Transition: Chapter 2

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Micah—Chapter 2: Not Micah—Chapter 3: Micah

Chapter 4: Not Micah—Chapter 5: Micah—Chapter 6: Not Micah

Chapter 7: Micah—Chapter 8: Not Micah—Chapter 9: Micah

Chapter 10: Not Micah—Chapter 11: Micah—Chapter 12: Not Micah

Chapter 13: Micah—Chapter 14: Not Micah—Chapter 15: Micah

Chapter 16—Not Micah—Chapter 17: Micah—Chapter 18: Not Micah

Chapter 2: Not Micah

While the man sleeps, I observe the rest of the station. It hums with the day’s activities, which appears mostly to me as a series of inconsequential tasks that are repeated mindlessly. One person cleans a thing, so another can make it dirty. One person makes food, so another can eat it. That same bustle that I see in all of the worlds. When viewed from high enough up, humans really do resemble ants.

It was down close, granular, where it was all more interesting. Close-up, you could see their fullness, their motivations, their complexities and uniqueness. You could see their stories, the ones they told themselves, and the ones they tried not to. Or at least, it was that way for some of them. Others seemed as just so many copies.

Sometimes, rarely really, something interesting would happen in the science hall, something new and novel that I haven’t seen before . But then the scientists would ruin the excitement by studying the thing, debating its mechanisms, performing the same experiments to double check the results. Not that I didn’t understand the method, but the tedium bored me. I wanted the eureka moments, that flash of non-normalcy that made this place unique.

When I check today, there is a flash of brilliance there. I zoom in. The scientists are continuing to study this strange DNA modification method. It allows them to drastically alter one body, using another body’s DNA as guidance. To take one rat, and make it into another rat. But one of them dreams wider, in that way the mad always do, and runs simulations studying the use on humans. His colleagues would never agree to a real study yet, a clear boundary the safe would never cross, but I can see him driven by the wonder of it. Passion is a lever I can use.

I settle my gaze over his shoulder, and observe.