Microstory 2797: Jande Will Ironically Turn Out to Be Wrong

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Jande is back as superintendent of Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida, and everyone seems fine with that. He has a lot of catching up to do, but not much day-to-day work. He has to keep reminding himself that a superintendent is not the primary leader. It’s his job to make sure everyone else is doing their job, and despite recent developments, that works well enough on its own. The governmental structure has been perfected over centuries, though that’s being tested now, leaving Jande with a big decision to make after he gets all the facts. The people needed someone to get them through a tough transition period. It was him briefly, then Tamerlane for a couple years, and now Jande again.

Pryce tells him that he has lost his memories, but that no one knows where Jande was all this time. Something in the back of Jande’s mind, however, is telling him to move on from it, and not investigate, as well as to trust Pryce’s words. The last thing he remembers was having a conversation with Dare, which has apparently been taken way out of context, either by him or by others. But this is not what Jande wanted. He does not approve of it, and he thinks Dare knows that. He thinks Dare took advantage of Jande’s disappearance, and failed to uphold the spirit of the planet’s culture.

Some say that the world is better than before. Quiratan is now even bigger than Eyrenland ever was. Eyren production is holding steady, but it’s still being run by community-minded people, rather than the quota-minded. That’s not really the issue. That’s only a part of what the planet is about. There’s another sentiment, which Jande is inclined to lean more towards. They think that society has changed for the worse. Bida has turned into an isolationistic military state. They’re not forcing people into camps, and demanding to see papers, but it’s not as laid back as it used to be. Jande doesn’t think that this is what Dare had in mind with the weapons array. He hopes not, at least.

It didn’t sound like this was what Dare was going for when Jande warned him about moving forward with the plan to add more weapons to the defense grid. He certainly wouldn’t have wanted to give the platforms the ability to turn around and fire towards the surface. Dare never struck Jande as the militant type, so maybe this is all a misunderstanding. On the other hand, maybe Dare really did always want this since he spent upwards of decades alone in a crabitat. Maybe this makes him feel right at home. What Jande needs are answers, so it’s time for impromptu staff evaluations.

“Forgive me, sir,” Dare begins. “I’m not sure you’re qualified to give me a performance review since you have only been back for a couple of days.”

“It’s not a performance review,” Jande contends. “We’re doing this very much for the reason that I’ve not been here to oversee my people. I want to know what I’ve missed. What have you been up to, Mr. Finnian?”

Dare shakes his head with a scoff and a smile. “I know what you’re here to ask me. I admit, I found a loophole in your directive. You said you would give me permission to modify the defense platforms. You were probably going to qualify that with some kind of stipulation, but you disappeared before you could. I chose to take your words at face value. I couldn’t prove what you might have said afterwards. And since you were gone—and since the superintendent, whoever it is, isn’t actually my boss—I did what I felt was right. I’m sorry if that upsets you now, but I stand by my decision.”

Jande sighs. “I can’t believe that they let you get away with it. People knew my position on the matter. There’s a reason they’re called defense platforms, rather than offensive weapons. You included far too much in the design. It makes us look—”

“It makes us look strong,” Dare interrupts.

“It makes us look weak!” Jande abruptly yells. After a beat, he huffs. “How about a parable? I’ll summarize, so we can get through this quickly. Two soldiers standing side by side. One is armed to the teeth. Multiple firearms. A knife on his hip, and one on his ankle. A sword and even a flamethrower hanging off his back. He’s clutching his rifle, and darting his head and eyes back and forth, scanning for threats. Next to him is the other soldier. He’s wearing his armor, but doesn’t have a single weapon on him. He’s not looking around. He’s not shivering. He’s just...standing there. The second soldier is stronger, Dare, because he’s in a war zone, and he’s not afraid.”

“I would rather the guy with the rifle protect me over the guy with nothing.”

Jande nods. “That’s the hermit in you talking, Dare. You used to live alone in a hollowed-out asteroid. You didn’t even have an atmosphere to protect you, and you didn’t have any friends. All you had were your turrets, and whatever the hell else you installed on the periphery. I don’t blame you for it. You had to protect yourself if you were going to spend years at a time in virtual reality. Maybe some of those simulations even taught you how to fear others. It’s not like that out here in base reality. We don’t do war anymore. It’s...tacky and stupid. It’s passé.

“Teaguardians are bored out of their minds. The only thing that keeps them busy is space colonization. Every new colony demands its own small fleet for emergencies. But even that is slowing down, because we’re running out of room in the stellar neighborhood. Pretty soon, every star within fifty light years will be covered. I suppose I’ve lost track of where I was going with this, but if you look at history, the truth is clear. Since we started settling other planets, vonearthans have stopped fighting. We realized that there was nothing to fight for. The top elements are all over the place. That’s why they’re at the top. No one is coming to hurt us, Dare. Just relax. If you can’t, I will find someone who can...who will dismantle those extraneous weapons you installed.”

“That’s your right,” Dare replies with a sigh. “But you best be careful not to abuse your power. If you expect all axioms to follow your lead, no matter what, then you stop being a superintendent, and you become a tyrannical dictator. Is that what you want?”

Jande leans back in his chair. “You have a good point, Mr. Finnian. I appreciate your concern and warning. I would love to keep you. And as you said, I can’t make you take the weapons down. But please do it anyway—not under threat, but because we want to show our strength and resolve through confidence. We don’t need the guns.”

Over the course of the next several months, the automators remove and recycle the unnecessary parts of the orbital defense platforms. They are kept pointed outwards, and are mostly there to protect the world against meteors and black holes, the latter of which have, thankfully, stopped coming since the initial onslaught.

Shortly after things are put right, according to Jande’s vision of it, a foreign army arrives. They don’t come in ships from outer space. They roll in through what appears to be a wormhole, and begin a ground assault. They actually seem rather familiar to Jande for some reason, like he’s fought them before. The Teaguardians and Bidan military ultimately win, but a lot of good substrates are lost. And Jande ends up on trial.

Microstory 2796: He Will Lose His Memories, But That’s Fine

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Jande reappears exactly where he was standing when Sugar plucked him from the timeline. He’s tired and weak, so he locates the nearest chair, and sits down. It’s not easy. His special suit is designed to withstand attack, not for maneuverability. He doesn’t move from that spot for a few minutes while he catches his breath.

That’s when Tamerlane walks in and sees him. There’s a hint of surprise in his eyes, but it fades fast. “You’re back. Everyone thought you were dead.”

“You recognize me,” Jande says, not as a question since the answer is obvious.

Tamerlane nods as he’s walking forward. He removes the superintendent pin from his jacket, and attempts to hand it over. “I believe this belongs to you.”

“How long have I been gone?” Jande asks.

“A little over two years,” Tamerlane replies.

“You took my job in my absence, and now you’re trying to give it back...no questions asked? That doesn’t sound like you.” He has still not taken the pin.

“You don’t know me that well,” Tamerlane points out.

“I know you better than you think.” Jande sighs and looks away.

“Were you in the past, or the future? Because not every version of me—”

“I know who you are,” Jande interrupts. “It’s fine. You are not the enemy I spent the last forty years fighting. I don’t want my job back. It’s not why I’m here.”

Tamerlane straightens up and drops the pin on the desk. “You were in the future, but if you were here to undo mistakes that have not yet been made, my guess is you would not have needed forty years to try. Something kept you there, and you’re only here now to change one—seemingly minor—thing, which perhaps no one will notice for half a century. You don’t have to tell me what it is, but I can help.”

Jande laughs. “You’re too smart for your own good. Quit pulling that thread.”

“All right,” Tamerlane says sincerely. “I don’t mind being kept in the dark. I’ll even help you with your mission, without all the information. But you should know, I’m not giving that pin back for altruistic reasons. It’s not even yours. You took that when you disappeared so they synthesized a new one. None of that matters. You’re the superintendent. I only take over for the duration you’re unavailable, not permanently.”

Jande smiles up at him. “You’re an expert on substrates and consciousness transference, right? Or was that only some other version of you?”

Tamerlane finds another chair and sits across from Jande. “You need a new one?”

“It’s not that simple,” Jande begins to explain. “You ever heard of brain-locking?”

Tamerlane’s eyes widen as he leans back. “Well, it’s illegal. It’s a form of murder.”

“Not if you do it to yourself, then it’s bodily autonomy,” Jande reasons.

“Why would you do it to yourself?” Tamerlane questions. “If you don’t want to be backed up anymore, then just sever your streams. Brain-locking is dangerous.”

“It was necessary...in the future,” Jande clarifies. “I can’t say much, but something even more illegal than brain-locking is invented, which makes staying in one body the safest path forward. I came back here because I can’t undo it without dying. I was marked, but they can’t find me here. It’s my job to see if you can do it. If you can, others will come. If you can’t, we’ll all die eventually, just as God intended.”

Tamerlane looks into Jande’s eyes as if he can already do a preliminary assessment without any equipment. “I’m sure I can crack it,” he says confidently. “I don’t know what mark this could be, but nothing is irreversible...not to me.” He laughs. “If all else fails, we can brute force it. If you’ll follow me to my lab?”

“I don’t wanna be seen.” Jande reaches his hand out.

“Are you asking me to teleport you there, or for help standing up, old man?”

“Both,” Jande replies plainly.

Tamerlane smiles and nods. He takes Jande’s hand, and jumps them both away.

They land in what indeed looks like a lab, which Jande has plenty of experience with by now. The war was long. It wasn’t full of battle after battle. There were actually relatively few of those overall. It was more about the technology. Once the decoherence tech got out there, it was out there, and people devolved back to how they were when death being permanent was a natural given. The galaxy became a lot more dangerous, and time travel didn’t make it any better. They just ended up in a new timeline with the same shit. Stopping the tech from existing is a fool’s errand. There’s a more subtle way, and tracing the temporal branches took years to comprehend. It was all compartmentalized. Jande doesn’t even know whose job it is to fix it. Just not his.

Tamerlane removes his superintendent coat, and throws on his lab coat as he’s gracefully moving around the machines, turning them on sequentially. “Have a seat in this one right here. I’ll be with you in a moment.” He leaves the room.

Jande unlocks his IMS unit, and steps out of it. He doesn’t leave this thing very often these days—it’s too dangerous—so he feels quite naked, especially in an unfamiliar environment. He knows enough about the future to know, however, that Pryce can be trusted with this. He’s the only one who can be trusted, and is in a position to help. Lots of other people would be more than willing to provide aid, and would be capable of it, but Jande has been told that it could damage the timeline, so he came here.

Tamerlane comes back in with some scary instruments, but they don’t cause any pain as he’s examining Jande. Jande can’t even describe what’s ultimately done to him, but he’s suffered a lot worse discomfort over the last four decades, so this is nothing. After Tamerlane is done, he leaves Jande in the chair and goes back to synthesize the results. When he returns again, he uses a bunch of sciency lingo that, even after all this time, Jande has not bothered to learn. Then he leaves once more to model a treatment.

It isn’t until the next day when Pryce calls Jande back in from his secret quarters. “Okay. I see the mark that they’re talking about. It’s like a release detonator. Right now, whatever future weapon they used on you to destroy your mind won’t work. It’s stuck, but it’s waiting. Think about a bullet that flies out of a gun and hits a shield. The bullet either gets stuck in that shield, or falls to the ground, and now that bullet is pretty much harmless. This is like a bullet that waits until you move your shield out of the way.”

“That is basically how they described it to us. Can you pull the magic bullet out?”

“I can.” Tamerlane inhales and exhales, then adjusts his position so he can talk to Jande more softly. “You know it’s not a real bullet. It’s a signal that’s locking onto your brainwaves. I can save you, but I can’t save the brainwaves. I can move the target into oblivion, so the decoherence still happens, but you technically die. What we’re left with is a different version of you. You would lose...I don’t know how many memories.”

Jande nods. “That’s what our scientists thought.” He stares at the wall. “The others will have to decide for themselves. Let me send a message, and then I want you to do it. I don’t care how many memories I lose. I want to get back to work...in this world.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: October 3, 2577

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It had been an entire year. Just because this whole area had been destroyed by some kind of bomb, didn’t mean that Olimpia’s brother, Delphinus or Leida were here when it was dropped. She had to keep believing that they were both still alive somewhere because she didn’t think the Miridir Galaxy qualified for the afterlife simulation. It was just too far away, and she felt like she would have received some confirmation about it one way or another by this point.

Olimpia needed answers, so she walked up the ridge a bit and placed herself in front of the forward viewports on the Vellani Ambassador, waving her arms over her head to get their attention. She couldn’t see anyone on the bridge, and it didn’t seem like they were seeing her either. She triple tapped on the comms device implanted behind her ear.

“Global broadcast,” came the voice prompt. “Tap once to cancel... tap twice to begin broadcasting.”

She tapped twice. “This is Olimpia Sangster, broadcasting to all friendlies on Desulforudis, or otherwise within range. Is anyone reading me? Is anyone on our network?” She waited for a response that never came. “This is Olimpia Sangster. I’m marooned on Desulforidus. Can anyone hear me?” She kept broadcasting for the next few minutes, repeating variations of the same plea. She was going to record the message so it would play automatically, but if anyone were there, they would have responded by now. If anyone was going to show up, say, tomorrow, she would no longer be here, and neither would her comms disc.

Olimpia took a breath and looked back up at the ship. “I sure hope you don’t have any anti-teleportation fields up, or whatever.” She shut her eyes and teleported away. When she opened them, she found herself safe and sound on the VA’s bridge. She looked around; no sign of a struggle, but as empty as it appeared from the ground. “Mirage, are you there? Or Thistle, or anyone? Can anyone hear me?”

No response.

“No crew, no AI, no nothin’.” Olimpia went over to the nearest terminal and started trying to find some answers. She was locked out of a lot. She was not a member of the crew, so she didn’t have any of the authorization codes. Surprisingly, however, she did have access to all transit systems, including propulsion, maneuvering, and all three FTL drives. That didn’t make much sense. If you were trying to protect yourself against an intruder, sure, you lock them out of information, but you also shouldn’t let them steal it.

Olimpia sighed again. What she needed was help, and it didn’t look like she was going to find it here. The planet felt quieter than it did yesterday, even though she never actually saw any locals before. She could be the last person alive. It was becoming abundantly clear that the petering war had found a resurgence, and it was probably due to her shutting off the communications jammer in that artificial mountain.

If the crew of this ship was in trouble, she wasn’t going to be able to help here alone. This might be a mistake, but she had to take the risk. Olimpia set the coordinates, fired up the slingdrive, and sent herself back home to Ramosus.

She teleported out of the ship, onto the ground, then off of the ground, and into their common area. She tapped on her comms disc again. “This is Olimpia, I’m back. Is anyone here?”  She waited for a response, shaking her head at the silence. “Come on!” Olimpia checked the logs here. The team’s last away mission was on one of the stellar neighborhood colonies, but they went out on September 30, and returned the next day. They didn’t leave again after that, or if they did, they didn’t go through the bulk.

Olimpia spent the next few hours scouring the planet. She sent messages, threw up flares, and literally looked around. Nothing was missing, nothing was awry, except she was entirely alone, just as she was on Desulforidis. Everyone she cared about was gone now, and she was supposed to believe that was a coincidence? They were millions of light years away, which pointed to a deliberate attack...by a formidable enemy. She could only think of a few who were powerful enough. Others would probably want to, but couldn’t pull it off. Then again, maybe they had found the power.

It still didn’t make much sense. Olimpia may have been separated from her friends, but she was still a part of the group. They were all on the same pattern. Why come after everyone, including those who weren’t on the pattern, but leave her alone? She sat down on the edge of her bed and stared at the wall. They had friends on Castlebourne too, but that was a long ways away, and without a slingdrive array, she wouldn’t be able to return, with help, or without. For now, she had to maintain a presence on Ramosus, because this was the most likely place any of them would show back up, but that didn’t mean she was hopeless. She would just have to take another risk.

The whole reason Ramses started working on a bulk map of the universe was to find a particular party. That didn’t quite work out, and they pivoted their priorities away from it, but Olimpia was desperate. And the map? The map was still tracking their frenemies, as far as Ramses said he could tell. They were trying to leave them alone, but they would have answers, and the means to transport themselves here. It was a pretty long shot that they would, though. She still didn’t understand their motivations.

Olimpia went back out to Ramses’ main lab and did her best to secure the facilities. Unlike on the Ambassador, she did have authorization to access most systems, but she didn’t really know how to work them. She locked out everything she could, placing them behind firewalls only someone on Team Matic would be able to get through, or also maybe someone really clever, armed with advanced tech. Then she opened the bulk map and found the right dot. It was somewhere in the Goldilocks Corridor where the Exin Empire was in the middle of slowly crumbling to dust. Even if these people responded to her, it could take weeks, which for her was one day. Still, she had no choice, so she shot off her message, and went over to a chair to wait it out.

A half hour later, a proximity alert started pinging from the terminal. Olimpia teleported a few meters over to it. A ship was in orbit that was not in Ramses’ database. It wasn’t what Olimpia was expecting, but they were trying to call her. Olimpia composed herself and prepared for the worst. Then she opened up a channel. “This is Olimpia Sangster of the free world, Ramosus. Who am I speaking to?”

“This is Franka Matic of Spiral Station. We received your message.”

“If I let you transport down, what are your intentions? Good or evil?” Olimpia turned her head from the mic and stifled a laugh. Was she serious with that question?

Franka suddenly appeared in the room in front of Olimpia. “Contrary to what you might believe, I love Mateo and Leona. They’re not really my parents, but I still feel a kinship. If they’re in trouble, I want to help. So tell me what you know, I’ll audit your systems, and we’ll figure this out. You can trust me, Madam Sangster.”

Olimpia frowned. “I’m not letting you into anything, especially not after you broke through our defense just to get here. I want some protection, so leave this place, and come back with someone I actually trust. Bring me your uncle.”

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Spaghetti West: Star Wars (Part VII)

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The stage was set. Sugar and Liselot navigated their still unnamed ship to Waizidi, also known as YZ Ceti d. It wasn’t a particularly inspired name for an exoplanet, but not all of them were. There were around 400 billion stars in this galaxy alone. A single individual owning one of them was not unheard of, but it was exceedingly rare this close to the homeworld. YZ Ceti was only about 12 light years from Earth, and should have been allocated to more general colonization efforts. The reason Pribadium was able to get away with it had everything to do with its proximity to Tau Ceti.

Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida was arguably the most important interstellar colony. Proxima Doma was the nearest, but it wasn’t very hospitable. Living there required building domes and other pressurized habitats, and only within a narrow band of habitability. Bida, on the other hand, was Earth’s closest twin. A transitional respiration adapter and a pack of gravity gum, and you were good to go.

YZ Ceti was less than two light years from Tau, which actually lowered its value. Waizidi wasn’t the worst planet around, but it didn’t have a comparable atmosphere, and had the same kind of narrow habitability band as Doma. It took work to survive there—too much work, especially for early settlers with limited technology. It was fine when that was your only choice, but in this case, it would be like driving by a free luxury condo to get to a refrigerator box in the alley. To be sure, had Pribadium not taken it for herself, it would likely be colonized right now, but with a minimal population. Nobody was crying into their milk that it was off limits. Most would not even give it any thought.

“Did you figure it out?” Liselot was pacing the room while Sugar was working.

“No,” Sugar replied. “No answers here.”

“So his sacrifice was for nothing,” one of the Denvers determined. He asked to be present to oversee the procedure, which was a perfectly reasonable demand.

“He didn’t sacrifice anything but a disposable body,” Liselot pointed out. “And I don’t know if you noticed, but since we technically killed one of you, the attacks have stopped.”

Denver!Two shook his head. “When he died, it sent an alert to them. It takes time to verify and update their records, but they will update them, and they will calculate that twenty-two of us are still around. The attacks will restart.”

Sugar stopped operating. She pointed the scalpel at Denver!Two. “Then why don’t we just kill all of you, and place you in virtual storage?”

Denver!Two approached the plasma barrier. He ran his fingers along it, letting it ripple like water. “Because then they’ll run a second tier test, where they’ll determine that our consciousnesses maintain coherence. They know that a dead body doesn’t mean dead. They’re just prioritizing physical substrates until the base reality phase is over.”

“They’re going to great lengths to destroy you,” Liselot pointed out. “Is there any information about them you can give us? Maybe you’re not lying, maybe you just forgot. If we knew where they were, she wouldn’t be cutting into him right now.”

Sugar sighed and went back to the post mortem, but she stopped again right away. “I’m done cutting into him. This is getting us nowhere. It was a bad call.”

Denver held up his hands defensively. “Hey, you wanted us to give you possible countermeasures. You didn’t accept an answer of nothing, so he came up with something. No one promised that it would work.”

Sugar snapped her gloves off and threw them into the hazard bin melodramatically as she stepped towards Denver!Two. “They know when you’re alive. You said it yourself, you’re sending a signal. If a signal is being sent, it can be traced. You just have to know where to look.” She turned her head to face Denver!One’s body again. “The brain is the most logical place to look, followed by the heart.” She stared at it for a moment before facing the second Denver again. “Any other ideas?”

“You think I don’t wanna help?” Denver!Two questioned. “You’re the only one who might have a shot against these people. I want it to stop as much as you. I’ve given you all I got. They’re from your side of the void, they have time tech. That’s all I know. I don’t even know why they hate me so much. I’m important, but I’m not a threat.”

“If they have time tech,” Sugar reasoned, “maybe you are.”

“Ah,” Denver!Two said, nodding his head. “You think I’m Teen Hitler.”

“I never said that,” Sugar volleyed.

“You didn’t have to.”

“Which one was Hitler again?” Liselot asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” Sugar said to her. “For now...I’m gonna turn him back on.” She went over to the terminal and reengaged the virtual interface. “Denver. Denver!One. Come in Denver!One, are you there?”

The bulge in the blanket stirred. A pair of hands reached out and pulled the sheets out of the way. Denver!One started kicking at them aimlessly like a tardigrade stuck between two microscope slides trying to get away from its own waste. He groaned. “Who dares wake the sleeping giant?”

“You’re not real, you don’t need to sleep,” Sugar complained. “Wake up.”

Denver!One groaned again as he gradually lifted his hand. As soon as he snapped his fingers, the bed was gone, he was vertical, and fully dressed, smiling into the camera. “I’m awake, mom, but I’m not going to school today. I need a personal day.”

“I looked at your brain,” Sugar informed him. “I saw nothing. Whatever signal you’re sending, I don’t know where it’s coming from.”

“Well, we tried.” Denver!One snapped his fingers again and generated a beach. He took off his shirt and pants and plopped down into a hammock. “Now, if that’s all...”

“Ambition,” Sugar said simply.

“What’s that now?” Denver!Two asked from his cell.

“That’s what I see when I look in your eyes,” Sugar answered. “Any of your eyes,” she added. “I don’t see someone who would rather lounge about in a simulation than be out there, doing things. There’s something you’re not telling me—something vital, which could blow this whole case wide open. So out with it, or I take control over your sim, and lock you into a Foggy Forest environment forever. No hammocks, no sleeping.”

“Kindness,” Denver!Two said. “Kindness and patience. That’s what we see when we look into your eyes. You wouldn’t torment him like that.”

Sugar turned around and tapped on the interface. Denver!One fell on his ass when the hammock disappeared, along with the beach and water. He was in the middle of the woods. It wasn’t haunted, because ghosts weren’t real, but it looked like it was, and given enough time, it would start to feel that way too. “Kindness for innocents”

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” Denver!One said quickly. “Just put me back.”

“Shut up, Denver,” Denver!Two scolded.

“You’re not the one trapped in here,” Denver!One spat back.

“And whose fault is that?” Denver!Two asked rhetorically.

“Our parents,” Denver!One said. “Valencia Raddle and Omega Parker. They had me, and changed their name so we would all have the same one. I have many enemies of my own, but none which would do what they’re doing. I stay out of Milky Way politics, but my parents didn’t, and their actions followed me to Miridir. They think hurting me will hurt them, which will hurt their true enemy, the Extremus.”

“The Extremus?” Liselot questioned. “The generation ship that left Gatewood 300 years ago.”

“The history is complicated,” Denver!One went on. “A faction broke off, and settled 16,000 light years from the Core Worlds. There was a quiet war, which despite seemingly insurmountable odds, the Exins lost. My parents were instrumental in turning the tide. Don’t ask for details, I don’t have them.”

“The Exin Empire,” Sugar echoed. “So you do know where they are.”

Denver!One shook his head. “No. They’re not in the Goldilocks Empire. I already checked. The empire is fractured, and I believe one new faction has moved off somewhere else. That’s why I came to Bida. I was going to use it as my base of operations while I looked for the Exins, but I...woke the sleeping giant. They started going after me, and at some point, they realized I was a dupe, so they sent more. I really wish I could tell you how they’re finding me.”

“There’s still one question none of this answers,” Sugar began. “Why do it like this? There’s overkill, and then there’s this; it’s ridiculous. Why not just send an assassin to shoot you in the heads? It’s obviously not working, yet they’re still trying?”

“Well, they have not tried in hours,” Liselot pointed out. “Not since we killed one.”

Sugar nodded as she was trying to work through the problem. She looked back at the screen. “You said you didn’t know how they were tracking you, and I didn’t find any means of doing it either. But there is one way that we would not be able to trace back to them because it doesn’t require you to have anything on you but your own mind.”

“What would this be?” Liselot asked.

Sugar remained in her head for a moment. Then she switched off the interface, and strode over to close the physical door to Denver!Two’s cell. She looked at Liselot. “These aren’t the kind of duplicates that you’ve heard of. In your world, if you want to make a copy of yourself, you just clone or bioprint a new body, then Control-C yourself into it. When you do that, you’re just copying the data, and it doesn’t maintain any connection to the original.”

Sugar hurried over to Liselot and teleported them both to her main lab on the other side of the planet. She started turning on the machinery that she needed. “Quantum entanglement, spooky action at a distance; these are the phenomena we use to make faster-than-light communication work, even if you don’t have time travel technology. When Denver copies himself, he doesn’t just make a clone. He pulls a version of himself from a temporary parallel reality, and to reach that microreality, he has to quantum tunnel to it. That leaves a mark.”

“I’m following you for the most part,” Liselot admitted, “but I can’t see where it’s going. What does this all mean?”

Sugar stepped into the recess in the wall and lowered the brainscanner over her head. She pointed. “I need you to push that purple button for me.”

“Okay.” Liselot dutifully went over and pressed the button.

After a few seconds, a figure appeared in the imaging chamber. Pribadium Delgado looked around until she spotted Sugar. “You called? I’m kinda busy.”

“I just needed to check our connection,” Sugar said to her alternate self. “Do you know the range of this thing? I need to find someone else, and they may be farther away. I built the tunneler, but I think you modified it after my last save state.”

“It sends signals through the bulk now,” Pribadium answered. “Unlimited range.”

Sugar smiled. “Perfect. Thank me.”

“I’m welcome!” Pribadium’s image shut off.

“That was who you used to be?” Liselot asked.

“It’s more like I’m who she used to be,” Sugar explained. “Give me a moment.”

Sugar disappeared for a few seconds before returning with Denver!Two. She not-so-gently shoved him into the tunneler. “Don’t move. There are twenty-one more of you in hock that I can use for this, so don’t think I will be afraid to use deadly force.”

Denver looked around. “I don’t know what this is.”

“I know how they’re finding you,” Sugar said, “because I know who they are. I know who he is. He must have a machine not unlike this wherever he is.”

“I don’t understand,” Denver!Two claimed.

“I hope that’s true, or we would have a lot more enemies than we thought.” Sugar reinitiated the tunneler. It took a little doing, because it mostly tried to redirect them to the other twenty-two Denvers on this planet, including the one that was living disembodied in a simulation. Finally, though, she was able to force it to ignore those, and find the one she was looking for.

The imager turned back on. A twenty-fourth Denver showed up. He looked a little surprised to be there, but not shocked or nervous. “Clever girl.”

“You’re trying to kill yourself,” Sugar accused. “Why?”

“Yeah, why?” Denver!Two questioned. He tried to step off of his perch.

“No,” Sugar demanded. “Stay there or we lose the connection.” She approached the newest Denver. “What’s your beef with your alternates?”

The evil Denver shrugged like it was obvious. “They’re my alternates. They threaten my power. There should only be one Denver Strong.”

“But KBHs?” Sugar pressed. “Why go through all this trouble?”

She decided to call him Denver!Zero in her headcanon. Denver!Zero smirked. “Anyone capable of fending off a KBH attack is also a threat. I was trying to kill a billion birds with a hundred stones.”

“It’s not working, you didn’t kill anybody,” Sugar contended.

“Except for innocent plants and animals, like the uquirakind,” Liselot added.

Denver!Zero reached past the hologram’s field of view and retrieved a cup. He sipped it coolly. “I feel nothing, killing a mortal. If you don’t have the good sense to back your mind up remotely, you don’t deserve to live. At worst, I took a hundred years off their lives. That’s nothing to people like us, so who cares? Believe it or not, the KBHs, as you call them, were incredibly easy to send. Every time you push one back, it just goes somewhere else. Then they push it back, and someone pushes it to someone else. It’s like a game of Cosmic Ultimate Frisbee. You were doing my work for me, and they would have succeeded eventually. I’m a patient man.”

“Where are they now?” Liselot asked him. “We’ve not had to push them back for a while.”

“Such an eager beaver.” Denver!Zero laughed. “You want more black holes, I’ll send you more black holes.”

“We want it to stop,” Sugar demanded. “Forever.”

“I understand,” Denver!Zero replied. “How about I send you twenty-three more—no, only twenty-two—I’ll give you a freebie. For every Denver you kill, I’ll take a KBH away. Does that sound fair? Aiming black holes isn’t easy, but I think if I send you that many, one should end up destroying your base.”

“We’re shielded,” Sugar warned.

“We’ll see how well that holds up,” Denver!Zero decided. He turned off the imager.

Denver!Two finally stepped off the perch. “Were you bluffing? Will the shields hold up, or no?”

“Probably not,” Sugar admitted. “Fortunately for you, now that I know what the problem is, I can fix it. I wish you had been more honest earlier. No, I wish you had been honest at all, because you didn’t tell me jack shit.”

They all jumped back to medhock, where Sugar retrieved the drive storing Denver!One’s IDCode. Then they jumped over to regular hock, where the other Denvers were in their respective cells. She evacuated them all back to her ship’s hock. They were not happy about still being locked up, but they couldn’t be trusted.

The KBHs started coming. They appeared from all angles, and started ripping the planets apart. Before Sugar could jam up all quantum signals, one of them clipped the ship, and started unraveling it. They were lucky as hell. It left everyone alive, and all major systems operational. They were just now strung out. Fearing it could get worse, though, she teleported to outside the star system. They watched the Kugelblitz black holes ravage the worlds, pulling them apart, and rendering the entire area uninhabitable, even by modest standards.

“Hm,” Sugar said with a light chuckle.

“What?” Liselot asked.

“It really does look like...spaghetti.”

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Microstory 2795: It’s a Short One Today

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Things have been going pretty smoothly for the last few weeks. The surface has been quiet, the solar system has been quiet. Automators are hard at work, cooling the region that was once known as Eyrenland. It won’t be instantaneous, but it will be habitable once again someday. They have to work this fast, because the intense heat is causing the region to grow. Or at least, that’s what it’s trying to do. The process will help the world overall recuperate after the damage.

Quiratan is still not the size Eyrenland was, but it’s getting there, and it won’t even take that long. It’s in a sort of fungal process, spreading outwards from the graveyard at an incredible rate. It’s not breaking the laws of physics, but it’s unstoppable. Most of the former Eyrenland farmers are working these fields now. It doesn’t quite need all of them—they have a lot of downtime—but they will eventually be spread more thin. Some of the original Quiratan farmers are not happy. Eyren wasn’t their only produce, but their others have all been literally taken over. The fungal uquira network feeds off of the carrots, potatoes, tomatoes, and everything else. It steals their nutrients, and then it consumes the plants themselves. It’s relentless and indiscriminate, and there is really nothing that anyone can do about it.

Centuries ago, scientists worked really hard to make Bidan land support the kind of crops that humans were used to eating, but uquirakind are native to this world. Jande has been stressing to these people that, if the uquira want to expropriate the land for themselves, they should kind of be allowed to do that. That is an important tenet of the Bidan culture, to be good stewards of the ecology. Humans will always be visitors here, no matter how many generations are born under this sky.

Speaking of sky, Jande has delegated the farming issue to the new Axiom of Eggs, Zanele, who has the most experience with it, and he trusts her. Instead, he has been focusing most of his attention on building out their orbital defense grid. It’s something they should have had this whole time. Qishra was great while it still existed, but it was not sentient. It wasn’t protecting them on purpose. There is plenty of danger in this system, whether anyone attacks them on purpose or not. They got complacent. This world was designed for them, and they took that for granted, not considering the fact that nothing lasts forever, just as the former Axiom of Safety, Anso Merritt would say.

Anso is out, and Dare Finnian is in. He would not have been Jande’s first choice, but once Zanele took Eggs and Ersence took Astronomy, he started reading the agreement more closely, which led it to the original charter. There was one extra option that Tamerlane didn’t even seem to realize since he didn’t dig this deep. It was called an Axiom-in-Holding, where the candidate automatically gets any position that opens up, regardless of the state of the position beforehand, or even whether it existed. He even got to name it himself, and chose Axiom of War because he thought it sounded cooler. Jande has been putting a lot of effort into keeping Dare from going off the rails. They have been having daily meetings to discuss their strategy.

“No, no, no,” Jande argues. “That would not help anything. If we add weapons to our array that only work on ships, we’re asking anyone who comes here to fear us. It’s still about defense, that’s it. We don’t even know if we truly have an enemy.”

“Oh, we have an enemy, and I’m the only one who is willing to do what it takes to stop them,” Dare volleys. “Step to the side. Let me do my job. Keep your hands clean.”

“Dare, I’ll give you permission—” he begins before the scene suddenly changes.

“—if you can prove to me what the threat is,” Jande finishes, but Dare isn’t in front of him anymore to hear it. He looks around. He’s on some kind of ship now, but he has no idea where. Someone teleported him again.

“Superintendent Jande Ter Avest?” a woman asks. “My name is Sugar Delgado, and you’re on The Spago. We need your help. The enemy is at the gates.”

Microstory 2794: Your Position Has Been Eliminated as Part of an Organizational Restructuring

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The competition has ended. The audience was rather disappointed about the anticlimax, but Bida needs leadership now. According to intelligence picked up by Vantu Hidayat’s ship, the black holes that kept appearing throughout Tau Ceti space, and once in the atmosphere, were not accidental. They were sent by some mysterious enemy. Van assures the people of this planet that they weren’t even the target, but just got caught in the proverbial crossfire. He also says that the attacks will stop now that the real target has been moved to a new location. He seems to be right about that...for now.

Tamerlane Pryce is not entirely convinced. He does not claim to know who this enemy is, but one which would be willing to wipe out tens of millions of people without even a hint of diplomacy is a permanent threat. It’s hard to argue with his logic. This world technically has a central government, but it operates like the wild west in many respects. Many families, and even individuals, live on homesteads, or wander around as nomads. They don’t need true governance most of the time, which is why the First Axiom’s primary responsibility is mediating minor land disputes.

There is no Axiom of Foreign Affairs. There’s an Axiom of Eggs, who handles eyren exports, but the star system is protected by a small fleet of Teaguardians. And they’re mostly not even Bidans. Out of all protected worlds, the ships here are manned by the fewest number of local conscripts, and in fact, Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida has no other permanent population in orbit. If you’re here, it’s because you want to live on the surface. If you want to live in space, well, you can do that anywhere, such as Sol or Vega.

Jande and Tamerlane have a meeting today with all of the Axioms, but Jande wants to meet with one in particular ahead of time. The Safety Department is the closest thing this planet has to a police force. Theoretically, if a crime were to be committed, they would step up to investigate and process, but it’s just so hard to break a law. There aren’t many to break. Even if someone had a predilection for murder, the victim’s mind would simply transfer to a backup, allowing them to accuse the attacker right away. Most residents want to be left alone so they stay out of trouble too. That’s kind of the name of the game here. Bida isn’t for everyone. It’s mostly for individualists.

“What can I do for you, Superintendent?” Axiom of Safety Anso Merritt asks.

“Hm.” Jande narrows his eyes just a little. “I’ve spoken with a few other civil servants already. There is always at least a hint of sarcasm in the way they address me.”

“Well...” Anso begins. “This is Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida. We’re a well-oiled machine. Many of my compatriots might think they earned their spot by dedicating their lives to it, but no one lasts more than a couple decades, and there’s very little work to be done anyway. Maybe they feel threatened by you, like you’re about to fire them all.”

“I assure you, I have no intention of removing anyone from duty,” Jande says sincerely. “There were two positions to backfill, they were backfilled. That’s all for now.”

Anso nods. “All I’m saying, even if you did drain the swamp, so to speak, it would be no big deal. Everything is temporary. Even you and I, we are only droplets in the River of Creation. We splash into the air for a brief moment, but then we return to the mixture. We still exist, just not as distinct individuals.” He smiles. “Atomah welcomes.”

He speaks of the creator god of this planet, as conceived in the most common religion here. Atomah leapt into an impossibly deep and impossibly fast river, which triggered the creation of the star system, or something like that. Jande doesn’t believe, so he’s not too familiar. Though, religion and science live together in harmony on Bida, which he appreciates on principle.

Most think the reason Bidans were able to return to religion was because enough science had been explored, with all meaningful daily friction being surmountable if so desired. It’s not about using metaphor to explain something that already has an explanation. It’s about creating comforting stories while not worrying about the true, mundane structure supporting it underneath. Some require more of that comfort to face the infinite expanse of time that lies before them in their now immortal lives. It’s why Ersence’s people are godless. They need science more than anyone, because in their fragile mortal bodies, it is only science which can keep them alive literally.

Anso smiles warmly. “I see that I have engendered a moment of introspection.”

Jande shakes it off, and for some reason, doesn’t want Anso to know it’s true, so he skips to the takeaway. “I did not realize you were such a religious man. I recognize your ability to do your job as it stands. Protecting others is the highest calling, and I don’t need a god to believe that. What I need is someone who is willing to take things a step further. There has been no war in this galaxy for hundreds of years. I fear that time is coming to an end. We in the stellar neighborhood all love and accept each other, even amidst persistent struggle, but as vonearthans expand, and time marches ever forwards, our values diverge. We may be on the precipice of a new era.”

“The interstellar enemy,” Anso agrees. “None has existed before.”

“That’s right,” Jande confirms. “There have always only been eleven Axioms on Bida. It’s almost sacred. I’m not sure whether it’s best to add a new department entirely to strategize against this new threat, or ask one of the others to pick up more responsibilities. You would be the obvious choice, but an aversion to violence—”

“Would not be tolerated in an Axiom of War,” Anso interrupts.

“I was thinking maybe Axiom of Defense. It’s not the same.”

Anso sits down, leans back, and relaxes. “You’re right. I would not be a good fit for the job. My current position has traditionally been more of an afterthought than a necessity, unlike the Axioms of Energy or Conservation. I have been doing this for a little over a decade now. That’s long enough. Unless you think this unseen enemy could stoke internal distrust among our people, I say shutter Safety, and add Defense. And use that opportunity to appoint a new Axiom. I don’t know the scope of your power. Can you declare it unilaterally, or would you only manage the election?”

“My understanding is that I get to choose,” Jande answers. “I’m still reading through the handbook. It’s a little...dated.”

“Well, if it’s easier, I can resign. Then it becomes my fault you have to find someone new, and since it will be vacant anyway, you can tell the people that the title and job description are changing along with it. Timing is everything. If you already have a plan, it will look like you conspired to get rid of me, but if you take forever to create it, you could look incompetent. We’ll keep talking before my blind suicide.”

“Blind suicide?” Jande questions.

“Yeah, you don’t select a substrate to transition to. You basically send your mind into the quantum network, and it transfers you somewhere pseudorandomly.”

“Hmm.” Jande reflects on the past. “Is there any way to tell if someone did that?”

Microstory 2793: Okay, So They Are Bloodthirsty Now

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Article 5, Section 6, Subsection (c), Clause (vii). That is a mouthful, and no one knows what it says by heart, so Ersence leads the charge to the wall terminal to find out if the agreement is accessible. “It says I need authorization for network access.”

Van tilts his head back a little bit. “Okay, they’ve granted it. Go ahead.”

Ersence navigates to her private portal and pulls up the document. “Article five, section six, subsection-c, clause v-i-i.” She clears her throat. “Anycandidate, at any time, may end the selection process immediately upon declaration of a prevailing qualifier.” Ersence leans back a little. “Declaration of a prevailing qualifier. That just sounds like the competition ends when someone is chosen. Sure, it talks about any candidate, but there’s not even any connective tissue between the candidate who ends it and the candidate who wins it. I mean, this could be interpreted a number of ways, and it’s buried in the document so deep, no one would have caught it.”

“I caught it,” Tamerlane says. “I always read every agreement I get before I sign.”

“Then you obviously didn’t understand it,” Ximena points out, “or you would have declared yourself the winner long before any of us had the chance.”

“First of all,” Tamerlane begins, “Van only gave you the part that explains the result, not the lead-up. Earlier language specifies that at least one candidate must be removed from consideration before this clause is triggered. Second of all, I never wanted to be Superintendent, so even after Eyrenlander Number One fell off his platform, I stayed quiet. I have been waiting for someone else to do it. I had money on Jande.”

“Why are you here, wasting our time?” Zanele questions. “If you don’t want it...?”

“Because I just wanted to be Deputy Superintendent,” Tamerlane explains. “I declare myself Deputy Superintendent of Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida.”

“So it shall be,” Van affirms.

“Oh my God!” Haoran complains. “You can do that too?”

“That’s in a different clause,” Tamerlane says. “Always read the contract.”

“What was the point of any of this?” Kool questions. “If anyone can just say that they’ve won, why did you hold a competition at all? Jande has had a little time to prove himself, but he could have had almost none after that Eyrenlander fell.”

“You weren’t the only applicants,” Van says. “You were only the ones who received a supermajority of votes from the citizens of Bida. It was a silent vote. That’s why we asked you to wait two days before announcing your candidacy. Thousands of others applied; none of them voted either, and anyone who didn’t apply got to vote for who they wanted in the running. You’re all winners.”

“That’s not true,” Dare points out. “Nine of us lost, only two of us won.”

“Not necessarily. How many positions of power are left?” Ersence asks Van.

“As many vacant positions as there are on Bida at this very moment,” he answers.

“Does anyone remember what they are?” Dare looks over at Tamerlane. “You?”

Tamerlane only shrugs his shoulders.

Haoran gets too close to breaking his medical oath when he shoulder-checks Ersence out of the way so he can look it up. He’s not the only one to think that way. Kool, Ximena, and even Zanele start fighting for access to the terminal, hoping to read the list one second before anyone else, allowing them to declare their consolation prize.

The commotion stops when the terminal shuts off entirely. Dare is on his knees, holding the main power supply in one hand. He stands. “Jande. Put a stop to this.”

“He can’t make any decisions,” Van claims. “He has not been sworn in yet. Until he has, all positions are up for grabs, according to the agreement.”

“All positions?” Dare asks.

Everyone freezes.

“Now, hold on,” Jande says, backing away slowly. “You had your chance to kill me, and you didn’t do it. Nothing has changed. The prize is still the same.”

“Yeah. That was you,” Ersence reasons as she’s matching his pace.

Dare, Ximena, Priscilla, and Mireline walk towards him menacingly too.

“We like you, Jan,” Ersence goes on. “You’re a good man. Now we have another option. It wouldn’t be the top spot, but it’s better than nothing.”

Jande steps between Tamerlane and everyone else. “You’re right, I am good, which is why I’m not gonna let you kill anyone. Not even he deserves that.”

“Oh, come on,” Dare argues. “Get real. It’s 2565. Do you actually think that anyone’s dying permanently? Murder isn’t legal anywhere, not even on Castlebourne. In fact, no state condones death at all. He’ll be fine. It will only hurt for a second.”

“You’re outnumbered,” Mireline warns. “This won’t be hard.”

Tamerlane gently takes Jande by the shoulders. “I appreciate what you’re doing. But the big guy in back will protect me.”

Everyone turns around, and when they do, Tamerlane teleports Jande away.

That’s the second time someone has done that to Jande, and he isn’t used to it yet. He separates himself from Tamerlane and turns around. “How did you sneak in the tech you would need for that? They didn’t even let us have communicators.”

Tamerlane chuckles. “It’s not technology, it’s neurology. These people can force me into any substrate they want, but they can’t stop me from using my powers.”

Jande nods, catches his breath, and gets a look around. “Is this your ship?”

“Yeah, it’s not much, but it gets me where I need to go,” Tamerlane answers.

Jande steps over and takes it upon himself to open the nearest viewport. They’re in orbit over Bida. He presses his face against the glass to get a look around. “We’re not spinning.” He stands up straight and oscillates his knees. “How are we not spinning?”

Tamerlane smiles. “Now that is tech. Artificial gravity is nowhere near ubiquitous, but it’s gaining traction. I’m not in what you would call the inner circle, but I’m not in general population either, so a friend procured it for me.”

“Teleportation, AG; this is Teagarden-tier power. And the Teaguardians have faster-than-light. If you’re on par with them, why are you slumming it here on the Core Worlds? You could rule your own colony on the Frontier, and you wouldn’t need permission. You simply get there first with some seed plates, and start fresh.”

“That’s something a megalomaniac would do,” Tamerlane begins. “I don’t want power for the sake of it, I want to protect. I want to make up for the sins of my alternate self. This world is even more sacred than you were raised to believe. Some very fine people put their blood, sweat, and tears into building it, and it’s on the verge of destruction. The KBH that destroyed Eyrenland? It was only the beginning.”

“And you think I’m up for a job that you didn’t even want yourself?”

Tamerlane offers a hand to shake. “I think we can do it...together.”

Microstory 2792: He’s Just Going to Declare Himself the Winner

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Jande only has one shot at this. If he misses, the drone flies off, and he may never get an answer. But there appear to be no rules to this game, and they seem to like it when the candidates improvise. There were no real weapons in the car, except for a small tool that Jande believes is meant to break the glass in case of emergency. He would have rather had a tire iron, but he took this little thing with him just the same. While the drone is still hovering in front of his face, Jande carefully slips his hand in his pocket, then pulls it out as fast as possible. He jams it into one of the rotors, and holds it down. Some drones are strong enough to lift a full-grown man into the air. Not this one.

The drone tries to escape, but it’s damaged and not strong enough. Jande lifts his legs in the air and takes hold of it with his knees like they’re making love. He wrenches the tool out and starts bashing the drone’s casing as hard as he can, as many times as he must, until the machine stops buzzing. Now he can relax and set it on the ground below him. The camera is still operational. “Citizens and visitors of Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida. I don’t think these people are being honest with us. I’m tired of runnin’ around, and gettin’ the runaround.” He yanks the navigation chip out of its port and smiles at the lens. “I’m gonna find some answers, you best believe that.”

After Jande smashes the camera, he starts tinkering away. This is not a particularly sophisticated model, but it’s also not designed to do what he needs. The navigational data is for internal and remote use, but the information is on the chip, which means it can be accessed if you create the right interface. He won’t be able to open and close menus, but he’ll find out what he needs eventually, with enough power cycling.

He jury-rigs a connection between the chip and the holographic projector because that’s the easiest readout to access. It projects the image onto the trunk of a nearby tree. He has to adjust the angle and proximity a little, but he gets a clear enough picture. He knows exactly where he is on the planet. It is probably the farthest you can be from Quiratan, and that doesn’t make much sense. The fastest vehicle or vessel can’t move them fast enough to be transported this far without knocking them out first. If they had been moved this distance while they were awake, everyone would have noticed, because it would have taken forever. They’re messing with time somehow, or rather their perception of it. In fact, none of this might even be real. It could be a simulation.

There was some water and emergency food in the drone’s payload. It’s not very satisfying, but it will get him through the next task. He leaves the mess on the ground, and makes the trek back to the car. It turns out to be a lot closer than he thought. He was not moving fast when he was starving and weak, and he probably zig-zagged a ton on the way. He gets back in the car, and retraces his steps back down the highway.

When Jande pulls back into the Vector stadium parking lot, he comes up to a gray van. Van, as in the man, is standing on the side of it holding an open umbrella. “It’s a clear day,” Jande points out as he’s stepping out of his own car. “It won’t rain.”

“Not here,” Van says. “I have somewhere else to be soon, though, and I’m starting to suspect that you have your mind on being there too. Tell me, when you broke the drone, did you find what you were looking for? Did you get your answers?”

“Why are we so far from Quiratan? What do you have planned?” All of this infrastructure could have been found, or as easily built, closer to home. They too have Vector fields. There was no reason to set it up all the way out here. Either he’s up against a huge conspiracy, or this is all a test. Either way, he can’t accept his current circumstances anymore. The deaths, the completely arbitrary challenges—it ends today. For him, anyway. He’s done with all this, not because they tried to kill him, but because something is not right, and he doesn’t have to be a superintendent to figure it out.

“I need to know your intentions,” Van says. “What do you want?”

“I want to quit this contest,” Jande replies. “I want to go back home, and back to my old life. As long as I can keep farming my land, I don’t care who’s in charge.”

Van’s lips stretch into a smile. He holds his hand out. “Take my hand.”

“I’m not looking for another spouse at this time,” Jande can’t help but joke.

Van’s smile widens. “Take it. You want answers, you got it, but you’re gonna have to take a leap of faith. No one’s watching right now. That drone you destroyed was the last broadcast camera we had online. It’s not over, but we’re on a commercial break.”

Jande is not afraid of Vantu’s hand, per se. It’s suspicious, though, why he should need to touch it. And what is up with that umbrella? Still, he’s intrigued, so he takes it.

The first thing Jande notices is the rain. One second, it’s perfectly dry and warm, then the next it’s pouring rain and somewhat chilly. He looks around, and recognizes his environment. This is Quiratan. He’s back where he belongs, and it only took a second. He steps a little closer so he’s more under the umbrella. “Gatewood,” he says to Van. “They say Gatewood has teleportation, like...beam me up, Scotty and all that shit.”

“They do,” Van acknowledges.

“You stole it from them?”

Van laughs. “Gatewood didn’t invent nothin’. Teleportation was a gift.” He jerks his head to the side. “My shuttle over there? Designed by one of the people who invented teleportation. We take it for granted, and if you make the right choice, you will too.”

“What choice would that be?” Jande questions.

Van jerks his head again, but more lightly this time. They start to walk through the uquira fields. “I can’t tell you what your options are, and I certainly can’t tell you what to choose. All I can do is respond. You have to decide what you want, and what you think you deserve. You tell me that, I’ll tell you what will happen because of it.”

Jande reaches down to pick a uquira steg off and starts chewing on it.

“Are those edible?” Van asks. “I wasn’t aware of that. How do they taste?”

“It depends,” Jande begins. “If you’re a baseline human, the frass is toxic. You’ll start to convulse and throw up uncontrollably until your intestines twist up so bad, you wouldn’t be able to eat anymore, even if you could hold a fork steady.” He manages to crack the shell. He spits it into his hands, dumps the remaining frass out so he can discard the shell pieces, then releases the frass into the wind.

“I was told uquira propagates differently, by firing seeds at each other,” Van says.

“That’s exactly what they do,” Jande confirms. He wipes the last of the frass and shell debris off of his tongue so they don’t poison him. “I’m not planting, I’m enriching the soil. It’s basically a natural fertilizer. Uquirakind are a self-sustaining ecology.” He stops and faces Van head on. “You were saying that it’s up to me to make my choice.”

“That’s right,” Van agrees. “What choice are you making, sir?”

“I want to be Superintendent,” Jande says confidently, “and I do not want to compete for it. It’s just me. I win, no questions asked, no arguments. It simply is.”

Van nods as he breathes the fresh air...and the frass. “Done.”