Extremus: Year 128

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It’s midnight on April 8, 2397. Waldemar and Audrey are trying to sleep when his doorbell rings with a level two urgency pulse. He sits up, and tells the AI to open the door, and send whoever it is into their bedroom. The secret service agent comes in while Waldemar is rubbing the sand out of his face to inform him that they encountered four intruders. “Intruders where?”

“The gym locker room.”

Waldemar yawns, annoyed. “You woke me up for that? If they’re not authorized, put ‘em in the brig, and leave me out of it. If they are, then leave ‘em alone.”

“It’s not that, sir. They’re not authorized anywhere. They’re...” The agent hesitates.

“Just say it.”

“They’re Team Matic. We don’t know how they got on the ship in the first place.”

That wakes Waldemar up all the way. He stands and steps into his integrated multipurpose suit. “I want this whole ship on lockdown. Block teleportation. I don’t just mean switch off the relays. Suppress all teleportation everywhere. I should not even be able to teleport, you understand? We can’t let them go anywhere. Where are they now?’

The agent nods at his subordinate to complete the order. “They’re in a private brig. Do you want to speak with them personally?”

“Yes,” Waldemar answers. “But you stay here, protect my wife. Audrey, you can’t go anywhere today. I know you had that art show with Sable, but it’s off the table.”

“I understand,” Audrey agrees.

The Captain leaves his room, and assigns five more men to it. He walks down the corridors manually, and takes the lift down to the private brig. It wasn’t in the original design. This used to be a game room for children. Now he uses it to interrogate prisoners without being pestered by the Hock Watcher, or anyone else. Only his secret police and secret service agents know of it.

There they are. It’s Mateo, Leona, Ramses, and one of the twin girls. Where’s the other one, and also Olimpia? He smiles, pleased with his catch. This is a big get for him. They’re a huge deal in the galaxy, past and present. Word is they were there when the idea of the Extremus mission was first being devised, and may have had a hand in proposing a few key concepts. Their faces are impossible to read. They don’t look nervous or upset. In their shoes, he would be angry. No, he would be absolutely livid. The truth is, he has respect for these people. They’re renegades. They have no authority whatsoever, but that doesn’t stop them from going wherever they want, and fucking shit up. He can’t have it on his ship, of course. His people were right to bring them here. Famous or not, they’re stowaways, so they go in the brig. Extremus has no laws allowing for exile or deportation, so it’s not like he has any choice. If they didn’t want to be trapped here, they should have stayed home. No one forced them to come here.

Leona stands up. “You must be the Captain. So am I. Leona Matic.” She lifts her hand, but makes no attempt to stick it through the bars. “Let’s pretend to shake hands.”

Interesting tactic. She recognizes his power, but also his prudence. He would never make physical contact, so this is a reasonable approximating gesture. He obliges, holding his own hand out, and shaking the air at the same time she does. “Captain Waldemar of Extremus Transgalactic Hero Ship, Eighth of Eleven.”

“They each had one of these around their wrists,” one of his newer officers says. He’s holding a wristband of foreign design. It’s white, and less flexible than the ones they use here. And it could be the most dangerous thing he’s ever seen.

Waldemar is instantly furious. “Are you serious? We don’t know what kind of proximity power they have over those things. Get the hell out of here with it. Get out! Get out! Take it to evidence!”

The young man runs out in terrible fear.

Waldemar looks at one of his more seasoned officers. “Follow him up there, and then kill him. I can’t have such profound incompetence on my team.”

“Belay that order, soldier,” Leona demands.

It’s surprising, but what’s even more surprising is that the officer actually does stop moving. “What the hell was that? You don’t listen to her, you listen to me. Go do what I said.”

“Stay here!” Leona insisted.

“Am I on crazy pills? Why is he listening to you?” Waldemar questions

Leona wraps her fingers around the bars, totally unfazed by the deterrence burning. “Because you, sir, are fleeting. You are the big fish in the small pond. I am the one who dug and filled the pond, and he knows it. He needs to be in your graces to live on this ship on this day, but he needs to be in mine if he wants to live anywhere else.”

“He doesn’t need to live anywhere else,” Waldemar reasons. “This is it for him.”

“Are you sure about that?” Leona poses. “Can you see the future? When we show up, changes are made, and he is scared to death...just as you are. Matt.”

Mateo Matic pushes off of the back wall, and bashes his whole body against the cell door. It breaks open. He stumbles over the twisted metal, but doesn’t fall down.

“Shoot him,” Waldemar orders.

The nearest officer still doesn’t budge, but the other two guards fire their weapons at Mateo. The bullets don’t break skin, so they stop. It looks like they hurt a little bit, but aren’t capable of doing serious damage, so he doesn’t ask for round two.

Leona goes on, “we are not here to change things. We’re only passing through. All you have to do is let us keep moving along. No one else will know we were here.”

He is losing the upper hand here, which he cannot abide. Time to take control. “Okay. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll let all four of you go right now, but after you leave, I’m killing everyone who was made aware of your arrival, even if they never saw you with their own two eyes. Are you prepared to live with that guilt?”

She doesn’t say anything.

Waldemar chuckles and nods. “Ah, you’re realizing that your influence only extends as long as you’re actually here. Once you leave, I don’t have to do anything in particular, even if I agreed to it.” He switches his gaze to Mateo. “Now get back in your cage, dog.”

“Don’t kill anyone,” Leona practically begs. “Just teach them to do better. It’s much easier than constantly having to replace people, and breeds a higher level of trust.”

“I know it will only be a few days for you,” Waldemar begins, “but based on your outburst and rapid escalation, I’m guessing whatever you’re dealing with his quite time-sensitive. So how about I leave you here for a few decades, and we’ll see what we see. Okay? Great.” He walks out of the holding area.

“Sir, I want to apologize. I wasn’t following her orders, I was just temporarily confused. She must be a witch. You know they have powers in their biology.”

Waldemar smiles. “It’s okay officer. I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to kill the one with the wristband either. It was only a showing of strength.”

“Okay. Thank you, sir. It will never happen again.”

“Of course not.” Waldemar stops smiling. “Strip ‘im.”

The other guards disarm him, and start pulling off his armor and outer layers. They leave him inside the holding area, and close the second stage security gate. “Whatever your name is, you’re done. I won’t kill you, but this is where you’ll die. The only prisoners we have in here are supermen who only exist one day out of the year. If we don’t return for another 365 days, they will not have even come close to starving to death. But you will.” He walks out of the private brig, along with his true loyalists. “Seal it up. Pour concrete if you have to. No one in or out.”

“Wait!” he can hear the disgraced officer screaming. “Give me another chance! I’ll do whatever your want! I’ll kill the idiot! Please!”

No, this is something Waldemar is just going to do himself. That way he knows it will get done. He goes up to the evidence room, but doesn’t find the guy. He doesn’t find the wristbands either, but that might not be so surprising. The organization in there is utterly atrocious. Who does he have to blame for that failure in competence? He’ll deal with them later. The real problem is the missing people. For the next week, he sends his men to tear the ship apart, but the wristband dumbass is nowhere to be found. It’s a ship, there’s nowhere to go. Or rather, there shouldn’t be.

Wondering how far this conspiracy runs, he marches back down to the private brig to visit the officer he left in there early, expecting to find him weak, but still alive. He too is gone. No signs of forced entry. Teleportation has still been entirely suppressed, even for the exceptions, like himself and the people he trusts most. He orders a thorough investigation, but wonders if the investigators can be trusted. Can he trust anyone at all? Is trying to run this ship with any semblance of patience and compassion worth all the uncertainty, and the medicine he has to take for the headaches?

It’s like one of those old Earthan crime shows that Silveon likes to watch. All the security footage has been expertly scrubbed or doctored, but there is one small omission. In the reflection of an airlock window, there is one clear enough still, showing the dipshit walking next to someone who appears to be helping him evade capture. Waldemar can’t believe his eyes. He has known her since childhood, and she would betray him like this? There must be a good reason.

“There is,” Audrey confirms. “He didn’t deserve to die for one mistake. So I saved him. I would do it again.”

“And the other officer?” Waldemar presses. The one I left in the private brig? Did you break him out too?”

“No comment,” Audrey replies stoically. She doesn’t sound or look remorseful. Granted, he has trouble reading people’s emotions, but it really looks like she doesn’t regret a single thing.

He can’t kill her. This is his wife. It’s his goddamn wife! But he can’t let her run free either. As scandalous as it is, he has to do the right thing, and treat her as he would any other criminal. “Put her in the brig.’

“For how long, sir?” his agent asks.

“Indefinitely.”

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Microstory 2670: You Can’t Fight a Wave

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Resi told the truth, knowing that it wouldn’t matter, because the evidence was overwhelming. The victim was unclothed in her bed. He was found in the room, having no good reason to be there. His fingerprints were found on the gun. The police on the island are absolutely not trained to investigate this sort of thing because high-level crimes don’t happen here, but they know how to dust an object. They’ve seen the same shows and movies that Resi has, and probably more, since this is their chosen profession. They keep order, though. They help facilitate large crowds, so everyone is safe. They don’t solve crimes. They don’t catch criminals. They have no idea what they’re doing, and they know it. A few of them asked him a few questions, but again, none of it was based on any training or experience. It was just what you would expect to ask, like did he do it, what was his motive exactly, and where did he get the firearm?

He’s sitting in his cell now, which maybe has never been used before. Or it’s been used a lot more than he thinks and that’s why it’s so dirty? No, this is dust, not dirt. He’s a rarity here, which is perfect. Just perfect. It’s what he deserves, letting himself become the First Tongue of Aether. He should have meditated more before the Kidjum. There are those who will teach kids to take control over their dreams, so they don’t have to rely on their subconsciousness. It’s not against the rules, but definitely frowned upon, and those people often do poorly in their jobs unless they choose the House they grew up in. He never would have gone that route. He did everything right, except he broke into Speaker Lincoln’s bungalow. That probably was a bridge too far. He will spend the rest of his life paying for it. The officers aren’t buying his story. He just sounds desperate.

He hears a ruckus outside, so he drags his cot over to the high window, and stands on it to peek between the bars. Hundreds of members of House Kutelin are here, swarming the building. “Free Resi! Free Resi!”

“He’s there!” one of them says, pointing to the window. A selection of the convoy breaks off, and crowds around. “We’re here to break you out!”

“You can’t do that,” Resi contends, looking around for someone from his Fold, or anyone he recognizes better. He has not had enough time to get to know everyone, and wouldn’t have the brain capacity for it anyway. “It will make only things worse.”

“We know you didn’t do this,” someone else says.

“Yeah, you’re too smart to solve your problems that way.”

It’s hard not to see them as children. Even though this is the age where Tambora thinks you’re mature enough to make your own decisions, it’s really just about labor redistribution. It’s about keeping things moving. Make no mistake, he’s no better than them. He’s just not as naïve. Breaking him out is just going to make him look more guilty. “Please. Just go. Listen to Caprice. She will figure this out for you. I’m cooked.”

They’ve come all the way into the station now, surrounding Resi on all sides. Finally, someone he knows. “We have the keys,” Kasati says, jiggling them in front of the bars. “We just need to figure out which one to use. The guards aren’t cooperating.”

“You better not have hurt them,” he warns her.

“Are you kidding me?” She looks back at the horde behind her, as she’s trying keys one by one. “We don’t have to hurt anybody. We’re a wave. It’s comin’ whether you brace or not. They’ve just pressed their backs against the wall, not even arguing.”

“You can’t fight a wave!” someone echoes from the group.

“You can’t fight a wave! You can’t fight a wave!” they all start to shout.

“No chanting!” Resi cries. He hates chanting more than most things.

“You can’t fight the wave either,” Kasati replies. She turns a sixth key. “First try.”

They realize that he’s not going to go with them willingly, so several of them flood into the cell, and begin to gently nudge them in the direction they want him to go. It does feel like a wave, pulling him away from justice. He may be innocent, but this is not how it’s done. Even without much crime, they still have procedure. They take him through the station, and outside. Some start chanting the new motto again, others are yelling or cheering unintelligibly. Resi is hopeless to stop it. Have they just sparked war?

They all start to squint and shield their eyes when a gust of wind washes over them from the sky. A flying vehicle is descending upon them. They back up to form a hole. Several kids almost fight each other over who is going to protect Resi from whatever this is. “You can’t fight the wind either!” an Enaiyo boy screams. “Come on, say it with me! You can’t fight the wind! You can’t fight the wind! You can’t—”

He stops when a figure hops out of the opening of the aircraft when it’s still two or three dozen meters in the air. They drop to the ground, landing safely on their feet. She pulls her hood off to let her locks breathe. She holds a finger up, and swirls it around above her head, presumably triggering the craft to fly away, and lower the decibels in the area. “Which one of you is Resi Brooks?”

“I’m Resi Brooks!” someone claims, followed by several others.

“Stop, stop it!” she orders. “He’s not in trouble, I just need to know who to talk to. In case it wasn’t clear, I’m from the mainland. I’m Bungulan.” This whole planet is called Bungula, and the Yana Islanders acknowledge that, but they typically prefer to identify with their nation, and relegate Bungulan to all outsiders.

“I actually am Resi,” he insists, freeing himself from his self-assigned protectors. He approaches the stranger. “If you’re here to process me through your court system, I’ll go willingly. But I must ask that you speak with the Assembly first.”

“That will not be necessary,” the stranger explains. She steps up onto a flower bed retaining wall so all can hear. “Resi Brooks is innocent of the crime he was accused of! I was sent here to personally oversee his release, in case there was resistance! We demanded photographs of the crime scene, and of Mr. Brooks! That’s all we needed! Any bumbling 20th century detective could tell instantly that he did not shoot the victim! It was, in fact, a self-inflicted wound! I won’t go into specifics about blood spatter and blowback, but the reality is quite obvious to us, and we were worried that something like this would happen as a result of the miscommunication! Please peaceably return to your homes! I need to speak with Mr. Brooks myself, so I can understand the full extent of the situation! Thank you!”

The Head Peace Officer pushes his way through the crowd as it’s trying to break apart, and approaches the Bungulan, lifting his pants up by the belt, again, like he’s seen in movies. “I don’t appreciate you coming down here. I only called for an opinion.”

The Bungulan gestures towards the crowd. “You obviously needed more than that. You didn’t do anything wrong. You followed the evidence. I hope I can count on your cooperation, however, now that we know the truth.”

He fancies himself a sheriff, pretending to chew on something when there’s nothing in his mouth. “I don’t care what you do with the exile. Just get off my island.”