ISOLATION
There are few things more horrifying in this galaxy than the realization that you're alone.
That's what Constantinople thought as he gazed out into the black emptiness.
He was there when Earth was declared "uninhabitable," and he was among the first to sign up to explore the stars for a new home for humanity.
And now, he regretted every minute of it.
His eyes once explored the little pinpricks of light, trying to connect dots like the sailors of old, using patterns to navigate the oceans and make sure they were headed the right way. It was a fun idea in theory, but in practice, as the ship moved through space through the inertia of its engines, the stars rarely stayed in place long enough for a picture to last. These days, he couldn't tell Alpha Centauri from Sol, and there's a very good chance that the ship may have been so far from either of them that it didn't matter.
In truth, the idea of finding a new planet for humanity was sidelined long ago, sequestered so that the ship itself could survive. Constantinople didn't care anymore. The cryogenically frozen passengers and embryos were as much a drain on the ship's power reserves as the engines were, and if he had the choice, he would have shut them off long ago to let the ship last longer.
Wasteful, consumerist humanity had had its day. And it ended with an Earth so toxic it barely looked any different from Mars.
Constantinople's eyes glazed over the stars again when he spotted a strange shape floating in the ether. Narrowing his eyes, he tapped the onboard console and initiated a scan. Pinpricks of light danced across the shape and illuminated it.
Constantinople's eyes widened and he saw the shape for what it was.
Another ship. One of the same model as his was.
Only it was not showing any signs of habitation.
The first time this happened, Constantinople cried for seven days straight, for he was idealistic then and he knew that for every ship that failed in its mission, humanity had lost one basket of eggs, one chance to start again. It had been so long since then that he gave up on the idea long ago. These days, these ships were little more than another resource to exploit for his own survival.
Carefully piloting his ship to the side of the old wreck, Constantinople set his engines to match the floating speed of his new resource, activated the autopilot designed to take over should he need rest, and headed to the suit room.
The process of applying a spacesuit was a cumbersome experience, and he rarely did it these days, but the fact that he had something to scavenge now made it a necessity. A hose came down and attached to his suit's back, pumping in precious life-giving oxygen provided by the garden on board, one of the few things Constantinople didn't dare neglect.
Entering the airlock and closing the door behind him, he watched the room pump away any oxygen outside of his suit that still lurked in the room, before the door finally opened and he exited the room.
Carefully floating between ships, Constantinople had the briefest feeling that he could simply leave them both and float between the stars by himself. And then he reminded himself that would be a horrible way to die. He told himself he'd die on his ship, be it from old age, oxygen issues, or space radiation. And with that final thought, he made contact with the resource.
Opening its own door using the special codes he had memorized for entry, Constantinople entered the ship's airlock, watched the door close behind him, and then watched the one in front open up.
The ship was like a mirror of his own. Not surprising. They were the same type. The only meaningful distance was the art on the walls.
Constantinople's first voyage into another ship, and all others like it, revealed to him that people did a lot of things when they were maddened from isolation... or at least, really really bored. This pilot, seemingly, kept themselves occupied by drawing little pictures with markers on the walls. They were a canvas full of little marker scenes, some of cities long since collapsed, others of parks long since rotted way, and some of people in a very poor attempt at anime style... or at least, starting out that way before degrading into some kind of cartoony schlock.
Constantinople knew he'd likely be the only guy to see this work, and he didn't bring a camera.
Ah well.
He quickly grabbed a container from the nearby shelves and opened it, shoving what he could into it. From monitors he could pick apart for spare parts to clothing left behind by the previous pilot, so even a written-in notebook.
He didn't bother with embryos. He had enough of them that it didn't matter. They likely were long dead anyway.
Suddenly, an alert bleeped on his suit. Looking on the screen projected onto his helmet, it declared a proximity alarm, and the scans showed another large ship in the area.
One showing plenty of signs of life.
Constantinople knew. There are few things more horrifying in this galaxy than the realization that you're alone.
The one thing that is? The realization that you're NOT.
Shutting the container and float-running for the airlock, Constaninople forced open the second airlock door and burst his way right to his ship. His airlock shut behind him, sealing tight, and he forced open the other door.
He dropped the container and ran to the pilot's seat, not even bothering to remove the spacesuit in spite of its cumbersome design. Grabbing the controls and hitting the accelerator, he felt the ship move and saw the stars change.
And then he saw it.
The massive shape of the new ship. It was the same model as his, but the hull was changed, betraying the fact that the ship had been repurposed. A huge port on the front side, like a gaping maw, took in the ship he left behind.
Hitting the accelerator further, Constantinople left the scene behind faster than the new ship could react.
There are few things more horrifying in this galaxy than the realization that you're alone. The one thing that is is the realization you're not alone... and that you're being hunted.
TALEWEAVER
In the depths of the Storyteller's Kingdom, a courier arrived at the castle of one of the many great story writers of the realm. There, he met with the man who has told a thousand tales.
"Pray tell, taleweaver! Have you any new stories to bring to the people of this land?"
The taleweaver sighed.
"Unfortunately, I have not. Much has changed in my life that has led to disruption of the flow of my creative mind. People who I care for have gone at each other's throats, and I have had to spend much time away from my castle to attend to other matters."
"Ah, that's a shame," The courier sighed, "The people will be disappointed."
"Who reads my tales anyway?" The taleweaver asked, "As far as I know, my stories are taken to the king for his review, and I never hear any criticism or praise. They disappear, and are forgotten."
"That is not true," The courier answered.
"Perhaps not. But the feeling still remains."
"You have a right to feel how you may," The courier responded with a sad smile on his face.
"...Perhaps part of why the stories feel so wasteful is because I make an effort to meet a certain quota, even when it hasn't been spoken of."
"A certain quota?"
"I try to write at least three pages worth of story for the king. He is a busy man and I do not wish to waste his time, but I also do not wish to meaninglessly restrain myself by just writing a single page and moving on to other tales."
"There's no shame in having a minimum of three pages."
"That's the thing, I only ever decided on that due to nobody telling me different," The taleweaver replied, "I never know what the king would think if a single page, or maybe two, were to cross his eyes, and there's a part of me that's always wondered what could be if I just put out one."
The courier and taleweaver sat in silence.
"Would you?"
"No, I wouldn't," the taleweaver shrugged, "I have too much pride."
The courier nodded, and held his hand out.
The taleweaver sighed, and began to write.
He wrote for about half an hour, three pages of text soon manifesting through the flicking of his pen. He paused only to dip the end into the ink.
All this time, the courier held his hand out.
In the end, the taleweaver gave the story to the courier, who nodded, and turned to the door.
"Wait."
The courier paused.
"You never answered my question from before," the taleweaver asked, "Who reads my stories?"
The courier smiled.
"They bring happiness and merriment to the many people that do read them."
The taleweaver raised an eyebrow.
"That offers no meaningful answer to my question."
"Does it?"
The courier shrugged and exited the castle, headed down to the local village.
There, he put the story, word by word, line by line, into a great database. It pinged to life with every access, every view, as a new pair of eyes glanced across it.
"Like I said," The courier answered, though he knew the taleweaver could not hear him now, "They bring happiness and merriment to the many people that do read them. No king can hide your stories away, can they?"
My Experience of Fanime 2024
I'll admit, I had my suspicions when the whole thing started.
When my mom walked into the living room while I was working on my own projects and went "your dad's taking you to this job conference in San Jose," my initial doubt came from the simple fact that it hadn't even been a week since my last visit to a job fair, and that San Jose was pretty far. But hey, it wasn't that big a deal, even if I would've liked to be consulted. Then when I decided to ask about further details, my mom was surprisingly mum on the topic. Like my dad wasn't telling her something.
So I decided to look into job fairs that were happening in San Jose at the specific date they mentioned. And to my confusion, nothing with those specific parameters really popped up. There were job fairs in San Jose, sure, but hardly anything for that weekend. So I decided to look into events that were happening that weekend, and the one that my brain locked on was the anime convention "Fanime - by fans, for fans." And so the seed of suspicion was planted.
I figured that, at the very least, my dad was taking me to a job conference, that conference would likely be over in an hour tops, and then I could convince him to take me to the convention center. On the day of the convention, however, something else cultivated the idea in my mind.
"We'll be going to San Jose at 10ish. Like, a while after my brother leaves for home," My dad said, referring to my uncle who was crashing at our place (on my bed no less) for my grandmother's birthday, long story, and then he asked me to "Pack a change of clothes."
And from there, I knew. Somewhere deep down, I absolutely knew. He had planned something to do with that convention. Maybe I contemplated the idea that he planned it as a bonus, maybe I knew the conference was a cover. Either way, I hopped in the car and we drove off, passing through winding roads and cityscapes.
"You nervous?" He asked.
"A little, yeah," I replied, "Though it's partially a result of a job thing just getting springed on me."
"Yeah, I wasn't sure if I could get in, or if we'd really go," he said, and something about that clicked in my brain.
It wasn't until we arrived at the parking garage that he revealed the truth.
"You see, the real reason we're here," he said, "is because we're going to Fanime."
"I knew it. I KNEW it!" I managed to squeak out, "Why else would you ask me to bring a change of clothes?!"
"Oh, speaking of which, you wanna change in the car?"
I didn't answer with words, just climbed in the back of the parked car and swapped my formal interview clothing with a more casual t-shirt and a pair of sweats. I made a good call with my change of clothes, and so we exited the parking garage.
The actual convention center was a considerable distance away from the parking garage, but that was fine by me. I was used to walking my way around my local park, this wasn't that different an experience. Every so often, however, we saw one of those rentable scooters they tried to make a regular thing and while I never said anything, something in the back of my mind said "it might be a little convienient if you were to use one of these to cover the distance a bit more quickly, y'know." That's not how it shook out, however, and eventually we came across a group of costumed individuals (or cosplayers) that were heading the same way we were.
And then another group of cosplayers, mixed in with people with relatively normal outfits.
And then another.
By the time we arrived at the convention center, we were in a veritable ocean of cosplayers from all sorts of media. I remember seeing a gang of Vocaloids chattering, several Mihoyoverse guys and gals wandering about, and even a pink magical-girl-flavored Chainsaw Man. The hype was real, at least I felt it.
Upon entry into the convention center, my dad and I walked into the ticket booth and purchased the ID cards that would mark us as being actual convention-goers instead of just... random vagrants who wandered in. From there, we walked up the center's stairs and into the main event hall. The room boomed with the sound of anime music, and an erected concert stage saw a group of cosplayers dancing.
"So, you see that gate right there?" Dad asked, pointing to a distinctively decorated gate that led to a large dealer's room, "We'll meet there at 3:00."
I nodded in understanding, and we went our separate ways to wander the halls of Fanime, seeing the sights and sounds of the convention. This was a routine we set up when we came to the Silicon Valley Comic-Con so many years ago, and it was one that worked. Especially since, well, we were both grown adults.
I wandered the maze of the dealer's room with no direction, no plan, but endless enthusiasm. Every so often, I stopped a cosplayer and asked to take their picture, as a memory of this most amazing day.
I crossed paths with the legendary Kamen Riders, warriors who shed tears as they abandon their humanity to fight threats no human can face alone.
I met the gaze of young women gifted with powers arcane that complemented their beauty and strength.
I wandered into the paths of warriors from worlds more fantastical than ours ever was.
And I even encountered warriors who fight the monster that lurk in the darkest corners of our society, seeking nothing less then total destruction.
But all good things, unfortunately, have to end. My phone's battery hit 15% and I soon grew conscious of the fact that I could not contact anyone if it died. Plus I began to feel my feet aching from the constant wandering that I had subjected myself to in my hype. So at 3:00, I walked to the gate which we opted to meet, and my father arrived shortly after.
"My phone's at like 15% right now, and my feet are starting to ache," I explained, "plus I worry my mother would suspect something if we were to linger too long."
My dad shrugged and said, "She knows you're here. I called her."
"Ah," I replied, "Well, there's a good length of concrete we still have to walk, and my feet are aching, so..."
"I understand," He said, and so we left. I walked by even more cosplayers and quietly wondered how likely it would be for me to have a cosplay of my own the next time I came to a convention. Then again, I remembered not really knowing that this was planned, so I just kinda smiled. It was a surprise at the end of the day, and a welcome one.
And here's hoping the next one I go to is just as fun.