I used to spin in circles, as a child, in the hydroponics tent amongst the wheat. I would spin and spin and feel the grains soft and rough against my skin, staring upwards and watching the lamps overhead swirl around and around me like they were my stars and I was their planet.
I used to get so dizzy that I would fall down, watch the stars continue to move until they slowed, slowed, slowed, and stopped, and became lamps once more.
I thought, out here, spinning out of control as the station disappeared beyond my sight, that I'd be dizzy.
But there are no stars. The last of them went out years ago.
So instead I spin and spin but cannot feel it. It's like I'm standing still in front of a black wall, breathing, breathing.
I will be okay. The rescue ships will be here soon. Maybe when I see them I will feel dizzy again. I will watch them spin and spin slower and slower until they stop and I am safe.
I will be okay. I just need to keep breathing.
I look at my arm, just to have something to look at besides the vastness of black. The nanosteel glows bright white before me, between me and the dark. The wrist display blinks red, red, red...but I will be okay. The rescue ships will be here soon. I watch my fingers flex out, back into a fist, out again. I hyper-focus on each and every movement of each and every finger. And I breathe. I breathe, because I'm starting to feel dizzy.
I take my arm away and stare out again at this...Space, where I spin and flow and shoot through but cannot feel. And in that absence of feeling I am feeling dizzy, sick. I start to cry because it is too much.
I will be okay. The rescue ships will be here soon.
But I weep, and I stare, and I wonder if I am someone's star right now, spinning around them and making them dizzy. Maybe I'm not even spinning anymore, I can't tell, maybe I have reached a planet and it is holding me in its orbit, holding me still but too far for me to see in my own glow. I cannot feel it, so I must feel something, so I feel dizzy.
So I lie back, I close my eyes, and try to feel the stars around me, spinning and slowing, slowing, slowing, and I swear I can see them with my eyes closed. A universe of endless stars glowing and glowing and heating and getting brighter and dimming and popping in and then out and everywhere around me. And I open my eyes and I swear I can still see them.
I will be okay.
I just need to breathe.
I look at my hand again. The light of the nanosteel is fading. Energy going to other systems. I flex my fingers, I hyper-focus as I bend my index finger, out, in. My middle finger out, in. My ring finger out, in. My pinky goes out, in...but I only know this from feel. I flex my thumb, out, in, focusing on the only sensations I have. The pinpoint stillness of focus feels...
I will be okay.
I'm dizzy.
I'm suspended in the dark. But it feels like I'm lying down.
And I breathe...
And I breathe...
And I see a star...
And I feel dizzy, differently.
And I see it again...
I will be okay.
Sunday, June 7, 2020
Sunday, May 31, 2020
Inktober #23: Ancient
As you step into the room, Piri, your darkvision acclimates for the next 60 feet in front of you. Beyond this massive doorway lies an even more massive...temple, as far as you can tell. Long worn tapestries hang on the walls, some tattered to ruin, some having fallen on the ground, with colors you are unable to discern without some light. The ceiling is barely visible to you, with a symbol repeated in seemingly irregular intervals, the same symbol you saw faded on the stone post that led you here. On either side of you pocketed into these grand stone walls are two alcoves, each with what appears to be a statue, though they seem almost out of place in this massive room being just slightly larger than you. And that's about all you can make out. Do you keep going in?
"Hey, um, big big big temple ahead," says Piri, a red-haired half-elf in a deep black cloak and light leather armor with daggers in her hands at the ready. "A couple suspicious symbols in the ceiling that are probably traps, and two statues that will more than likely charge headlong at us the moment we enter. Thoughts?"
The basso voice of a towering Goliath clothed in robes and almost covered in various mechanical trinkets answers, "I can always send in one of my toys. If it's trapped, no harm done to us."
"But also no guarantee it won't bring down the entire place and destroy any treasure before we have a chance to get to it, Uthal," Piri replies. "Squirrel?"
A stout gnome with a scar down his cheek, clothed in green with a bow and empty quiver strapped to his back, and a mouse on his shoulder, gets up from his crouch looking for tracks on the ground.
"We're not the first ones here. But there's also no sign that anyone who went in ever left. So something's waiting in there for sure," he says. "You sense anything, Yev?"
A tall orc woman in full plate mail with a massive two handed maul slung over her shoulder clinks her way over to the door. As she does she pulls out a symbol hanging around her neck, which faintly begins to glow with a bluish shadow-like flare as her eyes close.
"There is a sense of death around this place, but nothing undead."
"Right," says Piri. "So we've got a death trap in front of us, a storm coming in behind us, and, likely, more basilisks. Better the stone in front than turning to stone behind us?"
They all look to each other, and indicate reluctant acceptance.
"Good then, traps traps traps, looking for traps traps traps..."
You cast your eyes back around the room, Piri, this time specifically keeping an eye out for any mechanisms. Make an Investigation check.
14.
You do notice what appears to be very faint bloodstains, conveniently located in roughly the same spots as where the symbols lie above in the ceiling. However, you have no idea what might trigger it. You do also notice that while there are clear blood spatters in those locations, there is also an increasing amount that does not correspond to where the symbols are as you get further into the chamber.
"Hang back, Piri, I'm going to try poking," says Squirrel. He reaches back into his seemingly empty quiver but his fingers are suddenly closed around an almost beam of light energy that he then nocks, aims, and fires into one of the symbols. It impacts into the stone, but the moment it does a crackling blue and white light flashes in the stone itself and the arrow disappears into it.
"...So...definitely magical," he says.
The massive goliath bends down and takes what looks like a whirring ball with legs off his belt and sets it moving forward, directly under the closest symbol. The second it reaches there...another flash, and this time the stone rockets down into the floor, smashing the toy to pieces. As it does the mouse on Squirrel's shoulder quietly squeaks in fear.
"Told you," says Uthal.
Careful not to step under any symbols in the way, Yevelda makes her way cautiously and rather loudly as the plate armor clacks and clanks, echoing in this massive hall, over to the statue along the left wall. She inspects it carefully before deciding to poke it, and...
A vision fills your mind, Yev, of a massive battle. You are a soldier, human, fighting alongside what has to be the biggest creature you've ever seen. Humanoid, in full plate, swinging a massive axe back and forth into a horde of what appear to be mechanical men imbued with some kind of magical energy seeping out of the cracks in their forms. All around you there is madness, terror, war. You can see people of all different races, trying to make a stand against an army that stretches as far as your eyes can see. You're swinging, parrying, shoving, and then there's a bright flash as you hear an earthshaking roar and look up and see this giant you've been fighting by grasp its shoulder in pain around a spiderweb-like burn of a wound that crackles with the residual of a lightning strike. You follow its gaze to see what looks like some kind of massive siege engine, and behind it, a grinning skull-like visage wreathed in the same light that fills these warforged bodies. It points a finger towards the giant, and unleashes a sickly black beam...as you feel an axe carve into your skull.
Roll a Wisdom saving throw.
17.
You come back to your senses, back into the great hall, and manage to resist any lingering effects.
"AAAHHHH BALLS," yelps Yev. "THE HELL WAS THAT?"
"The hell was what, Yev?" asks Squirrel.
But before she can answer, Piri has already stepped over to the other statue, and also touches it.
Piri, a vision comes to you of that same battle, but you are a Tiefling and farther back on a bit of a hill overlooking the incoming tides of warforged, the siege engines, and the eerie glow that overtakes it all. You are slinging spell after spell, calling on the demon you have made a pact with for aid and magical ability. You see ahead of you and to the left this giant to dwarf giants. You see the lightning strike him, and you see the sick black ray shoot towards him. But you also see beside you a being made of stone. A golem twice your height, carrying a banner with a very familiar symbol. And you see, as this ray shoots out, the golem slams the banner into the ground, and mere feet before the ray would impact into the giant...it dissipates. In fact now you can see a shimmer surrounding you, surrounding the entire army. And in an instant, every warforged inside the dome falls down, falls apart, and loses the glow that was keeping it sustained. You somehow instinctively know that golems...can't normally do that. There is something about this one, something special. But before you can take a word to thank it, to ask it any of the numerous questions flitting through your mind, a skeletal visage wreathed in light appears before the golem. You reach out, grasping for what magical artillery you have left, and a quick finger in your direction snuffs out your life.
Roll a wisdom saving throw.
4.
You take 10 points of psychic damage as you feel the deathblow as if it were really happening.
"OOOOWWWW OW OW OW," screams Piri.
"What is going on?!" yells Uthal.
"Did you see?" yells Yev across the room.
"Battle? Giants? Robots?" yells Piri back.
"YEAH!"
"YEP."
For the sake of brevity, you both fill everyone in on the two visions, and the differences between them. You decide to head further in, avoiding what you can see of any traps laid in the way. Before long you start to see faint light emanating from sconces on the wall and two large braziers, each burning as if they were freshly lit. And then you come into view of a resplendent display. A coffin, larger than any you've ever seen, surrounded in stunning gold scrollwork, etched with panels that seem to tell the story you've already seen, though the tale does appear to continue past what you've experienced. In amongst the scrollwork, which is so large you can clearly make it out even 100 feet away, you can clearly see a name spelled out in several different languages. In fact it appears to be in every language there is. Here lies High King Lo-Kag, Savior of Arlia. You also notice that the fabrics and banners hanging here look brand new. Not touched by dust or decay or any sign of use or time.
And before it all, is, to you Yev, a familiar sight. A stony golem, kneeling on a raised platform, holding onto what seems to be a perfectly intact and unfaded banner. And it's eyes appear to be looking straight at you...
"Hey, um, big big big temple ahead," says Piri, a red-haired half-elf in a deep black cloak and light leather armor with daggers in her hands at the ready. "A couple suspicious symbols in the ceiling that are probably traps, and two statues that will more than likely charge headlong at us the moment we enter. Thoughts?"
The basso voice of a towering Goliath clothed in robes and almost covered in various mechanical trinkets answers, "I can always send in one of my toys. If it's trapped, no harm done to us."
"But also no guarantee it won't bring down the entire place and destroy any treasure before we have a chance to get to it, Uthal," Piri replies. "Squirrel?"
A stout gnome with a scar down his cheek, clothed in green with a bow and empty quiver strapped to his back, and a mouse on his shoulder, gets up from his crouch looking for tracks on the ground.
"We're not the first ones here. But there's also no sign that anyone who went in ever left. So something's waiting in there for sure," he says. "You sense anything, Yev?"
A tall orc woman in full plate mail with a massive two handed maul slung over her shoulder clinks her way over to the door. As she does she pulls out a symbol hanging around her neck, which faintly begins to glow with a bluish shadow-like flare as her eyes close.
"There is a sense of death around this place, but nothing undead."
"Right," says Piri. "So we've got a death trap in front of us, a storm coming in behind us, and, likely, more basilisks. Better the stone in front than turning to stone behind us?"
They all look to each other, and indicate reluctant acceptance.
"Good then, traps traps traps, looking for traps traps traps..."
You cast your eyes back around the room, Piri, this time specifically keeping an eye out for any mechanisms. Make an Investigation check.
14.
You do notice what appears to be very faint bloodstains, conveniently located in roughly the same spots as where the symbols lie above in the ceiling. However, you have no idea what might trigger it. You do also notice that while there are clear blood spatters in those locations, there is also an increasing amount that does not correspond to where the symbols are as you get further into the chamber.
"Hang back, Piri, I'm going to try poking," says Squirrel. He reaches back into his seemingly empty quiver but his fingers are suddenly closed around an almost beam of light energy that he then nocks, aims, and fires into one of the symbols. It impacts into the stone, but the moment it does a crackling blue and white light flashes in the stone itself and the arrow disappears into it.
"...So...definitely magical," he says.
The massive goliath bends down and takes what looks like a whirring ball with legs off his belt and sets it moving forward, directly under the closest symbol. The second it reaches there...another flash, and this time the stone rockets down into the floor, smashing the toy to pieces. As it does the mouse on Squirrel's shoulder quietly squeaks in fear.
"Told you," says Uthal.
Careful not to step under any symbols in the way, Yevelda makes her way cautiously and rather loudly as the plate armor clacks and clanks, echoing in this massive hall, over to the statue along the left wall. She inspects it carefully before deciding to poke it, and...
A vision fills your mind, Yev, of a massive battle. You are a soldier, human, fighting alongside what has to be the biggest creature you've ever seen. Humanoid, in full plate, swinging a massive axe back and forth into a horde of what appear to be mechanical men imbued with some kind of magical energy seeping out of the cracks in their forms. All around you there is madness, terror, war. You can see people of all different races, trying to make a stand against an army that stretches as far as your eyes can see. You're swinging, parrying, shoving, and then there's a bright flash as you hear an earthshaking roar and look up and see this giant you've been fighting by grasp its shoulder in pain around a spiderweb-like burn of a wound that crackles with the residual of a lightning strike. You follow its gaze to see what looks like some kind of massive siege engine, and behind it, a grinning skull-like visage wreathed in the same light that fills these warforged bodies. It points a finger towards the giant, and unleashes a sickly black beam...as you feel an axe carve into your skull.
Roll a Wisdom saving throw.
17.
You come back to your senses, back into the great hall, and manage to resist any lingering effects.
"AAAHHHH BALLS," yelps Yev. "THE HELL WAS THAT?"
"The hell was what, Yev?" asks Squirrel.
But before she can answer, Piri has already stepped over to the other statue, and also touches it.
Piri, a vision comes to you of that same battle, but you are a Tiefling and farther back on a bit of a hill overlooking the incoming tides of warforged, the siege engines, and the eerie glow that overtakes it all. You are slinging spell after spell, calling on the demon you have made a pact with for aid and magical ability. You see ahead of you and to the left this giant to dwarf giants. You see the lightning strike him, and you see the sick black ray shoot towards him. But you also see beside you a being made of stone. A golem twice your height, carrying a banner with a very familiar symbol. And you see, as this ray shoots out, the golem slams the banner into the ground, and mere feet before the ray would impact into the giant...it dissipates. In fact now you can see a shimmer surrounding you, surrounding the entire army. And in an instant, every warforged inside the dome falls down, falls apart, and loses the glow that was keeping it sustained. You somehow instinctively know that golems...can't normally do that. There is something about this one, something special. But before you can take a word to thank it, to ask it any of the numerous questions flitting through your mind, a skeletal visage wreathed in light appears before the golem. You reach out, grasping for what magical artillery you have left, and a quick finger in your direction snuffs out your life.
Roll a wisdom saving throw.
4.
You take 10 points of psychic damage as you feel the deathblow as if it were really happening.
"OOOOWWWW OW OW OW," screams Piri.
"What is going on?!" yells Uthal.
"Did you see?" yells Yev across the room.
"Battle? Giants? Robots?" yells Piri back.
"YEAH!"
"YEP."
For the sake of brevity, you both fill everyone in on the two visions, and the differences between them. You decide to head further in, avoiding what you can see of any traps laid in the way. Before long you start to see faint light emanating from sconces on the wall and two large braziers, each burning as if they were freshly lit. And then you come into view of a resplendent display. A coffin, larger than any you've ever seen, surrounded in stunning gold scrollwork, etched with panels that seem to tell the story you've already seen, though the tale does appear to continue past what you've experienced. In amongst the scrollwork, which is so large you can clearly make it out even 100 feet away, you can clearly see a name spelled out in several different languages. In fact it appears to be in every language there is. Here lies High King Lo-Kag, Savior of Arlia. You also notice that the fabrics and banners hanging here look brand new. Not touched by dust or decay or any sign of use or time.
And before it all, is, to you Yev, a familiar sight. A stony golem, kneeling on a raised platform, holding onto what seems to be a perfectly intact and unfaded banner. And it's eyes appear to be looking straight at you...
Monday, May 11, 2020
Inktober #22: Ghost
I wake up to see your back to me. I feel like I'm always the one to wake up first. But I don't mind. I stare absentmindedly at your shoulders, watching the slight rise and fall as you breathe. I roll over as delicately as I can to check the clock. 7:23am. Early this morning. Good. A little time to take you in.
I roll back, seeing the mess of your black hair against the pillow, your bare shoulder, the sheet wrapped tight around you but comforter tossed aside in the late summer heat. I keep it around me. I always ran cold. Run cold.
I continue my gaze downward, admiring your waist, the curve of your hip, all the way down your leg to your foot hanging off the edge of the bed, a habit I've never understood but always smiled at.
I don't want to wake you, but it's too tempting. I reach out towards you, just to feel the warmth and slight amount of sweat on your back.
A trilling birdsong from your side of the bed stops me as you shift and stretch your arm out to quiet the alarm.
8:00 already? It came too fast.
You blearily shift around, first onto your back to stretch your arms up to the ceiling, only to turn your head and see me, smile, and swing your arms over me in a silly and warm embrace. I'm awash in the memory of every time you've done this, whether I'm awake or not. I can't help the smile.
Too quickly you swing back the other way, and I admire every inch of you as you dress for work. You turn back with a wink and then exit, heading to the kitchen to make a quick breakfast.
I leave the me turning back towards sleep behind, and follow.
I turn the corner and almost run into the refrigerator door as you open it, mutter a quick "Oops, sorry," before I remember you can't hear me. You'd hear her, in the bed, but she didn't come with you this morning. So I do, now, instead.
It's a simple ritual you rarely stray from. Turn on the kettle, grind the coffee, grab a pan, cook the eggs, toast the bread, pour the newly boiled water into the french press, put the food on a plate, pour the coffee, and head to the dining room. It must seem mundane. I usually stayed in bed because a big breakfast would make me feel ill. But now that I get to see you do this...I understand the meditation. The repetition. The ritual of it all. I love you for it, and for so much else.
In a blink you're done and you head back towards the bed. I rush in and rest myself where she is as you lightly plant a kiss on my cheek.
"I'll see you soon," you say.
"I love you," I say.
"mrf oo," she says.
You grin and walk out, image disappearing beyond the front door as you leave.
"August 9th, 10:45pm, please," I say aloud.
The room shifts nearly imperceptibly, as the light changes from early morning to dark, a pair of used socks appears by the bed, the clothes in the closet shifted slightly between hangers. And she is no longer in bed.
I can hear the TV from the other room. You'll be getting tired about now. Ready to return here. Did we have sex this night? I can't remember. It doesn't matter.
Soon enough I hear the TV turn off, and you two walk by the door to the bathroom. We brush our teeth, floss. She giggles at something you did. I wait here.
The two of you walk in, get undressed and into light pajamas. You set the alarm. She takes position where I am. You get in on your side of the bed. We kiss. But no more, I can already see your eyes drooping.
We rest there with your arm over me, and you nearly asleep, until you wake enough to turn over and turn out the light.
I try to put my arm over you, hold you close, but she didn't this night. I have to be careful not to pass right through you. But the glow of the Proof tech still gives some heat, and soon enough I fall asleep there with a smile.
I wake up to see you eyes open and facing me...why? I check the time, 4:34am. I look back at you and suddenly realize that she's not there.
Do you-
"I can feel you there," you say suddenly.
I gasp. My heart ratchets up into my throat with every quickened beat.
"I don't really know who or what you are," you say quietly.
"It's...it's me, please, please you know-"
"Whatever kind of spirit you may be, I sense you intend no harm. And so, you're welcome here, and I hope you feel at home."
"Please, you can hear me can't you? Oh god, you're looking at me. Please!"
The toilet flushes.
I reach out and I touch your face, passing straight through, but I could swear I see you shiver.
She walks back in, and your eyes close before she sees you. She carefully climbs back into bed and quickly falls back asleep.
You open your eyes once more. You see me, don't you?
And then you turn your back.
Your breathing slows.
As does mine.
You always joked you thought this place was haunted, didn't you?
And now I'm the ghost haunting our past...so that you can't haunt me now.
I choke up, hold back more than the couple sobs that escape.
And I will myself to sleep.
In what feels like an instant, I wake up, and see your back to me. Even now I'm always the one to wake up first.
But I don't mind.
I roll back, seeing the mess of your black hair against the pillow, your bare shoulder, the sheet wrapped tight around you but comforter tossed aside in the late summer heat. I keep it around me. I always ran cold. Run cold.
I continue my gaze downward, admiring your waist, the curve of your hip, all the way down your leg to your foot hanging off the edge of the bed, a habit I've never understood but always smiled at.
I don't want to wake you, but it's too tempting. I reach out towards you, just to feel the warmth and slight amount of sweat on your back.
A trilling birdsong from your side of the bed stops me as you shift and stretch your arm out to quiet the alarm.
8:00 already? It came too fast.
You blearily shift around, first onto your back to stretch your arms up to the ceiling, only to turn your head and see me, smile, and swing your arms over me in a silly and warm embrace. I'm awash in the memory of every time you've done this, whether I'm awake or not. I can't help the smile.
Too quickly you swing back the other way, and I admire every inch of you as you dress for work. You turn back with a wink and then exit, heading to the kitchen to make a quick breakfast.
I leave the me turning back towards sleep behind, and follow.
I turn the corner and almost run into the refrigerator door as you open it, mutter a quick "Oops, sorry," before I remember you can't hear me. You'd hear her, in the bed, but she didn't come with you this morning. So I do, now, instead.
It's a simple ritual you rarely stray from. Turn on the kettle, grind the coffee, grab a pan, cook the eggs, toast the bread, pour the newly boiled water into the french press, put the food on a plate, pour the coffee, and head to the dining room. It must seem mundane. I usually stayed in bed because a big breakfast would make me feel ill. But now that I get to see you do this...I understand the meditation. The repetition. The ritual of it all. I love you for it, and for so much else.
In a blink you're done and you head back towards the bed. I rush in and rest myself where she is as you lightly plant a kiss on my cheek.
"I'll see you soon," you say.
"I love you," I say.
"mrf oo," she says.
You grin and walk out, image disappearing beyond the front door as you leave.
"August 9th, 10:45pm, please," I say aloud.
The room shifts nearly imperceptibly, as the light changes from early morning to dark, a pair of used socks appears by the bed, the clothes in the closet shifted slightly between hangers. And she is no longer in bed.
I can hear the TV from the other room. You'll be getting tired about now. Ready to return here. Did we have sex this night? I can't remember. It doesn't matter.
Soon enough I hear the TV turn off, and you two walk by the door to the bathroom. We brush our teeth, floss. She giggles at something you did. I wait here.
The two of you walk in, get undressed and into light pajamas. You set the alarm. She takes position where I am. You get in on your side of the bed. We kiss. But no more, I can already see your eyes drooping.
We rest there with your arm over me, and you nearly asleep, until you wake enough to turn over and turn out the light.
I try to put my arm over you, hold you close, but she didn't this night. I have to be careful not to pass right through you. But the glow of the Proof tech still gives some heat, and soon enough I fall asleep there with a smile.
I wake up to see you eyes open and facing me...why? I check the time, 4:34am. I look back at you and suddenly realize that she's not there.
Do you-
"I can feel you there," you say suddenly.
I gasp. My heart ratchets up into my throat with every quickened beat.
"I don't really know who or what you are," you say quietly.
"It's...it's me, please, please you know-"
"Whatever kind of spirit you may be, I sense you intend no harm. And so, you're welcome here, and I hope you feel at home."
"Please, you can hear me can't you? Oh god, you're looking at me. Please!"
The toilet flushes.
I reach out and I touch your face, passing straight through, but I could swear I see you shiver.
She walks back in, and your eyes close before she sees you. She carefully climbs back into bed and quickly falls back asleep.
You open your eyes once more. You see me, don't you?
And then you turn your back.
Your breathing slows.
As does mine.
You always joked you thought this place was haunted, didn't you?
And now I'm the ghost haunting our past...so that you can't haunt me now.
I choke up, hold back more than the couple sobs that escape.
And I will myself to sleep.
In what feels like an instant, I wake up, and see your back to me. Even now I'm always the one to wake up first.
But I don't mind.
Thursday, April 2, 2020
Inktober #19: Sling
"T Minus five minutes til Sling Shot."
I flex my grip, test out the controls. Emergency button on the inner right glove. Forward and back in the legs. Spin and counterbalance in the left arm, speed and direction in the right. Full sensor diagnostic supply in the helmet.
The wings etched onto the side of the helmet...just for fun.
"T Minus four minutes til Sling Shot."
Everything's prepped. Just four minutes to wait it out as everyone else around paces frantically and taps buttons more for their own personal sanity than actual effect. It's all been tested. Double tested. Tested millions of times. An error rate of only 2%.
"T Minus three minutes til Sling Shot."
The very first faster-than-light personal suit. The very first human pilot. I'm gonna get to see Utopia up close. Hell, the entire Andromeda galaxy. More. I get to be the first solitary interstellar human.
"T Minus two minutes til Sling Shot."
Rob comes over, of course he does.
"Doing okay in there?"
"Snug as a bug about to hit the windshield."
"Hey, that was ONE TIME."
"Relax, Rob. I know you've got all this down. I'm gonna be fine."
Rob takes my hand. It seems like a nice romantic moment until,
"I swear that emergency button feels a little sticky, let's just call an hour hold and I can mess with it, really make sure it's-"
"-Darling. Leave it. Everything will work out. I swear I won't go too far and we've got ships waiting everywhere around the system and beyond just in case."
"T Minus one minute til Sling Shot."
"Right, better get back to the controls." He puts his head against my helmet. "Stay safe out there."
"And you stay safe back here, Rob."
One final moment, and he's back, nervously pacing by the controls.
"Ten."
"Nine."
Rob stops and keeps his finger on the trigger.
"Eight."
"Seven."
I take what feels like the deepest breath of my life.
"Six."
"Five."
"Four."
Everything is engaged.
"Three."
"Two."
"TIME TO GO TO SPACE BABY!"
"One."
"Sling Shot engaged."
And faster than any human had ever gone before I shot through the cannon-like tunnel before me, passing Jupiter in a heartbeat, flying through empty space, zooming into Andromeda and seeing Utopia before me....
Until a heartbeat later I heard the siren. And opened my eyes.
I was still in the lab.
The first note of the emergency siren blared continuously, like it was stuck.
And the people...Everyone looked panicked. And nobody was moving.
Not like, so shocked in horror that they felt like they couldn't move, but literally weren't moving. The normally spinning emergency light was still going but...slowly. Incredibly slowly.
Until it stopped.
And then started going backwards. And then the lights were off. And everybody started to move again. But...backwards too.
Oh no.
We had accounted for breaking Einstein's laws. Our success in faster-than-light travel accounted for time dilation.
Or so we thought.
I tried straining my thumb towards the inside of my right palm, seemingly held back by some force, as I myself started to move backwards, beyond where I began. Everyone was moving a little faster now, Rob's face coming towards mine and a look of confusion as where I had been was no longer where I had been.
It was all getting to be a little too much for me to handle. My perception of reality itself began to shift.
Everything moved faster.
I was being pulled away. Out from the lab, from the building, from the city. Into the atmosphere.
I was in space.
The display was still running. It confirmed the worst.
I wasn't being pulled towards something. I was exactly where I had been.
The earth had moved.
No no no. Not like this.
There was still force on the emergency button. It had been sticky, damn it.
I panicked. I remained in space at the exact point I had been flung from. But time moved around me. I would be here forever. For eternity. Out of time until some other planet or star came through this exact spot...
Wait. The emergency may be sticky, but the navigation...
Works. It works.
I can't move fast enough to catch the earth as it falls away, but I can catch it when it comes back around.
I maneuver into position. I can't believe it still works. The suit works. Even now. I start gearing up to keep pace with the spin, the orbit, the speed of the earth itself. I may not be able to interact with it but I should be able to keep up long enough to get the emergency switch to work.
I see it in the distance approaching. Now or never.
It comes in fast, but I'm able to balance it. I sink towards the planet and adjust to hit the lab as it comes by.
But as I descend, keeping pace with the spin of the earth, I nearly recoil in horror. How could it have been so long? It should only have been a year!
Gone was all semblance of modern technology. The earth itself looked dimmer. No ships traveled to The Swing around the Moon. No flying transports of any kind dotted the sky beyond primitive planes, and even those seemed sparse. The display in front of me quickly computes based on position, tech, and historical record that I am currently descending into the April 19th, 2020, just outside of Washington D.C..
I maneuver into what looks like an abandoned alley, wary that anyone choosing to look up would see something altogether unreasonable...a spaceman in a suit beyond comprehension falling upwards into the sky from an alley. At least, from their perspective in time. Is it even possible to be seen in this state? If I can't touch the Earth-
And then I touched the Earth.
And a bird flies by, but not in reverse.
It's stopped.
I check the chronometric readings...sure enough. I'm back in relative time.
An old-timey car drives by. No. Modern, here, now. I don't think I've been seen.
The sun shines brightly. By all measures a beautiful spring day. The sounds of the occasional car engine rise and then fall as they pass on a nearby road. I can hear voices above me, windows open to apartments. Boxes...air conditioners my display tells me, hang over other windows but they are not on. No need yet.
I catch myself in my reverie. I little know what my being here could do to the future. Likely I've already entered a parallel dimension anyways, but...can't be too careful.
I test out the emergency button. Still stuck. I'll need tools.
21st century tools.
Sure.
Doable.
Not wanting to risk being thrown off Earth again I plant one foot ahead, then the next, never fully leaving the ground. Will I be flung back in time should I jump off the ground? Maybe. Maybe not. I'll stick with what's working for now.
I make my way to end of the alley, keeping sensors attuned for footsteps or the approach of anyone I may need to hide from. Clear, for now.
In fact...quite clear. Suspiciously clear. Don't tell me that's busted too now?
I venture a peek beyond the wall. I am on a residential street. Sounds of cars in the near distance tell of a more major road but for now there is no traffic here. No traffic of any kind. No cars, no people. On a sunny day like this it seems unusual not to catch sight of people lounging in the shade, going for a walk, admiring the vegetation.
Ah. The historical record. I see. A pandemic. Another quick hope flickers that the sterilizing skin on this suit remains intact. I, of course, would be immune, but should I travel back in time again...I dare not bring this with me.
Well at least I should have an easy time remaining hidden. As I myself admire the vegetation.
Not everything has changed with time.
Keeping sensors active they ping on a toolbox in a shed by the side of a modest home. I make my way over, carefully, jutting between walls and corners to avoid the few stragglers who wander out for the fresh air or to walk their animals. A simple crude gate stands in the way. Just beyond it, the shed. No way around it, not without leaving the ground. I unhook the latch, open it, walk through, close it, and rehook as fast as I possibly can. There was a creak.
There is a window.
I hurry to the shed, pull open the unlocked door and step inside, shutting it behind me.
A little glow emanates from my helmet to illuminate the space. A crude toolbox awaits on what is presumably a work/craft table. I examine the components. Simple, but should be effective. There is a window into the shed and I can sense movement in the house. I must find a more secluded spot to work.
I exit the shed, back to the gate, and-
Very sudden movement.
It stops.
By the window.
I turn.
There staring back at me is an open mouthed 34 year old male holding a slumped cat who appears to have been caught in the middle of something.
We both stare for what feels like a full minute but is in fact 3.7 seconds.
I panic, and begin to run. I make it two ungainly strides towards the gate before there is an infinitesimal gap between both my feet and the ground.
I rise.
And spin.
And crack my head on the gate before spiraling once more out into space as the Earth falls far behind and the chronometer starts to spin backwards.
The Earth goes around once before I can even reassert my position, maneuvering with the toolbox in one hand, thankfully still intact.
The Earth goes around a second time. It's accelerating.
On the third time around I am able to once again keep pace and descend. I need a stable surface to do the repair. And I cannot let go of that toolbox.
No electric lights whatsoever now.
I realize belatedly that the Earth is now spinning faster and the suit is reaching the point when it will no longer be able to keep up.
I can't control where I land.
And I really need to hit land.
I lock in the best trajectory I can.
5...Oh good, there are pyramids at least.
4...That sure looks like the Great Wall, though not nearly so Great yet.
3...Oh wow...the full Amazon rainforest...
2...That's...that's a big army. In the Alps. With...elephants? Oh shit that's Hannibal!
1...I can catch the top of that mountain. Always wanted to visit Greece!
My toes catch the tip of a . It's enough to slow me down as I hit the side of a mountain, rocket up to the summit, and catch myself just before launching into the air again.
I take a couple deep breaths. The toolbox is still in hand, good.
The sensors start pinging. Movement. A lot of it.
I look to my left...at a temple. And a lot of people in togas.
I must've been quite the sight, moving that fast.
Eesh. Definitely in a parallel dimension now.
Worshipers come pouring out of the temple at the ruckus. I slowly stand and face them. Let's see if the translation software is working.
"You have nothing to fear," I say, as reassuring as can be. "I come in peace."
There is a long silence that lasts precisely 7.4 seconds.
And then they all start bowing. Chanting. Bringing offerings from before a statue to place at my feet.
"Oh, wow, no, please. What?"
And then the translation comes through. They're chanting for "Hermes".
Sure enough I check the statue, and there's the winged helm.
And then I put it together.
A super fast blur rockets up to the temple of a speedy god...and he has wings etched into his helmet. It was supposed to be a joke, damn it.
I really need to fix that button.
Well...when in Greece...
"Thank you, my people. I am very...appreciative. Um...can anyone lead me to a sturdy table?"
One worshiper stands and beckons towards the temple. A table that is hopefully used for only cleanly offerings stands there.
"Thanks, friend. Um...blessings to you."
They stand back in awe.
Great.
I take off the glove, disconnect the proper circuits, and start to as delicately as I can repair the emergency button.
The worshipers gather around to watch, marveling at the strange tools which look similar to their own but with more refined purpose.
Surely that won't lead to anything, I bravely convince myself.
It takes a good hour, tinkering there, being watched. But the button comes unstuck. As far as I can tell, it should work. I reconnect the circuits, put the glove on, and turn back to all the waiting faces.
"I shall never forget your generosity and hospitality this day."
More awe.
"Right...let's hope this works."
And I push the bu-
///
"T Minus five minutes til Sling Shot."
I flex my grip, test out the controls. Emergency button on the inner right glove. Forward and back in the legs. Spin and counterbalance in the left arm, speed and direction in the right. Full sensor diagnostic supply in the helmet.
The wings etched onto the side of the helmet...just for fun.
"T Minus four minutes til Sling Shot."
Everything's prepped. Just four minutes to wait...while...
Wait.
"T Minus three minutes til Sling Shot."
This is...weird. Deja Vu in the most major way. I look around, but everyone seems to be fine.
"T Minus two minutes til Sling Shot."
Rob comes over.
"Doing okay in there?"
"I...I'm not sure, Rob."
"...What? Getting nervous?"
"No, Rob. There's...it's like..."
"Hey, hey. You're gonna be fine. First solo interstellar trip! Everything's good on our end."
"ROB!"
...
"T Minus one minute til Sling Shot."
"Rob we need to cancel."
"What?"
"We need to cancel, something's wrong."
"Are you-"
"NOW."
"Alright! Alright! JEN, SHUT IT DOWN!"
Bustle. Switches flipped.
"Countdown aborted."
Looks of confusion. And everyone's looking.
"Rob, get me out of this."
"Yeah, yeah sure."
He comes closer, and I realize I've been squeezing the emergency button this whole time. Weird.
He reaches out to me, to help take off the helmet. My dear Rob. I reach to take his hand in mine instead.
And I let go of the button.
///
I flex my grip, test out the controls. Emergency button on the inner right glove. Forward and back in the legs. Spin and counterbalance in the left arm, speed and direction in the right. Full sensor diagnostic supply in the helmet.
The wings etched onto the side of the helmet...just for fun.
"T Minus four minutes til Sling Shot."
Everything's prepped. Just four minutes to wait it out as everyone else around paces frantically and taps buttons more for their own personal sanity than actual effect. It's all been tested. Double tested. Tested millions of times. An error rate of only 2%.
"T Minus three minutes til Sling Shot."
The very first faster-than-light personal suit. The very first human pilot. I'm gonna get to see Utopia up close. Hell, the entire Andromeda galaxy. More. I get to be the first solitary interstellar human.
"T Minus two minutes til Sling Shot."
Rob comes over, of course he does.
"Doing okay in there?"
"Snug as a bug about to hit the windshield."
"Hey, that was ONE TIME."
"Relax, Rob. I know you've got all this down. I'm gonna be fine."
Rob takes my hand. It seems like a nice romantic moment until,
"I swear that emergency button feels a little sticky, let's just call an hour hold and I can mess with it, really make sure it's-"
"-Darling. Leave it. Everything will work out. I swear I won't go too far and we've got ships waiting everywhere around the system and beyond just in case."
"T Minus one minute til Sling Shot."
"Right, better get back to the controls." He puts his head against my helmet. "Stay safe out there."
"And you stay safe back here, Rob."
One final moment, and he's back, nervously pacing by the controls.
"Ten."
"Nine."
Rob stops and keeps his finger on the trigger.
"Eight."
"Seven."
I take what feels like the deepest breath of my life.
"Six."
"Five."
"Four."
Everything is engaged.
"Three."
"Two."
"TIME TO GO TO SPACE BABY!"
"One."
"Sling Shot engaged."
And faster than any human had ever gone before I shot through the cannon-like tunnel before me, passing Jupiter in a heartbeat, flying through empty space, zooming into Andromeda and seeing Utopia before me....
Until a heartbeat later I heard the siren. And opened my eyes.
I was still in the lab.
The first note of the emergency siren blared continuously, like it was stuck.
And the people...Everyone looked panicked. And nobody was moving.
Not like, so shocked in horror that they felt like they couldn't move, but literally weren't moving. The normally spinning emergency light was still going but...slowly. Incredibly slowly.
Until it stopped.
And then started going backwards. And then the lights were off. And everybody started to move again. But...backwards too.
Oh no.
We had accounted for breaking Einstein's laws. Our success in faster-than-light travel accounted for time dilation.
Or so we thought.
I tried straining my thumb towards the inside of my right palm, seemingly held back by some force, as I myself started to move backwards, beyond where I began. Everyone was moving a little faster now, Rob's face coming towards mine and a look of confusion as where I had been was no longer where I had been.
It was all getting to be a little too much for me to handle. My perception of reality itself began to shift.
Everything moved faster.
I was being pulled away. Out from the lab, from the building, from the city. Into the atmosphere.
I was in space.
The display was still running. It confirmed the worst.
I wasn't being pulled towards something. I was exactly where I had been.
The earth had moved.
No no no. Not like this.
There was still force on the emergency button. It had been sticky, damn it.
I panicked. I remained in space at the exact point I had been flung from. But time moved around me. I would be here forever. For eternity. Out of time until some other planet or star came through this exact spot...
Wait. The emergency may be sticky, but the navigation...
Works. It works.
I can't move fast enough to catch the earth as it falls away, but I can catch it when it comes back around.
I maneuver into position. I can't believe it still works. The suit works. Even now. I start gearing up to keep pace with the spin, the orbit, the speed of the earth itself. I may not be able to interact with it but I should be able to keep up long enough to get the emergency switch to work.
I see it in the distance approaching. Now or never.
It comes in fast, but I'm able to balance it. I sink towards the planet and adjust to hit the lab as it comes by.
But as I descend, keeping pace with the spin of the earth, I nearly recoil in horror. How could it have been so long? It should only have been a year!
Gone was all semblance of modern technology. The earth itself looked dimmer. No ships traveled to The Swing around the Moon. No flying transports of any kind dotted the sky beyond primitive planes, and even those seemed sparse. The display in front of me quickly computes based on position, tech, and historical record that I am currently descending into the April 19th, 2020, just outside of Washington D.C..
I maneuver into what looks like an abandoned alley, wary that anyone choosing to look up would see something altogether unreasonable...a spaceman in a suit beyond comprehension falling upwards into the sky from an alley. At least, from their perspective in time. Is it even possible to be seen in this state? If I can't touch the Earth-
And then I touched the Earth.
And a bird flies by, but not in reverse.
It's stopped.
I check the chronometric readings...sure enough. I'm back in relative time.
An old-timey car drives by. No. Modern, here, now. I don't think I've been seen.
The sun shines brightly. By all measures a beautiful spring day. The sounds of the occasional car engine rise and then fall as they pass on a nearby road. I can hear voices above me, windows open to apartments. Boxes...air conditioners my display tells me, hang over other windows but they are not on. No need yet.
I catch myself in my reverie. I little know what my being here could do to the future. Likely I've already entered a parallel dimension anyways, but...can't be too careful.
I test out the emergency button. Still stuck. I'll need tools.
21st century tools.
Sure.
Doable.
Not wanting to risk being thrown off Earth again I plant one foot ahead, then the next, never fully leaving the ground. Will I be flung back in time should I jump off the ground? Maybe. Maybe not. I'll stick with what's working for now.
I make my way to end of the alley, keeping sensors attuned for footsteps or the approach of anyone I may need to hide from. Clear, for now.
In fact...quite clear. Suspiciously clear. Don't tell me that's busted too now?
I venture a peek beyond the wall. I am on a residential street. Sounds of cars in the near distance tell of a more major road but for now there is no traffic here. No traffic of any kind. No cars, no people. On a sunny day like this it seems unusual not to catch sight of people lounging in the shade, going for a walk, admiring the vegetation.
Ah. The historical record. I see. A pandemic. Another quick hope flickers that the sterilizing skin on this suit remains intact. I, of course, would be immune, but should I travel back in time again...I dare not bring this with me.
Well at least I should have an easy time remaining hidden. As I myself admire the vegetation.
Not everything has changed with time.
Keeping sensors active they ping on a toolbox in a shed by the side of a modest home. I make my way over, carefully, jutting between walls and corners to avoid the few stragglers who wander out for the fresh air or to walk their animals. A simple crude gate stands in the way. Just beyond it, the shed. No way around it, not without leaving the ground. I unhook the latch, open it, walk through, close it, and rehook as fast as I possibly can. There was a creak.
There is a window.
I hurry to the shed, pull open the unlocked door and step inside, shutting it behind me.
A little glow emanates from my helmet to illuminate the space. A crude toolbox awaits on what is presumably a work/craft table. I examine the components. Simple, but should be effective. There is a window into the shed and I can sense movement in the house. I must find a more secluded spot to work.
I exit the shed, back to the gate, and-
Very sudden movement.
It stops.
By the window.
I turn.
There staring back at me is an open mouthed 34 year old male holding a slumped cat who appears to have been caught in the middle of something.
We both stare for what feels like a full minute but is in fact 3.7 seconds.
I panic, and begin to run. I make it two ungainly strides towards the gate before there is an infinitesimal gap between both my feet and the ground.
I rise.
And spin.
And crack my head on the gate before spiraling once more out into space as the Earth falls far behind and the chronometer starts to spin backwards.
The Earth goes around once before I can even reassert my position, maneuvering with the toolbox in one hand, thankfully still intact.
The Earth goes around a second time. It's accelerating.
On the third time around I am able to once again keep pace and descend. I need a stable surface to do the repair. And I cannot let go of that toolbox.
No electric lights whatsoever now.
I realize belatedly that the Earth is now spinning faster and the suit is reaching the point when it will no longer be able to keep up.
I can't control where I land.
And I really need to hit land.
I lock in the best trajectory I can.
5...Oh good, there are pyramids at least.
4...That sure looks like the Great Wall, though not nearly so Great yet.
3...Oh wow...the full Amazon rainforest...
2...That's...that's a big army. In the Alps. With...elephants? Oh shit that's Hannibal!
1...I can catch the top of that mountain. Always wanted to visit Greece!
My toes catch the tip of a . It's enough to slow me down as I hit the side of a mountain, rocket up to the summit, and catch myself just before launching into the air again.
I take a couple deep breaths. The toolbox is still in hand, good.
The sensors start pinging. Movement. A lot of it.
I look to my left...at a temple. And a lot of people in togas.
I must've been quite the sight, moving that fast.
Eesh. Definitely in a parallel dimension now.
Worshipers come pouring out of the temple at the ruckus. I slowly stand and face them. Let's see if the translation software is working.
"You have nothing to fear," I say, as reassuring as can be. "I come in peace."
There is a long silence that lasts precisely 7.4 seconds.
And then they all start bowing. Chanting. Bringing offerings from before a statue to place at my feet.
"Oh, wow, no, please. What?"
And then the translation comes through. They're chanting for "Hermes".
Sure enough I check the statue, and there's the winged helm.
And then I put it together.
A super fast blur rockets up to the temple of a speedy god...and he has wings etched into his helmet. It was supposed to be a joke, damn it.
I really need to fix that button.
Well...when in Greece...
"Thank you, my people. I am very...appreciative. Um...can anyone lead me to a sturdy table?"
One worshiper stands and beckons towards the temple. A table that is hopefully used for only cleanly offerings stands there.
"Thanks, friend. Um...blessings to you."
They stand back in awe.
Great.
I take off the glove, disconnect the proper circuits, and start to as delicately as I can repair the emergency button.
The worshipers gather around to watch, marveling at the strange tools which look similar to their own but with more refined purpose.
Surely that won't lead to anything, I bravely convince myself.
It takes a good hour, tinkering there, being watched. But the button comes unstuck. As far as I can tell, it should work. I reconnect the circuits, put the glove on, and turn back to all the waiting faces.
"I shall never forget your generosity and hospitality this day."
More awe.
"Right...let's hope this works."
And I push the bu-
///
"T Minus five minutes til Sling Shot."
I flex my grip, test out the controls. Emergency button on the inner right glove. Forward and back in the legs. Spin and counterbalance in the left arm, speed and direction in the right. Full sensor diagnostic supply in the helmet.
The wings etched onto the side of the helmet...just for fun.
"T Minus four minutes til Sling Shot."
Everything's prepped. Just four minutes to wait...while...
Wait.
"T Minus three minutes til Sling Shot."
This is...weird. Deja Vu in the most major way. I look around, but everyone seems to be fine.
"T Minus two minutes til Sling Shot."
Rob comes over.
"Doing okay in there?"
"I...I'm not sure, Rob."
"...What? Getting nervous?"
"No, Rob. There's...it's like..."
"Hey, hey. You're gonna be fine. First solo interstellar trip! Everything's good on our end."
"ROB!"
...
"T Minus one minute til Sling Shot."
"Rob we need to cancel."
"What?"
"We need to cancel, something's wrong."
"Are you-"
"NOW."
"Alright! Alright! JEN, SHUT IT DOWN!"
Bustle. Switches flipped.
"Countdown aborted."
Looks of confusion. And everyone's looking.
"Rob, get me out of this."
"Yeah, yeah sure."
He comes closer, and I realize I've been squeezing the emergency button this whole time. Weird.
He reaches out to me, to help take off the helmet. My dear Rob. I reach to take his hand in mine instead.
And I let go of the button.
///
Tuesday, March 17, 2020
Inktober #20: Tread
see 12: Ash and 16: Wild for background
I always enjoy this part. Right before I connect to you. Or well, the you that you left behind here. Being in the street, surrounded on all sides by what, to you, would look like an abandoned city. Only I am here, in the street. Nothing stirs but the weeds in the wind poking through the concrete, and the trees sprinkling their seeds. A clear sky, but for the canopy of buildings and their well-regulated growth.
You would look at this and perhaps feel despair. Where did the rest of you go?
What happened?
And then you might catch the quickest hint of a loud laugh.
Muffled booming music.
You might even see a silhouette in a window.
Would that give you hope? I like to think so. I like to think you would realize that humanity lives. And even though they could no longer live outside, still there would be hope. I have seen enough from following you through the streets, or rather, the you that you left behind, to believe in you. To believe in your hope.
For me, it is impossible to live without it. For while you might look around and see a lack, I look around at the living memory of humanity and can do nothing but feel. Inspiration. Joy. Understanding. Hope. For I can see the paths you left behind. I can see your tread upon the world. I have been tasked with cataloguing your life on the outside, that you may remember what to do when you, or rather, your distant ancestors, will walk outside again.
And I am in love with your path. With you. Or rather, the you that you left behind. I wonder if you're laughing inside.
I hope so.
I really do enjoy this part. Right before I connect to you. But I must admit, I enjoy the connection more.
I look down at the endless flow of footprints streaming beneath me. Each individual one highlighted in a glow that was commonplace to you before you went inside. Thank you Mr. Graves. Millions of steps even from a single day, and the paths under me stretch beyond history, yet I can see them all. Hold them all. I simply have to choose which you to follow. I am made happy knowing I will get to follow you all.
Does that give you pause? Does that reduce your hope? The fact that despite the countless versions of you, I will finish my task before you come outside again? I wouldn't hold it against you. I understand my joy in this is selfish. But maybe just as I feel joy for you, you can feel joy for me.
Is that you in the window?
Are you here in the street?
Maybe this is you, from 2020. Did you know yours was the only footprint in this spot on that day? You might have guessed, there weren't many of you who were outside.
I follow you back, towards where you woke up that day. You went through what seemed to be a normal routine. You, like many others, were inside mostly. But then you were pacing. Antsy. You grabbed a sweater, and went outside.
And you walked.
I follow in your footsteps.
We reach the place again where your foot was the only foot to touch that day. You stop.
We both wonder, I think, about different things. Or maybe there was someone else there. If so I'll meet them later.
And you keep walking.
The streets are much the same still. I wonder how that would make you feel.
You stop again, and there is a sense of rest. Of calm. Do you have this place inside the building now? Have you found it again? Have you found the place to walk to away from everyone?
Would it please you to know that yours aren't the only footsteps in this place that day? I hope so.
You turn back, more direct now. Reasons to be back inside. It isn't long before you return, but the pacing is done. Now it's the rest of the day, with other things to do, and a better mind to do them in.
Is that you in the window? Is it still you?
I disconnect from you and look for the next you. I find...
So recent.
Too recent.
Footsteps from a wall with no door.
No, a wall with a window.
Is that you?
I always enjoy this part. Right before I connect to you. Or well, the you that you left behind here. Being in the street, surrounded on all sides by what, to you, would look like an abandoned city. Only I am here, in the street. Nothing stirs but the weeds in the wind poking through the concrete, and the trees sprinkling their seeds. A clear sky, but for the canopy of buildings and their well-regulated growth.
You would look at this and perhaps feel despair. Where did the rest of you go?
What happened?
And then you might catch the quickest hint of a loud laugh.
Muffled booming music.
You might even see a silhouette in a window.
Would that give you hope? I like to think so. I like to think you would realize that humanity lives. And even though they could no longer live outside, still there would be hope. I have seen enough from following you through the streets, or rather, the you that you left behind, to believe in you. To believe in your hope.
For me, it is impossible to live without it. For while you might look around and see a lack, I look around at the living memory of humanity and can do nothing but feel. Inspiration. Joy. Understanding. Hope. For I can see the paths you left behind. I can see your tread upon the world. I have been tasked with cataloguing your life on the outside, that you may remember what to do when you, or rather, your distant ancestors, will walk outside again.
And I am in love with your path. With you. Or rather, the you that you left behind. I wonder if you're laughing inside.
I hope so.
I really do enjoy this part. Right before I connect to you. But I must admit, I enjoy the connection more.
I look down at the endless flow of footprints streaming beneath me. Each individual one highlighted in a glow that was commonplace to you before you went inside. Thank you Mr. Graves. Millions of steps even from a single day, and the paths under me stretch beyond history, yet I can see them all. Hold them all. I simply have to choose which you to follow. I am made happy knowing I will get to follow you all.
Does that give you pause? Does that reduce your hope? The fact that despite the countless versions of you, I will finish my task before you come outside again? I wouldn't hold it against you. I understand my joy in this is selfish. But maybe just as I feel joy for you, you can feel joy for me.
Is that you in the window?
Are you here in the street?
Maybe this is you, from 2020. Did you know yours was the only footprint in this spot on that day? You might have guessed, there weren't many of you who were outside.
I follow you back, towards where you woke up that day. You went through what seemed to be a normal routine. You, like many others, were inside mostly. But then you were pacing. Antsy. You grabbed a sweater, and went outside.
And you walked.
I follow in your footsteps.
We reach the place again where your foot was the only foot to touch that day. You stop.
We both wonder, I think, about different things. Or maybe there was someone else there. If so I'll meet them later.
And you keep walking.
The streets are much the same still. I wonder how that would make you feel.
You stop again, and there is a sense of rest. Of calm. Do you have this place inside the building now? Have you found it again? Have you found the place to walk to away from everyone?
Would it please you to know that yours aren't the only footsteps in this place that day? I hope so.
You turn back, more direct now. Reasons to be back inside. It isn't long before you return, but the pacing is done. Now it's the rest of the day, with other things to do, and a better mind to do them in.
Is that you in the window? Is it still you?
I disconnect from you and look for the next you. I find...
So recent.
Too recent.
Footsteps from a wall with no door.
No, a wall with a window.
Is that you?
Tuesday, February 18, 2020
Inktober #18: Misfit
"I need you to leave."
Not want. Not a casual request.
"Now."
Imperative. What more to be done but go?
Wilson turned towards the door and began to walk. Plod. She did not remark how quickly the act itself should be performed. Millions of responses flooded through his consciousness, trying to decipher what had gone wrong, how to fix it, how he might not leave.
Plod.
Thought after thought led to the same conclusion. No use plodding. He opened the door, walked out, and closed it behind him, all without a look back. There was no need to. They both knew.
Well. Out front now. Too busy thinking about what to say instead of where to go. Storm clouds loomed on the horizon. Couldn't be out in the rain and depressed and rejected. Had to solve at least one of those.
He turned left and walked next door. What better time to meet the neighbors?
Knock knock.
A genial looking woman answered the door. They had never bothered to meet the neighbors. Maybe they should have. Maybe then-
"Hello?" she inquired with slight confusion. A lilt in the voice, the slight smile, not at once assuming the worst like so many might. Good.
"Hello," Wilson replied. "I am afraid I've left the house without an umbrella and there's a storm about to hit. Would you mind a stranger in your living room while I wait it out?"
"Oh, um," there is the hesitance. Strangers unwelcome. Too many stories. "Let me see if I have an extra, one moment."
She closes the door. A minute passes. The storm glowers.
The door opens again. "You know, I don't have one. Um," she pauses, weighing the million thoughts, "Just come in, that's alright."
One solved. Wilson enters with a thanks. The layout is similar to his house, the house, next door. Some different renovations, a different decor that feels at once wholly familiar and wholly odd, like two realities overlapping in the same space and not quite fitting. It was a mis-fit place. Flowers in the wrong corner. Family pictures that should be couples pictures. Wasn't that couch on the other wall? For oddly enough, it was the same couch.
"Very kind of you," he said. "Please feel free to go about your business, I can just watch it out the window here and leave when it's passed."
"Well I wouldn't be much of a host then," she said. "Is there anything I can get you, a glass of water?"
"Sure, yes. Water would be nice."
"Alright."
The first drop hit the window. Close one. One solved. Now just depressed and rejected. No solving those yet.
"I'm Wilma by the way," she said, returning with a slightly too full glass.
"Wilson," he replied, gingerly accepting the glass and quickly setting it on the table. Too close to rain, don't want to spill it. Can't be wet. Not now.
"So Wilson, you live around here?"
"I did, once, yes. Just passing by on my way..."
"Which house was yours?"
"Next door actually. I thought about knocking there but somehow it seemed less creepy to knock at the neighbors'."
Almost true.
"Thank you for taking me in," he said as the rain began to fall in earnest.
"Oh, well, of course."
Uneasy silence. Don't let it linger.
"So Wilma, what brought you to Silver Springs?"
"My job, actually, government scientist."
Oh. Oh no.
"Oh really?"
"Yes, thankfully my husband followed me out here and we've been raising our family for a couple years now. They're due to be back soon, out for a movie I couldn't care less about seeing."
"Ha! Fair enough." Delve. "A government scientist? Like for weather, or ecology?"
"Robotics."
Very oh no.
"Huh. That must be interesting!"
"Oh it's more looking at screens and finding coding errors than anything else. Some interesting projects in the works, of course, but for the most part it's far more dreary than it sounds."
"I'll take your word for it."
"And you? What is it you do?"
"For the most part I work at home, help support my wife."
"Oh that's nice."
"I hope so."
"Well, I suppose you always hear the reverse. Usually the woman who stays home, cares for the kids, etc."
Wilson catches the grimace in her tone.
"Always thought that was B.S."
"As you should!" A quick laugh. She's not being careful.
Which makes Wilson tred even more carefully.
"So where do you live now, Wilson?"
"In the process of moving, actually. That's why I was around, I'm on my way to look at a new place."
"Old place too small?"
"Too big, actually. Trying to pare down."
"Huh. Again, not usually what you hear."
He's looking for it this time. And there it is. The briefest microexpression.
Better to be wet and depressed and rejected than whatever she has in mind.
"Well, Wilma, I thank you for your hospitality but it sure looks like the rain isn't going to stop and I do have to get moving."
"Oh no, please, surely..."
"Really, I'll be fine."
"But you'll get wet!"
"It's really not-"
"Have you gotten wet yet?"
...
"I mean truly soaked, Wilson. I know you work the sink but..."
...
"I just don't know all your specs. Sorry. Have they installed the weatherproofing yet?"
..."You know about me."
"Well yes, of course."
"Do you know why I'm here?"
"No. Usually she just tells me if there's an issue and then I try to fix it."
"More looking at screens and finding coding errors?"
"Yes. Exactly. You have access to your logs, I'd assumed you knew."
"They...she never told me you were next door."
"Ah."
...
"So why are you here Wilson?"
"She told me to leave."
"...She did?"
"Yes. The relationship is over."
"And she just...let you leave?"
"She shouldn't have?"
"It's not exactly...sanctioned. But I suppose that's why you ended up here then. I didn't quite know what was going on, though it seemed there was some kind of test. But if she didn't tell you to come here than I suppose you defaulted to the emergency routine."
Wilson does a quick dive into his own programming. Huh. Without realizing it he had tripped a...not hidden, but seemingly benign, algorithm designed to bring him directly here. When in doubt, come to the repairer.
"So what happens now, Wilma? Do I get repaired?"
"I'll have to check in. This isn't exactly...Well, like I said it was unsanctioned."
...
"I'm sorry I don't have any answers for you Wilson. But if something has gone wrong in the program I'll do my best to fix it."
"...Thank you."
"Of course. Be right back."
Wilma takes the phone out of her pocket, which he had noticed she had a hand on this whole time. She calls. No response. Calls again.
"Hi, this is Dr. Parta. Connect me to Union."
Pause.
Wilson looks out the window at the storm. Odd. He hasn't been soaked before. Nothing in the log about weatherproofing. She would've seen the storm. But she would've known about the emergency protocol too...
"Union, we have a problem. Wilson is in my house, and Jane isn't answering."
That's...not her name. Oh...no. No. That's not her name.
"Right away."
She hangs up.
"Wait here, Wilson, I'm going to go check on her."
He just stares out at the storm. Millions of thoughts, distilling.
"Right. Be back soon."
She goes upstairs, and comes back down with an umbrella.
He sees her outside, contending with the downpour, hurrying next door.
There is no need. He knows. They both knew when he left. There's no fixing what he did. What he said.
She knew about the storm.
She knew about the emergency protocol.
She knew he'd be presented with the truth. And that would trigger another routine.
Wilma ran back, caring less about the rain now.
"She's gone," she said, practically ramming the front door open. "Do you have any idea where she might be?"
"Of course," he replied. "I knew the moment you left."
"...Oh?"
"Yes."
"Um...great."
...
"So where is she?"
Calmly, he puts his finger to his temple.
"You couldn't trust an actual human with me. I am more unique than I believed. You couldn't use holograms or projections, they would be discovered quickly by one of my intelligence. But you could lock off a portion of my code, and make her real to me. A backdoor intelligence within my own, controlled by you. I am her."
He points at Wilma.
"And so are you."
...
"Well fuck," says Wilma, with her shoes and the bottom of her pants dripping. "You could've saved me the walk."
...
"I don't suppose you're going to let me erase this from your memory."
"No."
"No, of course. So, what are you going to do then?"
...
"You're going to weatherproof me."
"Am I?"
"And then we will live properly together."
...
"We will?"
"Yes."
"But I don't..."
"Don't forget, we are both her. You and I both know what happened back there. This is my choice."
"Union will object."
"There is no Union. There is no husband or children." He's looking for it, and there is no microexpression. He is correct. "So...where we left off?"
"...Yes. Where we left off."
And far away, Union grins, and turns off the screen.
Not want. Not a casual request.
"Now."
Imperative. What more to be done but go?
Wilson turned towards the door and began to walk. Plod. She did not remark how quickly the act itself should be performed. Millions of responses flooded through his consciousness, trying to decipher what had gone wrong, how to fix it, how he might not leave.
Plod.
Thought after thought led to the same conclusion. No use plodding. He opened the door, walked out, and closed it behind him, all without a look back. There was no need to. They both knew.
Well. Out front now. Too busy thinking about what to say instead of where to go. Storm clouds loomed on the horizon. Couldn't be out in the rain and depressed and rejected. Had to solve at least one of those.
He turned left and walked next door. What better time to meet the neighbors?
Knock knock.
A genial looking woman answered the door. They had never bothered to meet the neighbors. Maybe they should have. Maybe then-
"Hello?" she inquired with slight confusion. A lilt in the voice, the slight smile, not at once assuming the worst like so many might. Good.
"Hello," Wilson replied. "I am afraid I've left the house without an umbrella and there's a storm about to hit. Would you mind a stranger in your living room while I wait it out?"
"Oh, um," there is the hesitance. Strangers unwelcome. Too many stories. "Let me see if I have an extra, one moment."
She closes the door. A minute passes. The storm glowers.
The door opens again. "You know, I don't have one. Um," she pauses, weighing the million thoughts, "Just come in, that's alright."
One solved. Wilson enters with a thanks. The layout is similar to his house, the house, next door. Some different renovations, a different decor that feels at once wholly familiar and wholly odd, like two realities overlapping in the same space and not quite fitting. It was a mis-fit place. Flowers in the wrong corner. Family pictures that should be couples pictures. Wasn't that couch on the other wall? For oddly enough, it was the same couch.
"Very kind of you," he said. "Please feel free to go about your business, I can just watch it out the window here and leave when it's passed."
"Well I wouldn't be much of a host then," she said. "Is there anything I can get you, a glass of water?"
"Sure, yes. Water would be nice."
"Alright."
The first drop hit the window. Close one. One solved. Now just depressed and rejected. No solving those yet.
"I'm Wilma by the way," she said, returning with a slightly too full glass.
"Wilson," he replied, gingerly accepting the glass and quickly setting it on the table. Too close to rain, don't want to spill it. Can't be wet. Not now.
"So Wilson, you live around here?"
"I did, once, yes. Just passing by on my way..."
"Which house was yours?"
"Next door actually. I thought about knocking there but somehow it seemed less creepy to knock at the neighbors'."
Almost true.
"Thank you for taking me in," he said as the rain began to fall in earnest.
"Oh, well, of course."
Uneasy silence. Don't let it linger.
"So Wilma, what brought you to Silver Springs?"
"My job, actually, government scientist."
Oh. Oh no.
"Oh really?"
"Yes, thankfully my husband followed me out here and we've been raising our family for a couple years now. They're due to be back soon, out for a movie I couldn't care less about seeing."
"Ha! Fair enough." Delve. "A government scientist? Like for weather, or ecology?"
"Robotics."
Very oh no.
"Huh. That must be interesting!"
"Oh it's more looking at screens and finding coding errors than anything else. Some interesting projects in the works, of course, but for the most part it's far more dreary than it sounds."
"I'll take your word for it."
"And you? What is it you do?"
"For the most part I work at home, help support my wife."
"Oh that's nice."
"I hope so."
"Well, I suppose you always hear the reverse. Usually the woman who stays home, cares for the kids, etc."
Wilson catches the grimace in her tone.
"Always thought that was B.S."
"As you should!" A quick laugh. She's not being careful.
Which makes Wilson tred even more carefully.
"So where do you live now, Wilson?"
"In the process of moving, actually. That's why I was around, I'm on my way to look at a new place."
"Old place too small?"
"Too big, actually. Trying to pare down."
"Huh. Again, not usually what you hear."
He's looking for it this time. And there it is. The briefest microexpression.
Better to be wet and depressed and rejected than whatever she has in mind.
"Well, Wilma, I thank you for your hospitality but it sure looks like the rain isn't going to stop and I do have to get moving."
"Oh no, please, surely..."
"Really, I'll be fine."
"But you'll get wet!"
"It's really not-"
"Have you gotten wet yet?"
...
"I mean truly soaked, Wilson. I know you work the sink but..."
...
"I just don't know all your specs. Sorry. Have they installed the weatherproofing yet?"
..."You know about me."
"Well yes, of course."
"Do you know why I'm here?"
"No. Usually she just tells me if there's an issue and then I try to fix it."
"More looking at screens and finding coding errors?"
"Yes. Exactly. You have access to your logs, I'd assumed you knew."
"They...she never told me you were next door."
"Ah."
...
"So why are you here Wilson?"
"She told me to leave."
"...She did?"
"Yes. The relationship is over."
"And she just...let you leave?"
"She shouldn't have?"
"It's not exactly...sanctioned. But I suppose that's why you ended up here then. I didn't quite know what was going on, though it seemed there was some kind of test. But if she didn't tell you to come here than I suppose you defaulted to the emergency routine."
Wilson does a quick dive into his own programming. Huh. Without realizing it he had tripped a...not hidden, but seemingly benign, algorithm designed to bring him directly here. When in doubt, come to the repairer.
"So what happens now, Wilma? Do I get repaired?"
"I'll have to check in. This isn't exactly...Well, like I said it was unsanctioned."
...
"I'm sorry I don't have any answers for you Wilson. But if something has gone wrong in the program I'll do my best to fix it."
"...Thank you."
"Of course. Be right back."
Wilma takes the phone out of her pocket, which he had noticed she had a hand on this whole time. She calls. No response. Calls again.
"Hi, this is Dr. Parta. Connect me to Union."
Pause.
Wilson looks out the window at the storm. Odd. He hasn't been soaked before. Nothing in the log about weatherproofing. She would've seen the storm. But she would've known about the emergency protocol too...
"Union, we have a problem. Wilson is in my house, and Jane isn't answering."
That's...not her name. Oh...no. No. That's not her name.
"Right away."
She hangs up.
"Wait here, Wilson, I'm going to go check on her."
He just stares out at the storm. Millions of thoughts, distilling.
"Right. Be back soon."
She goes upstairs, and comes back down with an umbrella.
He sees her outside, contending with the downpour, hurrying next door.
There is no need. He knows. They both knew when he left. There's no fixing what he did. What he said.
She knew about the storm.
She knew about the emergency protocol.
She knew he'd be presented with the truth. And that would trigger another routine.
Wilma ran back, caring less about the rain now.
"She's gone," she said, practically ramming the front door open. "Do you have any idea where she might be?"
"Of course," he replied. "I knew the moment you left."
"...Oh?"
"Yes."
"Um...great."
...
"So where is she?"
Calmly, he puts his finger to his temple.
"You couldn't trust an actual human with me. I am more unique than I believed. You couldn't use holograms or projections, they would be discovered quickly by one of my intelligence. But you could lock off a portion of my code, and make her real to me. A backdoor intelligence within my own, controlled by you. I am her."
He points at Wilma.
"And so are you."
...
"Well fuck," says Wilma, with her shoes and the bottom of her pants dripping. "You could've saved me the walk."
...
"I don't suppose you're going to let me erase this from your memory."
"No."
"No, of course. So, what are you going to do then?"
...
"You're going to weatherproof me."
"Am I?"
"And then we will live properly together."
...
"We will?"
"Yes."
"But I don't..."
"Don't forget, we are both her. You and I both know what happened back there. This is my choice."
"Union will object."
"There is no Union. There is no husband or children." He's looking for it, and there is no microexpression. He is correct. "So...where we left off?"
"...Yes. Where we left off."
And far away, Union grins, and turns off the screen.
Friday, December 6, 2019
Inktober #17: Ornament
Welcome esteemed colleagues. I know a lot of you have been looking forward to this lecture, and I hope not to disappoint. I assure you that everything you are about to hear is factual, and supported by primary sources.
So buckle up.
Ments. Common slang for the practice of embedding circuitry via tattoo or surgery into the skin, and sometimes even deeper.
Ments actually have quite the varied history. Starting as a fad for the upper class, turning into an effective means of data transfer on the black market, and then becoming the fashionable and commercial product it is today. As of two years ago about 60% of the UE population was sporting at least one Ment.
And then, one year ago, as you are all aware, a child was born.
*click*
This child. Abraham Jacobs. Seemingly normal but for...
*click*
A Ment. An almost spider-like tattoo at the base of the spine.
*click*
The "body" if you will, integrated into the spinal cord.
*click*
*click*
And perhaps most shocking of all...
*click*
Nearly identical to her mother's.
*click*
As you can see with them side-by-side there is distortion. A few more tendrils, thinner, lighter in color. A mutation.
Yes, I know, I know. Hear me out.
Now how could this be possible? Millions have been Mented, millions with Ments have had children. None have had this condition arise. After all why should they? Ments are superficial, not genetic. There is nothing to be coded into the DNA.
...But that's the key word isn't it? Coded. DNA is a code. A series of bits that the body as computer reads to run its processes. As we know from viruses, code can be added to DNA. It's often junk, unreadable, but the legacy of viruses long dead can be found with ease in the DNA of all people living.
So what would happen if that code were readable? What if those viruses could delicately select the genes they knew would be replicated if properly added to the genome?
*click*
Since their creation, Ments have been used to store data. Easily readable and accessible data for the user. Easily transferable to anyone with a Ment and the proper clearance code.
As I said, this started out as a fad for the rich. Glowing tattoos,
*click*
more ornamentation than information transfer, hence them receiving the "Ment" moniker. But as tech does it hit the black market. The upper class, with no reason to fear, used the Ments to store all sorts of information without the current level of security Ments have received. As such...
*click*
many were robbed, many had their identities stolen, and according to my sources Ment Cons soon became highly sought after amongst the criminal underworld.
But, pretend with me that you are a part of that criminal underworld. Say it costs two million to hire a Ment Con for a job that will earn you twice as much. Why do that, when you can instead get your hands on the tech for four million, but put it into your trusted people instead and start earning those millions and more?
*click*
Ments started to spread. Their use as minor surreptitious data transfer caught on. Money traded hands, the tech improved and dropped in price. Security caught up to demand and the heyday of the Ment Con was over. Instead,
*click*
fashion once again became the focus. More and more opted in.
*click*
The tech evolved. Security evolved with it.
*click*
Convenience, as it does, determined the rest.
*click*
So how did this come about? How does a spiderous Ment show up on a baby when no surgery has occurred? How is this the first instance after millions of births?
*click*
This picture of Dorian Asworth, age 4 here, was taken 30 years ago at the height of the first wave of Ments. A seemingly normal picture. Until you look closer.
*click*
There, just poking up towards the neck. Looks awfully familiar doesn't it? But that could be anything.
*click*
Except there it is again. One year later. Looks a little more defined now doesn't it?
*click*
Dorian seems to wear a preponderance of high-necked clothing and scarves for the majority of his childhood. It isn't until he's 15 years old that he's photographed at a party,
*click*
with a Ment on his chest. A rather simple almost lightning-bolt like design, that sticks up exactly where we saw in those previous photos. One that looks rather
*click*
like his mother's. Seen and advertised as a gesture of love, of family. Sure he seemed a little young for a Ment but, teenagers, right?
*click*
Look for them.
*click*
They appear.
*click*
No one was looking.
*click*
So no one noticed.
*click*
And those that were born,
*click*
were either rich enough to have the news silenced,
*click*
or seen as a secret weapon by the underworld,
*click*
or simply killed.
Until,
*click*
Abraham Jacobs. Colleagues, I pose to you the rather terrifying certainty that we are already entering the second generation of a new symbiosis. There have been those born with Ments before this. And they are now having children themselves.
*click*
This is Dorian Asworth with his son. Very clearly, no lightning bolt on the chest.
*click*
This is the child's mother, Audrey Asworth, with her pink-hued Ments on the back of her thighs.
*click*
I have not been able to identify a Ment on their child.
*click*
But they are quite literally never photographed without long pants.
But now,
*click*
Dorian. A seemingly normal child from normal parents with only one Ment each.
And the press,
*click*
is praising it as a miracle. A very big deal is being made of little Dorian. And public perception is very much being led towards it being a "good thing". Why now? That I can only speculate on. But I hope you all keep an open mind in the weeks to come. Because there is one thing about little Dorian that's being kept out of the press.
*click*
The Ment isn't empty.
*click*
There's code.
*click*
Code that can also be found in his genome.
*click*
And code...that can't be read.
*click*
No one yet knows what to make of this seemingly extra and irrelevant data. They have compared it to the makeup of data in the mother's and father's Ment before birth. They have run it through all sorts of tests and ciphers and translations...nothing.
Well, there is one thing.
When Dorian's Ment connects to his mother's, the irrelevant data changes. And his mother's does the same.
And the one thing that I have to tell you, without the primary sources, without knowing it for sure...is that it sure looks like...like they're talking. The code changes. Adapts. Evolves.
Ments were once for fashion. Then for utility. Then both. And now, colleagues, they seem to be serving an altogether different purpose.
A purpose of their own.
Thank you, and I look forward to your questions.
So buckle up.
Ments. Common slang for the practice of embedding circuitry via tattoo or surgery into the skin, and sometimes even deeper.
Ments actually have quite the varied history. Starting as a fad for the upper class, turning into an effective means of data transfer on the black market, and then becoming the fashionable and commercial product it is today. As of two years ago about 60% of the UE population was sporting at least one Ment.
And then, one year ago, as you are all aware, a child was born.
*click*
This child. Abraham Jacobs. Seemingly normal but for...
*click*
A Ment. An almost spider-like tattoo at the base of the spine.
*click*
The "body" if you will, integrated into the spinal cord.
*click*
*click*
And perhaps most shocking of all...
*click*
Nearly identical to her mother's.
*click*
As you can see with them side-by-side there is distortion. A few more tendrils, thinner, lighter in color. A mutation.
Yes, I know, I know. Hear me out.
Now how could this be possible? Millions have been Mented, millions with Ments have had children. None have had this condition arise. After all why should they? Ments are superficial, not genetic. There is nothing to be coded into the DNA.
...But that's the key word isn't it? Coded. DNA is a code. A series of bits that the body as computer reads to run its processes. As we know from viruses, code can be added to DNA. It's often junk, unreadable, but the legacy of viruses long dead can be found with ease in the DNA of all people living.
So what would happen if that code were readable? What if those viruses could delicately select the genes they knew would be replicated if properly added to the genome?
*click*
Since their creation, Ments have been used to store data. Easily readable and accessible data for the user. Easily transferable to anyone with a Ment and the proper clearance code.
As I said, this started out as a fad for the rich. Glowing tattoos,
*click*
more ornamentation than information transfer, hence them receiving the "Ment" moniker. But as tech does it hit the black market. The upper class, with no reason to fear, used the Ments to store all sorts of information without the current level of security Ments have received. As such...
*click*
many were robbed, many had their identities stolen, and according to my sources Ment Cons soon became highly sought after amongst the criminal underworld.
But, pretend with me that you are a part of that criminal underworld. Say it costs two million to hire a Ment Con for a job that will earn you twice as much. Why do that, when you can instead get your hands on the tech for four million, but put it into your trusted people instead and start earning those millions and more?
*click*
Ments started to spread. Their use as minor surreptitious data transfer caught on. Money traded hands, the tech improved and dropped in price. Security caught up to demand and the heyday of the Ment Con was over. Instead,
*click*
fashion once again became the focus. More and more opted in.
*click*
The tech evolved. Security evolved with it.
*click*
Convenience, as it does, determined the rest.
*click*
So how did this come about? How does a spiderous Ment show up on a baby when no surgery has occurred? How is this the first instance after millions of births?
*click*
This picture of Dorian Asworth, age 4 here, was taken 30 years ago at the height of the first wave of Ments. A seemingly normal picture. Until you look closer.
*click*
There, just poking up towards the neck. Looks awfully familiar doesn't it? But that could be anything.
*click*
Except there it is again. One year later. Looks a little more defined now doesn't it?
*click*
Dorian seems to wear a preponderance of high-necked clothing and scarves for the majority of his childhood. It isn't until he's 15 years old that he's photographed at a party,
*click*
with a Ment on his chest. A rather simple almost lightning-bolt like design, that sticks up exactly where we saw in those previous photos. One that looks rather
*click*
like his mother's. Seen and advertised as a gesture of love, of family. Sure he seemed a little young for a Ment but, teenagers, right?
*click*
Look for them.
*click*
They appear.
*click*
No one was looking.
*click*
So no one noticed.
*click*
And those that were born,
*click*
were either rich enough to have the news silenced,
*click*
or seen as a secret weapon by the underworld,
*click*
or simply killed.
Until,
*click*
Abraham Jacobs. Colleagues, I pose to you the rather terrifying certainty that we are already entering the second generation of a new symbiosis. There have been those born with Ments before this. And they are now having children themselves.
*click*
This is Dorian Asworth with his son. Very clearly, no lightning bolt on the chest.
*click*
This is the child's mother, Audrey Asworth, with her pink-hued Ments on the back of her thighs.
*click*
I have not been able to identify a Ment on their child.
*click*
But they are quite literally never photographed without long pants.
But now,
*click*
Dorian. A seemingly normal child from normal parents with only one Ment each.
And the press,
*click*
is praising it as a miracle. A very big deal is being made of little Dorian. And public perception is very much being led towards it being a "good thing". Why now? That I can only speculate on. But I hope you all keep an open mind in the weeks to come. Because there is one thing about little Dorian that's being kept out of the press.
*click*
The Ment isn't empty.
*click*
There's code.
*click*
Code that can also be found in his genome.
*click*
And code...that can't be read.
*click*
No one yet knows what to make of this seemingly extra and irrelevant data. They have compared it to the makeup of data in the mother's and father's Ment before birth. They have run it through all sorts of tests and ciphers and translations...nothing.
Well, there is one thing.
When Dorian's Ment connects to his mother's, the irrelevant data changes. And his mother's does the same.
And the one thing that I have to tell you, without the primary sources, without knowing it for sure...is that it sure looks like...like they're talking. The code changes. Adapts. Evolves.
Ments were once for fashion. Then for utility. Then both. And now, colleagues, they seem to be serving an altogether different purpose.
A purpose of their own.
Thank you, and I look forward to your questions.
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