The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 24, 2568

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The technology that Leona used to boost Kayetan’s merging ability was the same she used to get him back home. That way, they didn’t have to make yet another sling there. Once he did return to Earth, though, he would not be able to return. They were many light years away, and he couldn’t usually travel that far. Of course, he was at hers and Mateo’s wedding, where he managed to merge people from all over the bulk, so how was he able to accomplish that? She forgot to ask. They’ve changed realities and timelines so many times since then, though, so he might not have even ever done that.

As it turned out, the fire that burned down the crops was a total accident. There was technically an arsonist, but it was part of nature. The team didn’t have much time to study it, but there was a special type of alien beetloid which could start fires by rubbing its legs on stones. It must infuse the right kind of metal into its diet, and spark a reaction through some kind of chemical that it also produced. It might do this to clean, or mark its territory, or maybe as part of a mating ritual. Some of the endemic plant life could handle it by dispensing a natural fire suppressant. It appeared to be a symbiotic relationship, actually. The beetles cleared the brush for whatever reason they had, and the fire-resistant plants got to keep all of the soil’s nutrients for themselves, against the burnable competitors. The grapes would obviously not survive over in their territory.

The solution? Plant the grapes on the other side of the river. This caused some uproar in the population, but they agreed to it, because it was the only answer that made any sense. And it would probably help in the long run. Since they now had no choice, this was where they were going to live. Everything Ramses’ computer was afraid of, with two factions growing apart from each other, was no longer an issue. Well, it could still happen, but it would not be because of grapes. They would survive this crucible at least.

When they finally reunited on Ramosus in 2568, they found themselves trapped in the in-house slingdrive. Romana was on the other side of the plasma barrier, holding her hands up defensively. “Now, I know that you’re mad, but don’t you feel fulfilled? You completed your tasks. That’s all we’ve been wanting, right? You’re not here to seek out new life and new civilizations. You’re volunteer fixers. I just gave you a little nudge. I know you didn’t want to do it like this, but I’m hoping you’ll forgive me one day, if not outright thank me. I just...I wanted you to stop worrying about me, and to move on.”

Mateo tried to push his hands through the plasma. It gave, but it didn’t break. “Why are we locked up in here? Did you think we were gonna hurt you?”

“No, I didn’t think my parents, aunts, and uncle were going to physically cause me harm, but I thought you would punish me. I wanted to see Boyd again, and you wouldn’t let me. I figured I would feed two birds with one worm. You six get the satisfaction of saving two colonies from themselves, and I get to spend time with the one person who is only for me. The barrier is just so I could gauge your reaction upon returning.”

Leona placed her hand on the barrier too, but to try to reach out to Romana, not to escape. “Our reaction is that we love you, and that the Boyd program is dangerous until Ramses makes sure it’s safe from the dark particle corruption. It was never permanent.”

“Well...” Romana seemed bashful now. “That wasn’t all I wanted to do with Boyd.”

“What did you want to do with him? Meet him in immersive VR?” Mateo pressed.

“No.” She opened her arm to present a young man who was walking into the lab. “Ladies and gentleman, may I present to you, Boyd Nieman...literally in the flesh.”

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 22, 2566

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When Mateo, Angela, and Ramses landed on this new colony planet, the latter immediately started trying to figure out how to get back home. It wasn’t right for Romana to make this decision for them. He was completely locked out, and embarrassed by that. He guessed that the invisible probe he had orbiting this planet were monitoring their progress. Once they satisfactorily completed the assignment, it would automatically unlock the recall program, and send them back home. Until then, they were forced to help the locals come to an agreement regarding their grape conflict.

Romana didn’t send them off with nothing. Ramses had the equipment he needed to sample the soil himself. The colonists had their own ways, but they weren’t very sophisticated. They came here with personal tech restrictions. They wanted to be as organic as possible, so while they happily maintained their transhumanistic enhancements, they shunned powered tools. They weren’t against them in general, they had just decided that they wouldn’t use them. They were perfectly content with Ramses doing it for them. He discovered that the south side of the river had better soil. The grapes would be happy there, and they would also be able to expand the farm as needed.

After the locals agreed to follow Ramses’ suggestion, they hoped to be slung back to Ramosus, but no such thing happened. Romana may have been waiting until midnight central, but there could have been some other issue. Maybe she needed to see that the colonists would indeed follow the new plan, and not just a pinky promise. So they helped till the land manually until midnight central approached, at which point they snuck off to a remote part of the forest. There they waited for their time jump.

It was now a year later. The vineyard was absolutely thriving. It had grown bigger than they thought it would in the short amount of time. Ramses guessed that the sun was emitting more desirable wavelengths of light, but he did not care to test it. They were ready to go. They should have been returned by now. Maybe Ramses wasn’t right about how it worked, or Romana was keeping an eye on them, and simply controlling it manually. Or maybe something was seriously wrong somewhere else, like the team’s other assignment site. Or Romana herself was in trouble.

“Are you sure you can’t bypass it?” Angela questioned. “Can you proverbially reverse the polarity, and undo the lockout? Or find some kind of backdoor in the system? We have our own slingdrives. We should maintain full control over them.”

“You’re right, we should,” Ramses agreed. “Rather, I should. I don’t know how she did it. Our onboard slingdrives are non-negotiable, but they’re missing a component. It’s...if you know anything about guns, it’s essentially the firing pin. The process won’t trigger without it, unless it has some external trigger, like the Ramosus base.”

“Can you build a new one?” Mateo proposed. “Just the new trigger.”

“Hmm,” Ramses said. “I didn’t think of that. It shouldn’t be too hard, as long as she didn’t sabotage anything else. I don’t even know how she gained access to our catalyzers in the first place.” He pulled out his tablet, and started tapping on it. “I can’t promise it’ll be done in a day since I’m away from my lab, but I’ll work as fast as I can.”

“Take your time,” Angela encouraged. “It’s better to get it right than do it rushed.”

“In the meantime, should we go back and help in the vineyard?” Mateo suggested.

“Let’s leave them alone,” Angela decided. “They need to learn their own limits. They will probably eventually bring external tech back, and just become normal. I think we did all we were obligated to. I just wish I understood why Romana doesn’t agree.”

Ramses was unable to finish. The next year, the vineyard was burnt down.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 21, 2565

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Things were awkward and tense on Ramosus, though it was no one’s fault. It wasn’t even Romana’s, though she definitely felt like it was. They were in a holding pattern. Ramses believed he had successfully cleared all the corruption in her by flushing her system of all foreign bodies, but they still weren’t going on missions, even though they received two pings from the alert system. They were all saying it was because they were burnt out, but they just wanted to stay and support Romana. Yet that was exactly what she didn’t want. She didn’t want to be coddled or protected, because it just made her feel worse. She clearly had other things on her mind anyway.

Romana was brushing off their concern. She seemed to be more worried about Boyd at this point, which was fine. Mateo would be fine. Ramses had a lot of data on who he really was, and what separated him from any data corruption. Boyd, on the other hand, was a threat—to them, and to himself. She wasn’t even allowed to talk to him.

Mateo was in her room now to check on her. “Hey. I’m not gonna ask you how you’re doing.” He coolly sat down on her bed next to her. “Instead I’ll say...what’s up?”

“We have already talked,” Romana said. “We do not need to go over it all again.”

“That’s why I asked that question,” he pointed out. “You decide on the topic.”

“I wanna talk about those outstanding pings,” Romana decided. “You should go.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Mateo insisted. “Before you say anything, I know you don’t need to be cared for like a little baby, but I think you need to be distracted, and it’s easier to do that if the distraction is being created and controlled by someone else. If you spend all day dwelling on what happened—even unintentionally—it will eat away at you. You run the risk of it becoming part of your personality. You don’t want that, do you?”

“Guilt and regret are facts of life,” she responded. “They serve a necessary function. They prevent future potential mistakes. I don’t wanna dwell, but I don’t wanna forget either. I’m going to spend the appropriate amount of time reflecting on it.”

“I respect that,” Mateo admitted. “And if you really don’t want to do something with me, like play a boardgame, I won’t force it. But I still need to be here as an option, not off on some colony, helping aliens decide where to plant their grapes, or whatever.”

“Someone should respond to the pings,” Romana reasoned. “It might not be the problem of low-stakes garden design. It could be really serious.”

“No, that’s the actual problem,” Mateo explained. “It’s a grape conflict. They don’t know which side of the river is the best, and don’t have time to observe the seasons.”

“Why would the system flag that?” Romana questioned. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Because the computer calculated a high probability of it leading to what will initially appear to be a compromise by planting on both sides. But this grape species is high maintenance, so they will have to live in two separate communities. Years from now, the computer thinks it will start a war. It has apparently run a lot of simulations.”

Romana was annoyed. “So you should go. Why are we arguing about this?”

“That could take decades,” Mateo dismissed. “They will still be there a few days from now. I’m staying here. Again, we don’t have to do anything, but I’m not leaving.”

She sighed. “Yes, you are.” She reached up and slapped the back of his neck.

It stung. He tried to pull it out, but whatever it was burrowed into his skin.

“Boyd helped me build that. You won’t be able to return to Ramosus until you’ve completed whatever task you went there to do. This is my decision as navigator.”

He teleported into the on-base slingdrive, which powered up on its own, and sent him away, along with Ramses and Angela. A second trip took the other three.

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Microstory 2667: Pure Guano

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It’s been another few days since the fruitless meeting in Ambassador Hall. Resi has been trying to go over the heads of the ambassadors, and secure an audience with the Presidents of Sanggar and Pekat themselves, but no such luck. It’s looking like Cortez was right. There’s no place for them on the island anymore. Their numbers haven’t stopped going up. There are now 428 of them. Fortunately, it’s not the rainy season right now, so the kids who have to sleep outside of the dorms are doing okay. They’ve lived on an island their whole lives, so it’s not like any of them isn’t used to the elements. Resi is trying to hold it together, but everyone is looking to him to fix this. They have less than two weeks to figure out where to go, but it’s not so simple. Leaving Yana is the one thing that no one wants to do. They’re islanders. That’s their whole thing. They didn’t choose any of the four original houses, but they didn’t choose Kinkon either. They can’t stand the thought. But if they leave, they can’t just let the Bungulas plop them down wherever there happens to be open space. They’re not familiar with the planet’s geography, but there has to be more than one island. Maybe even a better one?

“Caprice,” Resi says as he’s walking towards his unit. “You’re with me.”

“Boss,” she replies respectfully as she’s following him down the hall. The way she justifies her involvement in this is that the Kidjums were supposed to end for good, leaving her free to choose a new destiny for herself. She says she couldn’t help it that the Assembly decided to go back to the old ways. That was weeks ago. She’s quit her job, and found a new one. She’s the only older person here.

Resi pops his head into the room. And there’s the only younger person here. He steps back out and looks down the hall. “Hey, Chaya! Are you free?”

“Yeah, need me to take her?” Chaya was the Ilah girl from his first non-Kidjum who challenged his decisions. Not everyone from that fateful day is part of Resi’s personal Fold now, but a lot of them have proven themselves capable of serving well as his advisors and delegates. Chaya, in particular, is good with Kala, so she takes on babysitting duties when Resi can’t look after her, or needs some privacy. She takes Kala’s hand when she comes out of the dorm on her own, knowing the drill. “Let’s go get some bolon de verde.”

“Not too much,” Resi instructs.

Caprice closes the door behind her. “I think you need to stop trying to talk to the presidents. They don’t have time for us. They don’t care.”

“Oh, I’ve stopped,” Resi agrees. “We only have one more option now, and it’s not Yana. I’m hoping that you know where we could go, given your history.”

“My history?” Caprice questioned. “What do you mean?”

“You’re Kinkon,” he says. It’s not something they ever talk about, but while she looks Tamboran, she’s clearly had a lot of experience on the outside.

“What the hell are you talking about? No, I’m not. I was from Naino. I grew up as a fisherman. I hadn’t realized I hadn’t told you that. That’s why I always wear blue.”

“The color codes don’t really exist anymore, and that’s not a Kutelin thing.”

“They were when I was a kid. Naino wore mostly blue. I don’t understand why you thought I was Kinkon, because I know how to work a nanoparticle microinjector?” They don’t use a lot of technology from the outside world, but the Bungulans insisted on providing them with medical supplies. They said it was a humanitarian issue. No amount of non-interference laws could overshadow basic existential ethics.

“No, your name. Caprice is not Tamboran.”

She stares at him for a few seconds. “Yeah, my parents gave me a western world name. That’s not illegal, and it doesn’t mean I’m from one of the other settlements. I’m Tamboran through and through. I’m sorry if you thought that I had some special knowledge about what else is out there, but I probably had a worse education than you. I skipped half of the school days because I had to deepsea fish with my family.”

“So you do know about the ocean,” he presses. “Have you seen any other island, just when you were living your life, not studying it?”

“I’m sure there are a ton of islands out there. We didn’t go to any of them, because that’s not deep sea. The only specific one I know off the top of my head is Anchor Island, and we all know that one.”

“That’s the one with the elevator?” Resi asks rhetorically. “That would be in our own knowledge archives.” He takes out his device, and looks it up. He reads as much as he can without the silence becoming too awkward between him and Caprice. “It was ours. It’s only forty-two kilometers away, and used to be an extension of Yana. We gave it to the colonists not too long ago, historically speaking.”

“Yeah, that sounds right. I think our ancestors would mine guano there for fertilizer. But then they stripped it clean, and had no further use for it. They traded it for something—I don’t remember—but it was only recently that the Bungulans started using it for their space elevator, since we’re at the equator.” She looked up to think. “You were probably just being born when that was all going down. Somebody stole the top part of the elevator, and nearly started a war, so they had to build a new one to replace it.”

“Did they ever...figure out how to plant there? Or is it still barren?”

“No, I don’t think they care about that,” Caprice answers. “They just just use it to go up and down. So if you were hoping they would, for some reason, give it back, I don’t see why they would, and I don’t see what we would do with it.”

He sighed and frowned, looking down at the floor, defeated yet again.

“But. Even though I’m not Kinkon, one thing I know about them is that Anchor Island doubles as a waypoint. When they choose to leave Yana, they go there first, and start to acclimate to a new way of life. I obviously don’t know exactly what that entails, but every time they’re needed, the Anchor people come here in a really fast boat, and ferry them over. I think such an excursion is not a big deal for those people. They could probably make the trip on their lunch break.”

“How often does someone’s subconscious choose Kinkon during a Kidjum?”

“In my experience, a few people a week. It fluctuates, though. During periods of great strife, we usually end up with more, because kids believe there’s a better life for them on the other side of the ocean.”

“Is there?” Resi asks her. “Are we stupid for not choosing Kinkon too?”

She’s silent at first, looking away, then looking him in the eyes again. “Probably.”

Resi nods. “Thank you for your help. I’m sorry this conversation started out so combative. Now. I think I need a camera. For now, we are no longer accepting applications to join House Kutelin. The Kidjums must start again so someone can choose Kinkon for us, and trigger that boat. You and I are gonna get on it.”

Microstory 2666: Two Ambassadors Walk Into a Farce

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When the saviors—whoever exactly they were—rescued the would-be victims of the 1815 Mount Tambora eruption, they only took those whose bodies would never have been recovered. They know this, because lots of people did die from that catastrophe, even all across the world, due to secondary effects, and no survivor left on Earth reported seeing magical beings come down and whisk certain people away. They were missing and presumed dead, most likely vaporized. The Kingdom of Tambora was closer to the volcano, so the history books have written them off as wiped out. In reality, they were brought here to Bungula, for some reason over 400 years in the future. That’s what some people currently living on Yana believe. To the rest of the galaxy, the original Yana islanders must have been an isolated population of colonists, who came to this planet in ships like everyone else, then later made up superstitious stories about their origins. Yana Islanders have accepted the more rational explanation for the most part. Some of them reject the lore so strongly, though, that they leave the island as Kinkon. Only some still believe, and out of them, the majority live in Tambora.

Fewer people were rescued from Pekat and Sanggar, but they have maintained their own culture here too. They don’t have Houses, they don’t care about the Tamboran Houses, they don’t have anything to do with any of this. They occupy a smaller portion of the island because their population remains a smaller fraction, but they have their own things going on, and certainly their own problems. Still, a few hundred sixteen-year-olds isn’t too much to deal with. Surely one of them will agree to take them in as refugees. Members of House Kutelin don’t have to stay together. It would be nice, but Resi is prepared to be flexible in case their neighbors aren’t. That’s why he has asked to meet with them at the same time, so they can all three work this out together.

Resi stands when they enter simultaneously, likely having been discussing matters away from him beforehand. “Ambassador Churchill,” he says with a nod. “Ambassador Cortez. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I apologize if our customs are incompatible. If there is anything I should do or say, please let me know. My studies focused primarily on agriculture. We were not taught much of your cultures.”

“It’s fine, Mr. Brooks,” Churchill assures him. “Let us sit.”

They’re at the triangle table. It looks about as you would expect. It’s usually for the Tambora ambassador to sit on this side, but if she has an issue with it, she can climb the hill and complain. He focuses on keeping his breath steady. “I believe that you two know why I am here, so in lieu of pitching it to you formally, I thought I would give you the opportunity to speak first. Unless, that is, you do want to hear a speech.”

“That’s all right,” Cortez agrees. “We have been talking amongst each other, but cannot give an answer until we know a little bit more information. The last we were told, there were three hundred and thirteen of you?”

“There are three hundred and fifty-five now, since it took a couple of days for you two to become available for this meeting.”

They both consult their devices. “Forgive me,” Churchill begins, “but we were to understand that your number was static. The Tamboran Assembly claims to have put an end to the new system, and reverted back to the old one.”

Resi nods. “They’re trying to do that, yes, but they’re struggling. Kids are excited to join us, and we have not been turning them away. If they skip their Kidjum, and come right to House Kutelin, we always open our doors. So far, the Assembly has not been arguing with us about it. The ceremony Kokore has...remained on my side of things, which makes reinstituting the Kidjum a somewhat complicated endeavor. I believe they are secretly relieved to have the extra time to get things back up and running.”

“Do you anticipate further defection?” Cortez presses.

“We don’t use that word,” Resi replies, “but as I said, we’ve been opening our doors to those in need. That is how I was raised. My family once took in a Bungulan who came here for vacation when there was no more space at any of the resorts.”

A brief awkward pause.

Cortez went on, “you understand that we are already reluctant to extend a hand, and risk instigating tensions with the Tamboran Assembly.”

“The Assembly has no problem with it,” Resi insists, hoping it wasn’t too rude to interrupt. He just needs them to understand this before they start arguing more, because he knows what their real concern is. “We’re not fugitives or war criminals. We’re exiles. They want us to find somewhere to live. The stratified system that they use in their economy is not conducive to the introduction of an additional house. There are no jobs left. Your systems are more fluid, allowing us to fill in the gaps wherever necessary while maintaining our distinct culture association.”

“We appreciate that,” Churchill says. “But if your numbers are increasing, it makes our decision harder. We do not have infinite resources, nor infinite jobs. The Pekat are also facing a mild distribution issue with our own population. The island is only so large, and we are never not negotiating the size of our fractions of it.”

Cortez nods. “Sanggar is running out of space as well. I don’t know if you know this, but 300 years ago, Tambora reserved the best land for themselves. They can dig down in certain regions. You have basements and high rises. We don’t have that luxury.”

“We have had to maintain strict population control,” Churchill concurs, “so we do not exceed our allotment. We may be able to take in a few dozen of your people.”

“Us as well,” Cortez agrees.

Churchill continues with the same breath, “but that’s only if those we take in are willing to live on the harsh Tambora border, and build their own infrastructure.”

“That is unacceptable,” Resi says with a shake of his head. “I can’t leave any of my people behind. There’s nowhere to go.” He takes a breath before he says something unbecoming of an ad hoc ambassador. “Let’s think this through. You need more space.” He taps on his heart. “We do too. Point to the map. Show me where they can build basements that’s closest to your borders. My former Maing’aing are excellent engineers. They can whip up a new building in a matter of weeks.”

“Nowhere on our side of the border is dig-worthy.” Churchill stands now. “I know the geography well enough to say the same for Sanggar.”

“It doesn’t have to be on that side. It just has to be close, and we’ll annex it. We don’t have anything over there. The border isn’t a heavily trafficked area. They might as well give it to us, and by extension you. But we need your support to do that.”

The Ambassadors look at each other, appearing to share a telepathic conversation before Cortez looks back over at Resi. “I’m sorry, but we simply cannot risk conflict with Tambora. Taking land on your way out isn’t really exile, is it? You’ll have to find another way. It looks like you are no longer welcome anywhere on Yana.”

Microstory 2603: They Divide Themselves Into Clamoring Crowds

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August 17, 2526. Tertius Valerius and Aeterna Valeria are in a dome called Breckenridge. It’s the closest one to where they live, Leviss. Well, Aeterna lives there. Tertius left a while back when he and his daughter had a falling out, and only recently returned. Things have, quite frankly, turned to shit. Leviss has been experiencing intensifying seismic activity. It turns out that Breckenridge has too, but not quite as bad. Their infrastructure is worse, which in some ways, is a good thing. One significant tremor, and a skyscraper can come tumbling down. But sparse handmade houses that are already low to the ground? Not great, but easier to survive. Back in the day, Leviss was the absolute least advanced dome on Proxima Doma, but they intentionally had their memories wiped of their technological origins. They’ve never heard of Earth. They didn’t know they came here in a ship. This is just where they have always been, as far as they know. Breckenridge also opted for a low-tech society, but their memories were left intact, so they knew why they did it, and were able to instill their values into their children. Without this legacy, the Levins have kept advancing until now, when their level of technology resembles that of their ancestors before the split. Unfortunately, it’s all falling apart. And they need somewhere to go.

“Merchant Prince Rinaldi, please,” Tertius begs. “We need to talk about this.”

“Uh-uh-uh, call me by my current title.”

“Uh, Incumbent Rinaldi, please,” Tertius begs further.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” Rinaldi contends. “Not until after the vote, and only if I win.”

“This isn’t a vote,” Tertius argues. “This is a caucus, and a bloody mess one at that. It looks like you’re going to win anyway.” Most of the candidates are yelling out their future plans for the dome, trying to entice voters to support them. As incumbent, Rinaldi has evidently found that he doesn’t need to risk his voice. He has the largest crowd at his platform right now.

“There’s no guarantee,” Rinaldi says. “Just look at Bull’s crowd.” He’s right, it’s pretty big too. He stands up, and adjusts his giant ridiculous hat. “Hey!” he shouts across the room. “Get away from that platform! Have you seen his tractor during harvest? Spotless! Guy wastes time cleaning when he should be picking!”

Tertius rolls his eyes, and looks over at his daughter. “We’re not getting anywhere with this guy.”

“It’s like you said, he’s gonna win,” Aeterna replies. “We need him.”

Tertius sighs. “Rinaldi, this is quite time-sensitive. The Levins need to evacuate, but since humans can’t breathe on this planet, they need a dome to go to, and you have more than enough space.”

Rinaldi sits down, but is still staring at his rival with disgust. “Yeah, I’d love to help, but it’s not my place. You should have come last week when I was still in power, or next week when I’m back in power.”

“The quakes weren’t bad enough last week for us to know that they’re not gonna stop,” Tertius explains.

“Yeah, whatever. We’re dealing with them just fine.” Rinaldi stands up again. “Hodge, you get the hell away from those hats! You think you stand a chance? Don’t humiliate yourself, you son of a bitch!” The voting system is even more outrageous than a regular caucus. They decided a while back that, even with these platforms, it can be confusing who here is running for office, and who here is only a constituent. Any candidate can make a declaration on the day of, even hours into the caucus, so people need a way to get the news that someone new wants the job. Someone came up with the idea of having each candidate wear a big hat so they’re easily spotted in the throng. Over time, these hats have evidently just gotten bigger and crazier. Most candidates are expending energy holding them on their heads. They won’t stop, though. It doesn’t look silly to them. Taking the hat means you’re brave and confident, even if it’s unearned. To be fair, it’s what’s allowing Tertius and Aeterna to stand up here on the platform, and have a conversation without worrying about it looking like they’re declaring themselves candidates too.

“The Levins need you,” Aeterna says to Rinaldi, hoping that her words might sway him. “They helped you out with your crops a few seasons ago, did they not?”

“Oh, you mean the superpoop?” Rinaldi asks.

“The...probiotic nanofertilizer, yes. It’s revolutionary.” Of course, when you build a dome—on an inhospital world like Proxima Doma, or anywhere—controlling the weather is as easy as adjusting the thermostat in a regular house. They chose not to do that here. Actually, the Valerii suspect that the weather is indeed controlled, but is deliberately programmed to be erratic to simulate natural chaos. The crops don’t always yield, and despite their unwillingness to advance their technology past a certain threshold, they have been known to accept outside help so they don’t starve to death. That might be key to this whole thing.

“Eh.” Rinaldi waves it away. “We paid for that. We owe them nothing.”

Tertius sighs. “We don’t have time for this.” He and Aeterna switch to Bull’s platform. “I can get you the win, but you have to guarantee taking in the Levins as refugees, and you have to enforce the process before you technically take office. I know you can do that. Your whole system of government is too disorganized for that to be illegal.”

Bull has been screaming his message into a bullhorn that he probably made by hand out of wood. He moves it away from his mouth, and leans in towards Tertius. “You snag me the win, I’ll open the tunnel gates by the end of the night.”

“Grab that scythe for me, hon,” Tertius says to his daughter as they’re walking towards the stage. He’s not really supposed to talk, but no one is gonna stop him. “People, people! Listen to me!” he demands. “If you stand by Bull, I promise an end to your drought! I know where there’s water!” The megaengineers who colonized this world designed it so that liquid water is pumped into underground aquifers by use for people who reject the kind of technology required to do that. It allows them to pretend that it’s not artificial. But there’s a backup system. There are also just tanks, and every dome—even the primitive ones—can access them if they know how.

“How can you guarantee that?” a random citizen questions.

“Hit the floor, then hit me,” he requests of Aeterna.

She does so. She breaks into the floorboards to prove that it’s a real scythe, and not simply a prop. Then she slams the blade against her father’s back. He doesn’t budge, and the metal buckles. “Because we’re gods!” she lies.

Microstory 2487: Skilldome

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I don’t want to speak for you, but I’m guessing that your life is pretty easy. Everything you need is handed to you, along with a few things that you might just want. There are those who spend their whole lives holed up in their modules, connected to VR or the network. Dayfruit growers provide them with food. Drones deliver their feedstock. Their electricity and water is piped in, and their waste is shipped out. Their personal robot does all their work. I’m not criticising people who live like this. This is just a preamble so you’ll understand what purpose Skilldome serves. So many things that you may or may not take for granted were either not cheap for our ancestors, hardly available, or outright didn’t exist. Obviously, different time periods came with different limitations, and over the years, there are skills that we’ve lost to automation, and engineered simplicity. I’m not saying that you’ll become a better person if you learn how to drive a car with your hands and feet. I’m just telling you that the skill is something that this dome offers. You can also learn how to churn butter, command an animal to plow a field, or write something down with a pencil and paper. It’s hard to describe what these activities are, since there’s such a broad range, but it’s basically everything that people used to have to do to be productive that we don’t anymore. To be sure, there are some things that still hold some merit in our world. You might not have access to a medpod or healing nanites, even today, so knowing how to perform first aid is one of those skills that some people have maintained anyway. But for those of us whose minds it didn’t cross to do it before, if you’re on Castlebourne, come on down and take a class. As far as skills that are less practical in the synthetic era go, like stuffing mail in envelopes, or coding a program in an obsolete computer language called C++, you can do it just for fun, or to have a greater appreciation for modern living. Or come up with your own reasons. There are no requirements on what you have to do when you come here, but if you do come, and you do choose a particular skill, it is asked of you to use the tools you are given, and not “cheat”. If you’re taking a math test, only use one of those old basic calculators that they will provide you with. Don’t just ask an AI to do it for you. That defeats the purpose. I actually saw a guy do this, which was so stupid, because no one was making him take this otherwise pointless test. What you get out of coming here is entirely up to you. Ain’t nobody gonna hold your hand. Nor should they have to.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 13, 2398

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Miller Dennard didn’t understand when Leona called the weapon that one of the other helicopters dropped down in the gulf an atom bomb. She didn’t even have any clue what that could mean, or make any connection between the term, and the sunboxes of lore. Apparently, the a in a-bomb stood for addle, for its function of spoiling life within the blast radius. She’s not a scientist, so she couldn’t detail how it worked, but she assured the team that international war laws prevented the military from using such weapons against humans. They’re only ever deployed to disrupt an enemy’s agricultural capacity. Taba, Egypt relies heavily on marine life in the gulf to support their economy, particularly in selling fishing licenses for tourists. This is going to severely damage their budget, but as she put it, they should have thought about that before they collectively decided against helping a small group of lost wanderers. Heath is shocked that she was able to secure approval for such a hostile act. The three time travelers are valuable, and he knows that, but now it seems that others are starting to agree. People are going to great lengths to both protect them, and get them on a certain side.

The transport helicopter and its escorts landed in Frankfurt, then got them into first class on a direct flight back to Kansas City. A driver came for the fake Amir, and then another came to deliver the rest to the condo, which is when they discovered that the other three members of their group were not there. Angela left a coded note, explaining that they were going off on a rescue mission. That was days ago, though, and they should have beat them back here with The Olimpia. Something else happened, and they needed to know what. They weren’t able to get ahold of them by phone, so they confronted Winona Honeycutt for answers. She claimed that they were aware of the rescue attempt by the Dead Sea, but lost track of the other half of the team after that. No one appeared to have detected them teleporting away, but that’s what the Honeycutts figured went down. She said that she had been searching for them ever since, and have come up with no leads. It’s hard to tell when she’s lying, but it could be true.

Finally, after days of stressing out about it, Leona received a call from an unfamiliar number late at night. Mateo wasn’t able to talk for very long; not long enough for Leona to arouse the others to listen in on the whole conversation, but he was able to report that the three of them were okay, and were making their way home. Communication was difficult, though, so she shouldn’t expect to hear from them frequently. No word on where they were, or what they were doing, but it was a relief just to make contact. Their communications may be compromised in more ways than one, so they’ll wait to debrief each other in person. They sure have a lot to divulge themselves.

“What else did he say?” Kivi asks, having only heard the tail end of the conversation.

Leona frowns, and stares into empty space. “They won’t be back for days, if that.”

“I’m sorry.” Marie and Heath only heard Mateo say goodbye, and then hang up.

Leona straightens herself out. “You’re in charge while I’m gone.”

“Where are you going?” Heath asks her.

“I’m going to wherever they are.” Amidst confused protests, Leona goes back to her room to get dressed, and gather a few essentials. She orders the others to remain here, and not follow her. Then she drives down to their lab.

Microstory 1726: Southern Crown

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I am a member of the royal court for the Southern Crown. There are two kingdoms in our world. One holds domain over the entire Northern hemisphere, and we rule over the South. We are a fair and just regime, and while not technically democratic, we do listen to our people and recognize their needs. We do not condemn those who would criticize us, and we do our best to make everyone happy. It was a long road that took us to this point, and no one here would welcome the opportunity to endure it again. We used to be broken into hundreds of independent nations, and though the majority of them were indeed run by democracies, they were full of corruption and selfishness. It was quite easy to get elected when you had the money, knew what to say to your voters, and had the right people backing you. That didn’t mean you would act in the best interests of your people, and it didn’t mean that you were peaceful. Now that there are only two separate states, things are much better for everyone. We don’t pay much attention to the goingson of the North, but according to our intelligence, they feel the same as we do. We have always met each other in peace, but not warmly. We are not allies, and we are not friends. Each kingdom can provide for itself, so we are not even trading partners. For the most part, we leave each other alone. But things have now changed. The threat we face threatens us all equally, which means there is no one to help us but our collective selves. We all have to do our part, and we all have to agree about what that means. A dragon has been on the attack for decades, even before the two kingdoms were formed. Some believe in the dragon, and others do not. Some believe, but are still not worried about it. To them, the dragon is always either far away in time, or in space.

The dragon is invisible, you see. Like the wind, we detect its impact on the world. We see the fires, and the smoke. We feel the heat as the water boils around us. We suffer the great storms that ravage our lands. We know that it’s there; we just can’t prove it, and without proof, stopping it from destroying everything may be impossible. Some of us have taken measures to slay this dragon, but it is too heavy a task for us, the brave few. Everyone must first admit that it is real, and help with the effort, if only in their own way. I am one of the more vocal proponents of fighting against the dragon, but there are not many who feel the same. The others, they laugh at me, or simply dismiss my concerns as not much of a priority. This region needs to send food to this other region, because they are not getting enough rain for their crops. This other region has had a bad fishing season. These are the issues that must be prioritized, according to the rest of the royals. I try to tell them that it is the dragon that is burning the crops, and it is the dragon that is poisoning the fish. They will not hear of it. It couldn’t be. No way could a dragon do so much worldwide. And if I make any attempt to convince them that we were the ones who released the dragon in the first place, they will surely have my head! No man could birth a dragon, and if he did, it would be easy to maintain, so that cannot be the problem. But no man birthed the dragon. We summoned it. Together. We summoned it when we did not take care of this world. It has come in response to our neglect, and the only way we’ll be able to kill it is if this becomes the accepted truth. I fear this cannot happen until the right person places that Southern Crown atop their head. And if it must be me, then it will be me. I cannot let the dragon consume us all.

Microstory 1320: Team Dynamics

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Food and Health Department Head: Thank you for coming in one more time. I know it’s been a long process.

Communications Major: It has, but it’s okay. I only a few days ago gave my current employer my two weeks’ notice. Though, to be honest, I’m a little worried. I was told unofficially that I had a position here already. Should I...contact my boss again?

F&H Head: Oh no, definitely not. You have a position here. We just need to find you a good fit. That’s what this final step is for. It’s a suitability interview.

Comms Major: I’m not a hundred percent sure what that means.

F&H Head: We presently have four teams you could be placed with. You might be working in the Agriculture section, or with the Biomedical section, because of your scientific background.

Comms Major: I wouldn’t say I had a scientific background. I took a few science classes in college.

F&H Head: Did you take any engineering or robotics?

Comms Major: No.

F&H Head: Then F&H it is. Did the other interviewers tell you a little bit about how we do things here?

Comms Major: Only a little. I understand you operate in small teams, each of which is always the same size?

F&H Head: That’s right. There’s a reason why the few science classes you took are relevant. We want you to be able to communicate effectively with the rest of your team. You don’t have to be a field expert, but you have to have some idea what the others are talking about when you’re discussing the topics. Each team is composed of a Leader, a Researcher, a Communicator—that will be you—a Mediator, and a Writer.

Comms Major: Oh, okay. Interesting.

F&H Head: They did studies, and found that the best teams are based on diversity of skill. There are five skills, so each of them plays to the strengths of each team member. If you were particularly good at researching new topics, but also a really great leader, you might not do well in this organization, because we’re designed for permanent placement. There aren’t a whole lot of promotions going on here, because everyone is assigned to contribute in a particular way. I believe you went over that in the other interviews?

Comms Major: They did. I found that quite intriguing. It sounds like you have a robust merit increase program, but people aren’t meant to move up the ranks.

F&H Head: This is true. I was hired externally, as is most of the other higher level leadership. Some people don’t really care for that. They’re ambitious, and they think, if they’re good enough, they should be able to move up. But all you should truly care about is the success of the magazine, the positive impact we have on our readers, and the money you make that allows you to be happy in your personal life. It’s a radical stance, but it’s been working for us for the last three years.

Comms Major: Yeah, I love this magazine, but I had no idea it was organized so differently. Can you tell me more about how the teams work?

F&H Head: Well, obviously the Researcher and Writer are responsible for laying out the content in each article. They’re the ones who have to be field experts. The Communicator and Mediator have similar duties to each other, but we think you’re better suited to round up all the experts your team will have to talk to, while someone else handles the discussions themselves. We’re not opposed to you and the Mediator trading responsibilities now and then, though, or blending them together a little. It all depends on which team you’re on, and who you’re working with. This is all about group cohesion. Like I was saying about those studies, teams aren’t successful as long as everybody is smart, or even qualified. The most successful teams are the ones where everybody is good at something the others are not. Does that make sense?

Comms Major: It does. So, how do we decide which team I would be able to help the most?

F&H Head: We have to go meet them. Follow me.

Microstory 1295: The Birds and the Seeds

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An eclectic colony of birds was once hopping about the ground, pecking at the seeds that lay in the soil. This was a great place for them to live, for there was always plenty of food around, and the humans who tended the crops did not pay them any mind. They just kept hopping joyfully, and partaking in the seeds. “Careful,” said one of the birds to the others. She was a raven, which meant she was a little bit smarter than all the others. “Those brown ones there; those are hemp seeds. Be sure to pick up every single one, or you will be sorry later.” When they asked her why it was so important they take all of those particular seeds, she replied, “hemp is a very important plant for the humans. They make many things out of them, but what we’re most worried about are the nets. Other humans will use these nets to catch the birds.” The other birds heeded the raven’s warning, and did not leave one single hemp seed on the ground. Months later, however, the birds found themselves being swept up in a hemp net. They asked for the raven to explain, but she did not understand. “The humans should not have been able to make any hemp ropes without the seeds to grow the plants,” she said. “This shouldn’t be possible.”

The crow was even smarter than the raven; so much so that she did not get caught in the net at all. She landed next to the poor birds, and said one thing before she flew away. “These are not the only hemp plants in the world. Danger lurks everywhere.”

This story was inspired by, and revised from, an Aesop Fable called The Swallow and the Other Birds.

Microstory 1271: The Independent Woman and Her Milk

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After the cows were milked, and the market was soon to open, the farmer sent his young daughter into town to sell their milk. As she walked, she fantasized about what she and her family could do with the money they would get. After today, they should have saved up enough to buy a new cow, which will increase their yield, and make them even more money. With that, they could buy chickens, and fix the fence, and do all sorts of things to make their farm better and better. If they could make enough, she might even be able to afford the books she’ll need to go to school. As her mind was wandering, thinking about the amazing job she might get from having become educated, the pail slipped from her hand, and fell to the ground. All of the milk was wasted. When she returned home to confess to her parents what she had done, her father was saddened. He was not upset about the milk, but he realized how difficult this life must have been for his children. The next day, he sold the farmland, and all of its assets. He moved his family to a small apartment in the city, only a few blocks from the nearest school. His children received a great education, and even went on to college. The daughter chose to study agriculture, and ultimately became the founder of a vertical farming company, revolutionizing the way farmers tended to their crops. She eventually forgot about that fateful day when she foolishly spilled the milk. Her head was too full of interesting thoughts about how to make the world a better place.

This story was inspired by, and revised from, an Aesop Fable called The Milkmaid and Her Pail.

Microstory 1109: Dardan Lusha

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Horace Reaver was a salmon, born with the pattern of going back to his younger body, and living every day a second time. At first, he didn’t realize other people weren’t like him. He called the first time he experienced a day the practice, and assumed everyone around him went through the same thing. One day, he accidentally killed his friend, Dardan Lusha on the playground. This didn’t bother him much, because he knew he would be able to prevent it from happening after the day reset to its beginning, as it always had. This was when he first learned normal people were not like him at all, and did not perceive time the same way. Dardan lived through that day, totally unawares of what had happened before, and went on to continue living long after that, but his relationship with his only friend was forever changed. While the trauma was completely erased from Dardan’s memories, Horace could remember vividly, and could not get past the fact that he was alone. Dardan would always remind him of that, and he just couldn’t have it, so he purposefully cut ties with him. Though Reaver would go on to become quite the prolific killer, there was no reason to suspect he felt any animosity towards Dardan. In all likelihood, he had all but completely forgotten about the incident. Still, Reaver’s daughter, Meliora didn’t want to take any chances. When Dardan was a young adult, she took him off Earth, and made him the first tenant of Sanctuary, which she built on a planet that would eventually come to be known as Dardius. Then the timeline changed. A traveler went back, and altered history enough to create a new reality, and a new Dardan. She came to realize that this would never stop happening. She couldn’t just rescue people who had been negatively affected by time, then leave their alternates to their own devices. Some people, in these new realities, will have escaped their terrible fates, and that was fine, but someone at constant risk, like Dardan, would have to be saved no matter what. Over the years, she continued to save him from the potential of her father’s wrath. Every once in awhile, a new Dardan will take up residence on the planet named for him. The most recent one was elected Agriculture Administrator, and was responsible for feeding billions of people, including the world’s enemies. And no one beyond Meliora knew why he had been saved, not even Dardan himself.

Microstory 970: Seasons

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Seasons are probably more important than you think, and you likely don’t consciously realize what good the seasonal cycle has done for humanity. Seasons are caused by the Earth’s tilt, and the gravitational pull of the moon, both of which were believed to be caused by the same major impact event during the planet’s relative infancy. Lots of people know that the reason our world supports life is because it’s located within a habitability zone. Our perfect distance from the sun makes this place neither too hot, nor too cold. But this is not the only reason, because if it were, life—or at least more evident life—should easily exist on Mars and Venus as well. The gas giants also protected us from incurring too many impact events, which is yet another example of a happy medium. Scientists believe our solar system’s distance from the center of the galaxy may have contributed to habitability as well, though that is still up for debate. I tell you all this so you appreciate how impossible it is that we even exist, and how close we were to not. It may seem like winter is just an inconvenience, or detrimental to life, but that’s not the case. Many crops, including wheat, cannot grow without a cool environment, which would be bad, because a lack of winter would also prevent the advancement of technology beyond small agricultural pockets in only certain regions. But even then, life would be difficult. Just because there’s no winter, doesn’t mean there’s no cold. We would be relegated to tropical regions near the equator, which would be inundated by unchecked pathogens, and their rampant carrier pests. Rain and other weather would constantly beat down any settlements, forcing populations that survived those diseases to at least be partially nomadic. Every civilization began by founding a permanent home, and died out when that home was threatened. An interesting other side effect of winter is technological progress. As the saying goes, necessity is the mother of invention. If we didn’t need to find ways to keep warm, we wouldn’t have come up with the most basic forms of energy production, so it wouldn’t have even occurred to us to try to invent computers. It’s okay that there are parts of the world untouched by most seasons, but for the most part, the world needs its tilt, and the people on it should be grateful. Today, our home is being threatened by climate change, which at the most optimistic estimates, won’t be fixed until the middle of this century; that is assuming we immediately cease all pollution overnight. I would tell you to #votethemout if you want something done about climate change, but in all honesty, I know of few politicians and political candidates who are even willing take the necessary action to alleviate this situation. Let’s hope that changes. I may not love you, winter, but I need you, so please...stay frosty.

Microstory 962: Futurology

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In the same way that people study history, there are those of us who study the future. Obviously this endeavor is a lot more difficult, and prone to tons of mistakes, because while history research is about gathering facts, it’s impossible to know for sure what is yet to happen. The more you understand about how we got here, and where we stand today, though, the more accurate the predictions you can make. I first stumbled into the field as recently as 2015. The Advancement of Leona Matic is about a woman who jumps forward one year every day, so her environment is constantly changing, especially nearer the beginning of her journey. In order to tell a realistic tale, I had to figure how technology would progress over time—usually by consulting FutureTimeline.net—which is a problem most speculative writers don’t have to worry about. Most of their stories are set in a single time period, so all they have to do is make their best guess about what life is like at that point. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that’s easy, but this does come with avoidable issues. For instance, in the first Star Trek series, people communicate using handheld devices, and pull a lever to operate the turbolift. Characters in the next show, which is set decades later, use pins attached to their uniforms, and voice activated turbolifts. Lemme tell ya, if we crack faster-than-light communication and travel, we won’t be using no cell phones and elevator controls. There’s no technological barrier happening. Stargate did the same thing when it suggested it would take millions of years to invent an artificial wormhole generator capable of reaching billions of lightyears in a matter of seconds that didn’t need to rotate. But this is all okay, because they’re just stories. Most futurologists are working at solving problems, not by simply predicting the future, but by driving it. I fell in love with the subject, because I’m obsessed with knowing what’s going to happen. I hate surprises, and I hate surprises. It’s really important that you understand how much I hate surprises, including “good” ones. A lot of people would claim they don’t want a surprise party, but secretly do. That’s not me, I legit hate being surprised ambushed. But this isn’t about me, it’s about the people who use their predictions to change the world. Humanity could survive if we never progressed past basic agriculture. We could have enough food, and naturally regulate our population, but who wants that? Every invention you use today, and all that came before it, was first thought of by someone who wasn’t happy with the status quo. We need futurists, or nothing would get better. I’m proud to be slightly less removed from future studies than most people, and will continue to expand my knowledge...in the name of advancement.

Microstory 795: Honor Spotter

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The Bicker Institute formed in the 19th century out of fear that some great cataclysm could fall upon the Earth, and destroy civilization. Wanting to insulate the human species from complete annihilation, they start monitoring genetically diverse individuals in secret. Should the need arise, they were to be taken to hidden bunkers to protect them from whatever would happen to the rest of the world. They would not be alone in these bunkers, because who knows what they would do if left to their own devices? So certain peoples are recruited before the theoretical end, according to their education and experience. They need a leader, someone who is a true believer in the cause, and understands exactly what it is they’re fighting for. Of course, they need a doctor to tend to residents’ medical issues; an engineer, a mechanic, and an electrician, to maintain the facility itself; a gardner to care for the microponics equipment; and a logistician to keep track of their inventory. But the genetically select inheritors, and the management team are not the only two groups to be protected. They want the people to be able to choose for themselves; to developed policies and procedures that they feel are best. But inheritors are chosen when they’re children, long before they know what they want to do with their lives. Theoretically, every one of them could grow up to be a clown, for all anyone knows. And so seven people extra people from each of the three qualifying generations are chosen as supplementary bunker residents. These are known as...the wild cards, but are sometimes referred to as the honor residents.

Wild cards are destined to be breeders, and represent a fraction of their population that the Institute knows little about, medically speaking. This is done to better simulate the real world, which is based on more natural genetic inheritance. No algorithm can effectively control for every possible scionic outcome, nor should they strive for one. The fourteen wild cards are there to make it as random as possible. They are chosen, however, based on their education and experience, much like the management staff. Not all bunkers are alike, but the roughly have the same variety of backgrounds. There will likely be two military veterans; one of high ranking, and one of low ranking. There will be four law enforcement officers; one in a command position, one rookie, one experienced detective, and one new detective. There might be one registered nurse, a licensed practical nurse, a paramedic, an EMT, a midwife, and a doula. Lastly, it might be nice to have someone with culinary chops, and someone who is a natural born leader; perhaps an uncorrupted politician (if you can find one) or a company executive. Youngest generation wild cards are chosen by proximity to a bunker. While inheritors are closely protected by sentinels, wild card honor residents are only loosely kept track of by a group of headhunters known as the Honor Spotters. They keep a list of everyone they deem worthy of being taken to the bunkers, but add or remove honors, as new information suggests adjustment. Some in the Institute oppose these tactic, thinking that they would just be asking for something to go wrong when there are so many people they don’t know much about. Their worst resident, though, turned out to not be a wild card at all, but one of their most promising inheritors. And it would be up to the honor residents, and their honor spotter, to deal with him.