Microstory 2678: Another Speech Immediately

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The Assembly tries to deploy the Tamboran Army, but it’s harder than they thought. The Kutelins have infiltrated every facet of society on this side of the island. Many of the people who attended the valley rally are in the military. This could have created an internal conflict, but even those who were never a part of it don’t want to fight their own compatriots. That was not why they joined up, and Speaker Keller doesn’t push back too hard on this. He doesn’t likely want a fight either. At the very least, it makes them all look bad. Trust that the irony in what’s happening is not lost on Resi. His predecessor—the original First Tongue of Aether—is said to have built a military force centuries ago. Resi never wanted that. He never had any intention of the situation escalating this hard and this fast. Was his predecessor in the same boat? Was history repeating itself, not because power corrupts, but because change always leads to violence, or the risk of it. For now, not a drop of blood has been shed, but it’s not over.

After that first rally, news obviously spreads all over the island. The very next day, they take over the Tadungeria. No more Kidjums will take place until Kutelin approves, which may mean that it will never happen again. During his first speech, Resi didn’t have all of the information. They sprung all of this on him. Now he has had time to look at the facts. Now he needs to address the people of this nation, and make some sweeping changes. He has been invigorated by the recent developments. Again, he didn’t plan any of this. He genuinely tried to exile himself to the border. But the movement is bigger than him, and it needs a leader. He may not know much, but 12-year-olds are not fit to perform the kind of hard labor that is expected of people after choosing their permanent House. They’re also just too young to be separated from their families. He hasn’t been able to see Kala much since the exile, but as precocious as she is, she needs to be raised by someone who has known her for her entire life; not strangers. It’s too early, it’s just too early. She’s not the only one, and he’s not the only who feels this way.

Resi stands on stage, and looks into the serious cameras that Arumay has set up for him. He delivers another speech, armed with more of the truth. He still isn’t going to tell anyone about the immortal liars, but he will always have that in his back pocket. He has told a few other trusted people in case something happens to him, though. He’s not an idiot. “In summary, I address you so quickly after my last message because I now better understand what is happening, and what is at stake. I’m sure you have all noticed how great our army grows. This is due to an incredibly successful propaganda campaign, leading some of our most vulnerable to taking up arms, where they would not have before. The Assembly would have you believe that they are all volunteers, but it is an insidious effort to bolster our strength, in preparation for an actual war.

“I cannot give you specifics on their military strategies, but this is not an in case of emergency kind of situation. The emergency is here, and they are acting. To fill the void left behind by the former civilian workers, the Assembly has decided to lower the Kidjum age. This is wrong, and I won’t stand for it. I urge you, if your child is turning twelve anytime soon, to keep them close. Teach them your values, as you have been doing, and protect them from tyranny. I will be fighting for our children, and for you. And remember, we are a peaceful peoples, so I don’t want to see any act of violence, from any ideological group. I welcome the Assembly to meet with me so that we can discuss options, as well as the truth. Speaker Keller, you know where to find me.”

Microstory 2676: They Pull Me Back In

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Resi is done. After recovering from his second Kidjum, he ignores Kartica’s pleas for him to stick around and help him figure out what she claims to be his visions of the future. He exits the Tadungeria, and the Tamboran nation as a whole. He finds himself a plot of land on the border of Pekat and Sanggar. It’s not particularly comfortable, but it grants him access to the beach for fishing, and the plants for gathering. He collects his own rainwater, and doesn’t bother anyone. Most importantly, no one bothers him. His former Fold and House have abandoned him, either out of respect for his wishes, or deciding that if he’s weak enough to wish for it, he must not be worth following.

They have not been punished for their pasts. The exile has been rescinded entirely, even for Resi himself, though he’s technically fulfilling the requirement, just in his own way. He belongs to no nation now, but he has nothing, so no one is trying to follow in his footsteps. Every morning, Resi wakes up and looks towards Central Mountain. It still has not erupted, and is giving no indication that it might anytime soon. Kartica came by several times in the beginning to convince him to induce more visions, but he refused, and she didn’t try to force him again. That doesn’t mean he’s leading a quiet, simple life. He has tried to push the apocalyptic Kidjum visions out of his head, but they won’t stop coming. He went to the doctor, who confirmed that the elixir was fully out of his system, so why does he keep returning to that hellscape? What does it mean? He has decided that’s just his brain’s way of being an asshole. He still doesn’t believe that he’s genuinely predicting the future, because that would be nuts.

For the most part, he stays out of politics and society. He stays out of everyone’s lives, full stop. Someone will occasionally come by to check on him, though. His brother came by once, as did his older sister a few times. A few random people here and there. Zenith showed up in her fancy motorboat, but couldn’t do much since she was mostly bound to non-interference. Everyone else brings him food. It’s not enough to keep him alive on its own, but it’s very magnanimous of them, and he’s always gracious and kind. They call him a hermit, but there’s no reason to be grumpy or dismissive with others.

Former Kutelins have been reintegrated into society. They were allowed to undergo makeup Kidjums, and get placed in one of the regular Four Houses. Society has basically returned to normal, though there has been a significant uptick in military recruitment. It doesn’t appear to be forced conscriptions, but from his position, he can’t know what’s going on beyond closed doors. It’s been three years now, and the island should be celebrating the tricentennial, but a new announcement has overshadowed the levity. Chaya, who he hasn’t seen this entire time, has just shown up to relay that everything has changed. They have declared a massive change to their practices. Ever since the Houses were formed, one thing has been true: when you turn sixteen, you go through Kidjum, and get sorted. With so many new adults reportedly choosing military service, however, there are not enough people performing the other jobs. The Assembly has decided to seriously drop the age by four years. Starting soon, twelve-year-olds will be expected to undergo the ceremony, and start working full-time, completely obliterating the last four years of their education.

“Kala,” Resi says breathlessly. She will be turning twelve soon. He has tried to stay out of island business, but he can’t turn a blind eye anymore. Heads will roll, and the war they warned him about might finally come to pass.

Extremus: Year 126

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Admiral Oceanus Jennings stands between Captain Kristiansen and his bride, Sable Keen. The audience is noticeably uncomfortable, if not outright disgusted. Even Waldemar’s sycophants don’t like what’s happening in this holographic grand cathedral. They won’t do or say anything about it, but they’ll have their private thoughts, and maybe share a few whispers. As for the happy couple, they couldn’t be happier. The Captain has become much better at feigning emotions. It almost looks like he’s in love with this girl. Oceanus hasn’t been made privy to all the secret meetings that Admiral Keen has with her daughter, and the rest of the braintrust, so he just has to hope that this is all part of some elaborate plan. There’s no way she actually likes this guy. She’s so sweet and intelligent. Even if her mother never told her anything about what he really is, surely she would just pick up on it.

The Admiral obviously doesn’t want to be here, let alone be officiating, but it’s his responsibility since this such a high-profile event involving a crewmember. There’s only one other person here qualified to perform the ceremony, and no one bothered to ask her. She’s not even here, which is understandable, and really not a scandal. Or if it is, it’s cancelled out by the reason she declined the invitation. Sable is an adult now. There’s nothing illegal about this. But it makes people feel icky. Not only is there a significant age difference, but he’s also in an immense position of power. There are protesters, but they have not been allowed into the auditorium. Oceanus passed a message onto them, begging them to stay quiet. He can’t tell them that it’s because he fears for their lives, but there is only so much he can do. He doesn’t outrank the Captain. He’s only an advisor, and it’s time for him to begin today’s responsibility.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today,” Oceanus begins. It’s an uncommon turn of phrase on the ship. Waldemar evidently heard it in a movie or two, and he has a fixation on tradition—not Extremusian traditions, specifically ones that they don’t typically follow. He proceeds to drone on and on about love and loyalty, following the script that Waldemar handed him word for word, including the few typos. If asked about it later, he’ll just say that he’s become so accustomed to speeches that the words travel right from the screen to the microphone, bypassing his brain entirely. It’ll be fine, they’re not that bad, and people have bigger things to worry about.

After the ceremony comes the reception. Oceanus thought he was done with his part in this charade, but Waldemar surprises him with a call to toast. He didn’t prepare anything, so he has to wing it. Other toasters dropped subtle clues about the extent of their disapproval, but he was entirely noncombative, because what would be the point? How does it help anyone, getting yourself chucked into hock? Errr, rather, the brig. He mostly sticks with love and loyalty, and drives home how lucky Sable is to find someone so amazing, adding in some anecdotes about Waldemar’s work ethic and tenacity. Fifty points to Oceanus, he didn’t throw up even once during the entire ordeal. When it’s a feasible time to duck out quietly, he goes back towards the bow, but instead of going to his quarters, he heads for the office that he shares with Lataran. Waldemar has made a lot of changes to Extremus, but Admiral Gardens remains untouched. Oh good, she’s here. “I want in.”

Lataran is busying herself with nonsense work. Waldemar has his own advisors, and has never asked to their help with anything. “You want in to what?”

“Whatever you, Silveon, Audrey Husk, and even Sable are up to, I want to be a part of it. I don’t want to sit on the sidelines anymore. I want you to tell me the plan.”

She sighs, and returns to her tablet. “There is no plan.” This may not be the right time to talk to her. Her daughter just married a monster, and she couldn’t bring herself to watch it happen. It must have been so difficult for her, being unable to stop it.

“Please. You can trust me,” he insists. “I know you know that. We may not have always gotten along, but we can agree that we have to protect the ship from him.”

She sighs again, more annoyed this time. “I’m not icing you out. There really is no plan. We did have plans, but Sable ruined them when she married him.”

“That wasn’t what you all wanted?”

“No,” she begins to explain. “That was Audrey’s job. She’s...older than she looks, and knew what she was getting into. Sable doesn’t understand what’s at stake. I don’t know why we agreed to let her be part of this at all, but this wedding was a bridge too far. So I’m out. I’m old and dying, and she has to make her own choices. I’ve already talked to her about it ad nauseum. I guess they were more like fights. But either way, whatever we were trying to do together, that’s over now. She’s made it clear that she’ll be pivoting him away from us, so she can have him all to herself. There’s nothing left to do but accept it. Whatever Extremus becomes, that will be what it is.”

“So we just fade into the background?”

“While we’re alive? Yes.” She shakes her tablet slightly. “I’m writing a book. It outlines the truth—my truth, and will be published posthumously. I’m still deciding who will be responsible for that. It could place those who survive me in danger, including my daughter. But I can’t sit with these thoughts in my head anymore. I have to get them out. If you’re struggling with the same hopelessness, you might look for your own outlet.”

“I prefer to fix things while I’m still alive,” he says.

She presses a button on her desk, causing the walls to start to extend and wrap around her work area. She never used privacy mode when Tinaya was working alongside her. Now she activates it all the time. “Good luck with that,” she says just before it seals her up completely.

Oceanus moves on to Silveon. He basically asks him the same thing, and Silveon basically responds the same way that Lataran did. “My mission had an expiration date. I didn’t know it when I started, but I’ve lost my way in. She has taken over everything. We did not factor in the possibility that someone new in this timeline would usurp control over the situation. It was always a possibility, of course. That’s what happens when you change history. I suppose this might have even been inevitable, thanks to my actions. One thing that Waldemar was not in the old timeline was welcoming. He didn’t have close advisors, or personal relationships. He only had loyal subjects. I gave him this. I taught him how to connect with others. I showed him how to marry a girl. I don’t know if I should regret it or not, because the plan was to make him more human. Unfortunately, this is what that looks like.”

He goes to Audrey now, who he expects to find distraught in her new quarters. They are a far cry from the luxury of the Captain’s Stateroom. She doesn’t seem to care, about her living arrangements, nor Waldemar’s new wife and life. “Sable has powers.”

“What?”

“She has time powers.”

“Which ones?” Oceanus presses.

“I don’t know, but she was a kid when we brought her into the fold. We shouldn’t have done that. She somehow made us. When we switched bodies—”

“You switched bodies?” he interrupts.

“Yes, I forget who knows what. She doesn’t know how to paint.”

“Oh, right. She did that portrait. It looks good.”

“It shouldn’t,” Audrey counters. “I had only started when she forced her way back into her mind. When I say we switched bodies, that isn’t entirely truthful. I took over hers, but we placed her in a constructed dream, made to look exactly as the Extremus was when she went under. We took sensor data from all over, and fed it into the program. It extrapolated what would happen if Sable were really still there. She somehow broke through the illusion, and took back over. I don’t know how she did that, and I don’t know how that painting got finished.”

“It sounds like you’re done with the mission, like Lataran. That’s how she put it.”

“That’s how we put it to each other,” Audrey tells him sadly.

“Do you understand Sable’s motives? Did you get anything from the experience? If she learned to paint, did you learn to...use whatever gifts she has?”

“Well, I felt her power, before she proved she had it. And at the same time, I...”

“Go on. You can trust me. I want to help.”

“I felt something else,” Audrey finally says. “I don’t know how to articulate it. It was...ambition? Or maybe yearning? I don’t know, but she wants something. She is singularly focused on it. Honestly, it reminded me of Waldemar, sometimes when I’ve looked into his eyes. I’ve never seen it in her eyes, though. She’s either good at hiding it, or I’m crazy. But it scared the shit out of me. I wouldn’t recommend consciousness transference tech unless you really know the person you’re switching with.”

Oceanus nods, taking in all the information, and trying to fill in the gaps. It’s not much to go on. Even if no one else is trying to fight it, he can’t stop. He’ll go it alone if he has to. He cares too much about Extremus, and the mission. He cares about it at the expense of himself. “You can’t really know anyone, can you? Except for yourself.”

“Maybe,” she answers. “Maybe not even then.”

“You did once; trusted yourself. You went back in time, to your younger body.”

“I was desperate.”

“I am too,” he states plainly.

She shakes her head. “Don’t even think about it. You don’t have enough information. Silveon and I spent years curating historical variables, and we still missed things. Time travel is never the answer. The teach that in school. I wish I had listened.”

“Give me the key,” he asks, calmly and dispassionately, but not hostilely.

“You know what? What does it matter? We might as well give it a second shot. I’m not gonna remember doing this, so here are the directions to the tech room.” She flings the data to his device. “Here are the codes.” She flings those too. “When you get to the past, would you do me a favor?”

“Anything, as long as it doesn’t interfere with my primary objective.”

She chuckles. “Don’t tell me or Silveon what you are, or anyone, really. If you have to tell us anything, just say you got intel from the Bridger Section, or something.”

“I promise, he lies. He walks out without saying goodbye, because she won’t remember it anyway. He walks down to the deepest bowels of the ship, and unlocks the room where the secret insurgent tech is apparently stored. He doesn’t know how to work the equipment, but it’s sufficiently self-explanatory. After making sure he has all the settings right, he climbs in the chair, and sends his mind back to his younger body.

Its over a year in the past, in 2394; the day of the portrait. It all started to fall apart here. Oceanus has to immediately break his promise to Audrey. The first thing he does is go to the Captain’s Stateroom to tell her to not go through the plan to force Sable into a virtual environment. Whatever she does in the real world, it’s better than pissing her off, and pushing her away from the group. He doesn’t even think he needs to know what exactly she’s after. Anything has to be better than letting Waldemar Kristiansen run around unchecked, unbalanced. They have to put up a united front, and that means being honest with each other.

Since he was never a part of any of that, he has no idea if it turns out all right. Like Audrey said, he only knows so many facts about the situation. He just has to hope that she listened to him. Telling her that he spoke with the Bridgers was never going to be enough. To be absolutely sure she believed him, he had to reveal that he knows about the secret room, and the secret portrait plan. He couldn’t be cryptic or vague. Now, whether she, Silveon, and Lataran actually listen to his advice is another story.

He returns to his stateroom to mourn the loss of his past self. It’s only hitting him now that he essentially murdered someone. He overwrote someone else’s consciousness. The fact that it was technically him, and not someone else, doesn’t really help. It was still a death, and one that he caused. That version of Oceanus is gone, and he will live with that guilt for a long time. The doorbell rings. He opens it without checking the feed. “Captain, this is unexpected. How did the portrait go?”

“Swimmingly,” Waldemar replies as he’s letting himself in without an invitation.

“How’s your wife?”

“Funny you should ask, because I was about to ask the same thing.”

“Sir?” Oceanus questions.

“I hear you stopped by for a visit.”

“Oh, yes. Briefly. We hadn’t spoken in a while. I just wanted to see how she was. I thought we might grab some tea, but she wasn’t up for it.”

Waldemar nods. “My secret service agents say that it wasn’t all that brief, that you were acting unusual, and that Audrey was rather upset when you left.”

“I’m sorry if she was, but I saw her in high spirits. I assure you, I didn’t hurt her.”

“Why would you even put such a thought into the universe? I didn’t suggest that.”

“I can see that you think something happened which didn’t. Your agents interpreted something that wasn’t there. Please don’t make this a thing.”

“It may be a thing, it might not. I can’t risk it. I can’t risk a scandal. I don’t care about her, but I care about my reputation. You’re endangering that. So you got to go.”

“You can’t kill me. I’m an admiral.”

Walder sports a feigned frown. “Aww, it’s cute that you think that matters. Admirals have never mattered. I never intend to become one. I will be the captain forever. And you’ll be dead. If you don’t fight it, it won’t hurt. You’re old. That’s all they’ll see. I’ll scrub all contradictory records.”

“They will see what you really are. Before you can start getting anything real done, beyond renaming the hock and Chief Medical Officer, they’ll see you.”

“That’s what they all think. Just before I end their life, everyone thinks they know me. But Admiral Jennings, I’m here to tell you...I’m not about to start making real changes. I’ve already begun.” He kills him.

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Microstory 2665: Anchorman

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It’s been a couple of weeks. House Kutelin has had their ups and their downs, but if we’re talking hard numbers, then all ups. A lot of graduates are joining, and no one who joins can leave. Some things are meant to start to change, but Resi isn’t sure if that’s one of them; where people can shift between Houses at will. House leaders will start campaigning for members. They’ll incentivize switching sides. Entire industries on this island could suffer. They technically already are. With fewer people joining any of the four original Houses these days, those who are already in them are struggling. Just a little bit, but it will presumably get worse. Older generations will start to feel the need to stay on the job for longer. Younger generations will feel bitter about being stuck. Right now, Aether doesn’t contribute anything. All they do is take. Resi is not an idiot. He absolutely foresaw this. The question is, did the Assembly? Well, he’s about to find out. After all this time, they have finally asked for a meeting. Let’s see how upset they are.

The first thing he hears is clapping. He stops short of rounding the corner, where he’ll see, and be seen by, the Assemblymen. Did he come in too early? The steward said that they were ready for him, but if they’re still finishing up previous business...

“What’s wrong?” Caprice asks.

“I’m waiting until they’re done,” Resi explains.

“That’s for you,” she explains. “Better get in there so they can rest their arms.”

Resi grimaces, and timidly continues. As he steps in enough to start to see faces, they look back at him with smiles, and begin to cheer louder. This again? It happened at his Kidjum, and he still doesn’t understand why. Not really. Everything he has studied about history has taught him that people hate change. It doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad, they fear it. One might think that a post-scarcity society would have possibly moved past that, but no. Even outside of this one little island, they fear change. That’s actually what getting rid of things like money, poverty, and war did. It created equilibrium. No more change, just peace and predictability. And the only reason Yana hasn’t joined them is because they started the race from behind. They’re afraid of making that one last change to end all change. That’s how his philosophy teacher explained it. The lecture is still fresh in his mind, because it was only a few months ago. When he was a kid.

“All right, all right,” the Speaker says as she’s pressing their voices down with both hands. Resi isn’t all that familiar with who these people are. Politics were never his thing. He always thought he would just work the dirt and keep his head down for the rest of his life. He believes that Speaker Lincoln is from House Maing’aing, but she would have shed that association a long time ago. Civil service is a separate thing, which is expected to serve all Houses equally. They always talk about the four Houses, but in reality, there are a lot more. They are just the original four industrial domains, before life became too complex for such limited stratification. You may join a House but work in a tangential field. She holds silent for a moment, like she’s waiting for Resi to finish his internal thoughts. “Resi Brooks, First Tongue of Aether, Founder of House Kutelin, thank you for coming in today. You honor us with your presence.” She gestures to him.

Is he supposed to say something? Something in particular? Is this ceremony? He wasn’t given any guidelines. “Speaker Lincoln of the Tambora Assembly, thank you for having me. I look forward to hearing your grievances, and working towards a common goal.” Wow. What the hell was that? Just say the quiet part out loud, why don’t you?

The whole Assembly laughs. They’re delighted. They must still see him as a child, with his quirky little ignorance, and lack of decorum. Speaker Lincoln doesn’t laugh out loud, but she looks as pleased. “We have no grievances, only a gift.”

“A gift, sir?” he questions. “I could not ask for more. House Kutelin is not yet working.” That is not entirely true. Last week, once Resi realized that the population of his new House wasn’t on track to stop exploding, he started sending volunteers back to the other four Houses. They don’t work too hard, and have no obligations, so it hasn’t made up for the total loss. Only a handful of them have agreed to it. Most of these volunteers have simply been staying at home, where they were before graduation.

“How many belong to your House now?” Speaker Lincoln asks. “Three hundred?”

“Three hundred thirteen,” Resi replies, “if we’re counting my pre-Kidjum sister.”

Speaker Lincoln nods. “Outgrowing the old college dorms, aren’t we?”

Yes, they’re climbing over each other over there. The school shut down because it became too small for the populace, and outdated, but it’s considered a historical landmark, so it remains standing. Really nowhere else in the city could accommodate such a concentrated group of people. “We’re making it work. Many joiners are from House Maing’aing, so they have begun to draw up plans for new facilities, but that...”

“...would require authorization and support from the Assembly.” Speaker Lincoln indicates her Assemblymen. “Well, let’s fix that before the concrete cures.” Yeah, she’s definitely from Maing’aing. “You’re not getting it. You will not get a builder’s permit.” 

“Speaker Lincoln, I understand that you’re angry with us, but I am not the one who came up with House Kutelin. The breath that told me about it was the same one which told me that it was mine to lead. This is how I’m leading it. If you wanted me to do something different, you should have said something ahead of time. Now it’s too late. Now I’ve built momentum. Now people want to join who aren’t even up for House transition. Some have already transitioned. Others are yet too young.”

“We are aware of how well you are being received,” Speaker Lincoln begins. “Younger generations never understand that the Kidjum is a fundamentally different process from their usual bizarre and hard-to-interpret dreams. It’s nothing new. There is always doubt. Once they find their true place, all fall in line. You, First Tongue Brooks, have chosen your place. You've chosen to go against our ways in unexpected fashion.”

“I told you, you should have said something!” Resi argues. “You. Said. Nothing.”

“That was by design,” Speaker Lincoln retorts. “Our hands were tied. The old traditions were clear. The First Tongue speaks first, and it is up to us to reply. Now that we understand what you’re doing, we have found our voice, and this our reply.”

“What I’m doing,” he echoes. “What do you think I’m doing?”

Speaker Lincoln smirks. “I’m not here to give you the answers, only a timeframe. You and three-hundred and twelve of your closest friends must exit the Nation of Tambora by the end of the month, or you will have declared war on the Four Houses.”

“War?” That escalated quickly. This was a gift? “You were just clapping for me.”

“You are still owed deference in this assembly hall. The old traditions were clear on that too.” She takes a breath. “We are reinstituting the Kidjum. This experiment is over. You will remain an ally, but you are no longer welcome on Yana. Thank you.”

Yana. Tambora does not equate to the whole island. They can’t kick him out. He just has to speak with one or both of the other two nations.

Microstory 2664: It’s Like a Caucus

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Rumors spread across the island fast, but it’s only been a few hours, so there are still a lot of questions. Resi is dead tired, because he hasn’t slept for real since two nights ago. The Kidjum is an induced sleep state, which keeps the mind active, and doesn’t result in any rejuvenation. Indeed, it’s one of the most tiring experiences in an islander’s life. Catching up on rest is one of the first things a graduate usually does once they choose their House, right after a nice, big meal. Because of his unique position, he never had that luxury. He has to speak with the next batch of sixteen-year-olds, who spent their whole lives thinking that they were going to decide their own fates on this day. If the world doesn’t go Proxima Doma and explode in the next decade or so, having five Houses will become the new normal, but for now, he can only imagine what they’re feeling. As shitty as he thinks his own situation is, there’s an argument to be made that they’re worse off. Some of these kids are only a few hours younger than him. What gives him the right to choose for them?

It’s a relatively small class this time, with only twenty-four kids. Two of them are going to be sent off to House Ilah, specifically to live with Resi’s birth family. Whoever these girls are, they’re not going to like it. He’s determined to ask everyone where they would like to go, but those two could become terrible exceptions. Or maybe not. Only eight of them are girls, so the chances that any two will want to volunteer aren’t the best, but maybe he’ll get lucky. He’s looking at the roster now. Only one of them is originally from Ilah, but that is no big surprise. Each House celebrates a different fertility season, so birthdays are not evenly distributed throughout the year. Most are from House Maing’aing, which is where Resi’s older sister is now. He needs to broach the subject delicately. If this girl—oh, no, she’s looking at him. Shit, they’re all looking at him. How long has he been standing here, not saying anything? “Welcome to your Kidjum.”

“It’s not a Kidjum anymore, is it?” one of the boys asks. Fair point.

“It’s true, you won’t be going to the cots tonight to commune with your subconscious minds,” Resi admits. “But that word really only means sleep. Our ancestors on Earth didn’t practice House reassignments. They didn’t even have Houses. So Kidjum has already changed meanings. I see no reason why it can’t change again.” Whew. He really pulled that one out of his ass. In reality, he didn’t have time to think about whether they should start using new terminology. He isn’t a linguist at any rate, and wouldn’t know how to go about finding a good replacement. Why did they choose him, and why did they make him start immediately? That’s right, he doesn’t believe that this had anything to do with his subconscious. He thinks it was all orchestrated. In fact, he’s doubting now that anyone here makes their own House decision. Was it all a lie?

“I don’t care what you call it. Just tell us what’s gonna happen.” It’s the one girl from Ilah. Her arms are noticeably uncrossed. Most of the others are guarding themselves, even the guys. They’re wearing unnecessarily thin cotton...sheets. There’s no special name for it, but that’s literally what it is. You’re handed a sheet, and it’s up to you to tear the holes for your head and arms. Some forget to be mindful of the arms, and it makes for some rather awkward interactions. She remembered how many tears to make, but she made them too large, so she’s showing more skin than she should be, and doesn’t seem bothered. Fortunately, she dried off rather well, so it’s okay that she’s not trying to cover herself up so much.

Should he pull her aside and ask if she wants to stay? Probably not, because he still needs one more girl anyway. Could he talk to all the girls separately? No. Transparency. If this has been one giant conspiracy, then he needs to actively combat that by being as honest as possible, and giving them all the information that he has about it. Geeze, it’s hot in here. Has it always been hot? What is this, the fire ceremony, am I right? He clears his throat, only to find that it’s only made it worse. He should have grabbed some water beforehand. “Believe it or not, you all probably know about as much as I do,” he struggles to say. He clears his throat again. Nope. Even worse. Cool.

His sister walks up from behind him, and slips her water bottle into his hand.

He takes hold of it. “Thanks, little one.” He made the right choice, bringing her along. He drinks then looks back at the crowd. “As I was saying, I was not given a handbook for this job. The Assembly hasn’t even reached out. I’m gonna do my best, but I’ll need your help. I don’t know what you expect here, but I’ve been told that everything is my decision now. You don’t get any say. Your subconsciousness doesn’t even have a voice. Well, if that’s true—if I’m really as powerful as they want me to be—then I can choose not to choose. It’s estimated that 83% of dreamers end up in the House that they thought they wanted before they went into their Kidjum. Most of you know what you want, so let’s lean into that. Tell me. What do you want?” Two girls. Please let there be two girls who want to go to Ilah. That’s all he needs. Make it easy on him. Hell, he’ll take two guys, and maybe negotiate with Father. It’s the 26th century, it’s not like there’s a real difference between boy work and girl work. That’s all just nonsense tradition.

The room is quiet. No one is answering. Okay, that’s on him. He didn’t make it a very orderly vote. “Um...” he begins as he’s looking around. “Okay, yes.” He goes over to the two tables that were used for handing out the sheets, and separates them from each other. He grabs the leftover sheets themselves, and walks them over to a separate corner to throw them on the floor. Then he starts to point. “Enaiyo, Maing’aing, Naino, and if you stay where you are, you’re choosing House Ilah. There. It’s like a caucus. Have you heard of those? Doesn’t matter. Just, uhh...go.” He waves his arm to release them. When they still don’t move, he balks. “You all want Ilah?” Holy shit, this is gonna work out. “Or do you not understand the assignment? I get it, this isn’t what you trained for, but they didn’t give me any of the elixir. We literally can’t do a real Kidjum. I’m sorry, but—”

“You forgot one House,” another girl says. “You forgot Kutelin.”

He’s so thrown off by that. “Well, I...it’s just...” Huh? “I didn’t think anyone would want to join that. We don’t have anything. I have an apartment that I’ll be sharing with my sister. But we don’t have any farms or infrastructure. That might sound like it means no work, but the work families do isn’t random or arbitrary. It provides for them. I’ll be eating from the Market Collective. I don’t know that they’ll afford you the same courtesy. We don’t know where this is going. Like I said, they’re being real cryptic about it.”

“We’ve already talked about this, the Ilah girl says. “We didn’t have a fifth choice before. We wanna start something new.” They aren’t in a Fold together, but since birthdays are a matter of public record, they all know each other. Many groups who share the day, until their Kidjum, operate in a very Fold-like way. If this is what they want, he can’t deny them. They answered his question. So all right, the first members of House Kutelin. But wait, what about Father’s demand? No, screw that, Father can sow with his toes. Resi has a Fold of his own now. He has a family. He has protection.

Microstory 2663: The Duty Republic

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Resi’s new responsibilities will begin tomorrow, though he will need time to prepare, so the work actually starts right away. An average of 31 kids turn 16 every day, so the next batch has already begun their cleansing ritual. He remembers his own cleansing like it was yesterday, because it was! Now they’re putting him in charge of the whole thing. Kokore apprentices train for years before they even perform one ceremony without supervision. And it’s not like watching them work on stage would prepare someone to fill in. There’s all sorts of other things going on behind the scenes that Resi doesn’t even know about. He doesn’t even know what he doesn’t know. He just assumes that there’s more to it. For him, it’s even worse. They want him for a job that hasn’t been done in two hundred years, with no education, experience, or aptitude, and no manual. This has to be some kind of test. Is this a test?

“It’s not a test,” his mother claims.

“So you’ve heard of the fifth House?” Resi presses.

“Just stories, but yes. Before you ask, I couldn’t tell you. It’s one of many things that children are not to know until their sixteenth birthdays. I didn’t think it would ever come up. No one did. I certainly didn’t think my son would be chosen.”

“Chosen?” he echoes. “Chosen. No one is meant to be chosen for a House. It’s a subconscious decision. That’s the entire point of the Kidjum. If I was chosen, then who chose me? Who is responsible? What else do they choose? Is our whole culture a lie?”

“It’s not a lie, brother,” Omir insists. “It’s just changing. You’re the one who’s changing it. Your decision was still subconscious, but it was nearly unique. You were born to a world different than our ancestors. You see things differently. The island is ready for House Kutelin, and you tapped into that. It’s still all you, but what sets you apart is that you have a deeper understanding of the way things need to be now.”

Resi has never felt any different than the other kids. Mediocre is a word that always swims around in his head. And he’s liked that—it doesn’t sound like an insult to him. He appreciates being part of the collective. He wants to stay that way. He wants to blend in. This is far too much pressure, and he hasn’t even started whatever he’s expected to start. He doesn’t even seem to have any sort of trainer or mentor. No guidance, no real answers. His family doesn’t know anything. They’re just guessing. He looks down at his little sister. She’s a quiet one, and if he can be honest with himself for a minute, his favorite. It’s hard to tell how much of this she’s understanding, because she never lets on. When you look into her eyes, you will see nothing but wisdom and patience. He kneels down. “You’re the only one I can trust now.”

She smiles and wraps her tiny arms around his neck. “I’ll come with you.”

“Oh, honey. You can’t go with him. It’s not time for you to choose—be chosen,” she corrects, “for a House yet. Seven years more.” Mother always talks down to Kala.

“It’s not about House Kutelin.” Resi takes Kala’s hand as he’s standing up straight. “They’re moving me closer to the Tadungeria. She can stay with me there.”

‘“You can’t take care of a child,” his mother argues. “Not only are you not qualified, but you won’t have the time. You have a duty to the whole island now.”

“Let’s not oversell it,” Resi counters. “I have a duty to the Four Houses.” Many refuse to acknowledge that there are two other nations on Yana, which have their own beliefs and practices. Today, they live in peace, and there is plenty of cross-pollination, but there has been much conflict in the past. The animosity can largely be attributed to a failure to recognize each other’s presence. Or really, it’s more about mentally attempting to absorb them into a single unified people. Resi knows that that’s not helpful. Pretending the divisions don’t exist doesn’t dismantle the divisions, it reinforces them.

“You also have a duty to this family,” Omir pushes back. “We need Kala here to complete our chores. You will have access to resources now. The city is well-established. You no longer need her, nor any of us.”

“Which is it, brother?” Resi questions. “Do I have a duty to our family, or am I no longer a part of this family?”

“It’s both,” his mother says. “This tradition is not changing. Even if you had chosen a different House for yourself, we would stay in contact.” Yeah, that’s how it’s supposed to work, but it doesn’t make that much sense when you break it down. If your subconscious wants to join a different House than the one you grew up in, your ties to your first House are probably not that strong to begin with. If Omir had switched to, say, House Naino, Resi would not see him very often. He doesn’t even live here anymore. He should probably be at his new home right now, doing his own early morning chores.”

“I’m starting something new,” Resi begins. “It’s scary, and I don’t want to be alone. I wasn’t condescending to Kala when I said that she was the only one I could trust. She is too young to have kept anything from me.” He holds his free hand up when his mom opens her mouth to argue. “Now, I’m not mad that you did. I understand why. But I can’t do this if I’m relying on my family. If you can’t help me do what I need to do, then I need to commit to my new House. But that doesn’t mean I’m leaving everything behind. I’m taking Kala, because I need her, and I don’t want to hear another word.”

Omir and their mother look over at Father. He’s a quiet one too, but not in Kala’s way. His silence shrouds an anger, and a darkness. He would never hurt them, Resi doesn’t think. He hasn’t before anyway. What’s frightening about it is how much he seems to be holding back. He doesn’t know why Father should be so mad, and why he has to work hard to tamp it down and remain calm. Resi thought he was doing something wrong when he was a kid, but grew up to decide that it doesn’t have anything to do with him specifically. There’s something bigger that bothers Father, which he can’t or won’t say. But as reserved as he is, Father always has an opinion, and they all respect it. “Son, it is not for you to know why your mind chose the House that it did. It is not for any of us to know, for ourselves, or for you. The fact is that starting a new House is no small venture. For my part, I do not care what you do with your power. You could tear down the Houses. You could wage war against the rest of Bungula. All is up to you, and we’ll love you for it, and stand by your side. But what you won’t do is deprive us of the labor and loyalty that we deserve. We had all four of our children for a purpose. You may take Kala with you, but in return, you will provide us with two new daughters as replacement, and you will do so with your first decree after tomorrow’s Kidjum.”

If anyone on this island can make Resi do something he doesn’t want to do, it’s Father. What he’s asking for—to Resi’s knowledge—has never been done before. You don’t ask for new family members to host. When someone chooses a House, they go where they’re needed, and no one is entitled to more than two children, adopted or otherwise. Yet everything is changing now. That’s what they’re fighting about today. He didn’t ask for this responsibility. “Very well, you will have your new daughters.”

Microstory 2662: Last to Still Believe

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Resi wants to go see his family, but it’s not time yet. After the cheering dies down, the Kokore whisks him away to a different room backstage. The Kokore apprentice is going to take over responsibilities for the rest of the ceremony so the current one can explain to Resi what the hell just happened. He’s waiting here now so she can pass the torch appropriately. The way she talked about it, he gets the sinking feeling that none of this was an accident. They knew it was going to happen, and planned for it by accelerating her apprentice’s experience so he would be prepared for this moment.

There’s food in here, but he’s not sure if he is supposed to eat it. Some of it looks like it’s just waiting to be distributed afterwards, but three courses are sitting separately on a tray on a table. He’s getting pretty hungry, but he won’t do anything without explicit permission or instruction. He just waits patiently, recognizing that all will be explained, even if he doesn’t like the answers. There’s no point in fretting about it until he fully understands what this fifth house is about.

The Kokore returns. “Okay, we’re good.” She looks over at the tray. “You’ve not eaten a single thing! The Kidjum elixir makes you hungry, don’t you know that? It doesn’t work if you just fall asleep. People sleep all the time. It’s a serious drug.”

“I suppose I forgot that part,” Resi admits. “I am indeed hungry, but I have no appetite. I’m too nervous. I don’t understand how I could have been assigned this mysterious fifth house. My subconscious didn’t choose it. What does aether look like? I don’t remember seeing it as part of my body in the vision.”

She snags a grape from his plate, and pops it into her mouth before she sits down. “That was the decision,” she begins. “Most people do not experience what you did. Yes, everyone has their own mind palace, and it always looks a little different, but you don’t become the elements. Or rather, you do, but no one else does. Well, I shouldn’t say that. It does occasionally happen, but only when the dreamer’s palace is already very body-centric, like a hospital operating room. Even then, their decision is always really obvious. They’re covered in dirt, or fully engulfed in fire, or totally wet, or something like that. The elements were well-distributed, and not simply on your body, but the composition of your body. That’s how we knew that you were Aether.”

“We were never told that you can see our dreamscapes. That’s another lie.”

“It’s very important that you not be given all of the information ahead of time. You know that things were kept from you. It’s our way of life. The Kidjum is a special, lucid dream state, but it’s not magical. The universe isn’t trying to tell you where you belong. This is our way of surfacing subconscious desires.”

“Yeah, that part I know.”

“Again, most people’s visions are unlike yours. They don’t only see something that represents the House they want to join. They see other things that they yearn for. It’s often...sexual. And to be clear, I did not have access to your dreamscape. Someone else was assigned to bear witness, to you, and to a few others. This is necessary because while I wasn’t lying when I said it wasn’t magic, it is important. What our dreams show us lives at the core of our belief system. We can’t just take people’s word for it. For you, you probably would have ignored the distribution, and chosen whatever House you thought you should join. If we were okay with that, then what would be the point of the Kidjum in the first place? We would just ask you. It would be a lot easier, and save time.”

“I suppose that makes sense, but I still don’t know what this fifth House is, or why I’ve never heard of it. You said I was the first in centuries. If that’s true, why isn’t it in the history books?”

She’s been smiling kindly the whole time, but her face grows serious now. “That’s the result of our last First Tongue of Aether. He destroyed the evidence. It was his final act of anger. Now everything we know about House Kutelin was passed down by word-of-mouth. I couldn’t say for sure why our ancestors played it so close to the vest, but we keep the circle tight to this day because it might have all been made up. Most of my predecessors and colleagues don’t believe that it ever happened. For my part, I didn’t think it mattered whether it was real or not. My job remained the same, which was to facilitate the ceremony. But I always knew it was a possibility, and you’re proof of that. And now...I’m out of a job. It’s bittersweet, I would say.”

“Okay. Now you really lost me,” Resi admits. “Why are you out of a job? Is your apprentice ready to take over full time? Did I precipitate that somehow?”

She laughs uncomfortably. “No, the apprentice is out too.” She pauses, presumably choosing her next words carefully in her head. “As long as you don’t end up like your own predecessor, the Kidjums are no longer necessary.” She points at the door with her thumb. “The others out there are the last round to choose Houses. For anyone who comes of age after today, you will be the one to choose for them. While my job ends, yours now begins. You will have access to their subconscious desires. You will see which of the four Houses they belong to, but you don’t have to do anything they want. You can move them to wherever you think is best, or choose it on a whim, or roll a die. You can select your own brethren too, who will join you in House Kutelin. Everything’s up to you now. According to the lore, the last head of your House chose all warriors to join him in the fifth House. He created conflict by consolidating all physical strength into one place. They used their strength to create a military state, and our culture nearly fell apart. He underestimated how strong others could be when backed into a corner. But...I really shouldn’t say any more about the spoken history. It’s not my place to sway your mind.”

“If this assignment has a history of violence, though, why was everyone clapping out there? Why are they so excited to risk that happening again?”

“That’s one reason we keep it a secret, so no one aspires to become like him. They were excited because this is how it’s supposed to be. The four Houses arose once our ancestors discovered that they were not in the Garden of Heaven. They had been rescued by time travelers, and brought to this world in their future. Of course, over time, even that part of our history has been brought into question; our culture being the last to still believe. But either way, what we do know is that we started with a singular voice. We fractured when we encountered the first Bungulan colonists, who assumed we were crazy, and just forgot that we came here in a spaceship like everyone else.”

Resi sighs. This is nuts. These weren’t just lies. They were cover-ups. He does not know who he is, or where he comes from. He thought he knew what this island was, but he wasn’t even close. He was so ignorant. How can he ever move on from this?

“I can’t tell you what to think, but I’m here to help. It’s not technically my job, but if anyone has the requisite skills to serve as an advisor, it’s a Kokore.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

She finally smiles again. “Caprice.” A colonial given name? Is she Kinkon?

Tangent Point: Lift a Hand to Help (Part I)

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Executor Reed Ellis stood in the back of the room, not afforded a seat. He was of too low a station to be officially part of the discussion. That was not going to stop him from participating, however, whether they liked it or not. He was rolling his eyes as they put forth all of these pointless suggestions for how they could help. They could drop down food and other supplies. They could spearhead cleaning up the orbital debris. All of that was well and good, and they should absolutely do that, but their neighbor’s planet was dying. They didn’t need help on the ground, they needed help getting off of it. The rocket equation was tyrannical. It would be prohibitively expensive to send them rockets, and then attempt to launch the refugees over and over again until they were all up. There was a reason people didn’t really do that anymore. There was a reason Earthans invented space elevators, and why they had become the most common launch method in the stellar neighborhood.

He couldn’t take it anymore. “Enough!”

“Executor Ellis!” The Mediator spat his name out like it was a bad taste in his mouth. “You will wait to be called upon. We recognize that you have been in close contact with the Proxima Domanians, but we all have the data. We all know what they need.”

“Do you?” Reed questioned. He stepped forwards. A security officer took a step too in reaction. “Really, son? Don’t forget your rank.” He kept walking forwards, aware that the officer was still tensed up, and would not hesitate to take him down to protect the diplomats. “We have to get our friends off that world, and we have to go now, because it is going to take weeks just to get there.”

The Mediator stood now. “It is not a viable option. The equator is fully liquefacted now, and no space elevator is designed to operate at a pole.”

Reed shook his head. “Just because it wasn’t designed to work that way, doesn’t mean it can’t do it. The Tangent can handle it. We’re gonna have to keep the fusion torch array affixed to it just to traverse the distance anyway. If you feed them isotopes, the platform will maintain station. It won’t have to do it forever. My people have been running the numbers. With the proper coordination, we can evacuate one pole in only—”

“Executor Ellis!” The Mediator shouted again. “We have read your proposal. The decision has been made. The Tangent will remain where it is, the christening will commence tomorrow, on schedule, and we will provide aid to the Domanians in the best way that we are capable. You were invited to this forum as a courtesy, but you do not have the right to be here. One more outburst from you, and you’re gone.”

Reed stared at him as he stared back. He would actually prefer to leave. This was the committee’s final chance to do the right thing, and it was clear that they were not going to. He would have to take matters into his own hands, so being in this room had become a distraction now. He might as well go big. “You son of a bitch, you can’t just abandon these people!” He lunged—and not even that far—but still, the security officer straight up shot him in the head. What an asshole. Talk about overkill.

Reed woke up in his backup substrate feeling inconvenienced and annoyed, but otherwise all right. His best friend and assistant, Shasta Clifford was there, looking impatient and panicked. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“They put a hold on your respawn,” she began to explain. “They thought you might do something during the ceremony, so they sentenced you to one week deferred reinstantiation.”

Reed flew out of his pod. “It is illegal to make such a sentence in absentia.”

“They’ve gone crazy,” Shasta decided.

“So we’ve missed our window,” he assumed.

She shook her head. “No. I figured, if we were going to stage a mutiny, breaking someone out of blackout hock would be the least illegal thing we did. The ceremony is starting soon, if it hasn’t already.”

He shook his head now. “There’s no time. I need to talk to our people. We need to make plans.”

“Everyone is already in place,” she assured him. “They know the plan. We’ve been talking, and we all understand what’s at stake, and what you need from us. We’re ready to go, Executor. We just need to get you on that bridge.”

“There’s no time to make it. I can’t get up to the Tangent with enough time to execute the plan. I would have to be on the maiden lift, and there’s no way security is letting me through if I’m meant to be in the buffer.”

Shasta smirked. “You think you’re on Bungula right now?” She opened the door. On the other side of the hallway was a viewport showing outer space. “We’re not even that far from our destination, in super-synchronous orbit with the Tangent. A shuttle is waiting for you to make the intercept.”

If they were in super-synchronous orbit with the Tangent, it meant that Shasta had activated the terminal in a scrapper, which was made to wander around in a graveyard orbit, reclaiming plausibly reusable components from dead satellites. He only put an extra body up here in case he ever needed to bug out from Bungula, or even Rigil Kentaurus entirely. “This is, like, my eleventh back-up terminal.”

“And the one that made the most sense, given our constraints,” Shasta said. “Still, we gotta get going.”

“Okay.” He started to bounce on the balls of his feet. “I just need to do my acclimation exercises.” He stretched, and cracked his knuckles and neck. It was proving to be a little difficult, so he checked the mirror. He massaged his chin and cheeks. “There was something wrong with the stasis field. This body is agèd.”

She was waiting for him impatiently. “It makes you look distinguished and regal, and maybe anyone who knows you’re not supposed to be there won’t recognize you. Now let’s go!”

They walked briskly down the corridor. Reed occasionally tipped over, and had to catch himself on the wall, but he didn’t stop. There was no one else here because material salvage was a fully automated task. At the end of their journey, they did meet a bearded man, who reached out. “Hello, I’m Trilby, and I’ll be your pilot today.”

Reed looked uncomfortably at Shasta.

“Oh, don’t you worry, sir,” Trilby went on. “I have no allegiances, and I am no friend to the Bungulan government. I don’t care what you’re doing, and will never have any reason to rat you out. I just push the autopilot button and keep my head down.”

“We’re only trusting him to get us there,” Shasta explained to Reed.

Trilby picked up on Reed’s sustained trepidation. “Look, if you wanna dock with the planet’s newest space elevator platform without being captured on the sensors, you’re gonna need me. I know how to spoof our signature so we just look like a hull maintenance drone coming in for a charge.” He stepped to the side so they could see into the shuttle. “That’s why this thing is so small. It only fits two, so I hope there’s no sexual tension between you two, because it’s gonna be a tight squeeze.”

There wasn’t, which was actually what made it so awkward. Reed saw Shasta like a daughter, and she saw him as a father figure. It was weird to have her sitting on his lap, but it only took an hour, so they survived it. “Where are you going to go now?” Reed asked Trilby once they were in the maintenance bay, and out of the shuttle.

“I actually do need to charge up to make it to my next run, so I’m gonna sip some power from this very spot.”

Reed was still nervous to trust someone who wasn’t already a part of the plan, but this guy needed to understand why he couldn’t hang around too long. “You need to go now. This station isn’t staying where it is. That’s...sort of the point.”

Trilby winked, clicked his tongue, and pointed finger guns at Reed. “Gotcha. I’ll be gone before you know it. Oh, one more thing,” he added as he was reaching to the other side of his seat. “I was told to hand you this.”

It was a standard operational uniform, except there was something different about it. The signifiers were all wrong. “No, this isn’t mine. I’m only an Exec—”

“That’s what my ground contact gave me.” He pushed the button to make the hatch close. “Have fun with your insurrection, or whatever...Captain!” the hatch closed.

“Was this your idea?” Reed asked Shasta.

“No,” she replied, “but I agree with it. The Tangent must be led by a captain.”

“You can’t just declare a promotion, Shasta.”

“Frock that, of course you can. There’s historical precedent. It’s called a brevet.”

He was shaking his head, very uncomfortable with this.

“I was wrong, what I said before,” Shasta began. “Breaking you out of blackout hock isn’t the least illegal thing we’re doing today. This uniform violation is. So put it on, get to your station, and let’s do this thing! For Proxima Doma!”

He sighed, and echoed, “for Proxima Doma.” They had only been planning this takeover for about a week, but that phrase had sort of become their group chant. And that was really what this was all about. They had an obligation to rescue their neighbors, and if that meant masquerading as someone with a higher rank, then that was what it took. He was going to be court martialed either way. What was one more charge? He dressed himself in his new uniform, and they headed out.

They didn’t go straight to the bridge. They had to make one stop first. This was the main armory of the platform, but it was not busy at all. War was a thing of the past. They maintained a military and ranking system for efficient organization and coordination. They kept it for the structure. But people did not walk around with guns anymore. The integrated multipurpose suits that most people wore regularly were not designed with weapons. In fact if you wanted to carry one, it had to include a special utility adapter since the IMS didn’t even come with holsters. Captains often didn’t wear IMS units. It wasn’t required not to, but many wanted to give the impression of fearlessness and steadfastness. They would go down with the ship, if it came to that. Though, to be fair, their minds were probably streaming to a safe back-up anyway, so it didn’t matter. The advantage it gave Reed today was that it was easier to conceal a weapon within the loose fabric of traditional clothing.

The weapons officer was on their side, and unlike Trilby, Reed could personally vouch for her. She removed the gun from its holster, and presented it to him. She wasn’t being patronizing. He hadn’t ever seen this model before, and while he passed the requisite marksmanship tests just fine, he wasn’t very experienced in firearms. “This is an autophasing maser gun. You can toggle it between stun and kill, but that is not recommended, and if you do that, it will be logged. Even if you don’t actually fire the weapon, simply switching on manual mode will send a report to the relevant ranking officials, which I guess is you now.” She eyed his new signifiers.

Reed looked down at himself. “These are just temporary.”

“Right.” She went on, “when autophasing is active, it will assess a target, and determine their substrate status. If the individual has a quantum consciousness backup stream, it will gladly just kill them.”

“I experienced that yesterday,” Reed said.

“Yes, we remember. To be blunt, sir, that was foolish. It made our infiltration much harder.”

“Aletha, know your place,” Shasta scolded.

“No, it’s fine, I want honesty,” Reed contended. He turned back to Aletha. “I regret it. I was just trying to get out of that room, and dying felt like the fastest way.”

Aletha nodded. “If the individual is not streaming, it will automatically switch the setting to stun mode. That’s why manual mode is not recommended, because you don’t know whether the person you’re targeting will come back or not. Now, they are developing eyewear that will show you the substrate data, so you can make an informed decision on the fly, but they are having syncing issues since it is very possible to point the gun at one target, and be looking at another.”

“Okay,” Reed said. “Just so I can be completely careful, does it have a decoherence setting?” Decoherence weapons were mostly illegal mostly everywhere. If your consciousness was streaming to a back-up, or multiple back-ups, decoherence would be able to disrupt those signals, and prevent reinstantiation, possibly even permanently. In a civilization with ubiquitous and fairly easy mind uploading, this was a way to bring back the true death. A sophisticated enough decoherence transmitter could destroy all signals and all back-ups.

Aletha stared at him blankly. “This doesn’t have that feature. I do have access to weapons that do. It would require executive clearance, but I could probably subvert that.”

“No. I’m asking because I don’t want it, not because I do,” he clarified. “I wouldn’t want to do it accidentally.”

“That’s not a concern,” Aletha promised. She reholstered the gun, and handed it to him. She handed another to Shasta. “The rest of our people are armed with their own already. When you leave, I will be locking this room down so no one else can arm up.” She gestured to the lockers behind her. “So if you see anything else you like, you’ll need to check it out now.”

Reed scanned the lockers for anything that might be of use to their cause, and would not be unethical to employ. “I think we’re set. Thank you for this, Aletha. It will not make your life easier.”

“For Proxima Doma,” Aletha declared.

“For Proxima Doma,” he echoed again.

“I’m going to use the range in the back for target practice,” Shasta told him as he was leaving. “I shouldn’t join you on the bridge anyway. I would just make you more recognizable.”

“Very well, Shasta. I’ll see you on the other side.” He left.

When Reed stepped onto the bridge, he found himself in good company. While the Tangent did have its own captain, a lot of people here were captains themselves, visiting from their respective vessels, here to celebrate the accomplishment. He blended right in, and no one was paying much attention to who he was, or whether he belonged there. The Head Architect of the platform was on a little circular stage that likely wasn’t usually there, though Reed didn’t know much about it. The Tangent was of a unique design, so the general shape of the bridge was already different than what he was used to. The architect was going through their spiel, talking about how this was a passion project of theirs, and how proud they were to see it finally come to fruition. The hologram next to them was showing the interior feed of the elevator pod, where all of the diplomats and dignitaries were sitting for the first trip. Some were gazing out the window. Others were chatting with each other inaudibly. A few seemed to be busy conducting business.

The trip was going to take a while. They were traveling at express speeds, but still needed to cross tens of thousands of kilometers, so it was never going to be instantaneous. Reed consulted his watch. They were waiting to begin the takeover until after the pod passed out of the planet’s atmosphere. If all went according to plan, they would sever the tethers just under the pod, and let them drift down to the surface. The pod, meanwhile, would be stuck with the Tangent, and when they commandeered the platform, all of those very important people could serve as hostages. It wasn’t going to be pretty or nice, but he wasn’t going to hurt anyone; not permanently, anyway. He just needed the authorities to think that he would, so they wouldn’t blow them out of the sky.

“Boss,” came the whispering voice of one of his compatriots through his earpiece. “Clear your throat if you can hear me, but you are in mixed company.”

Reed cleared his throat.

“There is a problem in engineering. I’m hiding behind a coolant tank, but the others have been caught. I’m blocking all outgoing transmissions except for mine, but they are about to send someone out of range, and call for help. What do we do?” This was too early. They weren’t ready yet. That elevator pod absolutely had to come with them. There were some rather important people here already, but the ceremonial travelers were vital to counteract the fact that they were slower than everyone else. If a Teaguardian got in the fight, without leverage, it would be over in seconds.

Reed quietly separated himself, and found a humming auxiliary power monitoring station to sort of dampen his voice. “Lift control, are you in position?” He heard a long beep, a short beep, another long beep, and another short beep. That meant yes. “Okay,” Reed replied. “Your job has become more important than ever. Take control. Take it now. Don’t let that pod stop or reverse. We have to move up the timetable, so—”

“Hey!” someone shouted on the bridge. “Hey, he’s not supposed to be here! Yeah, you, Ellis! You’re not a captain!”

“Everyone execute your directives!” Reed ordered hurriedly. “Go now! Go! Take the platform!”

The fight began.

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