Tuesday, December 9, 2025

Microstory 2557: Publicist

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I took my first journalism class in my freshman year of high school, and joined the school paper as soon as I could. I figured that’s what I was going to do with my life, and I don’t regret the time and energy I spent on concentrating on that. However. When I became an adult, I started to be a little smarter. I had a better grasp on the world, and was more knowledgeable than ever before. This made me a better journalist, but it also made me cynical. No longer did I only understand the scope of any article, but also its context in the grand scheme of things. I was frustrated with only being able to report on the truth, rather than being able to make changes to the truth. I found myself wanting to control the narrative. There was no public relations degree where I went to college, but it was all I could afford, so I majored in Communications. I know, I know, what a cliché, right? Well, it was better than something meaningless, like philosophy, and it got me in the door at a public relations firm, where I worked throughout most of my career. The Foundation hired me because of my exemplary track record in my field, and because I applied. They didn’t choose me after seeing a particular press conference, like my mom has been claiming. What I said was the interviewer happened to see one of my conferences, and I said that that probably helped get me the job, because people tend to gravitate towards familiarity. I was not a celebrity prior to my work here. I’m a celebrity now, because all eyes are on Mr. Tipton, and the Foundation, and I am standing in front of them both. I don’t really have to deal with any scandals, but the Legacy Department is extremely controversial, so I do have to maintain a positive public image for the program. It helps that it’s run by an ethical team, and no woman has come forward with a story of discomfort or inappropriate behavior. It’s just this thing that’s always hanging over my head. No matter how many people we heal, they all wanna know about the consorts. Are they okay? Is anyone being forced to be there? What is the minimum age requirement? I’ll respond accordingly to anything that’s thrown at me, because that’s my job, but I do get sick of it sometimes. A part of me misses having a different story to tell every day. But it’s okay, I know that I’m on the right side of history, so that provides me some peace of mind that I wasn’t usually able to say prior to this role. I sleep great at night now, and that wasn’t always true.

Monday, December 8, 2025

Microstory 2556: Web Developer

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I knew what I wanted to do with my life from a pretty young age. I taught myself HTML and CSS when I was in fourth grade, and started three surprisingly successful websites that demonstrated my skills. They were stupid, and thank God, defunct now, but they were my first little babies. I took all the computer classes I could in high school. I had to ask my guidance counselor to waive the language requirement, because I did not have time to learn it. I was learning javascript. That is a language, and these days, some schools which also have a language minimum include it in their lists. I never went to a four-year program, because it would have been a waste of time. I would have gotten a degree in art history, or something, and cost my parents tens of thousands of dollars for nothing. Again, I knew what I wanted to do. I earned an associate’s degree in Web Development and Graphic Design, which was helpful because graphics have never come easy for me. I’m much better with deep coding, and logical operations. After I completed that, I felt ready to really lean into my specialization, and ended up being accepted into a Coding Bootcamp. Unlike other programs, this one lasted for eighteen months. What they do there is teach you how to write code from scratch, and build your own libraries. It’s kind of this open secret that most coders don’t write most of their code. They copy and paste, and there’s nothing wrong with that, except there is, because that’s where the bugs come from. If your phone ever randomly closes an app on you, or two separate programs claim that they’re compatible with each other, but you can’t get them to share data properly, it’s probably because the developer didn’t know how to do a thing they needed to do. To make it work, they found a resource. This other resource gave them something similar to what they needed, and they were smart enough to adapt it for their needs. The problem with this technique is there’s no cohesion in the code. You can tell either that that’s how they did it, or multiple people worked on different sections, and then they had to stitch everything together. Mama don’t play that way.

My code is mine, and it works flawlessly because I wrote it all myself, and I did it using consistent conventions, which promotes flow and compatibility. Now, I’m not saying things don’t go wrong. People are still accessing my site from browsers that I have no control over, and with extensions that interfere with it, but for the most part, it’s a well-oiled machine. I keep a watchful eye over it, and man do I pay attention to those bug reports and complaints. A lot of tech companies don’t do that, because they don’t want to spend the time on it. Fixing bugs doesn’t make them money. Only signing up new users, or generating more traffic, can do that. The application process is complicated. The way you answer one question changes what questions are asked of you afterwards. This is not easy to program, but I can do it, because I worked hard, and I’m passionate about perfection. Candidates do not want to get all the way through the application, only to be kicked out because they missed a question, or because their internet cut out for a millisecond. I prevent those disruptions. I save their work. I don’t make mistakes. Because if I make a mistake, they make a mistake, which gives the evaluators the wrong information, which leads to no healing, which leads to death! I can’t have that on my conscience. I won’t allow it. I live and breathe this code. It’s my one and only baby now, and I won’t let anything bad happen to it. I promise.

Sunday, December 7, 2025

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 16, 2529

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The team stayed on Jaunemus the rest of the day, eating the local cuisine, and recharging their photovoltaics by the star that they were orbiting right now. This moon was a gargantuan spaceship, which could move through space at will. The Jaunemusians couldn’t travel all the way back home to Verdemus to eat lunch with their friends every day, but they didn’t have to stay in one place either. They bounced around the nearest stars in this area, and spent a lot of time in interstellar space to avoid detection.
There was nothing for Team Matic here, so they decided to bug out. “We have to get back to Proxima Doma,” Angela suggested. “We have to find out what happened there, if anything.”
“I thought we were going after Miracle,” Ramses countered.
“That trail has gone cold,” Marie figured. “She has had a whole year to get those cuffs off.”
Leona chuckled. “She has not been able to get them off. They’re held together by a distributive bond. Breaking them would cause her to explode, and I’m the only one with a key.”
They all looked to Ramses for confirmation. He nodded. That was how their EmergentSuits worked. It was how they could be so thin, yet so durable, and protective against harsh environments, like the vacuum of outer space.
“There’s still the question of where she is,” Olimpia tried to remind them. “She could have gone anywhere. I’m guessing the quantum connection doesn’t extend this far.”
“Even I have my limits,” Ramses admitted. “But your husband doesn’t.”
“Me?” Mateo questioned. “If I can find her, why didn’t we do that yesterday?”
“We all needed a break,” Leona explained, “especially you. As I was saying, those cuffs aren’t going anywhere. There was no need to rush off, and besides, I don’t like traveling with low slingdrives. Mateo, your dark particles are the backup, not the other way around.”
“All right,” Mateo agreed. “I’ll use my black magic for a locator spell.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Romana said. No, it wasn’t Romana, but Miracle. She was holding her arms in front of her chest, like a beggar. “Get them off of me, and I’ll agree to transfer to a new substrate. It doesn’t matter anymore. I stole this body because that’s what Pacey asked of me. But I never wanted this.” She sighed, and looked off into a random direction. “I just wan—I just wanted to end him...and his reign of terror.”
The real Romana stepped forward, and placed a comforting hand on Miracle’s shoulder. “You’re not doing this for Pacey, you’re doing it for yourself. You’re from the Goldilocks Corridor.”
Miracle sighed again. “My name isn’t really Miracle. It’s just Mirinda. Mirinda...Oaksent.” They didn’t know exactly what that meant. In modern times, you couldn’t guess someone’s relationship to someone else based on their appearance. They could look 50 years older, but be 200 years younger. She giggled. “You’re all waiting for the clarification before judgment. That’s quite magnanimous of you. I’m his daughter. I’ve been that way for millennia. You see, all those people out here in the Corridor, they are his subjects...his toys. He built them to serve, and to adore him. But the problem with that is they were indoctrinated into belief from birth. Ignorance is the killer. I mean, you showed one person the truth about Earth, and an entire opposing faction spread out from it, which is what he’s always been afraid of. Sycophants who don’t know any better aren’t very satisfying either way. He wanted a group of people who loved him because that’s what they were supposed to do. He wanted a family. He made us just like he made the others, but he made us immortal, just like him. He didn’t really raise us, but we got more face time with him than most, so I suppose he figured that was enough.
“I grew to resent him, of course, which is how we ended up here. In defiance of his plan to curate a family of superhumans, I started fighting back violently. I killed all of my clones, as well as my brothers and sisters’ clones. I didn’t kill them too, but they eventually died, and there was nowhere for their consciousnesses to go. Oaksent doesn’t like virtual simulations, I don’t know why, so there’s no uploading to a central server. There’s just backup bodies. I was just about to kill my own final clone when Pacey found me. He made me realize that Bronach never cared about any of us, which was why he made almost no attempt to stop me. His plans didn’t work. He’s not a likeable guy, and if he didn’t force adoration through ignorance, it wasn’t going to happen. All of his children loathed him. I’m just the only one who wanted to do anything about it. Pacey promised that he could kill my father. He promised to find a way. You were supposed to be that way, but what he didn’t tell me was that you always look for the peaceful resolution. Your ship was literally called the Vellani Ambassador. I’ve been trying to get you to change, but if I thought that anyone could do that, I would never have let my siblings die. I would have tried to call them to action. I believe that I’ve just been trying to replace them...with you.”
Leona stepped forward, and gently held Miracle’s wrists in her hands. It looked like she was about to remove the cuffs from her. “Obligation.”
“Yeah,” Miracle said with a nod. “Wait, what?”
“It’s a movie, about a sibling rivalry that goes too far. The motif throughout is Nazca boobies, which are known for killing their siblings.”
“Oh, I guess that’s kind of similar,” Miracle agreed.
“No, it’s almost the exact same premise. What you just described here, killing off your siblings to drain the parents’ of their power, and their legacy...that is the plot of Obligation. That never happened to you.”
“Well, I hardly think that’s a unique situation. I mean, I’m sure—wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!” she screamed when Leona started to lift her arms up. “You don’t have to do this! Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay! I’ll help you! I’ll switch sides! Just don’t make me transfer out of this body.”
This was such a weird freak out. What was she so afraid of? Why did she not want to transfer to a new substrate? It wasn’t like the processes hurt, or anything. It just felt like going to sleep, and waking up in a different room after surgery. It could be disorienting, but that went away, and relatively quickly. Why did she even ever want Romana’s body if not to parade around as Romana, and give her a bad reputation? They should have asked this as soon as Miracle agreed to keep it. They shouldn’t have been so trusting of her. They won’t make that mistake again.
“Please don’t, please don’t! Miracle continued to beg.
Leona suddenly broke the cuffs apart, and let the nanites recede into her implants. “There you go.”
“You’re setting me free?” Miracle asked, shocked.
“I don’t want us to be enemies anymore. It doesn’t come for free, though. I want you to take us to Pacey. We need to have a talk with him. I’m sick of going through his little minions. It’s inefficient at best.”
Yeah, sure,” Miracle said, stepping away and rubbing her wrists. Déjà vu, this was basically what she looked like yesterday, just before escaping through a black hole portal. “I just need to, uh...speak with him first. I’ll be right back!” Still reminiscent of just yesterday, she fell through a portal, which closed up behind her immediately. And it wasn’t going to reopen.
“Why did you do that?” Olimpia asked her wife.
“She ruined our plans,” Ramses answered for Leona. “Miracle was supposed to lead us to Pacey, not come back here. Matty?”
“Okay,” Mateo said. Gather ‘round.” They huddled in a group, and let Mateo generate a swarm of dark particles, which overwhelmed them. It was a pretty weak showing, though. There weren’t very many of them. “I think we’re trying too soon! I can’t pull enough out,” he warned. “It took too much to get us to the Fifth Division!”
“That’s okay,” Ramses shouted back. “Just build a bridge! The slingdrives will take us the rest of the way!”
Mateo didn’t exactly know what he meant by that, but his intuition told him to spread the dark particles thin, so they reached far enough out to their destination without being wide enough for a group of seven people to cross over with them. They then activated their slingdrives, and used the signal to navigate them to the right destination. The technicolors came and went, and they found themselves in a familiar place. This was the room they went to before they were knocked unconscious, and inserted into the Underburg simulation with false memories. The place was empty back then, but not this time. Miracle was there, as were Octavia, Pacey, and some other woman. He seemed to like the ladies. He wasn’t happy right now, though.
Miracle’s eyes widened in fear as she stared at the team. She looked over at her boss. “I’m sorry. They took the cuffs off! You said I could come back if they took the cuffs off!”
“We never needed the cuffs, you idiot,” Ramses argued. “He can find anyone in the universe.” He jerked his head towards Mateo.”
“Not with my shielding,” Pacey contended. “There must be something else.”
“Nanites are very smol,” Leona said to him. “They could be on you, without you even knowing it. We never needed the cuffs,” she echoed Ramses.
“You tracked me, like an animal,” Miracle spat.
“You’re a murderer. Which one is worse?”
“Who said I murdered anybody?”
“So you were lying.”
“Enough,” Pacey interrupted. “You obviously came here to talk, so let’s talk. Leave my girls out of it.”
“Mr. Henricksen, again, I’m so—” Miracle tried to apologize.
He held up a commanding hand. “We’ll talk about it later. You both can go now.”
Miracle left, as did Octavia, having never said a word. Miracle was annoying, but an opposing force. Octavia still felt like a betrayal. They wanted to talk to her again too, but on a personal level. Today was about business. The mysterious other woman stayed. She didn’t lurch or hesitate. She knew from the start that he wasn’t ordering her to do anything. If this were an action movie, she would be the one in charge here, and all of their previous dealings were with her henchman or lieutenant, who was only pretending to be in charge. But this wasn’t a movie, was it? Was it? It was a movie before, under the dome. It could certainly be that again, or worse...still.
“I understand that you have reservations about fulfilling the mission,” Pacey began, getting himself comfortable in an arm chair while the woman sat next to him in a hardback.
“That’s an understatement,” Leona said. “We’re not doing it. We don’t need higher compensation, or incentive. We don’t need you to explain why you think we should do it. It’s just not happening. We don’t care if you agree or not. We don’t care what you want or know at all. It’s. Not. Happening. If you have some kind of Plan B, which doesn’t involve us, then I suggest you move forward with it. We’re not interested, and we never were. Why don’t you make like a snowflake, and let it go.”
“I don’t know what that means, but I want you to know that I’m listening, and I hear you. I won’t make you do anything that you don’t wanna do.” He seemed proud of himself for the response, which meant that it was a trick. It probably had something to do with the woman next to him.
They all realized that this wasn’t actually going their way, and it felt exhausting. Mateo stopped forward and placed his hand upon Leona’s chest. He gently nudged her backwards in the direction of the team. “It’s all right. I got this.” He took another step forward, but more towards the stranger. “Who are you? What is your stake in this?”
The woman looked over to Pacey, not for guidance, but more like they were having an unspoken conversation with each other. She lifted her eyebrows to ask a question. He shrugged like the answer was maybe. She pointed at him, and lifted her brows again. He shrugged again, but this time, more as if to say, yeah, fine. They made a couple of other gestures towards each other, all basically implying that they were relenting to the team’s demands, but really, it was impossible to know for sure what they were saying. In fact, they could have been in the middle of an actual psychic conversation. Finally, after Pacey said, “okay” out loud, the woman took a breath, and leaned back in her chair. “I was admittedly hurt when I first heard the term Team Kadiar.”
“No,” Mateo said.
“I felt left out,” the woman went on.
“No,” Mateo said louder. It couldn’t be.
“Yes, it’s true, father. I’m your fourth daughter. Or should I say...your first. His name isn’t Pacey. It’s Séarlas. And I am Franka.”

Saturday, December 6, 2025

Extremus: Year 117

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It’s over. After some long conversations with Arqut, Silveon, and Audrey, she has decided to divorce herself from the ship’s drama. Her promotion to Admiral Emirta wasn’t just to get her to stop having to work. It was an encouragement to just live the rest of her life in peace. Silveon is not going to update her on his progress with Waldemar, if there is any, or if it backslides. She’s going to be a mother, a wife, and a person from now on. The clone that Sevara supposedly has, and the ones that Regulus claims he can find for her, are just going to have to be a problem for future generations. Back in the stellar neighborhood, the majority of people are set to live until the heat death of the universe. Whether that will actually happen for them or not doesn’t matter. It’s certainly the plan. If they commit to something open-ended or indefinite, they may have to continue on with those responsibilities over the course of many, many lifetimes. It doesn’t work like that on Extremus. Barring The Question—which is really only about being alive to see the new home world, not about living forever—people here are supposed to be able to die. They should do this without any stress or regrets. Tinaya doesn’t know how much time she has left, but she has an idea of how long now, and she wants to spend the rest of her time with her family. Waldemar isn’t a part of that. Most people aren’t.
Today is Silveon’s birthday. He has the day off from both of his jobs. Waldemar has pretended that he wishes that he could be here with him, but he has to work. He isn’t simply allowing Audrey to go, but actively encouraging it, again as a way to purport himself to be a nice guy who wants his friends to be happy. Of course, they celebrate the day every year, but Silveon says that this one is special. He won’t say why, because 29 is not a universal milestone in aging, but Audrey agrees that it’s significant. It clearly has something to do with the old timeline, which they’re not allowed to talk about. Tinaya has told them it’s okay to talk about that specifically—she doesn’t want to just stop hearing about their lives altogether—but they insist on staying silent. And that’s just going to have to be okay.
They’re all wearing conical part hats, and being really cheesy with it. He even asked that they give him gifts. That isn’t a traditional practice in this culture, but they wanna have some fun. They all did research to find out what people used to give their kids on their birthdays on Earth. Audrey gave him a coffee table book that’s just unremarkably photographed images of various landmarks; some manmade, some natural. She put a lot of effort into it, drawing from the central archives, and crafting the layout herself, instead of just having the AI render it. Arqut synthesized a car key, and a box of something called condoms, which is evidently what people used to use to protect themselves from pregnancy or disease when they had sex. According to Arqut’s research, these are the kinds of things dads usually gave their sons, but typically at younger ages, as parts of their rites of passage. Tinaya is about to retrieve her gift when Arqut stops her. “No, it’s not over. You think that key is just a symbol?”
“Are you telling me that you gave me a car?” Silveon asks.
Tinaya glares at her husband.
Arqut smirks. “Join hands.” They hold hands and teleport to an assembly bay. It’s relatively narrow, and very long, with smaller assembly rooms branching off of it. While every part, and every machine, and every piece of equipment they need can be synthesized, someone still has to put all the disparate parts together. These are not engineers, mechanics, or technicians, but they study all of those disciplines. They’re the ones who build everything, instead of just each department performing the assemblies for themselves. The room is mostly empty, except for a large tarp that is obviously draped over a land vehicle of some kind. There is either nothing to assemble at the moment, or he requested the synthwrights to clear out for the occasion.
“Arqut!” Tinaya scolds.
“What, it’s no big deal. I found the model in the archives, and thought it looked cool. I wanted to see it in real life, and I wanted to experience this moment. Every father does this for their kid. Or did, anyway.”
“The synthwrights have jobs to do!” Tinaya argues.
“I didn’t use any current synthwrights for this,” Arqut defends. “They’re all my buddies, and retired. We play cards together.” He does love his old Earthan customs.
“You used resources,” Tinaya presses.
“Oh, stop worrying so much. We’re living on a ship of abundance! Don’t you people wanna see it?” Arqut approaches the vehicle, and takes one corner of the tarp.
Tinaya sighs. “Silvy?”
Silveon laughs. “It’s too much, but yeah, of course I wanna see it.”
“Help me with the other corner, Aud.” Arqut and Audrey take their corners, and pull the tarp up and over. No one knows how to describe what’s underneath. They literally don’t have the vocabulary to differentiate it from any of the other dozens of models that must have existed on ancient Earth. “The archive called it a 2001 Pontiac Aztek.” He smiles proudly.
“Forgive me, but...what’s he supposed to do with this?” Audrey asks.
“Well, he’s supposed to sit in it,” Arqut reasons. “That’s what you did with cars. No one could teleport, and they didn’t have spaceships back then. I mean, some people could teleport in secret, and I think some rich people had a few spaceships, but for most people, this was the only way to get around. Come on!” he says excitedly. “Aud, you sit in the back. Can you figure out how to open the door?”
She rolls her eyes, and opens that hatch in the rear.
“You’re next to me, Silvo,” Arqut says, getting in on the left side, in the front.
Tinaya reluctantly takes the seat right behind Arqut.
“Um...am I supposed to have a seat?” Audrey asks, curled up in the trunk.
Arqut struggles to look over his shoulder. “I meant, the back next to Tinaya, Aud. Jesus.”
“Well, you didn’t say that,” Audrey argues before coming around, and climbing back inside the right way. “This isn’t the back, it’s the middle,” she mutters.
“Okay.” Arqut breathes deeply. “Comfortable, right?” He reaches over Silveon’s knees, and opens a small compartment. “Look at this. Funny mechanism. This tiny little mirror here?” He adjusts it a little. “Notice these other mirrors on the outside. And get this...there’s no display. That’s not a screen. It’s just a window.”
“We studied this in school, dad, I know what these things are,” Silveon explains. “We’re not archaeologists. But anyway, if this is a gift for me, why am I not the one sitting behind what are obviously the controls.”
“You don’t know how to drive yet,” Arqut contends.
“And you do?” Tinaya questions.
Arqut releases an evil smirk as he’s looking at his wife in the small mirror between him and his son. “I’ve been taking VR lessons.” He looks over at Silveon. “The key, my good lad.” He takes it, and sticks it into the slot on the side of the wheel thing. He pauses for dramatic effect before twisting it. The engine roars. Did it have to be that loud, or did people back then like it?
“Okay, that’s enough,” Tinaya warns.
“We haven’t gotten to the best part. You can’t see, but there are big buttons on the floor. You push one to go, and one to stop.”
“Well, we’re not going to go anywhere, so that’s irrelevant,” Tinaya says.
“Ah, we won’t go far, and I won’t go fast. It’s fine.” Arqut depresses the pedal and the car lurches. “Whoops, okay. It’s just a little different when it’s real.” It lurches again, but not quite as much. “Give me a moment to get into a good rhythm.”
Tinaya is really worried now. “We need to stop, this is dangerous.”
“It’s all right, Tiny” Arqut promises. “I know what I’m doing.” The car starts moving forward. It’s not going particularly fast, but it’s smoother than the first two attempts. They’re moving down the bay. Lights flip on in response to them.
“Oh, this is interesting, you can really feel it,” Audrey muses.
“You should feel the bumps on the road in the simulation,” Arqut boasts. “I bet it was a hell of a ride in real life.” He speeds up, probably thinking that Tinaya won’t notice.
She notices. “Slow down. There’s nowhere to go.”
“We have plenty of room.” The bay almost runs the full length of the ship on its level. It’s not infinite, however.
“At least turn on autopilot,” Tinaya demands.
Arqut bursts out laughing. “They didn’t have that back then!” He speeds up. Faster, and faster still. It really is reckless at this point, inarguably so. He had some room to play around before, but now, he could get them all killed.
“Arqut!” Tinaya cries.
“Just relax, I know what I’m doing,” he assures her.
“That’s it. I’m teleporting us all out of here.”
“Suppresed,” Arqut volleys. “You think I don’t know you?”
“We’re about to hit the bulkhead!” Audrey tries to alert him.
The wall is indeed getting closer.
“She’s right, we’re gonna crash!” Silveon shouts.
They all start screaming now, even Arqut, though for different reasons. Just before they collide with the wall, he reaches up, and flips a switch next to the little mirror.
There was a lot of debate when Project Extremus was first being conceived. The design of the vessel was the first—and arguably most important—detail that they had to nail down. One idea proposed was to make it relatively small, and expand the spaces they needed using parallel dimensions. History has forgotten why they decided against this. It wouldn’t have really contradicted their mandate to be a generation ship, or to reach the most extreme region of the galaxy. They just chose not too. Parallel and pocket dimensions are still used here, though at far smaller scales. These prove, however, that they’re possible, and it’s a simple enough task to adapt one such of these generators to something larger.
The world around them has shifted slightly. They’re still on the ship, but everything is a little fuzzy and discolored. They pass right through the bulkhead, and into the corridor on the other side. Arqut continues to drive them around this level, which is so far unoccupied by anyone else. They don’t know whether that means it’s more like a lifeless facsimile, or just everyone is at lunch right now. They get their answer when Arqut lifts a lever, and raises them across the z-axis to the deck above. There are a ton of people here, going about their day, and not paying them any mind. He drives right through this as if they’re not even there, just like the walls.
“Okay, now this really is dangerous,” Tinaya admonishes her husband. “We could slip back into realspace at any moment. One brief disruption in power, or the frequency generator, and you could end up killing several people.”
“Multiple redundancies,” Arqut clarifies. “It’s not gonna happen.” He continues to drive around aimlessly, though with less enthusiasm than before. The moment has passed for them to get into it. As he’s driving, he looks around. No one is having all that much fun. Audrey is nervous, but trying not to show it. Tinaya is irritated, and not hiding it at all. Silveon looks rather bored, and maybe distracted? Arqut stops the car, but doesn’t phase them back. “I just thought that this would be an exciting thing to do before...”
“Before what?” Silveon asks him.
Arqut takes a deep breath and prepares himself. He doesn’t face anyone, though. He’s just staring through the front window. “I’m dying. Cancer. They think my weird shapeshifting power is eating me up from the inside.”
“I thought you weren’t using that,” Audrey says.
“It apparently doesn’t matter,” Arqut replies. “In one...maybe two years, Tinaya and I are going to die. It’s okay. It’s time. We’re both old. But Silvy, we missed out on your childhood. I guess I was just trying to recapture that magic. I’m feeling fear and stress about the future, and I suppose I took my nostalgia for those first couple of years when we just had a growing boy a little too far; back to a time when none of us was even born yet.”
Silvy nods reverently. “I understand the impulse. I miss my childhood too, and I wish I could have given you that. I wish, at the worst, I could have jumped into my younger self’s body when he was nineteen or twenty. But Waldemar couldn’t wait. That’s what I thought anyway. I don’t think I’ve been helping. So all this was a waste of time. You lost your kid, and I lost my chance to die fighting alongside my brothers and sisters in the resistance.”
“You did the right thing coming back here, son,” Tinaya tells him sincerely. She looks over at Audrey. “You both did. You’re our children now, and we love you. When your father and I finally leave, as he said, in a couple years still, I know that you will be all right. I’ll know that...you’ll keep working towards a better future. Just don’t forget to find some happiness for yourself. It’s not all about the mission. I’ve recently learned that. Don’t wait as long as me.”
The four of them start to hold and pat each other’s shoulders, and hug, and kiss, awkwardly in this vehicle. Then Arqut drives them back to the bay, where they schedule it for disassembly and material reclamation. Silveon keeps the key, though.
“Oh, wait. Mom, you had a gift too?”
“Right.” Tinaya reaches behind the couch cushion, and pulls out an envelope. “These are the master codes. I’ve been collecting them over the years, and finally secured the last ones I needed a couple of months ago. They will grant a user control of every system, and override any command. No single person on Extremus has ever had them.” She hands him the envelope. “Until now.”

Friday, December 5, 2025

Microstory 2555: Inhouse Lawyer

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Before I came here, I did not have any experience in healthcare law, or in nonprofit law. I applied to this job because I wanted some better work-life balance. My old firm was very demanding. It wasn’t arbitrary. We had a lot of big clients, who required constant aid, advice, and representation. The Foundation has had to overcome obstacles that no other organization ever has, and it’s my job to get them through it. The work they do here is unprecedented, and I know we all hear that a lot, but it’s absolutely true in this case. Pun intended. What Landis and the Director built here is nothing short of profoundly astonishing, and despite how massively popular it is among the general public, it also raised some eyebrows. Who are you? What led you to start something like this? What gives you the right? Why should your customers trust you? What do you mean some people don’t pay? What do you mean you pay some of them? How do we know it’s not a scam? Where’s your experience in healthcare? How do you find your customers? What are your criteria for accepting or rejecting an application? This is just a fraction of a fraction of the questions that I had to help the Foundation answer. It’s been the toughest challenge I’ve ever had, but it wasn’t stressful, because I believe in the cause. I’ve not always been able to say that about my clients, and my colleagues advise me not to feel that way, but come on, how can you not be a fan? I think, when you’re defending multiple clients, you can’t play favorites, but when it’s only the one, I don’t see any reason why I can’t see myself as just another important cog in the machine, rather than an outside associated party. Work has been steadily slowing down over the years. As we’ve become established, and the validity of the healings are hardly in question anymore, there aren’t so many more questions left. Mostly what we’re dealing with now is in regards to the panacea that the researchers are trying to synthesize from Mr. Tipton’s genes, or whatever it is that makes him work. I don’t represent the pharmaceutical company, but I did help broker the deal that led them to being the ones to advance this research, so we’re all obviously still involved. Everything will work out, though. If the panacea works, there is no way it doesn’t go through eventually. Don’t get me wrong, it’s more than just signing the right papers. Approval has been slow, but we can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Very soon, you won’t have to leave your house to cure what ails you. I don’t know what will happen with the Foundation, or my job, but I can’t wait to find out.

Thursday, December 4, 2025

Microstory 2554: Janitor

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This is the best job I’ve ever had, which may sound crazy when you look at my job title, and you learn that it’s the first time I’ve ever been a janitor. I actually know a little bit about the way it works now, thanks to the Foundation. Let me start at the beginning. I’m not some hot shot career-driven professional. Like I said, I’ve never cleaned before, but I’ve never exactly been the CEO either. I’ve always worked other menial jobs, and in fact had a self-imposed rule that I wouldn’t ever make cleaning my primary responsibility. This was just an offer that I couldn’t pass up. First of all, I don’t work for the Foundation, I’m on contract, and the way the contract is written, my employer is not allowed to pay me any less than $25.00 an hour. If you do the math, that is an insane amount for a janitor. No one else is making that much. I told my cousin about it, who lived thousands of miles away at the time, and he just had to get in on it too, so he moved his family out here. First of all, that’s crazy, right? Who moves for a janitorial position? He didn’t even apply for the job first. He thought that admitting he would have to relocate would hurt his chances, so he packed up right away, and just went for it. Sure, they lived with me for a few months, but then they were able to move out to their own place, so it went all right. Here’s his theory on why the Foundation dictates that we’re supposed to be making that much. They’re trying to fix the world, right? I mean, not just for people with disease. They wanna make the whole planet a better place to live in. What’s the point of being healthy if we’re all miserable for other reasons? That’s why they pay people to get cured. It sounds like another insane proposition, but it works, because it’s a charitable organization, and they see the payments as an opportunity to expand on what they do. It’s not just a random additional feature. By demanding that my employers pay me a lot of money, they’re raising the bar. First of all, they’re saying, “we’ll contract with you, but only if you pay the worker you assign to us a lot of money.” But this is also like saying to the whole world, “look, see? It’s possible to pay people more.” And workers will say, “hey, I deserve more money too.” And then hopefully we all start getting more. I don’t really have the knowledge on how to find market trends, or whatever, but I bet it’s helping. I bet they’ve changed the economy in greater ways. I bet my salary has made a positive difference in other people’s lives; people I will never meet, or even hear of. It’s not the most glamorous job, and I still don’t love it, but it puts food on the table, and better food than we’ve ever had before, so I’m not complainin’.

Wednesday, December 3, 2025

Microstory 2553: Maintenance Worker

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I didn’t even realize where I would be working when I applied for this job. I didn’t even apply to the Foundation people. I went through a temp agency, which told me that a number of businesses in the area could use my maintenance skills. They sent my résumé out to a bunch of different places, and this was the first one to respond. I have a little trouble talking to people, so I’ve always been grateful for the help. I didn’t even have to interview, which is good, because I’m not so good at them. I think I still work for the agency. They’re the ones who ask me to put in my hours, and my paychecks come from them. Whenever I run into an issue, though, I don’t talk to anybody there. I go to one of the Foundation people. There isn’t usually any issue. They have a computer system where they send my job requests, and I go do them. Unless someone else claimed them first. It just depends on who’s on the shift. I was here pretty early after the company started, and things were a lot harder back then. You see, someone built this hotel, and then they had to sell it to Mr. Tipton and his people. I think they wanted to get started healing people right away, so they kind of rushed making repairs. It wasn’t too bad, but with a building this size, there are bound to be issues. I kept getting requests to fix things back then. We had a larger team back then. We’ve cut back, because now things are okay. They put a lot of money into new parts. I tell you, I’ve never seen anything like it. Usually, whoever has to approve of a purchase will look at the amount to pay for it, and get mad if it seems too high to them. So they’ll go with the cheapest one. Not this place, they seem to always want the higher number, because they assume it means it will be better. A lot of the times, that’s true, but vendors will also try to sell you the more expensive version, when the difference doesn’t matter. I mean, think about this. What if you needed to order a new doorknob, and there were two in the catalog. One of them was made out of brass, and the other out of diamonds. Which one is cheaper? Obviously, the brass one, but the diamond one is dumb. It isn’t better because it costs more, and no one should ever buy that. If I ever go to a building with diamond doorknobs, I’m walking out, because those people can’t be trusted. So I do have to sometimes say, look, this one will get you just fine. This part has to be replaced every five years to keep up with regulations anyway, so you’re not better off with the one that lasts for ten years. They’re just trying to get you to spend more to spend more. I do try to save these people money, because they’re doing good work here. I’m glad I work here, but if it ends, I’ll be okay. I’m sure I’ll find something else. The agency has always been real good to me too.

Tuesday, December 2, 2025

Microstory 2552: Switchboard Operator

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I don’t technically work for the Foundation. I work for a contract company which specializes in performing auxiliary services for other organizations. We have our hands in all the departments that make any sufficiently sized business run smoothly, regardless of what their particular work product happens to be. Every corporation has reception, every corporation has mail. Facilities, A/V, printing/copying, shipping and receiving. We can come in and do all that extra work for you so you can focus on succeeding and exceeding in your specific industry. That’s my company’s slogan: helping your business succeed and exceed. That’s plastered all over my work area. I have all sorts of requirements about our branding, and labeling things. It’s a switchboard, I know it’s a switchboard, I don’t have to print a label for it, telling myself that it’s a switchboard with the company logo, but that’s what they want. Which can be annoying and intrusive, because that logo keeps changing. Since I started working for them, I’ve had to reprint and rehang everything in my office twice. Some hip new marketing firm shoots through and claims to have the best way to capture hearts and minds in the modern world. Consistency, that’s what really gets you customers, and loyal ones too. If you change your look every five minutes, they’re gonna move on to something they recognize. Because that’s what makes people more comfortable; what they’re already familiar with. Anyway, I’m blabbering on. I’ve worked for them for almost ten years now, but only at the Tipton site for the last three. The guy who did this before me took a job working directly for them as a greeter. He sees it as a stepping stone to bigger and brighter things, which I believe means becoming a settlement specialist, but don’t quote me on that. Those people have education. You can’t just work your way up to it, and at any rate, they’re going to shutter this whole place after the panacea comes out. Some say that Landis will keep going, but he really shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter how many people would rather have the real thing, or how often you have to take the pill. It’s a cure! You’ll do whatever it takes to make it work, and you’re not gonna waste this poor man’s time breathing on you because you’re under the impression that it’s better. Listen to me again, talking out my ass, as if I have any clue what’s going on up at the top. I just answer phones, and I transfer callers to the right department. Nine hundred and ninety-nine times out of a thousand, that means the Applications voicemail. Literally no one monitors that line. You can leave a message, because the carrier system they’re contracted to doesn’t let you turn off that feature, but those messages are wiped every night. A robot tells you how to submit an application, which is decidedly not on the phone! You think we have time for that? It’s, like, a million questions! A lot of people also want me to connect them directly to Mr. Tipton. Yeah, as if that’s gonna happen. Good luck, buddy. It’s hard to reject them, because they get so belligerent and entitled, but I have the full support of my bosses, and our clients, to tell them to eff off if they keep giving me ish. I don’t know, I just work here. It’s 2025, go to our website.