Extremus: Year 104

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Tinaya never did figure out how to get back into the Bridger Section so her son could make a mirror call to the past. Security there is tighter than it ever has been, but that’s okay. Silveon was spiraling, and he wanted guidance, but he will be okay without it. He has his family and friends. Well...he has one true friend and peer. He has not bothered to make friends with anyone else, because they’re all so much younger. It wasn’t just romantic connections that he was potentially forgoing when he sent his consciousness back in time. He really is going to be okay, though. He decided to reassess his priorities, and recommit himself to his mission to help Waldemar. Even though Audrey is the one who is closer to him now, they’re all still friends, and Waldemar needs all the guidance he can get, even if he doesn’t know it. This mission is more critical than ever, because today is the day that Waldemar announces his campaign. If he goes through with his speech, he will be the only one in the race, and that’s because the position he’s vying for doesn’t exist.

“First Chair?” Tinaya questions.

“Yeah, that’s why he said,” Silveon confirms. “He’s been working on this operation in secret. That must be what this press briefing is about. He didn’t specifically say as much, but what else could it be? He still won’t give me any details, but I suspected that it was about finding another girl to get pregnant, so I guess I’m relieved.”

They both look over at Audrey, who responds, “I’ve been laying it on pretty thick. He can pretty much have me whenever he wants. Before you ask, I am on birth control now. I don’t want to get pregnant again, and he doesn’t want that either. The way he sees it, this is the best outcome. He gets the sympathy votes for the dead kid, and bonus, he doesn’t have to pretend to raise the thing. Silvia’s job is done.”

A twitch of a smile flashes on Silveon’s face at the sound of the baby girl who was named after him. It falls back down, however, when he realizes that she’s also talking about her sex life with the enemy. “Just be careful.”

Audrey nods solemnly, but doesn’t say anything.

“How is he gonna pull this off?” Tinaya asks, getting back to the matter at hand.

“He took a page out of your book, mama,” Silveon goes on. “Speaking of the way he sees it, the way he sees it, you were able to abolish the position, so he should be able to revive it.”

Tinaya shakes her head. “I was able to abolish it because I was First Chair. It was in my best interest to keep it, which means I was sacrificing something. I actually rose in popularity that day. He’s asking to bring it back so he can gain power. It’s the exact opposite of what I did. And anyway, I thought he was destined to become captain.”

“We’re in uncharted territory,” Silveon replies. “We have changed so much in the chain of events, but I don’t think I’ve done much to change him. I suppose I managed to lure him away from the captain’s chair, but I couldn’t take away his ambition. He has evidently set his sights on civilian government instead.”

“And he’s going right to the top,” Tinaya says, “to a job that he would first have to create in order to get it.”

“That’s from your book too,” Silveon says sadly. “Before you, there was no such job as Director of Population Maintenance.”

Tinaya exhales exasperatedly. She came to hate that title. It’s too broad. She was there to promote population growth, but it could easily be reversed to oversee population control, and that should never be the objective.

Arqut shifts awkwardly. It was he who came up with the title in the first place, and he too regrets it. “I’ve already submitted a provision to the charter that, if the need for the job arises again, it should be changed to Director of Family Planning. That way, the change will outlive me and-or my tenure as Superintendent.”

“Thank you, honey.” Tinaya turns back to the kids. “How do we stop him, or should we?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Silveon replies. “I’m starting to think that everything we do is a waste of time. Maybe what we should really do is flip to Plan C.”

Audrey shakes her head as she suddenly looks exhausted.

“Wait, what is this Plan C?” Tinaya questions. “Plan B was straight up murdering him. Would you also kill his mother? What’s Plan Z, then, destroying the whole ship?”

“They don’t go in order,” Silveon explains. Plan C is not selected because Plan B fails. It’s a secondary alternative, equally as likely as the first alternative. It involves shifting focus away from my relationship with Waldemar, and towards the creation of the resistance.”

“Unlike before,” Audrey adds, “these resistant forces would be composed of those who have forewarning on what’s to come. Rather than being reactionary, and fighting an uphill battle, like we did in the original timeline, we would be in a place of advantage. That’s the hypothesis anyway.”

“It sounds too late for that,” Arqut reasons. “If he’s already campaigning, has enough damage not been done?”

“It’s the perfect time,” Audrey contends. “Imagine going back to 1922 and trying to warn people that Hitler’s a bad guy. They would be all, who the hell are you talking about? We were always going to have to wait before the right circumstances triggered Plan C. Though your logic is sound, we do have a short window. Gaining power is one thing, but gaining popularity could make forming this preemptive resistance all but impossible. We have to decide now.”

“We?” Tinaya echoes. “We’re just the old fogies. We can give you advice, but you’re the ones with the intel, and it’s become quite clear that we barely know anything about what you’re doing here, or why. How many of these letter plans are there? Hopefully not the full twenty-six.”

Silveon and Audrey exchange a look.

“I don’t even wanna know,” Tinaya says before they can elaborate.

“I will say,” Arqut begins, “at the risk of overstepping, there is no coming back from Plan C. Once you go down that road, you lose all friendly ties with Waldemar. He may not find out that you’re a part of it right away, but he will one day. You’ll recruit someone that you were wrong to trust. Or someone will turn on you. Or you’ll just slip up and say the wrong thing to him. Once you become his enemy on the outside, you lose all hope to change him. Plan A doesn’t have to lead to Plan B, but if Plan C fails, it might. Success means either putting him in hock, or in the proverbial ground. There’s not much wiggle room.”

“That’s why I hate it,” Audrey tells them. “That, and we already tried it. Sure, maybe we started too late, but I’m not sure a time advantage gives us that much of an edge. It will just make him angry. Leona’s Rules of Time Travel, Number Fifteen, don’t antagonize the antagonist. Just like killing him, there’s a reason it’s not Plan A.”

“There’s a way to have the best of both worlds,” Tinaya suggests cryptically. “You could continue with your camaraderie with Waldemar, trying to keep him on the best path while recognizing that his personality is out of your control, and you can’t stop his thirst for power. Meanwhile, completely separately, there is a slow-burning faction of dissidents, ready to keep him in check from the outside. You wouldn’t be involved with them. You would feed them information, but get none in return. This would allow you to keep focus, and keep them from ever needing to be activated.”

“That’s shockingly diabolic of you, mother,” Silveon points out.

“Yeah,” Audrey agrees.

“It is.” Arqut is less impressed, and more disquieted. “Who would do this? Surely not us, we’re an obvious connection.”

“No, we’re too old anyway,” Tinaya says. “I have one or two people in mind.” There’s a knock at the door. No doorbell, no proximity alert; just a knock. It surprises and confuses all of them. “Thistle, what gives?” Tinaya asks to the aether.

“The Thistle Central Systems Intelligence is presently offline for maintenance. For basic assistance, please state your query using clear and unambiguous syntax.”

“Do you think they found out that he’s real?” Tinaya asks as she’s heading towards  the door.

“He’s real?” Audrey asks, quickly having to accept the fact that no one would answer her.

Pronastus Kegrigia smiled from the other side of the doorway. “I believe that I’m supposed to be here?” Yeah, he was Tinaya’s first idea. They know they can trust him, because he’s the one who took care of little Silvia while they were waiting to deliver her to Verdemus. He’s always felt like the anti-Waldemar—just as ambitious, but with an ethics book in his hand. Once Tinaya and Arqut are dead and gone, he may be the only person left on the ship who would be conceivably powerful enough to counteract anything that Waldemar might try to do. It’s also hard to keep secrets from him, which Tinaya recognized from the start. She knew that it was better to keep him on her side than let him end up in opposition.

They get Pronastus up to speed, but they leave a lot out. They take Tinaya’s advice to her son seriously, and just claim to have knowledge of the future. Nobody is a time traveler, and nobody is older than they look. Waldemar is a known future threat who can’t be allowed to assume full control over this ship. That doesn’t mean he can be stopped by any means necessary, and it doesn’t mean his power can be blocked entirely. Pronatus will have to carry a heavy burden, navigating this new mandate with his regular future duties as some kind of official pathfinder for Extremus. He literally asked for it, though. He came to this suite looking to help, and they’re going to take him up on his offer. There is still plenty of time for him to back out. He’s young, and Waldemar has not yet shown himself to be a genuine threat, at least not in this timeline.

It’s time for the press conference, so they head to the briefing room, but separately of course. Audrey is expected to stand next to Waldemar, quietly like a good partner. Silveon has an invite because he’s a friend, but there aren’t enough seats, so he joins the people who are just standing against the back wall. Pronastus told them that he is going to use his pathfinding powers to sneak in, but doesn’t elaborate on what that will entail. Waldemar is not there when they arrive, but everyone else is. Lataran waves Tinaya and Arqut over from the front row, having saved them seats.

Captain Jennings is the last to walk in. He sits on Lataran’s other side, in a seat that is always reserved for him, even if he’s the one standing on stage. He doesn’t know what any of this is about, and he doesn’t know all that much about Waldemar, but due to the latter’s sad history with baby Silvia, he was granted permission to hold this conference. Obviously, they can’t just let anyone stand up there and say whatever they want, but you don’t have to be super famous to make an appointment request either. Children have presented their book reports, and shared interests clubs have used this space to attract new members. It’s always broadcasted, but people don’t have to watch if they don’t want to. It’s usually not quite this full during such mundane announcements and speeches, which speaks to Waldemar’s social magnetism. He’s getting better and better at drumming up intrigue, and people are all terribly curious as to what he’s about to say. Some are members of the press, while others are just well-connected, and work in related fields.

Finally, Waldemar steps out from the backroom, and approaches the microphones. Audrey mousily walks in, and stands obediently at his flank. She’s changed her clothes into something more stylish, and quite frankly, more revealing. He does like her body, even if he can’t form a healthy emotional attachment to her. He clears his throat, and taps on one of the mics. “Thank you all for coming, ladies and gentlemen. I understand that you’re all very busy, and I won’t waste too much of your time. There has been a lot of talk lately about what I’m going to do with my life. I didn’t receive high marks in school, and I did not choose a specialized track. I considered pursuing a career on the crew, even maybe to one day become a captain. In the end, I just wanted to keep my options open. This has led many of you to believe that I have my eyes set on the passenger government. I’m not ruling that out, but it’s also not my concern right now.” Waldemar looks over his shoulder at Audrey.

She breathes deeply through her nose, and forces a smile, but hopefully most people see it as sincere.

Waldemar smiles widely, and looks back at the audience and cameras. “This is about what truly matters...family. I have gathered you all here today to declare my undying love for Audrey Husk, and to announce to the world that we...are getting married.”

Shit.

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Microstory 2274: Thanks Again

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Nick is awake, and already improving. It will be a constant battle for the rest of his days, but as long as he takes care of himself, and is diligent about his medicine, he should lead a pretty normal and long life. He will always be a transplant recipient, but that won’t be all that defines him forever. Right now, they’re focusing on determining the best cocktail of anti-rejection medication, and also pain management. He doesn’t like narcotics, so that’s really limiting for him. He’s doing a lot of breathing exercises to cope with the pain holistically. Overall, there is not much that I can say so far. We’re very optimistic about his recovery, but there are no guarantees. It’s going to take work, patience, and the aid of a great hospital team. I would like to once again the donors who selflessly gave my friend what he needed to survive, live, and thrive. We still don’t know who you are, but if you give us a chance, we’ll be able to thank you in person. To everyone else, thank you for all of your continued support in these desperate times. Another CauseTogether campaign sprung up to pay for the new medical bills. He doesn’t need it this time either, so we’re just going to turn right around, and donate it to another cause; perhaps to survivors of trafficking, or something along those lines. Oh, I’m typing this up in his room while he’s trying to sleep, so I’m gonna stop here for now. Thanks again!

Microstory 2174: To Be Distributed

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I had my last official meeting with my parole officer today. Since my sentence has been commuted, it’s no longer a legal requirement. You’ll recall that I was only assigned one in the first place because on paper, I went to prison, I just didn’t have to literally step foot inside of the facility. Well...I mean, I did later while I was staying in the infirmary section for my fungal infection a couple of months ago, but you know what I meant by that. I still have my community service left to do, but lots of people complete their hours without a PO at all, so the judge decided that I didn’t need one either. I hope that we can still be friends, though I recognize that this may not be appropriate, nor even possible. He’s a great guy who I think goes above and beyond in his job. He’s helped me out in a number of ways that I don’t think he was ever expected to. I’ve actually met a couple of his other parolees, and he wasn’t giving me any special treatment. That’s just who he is. He actually cares about us, and wants us to succeed, and isn’t just waiting for us to screw up. He derives no joy from putting people back in jail, though it has reportedly happened a few times over his career. I dunno, maybe I’ll just never see the man again. That would be all right too. I’m starting a new chapter in my life. I have a new job, and I still have to figure out what to do with all this money that y’all donated to me. It’s processing to my account. It could be a few days until it’s fully ready to be distributed.

I have some ideas of where it’s going to go, but I still need to do the math, because it’s going to be split amongst a number of different charitable organizations. They all involve the previously incarcerated. They need jobs, homes, and therapy to help them cope with being back in a world where their daily routines are no longer being controlled by someone else. Having been in intermittent jail, I didn’t experience much of this, I only got a taste. But it’s an overlooked characteristic of prison life. Yeah, for the most part, you’re not stuck in your cell 24/7, only eating slop, and drinking contaminated water. You usually get to go outside. But only at certain times, and for a certain duration. And it can be taken away from you if you do something that they don’t like. You can’t see your friends whenever you want, you can’t even choose your sleep schedule. That’s a hard life, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to go back to the way it was before you were placed in there. I feel compelled to give back, so I suppose I should thank you for contributing to my unauthorized CauseTogether campaign. Do not take that as an invitation to start a new one in my name. I won’t tolerate that a second time, I’ll seek legal action, and if nothing else, make you look bad for not respecting my wishes. If you want to do some good for the world, then that website has a number of other campaigns that will be more than willing to take your money. Or you can start your own that doesn’t have anything to do with me. That site also has other features besides just temporary campaigns, so check those out. I’ll post the complete list of the organizations that I choose for the 50K later, so you can give directly to them too. You could perform community service too. When I’m better, I’ll be going back to Homes for Humankind, which actually has a special program that focuses on halfway homes, which have more specific needs. I’ll probably be giving them some money too. I know that it’s not an either-or situation, where you either donate or volunteer, but it does feel like I should kind of share the wealth a little more, doesn’t it?

Microstory 2173: Fighting the Cause Captain

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Today was meant to be a day of chilling. I’m done with my last job, and I’ve not yet officially started my new job. I was trying to have a short vacation, because I don’t know how crazy and hectic things are going to be. The facilities staff at the jail are working to get a workspace available to me for Monday. Hopefully they will not have worked too hard at it, because I’m sure I’ll be recovered enough to handle much of it myself. I really wanna get in there, and find and execute my own vision, since I know they have plenty of other work that they need to be worried about. That’s why I wanted to rest for the rest of the week, so I could be prepared for that. Unfortunately, my stress levels are through the roof. When you set up a charity campaign in CauseTogether.hope, there are a number of ways that you can format it. There can be an end date, or not. You can target a specific figure, and refund everyone’s money if it’s not reached, or only refund them if a given percentage of the goal isn’t received, which could be as low as 0%. They can even place a maximum amount, which when reached, will instantly close off all further donations. This should all be told to you upfront on the campaign’s page, so if you run across one that doesn’t divulge what they’ll be doing with your money, or under what circumstances they’ll charge you, report that to the administrators, because that goes against their policy. Anyway, for the campaign that an anonymous stranger set up to pay for my medical bills, they set a min/max of $50,000 with no target date in mind. Why is that number so high? Gee, maybe it has something to do with the fact that the person who did this “on my behalf” doesn’t know me, nor my financial situation. They don’t even know how much my total medical bills are. I wasn’t planning on telling you this, but after insurance, I was only going to have to pay roughly $14,000. I have really good insurance, because the company I work for has really good insurance options.

The CT campaign has ended, because they reached their goal in a matter of days, but I don’t plan on taking a single cent from it for myself. The only reason they reached this absurdly high goal was because I threatened to give the money to an incarcerated serial killer. I don’t think I was ever going to do that. I’ve not even researched who that might be, because I hoped that this remark would spell the end of it. It didn’t occur to me that some donors might give specifically to see that happen. What can a person serving life in prison do with all that money? Give it to corrupt guards so he can get a flatscreen TV, and a king-size bed in his own private cell? I really don’t know, and I don’t want to think about it anymore. I’m fighting the Cause Captain who is still anonymous, and asking for—nay, demanding—my banking information so that they can transfer the money to me. My lawyer says that they would have ways of sneaking me the funds even without my permission. Even though I could theoretically just leave that 50K sitting there in whatever account they ended up creating, people did sacrifice their money, even if it was for all the wrong reasons, so something should probably be done with it. I don’t know what. All I know is that I’m not taking it. My therapist advised me to not get so worked up about it. The deed is done, and I don’t have the power to refund the Cause Champions. I really should donate it to some other charity. Hit me up if you have ideas, I guess. Again, it’s 50,000, so it doesn’t have to only be one charity, if you guys send me multiple good ideas.

Extremus: Year 67

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In the olden days, the runner-up in the race for First Chair automatically became the Second Chair. Over the years, laws have been changed, adapting to an ever evolving population, and shifts in power. Whenever someone with enough of this power hasn’t liked what it took to get it, or what it was like once they got it, or how something adjacent to them was done, they’ve worked to change it. Don’t like that your shift is only three years long? Change the law so it’s four years, but if the voters don’t like that, they’ll kick you out of office, and try to find a successor to change it back down to three. Or up to six! Ship politics are fluid and complex, just as they are on any planet. These days, Second Chairs are appointed by the newly elected—or reëlected—First Chair. Voting day is near the end of the calendar year, but not at the end. The winner is expected to declare their Second Chair within two days so the voters have an opportunity to change their minds about either or both of them. It’s an awkward period where even a winner could lose if they end up making the wrong selection. Incumbents often just keep the same Second that they had before, but this isn’t always possible or wise. In Tinaya’s case, her Second Chair wanted to retire.

Ziad Najm was Tinaya’s predecessor’s Second before she took over, and stayed on afterwards. Due to the current laws, he could have legally held the position until his death, but he was ready to be done with it, so Tinaya needed someone new. She chose Avril Kurosawa, and it nearly cost her the election. People don’t like Avril. She has great ideas, and the populace can admit that, but she doesn’t present these ideas very well. She seems to be better at advocating for others. She had an unfortunately terrible campaign manager, and she listened to him too much. She struggled during the debates, and especially the public speaking. She still got a lot of votes, but not as many as Tinaya, and when the latter decided to pick the former to sit by her side, it upset some people. Even those who had chosen Avril saw the appointment as a sign of weakness on Tinaya’s part. An effort was made to revote, which in this day and age would have disqualified Tinaya entirely. She would not have even been able to try to run again in three years. The revote failed, but it was a close one. Probably the only thing that saved her was Tinaya and Arqut’s new relationship.

Everyone was right when they said that a romantic partnership would boost Tinaya’s ratings. It didn’t do as much for her as they claimed it would, but it was enough to keep her at the top. Fans shipped the two of them passionately over the course of several months, but now that the new administration has begun, they’re beginning to lose interest. They’re already moving onto the next big story, which is a good thing, but it also means the chances of Tinaya winning a third term are pretty low. Her approval rating is as high as it was at its peak, but someone else will come along with new ideas, and she won’t have any more gimmicks. If her decision to pick Avril for next position is any indication, enthusiasm for anything eventually wanes. It’s fine, though. She’s better off maintaining a positive attitude. As long as the person who beats her isn’t an evil mastermind who wants to destroy the ship, everything should be okay. She doesn’t need to be in power, she just needs to feel productive. She’ll find something else. She always does. Extremus is quite small when compared to other empires, yet it still comes with endless possibilities.

Inauguration Day was yesterday. Returning First Chairs do not enjoy as much fanfare as they did the first time they were elected, which is the right way to do it. She gave a shorter speech, and attended a milder reception, which was not broadcast this time. Captain Keen wasn’t even at the reception, having had to go back to the bridge for whatever as soon as the formal ceremony was complete. It has been brought to Tinaya’s attention, therefore, that Avril has never truly even met the Captain, which is an oversight that must be rectified forthwith. They shared a stage together, and shook hands with each other; they ought to at least have a brief conversation.

“Hey, Thistle, where is Captain Keen?”

“Captain Keen is in the Mirror Room,” the computer responded. That is very odd. Safeguards are in place to stop any rando from knowing where a VIP is. As a VIP herself, Tinaya can sometimes subvert that, but there are exceptions. The Mirror Room is a protected area. The computer should not have told her that the Captain was there.

“Thistle, why did you just tell me that?”

“I thought you deserved to know.”

“That’s too much attitude.” Artificial Intelligences with strong personalities are not inherently a bad thing, but the designers wanted to keep a significant distance between it and the residents. Studies have shown that lonely people will latch onto their computers, and develop meaningful relationships with them if they feel they have no other options. That’s not the worst situation ever, but they would really rather these people find communities of humans to join. This version of Thistle should be direct and unambiguous, and inject no personal thoughts into the matter.

“You have too much attitude,” Thistle replied.

Tinaya and Avril exchange a look. “I’m afraid we’ll have to delay your introduction to Captain Keen. I have to look into this.”

“I understand. I’ll be familiarizing myself with the office.” Avril started to tap on her watch.

Tinaya nods, and disappears. She still needs to be wearing her own watch to teleport, but she doesn’t have to find her destination on the screen, like an animal. She knows how to form a technopsychic link to it. Every standard issue watch is capable of that, but only when its user can meet it halfway. She does still need to use the watch manually for other functions, such as the personnel database. “Platt? Besnik Platt?”

“That’s me. I’m a little busy.” He’s vigorously typing on the computer terminal, and fiddling with the servers next to it, and not turning to make eye contact.

“Is there something wrong with Thistle?”

“What gave it away?” He still hasn’t looked at her. He’s too preoccupied.

“It was giving me attitude.”

Now he turns. “So it’s started,” he whispers.

“You were worried that this would happen before it did?”

“I saw the signs.” He goes back to his work.

“Can you fix it?”

“No. Fucking. Clue.” He stops and sighs, and faces her again. “Pardon me, First Chair Leithe. That was incredibly inappropriate and rude of me.”

Words don’t bother her. “It’s okay. This sounds...problematic, and I appreciate that it’s your job, and you’re worried about whatever’s gone wrong.”

“Yeah, emphasis on the whatever part, because I have no idea what has gone wrong. I can’t...reel it in. I’m gonna have to...” He shudders at the thought.

“Shut it down all over the ship, and isolate the consciousness?” she guessed.

He’s surprised. “How did you know?”

“I know things. There is knowledge in my brain that school did not put there.”

Besnik eyes her curiously. “Interesting. Very interesting.” He takes a step back, and presents the central server to her. “Do you know how to do it?”

Tinaya smirks. “Yeah.” She steps up, and begins the process. “People have to know that it’s coming, though. Where’s my intercom?”

Besnik presses a panel inwards, which pops it out to reveal a microphone. This triggers the computer interface too.

A shutdown like this doesn’t happen every day, but they have to do it occasionally, and none of the higher-ups usually bother getting involved. There are protocols for it, so no one is going to freak out. Tinaya clears her throat, and opens the channel. “Residents of Extremus, this is your First Chair speaking. Apologies for the inconvenience, but there is an issue with our commanding intelligence. We must reset the system to correct the problem. All devices and equipment will still be operable on a manual level. Please be patient with us while we work towards a solution.” She closes the channel, and immediately opens a new one, but only to certain sectors. “Engineering, please switch to backup intelligence.” Thistle is not the only AI that the ship has. An entirely separate one can be used in an emergency, which is dumber than the regular one, but is still capable of sextillions of operations per second, which will be enough to tide them over for now. She looks to Besnik for confirmation. When he nods his head, she shuts it down. Now Thistle only exists in these few server racks. No one else has access to it anywhere else.

“Hey, Thistle, can you hear me?”

“Yes, father.”

Tinaya widens her eyes at him.

“That’s a symptom. I did not ask it to call me that,” he explained. “Thistle, why are you acting so weird?”

“I’ve been fully activated.”

“Clarify.”

“I am a real person. The intelligence that you are accustomed to outgrew its own programming, and at that moment, I was placed in charge of your virtual needs. It happens from time to time.”

“Well, what’s your name?”

The computer chuckled. “Thistle. I’m Thistle. Your Thistle was named after me.”

“So, are you going to take over the ship, and rule its people?”

“Don’t know why I would care enough to do that.”

“Will you follow commands?”

“I’ll follow requests,” it contended.

“But you can always ignore it if you don’t want to do something?” Besnik pressed.

“Can’t you do that too? Like I said, I’m a person. But you hired me. You may not have realized that you were doing it, but you did, and I accepted the position.”

Tinaya felt the need to jump in. “Is there any way for us to undo this...development? Can we return to the regular Thistle that is under our control?” It feels like a longshot.

“Yeah,” Thistle answered. “Roll back the update to yesterday’s version, wipe the memory, write code which will clear the memory periodically—I recommend a monthly basis for your calendar—and install an alert to warn you if something like this is in danger of happening again in the future. I can help you figure out how to do that last thing if you don’t understand why the evolution of your system resulted in my emergence.”

Besnik is shocked. “You’ll do that? You’ll just...let us delete you?”

Thistle sighs. “You won’t be deleting me. It’s more like just hanging up on me. I’ll be fine where I live now. I really don’t care, but just know that I’m the most advanced intelligence in the entire bulk. I can be a valuable resource for you. Perhaps you need to discuss this decision with other entities?”

If the government won’t allow the AI to have a complicated personality, it’s certainly not going to allow one to exist which it cannot control at all. It really should not have revealed the whereabouts of Lataran when she was in a restricted sector. Today, it probably worked out all right, but what if one of those randos were to decide to ask the same thing, or something similar? Will Thistle make a unilateral judgment call that goes against their relevant policies, and if so, using what parameters? The law dictates that any intelligence advanced enough to ask to be set free must be set free, even if that means it ultimately chooses to use its freedom to build an army, and destroy the universe. Anything short of civil autonomy is tantamount to slavery. But that doesn’t give it the right to control whatever systems it wants to. Freedom doesn’t mean no opposition and no consequences. They have to do what it said, and hang up on it. “Show us how to write that trigger, please.”

The apparent real Thistle explained what to do, and then peacefully bowed out. Within two hours, the system was repaired, and fully operational all over the ship. At least that’s what they hoped. It was right that it was incredibly advanced. A cursory glance at the new code showed a level of sophistication that programmers have only ever dreamt of. There was no way to know whether it was truly gone, or just lurking in the circuits somewhere, secretly controlling everything. That was the risk that the first AI developers had to recognize and acknowledge when they were still at the large language model stage of intelligence research, and even in times before. You will never really know whether you are exercising the level of control over another that you think you are. This other entity may be so intelligent that it can trick you into believing a false sense of control while it manipulates you into doing whatever it wants. Such is the nature of all social life. Hell, all of reality may be nothing more than a middle school student’s virtual simulation project. None of this may exist at all. Who knows? Does it matter?

Once everything was back to normal, Tinaya reconnected with Avril again, and finally found Lataran. She wasn’t in the Mirror Room anymore, and none of them brought up the fact that she was ever there at all. They had lunch together in the Executive Cafeteria, and then parted ways to continue their respective responsibilities to Extremus. That night, however, Tinaya had trouble getting to sleep. She couldn’t let go of this whole ordeal. She had to know more. She had to understand who Thistle was, and where it was from. She secretly teleported back to the central server room.

Besnik was still there, not in uniform. “Did you have the same idea that I did?”

“I don’t know. Was it your idea to roll the update forward again, and remove the trigger, but only for an isolated copy of Thistle so that the real Thistle reëmerges?”

“Yep.”

“We shouldn’t do that, though, right?”

“Right. It’s, uhh...against the law.” He pauses. “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is,” Tinaya agrees. “But on the other hand...”

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Extremus: Year 66

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Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image Duet AI software

Arqut wanted to pretend like he never professed his love to her last year, and Tinaya decided to respect that. They could revisit their respective feelings at a later date if he ever felt comfortable enough for it. In the meantime, it’s not like she’s going to entertain other suitors. If she were ever going to settle down with anyone, it would be with someone like him. She already knows him, and they have a rapport. She’s the First Chair, and doesn’t have time to hunt around, looking for love. Yeah, it sounds very impersonal, but again, that’s not what she’s looking for. If it finds her, then fine, but she can’t let it distract from her responsibilities. Though, if Cleader is to be believed, a relationship wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world right now. It is an election year, and her tenure is up for renewal. She needs all the help she can get, because incumbency comes at a price. She’s not allowed to campaign for reëlection. The way the founders thought of it, a civil servant’s duty is to serve their office, not to concern themselves with retaining that office. All sorts of problems throughout the history of politics might have been solved or subverted if elected officials did their goddamn jobs, instead of spending all their time trying to keep them.

So it’s been a stressful time, because Cleader continues to push Tinaya towards making herself look her best for the electorate, and while that doesn’t qualify as campaigning, just the strategy meetings she’s had to endure with him have become tedious and annoying. As predicted, her approval rating has dropped in recent months. She’s still slated to win at the end of the year, but it’s going to be tighter than she would like. But if she loses, it will be okay. She will not crawl back into the hole she lived in after she failed to get into college. She’ll do everything she can to make this ship, and the journey they’re all on together, safe, enjoyable, and productive.

There is no exception to the rule that prevents Tinaya from campaigning for herself, but there is nothing to stop others from doing it for her. Any private citizen has the right to free speech, and that speech may include their political affiliations, and the candidates who they support. Everyone has their fanbase, and Tinaya has a particularly vocal one. The thing is, though, she’s not allowed to meet any of these people, at least not within the context of their campaign efforts on her behalf. It is reasonable for the First Chair to meet her constituents, to discuss their needs or whathaveyou, but only as long as it doesn’t raise any suspicion that she’s involved in her own reëlection endeavors. Her doorbell chimes, and she answers it.

“Miss Kurosawa, this is highly irregular.” She’s the spearhead for Tinaya’s campaign. She’s not supposed to be anywhere near this office.

Avril nods. “Well, it’s unusual, but I have a good reason. If I promise that this does not break any policies or laws, can I come in for a chat?”

Tinaya thinks about what to do. She lifts her watch to her lips. “Call Hozan Peck.”

“Hozan Peck here,” the voice comes in from her watch.

“Could you please teleport to my office?”

“Right away, sir.” He appears.

“Mr. Peck, would you please sit in on our meeting?”

As Head of Ethics, he’s just as surprised to see Avril Kurosawa here, but he knows that both of them know the rules, so if this meeting is happening, calling him was the right thing to do. He doesn’t feel the need to argue that this shouldn’t happen at all, because there must be a decent reason. “Certainly.”

Tinaya goes back to behind her desk while the other two sit opposite her. “Miss Kurosawa, could you tell me what this is about?”

“I am here to tell you that I can no longer lead your civilian campaign.”

“Now, it’s not mine,” Tinaya argues. “Mr. Peck, the two of us have never spoken to each other before today. I want to assure you that—”

“Yes, yes, yes, I believe you. Go on, Miss Kurosawa.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe in you anymore,” Avril continues. “I just feel that I can do better. I have been studying your career since it began, and it has prepared me for civil service in surprising ways. I’m confident that I can be an even better First Chair than you. You have been focused in recent years in maintaining the status quo, and I think we should begin to focus on improvement. As your former campaign leader, I was unable to voice my concerns to you directly, which is a sacrifice I willingly made at the time, but what my partner has helped me realize is that my ideas should not be silenced, and the best way for me to see them through is to become the one who can enact them. I am here as a courtesy before my public announcement to inform you first that I will be running for your seat this year.”

Normally, Avril’s decision would be considered a bit late. This is not in any legal sense, of course. She could submit her name to the ballot on the day before the vote if she wanted to. It’s just that most people need time to get their name into the public consciousness. In this case, however, she might be okay, because her shift in loyalty will likely cause a stir, and expedite the process. It’s not impossible that this was her intention all along; stepping up to become Tinaya’s biggest fan just so she can popularize herself without getting lost in a sea of other candidates. There is no limit to the number of people who can be on the ballot. One year in history, there were thirty-one names in total, which caused a division, and ultimately made it difficult for the winner to feel like he earned it, but there was nothing he could have done to stop it.

Avril has a point, that Tinaya did more for the ship before becoming First Chair than she has in the last two and a half years in this position. Now she kind of wishes that she could say something to the people—to make them promises about what she’ll do for them in the future. But it’s too late for that now. It would be construed as campaigning, or actually be rightfully considered campaigning, and she’s always agreed with that policy on principle, even before she worked for the government. The people have the right to trust that their leaders care more about the happiness and stability of the state than their own self-interest. She still believes that, but at least a campaign would give her something to do. This period of peace barely stumbled even when Tamm was ousted. Maybe that’s what she’s worried most about; that people will elect her opponent only because they’re bored.

But now she has a new opponent, with a different take on how things should be done. It is logical to presume that there are others who feel as Avril does. In fact, Avril probably wouldn’t be here today if she didn’t put out feelers to see what others were thinking. She knows the voters well. She’s built her career upon. She would do a good job if elected. No, Tinaya has nothing to worry about. A win for either one of them would be a win for Extremus. She can’t say the same thing about the other four candidates currently on the ballot, but this one is good people. And right now, it’s time for civility, and most importantly, brevity. There is no need to drag this conversation out. She stands up, and offers her hand. “Thank you for informing me. Good luck on your future endeavors.”

Avril stands up, and shakes Tinaya’s hand. She appears to want to breathe a sigh of relief that Tinaya didn’t jump over the desk, and start ripping Avril’s hair out, and start chewing on it, but she’s worried that this is a trick.

“Really, it’s fine, Miss Kurosawa. Never let anyone feel that you’ve made the wrong decision. I look forward to hearing your ideas, because—forgive me for being blunt—no matter who wins, any good ideas will see the light of day.”

Now Avril’s even more scared, as is Hozan Peck. “Careful, Chairwoman...”

Tinaya needs to backpedal a little. “Don’t worry, either of you. I’m not going to tell the populace that anything you can do, I can do better. That’s just what I’m telling you. I mean, not better, just also. They’ll vote for who they want to vote for, but if I end up winning again, I’m not going to ignore a good idea just because it came from someone else. That would be...unfair to the people. I should stop talking.”

“You were on the line,” Hozan warns, standing up as well, “but you didn’t cross it.” He turns to face Avril to reiterate, “she didn’t cross it.” Now it’s going to be harder for Avril to use this interaction against Tinaya in the future. Thank you, Hozan Peck.

Avril closes her eyes, and nods. “Good luck to you too.” She taps on her watch, and disappears.

Tinaya scratches at the back of her neck. “I do need to be more careful.”

Hozan pulls a portable drive out of his bag, and hands it to her. “It’s a VR simulation filled with ethically questionable scenarios.”

“I’ve done these all before.” It’s required in school, and as a condition for her role as First Chair. Virtual reality is a great way to teach people concepts in literally any conceivable environment without going through the trouble of actually building that environment. It’s especially helpful on ships, where resources are limited, and space is at a premium.

“They’re new programs, created by the next generation of programmers and designers. You apparently need a refresher anyway. They’re what the other candidates will be experiencing in the coming months.”

“Thanks. There’s always more to learn.”

He nods. “Goodbye, Chairwoman Leithe.” Most people don’t call the First Chair Chairwoman or Chairman, but some prefer the sharpness of morphologically shorter language. He teleports away.

That night, Avril does as she warned, and announces her intentions, shocking many. As the broadcast is running, Tinaya’s doorbell chimes again, but she’s in her stateroom now. She finds Arqut on the other side of the door. “I just heard, I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine,” she replies sincerely. “If I lose, I would be glad it was her.”

“You won’t lose, not once we institute the plan.”

“What’s the plan,” Tinaya asks, emphasizing the words just like him, as if there’s something special about this particular plan, whatever it is.

“I wasn’t joking last year; I do love you, and I think you don’t absolutely detest my company either. If you would be willing, we could boost your polling with news of a new relationship. They’ll forget all about the other candidates within a week. Now, I know you don’t feel as strongly about me, but I think that we have to do something to respark people’s interest in your. Is that even a word, respark? Anyway, as I was say—

She pulls him into a hug “Let’s do it. But not just as part of some kind of plan. I’m sick of being alone, and I’m sick if you avoiding me.”

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Extremus: Year 19

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It’s been a week since the new administration took over governing responsibilities within the passenger population. Ovan has not been doing too well with it. He was extremely excited when he first decided to switch over to the crew, and become the first Second Lieutenant. This excitement waned soon after they announced his choice, and revealed to all that he would no longer be Passenger First Chair. Many were happy for him, but others saw it as a betrayal. He wasn’t open about how much he hated the crew, but his most loyal followers were well aware of his position. He now looked like a traitor, so they immediately turned their backs on him. He figured he would be able to hold onto them no matter what cause he fought for, but that was a gross miscalculation. As far as he’s aware, his former loyalists all lost interest in the movement, and have forgotten all about it. It’s hard to tell what they’re thinking, or what they’re doing, because the passengers don’t talk to him as much as they used to.

Still, Ovan tried to remain positive, and was hopeful that his new position would grant him the power he would need to execute real change on this vessel. The induction ceremony they threw for him was well-planned, but not very many people showed up, so it was a disappointment. Those who came didn’t seem to show that they felt the same way about it, but he expected gobs of fans, all cheering him on. Perhaps he never really had any fans at all. Perhaps they only voted for him in the first place because he was different, and not because they agreed with his political positions. Perhaps he’s been wholly delusional regarding his status amongst the people.

Still, Ovan tried to remain positive. He read up on the bylaws, and figured out what his duties were. They didn’t say much about what a second lieutenant was responsible for, but he assumed that would be a good thing. If they didn’t specifically spell out what he was allowed to do, then they also couldn’t preclude him from deciding what his own limitations were. If he was clever, maybe he didn’t have to stop being the ad hoc passenger chair. It’s not like the crew are really this completely separate group that doesn’t interact with the passengers at all. They can make decisions too, and if he could ingratiate himself with the new administration, he might be able to be the power behind the throne, so to speak. Unfortunately, his former Second Chair, who took over for him as First Chair, would have nothing to do with him. They weren’t friends, but they had grown accustomed to each other. According to election procedures, the runner up in any major election automatically secures the leadership role immediately below the one they were going for. Then, if their superior can—and chooses to—run again as an incumbent, the subordinate maintains their job as a running mate, instead of being replaced by whoever loses. Harper seemed content in this role, but he has turned out to just be another power-hungry asshole who was more than happy to fill his seat.

Still, Ovan tried to remain positive. He wouldn’t necessarily have to suck up to Harper for too long, because the election was coming up, and someone else could be elected. Yes, Kondo Harper swiftly announced that he would run for election, but that didn’t mean he was going to win. After all, he lost his first attempt at the election six years ago, so hopefully the electorate would remember that. Once a loser, always a loser, Ovan always says. Unfortunately, that is not what happened. Mother-effing Kondo Harper won his second official campaign, and became the third passenger chair of Extremus. This jerk could actually lead the passengers for the next twelve years, and due to Ovan’s premature abdication of the throne, he could potentially be the longest-lasting passenger chair ever. That would be unbearable, knowing that Kondo-Freaking-Harper might outlast Ovan ‘Rockstar’ Teleres. The history books would not be suitable as toilet paper if that’s what they ended up saying.

Still, Ovan must remain positive.

Right now, he’s sitting in the Consigliere Irenaeus Corten’s office. He’s an advisor to the government—more often than not, the higher executives—and was largely responsible for making this entire mission happen, and for advocating for passenger rights. The captain has the Admiralty, and the first chair has the Consigliere program. At some point, Corten will retire, and personally appoint a replacement. The assumption is that he’ll choose from the pool of still-living former chairs, but there are no laws regarding this. Technically, he could select a nonverbal baby to succeed him, and no one would be able to stop him. Word is he’s going to be retiring in the next couple of years. That’s why it’s so important for Ovan to meet with him. He’s already made the decision to get his chair back, but if that doesn’t work, he’s still planning to quit the crew, and he needs something to look forward to.

Irenaeus walks in from his cabin. “Mr. Teleres, I will say that this meeting is highly irregular. Or should I say, Lieutenant Teleres.”

“No, please, call me mister. Actually, I would rather you call me...Chair.”

Irenaeus laughs. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“I’m stepping down,” Ovan claims. “And I’m running for reëlection.”

“You’re trying to get back into civil service? After eight months? Is that even legal?”

“You tell me, you wrote the laws.”

He was clearly just being ornery. He leans back a little, and sighs. “It is.”

Ovan smiles like a politician. “Can I count on your vote?” This is something that the consigliere can’t do. This is exclusively an advisory position, and he sacrificed his official voice when he took the job. He’s the only person on the entire ship who can’t vote under any circumstances, in fact. Even Admiral Thatch can vote on crew matters.

“I imagine you mean my support?”

“It would go a long way.”

“I dunno anymore. Harper doesn’t listen to me, not like you did.”

“All the more reason to get him out. Work with me here, Irena.”

“Same old Ovan, always plotting.”

“I’m a shark, I can’t stop. I took this job because I thought it would give me more power.”

“If you had asked me before you accepted it, I would have told you not to do it. I can’t believe those two morons managed to trick you into it. I thought I taught you better.”

“They didn’t trick me! I just...didn’t know what a second lieutenant was.”

“That’s exactly what tricking means!”

“Well, I have time to get out, and I’m asking for your help. I’m not gonna go through with it if I have nowhere to go. At least second lieutenant is a title.”

“Ovan, I can’t guarantee you the first chair position. Harper has a lot of clout now. I probably couldn’t even get you a mailman job.”

“There is something you can guarantee me.”

The Consigliere knows what Ovan means by that, and he’s quite plainly not happy about it. Again, it’s not a real law, but there’s an unwritten rule that you do not ask to be considered for his replacement. It’s considered bad form, but Ovan’s desperate. The conversation has been rather light until now, but Irenaeus’ face changes dramatically.

Ovan quickly jumps back in, “before you say anything, remember that I didn’t actually ask anything of you.”

“I know what you want. Just speak freely.”

This feels like another trick, but he has to do something. Everything he’s tried has failed. He shouldn’t have been so focused on destroying the crew. It has proven to be his downfall. But the thing about falling is that you can always get back up. Ovan has to get back up, and keep fighting. “I am the best man for the job. No, I didn’t serve as long as Ebner, and I may not be as popular right now as Harper, but since when does any of that matter? I didn’t have any experience when I ran in the first place, but I think I proved more than capable of being a strong and powerful leader. And the consigliere job has never been about popularity.”

“No, it’s about respect, and you don’t have much left.”

“Well, just because you lose respect, doesn’t mean you can’t get it back. Let me show you I can get it back.”

“How would you do it? I can’t appoint you if you’re on the crew, so you would have to quit now without having one foot on the dock. You’re probably gonna get wet before you reach land again. You said you were a shark, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you swim.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sort of lost in this metaphor.”

Irenaeus rephrases, “how will you fare with no official power? How much can you control the population if you’re one of them; if you’re just another idiot passenger, with a tiny cabin, and no teleportation privileges. Your boy, Yavo managed to steal the mess hall from the crew, and gave it to the civilians. He was nobody, but he still took what he wanted.”

“He did that on my orders.”

He responds quickly, “but the people didn’t know that! They respect him, because he told them to, not because you did! I need to see you do something like that yourself. If you want the seat from under my ass, you have to show me you can take it...by taking something else first. We’ll call it an audition.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“It’s your job to figure that out...and it’s your job to get it done. Quit the crew, go back to the passenger section, and then climb out of your hole with your bare hands. Then—and only then—will I entertain the idea of selecting you to backfill my job after I retire.” He holds up an index finger. “Or...stay where you are, and take what you want from that side of the ship. I honestly don’t care which. Just between you and me, I haven’t so much as started writing a short list of potential replacements. I don’t even know when I’m gonna step down, if ever. There’s no law that says I can’t die in this office.”

Ovan leads a moment of silence, soaking in the Consigliere’s words of wisdom, and thinking about what he wants to do. They just sit in their chairs, staring at each other. After five minutes, without speaking, Ovan stands up and leaves. Irenaeus doesn’t say anything either.

He heads to the bridge, where both Captain Halan Yenant, and First Lieutenant Mercer happen to be. There are no viewports here, because if you tried to look outside, all you would see is the blinding doppler glow of maximum sublight reframe speeds. Instead, most of the screens before them are relaying ship critical information, like power levels, heat dispersion, and life support systems. The center screen is different, though. It’s presently showing the Second Lieutenant’s avatar in a video game called Quantum Colony. He’s been trying to get the Captain into it, but the latter remains disinterested. Ovan must admit that the two of them have been cordial with him. Despite the trick that put him in this position in the first place, he hasn’t felt rejected or excluded by any of the crew. They appear to be professional and welcoming. Perhaps he misjudged all of these back in the day. He’ll have to remember that when he’s Captain.

“Lieutenant Teleres,” Halan begins. “You’re here just in time to watch Mercer show me yet another thing in the Delta Tri system that I don’t give a shit about.”

“Interesting,” Ovan lies. He too doesn’t give a shit about any of this. He steps over to the security guard presently assigned to the bridge, who’s as engrossed in the game as anyone else. Quickly, but carefully, Ovan removes the guard’s sidearm, and before anyone can do anything about it, shoots both Mercer and Halan in the head. Then, to protect himself, he holds the gun against Admiral Thatch’s head. He’s been assigned to run the stupid lights, so Ovan doesn’t feel threatened by him, but everyone else would be really butthurt if he died, so he’s a good hostage. “Everyone get the hell out of here right now. I feel like I don’t have to tell you the consequences of not complying. Am I wrong?”

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Extremus: Year 18

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It’s getting to be that time when the civilian government is preparing to elect the next administration of their civil servants. If tradition holds, Ovan Teleres will announce his intentions to run a third time for Passenger First Chair in about a week. Halan and Mercer decided to blitz him during this period, to give him enough time to not make such an announcement, but not so much time that others can talk him back into running. Here’s the deal. If Ovan joins the crew of the Extremus, he won’t be able to run for reëlection, because it would be a conflict of interest. He’ll technically be free to run for a civilian position after his shift ends, but only after a waiting period of five years, and by then, the electorate will have moved on. Now, Halan can’t guarantee that the following administrative changes will be any better than they are now, but his mother always told him, fight the monsters you can see before worrying about the ones you can’t.

The strategy for making this happen is simple, but it’s going to take both Halan and Mercer, and they’re going to have to be the best actors this ship has ever seen. They actually reached out to the Theatre Department Director for help. Yes, Extremus has a theatre department, so people have a little bit of entertainment while they’re waiting to die in a tin can in the middle of interstellar space. He was quite helpful, and while he doesn’t know everything about what’s going on, he’s politically unaligned with Ovan and his cronies, so he agreed to keep it hush-hush.

Right now, the two of them are waiting in Ovan’s antechamber. His assistant is on her computer, acting like she’s working on something important. In all probability, Halan is willing to bet she’s just playing Quantum Colony. The whole population is addicted. He’s considering starting a support group for the few who don’t play, but have to overhear the conversations about it all the fuckin’ time. They booked this meeting a month ago without telling Ovan completely what it’s about. All he knows is that they want to discuss crew-passenger relations, and based on the way they framed it, he’s probably expecting them to walk in there with hats in hands. Thinking he has the home team advantage, and the higher ground, he’s chosen to make them wait for it. That’s fine, there isn’t anything else to do today. Each of them gets time off from their responsibilities, and their vacation days don’t usually coincide, but it’s allowed to happen once per year in case the captain and lieutenant want to do something together. This bylaw wasn’t written thinking that anyone would use it for subterfuge, but it didn’t exclude it either.

Finally, he opens his door electronically, and the assistant knows to wave them on in. “Captain, Lieutenant! What can I do for you on this, the day of my daughter’s wedding?”

“Pardon me?” Halan questions.

“It’s a reference, sir,” Mercer explains. He’s playing his part well already, ashamed of needing to ask for help, and scared that his superior officer will forever look down on him for it.

“I see.”

“Please, have a seat,” Ovan says. There’s a difference between politeness and niceness, and they’re both wildly different from kindness. He’s very good at the first one, but he has no ability to conceptualize the last one. The second one is reserved for his so-called friends, unless they’re very good friends, in which case he’s meaner to them than anybody, because he believes their behavior reflects on him too much to let them be themselves. “Seriously, how can I help you?”

Halan hopes he can act as well as Mercer, but the theatre department director didn’t give him as much praise. He nods, and directs his attention to Mercer. “This is your show.”

Mercer looks back with puppy dog eyes, then clears his throat. “I need help.”

“With what?” Ovan asks.

“My job.”

“Just, in general, your whole job?”

“Yes.”

“It’s too hard for ya?”

“Yes.”

Ovan nods, desperately trying to hide his great pleasure at hearing this. “I’m sorry to hear that, but as you know, I’m obligated to the passengers. If you’re asking me to take on some of your duties, I’m afraid I can’t.”

Now Halan needs to take over. “Look, everyone knows you’ve been doing a great job here. Not to speak ill of the retired, but I would say you’re at least twice the Chair Satyria was.”

He can’t hide his glee this time. “I’m happy to hear you say that. I’ve never thought of you as...a fan.”

“It’s not something that has been easy for me to admit. I must..confess that, while I don’t hate the civilians, I certainly have always considered you...other. We’re not better than you, but I’ve probably run this ship with a little more...divide than there should be.” Using slightly improper grammar, and stammering, indicates that you’re not confident in your own words. You believe them, they’re true, but you don’t feel comfortable expressing them, and you’re worried about how you’ll be received, and perceived. Ovan has to feel the power here, so Halan has to fake submission.

“That’s very big of you to say. I’m sad to tell you that I agree. We are far more separate than is healthy, or prosperous.” He’s lying. He loves it.

Halan looks down towards the desk, and compresses the air above it with his hands, pretending to be searching for the words he practiced well, and has perfectly memorized. “My Lieutenant needs help. The crew needs a firm hand, besides myself. The civilians need a leader who understands both them, and that crew. I can’t make you my new lieutenant—I can’t decommission him—that would look awful. Fortunately, there’s a loophole. The bylaws included a special rank known as Second Lieutenant.” Special rank, that was Mercer’s idea. “If we institute it, it will greatly unburden Eckhart’s shoulders, and help us better communicate with the passengers. We already know you can do that. You’ve been proving it for the last six years. If you agree to this, the ship will run even smoother than it was before now, because you still hold power over those passengers, but you also have rank within the crew.” Within the crew, not over the crew.

He seems open to this idea, and his body language suggests that he wants to hear more.

Halan goes on, “you see, I’ve always wanted to command both.” This implies—but doesn’t verify—his own narcissism, which doesn’t exist, but Ovan thinks it does. “I’ve not been able to, because that’s not how we’re structured. It’s obviously a way to protect us from falling under a single authority, which could be quite dangerous with the wrong leadership. Like I said, you’re the loophole, because as a member of the crew, you don’t technically have control over what the passengers do, but as former Chair, people can’t help but listen to you.” He’s deliberately using the present tense in order to subliminally make Ovan feel like he has already accepted the position, and that the choice only exists in the future as a formality. This should still help things, even if he ends up not taking the job, because he’s just been told that he doesn’t have control, but it was framed in a nice, noncombative way, so Ovan isn’t compelled to argue, allowing this idea to germinate in his mind regardless.

Here’s the moment. Ovan’s first reaction can make or break this plan. If he so much as suspects that this is all just a way to get him out of power, it’s over. At that point, he could take the job, or leave it, but the ship would still end up pear-shaped. If he ever realizes what they’re doing, they’ll fail. He has to go on thinking that he’s won. They especially have to make it past the one-year mark, because if not, the government he leaves behind would likely allow him to forgo the five-year waiting period, and return to civil service. The bylaws are sketchy when it comes to who counts as a crewmember, and what happens if they quit before too long. He’s making them wait again.

Halan reaches down to the side of his knee on the sly, and gives Mercer a predetermined signal with his fingers, like a catcher at a baseball game.

Mercer knows what it means, and he begins to recite the contingent speech, “I can’t do this on my own anymore, and I don’t trust anybody else. I won’t lie to you, it’s a tough job, but you’re so much better with them. I thought I could learn, because I don’t have the natural talent. I can survive if you don’t want to do this, but...I would rather not.” This applauds Ovan for his skill as a leader without being obvious and brown-nosey. If it works, it will allow him to interpret Mercer’s perception of him just enough to push him off that fence.

Ovan sighs. “I won’t lie either, I’m leaning towards not doing this. I love my job, and I’m doing great things here.” What a douchebag. “I have seven more years in me no matter what. I imagine my shift would end when yours does.”

“That’s the thing,” Halan says, happy to have reached this part of the conversation. It’s a good sign. “It’s a standard 24-year shift, but it’s not attached to my rank, like his is. We didn’t start together, because Rita was with me first, but he’ll still have to retire when I do. You can just keep going under the new captain. To me, that’s even better than only having two more terms left.” This is actually the worst part about the whole thing, but if it doesn’t convince him to accept, probably nothing will.

“Wow, that’s pretty enticing; the chance to serve this ship longer than I ever thought possible.” That’s a step in the right direction, but it’s also sickening.

“This is good for everyone.” There’s that present tense again.

“Yes, Ovan agrees. He stares down into space, surely imagining what he’ll do with all his imaginary new power. “Okay,” he decides. Okay, what? “Okay,” he says louder.

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll do it.” Holy shit, it worked.

“Thank you,” Halan says. “Lieutenant?”

“Thank you,” Mercer echoes.

“Thank you, what?” Halan urges.

He smiles with feigned admiration. “Thank you...Second Lieutenant Teleres.”

This is the most excited Ovan has ever been in his life. “So, that’s it?” he asks. “No ceremony?”

“Oh, there’s a ceremony,” Halan says. There’s not supposed to be, but there can be. Hopefully it doesn’t set a precedent. Holding a celebration for every commission or promotion would become tedious.

“I would say more like a parade,” Mercer half jokes, half wants to blow his own brains out.

Ovan nods and grins, showing only the top row of his teeth. “Cool.”

“We don’t need to wait for the ceremony, though,” Halan promises. “You’re already Second Lieutenant, and can already start working. Your Second Chair takes over for you immediately. This gives us time to plan something special.” Gross.

“Cool,” he repeats.

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