Microstory 2786: The First to Fall

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Tamerlane Pryce. That is the name of the mysterious last-minute addition to the candidate pool. Jande knows that name. Everyone on Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida knows it, and probably beyond. In the early days of colonization, he was responsible for an ambitious—but ultimately abandoned—planetary project. Back on Earth in the ancient days, they used to have these things called zoos. They locked animals in cages, and let people gawk at them. Over time, various state regulations attempted to make these facilities more and more ethical, and that pattern never really stopped.

Zoos were eventually outlawed, replaced with less harmful methods of using animals as entertainment, but these weren’t all that great either. They were a lot better, but still dangerous, and in some cases, still exploitative. Space colonization sat on the cusp of basically doing away with the animal entertainment industry altogether. It was ultimately replaced with simulated environments, but the early Bidans didn’t know that at the time. They figured the best way not to disturb animals was to pretend to be them.

Pryce was placed in charge of cataloging every species on the planet, and developing the mind transference technology that would allow a user to become whatever creature they wanted, and live amongst the native population. The project didn’t last long. There was such fierce backlash that they shuttered the program, and transitioned the world to a less invasive culture. Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida is what it is today because early settlers were very deliberately trying to avoid Pryce’s vision. They live in harmony with the fauna now. Many believe they owe Pryce everything, but that’s a bit of a stretch. The question is, where has he been all this time?

“I’m not the Pryce you know,” Tamerlane explains as Van is introducing the rest of the contenders. “It would be hard to explain to you, but in your terms, I’m a dupe. I never did what the history books said I did. That was all someone else. But I was informed that I have always been entitled to a piece of the pie, so I’m here now.”

“And finally,” Van announces, “Jande Ter Avest!”

Jande steps forward and waves at the crowd and cameras. What is he doing?

“As you can see folks,” Van goes on, “they’re all very confused. To them, it has only been a few hours. That is by design. We want them to be disoriented. We want them to be a little shaky. It will make them want it more. And what is it they want?”

“Oversight!” the audience yells, as if they rehearsed it, which they probably have.

Jande is getting the feeling that this is not the first episode of this reality show. They probably produced a whole introduction while the candidates were dead.

“Oversight, that’s right!” Van agrees. “They wanna be the fabled Superintendent. Now, lots of cultures have this rank. It scales however high you want. But from what we read in the charter, Bida does things a little differently.” He’s a lot more charismatic than he seemed when Jande first met him. “Most Superintendents are there just in case. They’re all about staffing. If someone gets out of line, and bureaucracy is too slow to correct them, they can step in and push them out. This means that a Superintendent has to be above reproach, so it’s pretty important that deciders get it right.

“It’s even more important for us, because the Bidan Superintendent will have a great deal of responsibilities, and even more power. We’ll get to that as the competition heats up. Hint-hint, wink-wink. But for now, candidates...we need to see where you stand.” He waits a moment. “Seriously, look down. Where do you stand?”

Jande looks down at the floor. A glowing number 1 is now under his feet.

“Say it out loud! Say it proud! Where do you stand!” Van encourages.

Most of the candidates call out their numbers, and they are all weird. They don’t go from 1 to 11. They go as high as 815, which is where Dare Finnian sits.

“This is your qualified rating, or QR. Now, we’re really excited about the QR, because it’s not actually in the charter. It was very vague about this, but we came up with a scoring system between one and eight-fifty. Everyone is starting in a different place, because you all have pasts. As you can see, the Quiratani are ranked significantly higher, but they won’t stay that way for long.” He lowers the mic and looks over at the closest drone camera, which is of a different design than the others. “Can we drop ‘em?”

Part of the floor starts collapsing into nanites, leaving only circular platforms underneath everyone. One of the Eyrenlanders is too far away from his number, and he slips over the edge. He has to grab on for dear life, or he’ll fall to his death.

Dare hops over to Pryce’s platform, then to the Eyrenlander’s, and helps him up.

“Ah, look at that!” Van notes. “They still think they’re friends!” He nods, and looks up at a leaderboard that has appeared in the sky. “Survey says...850! This is a competition, people. If you die, you’re done. There is no helping. There is no empathy. There is no mercy,” he adds in a grittier voice. “Hey, I don’t make the rules.”

Dare jumps back over to his own platform, head literally held high, unashamed.

Van waits for him to finish up. “Okay. That will not be the last time we see someone go over. The first challenge has just about begun. Candidates, I recommend you move to the centermost spot. It’s simple, but deadly. The game is called Still Hunter. The more you move, which doesn’t include blinking, swallowing, or facial tics, the more your platform will fall away. Eventually, you run out of platform, so don’t...move. The challenge doesn’t end until our first death. I’ll give you a few minutes to scratch your itches and do a little stretching, and then we’ll start the clock. Oh, wait, what’s this?”

A woman who is neither Quiratani nor Eyrenlander has jumped off of her platform, and grabbed onto someone else’s shaft. She survived, and is now sliding down.

“Looks like we have a runner,” Van explains. “I’ll have to confer with my associates so we can figure out what we’re gonna do here. In the meantime, I hope you’re all situated, because the clock starts in four, three, two, aaaaaand go!”

Jande does not remember the escape artist’s name, but he’ll learn it because she never leaves the arena. She walks back in an hour later with her head hung low. “They won’t let me quit. I failed to read the fine print.” She goes back to her post to suffer a penalty for trying to leave. She has to stand on one leg for twice as long as she was gone.

The gamemakers probably expected the challenge to last a lot longer than it does, which is what you get for only making it last until the first person falls. One of the cocky Eyrenlanders cannot stop moving. He appears to be particularly not well-suited for a baseline human body. He unwillingly chips away at his platform little by little. It turns to dust and sloughs off in inconsistent volumes. Only five minutes after the attempted quitter’s return, he loses his footing, and plummets to his death.

The competition has taken its first casualty. At the end, Jande has retained his rank, having barely lost any of his platform. Dare, on the other hand, lost none of it at all, and jumped up to second place with a new score of 24. He is the biggest threat now.

Microstory 2785: It’s Actually About the Whole Planet

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As people are activated in their pods one by one, Jande steps up and takes charge. He asks about everyone’s experience. They all had the same one—the exact same one. The room looked the same, the executioners were the same, even the audience sounded identical, save for their loved ones, who were swapped out respectively. Even the loners saw their parents, or someone else they once cared about. It’s unlikely that some were brought here on such short notice. Quantum casting is relatively easy, but people have their own lives, and the real slowdown would be explaining that this was a performative execution, and they should remain stoic the whole time while they watched.

For the most part, the contestants are fine with Jande playing the leader for now. They still think he was part of the operation from minute one, and they’re hoping he will share what he knows. It’s a fine line he’s walking here, letting them think that just enough to keep them cooperative, but not so much that it paints a target on his back.

They’re all wearing their birthday suits, and it’s rather cold in this room. It’s not until the last pod opens that a wall parts in half, revealing a hidden doorway. The other side is a locker room. It’s even colder, but they find clothes. They are t-shirts, shorts, and skirts, but they’re better than nothing. They get dressed, then start to look around for clues. There is nowhere to sit, which is weird for a locker room, and also frustrating because they’re still wobbly from the mind transference process.

Even the pros say it’s hard on them, probably because this is the weakest they have ever been. Jande spent all that time working out because he didn’t know this would happen. He already was in a baseline model. He should have realized that the coordinators don’t just want them to be unenhanced; they want them to be evenly matched. They’re all slender and lanky, but also short now. Everyone is pushing each other to get to the one mirror, but Jande doesn’t spend too much time in front of it. He’s uncomfortable, seeing himself with the same face but a wildly different body.

Ersence is running her fingers along the walls, looking for another seam for a door. She’s doing it carefully and methodically, and hasn’t used the mirror even once.

“What does it matter?” Jande asks her. “Whatever will happen will happen, and we won’t be able to control it. I think we have all seen that by now.”

Ersence doesn’t look away from her work. “We just died, I recall. I don’t like the feeling of being trapped. Everything my people want could be achieved with a rotating habitat. We could plant trees, and fill lakes. We could even have mountains. But a planet just hits harder. I don’t like enclosed spaces. If I can find a way out before these people let me out, then that’s what I’m gonna do, if you don’t mind...husband.”

“You two are married?” It’s the hermit who should not have even known that this competition was happening. “Forgive me, but, what’s the point? Are you just trying to maximize your chances? You have an 18% chance of winning, compared to my 9%?”

“Marriage is different for us,” Jande explains to the hermit. “It can be for love and partnership, but it doesn’t have to be. I mostly needed an employee.”

Ersence is not offended by this, but the hermit looks over as if in anticipation of her sadness. “Well, then I suppose my odds haven’t gone down, so that’s good.”

“Actually, they have,” an Eyrenlander jumps in. “Their odds are not only 18%. Working together gives them an advantage over whatever is coming to us. If we’re asked to push boulders up a hill, each of us is stuck alone, and it may be physically impossible in these raggedy bodies. But if you team up... Same number of people, same number of boulders, but two of us can actually get both of theirs done.”

“I just said, we are not a team,” Jande reminds the asshole Eyrenlander.

“Yeah, you did say that,” the Eyrenlander replies. “The other day, I was in a virtual construct where I told people I was a zookeeper.” He drops down to a whisper. “Wanna know a secret? I’m not really. Zoos don’t exist anymore.”

They stand in silence for a moment before the hermit breathes in and extends his hand towards Ersence. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Dare Finnian, but you can call me Dare.” He shakes Jande’s hand after hers. “Dare Finnian, call me Dare.” He starts going around the room, repeatedly saying the same thing in slightly different ways.

His ice-breaking triggers a massive wave of introductions. They don’t all shake hands, and they definitely don’t provide their life stories, but everyone gets a say. Except for one man. He’s standing off to the side, looking smug, but not making any reaction to anyone else’s words. He’s just standing there like he knows something no one else does.

Jande walks up to the mysterious stranger, who must be the last guy to register for this. “You’ve been quiet, cowboy. You got a name, or what?”

“Or what,” the man responds without blinking.

Jande looks him up and down. “You look a little familiar. Is that your real face?”

“What is real anyway?” Oh, he’s so mysterious and intriguing.

“I’m gonna need a name, sir,” Jande insists. “It’s a safety thing. No one here is anonymous, and I won’t let you be the exception, so out with it.”

“Found it!” Ersence has her hand behind a corner locker. “Here, help me.” A Bidan woman goes over and helps her remove the entire locker from its socket. Without hesitation, Ersence reaches for the recessed toggle and pulls it down.

The entire ceiling cracks in the center. The two halves lift up and away from each other. Simultaneously, the floor pushes the contestants up like an elevator, leaving the walls and lockers behind. The coordinators are truly leaning into the tropes with this thing; it happens in every movie about challengers in a deadly competition.

The floor reaches the surface, but it doesn’t stop. It keeps ascending towards the sky as a crowd of tens of thousands cheer from the stands. Jande just thought this was going to be a low-key, private matter, but it’s a spectacle. Cameras imply that they’re being watched by people all over the world, and maybe beyond. They really are taking a page out of the classics, like Gladiator and The Hunger Games series.

Not too far from their platform, a smaller one rises in tandem. Vantu Hidayat is on it alone, which is who Jande figured would serve as the third-party judge. “Assembled minds and remote viewers, thank you for bearing witness to this occasion! We have been working on this program for the last four months, and have finally reintegrated our candidates into new substrates!”

It’s been four months? It’s already spring, that’s not good.

“I know you’re all anxious to get going, but first, we have to inform the candidates of something we discovered while we were researching the charter!” Van looks over at the larger platform, and lowers his voice. “You believe that you will be competing for the fate of Quiratan, but centuries ago, it served as the first settlement on this planet. The Superintendent position would not oversee only one community. Winning this will place you in a supervisory role over all of Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida.”

Microstory 2784: He is Not Really Going to Die

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Registration is over. After one more person signs up following Ersence, they lock it down. Now the contenders are waiting for their next instructions. They still have no idea what’s in store for them, or when it’s gonna happen. They just go about their day, and go to sleep that night.

The front door creaks open. It’s the 26th century, doors don’t have to creak if you don’t want them to. Jande’s grandfather designed it to do it because that’s how history taught him. Once the world transitioned to a post-scarcity economy, people stopped having to worry about their neighbors much, but Rolof Ter Avest believed in full immersion. They’re not playing a game here, with their intentionally low-tech lives. Protecting the home has been a tried and true practice for millennia, and it doesn’t have to stop here. The creak means someone is using the door. Jande is so intimately familiar with his home that he can even tell when it’s being opened from the inside or out.

Jande is up and out of bed before the intruders can make it more than a few steps into the house. For a split second, he catches sight of Ersence still fast asleep. He reaches over the headboard and unlocks the shotgun. He swings it around and aims it at his bedroom door just as it’s opening. “Halt or catch fire!” Jande orders.

Ersence is startled awake. She curls herself up against the wall, but isn’t scared.

If the first intruder isn’t backed up then they’re stupid, and they deserve to die. Jande has every right to defend that home. Post-scarcity conventions and virtual immortality diminished the need for violence; they didn’t erase the possibility of being attacked anyway. No court would convict him. So once he sees the figure move another centimeter forwards, he fires at it without hesitating.

The enemy twists backwards when they get shot in the shoulder, though they don’t fall over. In response, they lift their undamaged arm and point towards him. An electromagnet spins up, pulling the gun out of Jande’s hand, along with every ferromagnetic object in the room. A pair of hands takes the first figure by the neck and wrenches them backwards to make room in the doorway. The true threat emerges from the hallway. “This is why we came to you last, because we knew you would make noise.”

Jande hears another shot. The speaking intruder’s head jerks backwards before the rest of his body follows and falls on top of the robot. Jande looks over at Ersence.

“Whoever told you to own a gun made out of metal did you a disservice,” Ersence says. “There’s intentional obsolescence, and then there’s willful incompetence.”

Jande reaches out and takes her wrist. “Come along, darling.” He takes her into the bathroom because the window in there is easier to open.

As they’re slipping out, they hear hushed voices nearby, but Jande can’t tell what they’re saying. This is a full-on assault. The Eyrenlanders don’t want to wait for the Superintendent to decide who takes control over the community because they know the five people they registered are gonna lose. Jande just needs to make it over the border where he’ll find asylum with the Mount Pryce-dwellers. From there, he will take back control of his land, and if he’s the last surviving competitor, he’ll automatically be Superintendent by that point anyway. They just have to stay quiet and stay vigila—

A sharp pain starts on the surface of the skin of his neck before sliding in deeper. It’s a needle...not even a jet injector, but a bona fide 5-centimeter-long needle. Arms gently help him down to the ground as the stars above twinkle off. Someone else is sedating Ersence, and there is nothing that either of them can do about it.

Jande wakes up in a reclined wooden chair. His wrists and ankles are strapped down, and there’s an IV line in his arm. Something is attached to his head, but he can’t tell what it is. It’s somehow both spongy and hard at the same time. He is in a dimly lit room, with whirring machines to his left and an electrical box to his right. Before him is a window, and next to it a nondescript door. As the fog lifts from his mind, he starts to realize where he is. This is an execution room, but a hodgepodge of various methods. All that’s missing is the firing squad and the guillotine. He cranes his neck to look up. Oh, no, there’s the guillotine. Well, at least they have all their bases covered.

The door opens. Several men enter solemnly. The curtains fall away, revealing the audience. His parents are there, having returned from their first retirement location on the edge of Eyrenland, where it’s still green and alive. Other Quiratani are sitting around them, hardened looks on their faces. No one is upset by this. They look robotic.

One of the men is wearing a black hood. He walks over to the electrical box lever and rests one hand upon it. Two men in lab coats go over to the machines to push buttons and take notes. A man in a three-piece suit nods once at the guys carrying rifles over their shoulders. They spread out along the wall and aim their weapons at Jande.

The boss man looks over at a landline phone on the wall, consults his watch, then looks back at the phone. This is some sick reenactment shit, and Jande doesn’t appreciate it. It was a savage time in human history when they did this, and yes, he does recognize that murder wasn’t completely illegal for the vast majority of the timeline.

When the phone doesn’t ring, the man sighs and takes a half step towards Jande. “This be your last moment on Earth, son. Do you have any last words?”

Jande chuckles. “Uhh...ai gonplei ste odon? Or...shel kek nem ron.” Yeah, that’s the one. Let’s get this pinnacle of literal overkill over with.

“Ready!” the man in the suit cries.

The electrician tightens his grip on the lever. The firing squad cocks their guns. The lethal injectors turn one last knob.

“Aim!” the man adds.

Jande’s chair turns down so his neck is directly under the guillotine blade.

“Fire!”

A mask appears in Jande’s field of vision. Someone affixes it to his face. The air inside feels different on his tongue and in his nostrils. He breathes deeply as euphoria floods his whole body, and he begins to drift away. His eyelids bounce up and down while he smiles. The electrician never pulls the lever. There is never any tightness in his arm at the injection sites. The gunmen never fire. The guillotine never falls.

Jande awakens yet again, this time in a bioprinting pod. He pushes the lid away and climbs out. He has transferred bodies before, but he’s not as experienced as some are these days. He stumbles around like a newborn fawn. He manages to make it over to the next pod where he finds Ersence’s new body still finishing being printed. As he makes his way around the room, he sees the other nine contenders in varying stages of the printing process. What the fuck was that all about?

Microstory 2783: Strangers to Lovers to Rivals

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It has taken a few weeks, but the Quiratan Council has finally approved what are colloquially being called the Superintendent Games. They’re keeping it quiet, though, because of some very vague language in the original charter. The role is up for grabs by literally anyone in the universe. If they broadcast the news, some rando from a crabitat could come in and order the uquira fields to be destroyed, or the military could use them for strategic purposes. The Eyrenlanders are threat enough, and since they’re paying close attention to what’s happening here, there is no keeping them out of it.

Fortunately, it sounds like the tests will be grueling, and bodily-exclusive, meaning anyone in an enhanced substrate will be required to downgrade to baseline human status. This includes shutting down backup consciousness streams. If you die in the games—and that is absolutely a possibility—you die for good. You’re not even allowed to keep a copy of yourself in storage prior to registration, just so at least one version of you survives. This is a one and done deal, and the majority of hopefuls are not willing to take that risk, especially not since the particulars are not entirely clear. Even with the mortal peril, Jande is not doing this alone. Eight others have opted to vie for the position, including one of those random transtellar people they were worried about. He somehow found out about it from all the way in the galaxy’s Extended Bubble.

While everyone waits for the games, the Doma Tertians have become integrated into the community. Most native families have taken two or three new spouses out of the pool, while Jande has only married Ersence. He didn’t feel he needed any more. A fire started as a result of the black hole on one farm, which wiped out almost all of their fields before it could be contained. While they wait for the soil to renew itself for later in the year, the family has opted to sublet the Ter Avest farm for winter work. It’s a win-win situation for both families, and not nearly the first time something like this has happened, so there was a clear protocol for it. Jande, meanwhile, has been in training.

Despite what detractors might say, Jande doesn’t have any more information about the Superintendent competition than anyone else. The procedures were literally kept locked in a vault. It took a day just to find this vault in the first place, and then a couple more days to figure out how to unlock it.

Anyone who lays eyes on any of the documents that were found inside becomes instantly disqualified from participating. One of the Eyrenlanders broke into council chambers a few days ago, and after some interrogation, admitted that he was trying to steal competition secrets. Everyone assumed from that response that he was looking for a competitive advantage, but Jande pressed further. The intruder eventually confessed that he actually intended to show the plans to all competitors but one, so the games would be over before they even began. That’s not even the main concern right now, though. The most pressing issue is coming in about ninety seconds.

Jande is lying on his back on the bench, pressing the weights up towards the sky. His head is throbbing from the workout, but he’s not done with his set, so he keeps going. His vision sometimes blurs, which would be fine if every time it happened he didn’t start to panic that a black hole was opening up just above the clouds. Whatever, that just raises his heart rate, which is good for him right now. It’s nearly over when his one and only current wife’s face moves in from the side, haloed by Tau Ceti’s sun dog. She knows not to speak when he’s in this state. He finishes and sits up.

“Are you well and done?” She hands him his towel that was hanging on a branch.

Jande breathes and wipes his brow. “I’ll never be done, but I can take a break.”

“Good.” Ersence clears her throat. “We’ve not been married for long, so you don’t know me very well, but one thing you should understand is that I don’t like to waste time. If I have something to tell you, I will tell it, and I won’t be delicate.”

“Marriage isn’t the same here as it is in other places,” Jande begins. “This is an arrangement, we don’t have to get to know each other if you prefer to remain detached.”

“I was hoping you would feel that way,” she says, “because this next part would feel like a betrayal if you thought you were entitled to some level of loyalty.”

Jande forces himself to stop panting so it doesn’t undercut the seriousness of whatever she’s about to say. “This sounds concerning. Get on with it.”

“I have entered the competition,” Ersence reveals. “I want to be Superintendent.”

Jande stands and begins to peel off his sweaty clothes. “I should have known. That’s not a loyalty question, Ersence. It’s about common decency. You had nothing. I took you in, and limited the amount of work you would be doing. Do you have any idea how long it takes to find a spouse the usual way? The compatibility tests can only get you so far. People think they wanna work, right up until about a day and a half after they wake up achy, sore, and unfulfilled. That’s why we typically wait two months before the wedding.” He steps into the shower. “Eleven degrees, two minutes,” he commands.

Ersence shakes her head. “I’ll never get your culture. Do you like tech or not?”

Jande stands under the cold water. “Tech is a tool. Using my voice is a convenience, but it does not save me meaningful effort. Our culture dictates that automation is not to be used as a replacement for labor. No one would categorize taking a shower as work, so it doesn’t go against our principles.” He starts to scrub up.

Ersence watches the neighbors taking a walk along the path. She waves reluctantly. “What were you saying about decency and compatibility?” she questions.

“If you wanna be a contender, I won’t stop you. I understand that you’re trying to do what’s best for your people, but that’s where you and I differ. I’m trying to do what’s best for the land.” The water stops. He grabs his bath towel. “Studies have shown that uquira and uquirapods live happier, and for longer, when eyren are nearby. Does that make sense to you? What essentially boils down to a waste product improves quality of life for a species that didn’t evolve the instinct to do it for themselves. We think the unfertilized eggs that people all over the galaxy consume release a pheromone that their progenitors like. But they need us to plant for them. It’s called a symbiotic relationship.

“I’m fighting to preserve that, whether I have the honor of living here, or not. This is the only planet we have ever found that has as diverse a biosphere as Earth. I’m a part of that, and now so are you. The Eyrenlanders milk it for all it’s worth. What they don’t see is the farmwork is the gift, not the chore that you have to complete to get to the nuggety center. Do you appreciate what I’m saying to you, Ersence?”

“You’re saying that the Eyrenlanders have to be stopped at all costs.”

Jande chuckles. “I’m saying all uquirakind are depending on us to protect them.”

“Well, I didn’t sign up for the animals,” Ersence admits. “I did it for the Doma Tertians, but if I win, you and yours will always have a place here.”

“Let’s both hope it doesn’t come to that. May the best person win.”

Microstory 2781: Oh, He’s Gonna Take the Job

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The atmospheric black hole definitely could have happened at a worse time. The busy season is now over, and many of the crops aren’t growing anyway. The eyren are a year-round event, however. The uquira and uquirapods adapt well to the changing climate, and in fact, as it cools down, there are more chances to plant eyren. The trick is being able to find the clumps amidst the fallen leaves, and later, the precipitation. That takes manpower, or technology, which sort of goes against the community’s practices.

Everyone is struggling. Jande’s story is not unique as many farms suffer attrition. There are tens of billions of organic people in this galaxy, so it’s not hard to find someone willing to take a century out of their lives to farm on Bida, but it’s hard to keep them. Quiratan has shrunk in recent years because of it, mostly with smaller farms being absorbed by neighbors, but a few have shut down entirely. The AKBH, along with the ongoing threat of future singularities, has only expedited the downfall.

Jande has to recruit more people if he wants to keep his culture alive, and not only by finding partners for himself, but also for others. This is the best time to do it. Last season’s dead crops have been tilled back into the land to replenish the nitrogen content, which is best done early so the microbes have time to complete the process before next planting season. It was hard work, but he’s all caught up now, so he can sit down and find more people. But first, his parents want to talk with him.

He’s sitting in front of them now, bouncing his knee impatiently while they half-smile and sip their tea. They have always been like this. Even when there’s a ton of work to do, they drag out the conversation, especially the beginning of it. They come from an era where a legal lifetime was literally about the maximum amount of time a human would live, yet they’re always wasting the minutes on...dramatic effect. “Could we be quite quick?” Jande asks. “I need to get back to the boards.”

“Your father is retired,” his mother begins. “It was unexpected, but it can’t be undone. His body is younger than yours now. How do you feel about that?”

“This is how things are done,” Jande replies. “I knew this was gonna happen one day, I just didn’t know it would be now. He’s been taking it in stride. I mean it, Father, you have accepted your new life admirably. I hope to mimic you when it is my time.”

Mother nods as she’s listening to Jande. “When the shed came down, you were trapped under the entrance. Your body could not move, so you transferred to a bot.”

“You don’t have to recap, we all know what happened,” Jande contends.

“What you don’t know,” Father goes on, “is that we had a forensics expert survey the scene and confirm which of us died first. As I was under a heavy beam in the barn, my body expired instantly. Your body survived long enough for you to induce suicide. For a few seconds, you had inherited the role of Head of Household.”

Jande narrows his eyes, at the both of them, but particularly at his father. “What are you saying, that because of a technicality, I retired immediately after you, and I have no right to continue farming the land? This body is weak. It is not an upgrade. It is not a retirement model, and I have been toiling for the last couple of weeks.”

“Have you noticed the outsider who patrols our perimeter?” Mother asks him.

“You mean the one from the giant metal shuttle, which can be seen even from here?” Jande asks rhetorically. “Yes, I think I did notice him. Why?”

“He’s here to protect us from the Eyrenlanders,” Mother continues. “They want to come in and farm these lands themselves. Meanwhile, you are perusing the network, looking for a spouse or two at a time to fill only a few slots to reach the bare minimum.”

“This is our way,” Jande reminds her. “Quiratan is not an interstellar business. We are family farmers. To work, you must be part of a family. Scale is not the goal.”

“That’s true,” Father agrees. “If the Eyrenlanders were allowed in unconditionally, they would likely expand within the next decade until they reached the same size that Eyrenland was before the black hole showed up and destroyed it.”

Mother places a hand upon her husband’s knee to take the floor. “Perhaps, son, it is time for that. The Eyrenlanders left us alone when they had everything they needed. They were able to provide the eggs for the galaxy’s demand. Now things are different. Now Quiratan has become the single source of authentic eyren. I mentioned the forensics report to give you an easy way out. You retain the honor of not retiring intentionally, but benefit from the accident by accepting it as retirement. No one would blame you for it. We’ll tell them it was your father’s insistence. In his last act as Head of Household, he declared the end of the bloodline, and the end of the farm.”

Jande balls both of his hands into fists and trembles in seething anger, holding himself back from exploding. “You want me to quit, and you have found a bad loophole that, if our ways had been codified into law, would never hold up in court. And you think, after years of raising me to take over your legacy, that I would take this offer?” He stands abruptly. “You do not know me at all, Mother. This farm is mine now. I was going to farm it with you next season, but it is clear that you are planning to retire soon too. So why don’t you just do it and leave? Follow Suki to Castlebourne, or Evers to Varkas Reflex. I will take five, six, seven husbands and wives if that’s what it takes! I’ll not abandon my birthright, and I cannot believe that you of all people would suggest I do!”

His parents stay calm. His father clears his throat. “We were not suggesting that you retire offworld. There is a way for you to gain control over, not only the farm, but all of Quiratan. There is an ancient rank known as the Superintendent. If you reinstitute this role, it would be you who decides who works what farms. Eminent domain, easements, and the like; you would have power over all of it. You would be able to transition Eyrenlanders into more traditional Quiratan obsolescent practices. And once the positions are filled to your satisfaction, you could turn away the excess.”

Jande sits back down. He has spent his whole life learning about this world. He has mostly focused on agriculture, but he studied history as well, and he has never heard of a superintendent. If it’s true, that would be an interesting development. “How would I go about this? Would I walk down main street with the biggest gun, and announce that I’m in charge now, or is there some kind of ceremony or election, or what?” This doesn’t mean he’s gonna do it; he’s just asking questions. There is no harm in asking questions.

Mother smiles, pleased with herself and Father for managing to get through to him. “Superintendents are in charge of elections, placing them above the bureaucracy. There are no guns, and no election. But there is a series of tribulations. It would not be easy, and we would need to find someone to moderate and judge.”

“But, son,” Father begins. “Once you open the floodgates, you will not be able to control what else flows through. Others will surely challenge you for the job.”

Jande nods and relaxes a little in his chair. “Tell me more.”

Castlebourne Capital Community: The Monsters We Make (Part IV)

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Dreychan and Yunil were standing in the visiting room, waiting for the latter’s sister, Lubiti to be escorted in. They will be separated and protected from her by a nigh impenetrable window, but they were both still pretty nervous. They really shouldn’t be. Even if they were in the same room together, she was likely not physically dangerous. She and her buddies had concocted a plan to get Dreychan to die in what was meant to look like an accident. They had no reason to believe now that she would suddenly jump up and attack him if given the chance. Still, it was incredibly awkward. Dreychan as of yet did not know if the woman next to him even was Lubiti’s sister. That was mainly why they were here, but also to ask her why she did it, besides the obvious reason that they all thought he was a mole.

“You know we’re holding hands, right?”

“Oh, sorry.” Dreychan tried to pull away.

Yunil grabbed tighter. “No, I prefer it. I think Lubiti should see us like this. Even if it’s not real, we’re better off with her thinking it is.”

“Okay.” He didn’t mind it.

The door on the other side of the glass slid open. Lubiti walked in, looking up at the ceiling and walls. She looked calm, probably remorseless for her actions, and maybe thinking of a way to escape. She didn’t have the skills for that, though. She wasn’t the one who survived one of the hardest games in 2.5Dome. Her eyes finally settled on the two of them, standing there like they were going steady. Her neutral face fell into a frown. She walked farther into the room, and angrily placed two palms upon the glass. “What are you doing here?” she asked, focusing on Yunil.

“I—” Yunil began.

“Bup-bup-bup,” Dreychan interrupted to warn her. He needed to speak first so he could get an uncorrupted answer from Lubiti. He looked back over to Lubiti after Yunil nodded respectfully and quietly. “Why does this woman look like you?”

“Uh, because she’s my twin sister, dumbass.” Lubiti responded. “You’ve never heard of twins before?”

“Are you sure?” he pressed.

“Am I sure?” Lubiti echoed. “Yeah, I’m sure. You think I’m the idiot here?”

“Don’t talk to him like that!” Yunil shouted at her.

Lubiti scowled back. With a quieter voice, she asked, “so, what? Are you two together now, or something?”

“So what if we are?” Yunil questioned.

“I don’t care,” Lubiti replied self-assuredly. “It’s not my problem anymore. As far as I go, The Oaksent can come wipe you all out now. I’ll be here, looking like an enemy of Castlebourne. I’m sure he’ll welcome me back into the fold.”

“What the hell?” Dreychan asked. “You tried to kill me—”

“No,” Lubiti interrupted. “I didn’t try to kill you. I put you in a position where you may or may not have been in danger. What you did with your circumstances was your own business.”

Dreychan laughed. “If that’s your legal defense, I’d say it needs work. My point is the irony, that you should intentionally put me in a position where I could die for allegedly working for the Oaksent, and now because it backfired on you, you’re ready to start working with him instead? If you were in my position today, would you send you to 2.5Dome for revenge? Should I place you in the same danger that you made me face? I mean, you only thought that I was a traitor. You’re openly admitting that you are. How is that not worse?”

“I’m just trying to survive. My values have not changed. I place my fealty with anyone who can keep me alive. I once thought that was the Oaksent, then I thought it was Castlebourne. Now it’s possible that I was right before. I don’t want to have been right, but you have left me with few options.”

“No one is trying to kill you here,” Yunil reasoned. “That’s why we were right to seek refuge with the Vellani Ambassador, because our god would absolutely have killed us for any insubordination. The people here are different, and if you don’t understand that by now, why didn’t you ask to be taken to New Welrios instead, or Outcast Island?” New Welrios was an independent planet back in the Goldilocks Corridor. It was well within Exin Empire space, but it was protected by an extremely powerful engineer, and a population of isolationist rebels. A portion of them were the first to try to escape the empire’s grasp before they were located, and quite nearly destroyed. They ended up on Ex-324, where they eventually persuaded the locals to declare their independence as well. And Outcast Island? Well...they didn’t talk about Outcast Island. But it wasn’t really an island, at least not according to the dictionary definition.

Lubiti scoffed. “Did you come here for a decent reason, or just to shove your relationship in my face, because I really don’t give a shit. I never liked you, Dreychan. I was just assigned to get close to you.”

“This has nothing to do with that,” Dreychan answered. He will never tell her about the twin test. Lubiti would probably just turn it around and claim that no, Yunil actually wasn’t her twin sister, but an impostor. “I just wanna know if my origins are the only reason you thought I ratted us out to the Empire, or if it was something else I did.”

Lubiti looked up and to the side, feigning thoughtfulness. “Well, you were a loner; very quiet.” She made eye contact. “You were only on the Council because you had to be. You never participated.”

“That—” Dreychan started to argue loudly.

It was Yunil’s turn to interrupt. She did so to say what he was about to, but in a more articulate way. “He wasn’t a loner! He wasn’t quiet! You made him that way! You ostracized him from the very beginning. You didn’t even give him a chance. You just assumed that he would betray you, so you stifled his voice, and you turned up your stupid little noses. You created this monster in your head who didn’t exist, but the more you talked about it—the longer you believed it—the bigger that bogeyman grew, until you were so afraid, you lashed out at a perfectly innocent man who was just trying to protect his people.” She lifted their adjoined hands, and shook their fists at Lubiti. “Why are we together now? Because after all you put him through, he hasn’t frowned or become angry even once. He has been calm and determined. Did they let you watch his statement to the press?”

“It was a little late, I couldn’t help but notice,” Lubiti pointed out.

“Did you watch it!” Yunil repeated.

“Yes! They let us have access to the news and media!” Lubiti fired back.

“Did you notice that he didn’t even fucking blame you? He said he understood that you were just trying to do what you thought was best for ex-Exins, and all Castlebourners. He spoke of you with a level of respect and compassion that you could never reciprocate, and sure as shit don’t deserve! So you will stand trial, and throughout the proceedings, you will show remorse, because what you people did wasn’t just attempted murder. It was conspiratorial. It was coordinated and cold. Remind you of anyone?” She took a beat. “And now you have the audacity to suggest that you might run back into the arms of that genuine monster, like what we endured throughout most of our lives was fine as long as while he was oppressing us, he promised to keep us alive? You make me sick. I should have left you a long time ago. I have no sister. Rot in hell.”

With that, the scene completely changed. Dreychan and Yunil found themselves suddenly back in Council Chambers. They turned around to find Azad there with them, sitting comfortably in one of the audience seats. Did he only exist within these six walls? “What just happened?” Dreychan asked.

“We were monitoring your interaction with the prisoner. Number one, things were escalating quickly. While you were perfectly safe on the other side of the partition, it’s best not to let either side grow too angry. We like a calm, happy planet. That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel what you feel, but we believe that it would have been unhealthy for you both to stay there much longer. We don’t think that any positive progress would have been made.” He stood up, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Also, your speech was quite impactful and thought-provoking. I made the choice to pull you out at that particular moment because I didn’t want Miss Froenoe to have the chance to rebut. Would you agree?”

“Yeah, that was a good time to do it if you were gonna do it,” Yunil decided.

Azad nodded, satisfied with his choices. “Well, I better return to my usual duties. Call me if you need anything. Enjoy the chair.” The chair? He remained for two more seconds in case they needed to protest, and then he disappeared too.

Yunil took a deep breath, and faced Dreychan. “Well, that was a weird conversation. I mean with my sister, not with—”

Another interruption. Dreychan lunged forward and tackled her. He held her in a warm embrace, as tightly as he could without crushing her bones. She hugged him back, and then pulled away a little. They stared into each other’s eyes before she kissed him deeply on the lips. They made out for a minute or two, or maybe it was for a few years. Once they finally let go, neither one of them knew what to say, but thankfully, there was something there which allowed them to change the subject. “Was that here this morning?”

Yunil turned to look. “I would have noticed, but I know what it is.”

“What is it?”

“A brainscanner,” she replied as they were walking towards it. She ran her hand along the armrest. “Specifically, it’s a baseline imager, which means not only can it read someone’s neural patterns, but save them in the central database. This is how you control access to government areas and information.” She started fiddling with the touchscreen. “It looks like this is the main system, so all the workers who weren’t fired for conspiracy to commit murder are still on here. All you need to do is decide who—” She stopped. “I’m sorry. I don’t have the right to look at this.” She physically stepped back. “This is for your eyes only. You’re in charge.”

He placed a loving hand underneath her chin. “I want you with me on this. I trust you now. You just earned that. No one has ever said anything remotely as nice about me as what you said in that prison. No one has ever defended me like that.”

“Well, they should have,” Yunil said.

They kissed again. When they separated, they both looked down at the apparatus. It was mostly a comfortable-looking padded chair with a footrest, and an adjustable helmet, which was presumably what would read a person’s brainwaves. The screen was to the side of the helmet, and could be operated from an upright chair that sat perpendicular to the subject’s seat. Dreychan sat in this one, and started looking through the menu. “There are two notifications here already.” He tapped on the bell icon. “Dreychan Glarieda has been tasked with accepting an invitation for higher access privileges.” He looked up at Yunil. “Why wouldn’t I already have that? I can use the executive senior trains.”

“That might have been temporary while they questioned the detainees. This is probably official and permanent,” Yunil seemed to guess. “Tap to learn more.”

Dreychan looked back at the screen. “Let’s look at the other notification...Dreychan Glarieda is tasked with initializing and processing new user Yunil Tereth. Hmm. It looks like they already know that you should be involved.” He tapped on Learn more this time. “There’s a lot to fill out here. I have to decide on your job title and your responsibilities, and grant you access to all these places. Your basic info is already here, so that’s nice.”

“I probably shouldn’t be here for this,” Yunil decided. “I don’t want to sway your decisions one way or another.”

Dreychan brushed her worries away. “I’m gonna give you everything, I’ll tell you as much right now.”

“Including access to your private office?”

“I have a private office?” he asked. “Where do you see that? I don’t see that.”

“I just know you have one if you’re gonna be, uhh...Council Leader, or whatever job title you give yourself. That’s why you needed to find out more about the other notification. You have work to do for both of us.”

“Hm,” Dreychan began. “That’s a good point. What should our titles be?”

“We can worry about that later,” Yunil said. “I wanna see you in this chair.”

“I’m in the chair.”

“The other one,” she clarified, tugging him up by his underarms.

“The one at the dentist’s office looks like this.”

She aggressively threw him down in the subject’s chair, and straddled his lap. “Then open up for Dr. Tereth.” She started making out with him, this time for longer than before. Unable to control themselves, they ended up having sex too, which was highly inappropriate for the setting. Fortunately, while the chair was obviously never intended for sexual activity, it did have a self-cleaning function, which made sense, because it needed to be sterilized between uses.

Later on, Yunil was lying on her back on one the audience benches. Dreychan was looking through the chair interface again. It had everything here: every meeting recording, every bill they passed; everything. He could access it all. It would be a great resource to get up to speed with all the stuff he didn’t know about because he hadn’t been on any smaller committees, and who knew how many times they all met in secret without him to discuss their plans to kill him?

“I think I’ve figured it out,” Yunil said, still lying down.

“What’s that?”

“What do you think of Superintendent?” Now she sat up. “And I could be your deputy.”

“I love it. I’ll type it in right away.”

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Extremus: Year 118

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It’s the end of the year, and the end of Tinaya and Arqut’s lives. The whole ship is in mourning, even though they’re not quite dead yet. They’re in the same room that they’ve slept in for years, but it has been modified to accommodate their new situation. The bed has been pulled out to be replaced with two hospital beds. People have been coming all month long to say their goodbyes. The doctors don’t let too many people in over the course of only one day, so they have to spread it out. Audrey, with nothing else to do, is in charge of maintaining a healthy and comfortable schedule. Captain Jennings has his turn now, as it is nearing the couple’s final days, and he should be one of the last. His relationship to the two of them hasn’t always been perfect, but they have a mutual respect for one another, and he will still be saddened by the loss. That’s not the only reason he’s here, though. There is some final business to take care of. “You must appoint your successor.”

“Ask me in a year,” Arqut quips. Gallows humor.

Oceanus tries hard not to smile. He doesn’t know that it’s fine. They’re in their nineties, for God’s sake. “Please. I want them to be as good as you.” He looks around in paranoia, like someone might be watching. “Things have been changing. Waldemar is gaining popularity.”

“We knew he would,” Tinaya says. “He’s a populist.”

“Yeah, but...please,” Oceanus begs.

“Who is in third place?” Arqut asks him. “If Waldemar is number one, who is number three?”

“That would be Détha. Why? Are you considering her for the role?”

“I can’t just say, whoever loses becomes the Superintendent instead,” Arqut explains. “I have to choose a name, and it will take that person out of the running. They obviously can’t be both the Captain and the Superintendent.”

“We all know that neither one of them is going to win,” Oceanus says, “Détha nor Pronastus.”

“Right, but second place will become lieutenant, won’t they?” Arqut presses.

Oceanus frowns. “We weren’t telling people that.”

“You don’t always have to tell me something for me to know,” Arqut clarifies. “Well...you don’t have to tell my wife.”

“It’s a little bit of padding,” Oceanus explains. “If that man has to become captain no matter what, at least we can put someone at his side who we can trust. If it can’t be Silveon, let it be someone we know and like.”

“Détha is the same,” Tinaya says. “I didn’t know her before all this, but I’ve been watching her. She would make a good superintendent or lieutenant, but let’s have her as the former. Pronastus has work to do when it comes to policy, not just staffing.”

“So we’ll have two good people in power, and one not so good,” Oceanus determines. He breathes a sigh of relief. “I was hoping you would say something like that. She has to be informed first, though. She has the right to decline, and move forward with her bid for the captaincy.”

“Well...” Arqut begins. “Bring her to us.”

“She’s not on the schedule,” Audrey warns from the corner.

“Who is?”

“Head Councillor Crusan,” Audrey answers. “After him, you’ve hit your quota. You’re not allowed any more visitors, besides me and your son. Doctor’s orders.”

“We’ll see him tomorrow,” Tinaya decides.

“Tomorrow is a day of rest,” Audrey reminds them. “They’re all days of rest after today.”

“Then push it back. The day after that will be the start of our swan songs,” Arqut insists. “He’s right, I should have picked a replacement sooner. I just wasn’t thinking, and honestly, I forgot whether I had the authority to do so or not. There was a time when we thought I didn’t. I have the power to move staff around as needed, but does that include my own position? Anyway, please retrieve her for us. But maybe wait an hour or two. We both need a nap.”

Oceanus looks up at Audrey. “Just let me know when they’re awake and up for it. Détha will jump when I say so.”

Détha ends up not being able to come until nighttime, when her watch as active Vice Captain is over for the day. Technically, once she’s on break, she’s free to do whatever she wants. It’s kind of the point to transition to the next Vice Captain three times a day, so none of them has any sort of help from the others while they’re active. During each watch, they are expected to be the one and only. This is a different situation, though. She’s not in command at the moment. “You wanted to see me, sirs?”

“There is no time to beat around the bush,” Arqut starts to tell her. He’s sitting up now, feeling better than before, but he knows that he’s going to have to go to sleep again soon. “Are you aware of your place in the competition?”

Détha is a straightforward person. She recognizes the value in lying, but is very good at seeing what others know, and what they don’t, so when lying is pointless, it becomes counterproductive. She knows that Tinaya and Arqut already know the answer, so any optimism or confidence will come across as unearned, even though she got to where she is due to all that confidence. Fake it ‘til you make it, except unfortunately...she’s not gonna make it. And she knows that too. “I’m losing, sir.”

“Do you know why that is?” Arqut goes on.

Now she’s hesitating.

“Be honest with us about your perspective,” Tinaya encourages her. “We’ll take it to our grave, which is coming up soon.”

Détha clears her throat, and tries to straighten up, but really, she was already standing at high attention. “It’s a boy’s, club sir. It has been for over twenty years. I’m sorry if that offends.”

“It doesn’t,” Tinaya assures her. “You’re right, but that’s not the problem. I’m guessing that you would be happier if Pronastus won. Not as happy as if it were you, but better than the alternative?”

Détha hesitates again, but pushes through it. “He should be in first place. He’s clearly the best, I’m not sure why he’s not. He understands people. He knows what they need. He has literal superpowers. Waldemar, on the other hand, is...”

“Incompetent? Reckless?” Arqut tries to guess.

“Inhumane? Dispassionate?” Tinaya adds.

“Lost,” Détha contends. “Sirs. He gets confused about why he should care what others are going through.”

Arqut nods. “As Superintendent, when active, I don’t have the power to relieve a captain from duty, unless under extreme circumstances, and even then, I would need a lot of people backing me. I wouldn’t be able to just do it.”

“Sir? Is there a problem with Captain Jennings? Is he corrupt?” Détha asks.

“No, not him. It’s Kristiansen. He’ll be a problem.”

“Apologies, but it appears that you won’t be the Superintendent anymore, sir.”

“Exactly,” Arqut confirms.

Détha winces a little. She’s not quite connecting the dots, but she’s close. Or maybe she’s there, but she doesn’t want to assume.

“We need you,” Tinaya says. “We need you to take his place, so you can be in a position to help when the day comes that this ship requires an active Superintendent again. As he said, you can’t remove a captain, but maybe you could move enough other people around, and gather enough support.”

“You’re planning a future coup,” Détha argues. “You won’t even be around to suffer any consequences.”

Tinaya sighs. “There are things we know about the future. I’m breaking laws just by telling you that, and I won’t say anything more, except that you are a variable that we didn’t see. Perhaps...you can make things better. Based on your track record, I don’t think you can make it worse. You and Vice Captain Kegrigia are the only two people who might have a chance of keeping Extremus in one piece. One of you should be lieutenant, and the other the new Arqut.”

Détha considers the offer. “You don’t think I can win?” she asks. “You don’t think something can change within the next two years?”

“You deserve it,” Arqut says to her, “but no. Time is usually fluid, even for time travelers who have knowledge of future events, but sometimes, there’s nothing you can do. We believe that this is the best course of action to take right now. It might be the only one.”

Détha nods respectfully. “I accept the position. I will take on my new responsibilities with honor and grace.”

“Now, you understand that you won’t have power over the vice captains either, right? They’re just like the captain in this regard. If we were still doing things the old ways, you couldn’t veto a candidate. They’re insulated, by extension of the captain. So even though you’ll be starting by the end of the competition, you won’t be able to change the outcome.”

“I understand,” Détha replies. “With all due respect, I can promise you nothing when it comes to my future decisions. I will have to be my own Superintendent, and if I calculate that Waldemar Kristiansen is the absolute best thing to happen to Extremus, and its mission, then I will support him appropriately. If you’re looking for someone to carry a set of instructions that you write down before you die, you’re looking at the wrong girl.”

“We would never expect that,” Arqut says sincerely. “I would not be choosing you if I thought I could. That’s the point.”

Détha nods again. “Then once more, I accept.”

There are a few minor details to iron out, but there’s very little that she needs to know before she starts her job. They won’t announce the decision for another few days, and she won’t actually start anything until Arqut dies, or if he’s declared mentally unfit to continue. They are considering asking the doctor to do just that so she can go ahead and get started. It’s not like they would be lying. He gets tired all the time, and he’s on his actual deathbed. Technically, he’s mentally stable enough to make decisions, but in a practical sense, he should also be able to attend council meetings. Even sitting up in a chair has become difficult. They don’t get the chance to do any of this, however. A couple of days later, Détha is found dead in her stateroom.

It was clearly murder, but they have no evidence that Waldemar was involved. It doesn’t even kind of look like he might have done it. Only a few people understand his full motives. Since he was winning the competition for the captain’s seat, to outsiders, it doesn’t look like he would have much reason to feel threatened by her. If anything, he should have killed Pronastus to secure his own win, but that’s not what happened. Their best guess is that he found out that Détha spoke with Tinaya and Arqut, even though she doesn’t know them, and wouldn’t have been on the list of visitors unless it was something that wasn’t in Waldemar’s best interests. Murder is wrong, of course, but he’s not crazy to hold these fears. They are plotting against him, just probably not in the way that he thought. Or she confessed to him, either beforehand, which led to the murder, or during the violent act, as a desperate plea for her life. So they don’t know what he knows. It doesn’t matter for long, though, because Arqut and Tinaya die at the exact same time just a few weeks later anyway. They never found a new superintendent.

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