Tales from the Universe
Moral Dilemma: If nobody could ever know what you did, would right and wrong remain the same—and what does your answer reveal about who has actually been governing your behavior?
Tess became invisible by accident.
She had been trying to make a lamp.
This embarrassed her considerably.
The lamp did not work.
The invisibility worked extremely well.
Tess repaired optical instruments.
Lenses.
Mirrors.
Surveying scopes.
Magnifiers.
Anything involving glass and light eventually arrived at her shop.
The device on her workbench was supposed to redirect sunlight into dark rooms.
She adjusted the final mirror.
Turned the brass wheel.
There was a flash.
Then her hand disappeared.
Tess screamed.
Her apprentice screamed.
Then Tess’s entire body vanished.
Her apprentice screamed much louder.
“Stop that.”
“WHERE ARE YOU?”
“Here.”
“WHERE?”
“Beside you.”
The apprentice swung a broom.
Tess ducked.
“Stop trying to kill me!”
“I CAN’T SEE YOU!”
“That is becoming apparent.”
The effect lasted eleven minutes.
Tess returned gradually.
First her teeth.
Then bones.
Then skin.
The apprentice fainted during the teeth.
Tess wrote everything down.
Naturally, she did it again.
For science.
Then again.
For confirmation.
Then once because she wanted to walk through the market invisible.
Also science.
Being unseen felt wonderful.
Tess had not expected that.
Nobody looked at her.
Nobody moved aside because of her reputation.
Nobody asked questions.
Nobody smiled.
Nobody judged her clothes.
Nobody needed anything.
She simply moved.
A consciousness without a social body.
She sat in the fountain square for an hour listening to people.
That was when the trouble began.
People said things when they thought Tess wasn’t there.
Her landlord called her difficult.
Her apprentice told someone she smelled like lamp oil.
A merchant she considered a friend said:
“Tess is brilliant, but exhausting.”
She followed him for three streets afterward.
He said nothing else interesting.
Still.
Exhausting?
She began listening deliberately.
Only occasionally.
At first.
If someone mentioned her name, she stayed.
That seemed fair.
Then she realized people rarely began conversations with the useful part.
So she arrived earlier.
That seemed practical.
She learned things.
A competitor was planning to underbid her on a government contract.
Tess changed her proposal.
Won.
A customer intended to lie about a broken lens.
Tess confronted him before he could.
A supplier planned to raise prices.
Tess negotiated first.
Her business improved dramatically.
Her apprentice, Jo, became suspicious.
“How did you know Pell Glassworks bid fourteen hundred?”
“Estimate.”
“Exactly fourteen hundred?”
“Good estimate.”
Jo stared.
Tess continued working.
Then Tess caught a thief.
She was invisible in the shop after closing.
Not spying.
Testing equipment.
Mostly.
A man entered through the back window.
Tess watched him fill a bag.
Then whispered:
“Put it back.”
The thief froze.
“Who said that?”
“The glass.”
He dropped everything and fled.
Tess laughed until she cried.
The next morning she told Jo.
Jo did not laugh.
“You were invisible overnight?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Testing.”
“For six hours?”
Tess stopped.
Jo looked at the machine.
“How often do you use it?”
“That isn’t your business.”
“I work beside it.”
“It is absolutely my business.”
Tess became angry.
“Then don’t work beside it.”
Jo stared.
Tess regretted the sentence immediately.
Jo removed his apron.
“All right.”
He quit.
Tess told herself he was dramatic.
Then she followed him.
Invisible.
Of course.
Jo went to a tavern.
Met a friend.
Talked about Tess.
She listened.
“I don’t know when she’s there anymore.”
His friend laughed.
“No, seriously.”
Jo looked around the room.
Tess stood six feet away.
“I feel like I’m being watched even when I’m alone.”
Tess felt offended.
Then realized she was secretly watching him complain about being secretly watched.
There are moments when hypocrisy becomes so geometrically perfect that even the hypocrite has difficulty missing it.
Tess went home.
She did not use the machine for three days.
On the fourth, she used it.
Just once.
Then waited two days.
Used it again.
She began making rules.
Never enter a private home.
Never listen to personal conversations.
Never follow someone.
Never use information overheard while invisible.
She broke all four within a month.
Rules made alone were remarkably easy to renegotiate.
Then Tess saw something she could not ignore.
She was invisible in the municipal archive.
She had no legitimate reason to be there.
She was searching records related to a contract.
Also no legitimate reason.
Two officials entered.
They discussed bribes.
Large ones.
Tess listened.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
Enough to expose them.
She returned home triumphant.
Then stopped.
How could she explain knowing?
She reported them anonymously.
An investigation began.
The officials were guilty.
They were removed.
The city praised the unknown informant.
Tess felt proud.
She had done something good.
That was the most dangerous thing that had happened so far.
Because now she had proof.
Invisibility could serve justice.
So she watched more.
Not for herself.
For everyone.
Corrupt merchants.
Abusive employers.
Unfaithful spouses.
Dishonest officials.
She became the city’s invisible conscience.
Nobody had elected her.
Nobody knew she existed.
Tess considered that an advantage.
Then she misheard a conversation.
A teacher named Vara met a man after dark.
Money changed hands.
Tess heard:
“Children.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
Enough.
She reported Vara.
Authorities searched her house.
Found nothing.
Parents panicked.
Vara was suspended.
Rumors spread.
The truth emerged a week later.
Vara had been secretly buying food for six students whose families could not afford lunch.
The man was a baker.
“Children.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
Tess had heard every word correctly.
She had understood none of it.
Vara never learned who reported her.
That made Tess feel worse.
There was nobody to confront.
Nobody to demand an apology from.
Nobody to forgive.
Tess had become consequence without a face.
She destroyed the machine.
Almost.
Hammer raised.
Then stopped.
The machine was extraordinary.
It could be useful.
Rescue workers could enter dangerous areas unseen.
Researchers could observe animals without disturbing them.
Guards could—
Tess laughed.
There it was again.
A useful purpose waiting conveniently beside every temptation.
She lowered the hammer.
Instead, she invited Jo back.
He refused.
She apologized.
He still refused.
She explained the machine.
Everything.
The spying.
The officials.
Vara.
Everything.
Jo listened.
Then asked:
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because I need help deciding what to do with it.”
Jo shook his head.
“No.”
Tess felt disappointed.
Then he continued.
“You need help deciding what rules govern it.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
He pointed at the machine.
“You keep asking whether the tool is good or bad.”
“It isn’t either.”
“Exactly.”
He pointed at Tess.
“You’re the problem.”
She stared.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
They built a room around the machine.
Two keys required to activate it.
Usage recorded.
Purpose documented beforehand.
No private surveillance without a warrant.
No commercial use.
No listening to conversations unrelated to the approved purpose.
Independent oversight.
Tess hated almost every rule.
That was how she knew they were probably useful.
Years later, invisibility became a recognized craft.
Rare.
Regulated.
Valuable.
Rescue teams used it.
Wildlife scholars used it.
Occasionally law enforcement used it under strict supervision.
Criminals also used it.
Naturally.
No invention waited politely for only good people.
Tess taught ethics to new practitioners.
Students found this disappointing.
They wanted to disappear.
Instead, on the first day, Tess asked:
“What changes when nobody can see you?”
A student answered:
“Everything.”
“No.”
Another:
“Nothing.”
Tess smiled.
“Closer.”
She wrote on the board:
THE WITNESS DISAPPEARS.
Then beneath it:
THE ACT DOES NOT.
One student raised his hand.
“If I do something harmless that would embarrass me if people knew, is it wrong?”
“Maybe.”
“That isn’t helpful.”
“Correct.”
Another asked:
“What if I overhear someone planning a crime?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Many things.”
The class groaned.
Tess smiled.
“You thought invisibility would simplify morality?”
They nodded.
“It removes one consequence.”
She pointed toward the machine.
“That tends to reveal how many of your ethics were actually reputation management.”
The room became quiet.
After class, Tess sometimes used the machine alone.
By then she was old.
The rules allowed private recreational use in designated spaces.
She would disappear and walk through her garden.
No spying.
No listening.
No mission.
Just absence.
She still loved the feeling.
That had never been the problem.
She sat beneath an apple tree while birds landed nearby without noticing her.
For a while, nobody knew where Tess was.
Nobody watched.
Nobody praised.
Nobody blamed.
Nobody expected anything.
And Tess remained exactly as responsible for herself as when the whole world could see her.
Leave a Reply