Tuesday, April 1, 2025

Microstory 2377: Earth, October 20, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

I have indeed been appreciating the health updates. You’ll notice that I started sending you mine too. If you would rather not receive them, though, just let me know. I can’t remember if you get charged for incoming messages, or what. Speaking of which, I did send one to Velia. I’m sure she’s told you about that, though. I talked a lot about clothes, because that’s all I really know about her. It’s nice to know that she’s been there for you since I can’t, and never could. I’m glad that you’re back to your normal self. Our conversations have been pretty negative lately because of it, and that’s all my fault. If you want to be more positive, we can move on to lighter topics. I still want to make sure that you’re doing okay, but I’ve let go of some of my anger about the whole thing, and I won’t harp on it anymore. I’ll let you take the lead on it. I will tell you that dad is going on a trip. He says that it’s for his job, but what he doesn’t realize is that, as his assistant, I have access to his travel forms. He used the code for new trade opportunities. He really shouldn’t be looking for those since we’re preoccupied with Australia at the moment, and it wouldn’t make any sense for him to fly all the way to Eastern Seaboard, U.S.A. while we’re down under. He’s obviously on the hunt for our old neighbor, and while he hasn’t admitted that he’s found the guy’s current location, I’m sure that that’s where he’s going. I guess we’ll know eventually whether he uncovered new information about our pasts, or didn’t. Don’t worry, he’s not breaking any laws or policies by traveling for personal reasons. As long as he does some work out there—talking to producers, vendors, and other domes—he’ll be fine. This isn’t the first time he’s caught up with old contacts, and our superiors are fully aware of how it works. It’s all about networking, so almost nothing is off limits unless he just lounges on a beach, or something. Last bit of news, I received a message—not from my nurse from when I was a kid—but her office manager. He said that she’s presently incommunicado in a really dangerous territory, trying to save lives. He hasn’t relayed my letter yet, but once she returns, he’s sure that she’ll want to talk to me. If this were an emergency, he would try to get through to her, but this isn’t a rush, so I’m just going to have to be patient.

Home alone,

Condor

Monday, March 31, 2025

Microstory 2376: Vacuus, October 14, 2179

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Dear Condor,

It’s nice to hear from you. I know that you weren’t writing that open letter directly to me, but it felt very personal, even though I’ve never experienced anything like what you did. I’ve heard more about you from Corinthia. I’ve known about your whole situation almost as long as she has. You and I have a lot in common. My grandfather was the Chief Helmsman of the ship that brought us to this planet, and before that, he was a space shuttle pilot, and before that, an airline pilot. I spent a lot of time on the bridge with him at the helm as we were on our way out here. He would tell me stories about all the places that he used to travel to back on Earth. I’m younger than you, so I have never set foot on your world before. I guess that’s what fascinates me so much, because I feel like I have all these somewhat similar personal experiences. I know that they’re not my own, though. I dunno, I suppose I just felt a connection with you that I’m probably making up in my own head. As for clothes, I do like them, but not necessarily any more than anyone else. I gravitated towards this job partially because there was an opening, and partially because I probably have even less of an interest in going outside than Corinthia does. I just want to stay in my little room where it’s safe. My work area doesn’t even have a window, because some of the rooms have to be on the interior sections, and they can’t all be lavatories and closets. My job is really not that hard. It may be more involved than your sister’s on a day-to-day basis, but there’s a whole lot less pressure. If I mess something up, I can usually fix it before anyone else sees it. The truth is that anyone could do this, because the fabricators do most of the work. I don’t even know how to sew by hand all that well. I did learn, but I don’t use those skills at work. I’m mostly there in a supervisory role. The machines aren’t hard to operate, but rather than training everyone who needs clothes, they only worry about making sure that I know them, and I make sure that nothing gets screwed up. It’s pretty low-key. I have some free time, which I typically spend making up new designs. I’m not exceptional at it, but there are no deadlines, so I eventually figure out what it needs to look like. Corinthia has actually tested out a lot of my own clothes for me. She says she likes them, but you never really know, right? She could just be being polite. I did design the outfit that I’m wearing in the attached photo, so you can tell me what you think. Be honest. Cori thinks there’s too much cleavage, but maybe you have a different opinion?

Hugs and kisses,

Velia

PS: I like your outfit too. It fits you well, though I would imagine just about anything does with a body like that. Trust me, I'm a professional.

Sunday, March 30, 2025

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 11, 2493

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A web of technicolors appeared out of nowhere, and spat Team Matic out onto the floor. They rolled away from each other like marbles from a jar. It was not only the six of them, though. Romana was with them, as was some guy. “Who are you?” Leona demanded to know, prepared to fight, while Mateo was making sure that his daughter was okay.
The stranger stood up and cracked his neck. He held his arms out in front of him with his elbows bent a little. As he was clearing his throat, he adjusted his nanites, looking down at himself, making sure they were all in working order. It was only then that he acknowledged their presence, though not out of surprise. “My name is Amal,” he answered stoically.
“What are you doing here, Amal?” Leona questioned, almost as if she didn’t believe him.
“What year is it?” he posed.
She kept one eye on him while she consulted her watch. She tapped on it a few times with her fingernail. “No idea, this is broken.”
“Use your other one,” Amal suggested cryptically.
“My other what?” Leona asked, confused, and even more defensive now.
“Uh,” Ramses began, massaging his forehead. “I replicated that watch’s powers. We all have one now.” He receded the wrist of his emergent suit to show his bare skin. The time and date appeared on it, glowing a bright green. “Nanobotic tattoos, tied directly into the timestream.”
Leona looked at her own. Then removed her broken watch. “July 11, 2493. We jumped early from last year.”
“No, you went on a detour,” Amal contended. “You’ve been gone longer than you realize.”
“Where were we?” Marie asked, stepping forward. “When were we?”
“I cannot answer that,” Amal replied. “I honestly do not know.” Agent Smith. That was who he sounded like; Agent Smith from the Matrix franchise. “Our minds have been erased to protect the future. I could not even tell you why I’m here. We have not yet met.”
“It seems that we have,” Angela reasoned.
“Quite,” Amal agreed. “Something must have gone wrong after you were summoned to the future. I should not have come through with you.”
“Summoned by who?” Olimpia pressed.
“That I could answer, but I won’t. But I can promise that you trust them.” He laughed through his nose.
“It was us,” Leona figured. “We summoned ourselves.”
“I never said that.” Amal was worried, which probably meant that she was right.
“How do we proceed?” Mateo asked him. “What are we gonna do with you?”
“What you’re going to do is be patient,” Amal answered. “Until we meet again.” There was no stopping him. He slammed his fists together, crouched down, and stuck his knees between his elbows. Technicolors overwhelmed him, and he was gone.
“Hmm,” Ramses said. He looked around at his lab. “The sensors picked that up. Now I bet they know how to make a miniature slingdrive.”
“Careful, Rambo,” Leona said to him. “That’s what we call bootstrapping.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
“Roma,” Mateo said to his little girl. “How did you end up with us?”
“We were going on a mission,” Romana answered. “I stepped into my Dubra pod, just as we always do, so our temporal signatures don’t interfere with the operation of the slingdrive on the Vellani Ambassador. Then I woke up here.”
“You must have been summoned too. It could take years before we find out where we went, and even then, it may only be from an outsider’s perspective. Then again, I once closed my own loop, and my otherwise paradoxical memories of it finally came flooding back into my brain, like they were just waiting for me.”
Romana shook her head. “I’ve been gone for almost a year. I have to go report in.”
“I understand.” He gave her a hug, and then let her go.
A swarm of dark particles spun her around, and into oblivion.
Olimpia was playing with her new suit. She opened some sort of flap on the top of her wrists, which she pointed around the room with a menacing look on her face. “I have guns. I’m gonna shoot sum’im.”
“Those are not guns,” Ramses said with a laugh. “There are no onboard weapons.” He lifted his own flaps, then switched on the flashlight on his right arm.
“Oh,” Olimpia said, figuring out how to turn her own flashlight on, and looking down the barrel of it. She then did the same with her left arm. “What’s this other one?”
“Sensor suite,” Ramses explained as he was walking towards her, “for more detailed information about your environment. It has a medical array too. You should read up on it. He tapped the center of her chest, just under her neck, with three of his fingers. A holographic computer interface was projected from two emitters on her shoulders. “You should peruse the manual.”
“Why is it called the EmergentSuit?” she asked.
“Because the nanites emerge from the implants in your body,” Ramses said.
Olimpia read a little more of the text, which was probably pretty dry and uninteresting. “Boring, I’ll wait for the movie.”
He put an arm around her shoulders, and used his other hand to control her interface. A video popped up. “Hi. I’m a virtual avatar, presenting in the form of my creator, Ramses Abdulrashid. Let me show you how your new EmergentSuit works!” He muted it. “What a fox,” Real!Ramses mused.
Mateo huffed. “You did not tell me that was there. I had to read pages and pages of that thing.”
“If that’s true, you would have seen the part where it tells you that there’s an interactive alternative.”
Mateo mocked Ramses playfully with his pursed lips as he bobbled his head. He pulled up his own interface, and searched the manual for the exact terms. “Interactive alternative; no results.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot to put that blurb in your version of the manual, and you never received the updated edition. You do have the video, though.”
“Thanks, that’s great,” Mateo said sarcastically.
“This all sounds fun,” Leona said, “but we need to go check in with Hrockas.”
“Wait,” Angela interrupted. “Is that it? We were sent to the future, and brought back to our pattern, and we’re just gonna move on as if that’s normal and fine? We’re not gonna try to get our memories back, or investigate how this could have possibly happened, or anything? Someone summoned us, Ramses, using technology that you have apparently not invented yet. Doesn’t that worry you?”
Ramses was about to answer, but Leona stepped in, starting with, “I—” She took one moment to gather her thoughts. “Before you died, did you believe in God?”
“Excuse me?”
“It was very common at the time, to believe in a higher power.”
“Well, yeah, I did. I was raised to be a Christian,” Angela admitted.
“Did you ever question God?”
“All the time,” Angela replied, like she was winning the argument. My dad was a slaveowner.
“And did you ever get anything out of that? Did God ever...come down, and apologize?  Did he give you answers?”
Angela was not happy, but Marie was even more upset. “The people who took us are not gods.”
“By our standards,” Leona reasoned, “they may as well be. We know nothing. We don’t know for sure that it was Future!Us, though that is the assumption. We can’t go preoccupying ourselves with every little thing that happens to us. We’ll go crazy. The truth will reveal itself in time. Until then, Hrockas needs to know that we’re back. Because we returned later than expected, and we made a commitment to build him a relay network.”

“The relay network is done.” They had left Ramses’ lab, and were now in Hrockas’ office. “Well, it’s not done, but it’s on its way, and will be ready in time for the grand opening in seven years.”
“Team Kadiar agreed to help you with it?”
He shook his head. “No need. Some friends stepped up. They didn’t want us clogging up their own quantum terminals, but they agreed to build us dedicated machines. Most of them will be stored in the corner somewhere on their Lagrange-one stations.”
“I thought you couldn’t do that,” Leona reminded him. “I thought they were unwilling to help.”
“No, the core government was unwilling to help. But the neighborhood representatives finally secured a win for key legislation that gave them more latitude. They’re free to build whatever technology they want—as long as it follows certain criteria, like not being a weapon—and they don’t have to share it with any other world. This places each machine squarely in the local leadership’s control, and I’ve managed to negotiate with all of them, even some core worlds. So we’re good. Thanks for the offer.”
“This sounds risky,” Leona pointed out. “They could revoke the charter whenever they want, right?”
“Absolutely,” Hrockas admitted. “Maintaining strong diplomatic relations will be of the utmost importance to the continuity of my operation. That’s why I’ve hired a Minister of Foreign Affairs to be in charge of all the little ambassadors that I’ll need to liaise with our relay partners.”
“Could we meet this person?”
“She’s not here yet,” Hrockas explained. “I believe that she’s leaving in a few weeks, then it will take her a couple of months to arrive.”
“A couple months?” Ramses questioned. “The only way you can get out here in a couple months is if you use a reframe engine. I mean, that’s if you’re not just quantum casting which is within an hour.”
“Yeah, she has a reframe engine,” Hrockas said. “I guess Earth has done enough work to develop them on their own.”
“I guess,” Leona agreed. “I hope we did the right thing, letting them have that technology.” It had actually been a pretty long time since the Edge Meeting where they granted certain knowledge to certain parties in the main sequence regarding the manipulation of time. It was Hokusai Gimura’s responsibility to actually coordinate with Teagarden and Earth, and Leona didn’t exist most of the time, so she lost track of how that process was faring. It didn’t sound like it was going to be as easy as beaming them the specifications, and walking away. Still, it felt rushed, probably because to the team, this whole thing only started a few months ago. “Well, I’m glad you’re doing okay.”
“Yep,” Hrockas agreed. “So, if you wanted to move on to your next project, maybe fight the bad guy in that Goldilocks Corridor, I think that would be fine.”
“Yeah, we might do that,” Leona said with a nod.
The rest of the team was there, but besides Mateo and Ramses, they were all kind of busy reading up on their new suits. It was awkward, so Leona just disappeared. Mateo broke the others out of their trances, and pulled them out of the office too. “Hey. How are you feeling?” he asked his wife. They were in the replica of Kansas City now, standing in the parking lot where all time travelers were funneled to when they showed up in the Third Rail.
“We never...finish anything,” she mused. “We don’t accomplish our goals. We’re always pulled in some other direction, and all we can do is hope that we’ve done enough for whoever we had to leave behind. I got used to that. I got used to knowing that I did my best, but this new crowd needed me now, and it was time to refocus.” She finally looked up at him. “But do we even need to go back to the Corridor? Niobe’s army is taking the offensive. I even think fighters from Verdemus finally showed up in the Anatol Klugman. Team Kadiar is rescuing defectors left and right. I don’t know what’s going on with the Sixth Key, but the delegates were doing fine the last we saw them.”
Mateo nodded. “We’re aimless again, aren’t we? And we don’t do well when we’re aimless. Ramses needs to invent, you need to lead, the Waltons need to counsel.”
“And the two of us need to be dum-dums,” Olimpia added.
Mateo nodded again. “And the two of us need to be dum-dums,” he echoed.
“Dum-dums with cool flashlights,” Olimpia corrected. She shined it on the asphalt, thought it was daytime under this dome, so the light may as well have been off.
“We may be aimless,” Marie said in a soft voice, “but we’re not useless. We’ll find our place to be. Ramses just needs to get us there.”
“I can finish the mini-slingdrives,” Ramses confirmed, “but someone will need to decide where we go.”
“Are you sure?” Angela smiled. “We’ve used it before without plotting a destination. You could even say that we were aimless.”
Leona smiled too.
“Orders sir,” Ramses requested from the Captain.
Leona took a breath to center herself. “Engineer, build me my new engine. Counselors, find out what you can about this Minister of Foreign Affairs. I don’t want to leave our friends hanging if there’s only one last thing to do. Mister Matic, go see if you can spend some time with your daughters before we leave. And Miss Sangster?”
“Yeah...?”
“I believe we owe each other date.”

Saturday, March 29, 2025

The Fifth Division: Mind of Rocks (Part III)

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Storm doesn’t waste any time as the shield protecting her garden begins to falter and fall apart. “Go to Pinesong,” she orders Briar. “Tell him to reinforce that thing as much as possible. He can draw his energy from the tree if he has to.”
“Do you have any weapons?” Ingrid asks after Briar disappears.
“Obviously not,” Storm answers. “This is meant to be a peaceful haven.
“Then I need to speak with the tree,” Ingrid urges.
Storm thinks about it, but only for a moment, because time is of the essence. If these hostile forces breach the gate, they could destroy this whole place without any resistance. The magical memory magnolia could be the only thing standing in their way. “Goswin, I need your help,” she whispers into her shoulder.
Goswin never appears. Ingrid and Killjlir simply find themselves swept away, and transported to the island where the tree stands. They expect the Tamerlane Pryce avatar to appear before them, but he seems to have other ideas. A rounded rectangular portal appears on the trunk. No one comes out and invites them in, but the implication is that that’s what they’re supposed to do. They exchange a look, hold their breaths, and walk over the threshold. The entrance zips up behind them. They’re standing in a circular room now, like a castle tower, though the walls are not made of stone, but wood. It’s shifting through translucency and transparency. They can still see the conflux waters on the outside, and the expansive garden beyond, as well as the trembling dimensional dome in the sky. The tree is big, but it’s not this big. They shouldn’t both be able to stand in here with so much room. This is either just a representation of what it would look like if they really were in the trunk like chipmunks, or they’ve actually been shrunk down into some kind of bizarre parallel dimension.
The Pryce avatar does not appear. Instead, it’s the Angry Fifth Divisioner.
“Do you always take the form of your enemies?” Ingrid asks.
“I take the form of anyone whose essence I have absorbed,” A.F.’s mouth answers. “I do not see this man as my enemy. I do not have enemies.”
“That’s certainly how they see you,” Ingrid argues.
“They cannot kill me,” he replies. “They can only harm my agents.”
“Does this not concern you? Are we...dispensable?”
The tree smiles. “Your bodies are.”
“So we die here, you absorb us, and we just become part of your transcendental oversoul; the wave returning to the ocean.”
“That’s a way you could look at it,” A.F. agrees.
“Hey,” Killjlir interrupts. “Are you going to help us stop this attack, or not?”
“What’s happening is precisely what must.”
“Stop speaking in riddles, and vague nonsense,” Ingrid insists. “Tell us what you want, tell us what they want. Tell us what the Garden Dimension custodians want, what Goswin and his buddies want, what your other human agents want, and what the other leaders of the Sixth Key want. Tell us everything.”
He smiles again, like a seasoned parent, knowing that their youngest will not understand until they’re older. He doesn’t seem annoyed, or frustrated by all the incessant questions. “It doesn’t matter what any of you want. It doesn’t even matter what I want? All that is is what is, and what’s right.”
Both Ingrid and Killjlir roll their eyes.
“You don’t want riddles?” he goes on. “Then let me be perfectly blunt. The garden will be destroyed. It’s the only way.”
“The only way to accomplish what?” Killjlir is just as annoyed at these piecemeal answers. As Ingrid is.
“The only way to save it.”
There’s a loud boom behind them. They look back to see the pocket dimensional dome collapse. At first, a hole forms at the zenith, then the glassy walls recede back towards the ground, uneven, and occasionally trying to go back up, like the bars of a music visualizer. Pinesong is likely still fighting back, but they all fall in the end. The sun shines down on the ground in all its glory.
“This is what you wanted?” Ingrid presses.
The A.F. avatar chuckles. He lifts one hand, and jiggles it to the left. The view outside changes. It’s back to normal. The dimensional barrier seems intact, though it’s so clear and uniform, it’s hard to make out, especially through the wood walls of this weird tree interior dimension. He jiggles his hand again, changing the scene to when the dome is gone, but the garden is mostly gone too. There are a few bushes in the immediate vicinity, but most of it is desert. “The early days.” He shifts the view again. The bushes are burned. Fires rage in the distance. The garden is being destroyed. Another shift, and the outside is a barren wasteland once more, but not because Storm and her people haven’t begun their work yet. Everything has been annihilated. The soot from the fire remains on the branches of the heartiest of plants here, amidst the ash.
“Past and future,” Ingrid decides.
More like possibilities,” A.F. corrects.
“So it can be stopped,” Killjlir determines.
“Of course it can. I’m saying that it shouldn’t. When you look out there, do you see death, or do you see life?”
“Death, obviously.”
“I would imagine,” A.F. says. “I see something different, though. I see potential. I see a new beginning.”
“Are you telling us that this is a prescription burn?” Killjlir questions. “They destroy the old, so that life can begin anew?”
“I’m saying that it’s a necessary evil. To protect the world, we destroy the garden.”
Ingrid shakes her head. “The world out there, in this parallel dimension? Onyx didn’t tell me what it’s like. It’s uncontrolled, though. It’s...unprotected. Random.”
The tree laughs again at the dumb children. “Is that the point of life? To be controlled?” He reaches up to swipe the scene away entirely, flinging the view across the lands—out of the pocket where the garden once stood—somewhere away from its borders. There is life here too, just like the garden, though it’s unstructured, as predicted. Leaves are left unraked; branches unpruned. It’s patchy and random, with brown grass in some spots, apparent volunteers breaking up the flow, and some plants that are just straight up dead. It’s natural, it’s wild, and it’s beautiful.
“This is a copy of Earth, isn’t it, but without buildings, or anything else manmade?” Ingrid asks as she’s looking down at the dirt below.
“This parallel dimension was stuck in the past, about 300 million years prior to the modern day,” the A.F. avatar begins to explain. “The land was combined into a supercontinent known as Pangea. The rest of it, ocean. Little moisture could reach the center of Pangea, leaving it as an arid desert. Only the coastal regions were lush with vegetation. We don’t know what this parallel dimension exists, it just does. The Gardeners specifically chose it so as not to interfere with the delicate ecosystem of a preexisting world. The center of this continent was nothing, just sand and dirt, and they thought that it was up for grabs for this reason. They built a pocket dimension right there, but pocket dimensions don’t have skies. Their atmospheres are artificial, and must be recycled. So they intentionally made the barrier thin, which gives it physical structure within the world around it. The sun can penetrate, as can the air. And so can seeds.” He gestures towards the vegetation outside the tree tower. “They didn’t even realize it, but they were seeding life all over the continent. Every plant that they planted is out here somewhere, surviving in its natural state. Except for the newest specimens, of course, who just haven’t had time to permeate the barrier.”
“So it’s not just a garden dimension anymore. It’s a garden planet,” Killjlir muses.
“It’s the way every world should be. In my honest opinion,” A.F. adds.
Ingrid shakes her head. “You propose that we let the garden be destroyed, because this is all out here anyway? Why wouldn’t our enemies just destroy it too? Set a larger fire, and let it encompass the supercontinent. Couldn’t be too hard.”
“They don’t know it’s here,” the tree claims.
“But they’re coming from the outside,” Ingrid reasons. “They’re on the border. They could easily just...turn around and look.”
“They’re not on the border,” he argues. “They just needed to collapse the barrier, so they could come from their own plane of existence.”
“Well, they’ll see it now,” Killjlir presumes. “Again, they’ll just turn around.”
“Not if they stay near the center. Their plan was to engulf us in flames, and let it spread to the center, but it is vital that they come to the conflux instead, so their view is obstructed. You must lure them to me, and make them set the fire at my feet. They’ll have no choice but to escape interdimensionally, and they will never see what the world truly looks like. That’s why I brought you.”
“Won’t you be destroyed?” Ingrid figures.
“Another necessary evil.” He sighs. “I’m a sentient tree with magical powers. I’ve lived many lifetimes, and seen all of time and space. I’m ready to go.”
“There’s gotta be a better way,” Killjlir hopes.
“If there were, I would see it,” A.F. contends.
Ingrid takes a deep breath. “Take us back to realtime, and realspace. You’ll need to be able to transport us upon request.”
“Done. Easy.” With a wave of his hands, the Memory Magnolia transports them back to the conflux.
They’re standing on the little island again, and they’re not alone. “Andrei. Where are Selma and Ayata?”
“They’re helping everyone escape into the tunnels,” Andrei replies. “Weaver and those other three don’t have their powers anymore, or perhaps just not right now. They have to get out manually, but once they’re safe, they plan to come back to protect the tree. Princess Honeypea says that it’s the most important lifeform out here.”
“No,” Ingrid counters. “We have to let them destroy the tree. Trust me, this is what it wants. Tell your partners to stay where they are, protecting the others. You and Killjlir will stand guard here. Put up a fight, so it doesn’t seem suspicious, but ultimately, let them through.”
“What are you gonna do?” Killjlir asks her.
“I’m bait,” Ingrid answers. “Take me to ‘em, tree guy.” She’s teleported to a tunnel entrance. Ayata is there, fighting off Tamerlane and his partners in hand-to-hand combat. It’s so pedestrian, fighting like this, instead of with powers, or at least guns, but they may be just as restricted as everyone else. “Get back to the tree!” she orders Ayata. “It’s the only thing that matters! As long as it’s standing, they can’t destroy anything!”
Ingrid would sure prefer a gun in this situation, but if the tree wants the garden destroyed, it better be destroyed. That means she can’t just kill all of her opponents right here. Presumably, if these humans don’t get the job done, this First Explorer entity will just find others to do its bidding. After Ayata disappears, Ingrid takes her place in the fight, fending off three attackers at once. They all appear to have impenetrable skin, but they’re untrained and unskilled. She would send them all into the ground if they weren’t superhumanly strong and tough. Still, she keeps going, because that’s what they’re expecting out of her. She can’t just roll over, even though the endgame sounds inevitable. Finally, they manage to punch and kick her enough times for her to reasonably fall to the ground herself, and let them run off.
“Get to the tree. I’ll finish this,” one of the women says. The other two nod, and teleport away. Well, two out of three ain’t bad. The ruse should hold.
Ingrid spits some of the blood out of her mouth as she’s kneeling in the dirt. She extends her hand. “Ingrid Alvarado.”
The enemy shakes her hand. “Iolanta Koval.” She then pulls Ingrid up to her feet. “You have some skill. Could you teach me?”
“You would have to not kill me first.”
“Good point.” Iolanta tilts her head. “I have finally figured out how to stop your little tree god from subverting my temporal suppressive powers. You ain’t goin’ nowhere anymore. You’re standing on your own grave.”
Ingrid takes a breath, and enjoys one final look at the beautiful garden around her. She could have been happy here. “It’s so gorgeous...not the worst place to die. So why are you trying to destroy it?”
She shrugs. “I have no strong feelings about it. This is just what the boss wants.”
“You always do what the boss says?”
“Someone has to lead, someone has to follow. It’s what keeps the trains running on time. Without the chain of command, it’s chaos.”
There’s an explosion a ways away, in the direction of the magnolia tree. The fire is already spreading out from it, and heading their way. They both regard it with different feelings. Iolanta is indifferent. Ingrid is saddened. “That doesn’t look like chaos to you?”
“Let’s call it a controlled burn,” Iolanta decides.
“Yes, let’s.” Hopefully the magnolia used the last of its power to send all of the humans standing there to a safe place, even Killjlir.
Even though they’re both totally exhausted, Iolanta isn’t finished. She takes a pea shooter out of her breast pocket, and points it at Ingrid’s head. She doesn’t get the chance to pull the trigger, though. A gunshot rings out from somewhere, and blood shoots out of her neck. She falls to the ground.
Selma is jogging the rest of the way up from the tunnel entrance, still holding her firearm at the ready. “We have to go.”
“No, I have to make sure that this is done,” Ingrid argues. She’s watching the fire in the distance. It’s coming closer as the flames begin to engulf everything that made this place so beautiful. Necessary evil or not, it’s a damn shame.

Friday, March 28, 2025

Microstory 2375: Vacuus, October 13, 2179

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Dear Condor,

I trust that you’ve been getting my daily health updates. I think that’s all I’m going to do, just forward my morning vital stats. It’s a lot easier, and the system is already set up for it. Of course, the feature is typically meant for patients to update their doctors, but if it makes you feel better, then I can do it. Yes, I do have other people to help me when I’m having trouble, be it with my health, or anything else. Like I was saying, it takes a village, and we’re a tight-knit group here. Some are closer than others. Some have more friends than me, but overall, I feel like I could count on just about anyone on this base. I’ve been reading about it, and other colonies are facing similar issues, living in these controlled environments. People don’t ever get just a little sick, so when something happens, it runs rampant. No one knows what the solution might be, though I’m guessing that your domes make things a little safer. If you have plant life growing in them, you have bacteria growing on them. All those variables are making illness a real concern, but hopefully, a manageable one. I have been taking vitamins my whole life, which include more than one immunity booster, so that’s always helped me. It’s probably part of what staved the disease off for as long as it had been. Anyway, I’m okay now. Bray has been great, and if you don’t know how to interpret vital sign trends, I’m back to the way I used to be before all this. It was a scare, but I think I can safely say that I’m out of the woods now. You’re right, testing twins for this sort of thing could be a good idea if it weren’t horrific, and we probably weren’t the first to think of it. I’m sure our observers did too. I bet they were indeed studying the physiological differences between us, living in vastly  different environments, or at least they were trying to. We’ve mentioned that it makes little sense, trying to study anything in fraternal twins, but whatever. It’s over now, and we don’t have to worry about those people anymore. I hope you took my advice, and sent a message to Velia. I know that she’s looking forward to it.

Ta-ta for now,

Corinthia

Thursday, March 27, 2025

Microstory 2374: Earth, October 7, 2179

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Dear Velia,

My twin sister, Corinthia gave me your contact card. She’s talked about you a little. You’re the one who made the matching outfits that we all wore to our interplanetary birthday party, right? I know you read my open letter to the base, but if you want to talk and get to know each other personally, here’s how you can reach me. Tell me about yourself. I don’t have that much experience with what you do, and have never met anyone with your job. Things are a little different here on Earth these days, but I think they’re becoming more like they are on Vacuus, now that society is coming back. We have garment fabricators like you here, but it was a change for me, wearing new clothes. In the past, when we needed replacements, we had to trade for them at whatever market we came across, or even scavenge them from the ruins of the old world. It’s not really something I thought about a whole lot growing up. We were just trying to survive, and as long as you were protected from the elements, that would have to be good enough. If you were in the midst of the toxic fumes, it really didn’t matter what you were wearing unless it was a hazmat suit, because you weren’t going to make it out there for long. Also, when we were busy traveling the world, we were limited to how much we could carry, which was par for the course for a lot of people at the time, certainly everyone we were dealing with. In some instances, it was a rule based on who you were with, and in others, it was a practical necessity to stay light and unburdened by too many belongings. I’ve only recently begun to collect personal possessions. It just wasn’t worth it before, when I was on the road, and in the air. Before we came to this platform, I only had a few shirts and a couple of pairs of pants. Socks and undergarments were the most precious due to their heavy impact on hygiene. I’m sure there’s more to you than your job. You may not even like clothes. Not everyone gets to work in their preferred field. In case you are into fashion, though, here’s a picture of what I’m wearing today. What do you think?

It’s nice to kind of meet you,

Condor

Wednesday, March 26, 2025

Microstory 2373: Earth, October 6, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

I’m relieved that you’re feeling better, but I’m still worried about you. What are your message quotas? Maybe you could send me daily updates? Yeah, I’ll always be a week behind, but I’ll feel better if I can count on something coming in every day. Or maybe that would be even more stressful, because what if you’re too busy, or you forget? It might make me start freaking out. I dunno, you decide. I just want you to be okay. Who else do you have in your life besides Bray? Does Velia help too? Is she someone you can rely on when things are rough? It’s so frustrating being so far from each other. Okay, I don’t wanna be too pushy or overprotective. You live your life however you think you should. In school, we learned about the dangers of living in space. They told us how risky it is just being out in the vacuum, and how lower gravity can impact bones and muscles. But they didn’t say anything about the pathogens that do—or more important, don’t—start going around. You’re in such a controlled environment, which sounds like a good thing, but I guess there are consequences. We’re probably going to experience the same thing here on Earth, with our giant dome habitats. Or maybe the giant part is a good thing.  Perhaps they’re big enough where it’s basically like living on Earth before the poison gases. I don’t know anything about this stuff. Have they done studies on it? Do space colonists have weakened immune systems because they’re not exposed to random environmental foreign contaminants, or whatever? Perhaps someone should be comparing twins for this instead of behavioral differences. I shouldn’t say that out loud, give anybody any bright ideas. For all I know, that was part of what they were trying to study in us.

Thinking of you always,

Condor

Tuesday, March 25, 2025

Microstory 2372: Vacuus, September 29, 2179

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Dear Condor,

Thank you for attaching yours and Pascal’s medical records. That’s really going to help, not only with this one issue, but any other problems that might arise in the future. It’s good to have a full picture of your health. Thank you for being protective of me, but I want you to remember that he’s your father, and I know that he did the best he could with the cards that he was dealt. It was a tough situation that I can’t even begin to imagine. On the ship, the adults had to have a it takes a village mentality, or we never would have survived. I only had one official parent, but I was raised by just about everyone on that tin can way or another. You were just out in the world, where no one really cares about anyone else unless they have some specific reason to. I’m so glad that your father found a way to provide you with the medical care that you needed, despite how shallow it sounds like his pockets were. I would have been heartbroken if mom had told me about you, and when I tried to reach out, I found out that you were dead. We will never meet in person, but at least we get to converse, and that might be thanks to your secret nurse and her laced chicken noodle soup. It’s important to frame it positively. I’m doing fine. I still have symptoms, but it helps to sit still, which is perfect, since that’s how my job works. I do need to get exercise, though, so I walk down the corridors, which Bray helps me with. He still feels guilty, but here’s the way I look at it. Yeah, the STD triggered the epigenetic disease in me, but the doctor says it was better that it happened now, instead of when I’m older. Anything could have caused it to surface, including some age-related conditions, and it would have been much harder for me to recover under those circumstances. I don’t know what the future holds, but he and I are still together. Speaking of which, we have not had any time to get into your open letter to the base. Everyone loved hearing from you. They are aware of how bad things are on Earth, but most of them don’t have any firsthand accounts of what it’s really like. Many of the older people here who left connections behind have found those connections since severed, due to death or outdated information, probably because of the collapse of society. They appreciate hearing from someone, even if it’s not all great. On a personal note, my friend, the garment fabricator, seems to be taking a particular interest in you. Her name is Velia. I’ve attached her contact card in case you want to have a second person to talk to up here. I’m sure she would really love it.

Keeping it light,

Corinthia