Microstory 2593: Renata Gets Up From Her Cot, Trying to Keep the Squeaking to a Minimum

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Renata gets up from her cot, trying to keep the squeaking to a minimum. She leaves the room, and goes into the common area, climbing the ladder up to the loft where Lycander is keeping watch. “Everything okay?”

“You still need sleep,” he warns her. “You were made to think like an organic, which comes with its disadvantages, like spending a third of your life in bed.”

“I’m not awake because I think I’m better than everyone,” Renata tries to explain. “I’m awake because of insomnia. I suppose that was programmed into me too.”

“Everyone is at risk of suffering from insomnia. They didn’t give it to you on purpose. It’s likely happening because you’re struggling with some things. I’m not a psychologist, though, so don’t listen to my advice.”

“I understand.” She stood there in silence for a moment, looking out at the desert expanse. “So, you’re a natural-born human, right?”

“We don’t really use that term human anymore, but yes,” Lycander replies.

“And this planet is...just a giant theme park?”

“More like tens of thousands of theme parks. Some of them are for adventure, but some are more low-key.”

“I hear you don’t have to work anymore in the real world.”

“That is an oversimplification, but still true. If you want to live a very comfortable, immobile life, you don’t have to contribute a single thing to society. If you want more—if you wanna travel—you have to do something. It doesn’t have to even be particularly valuable. You could be the absolute worst painter in the world, but if you paint, and you put your artwork out there for others to see, you get credits for that. If you save up enough, you can spend it on transportation somewhere.”

“So, that’s what you did? You were on your homeworld, but you had a job, so they let you come here?”

“They let me cast here,” he clarifies. “I’ve actually never been on a ship before. I basically sent my mind to a new body at faster-than-light speeds. It costs fewer credits, and it’s a lot more common.”

“You can move your mind around. So we’re all robots.”

“Like we’ve said, the distinction doesn’t hold much meaning. There are people out there whose substrates are designed almost just like yours, except they were born before that. No one really cares about the differences.”

“Right.” She nods, not wanting to talk about that all again. “But you still work. Are you trying to leave this world now? Cast again, or go on a real ship.”

“No. I’m making credits, sure, but I’m not concerned with them. I don’t pay much attention to my account. I work because I find it fulfilling. That’s why they created the post-scarcity society. A lot of really smart people worked very hard to make that happen, so people would finally have a choice. If you want a job, you can just go get one. There is always an opening. If it’s typically automated, they’ll have you replace some of that automation. Even if it makes the process a little slower or less efficient, no one’s really bothered by that, because we have such an abundance. And if you quit, or just don’t feel like coming in one day—or for a few months—it’s no sweat off their backs. They’ll backfill your job with automators in your absence.”

She pushed Quidel to explain what it’s really like before, but he insisted that everything was fine. Maybe Lycander will have a different answer, especially since he does still work. “Sounds like a paradise. What’s the catch?” Was that offensive?

“The catch is, there are gaps. Energy credits don’t just pay for the transportation itself, but also materials, which is why casting is cheaper, but it has lower overhead. Anyway, it’s not only about leaving where you are, but building a new home somewhere else. While no one is poor in the sense that you’re familiar with, there are definitely wealthier people. They’re the ones who can afford to construct a centrifugal cylinder and leave others behind...stuck. It really just depends on what your priorities are. If you want to stay in civilization, you’ll be able to find happiness pretty easily. Even if you go the cheaper casting route to a new planet, you’ll be living around others, and you won’t always get a choice on who those people are. A lot of people want that choice. They want to choose their neighbors, or choose not to have any neighbors at all. That’s the hardest life to achieve, because it takes a crapton of energy credits, and while you’re saving, you’re living in a way that you probably don’t care for. There is no such thing as an advance, and loans come with sometimes untenable stipulations. As I was saying, my work is easy because I can always leave. Those who need a lot of credits can’t, or they’ll never realize their goals.”

“Energy. It’s based on energy?” Renata presses.

“That’s the only thing that matters. It’s the only thing that ever mattered. Everything we do is in service to survival, and you can’t survive without energy. And material to stand on, or in.”

She sort of frowned.

“What is it? What’s on your mind?”

“What happens to me when I leave? I won’t be a banker anymore. I won’t even be a spy. How will I earn credits? Should I even try?”

“That’s up to you. As an emerging intelligence, you will be entitled to the same basics as everyone else, including an energy stipend. That stipend is based on your physical requirements, and cannot be lower than what you need to be alive and conscious indefinitely. Since you started out without any choice in life, I’m sure they will make arrangements for you to travel anywhere you want, totally free of charge. Not everyone gets that, of course, but the way they see it, forcing you to live where you were created would be immoral.”

“Well, you were created at a certain place, and had to pay to leave, didn’t you?”

“That’s different. I was born, and some of my physicality was even designed, but my mind wasn’t designed. Yours was. I hesitate to call it slavery, but their reasoning is, if they make you stay here, it will lean more in that  direction than before, because you now have agency. I shouldn’t be talking about any of this. I am not an expert. Someone will explain it to you in greater detail, and more accurately.”

“No, I appreciate it,” Renata says gratefully. “Now I have something to look forward to. Except I have no clue if I would even want to travel. How many other worlds are there, and what are they like?”

Microstory 2578: Marshal 2 Walks into the Room Where Renata is Pretending to be Asleep

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Marshal 2 walks into the room where Renata is pretending to be asleep. He takes a sip of his orange juice as he stares down at her. Then he gets an idea, so he pulls out his phone, and perpetrates like he is talking. “Yeah, I’m lookin’ at her now. She almost died. Yeah, I agree, it would have been better, but what do you want me to do about it now? Well, that can certainly be arranged. We’ll just have to take care of the hospital people too. A few nurses, and a doctor. I’m sure they’ll be missed, but we’ll come up with a cover story. We’ll blame it on Granger; say that she went nuts, and killed half the floor.”

Renata suddenly reaches up, and takes Marshal 2 by the throat. She starts to try to squeeze the life out of him, which won’t be permanent if she succeeds. So he just smiles at her. She lets go. “Oh. You’re joking.”

He puts his phone away. “I’ve been doing this for years, kid. You’re not gonna fool me. But you should be proud of yourself. It’s the breathing. People don’t now how they breathe when they’re asleep for real, so they can’t replicate it. You did a great job.”

“Thanks,” she replies as she sits up, and pulls the pillow down to support her back. The other two?”

“They’re dead,” Marshal 2 lies. They did die, but they came back. Visitors always do, but that’s not something that this NPC would understand. She believes that all of this is real.

“If you were joking about murdering me, I’m hoping that means you won’t?”

“That’s not our style.”

“But I’m done with the NSD.”

“You’re done with the NSD,” Marshal 2 confirms. He doesn’t know why he’s even bothering to spin this yarn. They’re going to reset her memory, and tomorrow, she’ll start the whole charade over again with the same old script. This time, she’ll do it right, and help a new small group of visitors. She’ll inspire them to begin their journey in the simulation, and reach their potential. He won’t be a part of it anymore, though; not with her. They like to change things up, and there’s a theory that it’s necessary. Even though waking up and doing the same thing every day is part of Exemplar 1’s programming, there is still a risk of overfamiliarity. If her training officer is the same person each time, she might start to recognize him. It may even be what happened when she failed the escape room phase. In order to put everyone back on track, they’re going to start with a clean slate. She’ll even be getting a new mother to wake her up in the mornings.

Renata breathes in through her nose, and acts like she’s looking out the window, but it’s pitch-black out there, and bright in here, so she’s not seeing anything.

“How do you feel about that?”

“What do you care?” Wanting to be the best agent who has ever lived is part of her baseline. It’s sad, really, that she has the procedural memory in her brain to excel in the training program, but when she’s assigned to Phase 1, she never remembers. She lives her life in these isolated blocks of repeating experiences, never genuinely connecting them, and never being her true self.

Marshal 2 shouldn’t be worrying about any of this. When he signed up to work in this dome, he knew that he would be encountering a lot of NPCs. The majority of the people in here are AIs of various kinds. The dome has to feel lived in so visitors forget that it’s all scripted. There are Ambients out there who will never meet one of the main characters. They go about their lives day by day, just in case they intersect with whatever story path the visitors choose to follow. Marshal 2 doesn’t know which life is better, and which is worse. An Exemplar’s mind is reset when it’s time to redo the scenario, or start a different one, but an Ambient has no agency at all. He’s thinking about quitting, and maybe spending a decade or two relaxing in one of the recreational domes. No, that wouldn’t work, because they’re run by NPCs too, so he would just keep seeing it. He would have to go somewhere populated by natural-born intelligences, like Underburg. But not there, because that place sucks. “Well, I’ll leave you.”

“Wait. Do I have to sign something? I mean, obviously I signed multiple NDAs before, but is there something new pertaining to the unfortunate incident?”

He smiles at her. “No, you’re fine. It’s all covered. In fact, you’ll be compensated for the danger you faced. You’re not a millionaire, but it will keep you above water while you work on your next chapter. You got skills. Just because you won’t be an officer, doesn’t mean you’ll be stuck working at a grocery store, or something. Now get some rest. Someone will be by later this week to work out the details.” Another lie. They’re not gonna pay her anything.

“Wait. You never told me your name. I know I didn’t pass the test, but maybe you could tell me now anyway?”

He inhales through his nose. He shouldn’t even be thinking about giving her his real name. He decided a long time ago to go by the standard designation that NPC Marshals use, because it doesn’t help his character to have a complex backstory. He left his old life on Varkas Reflex behind, and he’s here now. But again, none of what she learns today matters. It will all be erased. So what’s the harm? “Lycander. Lycander Samani.”

“Nice to meet you, Lycander.”

Microstory 2574: Renata Granger Wakes Up Feeling Like a New Person

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Renata Granger wakes up feeling like a new person. The scent of coffee beckons her from the kitchen. That’s funny, she didn’t program the coffee maker to go off this morning. This was a very calculated choice. She doesn’t want her breath to smell, she doesn’t want any stains on her teeth, and she doesn’t want to have to take too many bathroom breaks. In fact, if she could last the whole day not eating, and not drinking fluids, that would be ideal. As far as her new colleagues go, they should think that she’s a machine, who doesn’t need anything but her job, and maybe a gun or two. She wishes that they had already issued her one now when she hears another noise out there, besides the coffee. Someone is in her apartment. Renata quietly slips out of bed, and grabs the baseball bat, which is leaning against the corner for this very situation. It’s more reliable than the cops in this town, and she can be in control of it, so she doesn’t even bother picking up her phone too. She opens the door, making sure to pull up on the knob ever so slightly to make sure that the latch bolt doesn’t scrape against the strike plate. She slinks out of the room. Shit, she forgot to put on clothes. The intruder is gonna have a bittersweet day, whoever he is.

“Mom,” she utters with a frustrated sigh of relief. “There’s a reason I never made you a key, or even told you where I moved to.”

Her mother casually takes the first sip of her coffee. She’s not the least bit fazed by anything that’s happening here. The nudity, the bat, the lack of a key, or a proverbial welcome mat; it all seems perfectly normal to her, which is so her. “No secret or locked door is gonna stop me from getting what I need.” She smiles, impersonating a kind person who might care what happens to her own daughter. “I wanted to see you off on your first day.” They’re not on speaking terms, but Libera Granger has eyes everywhere, so it’s no surprise that word has spread.

“More like, wanted to make sure I didn’t sleep through my alarm.” Renata is not the type to miss an alarm. She deactivated the snooze button on her alarm clock when she was six, and hasn’t looked back since. But her mother is the type to expect everyone around her to let her down, even when they successfully don’t time and time again.

“Clearly I needed to. Look at you, you’re not even dressed yet.”

“It’s four in the morning.”

“Don’t keep them waiting,” Libera says, like she even knows who she’s talking about. “This is the most important job of your life, and the way you hold yourself today sets the tone.”

Renata smirks. “You’re slipping, mother. It’s actually not a job at this point. It’s only training. I’m not even on probation yet; that’s how far I am from a job.”

“I’m sure you’ll do well.” Libera sets her cup down, and takes a pack of gum out of her pocket. “Take this. You’ll certainly need it.”

Renata wants to argue, but if there’s one thing the two of them have in common, it’s the concern for other people’s perception of them. She hates that she inherited this trait, but it was always going to be something, and she certainly doesn’t want to change. So she simply accepts the gift, and slips it into the pocket of her pants, which she laid out over the chair last night.

“Well,” Libera begins before a long pause while she dumps the last bit of her coffee in the sink, and rinses the mug out. “I won’t keep you. Just be careful today. And remember...no one there is your friend.” What a strange thing to say. As far as her mom thinks, Renata is training to be a management consultant. She obviously can’t have any idea that she’ll be working for the National Security Division. They would respond so fast if she blabbed, she probably wouldn’t survive walking out the door this morning. Libera turns towards the door, but stops short. “And invest in some deadlocks, my dear. I could have been anyone.”

That too is a good idea. Renata locks the door behind her mom, and returns to her room to get her mat out. Might as well do some meditation if she’s not gonna be able to fall back asleep. She would go for a run, but then she would need to drink a lot of water, and the bathroom problem has already been established.

She gets sick of it after about 45 minutes, so she cancels her departure reminder, and leaves an hour earlier than she needs to. It’s winter, so it’s still dark outside. She leaves her apartment building, and walks down the street to the subway station. No one else is here, but the train still comes, and she gets on it. They told her to travel to 108th and Deliverer Road. That’s such a weird name for a street, and she’s never heard of it before—it’s clear on the other side of the city—but she’ll only have to change trains once to get there.

It moves for about five minutes before stopping. No, something is wrong. There’s no chance she’s arrived at her first stop already. There’s no announcement as the doors open. It’s dark and eerie on the platform. A man is standing there, wearing all black, hands behind his back. He looks at her with a sense of familiarity that he has not earned. “Welcome, Miss Granger, to the NSD Training Facility. We call it The Depot. You’re right on time.”

Microstory 2553: Maintenance Worker

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I didn’t even realize where I would be working when I applied for this job. I didn’t even apply to the Foundation people. I went through a temp agency, which told me that a number of businesses in the area could use my maintenance skills. They sent my résumé out to a bunch of different places, and this was the first one to respond. I have a little trouble talking to people, so I’ve always been grateful for the help. I didn’t even have to interview, which is good, because I’m not so good at them. I think I still work for the agency. They’re the ones who ask me to put in my hours, and my paychecks come from them. Whenever I run into an issue, though, I don’t talk to anybody there. I go to one of the Foundation people. There isn’t usually any issue. They have a computer system where they send my job requests, and I go do them. Unless someone else claimed them first. It just depends on who’s on the shift. I was here pretty early after the company started, and things were a lot harder back then. You see, someone built this hotel, and then they had to sell it to Mr. Tipton and his people. I think they wanted to get started healing people right away, so they kind of rushed making repairs. It wasn’t too bad, but with a building this size, there are bound to be issues. I kept getting requests to fix things back then. We had a larger team back then. We’ve cut back, because now things are okay. They put a lot of money into new parts. I tell you, I’ve never seen anything like it. Usually, whoever has to approve of a purchase will look at the amount to pay for it, and get mad if it seems too high to them. So they’ll go with the cheapest one. Not this place, they seem to always want the higher number, because they assume it means it will be better. A lot of the times, that’s true, but vendors will also try to sell you the more expensive version, when the difference doesn’t matter. I mean, think about this. What if you needed to order a new doorknob, and there were two in the catalog. One of them was made out of brass, and the other out of diamonds. Which one is cheaper? Obviously, the brass one, but the diamond one is dumb. It isn’t better because it costs more, and no one should ever buy that. If I ever go to a building with diamond doorknobs, I’m walking out, because those people can’t be trusted. So I do have to sometimes say, look, this one will get you just fine. This part has to be replaced every five years to keep up with regulations anyway, so you’re not better off with the one that lasts for ten years. They’re just trying to get you to spend more to spend more. I do try to save these people money, because they’re doing good work here. I’m glad I work here, but if it ends, I’ll be okay. I’m sure I’ll find something else. The agency has always been real good to me too.

Microstory 2522: Patient Advocate

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I don’t work for the foundation. I am a professional Medical Advocate working for a medical outreach agency, which is commonly employed for patients who need a little extra help navigating the process. I’ve been doing this job since long before the Foundation was even the spark of an idea. Some patients get confused, or know their personalities and skillsets well enough to not trust themselves with being solely responsible for their own medical data. A healthy fraction of such patients have family members or friends who can help them through such difficult and complex processes, but there are others who aren’t so lucky. My agency has a long history of providing chaperoning service to patients who don’t want to be in the exam rooms alone with their medical providers. We help them ask questions, and understand the answers. We help them make their follow-up appointments, and fill their prescriptions. This is typically a paid service that you can find all over the world, but we can do it free of charge for Breath of Life patients through a special program where the Foundation pays for our services on behalf of their neediest patients. Again, I don’t work for Landis, but I’ve become particularly familiar with their practices and procedures, and can help each client get through the process safely and comfortably. Some of them are suffering from dementia, or related conditions, and require that one-on-one care. I tell ya, this is the most rewarding job I’ve ever had. Before this, I did a lot of crying, because I was handling patients who were at their worst. They weren’t getting better, and many of them remained my clients until they died. I’ve been to a lot of funerals throughout the run of my career. Well, not anymore. All of my patients live now, which is something I never thought I would see in my lifetime. I watch as a client with Alzheimer’s becomes suddenly lucid, and in a way that is not going to be undone the next time she sneezes or closes her eyes. This is it. This is what people like me have been hoping for our entire lives. I absolutely love it when a client stops needing my services, not because they die or can’t afford it anymore, but because they’re healthy now. And it gets me every single time. I guess I’m still crying, but they’re tears of joy now. I feel for my colleagues in the industry who don’t work here, who are still going through what I was before. They wish they could have my job, but there are only so many positions. They’re excited about the panacea. Even though it will mean the end of their jobs, they can’t wait for it, because it’s the best outcome possible. I’m pretty excited about what the future holds too.

Microstory 2496: Spydome Network

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This is one of those long-term domes, where you can’t quite get the full experience unless you immerse yourself in the setting, and really forget about your old life. You have to shed your past, and become your character, or you’re playing someone else’s game. The premise is that you are a member of a spy agency in one of eleven nations. Your task is to complete missions for your agency, according to whatever your superiors demand of you. Like I said, this is long-term, so you won’t just instantly become a spy. You will start as a trainee, and work your way up. Or you won’t. There’s every chance that you’ll fail. You have to pass the physical and written exams. I’m pretty sure that they’re easier to take than the real ones on Earth, but I’ve never been a real spy before, so I don’t really know. How well you do is entirely up to your own, natural skills. There is no way to know how far any other player gets, because we’re not technically meant to out ourselves to each other, but my boss may be another visitor. I really don’t know. It really doesn’t matter. What you do is up to you as well. Even though you have superiors, you are not a robot, and you are capable of making your own decisions. If you just wanna lounge about your apartment all day everyday, you’ll probably get fired for that, but you won’t get killed. Unless you’ve done enough spying to put you in danger. You’ll probably only get killed if you go out in the field, or as I was saying, if you’re attacked at home by an enemy. Each nation exists under its own dome, and its backstory is as rich and complex as they are in real life. The relationships between these fictional countries are complicated, and ever-changing. If you were to leave and come back 100 years from now, I’m sure alliances will have shifted. One of them might have been blown up in a nuclear war; I dunno. I couldn’t tell you exactly how far the program will let you take this, but it seems like a pretty decent free-for-all. Each might be one of the eleven most heavily populated domes on the planet, as most don’t need to feel quite as lived in as somewhere in the network. But here, you can go anywhere within your bounds, and if you secure a passport to another country, you can go there too. It’s a really interesting experience, and I’ve only been doing it for about a year and a half at this point. Obviously, I’m writing this anonymously, because there’s no reason a competing agency couldn’t use this information against my own. The android intelligences might not understand where a visitor spy got their intel if it came from an out-of-universe source, but they might act on it anyway. There’s a lot you can learn about the countries, and international affairs, from the comfort of your tablet using the prospectus, but to really grasp what it’s like to live here, you’ll have to sign up, and integrate yourself into this new society. You choose your own adventure. I don’t know the psychological ramifications of starting a new life that could potentially be as long as a standard lifetime, but perhaps that’s part of what they’re studying here. I’m sure the results will be fascinating.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 27, 2509

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Boyd managed to convince the group to stay one more day so he could shore things up with his people. It wasn’t that tall of an order, and they figured it was the least they could do. This was some kind of alternate version of Castlebourne, and once they were gone, what would become of it? Would Pacey make an effort to keep it running, or would these AI androids just start to degrade and wither away? Ethics demanded them to do what they could while they were still around to try.

Come midnight central, everyone jumped forward to the future, including Romana and Boyd. They immediately made their way back down to the vactrain, and navigated it to Castledome. Unlike last time, nothing went wrong, and they actually reached their intended destination. It wasn’t flooded or on fire. They just stepped out, and waited for Octavia to find what she was looking for. The way she was feeling around on the tiles of the train station made it seem like a platform nine and three-quarters type of situation. If there was a way to cross back and forth between these two versions of Castlebourne, it couldn’t be something that any rando could stumble upon accidentally. She couldn’t seem to find the right tile, though, so she started tapping on every one of them one by one. Perhaps the special sequence was different on either side.

While they were waiting, Mateo, Leona, and Olimpia wandered over to the other side of the ring, and fully into the dome. Mateo hoped to have a personal conversation about their relationship, but Leona tilted her head clear down to her shoulder, struck by something surprising. “What is it?” he asked.

She kept staring at the castle in the distance. Finally, she said, “it’s a mirror.”

“What’s a mirror, honey?” Olimpia asked.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice it in any of the other domes. Look at the castle. It’s flipped.” Leona pointed. “That spire should be on the other side.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right.”

Leona’s eyes widened. She powerwalked right back through the ring, and into the station where Octavia was still trying to find the secret entrance. She went over to the opposite wall, and tapped the tiles in the same order that Octavia had when she made her first attempt.

The tube sealed up, and they heard the rush of wind indicating the train that they had taken here was now gone. Then the weird part happened. With more rushing wind, the two halves of the vacuum tube separated from each other, split down the middle where the doors once met. As a cloud of gas filled the space left behind, a second set of doors materialized, identical to the first. They then opened, triggering the rematerialization of the tube as well. Inside the pod—which was much smaller than the usual train car—was Pacey, standing there as cool as an autumn day.

“Can we go?” Mateo asked Pacey.

Pacey smirked. “I dunno. Can they?” he posed to Octavia.

She separated herself from the group, and stepped closer to Pacey, but did not step into the vacpod. “I think we’ve made our main point, but they’re not done learning.”

“Ah, crap. Really?” Mateo questioned. “Friends become enemies? What the hell did we ever do to you?”

Octavia smirked now too. “It’s not about friends becoming enemies, Matt. It’s about enemies becoming friends.” She nodded ever so slightly towards Boyd.

Mateo turned his head towards Boyd quite dramatically. “This whole thing has been about this guy?”

“You need him,” Pacey explained. “Bronach is too powerful to defeat without someone equally powerful.”

“But him?” Mateo pressed. “I mean...maybe Arcadia, or something.”

“Arcadia is not that big of a deal,” Octavia contended. “She gets most of her power by conscripting others, and keeping them behind the proverbial curtain, so it looks like it’s all her. Boyd operates on his own.”

“That’s the problem,” Leona countered. “He’s not a team player.”

“I know hundreds of homo floresiensis bots who would beg to differ,” Pacey reasoned.

“I was being tested too,” Boyd realized.

“Did it teach him to stop being such a pervert?” Mateo asked.

“Oh,” Octavia said dismissively. “Your daughter’s hot. Stop acting like everyone should pretend that they don’t see that. Plus, she’s well into adulthood. She just aged, like two years, right before your eyes. She makes her own choices.”

“Paige would never do this,” Leona said. “Who are you?”

“I am Paige,” Octavia insisted. “I’m just one who’s been through some shit. You’ve led multiple lives. You know what I’m talking about. I did this for you, so you could end it. Soon enough, the Exin Army is going to find their way to Castlebourne, and everything that Team Kadiar worked for will be wiped out in an afternoon, along with millions of totally unsuspecting visitors from Earth, and the rest of the stellar neighborhood. You can’t stop their advance, but you can end the Oaksent regime. The empire is a mess of factions, not because they disagree with each other, but because it’s designed to be compartmentalized. Use that to your advantage. Confuse them, and neutralize them.” She took a breath, and glanced around at the station. “This world is a playground. Some of the domes that we mirrored from the original are dumb, like Heavendome. Others are for relaxation, like Raindome, so you can take your breaks there. The rest are training facilities. That crystal goes both ways. Instead of putting someone else on your pattern, it can take you off. Stay here, keep practicing. Prepare yourselves for the Ex Wars. The train will still be waiting for you when you’re ready.”

“I don’t like to be tricked,” Ramses said to her.

“A necessary component of the lesson,” Octavia claimed.

“A faulty one,” Ramses argued. “We didn’t go looking for Boyd because we wanted him on our team. We went there because your boyfriend told us that we had to. So what’s the real lesson? That you’re the powerful ones here? If that’s true, then okay, but...I’m not sure how that would help us end a war.”

Octavia and Pacey seemed decidedly stumped. “However flawed our plan might have been,” Pacey said, “he’s here now, and I don’t see you ringing his neck.”

Ramses winced. “Well, we can be civil; we’re not savage animals.”

“That’s all it is?” Octavia asked. “You don’t see any good in him, even now?”

“I didn’t say that,” Ramses replied.

“All right, all right, all right. Your pitch is over,” Leona determined. She turned to address the team. “We’re gonna vote on what we wanna do. Will we stay here and train?” she asked with airquotes. “Or will we get our powers and patterns back, and go back out to do whatever we want in normal space?” She looked over her shoulder at Pacey. “Including everything we need to use our tandem slingdrives.”

Pacey shrugged his shoulders, closed his eyes, and nodded.

Leona went on, “all in favor of staying here for an indeterminate amount of time?”

No one raised their hands.

“All in favor of leaving this place behind with our respective toolboxes.”

Everyone raised their hands, except one.

“Boyd, are you abstaining?” Leona asked him.

He’s surprised that she even said his name. “I get a vote?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Yeah, I—I wanna go. I don’t need to stay any longer.”

“Okay, cool.” Leona clapped her hands. She bent over to take the crystal out of her bag, then held it out between herself and Pacey. “I don’t care how this thing works. Just undo what you did. Put us back the way we belong.”

Neither Pacey nor Octavia made a move.

“Are you still holding onto our agency?” Leona questioned.

“No,” Pacey said, disappointed. “But it can’t be done here. Turning off the crystal is fairly simple, though not necessarily obvious. It holds a tremendous amount of temporal energy. You need to block that energy. What do you know blocks that?”

“Lemons?” Olimpia suggested.

A few of them kind of laughed.

Pacey smiled. “She’s right. Dunking it in a bowl of citrus juice would do it. But if you want to exercise some control over what it does—and you don’t want an explosion—you need the harmonic equivalent to citrus.”

“The sound of lemons?” Olimpia pressed.

“Yeah, in a way. Boyd knows what I’m talkin’ ’bout.”

They all looked at Boyd who was a little awkward about it. “There was music involved in one scenario when I was trying to find a way to transport the Buddha’s hand citron to the future. It’s hard to explain, but they converted the genome sequence to sound, and that allowed it to be...it doesn’t matter. All DNA can be translated to music. You just need to pick a reasonable method, and be consistent with it. There are multiple methods, though. Dave had to find the right one for—Pacey, do you want us to use the same method, or what?”

“That’s up to you to decide,” Pacey answered.

“Does that mean that any method will do,” Angela pressed, “or is this another challenge?”

“That’s up to you to decide,” Pacey repeated.

“Great. Boyd, you’ll be our expert,” Leona said. “These two are no help.”

Boyd scoffed. “I wasn’t actually involved in generating the music,” Boyd started to clarify. “I was the boss. Making someone else figure it out for me was part of the thrill. I just heard the highlights afterwards. Which is how I know that playing the entire piece from start to finish will take something like two years.”

“You mean...two days?” Marie asked with a smile.

“Let’s just get back to the real world, and then we’ll make a plan,” Mateo suggested. “There’s nothing for us here.” He then looked directly at Pacey, and added, “if you wouldn’t mind...”

Pacey obliged, stepping out of the vacpod, and off to the side.

“Are you two, like, a thing?” Mateo went on while everyone else was stepping into the pod.

Pacey and Octavia exchanged a look. “Just because we work together, and have the same goals, doesn’t mean we’re hooking up.”

“That’s why I asked,” Mateo retorted. “Because I didn’t know the answer. Don’t be so defensive. You’re the antagonists in this situation, you know that, right? If someone were to write this tale down in a history textbook with any semblance of accuracy, the students would not be rooting for you. Whether the ends justify the means or not, most people don’t like dirty means.” Amidst their silence, he deftly stepped backwards into the pod too. “Just remember that the next time you come across someone you think needs to be taught a lesson.” The doors closed with perfect timing, sending them away and home. Hopefully, that is.

The pod stopped, and the doors reopened. A blackness came flooding in. Dark particles immediately swarmed all around them. Now that Octavia no longer needed Mateo’s protection, he redirected it. He wrapped his arms around Boyd’s body, and endowed him with his EmergentSuit nanites. Everyone else was able to just activate their own suits. They couldn’t talk, though—not in this world. They had to rely on their long histories with each other, and their empathic connections. The other six huddled around Mateo and Boyd. They engaged their tandem slingdrives, and dispatched them all to real, normal space.

Mateo fell straight to the floor, coughing uncontrollably. It felt like the dark particles had entered his body, which didn’t sound possible. According to Ramses, they were just neutrinos, which couldn’t interact with regular matter. Whatever was causing it, he couldn’t stop it, and neither could anyone else. He just kept coughing and coughing until he either passed out or died. He couldn’t tell which.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 26, 2508

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Romana was sitting on the floor, hovering over her father, when he woke up. He turned over to the side, and started to cough. The others were waking up at the same time, recovering in their own ways. Fortunately, no one was dead, not even Octavia. A robot was lifting her up, though, and carrying her away. “She’ll be all right,” Romana assured him. “There’s a medpod in that room.”

“You’ve been alone all year again?” Mateo asked her.

“I did it on purpose,” Romana explained. “Why would we waste time looking for this man one year at a time, when I could spend days and days on the search?”

“Did it work?” Mateo asked.

“It did,” she answered with a sigh. “He doesn’t wanna leave, so I’m hoping you’ll talk some sense into him. But...I don’t wanna lie to you. Something happened. I’m not especially proud of it, but even though I was pretending to be a sixteen-year-old in Underberg, I’m actually much older than that. I don’t know why Pacey aged me down, but you need to understand that I’m an adult, and I make my own choices.”

“You slept with him...” Mateo guessed. “With Buddy.”

“He’s very kind to me.”

“I bet he is.”

“That’s not fair. I just told you, I’m an adult. He didn’t trick me. Don’t take away my agency.”

“I’m not, but Romana, he’s not a good guy. Being nice to you doesn’t absolve him of his past sins.”

“And what sins are these?” Romana questioned. “How many people has he killed?”

“That’s not the point.”

How many have you killed?”

Mateo didn’t respond to this.

Romana went on, “you two don’t see eye to eye, and I know he hasn’t been particularly pleasant to be around, but if you add up all the bad things he’s done, they’re really not all that bad. In the end, you two are enemies because you don’t get along. I’m sure before you became a time traveler, you interacted with plenty of people like that, and it didn’t make you believe that they didn’t deserve love.”

“Is that true?” Mateo sat up. “Are you in love?”

“No, of course not. I’m just saying...”

“That you’re acting like a rebellious teen,” Mateo interrupted as if that was what she was gonna say. “Are you sure you’re older than sixteen?”

“You are not my father. You didn’t raise me. Silenus did.”

“That’s comforting.”

She ignored that rude comment. “You don’t get to tell me what to do with my life. You never have. I know it’s not your fault that you weren’t around, but you can’t honestly expect me to listen to everything you say as if you have some kind of control over my choices. I’m being honest with you, because I don’t want to lie to someone I respect and care about. But don’t you sit there and belittle me as if I’m nothing more than an extension of your own personality. I will take you to Boyd, but you are not to harm him. You are not even allowed to yell at him. I am insisting on that, and I will keep us on this rock forever if you defy me in this regard.”

“That’s enough!” Leona interjected. “You don’t talk to your father like that. I don’t care how old you are, or who raised you. Boyd probably has ten years on you, and that’s assuming he hasn’t used time magicks to reyoungify himself, or he could be much older.”

“You were fifteen when you met your now-husband!” Romana shouted back.

“And he didn’t have any feelings for me until much later. Don’t turn this around on us. Boyd—if that’s what we’re calling him—is not good for you, full stop. When we first encountered him, he insisted that we call him Buddha. That’s incredibly offensive, and tells you everything you need to know about him. Just because he may not be as bad as some of the other antagonists we’ve met, like Zeferino, Arcadia, or even Pacey, doesn’t mean you made the right choice.”

“You’re friends with Arcadia now. You made friends with nearly everyone you’ve gone up against. What are we even talking about here? All I’m asking is that you give him a chance to improve himself, and prove himself; not just give up on him outright. Forgiveness doesn’t have a quota!”

“All right!” Olimpia interjects this time. “Mateo, Leona, you’re not going to attack Boyd when we find him. Romana, you may be older than you look, but you have a long ways to go. This situation is incredibly weird, what with our experiences in Underberg, and other domes. We can’t trust our own memories. Some of them are entirely fake, and their associated feelings may be a little less genuine than they seem. So I think we all need to take a beat, and focus on what matters. We are not living in a soap opera. We’re dealing with real problems here, trying to escape some weird, alternate universe. We can’t do that until we get what we came here for. The interpersonal relationship drama can wait.”

Mateo, Leona, and Romana quietly conceded. Ramses, Angela, and Marie silently agreed, having successfully stayed out of the fight.

“Okay,” Olimpia continued, proud of herself, and relieved that her argument worked. “It won’t take long for Octavia to recover. In the meantime, where is Boyd? Did he get hurt in the explosion?”

“He’s fine, he wasn’t even here,” Romana answered. “He’s in the Fostean sector at this point, living on a simulated jarl world.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Mateo said.

“Single-occupancy planet,” Leona explained. “A one-percenter in that culture will have so much money that they can afford to own an entire celestial body. They will live there alone, or with their family, supported by a small army of slaves called Arkeizen. These supposed subhumans will be known as thralls so long as they are in service to the elite. It’s not a heartwarming story.”

“Why would he be there?”

“To be clear, the thralls aren’t real slaves,” Romana said. “As I said, which you obviously already know, it’s a simulation, so they’re just robots.”

“It’s still gross,” Olimpia said to her. “I gotta admit, that’s a point against him.”

Romana smirked. “Just wait until you see it, okay?”

“Fine,” Leona decided. “Let’s take a vactrain this time. I don’t want this happening again, so we’ll stay out of canon as much as possible.”

“It’s not gonna happen again,” Romana contended. “Like the flooding of Atlantis, the destruction of this planet was canonical. It happened during the Sixth Shell.”

“Either way, let’s keep it real.” Leona led the way down the corridor.

Octavia was stepping out of the medical bay. She had missed a lot, and didn’t know where they were going, but she followed them anyway.

They got on the train, and had it deliver them to Jarldome. There were 200 levels here, most of which were 200 meters high, but with the holographic skies above each one, they felt endless. Boyd was on the topmost level, with a bunch of slaves. The team expected to find him lounging on a mountain of pillows, being fawned over and doted upon by these Arkeizen. It didn’t seem to be that way. The robots made to look like a hominid cousin were milling about an impressive little town. When they walked through, the Arkeizen smiled and waved. They didn’t look oppressed or abused. They were working, however, so no valid conclusion. On the far end of the main street, they finally found Boyd. A group of people were evidently in the middle of building a house, and he was helping. He was physically helping carry a wooden beam, and set it in place.

“Oh! I didn’t see you there. How long have you been watching us?”

“We just arrived,” Romana answered him.

“Well, welcome to Citrus City!” Boyd said. “Would you like the tour?”

“We’d like to get out of here,” Mateo responded.

Boyd frowned. “There’s so much work to do.”

“None of this is real,” Ramses told him. “It’s a simulation. You know that, right?”

“Of course I am,” Boyd said dismissively. “You think it’s that easy to erase my memories?”

“Either you’re delusional,” Mateo began. Romana gave him the stink eye, so he switched tactics. “I mean, if that’s true, then were you aware of our true histories while you were living in Underberg?”

“I guess not. But I broke out of it. I’m fine. I’m happy, living here, teaching these people how to fend for themselves.”

“They’re robots,” Ramses added.

“Shh!” Boyd whispered loudly. “They don’t know that.”

Mateo sighed angrily, and looked over at his daughter. “You did this. You told him to put on this show to make it look like he was freeing a whole peoples. You think that’s gonna work? You think I’m gonna start liking him now?”

“Sir,” Boyd jumped in. “Romana came to me two weeks ago. I’ve been working on this town for months. This isn’t just for show. I know that I have made mistakes in the past, but I don’t agree with slavery. Jesus. That’s the point of this dome, you know? It’s a test; will a visitor let their thralls do what they’ve been indoctrinated to do, or make changes that go against the history of the Fostean culture from the fictional stories? That’s the question, will you play into it, or do the right thing, even when it doesn’t matter? Because like you said, they’re robots.”

Mateo crossed his arms disapprovingly, but didn’t have anything more to say.

Leona pulled the magical technicolored crystal from her bag, and presented it to Boyd. She jerked it away when he reached for it. “This will place you on our pattern. Truthfully, Pacey did not reveal whether it was permanent or not. I believe that you will have less of a chance to get into trouble if you only exist for one day out of the year, though, so I’m hoping that you take the risk. I don’t know how long it’s gonna take for us to get back to where we belong, but I don’t want you running around on your own anymore.” She glanced over at Romana. “I certainly don’t want you to be doing that with my daughter. Frolicking on the jarl worlds, freeing slaves together.” She grimaced, and looked over at the Walton twins. She wasn’t trying to say that freeing slaves was bad. “You know what I mean.” She went on, “touching this crystal will go a long way to earning our trust, but it’s not a cure-all. And either way, it has to be your choice.”

Without hesitation, Boyd took hold of the crystal. The colors swirled around inside, presumably transferring Leona’s pattern into his qualium realm. “Thank you for the opportunity. I won’t let you down.”

Suddenly, they heard a noise in the sky. A flying craft of some kind was headed right for them, so far up in the air that it couldn’t be real. The holographic image grew larger and larger though until it was as large as it would be if it were right above the invisible ceiling. Something changed as the hologram gave way to a tangible object, presumably having been dropped down through a recess. This real, physical shuttle continued to fly towards them until it landed right in the street. A bunch of humans with guns filed out of it.

The leader of the newcomers looked around at the Arkeizen. It was unclear whether he could tell that they were free, and no longer enslaved thralls. He zeroed in on Boyd. “Sir, are you okay? Our sensors picked up unauthorized entry to your planet.”

“They’re friends,” Boyd said. “We need no help here.”

The leader stepped closer so he could lower his voice. “Listen, if you need help, you don’t have to be afraid of them anymore.”

“I’m not being coerced,” Boyd tried to say. “Everything’s fine. You can go.”

The leader nodded. He walked past Boyd, and as he was adjusting his pants, got a better look at the community. He turned back around to address Boyd again. “How are your thralls doin’? You’ve been here a while. Do you need a top-up?” A top-up of slaves?

“No. My numbers are steady.”

The guy was surprised. “Not one death?”

Boyd shook his head.

“Interesting. “Very interesting. Say, you wouldn’t be...treating them like people, would you?”

“And if I were, is that against the law?”

The man shrugged. “No, of course not. They’re your thralls, you can do whatever you want to them. It’s just a little unusual. I’d hate to think that they were influencing your behavior in some way. You know, we get a bad batch sometimes. One of them is sick in the head—starts thinkin’ that he’s special, or valuable—and that can infect the whole group. And sometimes...their owner gets infected too.”

“I’ve had enough of this,” Marie said. “Suits on!”

Mateo took Octavia in a hug again, and commanded his nanites to wrap themselves around her. Angela and Marie, meanwhile, started taking out their anger for their father out on these robo-slavers. They stole their guns from them, and shot each in the head. The slavers shot back, careful not to hit Boyd, but not caring about anyone else’s life. The Arkeizen ran and hid behind various structures while Leona, Ramses, Olimpia, and Romana protected the stragglers. It was over quickly. All of the bad robots were dead and on the ground.

“What happens when we leave?” Leona asked after the dust had settled, and the suits were no longer necessary. “Is another shuttle gonna be triggered later to come down and try to put a stop to all this antislavery wokeness?”

Boyd chuckled. “This isn’t my first single-occupancy planet. They always show up as a sort of final test, to see how you’ll react. I’ve always just talked my way out of it, but I guess this works too.”

“Great,” Leona decided. “Then pack up your shit. It’s time to go.”

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Microstory 2309: Going to Peter Out

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There’s really nothing going on today. Buying a house involves a bunch of boring stuff that I don’t want to tell you about any more than you want to hear it. Selling one isn’t any more interesting. I had no idea that my life was headed in this direction. I’m only 18, and I’m already living alone. When I first started working at the nursery, I didn’t know what my career would be. I figured that it would be something in the medical field, but I wasn’t aware of all my options at the time. When I read the job description for Lifecare Assistant, I knew that that’s what I wanted to do, and I never changed my mind. I only stopped working because I became so involved in my first patient’s life, and then it all snowballed, and now here I am. Is this what I want to do now instead...nothing? I think I need to go back to work. I need to do something important every day. I saw Nick struggling to find purpose once he got all this money, but now I realize that he had it the whole time with his writing. He was just keeping it a secret from everyone. He wasn’t just lounging about. I can’t do that either. I need to contribute to the world, and not just through the charitable donations that I’m maintaining. Those handle themselves. I’m going to call the agency first thing tomorrow morning to see about getting back in rotation. It’s a national agency, by the way, so don’t think this means you know where I’m moving to. I’m sure a lot of you were hoping that—if it had to end—this blog would go out in a blaze of glory. But it looks like it’s just going to peter out. I think that’s okay.

Microstory 2236: Stop Sending Me Messages

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We’re running into the same problem with the FBI that we had with the jail. No one has my contact information, so they’re reaching out to the only entity that they know is already in contact with me. They had to hire a temp to sift through all the letters and emails. It may actually be a team, I don’t really know. But I’m sure it’s a stressful job, because it includes death threats. Well, in truth, I don’t know that there are any death threats, because if true, part of the temp’s job would be to filter them out, so I don’t have to see them. But let’s face it, there are. No one should be sending anything like that, but I don’t really want anything anyway; good or bad. I don’t want your love letters, propositions, or proposals. I don’t want you to publish a book about my life, or cast me in a romcom. I won’t go on a date with you, or father your child, or give you my blood. It’s not a healing elixir; we know as much. Just stop. Not too long ago, Kelly suggested that we might consider hiring a publicist to handle all this stuff. They have the infrastructure and hiring practices to handle this sort of thing, not that I want anyone to have to deal with this stuff. I would rather it just stop altogether. Back in my younger days, I wished that I would be famous, and I guess I always knew that it came with drawbacks, but knowing about them, and experiencing them, are two different things. So please just calm down. As I’ve tried to explain, my blood cannot heal you. Doctors have been studying it for weeks—even longer than that when you consider the fact that I was a former immortal before I even came to your world. That’s the thing about your universe, it dampens my abilities, which is of course, what opens me up to all those death threats. God, I just can’t get away from the strife. Please just stop sending me messages. I’m sorry, but I’m not reading most of them. I don’t know what I’m going to do with the rest of my life, but I can tell you that it will be on my terms. The more you beg me to follow your lead, or listen to your ideas, the more I’m going to pull away. That’s just who I am. If you really wanna stay in the loop, simply read my website and socials. Personal connection isn’t a thing; not with me. I have all the friends I need.

Microstory 2235: Constant Federal Supervision

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This is Nick. The FBI has developed a way for me to write my posts, and have them published on my website without actually having to access the internet myself, and risk giving away my current location. I’ve been asked not to place myself in that risk in other ways, such as describing where we’re living, or anything, but other than that, I don’t have to run anything by them. There’s no approval process here. It’s just me, printing a copy of what I want to say, and sending it to the agent who has access to the right web accounts. I will tell you that I’m granted brief, monitored, and heavily secured access to the internet to make sure it looks the way I want it, but other than that, we entertain ourselves with physical media, like books and DVDs. They’re not that interesting to me, but the other two don’t seem to have any issues with it. I’m getting back into writing, because I think this world needs more compelling stories, so that takes up a lot of my time. God knows there’s nothing else to do stuck in this safehouse at 221B Baker Street in foggy Londontown. Ha! Fooled you! That is a reference from my homeworld. It’s not really where we are, you chumps. Anyway, my new stories have given me an idea of how I might get back to my friends, but it’s going to take help from viewers like you. I’ll have the details later—I just remembered this cosmic trick yesterday—but basically, if I put on a production of a particular stage musical, there’s a chance that a universe-hopper will come and get me out of here. I know that sounds bizarre and random, but it does make sense once you know the full story. Again, these are only the early stages. I’m still in protective custody, so if I want to take it one step at a time—which I should—carving a new life out for myself without the need for constant federal supervision would be the first one. So don’t ask me when auditions are. It’s not time yet. There’s a strong chance that it wouldn’t even work. Joseph is very...critical of people’s interpretations. I’ll give you more information at a later date if I decide to move forward with this plan.