breach in the universe’s membrane. Now that that part was over, they were able to place themselves in temporal stasis so they wouldn’t get bored, because it would be untold time before they could reach Meredarchos’ universe of origin. Seconds later, they were there, so they pierced the second membrane, and landed on the planet. It was desolate and plain. There were absolutely no geographical features. The whole world was entirely smooth. They found Meredarchos’ original body where it was barely holding onto life inside of a small personal living chamber. They pulled it into the snowglobe, which was getting pretty crowded now, and took off. First the shaking, then the piercing, then the stasis, then the piercing again, and they were finally where they wanted to be.
“This...this feels weird,” Antiparticle noted.
“It’s a dead universe.” Meredarchos was still piloting Carbrey’s body. “The laws of physics don’t foster life here. There are no habitable planets, only us, and the Cormanu.”
“Why would they come here?” Antichron asked.
He shrugged Carbrey’s shoulders. “It has plenty of chemical elements. “The ship was heavily damaged, so they need raw materials to repair it. If I hadn’t taught you how to travel the bulk, this would be one of the safest places to hide.”
“They’ve detected us,” Antiparticle announced.
“That’s okay,” Meredarchos decided. “They won’t be able to leave yet. I’m surprised they made it here in the first place, but I’m sure they’ve exhausted their power, so even if the repairs didn’t keep them from escaping again, they’ll have to refuel first. If I were you, I would take your shot now, though. They’ll be looking for workarounds to their predicament.”
“You can stay here,” Antintropy told him. He took Antiparticle’s hand, who in turn took Antichron’s. The Antitheses teleported right into the Cormanu where they found themselves trapped in what looked like a hock.
A woman casually approached, and dragged her fingers along the laser beams that were preventing them from leaving. When she removed her hand, they saw that the tips had been burned off. “I’ll just get Landis to fix it. Because you underestimate us. You see, we’ve been eavesdropping. We know who you are. We’re currently upgrading the ship, rendering it completely useless to you. It will not serve you in your stupid future war. We’ll let you out if you leave us alone forever, but if you ever come after us again, then we’ll react in kind. We give second chances, but not thirds. What say you?”
Antintropy scowled and approached the lasers. “We’ll leave your ship alone, and revert to our backup plan, but in the meantime, you’ll become our new fixation.”
The woman leaned in closer. “Then you’ll die.”

Friday, June 7, 2024

Microstory 2165: Professional Being Paid

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I feel like my attention has been really split lately, and I’ve been making mistakes at work. It’s nothing that I’ve not been able to fix before someone else gets their eyes on it, but it’s been frustrating just the same, and I need to get my head right. I’ve had all these things coming at me. The warden wants to hire me, though I’m still an inmate in the jail. I have to stay in contact with my parole officer regularly. He’s cool, but that’s just one more thing that I have to worry about all the time. My therapy helps, but it also contributes to the stress of my schedule. Now I have this dumb potential lawsuit with that jerk of a company who apparently doesn’t have anything better to do than go after a small fish like me. I was going to do some more volunteering with Homes for Humankind today, but I had to cancel so I could focus on my regular job. I can’t lose that, or everything good I have in my life, like a great apartment, and plenty of food, goes away. Since I’m not allowed to talk about what I do, there’s not much that I can say, so I can’t even vent. I think I need someone else to talk to. Someone who isn’t a professional being paid to be there, like a friend. Am I lonely? I think I’m just lonely. I’m going to go see if my neighbor is home. Maybe we can have an impromptu dinner together before I have to report for jail this evening. Though, there is one thing that I should really finish up for work that I don’t want to put off until Monday. I wouldn’t be fired if it weren’t done, or anything, but you know me, I don’t like to leave tasks dangling over the weekend. I think a part of me worries that I’ll never come back, so I’ll at least have reached some kind of reasonable stopping point.

Thursday, June 6, 2024

Microstory 2164: Whiny Babies

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A while back, a company reached out to me for a business opportunity. They wanted me to promote their products in my videos, which I do not make, but we still thought there was something there, so we kept talking. An agreement was made, and a deal was quite nearly finalized with a steak dinner. I’m a vegetarian, so I lamented how that affected my mental health. The company didn’t like that, so they pulled out of the deal, and I thought that was the end of it. It’s come back to haunt me today. Now they’ve taken it a step further, and sent me a cease and desist letter. They’re threatening to take legal action unless I remove the posts that mention the issue, and release a public apology. Honestly—and I recognize that saying this might only make things worse—but they’re total morons. I have yet to tell you which company this is, and I will continue to keep that a secret unless they leave me no choice. If I apologize publicly, you will necessarily find out who they are. Now, you might end up on their side because of that, but something tells me that you’re going to continue to side with the lone blogger who was only exercising his freedom of speech over a corporation with an amount of money that I can’t even ballpark, because it would narrow down your list of suspects, which I don’t want you to be able to do. But obviously we’re not talking about some local family run shop with only one location. People tend to not like corporate executives for being the biggest whiny babies in a world that gives them everything they need and want. I don’t think that this will end well for them, which is why I’m doing everything I can to help them move past it. I’m trying to keep things civil, private and confidential, and productive, but I think they’ve just seen how popular I’ve grown to be, and they want in on that action. I guess they think that I’m a millionaire by now, or something. I assure you, I’m not there yet. I may never be, as I’m a blogger, not a movie star. I’m not too worried about where this little legal issue is going to go. They’ll back down when they realize that even if they win, they lose. Their reputation is so much more important than mine is. I can fall into obscurity if I have to. I could live naked in the middle of the woods with nothing, and still survive. A company can’t do that. So come at me, bro.

Wednesday, June 5, 2024

Microstory 2163: Your Greatest Weakness Is

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Leonard and I had another meeting with the jail warden. He’s not mad, but I think I needed some time to collect my thoughts about what he proposed in the first place. That’s why I’m a writer, and not an improv comedian. We discussed options further, and there’s actually a chance that I could stop having to go to jail altogether. There is precedent for this sort of thing. A few cops who were convicted of various crimes throughout history have gone back into the field during emergencies, and earned their freedom by proving themselves redeemed. In one case, a really dangerous convict broke out of prison, forcing his not-so-bad cellmate to tag along. The latter ended up not only bringing his cellmate down, but also stopped his associates from committing a horrendous crime while he was still on the other side of the walls. So he was set free too. If I went the same route, it would be nothing as glamorous or intense as that. I would just start working for the jail, trying to help them better sort and schedule the guests. I would love the chance to have my sentence commuted, but I’m still not confident that I’m up for the job. I suppose I always thought of myself as someone who wasn’t necessarily talented at anything, but maybe good at finding talented people elsewhere? I could probably come up with a list of desirable positions, and then figure out how to seek out professionals who sufficiently fit the criteria. My dad was in human resources, so while he didn’t exactly ever sit me down, and teach me the ropes, I did pick up a few skills from him. I’ve also had tons of my own job interviews, so I know which questions are too dumb to be asked, like what kind of animal you would be, or what your greatest weakness is. Ugh, that’s such a terrible one. Nobody has a good answer to that, and even if they do, what qualifies you to analyze it to determine some sort of insight into that person’s fitness for the job? I’m getting off track, but none of this is probably going to happen anyway. Remember that business partnership I was working on that went up in spectacular flames? I don’t see things going that sour for this situation, but I doubt the jail that keeps me locked up every weekend is going to turn around and hire me before I’ve completed my sentence. I can’t imagine they would do it even if I had served my time in its entirety. I will admit, though, it’s kind of nice that they’re even entertaining the possibility. I had never, ever, ever been recruited before until I came to this planet, and now it might happen twice? That’s insane. A con can dream, can’t he?

Tuesday, June 4, 2024

Microstory 2162: Don’t Say No to a Warden

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I finished my work hours a little early, so my parole officer could pick me up, and drive me back to jail, but I wasn’t staying there as a guest. I had a meeting with the warden, which was agitating the butterflies in my stomach. I put it like that, because I always keep butterflies in there, they just don’t always move around this much. As it turns out, it wasn’t bad, but I’m not so sure that it was good either. He read my story, as he apparently does every evening, and he thought that I had some good ideas. I hadn’t even realized that I had presented any ideas, but this was in regards to the disharmony that sometimes arises when guests that don’t get along well with each other are forced to live together in an enclosed space. To me, that’s kind of the definition of jail and prison, but he wants to find a way to put an end to it anyway. That sounds like a lovely sentiment, but I’m not sure that it can be done. Perhaps with a sufficiently advanced artificial intelligence, you could figure out how to accurately profile and categorize everyone in need of being housed in the system with as many labels as necessary, and organize them to prevent gang conflicts, or other major disagreements. But here’s the thing, you wouldn’t just want to stop two gangs from going to war with each other, you would want the gang to stop from forming in the first place, or they’ll just translate all that into the outside world once their sentences were up. That’s why you can’t just sit down with everyone’s psych profile, and sort them like you’re simply planning the seating arrangements for a wedding reception.

If you think that I’m being dismissive of how difficult it is to plan a wedding, you’re mistaken. Wedding receptions are hard. This would be virtually impossible. First thoughts, you’re gonna need a team of behavioral psychologists, and sociologists, and who knows what else, maybe a logistician? See, I couldn’t even tell you how to form the team. While it might have kind of been my idea, I can’t be a part of it. But that’s what he wants. He wants me to start a taskforce of sorts to figure out how to schedule the guests at the jail. But you would have to account for people’s job situations, the judges’ particular rulings on each person’s specific sentence. Again, I think you need an AI to do all this for you. Even a team probably wouldn’t be able to figure it out. I didn’t say no to the request, because you don’t say no to a warden, but I’ve not agreed to it either. I would need to discuss it with my lawyers, and my current employer... It would eat into the time I need for my site and socials. It would also seem weird to me if I were both a staff member of the jail, and a guest who had no choice but to be there for 48 hours a week straight. I know that prisons have work programs, but this is not the same thing as shelving books in the library, or renovating the CO break room. Those are references that, fortunately, none of you gets. Anyway, I guess this is more a long-term shift in strategies. The warden says that if this hypothetical pilot program works, they could theoretically institute it at other facilities. I suppose nothing would really start until after I completed my sentence, assuming any of this gets off the ground, and that there’s a place for me in it at all, which sounds ridiculous right now. Until then (or until never) I’ll just go back to doing my thang, and not worry much about it. The stress would not get me anywhere. My butterflies move around enough as it is.