Birth of The New Worlds
by Jaye C. Watts
It was 2017, and the world was getting rowdy. What had once been the Left and the Right had hardened into the “radical left” and the “alt-right.” I remember watching the footage from Charlottesville—a car plowing into the crowd the day after clean-cut white men marched with tiki torches, chanting “Jews will not replace us!” My Facebook feed showed me the horror in bits and pieces, punctuated by furious commenters pounding curses into their keyboards.
Something in the zeitgeist was shifting—had already shifted.
It was around this time that I started meditating. My doctor said it would help with my anxiety. Who knew it would also help bring new worlds into existence?
One morning, sitting in my comfy chair by the window, meditation timer ticking away, I settled into my usual routine: a few deep breaths, a body scan from scalp to toes, my attention eventually resting on the familiar pull of gravity. And then, three simple words appeared in my mind.
Physical filter bubbles.
My brow tightened, curiosity rippling through my otherwise quiet mind.
Huh, I mused. Eyes still closed, I lingered on the phrase. Without warning, more thoughts arrived.
If our filter bubbles online make us so alien to one another, maybe we’ll end up needing separate physical worlds to live in . . .
One eyebrow arched. Another idea approached.
I wonder if—
No. I shook my head. Not now. I was supposed to be meditating.
Back to the breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose . . .
But the words wouldn’t leave. Like a catchy chorus, they looped incessantly, until the rest of the song began revealing itself.
All right, fine.
My eyes flicked open.
I stopped my meditation timer, shot to my feet, and rushed to my desk, grabbing the nearest pen and paper.
Everything I’d been fed by the feeds had steeped in my mind’s well of worries, apparently brewing something potent. Urgency overtook me as my thoughts spilled out faster than I could think them.
I scribbled wildly, not knowing why—only that I couldn’t stop.
At first the notes were conceptual: psychological, sociological, philosophical in nature. Terms like neuroplasticity, structural hole, and synchronicity poured from my pen. It was abstract, analytical—until a character appeared.
Someone in the middle of all the chaos, standing stoically, as if she understood it all.
I tilted my head as the young woman formed on the page.
She captivated me instantly—maybe because I saw myself in her. Even so, I sensed she had much to teach me.
Her name was Axton. Axton Bryce. And like my imagination, she lived in the future. While I tried to predict it, she experienced it.
What will happen if our technologies continue driving us apart? I wondered, the world around me feeling stranger by the day.
What will these ubiquitous screens do to us?
Whenever I asked, Axton answered—not by telling me, but by showing me.
In the days and weeks that followed, my scribbles multiplied. One page became many. Worlds took shape—eventually more than a dozen—alongside frantic sketches of isolated planets orbiting twin stars. In the New Worlds Star System, humanity had finally achieved peace. By 2041, we had discovered the truth about Truth: that there are many truths, and they must never be allowed to meet.
When I pull my head out of the story I’ve been writing for the past seven years, I return to Earth—but the line between imagination and reality grows blurrier by the day. It’s been nearly ten years since those three words crash-landed into my consciousness. Since then, they’ve become many words—182,674 of them, after finishing the first draft of book two.
How can eight years pass in a blink and yet feel like an entire epoch?
In less than a decade, we’ve lived through a global pandemic; watched the rage of Black Lives Matter fill the streets; witnessed homegrown militias attack the U.S. Capitol. We counted down to the launch of the James Webb Space Telescope, glimpsed exoplanet atmospheres, then watched a bunch of billionaires take their own zero-g joyrides. We’ve witnessed the deadliest day for Jews since the Holocaust. Seen genocide. Watched AI leap from science fiction to passing the Turing test to inhabiting dexterous humanoid robots that know kung fu. We’ve seen the re-election of Trump—now a convicted felon—and watched a bullet shave off part of his ear. “There are only two genders,” he declared, after which the “T” vanished from the official Stonewall website. And even as he attempts to end Russia’s war in Ukraine, he speaks openly of annexation, leaving Canada and Greenland wondering how seriously to take the former reality-TV star . . .
They say truth is stranger than fiction. But in a future without truth, fiction may be all we have left.
Discover that future in my debut science fiction novel, The New Worlds: an emotional dystopia about romance, resistance, and the fight for truth.
Jaye C. Watts has a new queer sci-fi book out (transgender, poly, non-binary, pansexual, lesbian): The New Worlds.
The year is 2293 and the Truth no longer exists. In the future there are many truths, giving rise to many worlds, but each must be kept separate.
Born to protect these truths, Axton Bryce patrols the New Worlds Star System—to observe, participate, and gather information. But as she learns the ways of each world, she must also hunt for those who defy their world’s truth: the Outliers.
While stationed on a nearby planet, Axton meets the charming Ambassador Bray Wilde. As the two become close, Axton reveals a painful secret—the loss of her first love, exiled as an Outlier.
Longing to see beyond their own world, the ambassador proposes a rescue mission—one that will bring both friends and foes, and ultimately a fight for freedom. But first, Axton must make a choice: between a life-long allegiance… and the chance to claim a truth of her own.
Warnings: indoctrination, brainwashing, threatening with a weapon (guns & a bomb)
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I clenched my fists. “Focus,” I told myself. Grabbing my communication cuff, I fastened it around my wrist. “INS communications, activate.” I opened my wardrobe and reached for a freshly pressed uniform. “Aurelia, give me today’s briefing.”
It lit up and responded. “Your next assignment will be on the Amorous World for a standard duration of three months. You are scheduled to depart today at zero six hundred Geo Time and arrive at zero eight-forty Geo Time. The latest reports on the Amorous World are available for your review. Do you wish to accept, Mediator Axton Bryce?”
I crouched to lace up my boots. “I accept.”
“On behalf of Chairman West and the Individual Nations Secretariat, we thank you, Mediator Axton Bryce, for your work in protecting the Truth of many truths.”
I rose to my feet, skin prickling at the back of my neck. Though I couldn’t see it, I could feel it: two lowercase t’s under one capital T, branded at the top of my spine—a permanent part of me ever since my Veneration five long years ago.
I reached back, digging my nails in, tempted to tear the tattoo right from my skin. “She should have been there,” I whispered. If only she’d kept those thoughts to herself.
I grabbed my utility belt and wrapped it around my waist, ensuring the gun was secure. Staring at myself in the mirror, I straightened the collar of my shirt. I’d never been to the Amorous World before. Perfect, I thought. Some fresh scenery was just what I needed.
* * *
I checked my cuff—zero five fifty-five, right on schedule. Marching across the launch deck, I carried one efficiently packed piece of luggage. I never glanced back when boarding my ship; Brokazaria’s endless acres of skyscrapers would still be here when I returned. Instead, I looked up. The early-morning sky was just waking. Aside from Primus B—the Middle World’s secondary, and thus miniature, sun—not a star was in sight. As I approached my ship, the roar of its engine reminded me that soon the stars would be all around me.
I turned and gave the official salute to a line of NI Security standing at attention. In unison, the humanlike Machines returned the gesture, crossing their arms to form a lowercase letter t. Sergeant L43 pumped his eyebrows, prompting me to raise one of mine in response. Hard to believe they were once called “AI.” New Intelligence, we were told, was a much more appropriate term.
L43 stepped forward. “Afternoon, miss.” He grabbed my bag, allowing me to ascend the ladder.
“Thanks,” I said. I climbed to the top and crawled through the hatch.
“Catch!” the NI yelled, tossing up my luggage.
With a reflex just quick enough, I caught the bag. “Sergeant!” I scolded. “What if there was something fragile in there?”
“You humans,” he replied. “Always afraid something’s gonna break. Your luggage, your bones, your bodies… not to mention your hearts and minds.”
I rolled my eyes at the cheeky Machine. “Watch it, L, or I’ll get them to reboot you.”
Unperturbed, the Machine grinned and waved. “I’ll miss you, too. Bon voyage!”
“See you in three months,” I muttered, closing the hatch behind me. I immediately got busy flicking switches and hitting buttons. Muscle memory took over as I continued the launch prep with complete focus. Not a moment later, a blue light illuminated my cuff, drawing my attention. Blue indicated a direct message from Chairman West himself, Secretary-General of the Individual Nations Secretariat.
“Play address,” I said, eager to hear our leader’s words.
A ghostlike image projected from my arm, transporting the man’s titanic figure into my control room. Neatly trimmed grays blended inconspicuously into the rest of his dark hair, swept back to frame a chiseled face. Salt-and-pepper stubble outlined a pair of smiling lips—the beginnings of a goatee that never quite came to fruition. As always, a perfectly pressed suit hugged every one of his bulging muscles.
“Greetings, my children!” The chairman’s voice rumbled from a gaping grin, complete with gleaming teeth. “Today is a very special day, not only for the New Worlds Star System but for some of our most dedicated Mediators.”
My ears perked up as I waited for more.
“Today marks two hundred and fifty years of living in an interplanetary alliance, free from the terrors of war, safe from the dangers of Plurality! A quarter of a millennium since the United Nations of the Old World became the Individual Nations of the New Worlds, marking humanity’s Great Dispersion!”
A swell of pride surged in my chest. I was part of something big and important.
“All of this would not be possible without you,” he declared, “our magnificent Mediators. You have been instrumental in our coordination with each world, fostering the cooperation necessary to manage the complexities of a resource-based economy spanning a system as vast as ours. And!”—the chairman raised a finger, flashing one of his many gold rings—“most importantly, you have upheld the sovereignty of every truth within it.”
I gave a humble nod, as though he could see me.
“Lastly,” the chairman said, “further congratulations to the Mediators of unit 245. Tomorrow is your quinquennium! Five years of serving as peacekeepers, saviors, Mediators! Father Chairman West and the INS commend you.” His thick forearms crossed in a salute, only to vanish as the feed cut out.
I took a moment to absorb his words, stunned by how many years had passed. Then I checked my cuff—Time to go.
I finished preparing for the launch, my movements steady and certain. We had done it. Peace among the planets for over two centuries.
I paused, letting my mind drift…
It had to be worth it.
JAYE C. WATTS (he/they) is a queer and trans sci-fi writer living on Lək̓ʷəŋən territory in Victoria, BC, Canada. He holds a bachelor’s degree in Sociology, with a minor in Technology and Society, as well as a diploma in Professional Recording Arts from the Art Institute of Vancouver.
When he isn’t writing, Jaye can be found falling down rabbit holes of all kinds thanks to an unquenchable curiosity and lust for learning – homeschooling will do that to you.
Jaye also loves classic jazz, mixing cocktails, biking all over the city, and of course, people watching.
Author Website: https://www.jayecwatts.com
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