Castlebourne Capital Community: First Rule of Warfare (Part VI)

« < » > Entire Story

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3.1

Two aspects of the scalar representative council government that carried over from the advisory-administrative model were the main leaders of all the councils combined. If your community were to join the federation, these two would be at the tippy top. The Moderator and Facilitator weren’t policy-makers per se, but they did make sure that everyone was on the same page about the policies. Having democracy didn’t mean that everyone was on the same level. It was prudent to have people who managed and directed the conversations. They were never meant to be unilateral nor tyrannical, though, hence the titles.

Facilitator Abascal walked into Dreychan and Yunil’s shared office after they unlocked the door from Dreychan’s desk. Yunil was sitting on his lap. They weren’t doing anything untoward, but they should probably be more professional. They were just tired, and ready to be done working. That was the point anyway. She climbed off of him and stood at his side. He stayed seated. “Amazine, how the hell are ya?” he asked.

Amazine reportedly lived on Castlebourne for years before anyone pointed out that the name she chose for herself simply sounded like the word amazing. She felt so embarrassed, but she didn’t want to change it, because it felt right to her. Like so many others, she had spent most of her life as nothing but a number. In the end, it was a decent name. It sounded nice on its own, and it made her unique, which was an unheard of characteristic in the Goldilocks Corridor. “We need to talk about Vip.” Vip was Amazine’s direct superior. Now, Vip...Vip chose his name quite deliberately. It was a mononym, and it stood for very important person. He would deny this if you were to ask him about it, but he came here with a complex, just like Maaseiah, though maybe to a lesser degree. Then again, Maaseiah was still in prison, and Vip was the Moderator of the Castlebourne government, so who had the highest aspirations here? He wasn’t evil, as far as they knew, but Azad called him a populist candidate, which Dreychan still didn’t understand, but he was told it wasn’t a compliment.

“Are you suggesting that I remove Vip from his position, and replace him with someone else?” Dreychan asked, absolutely knowing that this was not at all what she would suggest to him.

“Wull...no, of course not. We’re not there yet, but—” Amazine began.

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Dreychan said, holding his hand up. “My job as Superintendent is not to settle your internal disagreements. My job ought to be done.”

“Our job,” Yunil corrected.

“Right,” Dreychan agreed. “Our job was to start the government. It’s supposed to be able to run itself. My position is a failsafe against tyranny, but if all goes according to plan, I should be able to sit on a beach in Polar Tropica, and not worry about anything anymore. That’s how our Earthan ancestors designed the system, and it is a characteristic that we have chosen to maintain.”

“I understand that, I just...”

“You mostly wanna vent,” Yunil guessed.

“Yes,” Amazine admitted. “You may not technically be above me in the org chart, but you’re certainly not below me. Everyone else is. I don’t have anyone to talk to about his bullshit, or I’ll appear weak and unfit for office. I just thought..maybe you would have some ideas. I know it’s not your obligation, but maybe you could save beach day for tomorrow?” A look of horror spread across her face. “Oh my God, that was so rude. I am terribly sorry, I was out of line.”

“It’s all right,” Dreychan said to her calmly. “I’m not offended. And you’re right, there’s no need for us to be lazy. Maybe we should be available to people who need our guidance. The problem is...”

“That’s not really where his strength lies,” Yunil explained. “I, on the other hand, give great advice.” She glided around the desk, reaching out towards Amazine. Once they made contact, she wrapped her arm around her shoulders, and started leading her back towards the door. “Let’s go off somewhere to talk. Have you ever heard of Christmas?”

“No,” Amazine replied.

“Oh, it’s this delightful little Earthan tradition. We can have a cup of hot cocoa in Holidome. Have you ever heard of hot cocoa?” Yunil asked her.

“No,” Amazine repeated.

“You are going to love it.”

Dreychan stayed in his office, glad that Yunil stepped up for this one. His sense of relief didn’t last long before Moderator Vip showed up.

Vip was just as annoyed at Amazine as she was at him. “She is undermining me at every turn. She’s talking to Dominus Petit behind my back, ya know. I was this close to convincing him that I need to be in charge of the military, but she screwed it up, saying all this nonsense about peace, and the..middle way. I don’t know what the hell she’s talking about.”

“Why would you be in charge of the military?” Dreychan questioned.

Vip flinched like it was obvious. “I’ve been studying Earth history. The most powerful country was called The United States, and their leader was the Commander in Chief. He ran the civilian government and the military at the same time. It just makes sense.”

“That was a democratic republic,” Dreychan argued. “That’s a completely different model. You’re here to moderate, that’s why you’re called that. And besides, the military isn’t an ex-Exin contingency. It’s managed by the Executive Administrative Authority. They’re not going to give you anything. I’ve known Azad for almost a year now. He and his superior officer aren’t going to give it up, to you, or anyone.”

Vip shook his head. “The Governor. That guy’s even softer than Petit. I’ll tell you what, you should superintendent his ass out of here.”

“That’s not my purview,” Dreychan said. It wasn’t the first time he had to explain what his job was to this guy. Dreychan would not have picked him for this role, but there were two sides to Vip. He was charismatic and well-spoken to the public. In private, he was temperamental, contrary, and sometimes downright dumb. Dreychan and Yunil could have designed the government so that they could move members around with impunity, but that wouldn’t have been very democratic. They bowed to what the people wanted, and the people wanted Vip. That was why it was so important that they maintain the council federation structure, so he wouldn’t have any actual power. In that way, they were a lot alike.

“Whatever,” Vip mumbled.

Dreychan sighed. “Vip, why do you want control over the military? What would you do with that?”

“I would protect our home from the Exin threat.”

“Defensively or offensively?” Dreychan pushed.

“The first one, obviously. Wait, which is the one where we go out and murder as many of our enemies as possible?” He feigned an evil grin. He did have some sense of humor, albeit a rather dark one, so at least that was one redeeming quality. “I don’t know what I did to make you all think that I’m some power-hungry moron bent on destruction. But you have largely stayed out of the military’s dealings. I’ve been paying attention, and I see the issues. Drey, they’re not doing anything. They’re barely training, they’re relying far too much on their robots. Have you seen them? Each soldier has this whole compliment of bots that follow them around. They have this animal-like one at their side that carries all of their gear. I think Azad said it looked like a dorg, or a duck, or something, I dunno. Then they have their hawk, which flies above to look out for future obstacles. And then there’s this flutterby thing that—I don’t know what it does, but it’s small enough to fit in my hand, so it can’t possibly help.”

“What the hell is your point?” Dreychan asked.

Vip sighed. “They need someone to lead them...inspire them. Governor Whinawray is not up to the task. The way I hear it, he just sort of fell into the role because he happened to be on the planet when the Charter Contingency was born. I strongly believe that we need to grow our numbers, and what, are they gonna promote him to Ligament or higher? I don’t think he can handle it. I don’t think he wants it.”

Dreychan slammed the side of both fists on the table.

“Oh, no, I’ve said something else that you don’t like,” Vip quipped.

Dreychan tapped on his desktop device, and pulled up what he needed. He spun his monitor around to show Vip the resignation form.

“I don’t wanna quit.”

“Well, you don’t wanna be here, doing this. A Moderator needs to be non-violent by nature. He shouldn’t be looking to grow an army, or train its officers. He shouldn’t be disparaging his colleagues’ names, or complaining that soldiers are safer and better equipped than they have ever been because of their bot pack. And the flutterby, by the way, is for stealth recon. It’s that lack of attention to detail that tells me that you really shouldn’t be responsible for our military, and you probably shouldn’t be the Moderator either. So go ahead, go on, resign. I’ll find someone who wants to do it. The planet will be fine without you. And hey, if you’re really serious about aidsmanship, there’s nothing stopping you from signing up. But you won’t be starting at the top, like you think. Whinawray didn’t start where he is today, and neither did Petit. They’ve been at this for literal centuries. So you’ll train first. Maybe spend a year in Mêléedome. Or two. Or a few decades. I don’t care where you go, or if you quit at all. Just for now, get the hell out of my office. I need to focus on garnering support for the next vote on the stellar engine.”

Vip was trying to hold it together. “Ya know, I voted against that.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t campaign for the opposition—I was a good soldier—but I voted with my heart. I think we should stay here and fight.”

“And if it were just us here, I might agree with you,” Dreychan admitted, “but the visitors outnumber us almost 230:1 at last count. A million new visitors are arriving every week. Unfortunately for them, they are not capable of voting, so it is up to us to ensure their safety. We do that by running and hiding, not by subjecting innocent people to our problems.”

“Why didn’t you say all of this before?” Vip questioned.

“Because we underestimated the opposition. We won’t make that mistake again.”

Vip’s face changed, but it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. He seemed to be absorbing the information, and processing it in some way. “Let me help.”

“You voted against it.”

“You’ve changed my mind.”

“Just like that?”

“You’re very persuasive,” Vip explains. “You should have been more involved in the discussions. You underestimate yourself, but people listen to you. They want to hear your opinion.” He looked around at the office. “Don’t just hide out here. You decide what your job entails. Tell me how I can help.”

Dreychan sighed and glanced over at his inbox. Still no messages. Well, he had a ton of messages, but not the one he was looking for. “The primary voice of dissent. I messaged him yesterday, and he still hasn’t responded. He seems to like you, so maybe you can talk to him.”

“Well, where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Check the tracking system.”

Dreychan didn’t budge.

“We all know you have access to that. The prison is allowed visitors. People talk, especially members of the Old Council of Old Worlds. Just look him up, and point me to him. I make no guarantees, but I will give it my best.”

Dreychan sighed again and checked the tracker. Once he saw where the guy was, he leaned back in his chair and tapped on his lips.

“What is it?” Vip asked. “If you feel uncomfortable with telling me, that’s fine, or if you feel guilty about using this tool in the first place, that’s okay too. I’ll just send him my own message, and see if he responds to me instead.”

“It’s not that, it’s...he’s in XDome.” XDome is probably the most controversial one of all. Azad hinted that Hrockas agonized over whether to include it way back in the day. In the end, he approved the idea when the AI he placed in charge of coming up with most of the dome concepts produced its master list. The truth was that sex was a part of life, and a necessary one, though technically no longer a required activity in a galaxy of gene splicing and artificial gestation. Still, it was a primary human motivation, hard-coded into most organic people’s DNA. Even the most enhanced of transhumans typically kept that trait, because life without pleasure was just survival. Ignoring it as a fundamental component of happiness wasn’t going to make it go away. People were going to have sex, and those who couldn’t find anyone to do it with them—or who couldn’t find their ideal partner—were going to do it with synthetics. At least, by creating a central hub for all sexual fantasies, it kept it fairly isolated and contained. It was easier to keep it out of reach of children and asexual individuals when there was one best place to get it above all, and access to that place was easily controlled.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised. You’ll notice he hasn’t joined the military either. He doesn’t want to fight, he just wants someone else to do it for him. Do you know where he’s from?”

“Slain?” Dreychan asked rhetorically. “I don’t actually.”

“You didn’t know him?”

“Huh?”

“On Ex-777?”

Oh. Dreychan’s face went numb. “Oh. That explains it.”

“That explains it,” Vip echoed

Dreychan didn’t keep up with the refugee manifests. It would be too many people to keep track of anyway, but as far as he knew, he was still the only former 777er. So if Slain was also from there, he must have come to Castlebourne really, really recently. Why were people listening to him? Why were people following his lead when only a year ago, Dreychan was quite nearly murdered for being from the same Old World?

“I bet I know what you’re thinking,” Vip began. “My hypothesis is that it’s your fault. People hated you because you were from a luxury world, but you proved them wrong. You proved your worth. I think they’re overcompensating in their heads, and deciding that maybe ex-Ex-777ers are the best amongst us. That is why you need to make your voice heard, and not just play in the background. People need to know that it’s not because of where you’re from, but despite it. They need to hear a voice of reason.”

Dreychan leaned back again, and tried to rethink the strategy. Maybe they were going about this all wrong. The reason the so-called opposition won out was because, as Vip was just saying, the voice of reason wasn’t strong enough. He had thought it made sense to try to convince Slain to change his mind, and do the right thing, but Ex-777ers were not known for their open-mindedness. And honestly, Dreychan didn’t want the rest of the refugees to start seeing 777 as some kind of hot bed for the intellectually enlightened. It was full of entitled assholes who didn’t understand the danger of war and struggle because they had never faced it before. They were living in a post-scarcity civilization before anyone on Earth had even dreamed it up. “Scratch that. I don’t need to talk to him. We need to talk against him. You’re smarter than I give you credit for.”

“I am?” Vip asked. “I mean, I am.”

Dreychan laughed. “The first rule of warfare: the bigger the gun, the more compelling your argument is.”

“Okay...” Vip didn’t know what he meant by that.

Dreychan stood up. “So let’s go recruit some bigger guns.”

« < » > Entire Story

Microstory 2457: Horseback Mountain

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

I love horses, and if you don’t, then we can’t be friends, so don’t @ me. Horseback Mountain is a pretty simple concept. It’s all about horses, and horseback riding. It’s not one mountain, though, which I think is a little weird, but I don’t really care, because I love horses. The first thing I did when I heard about Castlebourne was access the prospectus, and look for a place like this, and it was the first thing to come up. There’s another dome that has ranchland, and a few other horse-inclusive environments, but this is the one where that’s all there is. You can ride horses on a mountain (of course), but there are other areas too. There are plains and prairies, muddy trails, dirt roads, and even beaches. The ocean next to it isn’t real. Curious, a member of one of my riding parties got off, jumped into the water, and started swimming. He was still within yelling distance when he reached the dome’s walls. A hologram makes it look much bigger than it is. This isn’t a complaint, by the way; I really don’t care. The point is to have a place for the horses to run, and the can’t run in deep water anyway. If you want the ocean, go to one of the big ones on the poles. Now for the big question. Are the horses real? The answer is...it’s your choice! There are many real horses available, though they are in limited supply. It takes a long time to grow an animal this large, and they have to be introduced to their environment—and to people—using safe and ethical methods. I much prefer a real horse, but the same can’t be said for everyone, which is why there are other options. There’s more variety, though, than simply organic versus automaton. Your horse can be programmed with whatever temperament or personality you chose. We passed by a group of kids whose horses were fully intelligent. There was only one adult with them. From what we could gather, the horses were the children’s chaperones. They were keeping them in line when they got too rowdy, and teaching them about nature, particularly horses, as you can imagine. I believe the human adult was there in case there was an emergency that required adult hands. I don’t know what kind of intelligence she was, because she didn’t speak while we were passing by. I just think that’s a cool little feature that I wouldn’t have thought of myself. Before you ask, all kinds of equines are here, including donkeys and mules,  zebras, and a few other things. Yes, there are unicorns and pegasuses. You cannot ride either of these things, because if they existed in the real world, they wouldn’t let you, at least according to the Castlebournian interpretation of the mythology. The pegasuses can’t fly. I don’t know how they would without breaking any law of physics, but they have wings, so they look cool. They’re supposed to be rare, but you can go on a particular tour where you’re guaranteed to see what you’re looking for, because they’re either programmed or trained to be in sight. I honestly don’t know if they were mechanical or organic. I didn’t ask, because I don’t care about mythological creatures. I’m a horse girl, and a purist. That’s why I never want to leave. This isn’t a residential dome, but I’ve requested that they make an exception, and build me a home to live in, so I don’t have to take the vactrain here every day. I’m waiting for their response. Wish me luck.

Microstory 2377: Earth, October 20, 2179

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google ImageFX text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3

Dear Corinthia,

I have indeed been appreciating the health updates. You’ll notice that I started sending you mine too. If you would rather not receive them, though, just let me know. I can’t remember if you get charged for incoming messages, or what. Speaking of which, I did send one to Velia. I’m sure she’s told you about that, though. I talked a lot about clothes, because that’s all I really know about her. It’s nice to know that she’s been there for you since I can’t, and never could. I’m glad that you’re back to your normal self. Our conversations have been pretty negative lately because of it, and that’s all my fault. If you want to be more positive, we can move on to lighter topics. I still want to make sure that you’re doing okay, but I’ve let go of some of my anger about the whole thing, and I won’t harp on it anymore. I’ll let you take the lead on it. I will tell you that dad is going on a trip. He says that it’s for his job, but what he doesn’t realize is that, as his assistant, I have access to his travel forms. He used the code for new trade opportunities. He really shouldn’t be looking for those since we’re preoccupied with Australia at the moment, and it wouldn’t make any sense for him to fly all the way to Eastern Seaboard, U.S.A. while we’re down under. He’s obviously on the hunt for our old neighbor, and while he hasn’t admitted that he’s found the guy’s current location, I’m sure that that’s where he’s going. I guess we’ll know eventually whether he uncovered new information about our pasts, or didn’t. Don’t worry, he’s not breaking any laws or policies by traveling for personal reasons. As long as he does some work out there—talking to producers, vendors, and other domes—he’ll be fine. This isn’t the first time he’s caught up with old contacts, and our superiors are fully aware of how it works. It’s all about networking, so almost nothing is off limits unless he just lounges on a beach, or something. Last bit of news, I received a message—not from my nurse from when I was a kid—but her office manager. He said that she’s presently incommunicado in a really dangerous territory, trying to save lives. He hasn’t relayed my letter yet, but once she returns, he’s sure that she’ll want to talk to me. If this were an emergency, he would try to get through to her, but this isn’t a rush, so I’m just going to have to be patient.

Home alone,

Condor

The Third Rail: Rock the House (Part II)

« < » > Entire Story

Generated by Google ImageFX text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3

They have TV here. They’re able to watch the broadcast of their Rock Meetings, if they so choose. Each episode is about an hour long, and one episode streams per day. At this rate, they’re going to be stuck on this prison world for about eight months. Fortunately for the representatives of the five realities, they’re not in any of the prison facilities. It’s a big planet, and an entire small continent has been devoted to witness protection instead of incarceration. It’s a little odd, to protect people on the same planet as the people they may need to be protected from, but it’s not a completely wild idea. Back in the Third Rail, there was only one inhabited planet, so witness relocation programs always worked like this. In fact, witnesses were rarely ever moved outside of their respective countries. There are no boats here. Any prisoner who wanted to reach a witness would have to first break out of wherever they’re being kept, then build themselves a raft. It would take them months to make it across the ocean, assuming they didn’t get caught anywhere. On the other hand, if they have access to a spaceship, it probably doesn’t matter anymore whether they have to go to a different planet or not.

Some witnesses in the program are a little more dangerous than others, so the continent has been further broken up into cities. The representatives are in the most luxurious of them all, designed for VIPs, leaders under grave threat, and in hiding, and others who need a little more consideration. Ramses was right, the accommodations are pretty good here, but Cosette doesn’t regret insisting on bringing her personal pocket dimension with her. This is her home, and it’s where she feels the most comfortable. She has installed it over the door of one of the closets in her realspace penthouse. Ayata is the one living out there instead, serving as a gatekeeper for visitors or attackers, but otherwise taking a vacation from her duties as an assistant. That’s what she’s meant to be doing anyway. “Tea and seaweed crackers? It’s a local delicacy.”

They’re by the water, about 300 meters above the surface. Each tower sits on top of the base, which grants access to a dedicated elevator and emergency stairwell. Only the structure at the top contains living space. The towers are structurally connected to one another, but there is no passage between them. You would have to go down to the first floor, and walk across the lobby, to get to another tower. “Ayata, I brought you here so you could have a break, not so you could keep working for me,” Cosette tries to explain for the umpteenth time. I thought it was a pretty good excuse, since there’s always work to be done back on Earth, so we’re always so busy. There is no business to take care of for the time being. Just relax.”

“I don’t...like doing nothing,” Ayata admits.

“Have you ever tried it?”

“Not really.”

Cosette sighs. “Do you know where that seaweed comes from?”

“The ocean?” Ayata asks in a half-question, unsure if she’s taking the full meaning here, or not.

“That ocean right there.” Cosette points through the windows. They’re not exactly real windows. They are viewscreens which are showing what the real windows see from the penthouse. They would have to leave the pocket dimension to look through them for real. “Why don’t you synthesize a sexy bikini, go down there, and sun yourself on the beach? Maybe meet someone new.”

“Ambassador DuFour,” Ayata scolds.

“Not to breach sexual harassment policy, but I remember wishing that I had shown my body off more when I was your age.”

Ayata was born in the Sixth Key. She doesn’t know what the world was like before the Reconvergence. “You can be my age if you want,” she reminds her boss.

Cosette leans her head against the backrest, and tilts her chin to the side. “I think I’m done age-shifting. I deal with people from the Parallel and the Fourth Quadrant so much, and they cured aging ages ago. It’s just not really much of an advantage anymore. Maybe it never was.”

“So which age are you going to choose? This one?”

She’s presently expressing the mid- to late thirties, which is still a bit older than how Nuadu appears. “I think so. It’s a good middle ground. I’m old enough to be respected, but young enough to be accessible.”

“And you’re not unattractive,” Ayata says with a smile. “Not to breach sexual harassment policy.”

Cosette smiles back.

“This wouldn’t happen to do with a certain military man who lives next door, would it? The one who’s always coming over to do his rounds?”

“He’s checking the perimeter,” Cosette reasons. “He’s been trained to be a protector.”

“No, he’s been trained as a killer. Those are the kind of soldiers who rank up to high leadership positions. He only comes over to see you.”

Cosette scoffs quietly, and shakes her head.

“How about this? How about you age yourself to seventy or eighty, and ask him to stay for dinner. Cook him a real meal; not synthesized, and give the room some ambiance. If he’s responsive, and engaged in conversation, he’s interested in you as a person, not just for your looks.”

“Maybe he’ll just say no, and I won’t learn anything. It won’t even necessarily be because of my apparent age.”

“He can’t say no,” Ayata reasons. “You’re going to cook for him to say thank you for all he’s done. He’s on vacation, so he doesn’t have anything to do. If he comes up with an excuse, I guess that’s your answer.”

“I haven’t cooked in a long time,” Cosette reveals.

“Well, I’ll help you. I like doing things the old way sometimes. I’ll probably be in charge of ambiance too since your taste is a little...”

“Bland? Is that the word you’re looking for?”

“Hey, you said it.” There’s a ring at the elevator downstairs. They look over at the security monitor to see Nuadu waiting patiently in the lobby. Ayata smirks. “Heh, it’s kismet.”

“House, let ‘im up,” Cosette instructs. They continue to watch as the doors open, and let Nuadu inside. He rides up to the top, walks inside, and is about to knock on the closet door when it opens. “Nice to see you, Harbinger.”

“Ambassador-at-Large,” he replies cordially.

“Would you like to come in for some tea and seaweed crackers?” She’s suddenly struck with a sense of relief that she and Ayata stopped to talk about the crackers first, before diving into them. They still look all nice and untouched.

“I really shouldn’t stay too long,” Nuadu says apologetically. “I’m afraid I woke up too late this morning, and I’m a little behind schedule.”

This looks like a pretty good opening. “Well, perhaps you can return this evening for dinner? I’ve been looking for a good excuse to cook.”

“Yeah, that sounds great.” He says it with a bit too much enthusiasm, but he knows if he tries to backpedal now, the drastic shift in tone will only make him look even more eager. So he widens his eyes, freezes up, and waits for Cosette to continue the conversation instead.

“Great! No pressure, but think about what you like to eat, and text me a message later. Include your dietary restrictions, of course. Maybe within the hour?”

“I can do that, thanks.” He looks over at Ayata. “And will the lovely Miss Seegers be joining us?”

Ayata stammers a bit. “I have a date with the, uhh...God of the Sea...tonight.” She smiles awkwardly. “I’m going on a walk. My boss says I work too hard, and she’s making me take a break. Away from here.” Nice save.

Cosette hopes that her comment doesn’t make Nuadu uncomfortable. Perhaps he missed Ayata’s emphasis on the word I. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she says to Ayata, under her breath, but obviously loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

“I believe that you will enjoy the beach at night,” Nuadu adds. “There are some bioluminescent sea creatures that come out after dusk. I don’t know what they are, but Andrei Orlov of the Fourth Quadrant likes to watch them. Perhaps you could meet up with him.”

“Thanks, I’ll give him a call.” Ayata points over her own shoulder. “I gotta go into the other room now.” She points at Cosette. “Unless you need something first.”

“No, that will be all, Ayata. Thanks.”

Ayata nods reverently, then walks away.

Cosette waits until she’s gone before admitting, “I’ve been trying to get her to slow down for a while now. We just kind of had a tiff about it. She doesn’t really understand that she’s not here to work.”

“I get where she’s comin’ from,” Nuadu replies. “I’m still workin’.”

“But you know you don’t have to, right? The Tanadama installed automated sentries all over the place. You passed at least two of them on your way here from your tower.”

“I know, but I just kind of...like to see the people.”

Cosette nods. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it.” She points towards the door as if he’s just about to leave.

“Yeah, I’m gonna—” He motions to the side of him.

“Right, right. You always start in the...parlor.” Her voice softens in a gradient as the sentence goes on. She steps a little to the side so he can do his made up job.

He does what he needs to do, inside the pocket and out, and then he leaves to run a security sweep of the other towers. Or maybe he never does that, and he only ever comes here. Cosette has never asked any of the others about it, and they’ve not brought it up on their own. They don’t interact all that much. If they didn’t grow up accustomed to the isolation of self-sufficient living, the last week they’ve been here has given them the requisite experience. That was evidently a major issue in the Parallel and the Fifth Division. Avoiding congregating in large groups was easy in the former, and in some cases, vital to survival in the latter. As the more seasoned diplomat of them all, perhaps she ought to take it upon herself to make changes to that. They’re going to be here for so long, they should get to know each other better.

Night has fallen, and the hour of the date—or non-date—is quickly approaching. Cosette is putting the finishing touches on her decorations, which she decided to do in realspace, instead of her pocket dimension. She didn’t end up accepting help from Ayata, save for a few minor tasks, and some constructive criticism. If this was going to mean anything, it had to come from Cosette, or he may as well be on a date with Ayata. Was this a date? Would he say as much? She’s about to have her opportunity to gauge his feelings based on his reaction to all this. The mood lighting alone will be hard to ignore. There’s an elevator notification. He’s early, so she’s not quite ready. Instead of wasting more time on more matches, she uses one of the lit ones to light the rest, and it occurs to her that this is how she should have done it the entire time, and she’s kind of an idiot. How did people live like this in the past? She was going for a classic, rustic feel, but it has been a lot of work. Will he appreciate the retro look, or will he be super confused since his civilization has just about always had robots and spaceships. Oh my God, she’s thinking about this too much. Answer the door. Answer the door!

She races to the security panel. “Come on up!” She tries to hit the elevator button, but she fumbles. Then she fumbles again. “Goddammit.” She finally hits her target, then taps the intercom button again. “Okay, now! Sorry.” As she’s watching the graphic of the elevator fly upwards, she remembers that Ayata suggested she look like an elderly woman to see if he’s here for her, or for her looks. Now she’s not so sure if she wants to go through with that. He’s almost here, she has to make a decision. Will it just throw him off? Will it be too distracting? Her age-shifting is a choice, she’ll look like an asshole if she’s all wrinkly and gross. He’s getting closer. She’ll have no excuse, or will she? Can she come up with some believable reason? Can she do it in the next five seconds? Four, three, two, one.

The elevator doors open, and Nuadu steps into the penthouse looking at a 55 or 56 year old woman. He’s shocked, but maybe not bothered? He looks her up and down. “Wow, you look gorgeous tonight.”

“Do you really think so?” Though she compromised on the aging, she’s not come up with a plausible explanation for not being thirty at the oldest. She ought to make herself look as hot as possible.

“Yeah, that dress is beautiful.”

“Thanks, it’s conventionally made, not synthesized.”

“I can tell. It doesn’t look...too ordered; cold. If that makes any sense.”

She smiles. “Come on in. Can I take your coat?”

“Yes, thank you.”

They have a nice dinner together. Though the food is not synthesized, as she promised it wouldn’t be, she didn’t exactly churn her own butter either. The penthouse came equipped with a number of advanced cooking tools and machines which her people never invented in the Third Rail. Though it’s certainly too early to say that the two of them are in love, it feels safe to acknowledge that it was indeed a date. The way he was looking at her, he’s definitely interested in something more. At one point, she gradually started aging herself up, and he didn’t bat an eye. After they were done eating, they retired to the sitting room for tea, at which point she caught her reflection in a decorative mirror, and asked whether he even noticed that she was 75 at this point. She explained that it happens on its own when she’s not being careful, and he told her that he didn’t care. There’s definitely something between them, they just need time to explore it. Luckily, they have eight months for that.

« < » > Entire Story

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 21, 2473

« < » > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3

Last year, this ragtag group of random time travelers who didn’t care to have anything to do with each other humored Utari Kiswana, and took a tour of the artificial island that they were on. It was a really interesting place, and they all probably would have enjoyed themselves had they come here on their own, and weren’t being held at this point in spacetime against their wills. There were a ton of activities to do here, like mountain climbing, sailing, and paragliding. There was even a train that just rolled around on a set of circular tracks, where some people apparently lived permanently. After it was over, they were all exhausted. Most of them were asking to just be sent back to where they belonged, which poor Buddy must have actually obliged, but Utari seemed to be in charge now.

A funny thing happened on the way back from dinner. Utari and Buddy wanted to get rooms in one of the main beach hotels for everyone, so they could stay the night, and wake up refreshed in the morning. As Buddy described earlier, dozens of beaches radiated from the island, allowing a lot of residents to have beachfront property. The main part of the island, however, was still surrounded by water, and there were a ton of hotels and housing units there too. They just weren’t quite as immersed in it. It seemed like a nice place to stay, but by the time they got checked in, two of the abductees mysteriously disappeared. Buddy apparently made the attempt to bring them back, but was unable to.

“You were transported to my domain in the future,” he guessed. “You’re here now, and so am I. Basically, my past self was unable to retrieve you, because he would be stealing you from me, and that would not have been okay.”

Mateo looked over at Bhulan and Arqut. “You have been here for a year?”

“It hasn’t been that bad,” Bhulan replied.

“It’s actually been kind of nice to get a break from the ship,” Arqut added. “Though, I would like to see my wife again, so could we be quite quick?”

“Quite quick with what?” Olimpia questioned. “Have the rest of you figured out how to do anything that this asshole is asking of us?”

“Hey, there’s no need for language,” Buddy argued.

“Then how’s anyone gonna understand me?” Olimpia asked combatively.

“We have an idea,” Tauno jumped in. “We’ve been waiting for you two to return before we try to implement it.”

“It’s this.” Utari set her briefcase carefully on the ground, and opened it to retrieve a cable.

“The Livewire?” Mateo questioned.

“You’ve heard of it?” Buddy asked.

“I’ve used it,” he explained. “It caused some problems in the Third Rail, but it also saved lives. That’s what it does, transfers consciousness. Why would we want that?”

“That’s not all it can do,” Utari began. “It can transmit any form of energy, including temporal. We think we can wrap this around our respective wrists, and channel our power into a focal object. That thing might end up with enough power to accomplish what we’re trying.”

Mateo took the Livewire from Utari’s hands, and started wrapping it around his own palms for no particular reason. “I’ve seen a lot of wondrous things. I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what some of you have seen, but I’ve picked up a few things here and there. My best friend, Ramses may be the most knowledgeable person when it comes to temporal energy. Sure, you got your Hokusais and Hogarths...your Team Keshidas and Holly Blues, and even my wife. They’ve made some great things, but I still don’t think they compare to Rambo. He really gets into it. He has worked hard to figure out the fundamentals of time, and the manipulation of it.” He carelessly dropped the wire to the ground. “What you’re suggesting is stupid. Your lemon issue is not there for lack of power. There’s plenty of energy to go around. People with more power than all of us combined have not been able to transport citrus. You’re not gonna get it done with more temporal energy. If anything, you want less. Lemons don’t like time. They tolerate it at a one-to-one ratio, which is why they don’t explode in every grocery store in the world. They only become overloaded when you mess with the balance.”

“So, what’s your suggestion?” Buddy planted his hands on his hip.

Mateo shook his head. “Why did the Buddha’s hand citron go extinct?”

“A lot of things happened,” Buddy said. “Highlights include climate breakdown, wayward pesticides, pests themselves, a lack of customer demand during the rise of genetically modified organisms; particularly dayfruit. In fact, a lot of fruits have become extinct by now when we stopped growing them in favor of more efficient alternatives, not just citrus. Those I could rescue, if I were so inclined.”

Mateo nodded, and approached the man. “You’re a time traveler. Go back in time, and protect the Buddha’s hand. Build a greenhouse, keep it protected. Hire people to maintain it for the last few centuries. Do this the right way; you don’t need magic. Did you ever think of that?”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” Buddy decided after a long beat.

“It is,” Mateo agreed. “Preserving life is work.”

“No.” Tauno picked the Livewire back up, and wrapped it around his wrist before moving on to do the same to Bhulan. “I built the Fourth Quadrant out of raw power that I store in my dick. I can do this. I just need a boost.”

As offended as Bhulan was by Tauno’s crude remark, she didn’t stop him from pulling her into this power-sharing gambit. Arqut let him wrap it around his wrist too, as did Utari and Buddy. They stood there, like the worst basketball team in the league. No one tried to force Mateo and Olimpia to join them, but what else were they gonna do? Buddy and Bhulan were the only people here who could send them home. They might as well humor them again, and give it a shot. He was right, it wasn’t going to work, and hopefully, it wouldn’t instead make things worse either. The two of them huddled up with the group, and closed the Livewire loop. Arqut gave Mateo a wink, which was weird, but okay.

“We connected this room directly to the mountain’s primary fusion chamber,” Utari revealed. “We should not be lacking in electricity.” She took the first end of the wire from Tauno, and shoved it into the wall socket.

They could feel the pulsing energy surge around their wrists. It kept circling the loop, over and over and over again, building as it was continuously fed by the underground fusion reactor. Buddy was smirking as was happening. That was when Mateo realized that they never selected an object to focus the power into. That must have been because it was Buddy. He had chosen himself to be the vessel. He was clearly a megalomaniac, so this should have come as no surprise to them. The real question was whether he would stop at this mission, or move onto the next one after this. What would he do with all this power? The dude wanted some lemons. He was being a jerk about it, but evil was not the word that either of them would use. Utari, however, appeared to have let her hand show. She could turn out to be the real threat. She could be the next Cleanser, or Oaksent. She was smirking even more sinisterly, like she knew something that Buddy didn’t.

That was when Arqut breathed deeply in and out, and flexed his arm muscle. He reached over with his free hand, and cupped his fingers over the wire on his other wrist. The energy stopped circling the group, and instead began to redirect into Arqut. He was taking it. He was taking all of it.

“What are you doing?” Buddy questioned angrily. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Yeah, how are you taking it from us?” Utari pressed.

“It’s all about the entropy, baby,” Arqut answered vaguely, pleased with himself. “Energy tends to flow from a higher concentration to a less ordered state. I’m the least ordered state in the room, dumbasses. I’m not a time traveler. I’m only human.”

Buddy and Utari tried to remove themselves from the circle, but were literally tied up. Bhulan and Tauno were smiling, and it was becoming clear that this was the true plan all along. Had Mateo and Olimpia been here during their interim year, they likely would have been in on it too. There was nothing anyone could do to stop it. Utari kicked the wire out of the socket, but that wasn’t where the energy was coming from anymore. If anything, it helped, because now the temporal energy was free to slide along the wire on its own without competing for space. Only a few seconds later, the other four were noticeably drowsy and dizzy. They couldn’t keep their eyes open. Meanwhile, Arqut was stronger than ever, and the two members of Team Matic were doing fine.

The energy slowed down on its own, and once it was used up, most of the group fell towards their backs. Olimpia managed to catch Bhulan in her arms, but she was still passed out. “How are you two standing?” Arqut asked.

“We’re salmon,” Mateo told him. “We don’t live off of temporal energy. It really only comes to us once a day.”

“Yeah, we need sunlight!” Olimpia agreed cheerfully as she was carrying Bulan to one of the beds. “We’re plants!”

Arqut smiled, and walked over to open the shades as a nice gesture. He then went over to untangle the Livewire from everyone’s arms. “Most temporal objects are illegal on the Extremus. Tauno is a jackass, and we all know we can’t trust these two yahoos. Bhulan already told me that she has a knack for trying to destroy these things. So I think the only logical answer is to give it to you.”

“What happens to them?” Mateo nodded his head towards the people on the floor.

“I don’t care what happens to Utari. There is a way for me to tether myself to the ship when I get back home, and Bhulan will find a similar solution in the Constant, where she belongs. Tauno has all sorts of friends, I’m sure he can ask one of them for protection from Buddy. That’s why you need this. It could be your version of a solution.” Arqut handed the wire to Mateo. “I hope your friend, Ramses is as resourceful as you make him sound.”

“How do we get home?” Olimpia asked. “Do you have all their powers now?”

“I have their power,” Arqut clarified. “Not their powers. Bhulan’s will replenish itself eventually, and she’s already agreed to send me back to the past. As for you, I just gave you what you need. You take care.”

« < » > Table of Contents

Fluence: Cass (Part VI)

< > Entire Story

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 2

The four of them reached out for each other, and took hands. They were totally in sync, and were able to make the jump without saying a word. They were back on Earth, but roughly 542 million years ago, standing on the beach of an ocean. They lingered for a moment or two before letting go, and awkwardly turning away from each other. Weaver walked over to a rock a few meters away, and stuck her arm into a deep hole. They heard a click, which served to split the ground apart, and reveal a stairway leading down into the earth. Lights began to switch on automatically, revealing that the bottom was only a few stories down. “It’s okay,” she said. “We’ll be safe down there. I built my own mini version of the Constant to be alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Goswin contended.

“We’ll see.” She stepped down, and never looked back to see if they were following, but they were anyway.

They landed in a decent-sized foyer with a mostly homey feel, but also laboratory-like qualities. Weaver continued to lead them down a hallway until they came upon the main room where they found an aquarium that took up one entire wall. The glass barrier curved inward, which would let creatures swim right up to investigate the humans, if such creatures were anywhere to be found. There was a lot of underwater life to admire, such as algae and a seaweed of some kind, but no fish.

After Weaver tapped something on a control panel that the others assumed was a security passcode, she watched them watch the prehistoric creatures floating around soothingly. “Those aren’t plants, if that’s what you’re assuming. They’re not animals either. They’re unlike anything you’re used to in the modern age.”

“Protista?” Eight Point Seven guessed. She was more knowledgeable than the other two, but still didn’t recognize these organisms.

Weaver shook her head. “Some people think that there are eight kingdoms, including Protista and Chromista, but there have actually been eleven throughout history and prehistory. Two of them went totally extinct long, long ago. These right here belong to Ankorea, which came this close to surviving to our day. They exhibited traits from all of the other modern kingdoms. Their frond right there shows the first inkling of photosynthesis that we’ll later see in plants. It doesn’t convert sunlight directly into energy, but it does power the decomposition process that the organism uses to break food down like fungi. It’s what makes them brown, instead of green. Despite being multicellular, they reproduce via splitting, like bacteria, which sounds insane, though I’ve never witnessed it up close. This area is really calm and hospitable, but they’re extremophiles, like Archea, able to survive in both high and low temperatures. They can nearly all transition from one to the other if need be, making them unique. But unique isn’t the right word, because they’re quite diverse, like protists.

“All of these that you see belong to Ankorea, despite how different they look, and that explains why I built my constant here. You see, their defining characteristic is that they all have this anchor that can anchor them to the seafloor. This allows them to catch food as it floats by from one spot while saving energy. Once they feel that the area has been stripped, they pull the anchor up, and move on. They can swim or drift, depending on their energy reserves. Some of their anchors extend, like the majority of the ones you’re seeing, but that one there isn’t a rock. It has a nonextendable anchor. When it’s released, this thing will kind of start to roll around until it finds a better source of food. I don’t see it here, but one of them actually has two anchors, so it can walk like an animal. It’s crazy to watch, I wish you were here for that.”

“They sound so resilient,” Goswin pointed out, “how did they go extinct?”

“No one knows. I’ve brought a few experts back to study them, but we don’t understand it yet. Of course this is all before whatever ended them, but the current theory is that they were outcompeted by stronger organisms. They might have overgrazed their own environment. As you can see, there’s not a whole lot here. That’s pretty indicative of the world right now. The food cycle is difficult to maintain in the Ediacaran period. The ones that survive are the kind that thrive with less.”

“You brought other people here?” Eight Point Seven asked. “Did that not risk paradoxes? If they had published papers regarding what you know to be facts, but which were lost to the fossil records for the majority of the population, I would have it in the repository of knowledge.”

“I erased their memories,” Weaver explained. “They weren’t happy about it, but I promised to credit them for any work published after a point in the timeline when I felt like this information could be shared. Honestly, I’ve not even decided whether that moment will ever take place. There’s no decent way to explain how anyone could possibly know this much about organisms that never fossilized. Unless time travel becomes public knowledge, this is just for me. And for you now, I suppose.”

“Are we going to keep talking about something dumb and meaningless, and sidestepping the real issue, which is why we’ve come here?” Briar questioned.

“He’s right. We have to address the elephant in the room.” Goswin looked around the room, and took a half step back as if he were searching for a literal elephant. “It’s no coincidence that we all agreed to jump to this place without exchanging a single word. We all wanted to leave where we were so we could unpack recent events and revelations.”

“The question I have,” Briar began, “is which of us are real?”

“We’re all real,” Weaver reasoned. “There’s just a slight possibility that we’re shifting timelines without realizing it.”

“Not only a possibility,” Eight Point Seven argued. “I don’t belong with the three of you.” She frowned. “This isn’t even my body.” The cut on her forehead had since healed into a scar, which perhaps alternate or shifted versions of her would be able to use to tell each other apart, but it meant nothing to the other three members of the crew.

“We don’t know that it quite works like that,” Weaver tried to clarify. “Time is a weird thing, and it’s getting weirder. The laws of causality are breaking down, and we are at the center of it. Remember what I told you about the river of consciousness. That’s not just a metaphor that applies to us because of our bizarre situation. All conscious beings experience this on the quantum level. Your mind is in a constant state of flux. Eight Point Seven, you’re considered a true artificial intelligence because when you were first created, you passed a series of rigorous tests meant to determine this very thing. Classical computers do not flow like human minds. Their alterations are quantifiable, and even reversible. They can be codified as a series of rapidly changing states. No matter how rapid the change is, each state can be pinpointed and recorded. Humans do not exist in states, and neither do you. Not simply knowing, but understanding, this phenomenon was key to advancements that led to things like mind uploading, digitization of the brian, and total immersive virtual reality.”

“I’m having trouble following,” Briar said nervously.

Weaver faced him. “Time travelers tend to think of reality in terms of clearly definable timelines, which you can destroy when you create a new one by triggering a time travel event. We call this a point of divergence. But that’s not really how it works. Time is constantly shifting through an array of equally probable potentials of superposition—”

“You’re getting technical again,” Goswin interrupted to warn her.

Weaver sighed, frustrated at having to figure out how to dumb this down. “There is no real you, or fake you. They’re all you, and you are all them. Even without this thing that happened to us, you may be jumping to different realities all the time, which exist simultaneously in parallel. That’s what we’re all worried about, right? We’re afraid that we don’t belong together, because we can’t know whether someone’s been replaced. Think of it this way, it may be true that you’re always being replaced, no matter what you do. You step into a new reality, don’t realize it, and move on like nothing happened. That could simply be how it works for everyone. It may be an inexorable characteristic of existence. There’s still a lot about the cosmos that even I don’t know. So the question is, if that has been happening to you your entire life, why worry about it now?”

“Because some of us appear to be shifting back,” Goswin noted.

“Yes,” Weaver conceded. “We’re encountering ourselves, not as fixtures at different points in the timeline, nor even as alternates from conflicting timelines. They’re just us, copied to possibly infinite numbers, looping back on ourselves, and criss-crossing each other’s paths. It’s chaos. It’s chaos incarnate. That’s scary, I get it. We can try to fix the issue, or  we can try to ignore it.”

“Wait.” Goswin stepped farther away, and peered around the corner of another hallway. “If we thought to come to this place, how come no one else did? Our other selves, that is. Or...whatever we should call them.”

“Shifted selves,” Eight Point Seven suggested.

“They should not be able to enter the premises,” Weaver assured him. “I placed us in a temporal bubble. We’re currently moving through time at a speed that is only nanoseconds slower than outside, which is more incidental than anything. The purpose is to erect a barrier that cannot be breached, even by another me. It’s a safeguard I put in place, not to stop my...shifted selves from coming in, but any alternate. If another Weaver shows up, she’ll see the bubble, and know to jump to a different moment—perhaps a year from now—to avoid running into herself. When you travel this far back in time, precision is implausible at best. I have labs all over the timeline, but this is more of a vacation home to get away from people.”

“Maybe this already happened, and they went back, instead of forward,” Goswin proposed. He had wandered over to the kitchen table where he found a piece of paper. He lifted it up, and turned towards the group to read it out loud. “Shifted Selves Visitor Log. Weaver, Goswin, Eight Point Seven, Briar, Six Point Seven, Ellie Underhill, Holly Blue...” He stopped at the last name on the list. “Uhh...”

“Are there tally marks next to each one?”

“Uh, yeah,” Goswin confirmed. “The usual suspects are about even. Holly Blue is here three times, as is Six Point Seven, and Ellie came once. I guess she decided to join us on the X González in one timeline.”

“At least one,” Briar added.

“Right,” Goswin agreed.

“What is it, Gos?” Weaver asked him. “You’re balking at something, and it isn’t the tally marks. Those are interesting additions to the crew, but not wholly shocking. Who’s on the list that shouldn’t be?”

Goswin looked up from the paper. “Misha Collins.”

“The Misha Collins?” Eight Point Seven asked.

“Who’s Misha Collins?” Briar asked, having lived his whole life literally under a rock, or cave, rather.

“Misha Collins is an actor from the 20th and 21st centuries,” Weaver explained. “I would like to hear the story that led him to show up here.”

A shadow appeared out of nowhere next to the refrigerator. It was sliced up in segments, which were shimmering, and moving from side to side like Pong, as molecules worked to coalesce into full form. It started with the shoes on the floor, and began to work its way up as the traveler struggled to find his place in this point in spacetime. Pants, trenchcoat, narrow tie over a white shirt, and finally the neck and head. It was none other than Misha Collins. He only took a few seconds to get his bearings. “What is it this time? Uh, I mean...report.”

< > Entire Story

Microstory 2048: South Carolina

< > Table of Contents

My papa didn’t want any more sadness once he knew that he was going to have to leave his family soon. He wanted to have one last really happy memory with us. He decided that we should go down to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. A lot of people like to go there to party, but they mostly do it in the spring and summer. This was in the winter, around Christmastime. It was the last Christmas that my papa ever saw. According to people who lived there, it was pretty cold at the time, but it wasn’t anywhere near as could as it gets up here in Massachusetts, so we didn’t mind. We couldn’t go into the ocean, but we sat on the beach, and enjoyed spending time together. We didn’t do a lot of activities, but it was nice and quiet, since the party-goers were living their regular lives in other places. We spent a lot of time in the hotel, playing board games, and just talking. I skipped a lot of school in the fifth grade. That’s okay, because I made up all of my assignments, and I wanted to be with my family. Papa was really tired all the time, but he still smiled, and he could still make me laugh. We were lucky for that too. Most people with the disease who were that far along in their journey have trouble speaking. He was sometimes hard to understand, but he could still talk well enough.