Microstory 2757: Point of No Return

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Jolanda tries to walk out the door into the empty city, but Rage warns her off, saying that something is still wrong. They must have assembled the puzzle incorrectly. Perhaps it poisoned them and caused them all to lose time, or there’s just something weird going on that none of them can explain.

“I can explain it,” Miracle says as she walks right outside. “We are in a Facsimile.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Rage is in the doorway to protect everyone else.

Miracle rolls her eyes, and waves her arms like she’s parting the Red Sea. “Would you please? I need everyone to see and hear me.” She sighs. “I didn’t know we would encounter time travel on this journey. I thought it was possible, but I guess I gave Hrockas too much credit. I don’t have the time or bandwidth to explain everything, so let’s just go over the basics. Has anyone seen an old show called Stranger Things?”

A few people raise their hands, including Colley.

“There’s an evil world in that show that looks just like ours, except there aren’t any people in it, and it’s horrific. There are all sorts of vines and mold covering everything, and toxic particles float around all the time. Spoiler alert, what they eventually discover is that this copy of the world was created on a particular day in the past, like a snapshot of a single moment. That is basically what this is, but without the horror overtones. Well...there was that one time when zombies and other monsters were fabricated here in secret so they could be let loose on the populace—”

“I remember that,” Zelda jumps in. “I was trying to relax in Mildome when a serial killer from Bloodbourne suddenly attacked. They weren’t too hard to kill, though.”

They all look at her like she’s crazy.

“What? I don’t only spend my time in Adrenadome. I like bees and butterflies.”

“Well,” Miracle continues, “now you know, this is where they came from. I can’t tell you not to worry about lingering monsters, but let’s hope not. The person who controlled them no longer has control over this place. He was sent away. We actually fought alongside each other against a bigger threat, but he never returned. I’m just trying to give you an idea of where we are, and what we’ll find. Any questions so far?”

“Yeah.” Rage raises her hand. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Miracle sighs again. “Hrockas can force me into any substrate he wants, but he can’t stop me from using my powers. Those are based on my neurology, so he would have to kill me to get rid of them.” She squares her shoulders and makes sure that everyone is watching. She disappears, simultaneously reappearing on the ground a few meters away. She screams in agony as she holds her head. “Ah, you son of a bitch, what did you do?” More screaming.

A gargantuan holographic screen resolves in the sky. It’s Hrockas again. “Nuh-uh-uh. No time powers. You think I didn’t plan for that? This world is littered with temporal suppression fields. Good luck turning them all off.” He blinks away.

Elise helps Miracle back to her feet. “Don’t do that again. We get the idea.”

“I’m still not sure I believe it,” Rage reasons. “I can think of four major explanations off the top of my head for what she just did.”

“I have seen people do what she just did before,” Jolanda admits. “I was born on Proxima Doma. Before you ask, I wasn’t on the surface or in low-orbit when it was destroyed, but I did become a refugee. They ferried us to Gatewood where we could choose our final destinations for free. I ultimately opted to transmit my consciousness here, but not before I witnessed a riot that had to be quelled by a bunch of teleporting cops. I don’t think they were faking it. What would have been the point?”

“I’m sorry you went through that.” Minotaur gives Jolanda a hug from the side.

Miracle nods. “The faster-than-light technology some ships use now? Researchers didn’t simply finally figure it out. People like me gave it to them. They had this big meeting in the year 2400 with the, uhh...sort of council. I had nothing to do with it because I’m not on the Shortlist, but there’s a very low chance that your life has not been impacted directly by a time traveler one way or the other, for good or bad.

“Miss Shin, if you were a refugee, you probably spent some time on The Tangent, or at least you saw it. Their artificial gravity was a gift from that council. Hrockas has a number of friends with powers and patterns. A team of them was instrumental in making Castlebourne what it is today, and he continues to employ others. For the most part, they try to keep the tech more conventional, but there are some things normal physics can’t handle.” She gestures at the world around them. “This is proof of that. I’m betting they keep it up and running just in case they ever need it, for times like these.”

“So, what are we facing?” Zelda asks Miracle. “How dangerous is this tech?”

“You’re not actually listening to her,” Rage complains. “We can’t trust her.”

“I’m not trying to be your leader,” Miracle defends. “I’m only giving you the facts. What are we facing? No way to know, but throw your rule book out the window, because it no longer applies. Time travel is a very loose term, and a misnomer. Many who can manipulate spacetime don’t simply move forwards or backwards. Some can turn invisible by basically showing you what’s behind them instead of them. Some can duplicate themselves by pulling from microrealities. Hrockas may only be using this dimension to separate us from gen pop, but he also might be planning to throw temporal obstacles at us. Rage, you can listen to me or not, but if it’s that second option, I have an incredibly unfair advantage, because I’ve seen this stuff before.”

A deafening silence falls, making this city even more a liminal space than it was when they first set foot out here. Miracle could be wrong. The people they saw before might have been volumetric images. Or the dome they were in simply spun around to the other side, which was made to be a replica of this, but never populated. There are other explanations for what happened to them, but on the off-chance that Miracle isn’t mistaken or lying, they have to pay attention to her. Trust, but verify.

Elise stands over by her friend. “Rage is the leader. That’s not changing. Miracle, let’s call you the advisor.” She gestures to her main teammates. “We’ve been working together for weeks, and we know what each other has to offer. We’ve settled into our respective roles, so that can be yours. But until further notice, we must all be in an alliance together. Do you disagree, Miss Brighton?”

Miracle smiles. “I do not. Like I said, I don’t wanna lead. Advisor feels right.”

“Rage?” Elise asks, hoping that the tensions don’t escalate.

“Very well,” Rage decides. “I’ll listen to you, Miracle, but I promise nothing regarding my actions. If I want to make a different call, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Sounds good.” Miracle turns around. “Now. First thing we need to do is check for—” She takes a step forward, and suddenly disappears. A few seconds later, they hear her screaming from the heavens, right before she splats on the ground. “...Time mines.”

Microstory 2754: Starting Line

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Elise opens her eyes. She’s floating in artificial amniotic fluid. No, that’s not what it is, it doesn’t taste right. It tastes more...leafy? Like spinach that’s gone bad, or kale that hasn’t gone bad, because kale is the worst food God ever created. She’s trapped. She’s trapped in something opaque, which is not how body switching works. You’re supposed to be in a glass box, or in more advanced equipment, a clean and sterile pod. It’s not this, whatever this is. This is all wrong, and she’s panicking. She squirms around, looking for a way to escape, but doesn’t find it. She’s going to have to make her own.

She tries punching and she tries kicking, but neither of them work. That’s what makes her realize that this isn’t simply a pod. It’s a chrysalis. And that’s not how butterflies get out of their chrysalises. Elise feels around to make sure she knows where down is, and then she starts to spit. Opening her mouth amidst all this goo necessarily forces more goo back into her mouth. She thought it tasted bad before, but now it’s making its way down her throat. She starts to retch, and then she vomits. Even though it’s disgusting, the bile, saliva, and other fluids accelerate the mission.

The enzymes in Elise’s saliva weaken the chitin enough for her to tear through it. She can see light now, and feel the air. She vomits more so she can start breathing again. She continues to tear at the chrysalis until the opening is wide enough for her to get through. She tries to aim away from her own sick, but that’s stupid, because she’s already covered in filth. Elise reaches out to the floor with her hands, clumsily slipping on the fluids, but it slows her down enough to keep her from faceplanting.

She’s on her back now on the cool white floor of a small room. It’s not too small, though. It’s big enough to fit ten other chrysalises. Her whole team is here, plus the other team. Wait, there should be twelve in total, so who are we missing? She frantically starts knocking on the other chrysalises. “Jolanda? Rage? Is that you? Who’s in there?” she starts to say, looking for her people.

She can hear them moan back to her, but no one replies with words.

In the real world, with a real butterfly, you don’t want to help it get out of its chrysalis. The struggle is real, but it is not pointless. It’s a crucible, which strengthens the insect so it can literally spread its wings and fly. But they’re not in the real world, they’re in a simulation. It may be a base reality simulation, but it’s not natural. The others don’t need to go through what she just did. Elise stumbles over to a wall and wrenches a sconce from it. She starts tearing at the nearest chrysalis. Yeah, sometimes you gotta spit on that thing, but sometimes you need good old fashioned brute force.

A woman tumbles out of the chrysalis. It’s Miracle.

Elise catches her, and gently lowers her to the floor.

“Oh, thank you,” Miracle says. “I’ve forgotten what this feels like.”

“You’ve used this form factor before?” Elise has never even heard of it.

“Yeah, buncha times,” Miracle replies. As she’s resting on her hands behind her back, she looks around before her gaze returns to Elise. “You take left, I take right?”

They divide and conquer until the other nine hunters are free. Thankfully, all of Elise’s teammates are here. It’s Miracle who is missing one of hers. The girl she was trying to safely fly down to the ground, and who was wearing her shirt on backwards on the football pitch, is missing. Miracle says that she had an emergency mind transponder, which she probably used before she hit the ground. There was no way to know that they would survive it.

It’s different, though. Elise feels weak, and not just because she just had to force her way out of a chrysalis, and then help five other people do the same. Her vision isn’t as strong, her joints are achey, and she feels hunger in a way that she hasn’t since she was a kid, before she became immortal. This is a regular body, like the kind everyone had back in the days before humanity had even reached the longevity escape velocity. Her consciousness stream isn’t just unlinked. It doesn’t exist. There’s no backup plan now. If she dies, she truly dies, and she’s guessing the same goes for everyone else.

Once the last person is on his feet, the ceiling lifts up and to the side like the lid of a cardboard box, revealing only a dark void above them. It begins to rain once more, but this time, it’s just regular water, instead of acid. Well, it’s also a bit soapy. The room fills up around ten centimeters of water and suds before the drains open up and start to wash all the gunk and junk away. Next come the blowers to dry them off. They all just stand there and accept it, because there’s no door to exit, and they want to get cleaned off, even if at the end of this is, they get decapitated by a Jigsaw wannabe. They are here to play a game at any rate, and this appears to be the start of it, for whatever reason.

After they’re sufficiently dry, seams appear on the back wall. They slide upwards, revealing eleven chairs in front of eleven lockers. Each one is labeled with one of their names. The hunters proceed to their assigned lockers, retrieve the generic clothes that were placed there for them, and get dressed. But nothing happens after they’re done.

“I think we’re supposed to sit down to trigger the next phase,” Elise figures.

They follow her advice, and once that last butt hits that last seat, the wall in front of them transforms into a monitor.

A man appears on screen. “Hello, and welcome to Treasure Hunting Dome. My name is Hrockas Steward, and I own the planet of Castlebourne. Now, you may be wondering why I would record this message, and whether I do it for the other 69,814 domes presently in service. The answer is no. This is only for you. You twelve—forgive me, eleven—contestants have selected our Premium-Ultra Package. This is the rarest of hunts, which will take you on a journey few have traveled. In regular hunts, you would be out in the open, encountering Ambients who are simulating locals from various locales. You will not be doing this. You are on a special mission to find a unique prize.

“It’s important you understand that I am not admitting that such a prize exists. This is confirmation of absolutely nothing. You are being isolated from the other players so your hunt does not influence or interfere with anyone else. Everyone who expresses serious interest in this track experiences the same thing. Or do they? You may never know. You may not even survive. You have become decoupled from your consciousness streams so if you die along the way, your alternate selves will move on with their lives with no memories of these events. Even if you do find what you’re looking for, you might never be able to reveal its secrets. Thousands before you may have succeeded, but never returned to tell the tale. You will receive your next clue on the other side of this door.”

The seams of a door appear on the third wall.

“Oh, and one more thing. Those teams you worked so hard to build? They’re useless. Only one person can win this hunt. Good luck to one of you. Aaaaaaaaaand go!”

The door opens.

Microstory 2753: Dropoffs Only

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The football match started right after this Miracle Brighton woman claimed that she and her team were interested in the same thing in Treasure Hunting Dome. Rage didn’t have a chance to talk to her afterwards, because they were separated into different locker rooms, and then she couldn’t locate her again. Rage says that she’s not entirely surprised. The possibility of an ultimate secret prize isn’t something that she randomly came up with on her own. The rumor has been around since Treasure Hunting Dome first opened. Over the decades, with no proof that anyone ever won it, however, most have lost interest. They assume now that it doesn’t exist. Perhaps the rumor was started by the planet owner, who wanted to build hype, or it started organically. The fact that nothing has ever come of it has only served to intrigue Rage more, and Miracle evidently had the same idea. They try to find her on the local network, but no luck.

They train with each other in the Sandbox warehouse for about another week, but they have to be careful, because their efforts are not being made in secret. If they wanted complete privacy, they would have needed to go to a different planet. No one has ever said anything, but it’s plausible that the Custodians who run the game will use the team’s experience against them. If they get really good, for instance, at driving on the right side of the road, they might end up with a task where they have to drive on the left. And if they practice both, they might not get any driving challenge at all, and it will have been a waste of time. There’s no way to know, which also means there’s no reason to keep doing this indefinitely. They all agree that it’s time to dive in head first.

Before the big day, they check into the Apex Suite at the Palacium Hotel for a good night’s rest. Minotaur was able to secure it for them on short notice because they know someone who knows someone who knows someone. They would have been—

Smoke. Smoke and fire. Elise wakes up to find her room ablaze. She checks her consciousness stream and finds that it’s been severed. Her last upload was three hours ago. If she doesn’t get it turned back on, and dies here, the person who boots up in her backup body won’t really be her. It will only be a copy who thinks she’s Elise. How can this place be on fire? Things don’t catch fire anymore. It just isn’t done.

The door bursts off its hinges, and falls to the floor. Jolanda scrambles back up. She scoops Elise off the bed, and carries her out to the common area. It’s on fire too.

“I’m not streaming!” Elise warns.

“None of us is!” Jolanda is still carrying her as she finds her way across the room.

Zelda is holding a chair, pounding the leg against the edges of the window.

“We’re two kilometers up and that’s security glass!” Elise warns. “It won’t break!”

“Not without some help!” Zelda says. “Stand by Mino, Jo!” She keeps pounding.

“I think you can put me down now,” Elise tells Jolanda.

“We agreed that I would be the one to take you out,” Jolanda replies.

“What?” Elise questions. “What do you mean, take me out?”

Rage appears to their left, holding Colley like he’s also a little baby.

Zelda stops striking the glass, and puts her steampunk goggles on. “Ready?”

“Do it,” Rage orders. She grips Colley tighter. “Everyone turn off your lungs!”

Zelda takes Minotaur in one arm, then reaches out with the other to grip the doorknob of what’s either a bathroom or a closet. She yanks it open. It explodes.

Fire rushes out of the room, and crashes into the window. It’s destroyed instantly, and in that same instant, all six of them are sucked out.

Jolanda never lets go, but now she looks more worried than ever. Even though she has less experience skydiving, she doesn’t have none. They wouldn’t have done this if they weren’t each packing the right equipment, like parachutes and/or wingsuits. Why does she look so scared? She holds Elise tighter with one arm while she maneuvers her other one, hovering her watch above Elise’s face.

It takes a second for Elise to realize what Jolanda is trying to show her. Their altitude is about 35,000 meters and falling. They should not be anywhere near that high. That’s damn near the apex of the whole freaking top. Despite its name, that’s not where the Apex Suite sits. It’s just at the top of the building. She turns her head enough to look back up, but whatever they just fell out of has now been covered by clouds. She can see the other two pairs, though. Wait, four—no, six. Other people are also falling alongside them, presumably from some nearby suite that was also on fire. What is happening?

They keep falling for about a minute before Elise gets her head turned enough to see land below. It’s coming up fast. If Jolanda doesn’t do something soon...

“You can turn your lungs back on!” Jolanda shouts. “Or don’t, you don’t need them! But you do need to hold on tighter, with your arms and legs! I need to pull!”

Elise tightens up and buries her face in Jolanda’s neck. She may be falling in love.

Jolanda pulls the ripcord. The parachute flies out of the back of her belt. Elise’s legs slip off, and begin to dangle, but Jolanda wraps her arm back around her to compensate. After a few seconds, the initial shock wears off, and now they’re just floating. They’re actually going to be okay. They’re going to survive this.

Elise gets another look around now, and starts to run attendance. Rage, Colley, Zelda, and Minotaur; everyone’s here. She looks in the other direction, at the strangers. They’re actually not strangers. She recognizes Miracle’s face. She’s holding the girl who did a backflip on the football pitch. Instead of a parachute, they’re staying aloft via Miracle’s white feathered wings. Which is all sorts of crazy, but it’s clearly working.

As they’re drifting towards the ground, Elise feels something bite at her arm. Some kind of bug? She can’t get a look at it to check. She’ll just have to tough it out. But then she feels another bite on her other arm. She also sees rain begin to fall all around them, which doesn’t feel like a coincidence. She looks up in horror to find holes forming on the parachute above them. The holes are growing as something begins to shred the material. Rain plus stinging plus tearing equals only one thing. Acid rain.

Either someone is trying to kill them, or they’re just having a little fun, and they don’t know that the team isn’t streaming properly. The fact that they were somehow moved to the very top of the dome leads her to believe that this is attempted murder. Hours from now, when the unscheduled data gap triggers emergency resuscitation procedures, her latest backup will wake up with no idea what went wrong. She will have no reason to suspect foul play, but at least some version of Elise will exist. With that, there is a modicum of hope for justice.

After only a few seconds, the parachute can’t take it anymore. It violently rips apart, sending Elise and Jolanda away from each other. Not that it matters. At this height, even their advanced substrates won’t survive it. Elise keeps falling and falling until she runs out of room and splats on the ground.

Microstory 2752: Foul Trouble

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Zelda and Jolanda both do a lot of exhilarating activities. Framed one way, they sit on opposing sides of the spectrum. Zelda likes to lose control. It is absolutely possible to be bad at an extreme sport, but once you learn how to do it, a lot of it involves letting go, and allowing the forces of nature take over. Gravity is a big one for them. Jolanda’s thing is all about taking control. When she’s inside of the car—or when she literally is the car—she makes every decision about where it goes, and what it does. For both of them, the work is very tough and strenuous, and they’re all sports, but a certain kind of sport. What they’re doing right now is exploring one of the other kinds.

“Fellow treasure hunters, please allow me to be the first to welcome you all to...Sportsdome,” Rage says dramatically. It’s a surprisingly unpopular dome. That might be a harsh word to use. It’s not as popular as it would be if you picked the whole 83-kilometer diameter dome off of Castlebourne, flew it to Earth, and dropped it somewhere. The problem with this dome is it’s simply a collection of all sports fields of play. There’s nothing innovative about it except the fact that it’s all consolidated. You can get each one of these games anywhere, and for much cheaper than the energy credits it takes to travel to this world. Basically, if sports are your thing, you’re probably better off staying put wherever you already live. Castlebourne is for niche experiences.

“I played one of the ancient games once,” Colley says. I think it was called bolleyball. And I think I only played it because it rhymed with my name.”

“You’re thinking of volleyball,” Jolanda corrects. “I’ve played a ton of these, but only in VR. A lot of people hate that because it isn’t pure, but if you have a halfway decent physics engine and synaptic integration, there’s really no difference these days.”

“What are we doing here?” Zelda asks. She sounds and looks bored.

“Zel, I would have thought you loved this stuff,” Elise points out.

“There are too many rules,” Zelda complains. “I don’t like rules. I mean, back when dying once meant dying forever, I understood the rules for safety. And I even understand them today for the purposes of continuity, pain aversion, and convenience, but these little sports have such arbitrary rules. They’re all, like, you can’t bounce that with two hands, or, it’s gotta bounce once and inside of these white lines. A lot of the rules have to do with bouncing and dropping. I just don’t find it exciting.”

“We’re not here to be excited,” Rage clarifies. “We’re here to learn the mechanics of gameplay. Some of you use your minds, some of you use your bodies. Traditional sports marry the two. Those rules you hate, Zelda, are part of that. You have to remember where the ball goes and how to get it there. You have to see the obstacles in real time, and find a way around them. Half the audience is cheering you on, half of them wanna see you fail. None of you has done activity on behalf of someone else. Even I, who has usually been part of a team, sees an escape room as a private accomplishment. I share the joy of accomplishment with my team, but my mind leans on what I personally got out of it. Sports athletes can’t think like that. Their sole job is to serve the team, even if that means sitting on the bench during a play and encouraging their teammates. That’s why I signed us up for the Total Lifestyle Experience.”

“What’s the total lifestyle experience?” Elise asks as Rage is walking off. She and the others rush to catch up. “Hey, what’s the total lifestyle experience?” she repeats.

An hour later, the six of them are standing on the grass field. They expected a big fancy arena, but this place looks like it’s been neglected. They’re wearing the same uniform, which is a shirt, short shorts, tall socks, and spiky black shoes. There’s another team of six people here, Combined, they’re standing in a triangle shape, using the wall as a third side. At the top point is a scraggly white-haired man. His shorts are even shorter, and he has a whistle. It’s impossible to not notice his whistle.

He’s been whistling this whole time, apparently communicating with the bots who are running around the field, moving equipment around. Now he finally turns to sneer at the players. “So you think you’re good enough for league football, do ya?” he asks in an English accent. “You’re the sorriest lookin’ excuses for players I ever saw this side of the meridian!” He looks at one of the other team’s members. “Your shirt is on backwards, ya wanka! What’s the matter, ya never worn clothes before?”

The youngish-looking girl tries to pull her elbow in to turn the shirt around, but is too embarrassed to keep going, so she ends up pulling it off all the way.

The boss guy, whatever his job is, shakes his head. “Girls in the league. What are we gonna have to let in next? Billy goats!? I long for the days when men were men!”

One of the other women on the other team begins to walk away.

“See, that’s my point. Women can’t handle the stress of being in a real club. What’s your problem, young lady? That time of the month?” He laughs and slaps Minotaur’s shoulder because they’re standing the closest, expecting them to agree.

“I have a vagina too,” Minotaur snaps back, shutting him up.

The blonde woman comes back with a football. Without saying a word, she tosses it towards the girl who was wearing her shirt backwards. The girl does a backflip, kicking the football behind her. As she lands on her feet, the ball ends up square in the goal, which is halfway down the field. “Any questions?” the blonde asks.

Somehow, the old man shuts up even harder. He does eventually have to continue, though. “I have to go make sure there’s no scheduling conflict with the pitch. In the meantime, you can either run drills or talk about your fee-fees.” He walks off.

The blonde from the other team, who appears to be in charge, smirks at the hunters. “We’ve got you on toast. Who do you even play for? I earn your life in a week.”

“Did you have to look up football slang, or does being an arsehole come naturally to you?” Rage volleys.

“Rage, what are you doing?” Elise questions. “What’s happening here?”

“I told you,” Rage begins. “I signed us up for the total experience. We’re a ragtag group of eclectic misfit underdogs. They’re the jerk pros who everyone knows is gonna win the big game until the last second when the shyest and least confident player on our team uses a random, seemingly unrelated, skill from their life for a complete upset.”

The treasure hunters stare at Rage, still not quite understanding the point of it, but also not getting the point of playing football in the first place, so they might as well lean into it. Elise looks back over at the blonde boss. “Wankuh.”

The blonde laughs. “Not quite how you pronounce it, but I’ll take it. Before we play the big game,” she goes on with airquotes, “you should know that we’re after the same thing. There’s a deeper level to Treasure Hunting Dome. We’re gonna find it first.”

Rage looks extremely surprised and distressed. She clearly had no idea.

The blonde smirks again. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Miracle. Miracle Brighton.”

Microstory 2748: One One Cocoa Full Basket

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Elise Perkins has dropped her rapping iron again. All of her tools can float except for that one. It keeps sinking to the bottom of the pool, and every time she dives down to retrieve it, she ends up pushing all of her other tools away, so she has to swim around to get those back too. She has taken so many courses here, but has never found a class called Keeping Track of Your Stuff 101. She did find underwater basket weaving, though. She knows it started as a joke, but she’s having fun with it, despite the drops.

Her basket is fairly complete at this point, so she uses it as a little liferaft for her other tools while she very carefully sinks below the surface herself, and slowly swims down to find the rapping iron. It’s an awkward shape, so it doesn’t always land right below. The chlorine stings her eyes as she’s hunting for it. She could have designed a body for herself that doesn’t feel that kind of inconsequential pain, but she wants to immerse herself in the culture. She wants to feel what her ancestors felt when they were doing these kinds of things. She wants to be authentic.

She spots it. Huh. It’s right next to another one. Wait, no. That one isn’t a rapping iron. What the hell is that thing? No one else is in the pool right now. Did they really drop something earlier, and it was never picked up? It’s not like the droids to make such a mistake. She swims towards it, but before she can catch it, the second metal object latches itself onto her iron and they both begin floating upwards. She keeps grasping at them, but they’re moving too fast. She follows them up to the surface, only noticing then that someone is standing on the pool coping. Are they trying to steal her tool? Who the hell would do that? It’s not worth anything. They can get their own!

Elise makes one final push. She takes hold of her rapping iron, as well as the magnet, and the string it’s attached to. She yanks it away, which causes the figure to totally faceplant into the water. Serves them right. But now there’s a problem. What if this stranger is a serial killer? Now she’s in a very vulnerable position with a person who she has just royally pissed off. She breaks the surface quickly, and swims the rest of the way to the wall so she can pull herself up. She hears a bunch of splashing behind her.

The stranger is flailing about, trying to keep their head above water. They’re panicking, and can clearly not swim. Well, maybe it’s not so clear. They could be faking.

This is ridiculous. Elise is immortal, and there’s security all over the place. She doesn’t have to be afraid. So she jumps back in, thankful that she learned to become a certified lifeguard not two months ago, and rescues the non-swimmer.

The stranger is still panicking as she scrambles out of the water, and lies on her back on the deck to catch her breath.

Elise stands there patiently, wringing water out of her hair, and adjusting her bikini, which magnet girl nearly tore off of her during the struggle.

The woman rolls over to her side, and stands back up. She stares awkwardly at Elise. “This is not how I wanted this to go. How embarrassing that I should not know how to swim. I just...didn’t think you would pull me in.”

“I didn’t think you would try to steal from me,” Elise replies.

“That was only my way of introducing myself. I thought it would be funny.”

“Well, it wasn’t. It was just confusing, and honestly, a little scary for me. I change substrates when I feel like it, but I never let my body die. I have an aversion to pain.”

“I get it,” the woman says. She takes a deep breath, and holds out her hand. “Hi. I’m Ciaragie Benetton, but everyone calls me Rage. Don’t worry, it’s ironic. It might not seem like it, but I’m typically very cool under pressure.”

“My name is not important,” Elise replies. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I would like to get back to my basket.” She starts to scan the surface because now her tools will have scattered all over the place. She sees her basket first. It is completely mangled and broken. She looks back over at Rage. “You ruined it. I’ll have to start over.”

“I’m sorry, Elise. I should have said just hello, like a normal person.”

“How do you know my name?” Elise questions.

“I came here to find you,” Rage explains as she’s stripping naked. “I’m putting together a team to compete under Treasure Hunting Dome. I believe that there is a secret, hidden level to be played. I believe there is a prize which no one has ever heard of, let alone attempted to locate. I’ve been going around, finding the best of the best from people who have experience in other domes. I myself have spent decades in Escape Dome. But I also have a navigator, and adrenaline junkie, even an anthro—”

“I’m sorry, what the heck does this have to do with me?” Elise asks. “I’m not the best of the best at anything. I spend my time learning archaic skills, like underwater basket weaving, and bricklaying. You must have me confused with someone else.”

Rage shakes her head. “No, you’re who I’m looking for. I don’t know what you know about Treasure Hunting Dome, but the challenges often involve exactly things like those skills. Some are inherent, like digging through a haystack to find a data-needle which contains your next clue. But for some of them, completing the challenge is just what tells the Exemplar that you deserve the clue, so they hand it to you.”

Elise sighs. “It’s not really my thing. As I was saying, I enjoy the quiet. I don’t wanna go on an adventure. When I’m not here, I’m reading classics in Branch of Babel, or relaxing on a boat in Raindome. I don’t do fun. I don’t do challenges.”

“You don’t wanna do anything with what you’ve learned,” Rage presses. “So you can weave a basket underwater. So what? It’s not like the world needs more baskets. You don’t even need a basket. You could print one in minutes.”

Elise points to the water. “That was supposed to be mine. It was going to be something that I made myself. No, I don’t need a basket, but I want a basket that’s one hundred percent unique. It wasn’t programmed, it wasn’t generated. It would be mine. My house is filled with things that I have created with my own two hands. I made the house itself...on my own...from scratch. That’s what makes me happy. I do it for me, and no one else. I don’t expect someone like you to understand that.”

“I understand,” Rage argues. “Oh, I understand better than you think. The prize for winning an escape room is getting out of the escape room, which you already were before you voluntarily went in. We collect the same things. We collect experiences.” She holds her hand out again, but this time not to shake. “Come with me. Let’s experience something neither of us has before, which I believe no one in the universe has. You might not be able to put a physical object in your home, but you’ll never forget it.”

Elise stares at Rage’s hand with a frown. That’s a pretty convincing argument, she has to admit it, if only to herself. “I’m not promising anything, but I am willing to listen. Tell me more about this Treasure Hunting Dome.” She doesn’t take her hand.

Rage smiles as she drops her arm. “Let’s meet the team first.”

Extremus: Year 121

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Waldemar Kristiansen is going to whip this ship into tip-top shipshape, and that’s his private guarantee. The turn of phrase makes him giggle, but he doesn’t say it out loud to others. He doesn’t really say anything about it. He’s just going to make it happen, and people are going to accept his changes, whether they like them or not. Or they’ll die fighting it. He just needs to get out of this locked room first. Sure, he’s been in here for several months now, and he has not found any chance to escape yet, but he will. He’ll figure it out. He comes out on top. That’s his real job. That’s why he’s the captain, even though someone else has been masquerading as him since he won the competition for the chair.

Pronastus Kegrigia flashes back into the room after two weeks of no contact. “How’s tricks, my old friend?” he asks in that annoying speedvoice he uses. The guy doesn’t even try to slow his voice down so it sounds more normal to Waldemar.

“Let me out,” Waldemar says simply. It doesn’t feel like he’s talking slowly, but he knows that he is, and he can see how bored Pronastus gets while he’s waiting for him to finish what should be a quick and easy sentence. He recognizes that impatience. He has seen and felt it in himself. Pronastus is wearing his face, and he’s not using it right!

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Okay, that line was too fast. Waldemar could barely parse it. “Just be glad that I didn’t kill you.”

“You still need me,” Waldemar reasons. “You need me to tell you how to act like me. I’m not afraid of you.”

“I won’t need that for much longer,” Pronastus contends. “I only kept you alive to make a smooth transition to your new personality. I needed to start out with a familiar baseline, so people won’t detect a sudden shift in behavior, and grow suspicious, but I’m just about where I wanna be. Admiral Jennings is wary of me. I can’t tell whether that’s because he suspects that I’ve stolen your likeness, or he just knows that you’re a grade A asshole, and I’m stuck with your terrible reputation until I can slowly change people’s minds. That’s what the new personality is for.”

“I am not an asshole, I am the best this ship has to offer. I am not burdened by things like emotion or personal attachments. I only care about the success of the mission. If you will just let me have my life back, I will do a thousand times better than you ever could with my clone.”

“You’ll never get the chance,” Pronastus argues. “You won’t understand this, but I am doing everyone a favor by taking your place, including you. There are things I know about the future. You would have been absolutely miserable, and you would have made everyone else miserable trying to find happiness. Waldy, you can’t be happy. You’re neurologically incapable of it. I doubt you can even grasp the concept. Just stay in your slowmo world, and wait for the mercy of my bullet once I’m finally finished with you.”

“People will notice,” Waldemar tries to say. “Silveon knows me better than anyone. He knows what my brain struggles with. He’s the one who taught me how to act more like an emotional being. When he gets back, he won’t be fooled by you, no matter how gradually you change.” He intentionally didn’t mention his wife, Audrey, who also knows the real Waldemar, and won’t long be fooled by this impostor. Waldemar doesn’t love her, because he doesn’t understand what love is, but he is committed to her, and he genuinely doesn’t want harm to come to her. Pronastus better not be touching her.

Pronastus sighs, but sped up, it kind of sounds more like a cough, which Waldemar finds humorous. “I debated whether I would tell you, but now that I’m confident in the effectiveness of this timehock, I might as well be honest. Silveon doesn’t know anything anymore. Silveon is dead. He knew too much about me, so I had to kill him. He did not leave for an away mission on the Perran Thatch to get his mind off of his parents after they died. He’s been dead the whole time. It happened within minutes. They actually saw each other briefly in The Buffer. It really messed with their heads.”

Waldemar begins to seethe. He doesn’t love Silveon either, but he has been a good friend. He knew what Waldemar was. He knew that he was different, and didn’t feel things like the other kids. But he didn’t run away. He didn’t even just uncomfortably accept Waldemar’s differences. No, Silveon has been his greatest supporter since they were children, and actively put in the effort to make him a better man. It worked. Without Silvy, Waldemar would be an absolute piece of shit. He’s still not a hopeless romantic, but he recognizes the value in others, and that he should treat them with respect, because that’s what people expect out of him. Waldemar would not have become captain without Silveon’s personal sacrifices. He deserved so much better than this. In anger, Waldemar lunges for Pronastus, but as always, he misses. He’s too slow.

Pronastus smirks, and casually steps out of the line of fire. “Good job, buddy!” he jokes. “You almost got me this time, you’re getting faster.”

It’s true. Waldemar has been spending most of his time here improving his speed. If he can learn to move extremely fast, it might be enough to get him on the same level as this jerk.

Pronastus checks his watch. “I’ll have to get you another dose of the timesuck, and increase the potency so you’ll go even slower than before.”

“That will be even more frustrating for you,” Waldemar argues. “You grow impatient with how long it takes me to talk now. If you slow that down even more, our conversations will take forever. You’ll go mad.”

“I’ll live,” he defends. “You won’t.” He races towards the other door. He is annoyingly smart. The first time he came back, Waldemar tried to wait by the door to attack him and escape, but instead, Pronastus simply used the second entrance. He will always use the door farthest from Waldemar. There doesn’t seem to be any weakness to exploit. “Goodbye, Waldemar Kristiansen. I’ll be back at some later date.” He points to the food synthesizer, which he modified to only produce slop. “Better ration your meals from now on. As punishment for trying to hit me yet again, I’m not gonna refill the feedstock today. Good luck with that.” He leaves.

Waldemar sighs, defeated once more. Surprisingly, the first door begins to open again. Did Pronastus really just run down the hallway so he could come back? Waldemar happens to be standing next to it right now. That’s the whole point. He’s not that stupid, is he? No, he’s not, because it’s not Pronastus at all. It’s Silveon. “He told me you were dead. He took credit for your murder.”

“He deserves credit,” Silveon says. He sounds normal. His voice isn’t sped up at all. He’s really good at slowing down to match Waldemar’s slowmo mode. But why would he even think to do that? How did he find him?

“How did you find me?”

“I followed Pronastus,” Silveon replies as he’s rolling up Waldemar’s sleeve, and cleaning the skin with an alcohol pad.

The smell sickens him. His mother drank. He hated her. He hated her so much. Hate is one emotion that he can get behind. He turns his nose away so he can breathe.

“For a pathfinder, he sure is bad at spotting a tail,” Silveon goes on. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner. I had to make preparations first.” He’s sliding a rubber band up Waldemar’s arm now, and tightening it above his elbow.

“Not that I mind, but what exactly are you doing?”

“Fixing you,” Silveon answers. He takes a syringe out of his pocket. Slips the cap off with his lips, which he spits out onto the floor, and injects Waldemar with something.

Months ago, after a doppelgänger abducted Waldemar, and injected him with the timesuck, the effects hit him immediately, but they didn’t affect his body evenly, and not even instantly permanently. His heart felt like it was racing while his arms felt like they were swinging through molasses. His legs felt okay for a moment, but then his heart slew down more than ever. The image on the news erratically changed speeds as his brain was trying to figure out whether it was supposed to be framejacking or framelagging. This is all happening again now, about the same as before, but hopefully to more favorable results.

Silveon shows him a handheld fan. “Focus on this.”

Like the broadcast before, the fan keeps changing speeds. It sometimes looks like it’s running in reverse, and sometimes moving in slow-motion. After a minute or so, it settles into a more reasonable speed. “Okay, I think I’m okay.” Waldemar takes a step back, and performs some deliberate movements. He shakes his arms, kicks his legs, and jumps up and down a little. To him, when he was on the timesuck, everything felt normal; at least that’s what he believed. But unlike how it would be if this were a timesuck room, there was a biological component to the drug. He didn’t realize he was so stiff and held down until this moment, now that he can finally move about at normal speed. “That feels a lot better.”

“So you feel all right?” Silveon presses.

“Yeah, it’s fine. What you said earlier, did Pronastus kill you, or not?”

“He killed me all right, and I recall being dead, but I don’t have any details. All I know is that someone had the power to send me back, and they agreed to do so. I don’t know who it was, or anything else about it. I just know that they had to give me a clone body.” He pulls his cheek down. “My scar’s gone. See?”

Waldemar looks, but then frowns and turns away. He’s the one who gave Silveon the scar in the first place. When Waldemar was still quite young, and Silveon was even younger, it was the latter’s birthday. Waldemar had seen videos from the grand repository of entertainment of pranks where people slammed their friends’ faces into birthday cakes. But he screwed up, and a candle ended up being lodged in Silveon’s eye. The doctor made the necessary repairs to the eyeball itself, but it was days before anyone noticed an untreated secondary wound on the skin that had to heal on its own. It left a permanent mark on Silveon’s face, which could typically only be seen when you looked closely, but also sometimes under the right lighting, at the right angle. Waldemar is particularly adept at clocking it since he was the one who made it.

“Hey,” Silveon says in an assuring voice. “It’s okay. And it’s fixed now. My original body is gone. Probably stuffed into an incinerator. It’s like it never happened.”

“Except it did.”

“That’s good,” Silveon encourages. “That’s called guilt. We talked about that, remember? And this...” He waves his hand around his face. “This is forgiveness.”

He knows. “I remember guilt,” Waldemar acknowledges, “and forgiveness. I don’t need the flash cards anymore. I remember gratitude too, though I still don’t know if my face is capable of showing it, so to clear any uncertainty, let me say...thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Silveon replies. A genuinely good guy. Waldemar sometimes wishes he could be him, but also likes his own efficiency and resilience.

“Now. Where is he?”

“He’s probably back on the bridge,” Silveon begins. “Now, I have a plan to put you back where you belong without anyone ever knowing that it happened. What we’ll do is—”

“No, don’t worry about that. The plan is simple, and I’ll take care of it. You’ve done your part. Thank you again.”

“Waldemar, you can’t kill him. We’ve been over this.”

“No, I’m not gonna kill him. Is that what you’re worried about? You should have more faith in me. You’ve taught me a lot over the years. But this right here is captain’s business, and you don’t have clearance. I’m not going to give you any details, but I assure you, I won’t be murdering anyone. The next time you see me, it will be me again. We’ll come up with trust passwords so you’ll know I’m legit, but I don’t want to do that here, because he might be watching.”

Waldemar and Silveon leave the room to create their shared password to avoid any identification failures. The former then uses his biometrics to enter the Captain’s Stateroom. He has never stepped foot in this unit before, and it has been a long time coming. Audrey is there. “Good morning, wife.”

“It’s the afternoon,” she says.

“Right.”

“Didn’t you have work to do in engineering today? thought it would take all day.”

“When was the last time we had sex?”

“What?”

“When was the last time we had sex, or did anything sexual, really?”

“It was this morning,” she replies. “Did you genuinely forget, or are you mad about something, and trying to pick a fight with me?”

“It’s nothing like that.” He takes both of her hands in his. “I will explain everything, but you have the right to know that you were violated. That was not me, but an impostor.”

Audrey gulps, and stiffens her upper lip. “I understand. I mean...I don’t understand, but I understand.”

“Okay. I’m gonna go take care of something, and then we’ll have dinner together.”

“Okay,” she agrees solemnly. He has said things like this before. She’s a good girl. She knows not to ask questions, argue, or get in his way.

It takes weeks to find him, but Waldemar employs his secret police, and Pronastus eventually runs out of paths where he eludes the might of the true Captain of Extremus. The two of them are back in timehock, but their roles are reversed.

Pronastus is now moving too slowly to get out of his predicament, or fight back. “I have an advantage, though. I see the way forward. I will legitimately find a way.”

“Good luck with that,” Waldemar snaps back. “Unlike you, I’m not without mercy. You kept me in here for six months, I’ll only keep you here for three.”

“And then what? You’ll kill me?”

Waldemar chuckles. “No. Then your real torture begins.”

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Microstory 2570: Head of Pharmaceuticals

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People ask me why I’m doing it. Why would I invest hundreds of millions of dollars into developing a panacea when “there’s more money to be made in the treatment”? To be clear, that’s actually a low number for developing even a single drug, and that’s because we were coming at it with a huge advantage of having a source for the cure, instead of having to start from scratch. So that was one reason why we calculated that it was worth it. Number one after that is that my name will go down into the history books as the woman who provided the world with the greatest accomplishment humanity has ever achieved. Of course, Landis will be at the top of the list, but no one’s going to remember his nurse, or one of his patients. He cured millions. I’ll cure billions. And I’ll keep doing it over and over again. We’re not sure if this drug will grant virtual immortality, but honestly, I don’t see why not. And if it doesn’t, we’ll work on that too. And we’ll be able to do that, because at that point, we’ll be the only pharmaceutical company left in existence. The other ones, who only ever hoped to sell treatments, will become obsolete, almost literally overnight. Unless they diversified into selling diagnostic equipment—or, I don’t know, something unrelated, like microwaves—they’re destined to have a bad time. Their stock prices are already tanking in anticipation for an announcement that we’ve made a breakthrough. People are actually saving money that they would usually spend on medicine, because they think we’re preparing to send them a fix tomorrow. Well, I can’t condone such behavior. Time is a huge factor here. They’re close—my researchers are close—and I have been funneling a lot of the money dedicated to this endeavor into bolstering mass production, but we’re not there yet. My competitors want to get in on this, and we will agree to that, because it will help with rollout, but I have demands, and it all has to do with what I said; keeping my name at the top. I curated the relationship with the Foundation. I made Mr. Tipton promises. I’m in charge here, and if that slows down production, then so be it. People will wait for months, because some have been waiting their whole lives, and humanity has been waiting for thousands of years—at the risk of being too specific. Pharmaceutical companies are known for being greedy and uncaring, and I’m not going to sit here and try to tell you that it isn’t true. We charge too much for insulin. We make our customers jump through hoops. We didn’t make the industry the way it is today (not alone, anyway) but I admit some fault. So in the end, that’s why I’m doing this. My competitors’ reputations are set. Nothing can be done to show them in a better light, except maybe if they get in line, and help with production in the right way. But no one will remember what we used to be. Once the panacea comes out, with our label on every single inhaler, that’s what we’ll be known for. And the world will be grateful. For us.

Extremus: Year 118

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It’s the end of the year, and the end of Tinaya and Arqut’s lives. The whole ship is in mourning, even though they’re not quite dead yet. They’re in the same room that they’ve slept in for years, but it has been modified to accommodate their new situation. The bed has been pulled out to be replaced with two hospital beds. People have been coming all month long to say their goodbyes. The doctors don’t let too many people in over the course of only one day, so they have to spread it out. Audrey, with nothing else to do, is in charge of maintaining a healthy and comfortable schedule. Captain Jennings has his turn now, as it is nearing the couple’s final days, and he should be one of the last. His relationship to the two of them hasn’t always been perfect, but they have a mutual respect for one another, and he will still be saddened by the loss. That’s not the only reason he’s here, though. There is some final business to take care of. “You must appoint your successor.”

“Ask me in a year,” Arqut quips. Gallows humor.

Oceanus tries hard not to smile. He doesn’t know that it’s fine. They’re in their nineties, for God’s sake. “Please. I want them to be as good as you.” He looks around in paranoia, like someone might be watching. “Things have been changing. Waldemar is gaining popularity.”

“We knew he would,” Tinaya says. “He’s a populist.”

“Yeah, but...please,” Oceanus begs.

“Who is in third place?” Arqut asks him. “If Waldemar is number one, who is number three?”

“That would be Détha. Why? Are you considering her for the role?”

“I can’t just say, whoever loses becomes the Superintendent instead,” Arqut explains. “I have to choose a name, and it will take that person out of the running. They obviously can’t be both the Captain and the Superintendent.”

“We all know that neither one of them is going to win,” Oceanus says, “Détha nor Pronastus.”

“Right, but second place will become lieutenant, won’t they?” Arqut presses.

Oceanus frowns. “We weren’t telling people that.”

“You don’t always have to tell me something for me to know,” Arqut clarifies. “Well...you don’t have to tell my wife.”

“It’s a little bit of padding,” Oceanus explains. “If that man has to become captain no matter what, at least we can put someone at his side who we can trust. If it can’t be Silveon, let it be someone we know and like.”

“Détha is the same,” Tinaya says. “I didn’t know her before all this, but I’ve been watching her. She would make a good superintendent or lieutenant, but let’s have her as the former. Pronastus has work to do when it comes to policy, not just staffing.”

“So we’ll have two good people in power, and one not so good,” Oceanus determines. He breathes a sigh of relief. “I was hoping you would say something like that. She has to be informed first, though. She has the right to decline, and move forward with her bid for the captaincy.”

“Well...” Arqut begins. “Bring her to us.”

“She’s not on the schedule,” Audrey warns from the corner.

“Who is?”

“Head Councillor Crusan,” Audrey answers. “After him, you’ve hit your quota. You’re not allowed any more visitors, besides me and your son. Doctor’s orders.”

“We’ll see him tomorrow,” Tinaya decides.

“Tomorrow is a day of rest,” Audrey reminds them. “They’re all days of rest after today.”

“Then push it back. The day after that will be the start of our swan songs,” Arqut insists. “He’s right, I should have picked a replacement sooner. I just wasn’t thinking, and honestly, I forgot whether I had the authority to do so or not. There was a time when we thought I didn’t. I have the power to move staff around as needed, but does that include my own position? Anyway, please retrieve her for us. But maybe wait an hour or two. We both need a nap.”

Oceanus looks up at Audrey. “Just let me know when they’re awake and up for it. Détha will jump when I say so.”

Détha ends up not being able to come until nighttime, when her watch as active Vice Captain is over for the day. Technically, once she’s on break, she’s free to do whatever she wants. It’s kind of the point to transition to the next Vice Captain three times a day, so none of them has any sort of help from the others while they’re active. During each watch, they are expected to be the one and only. This is a different situation, though. She’s not in command at the moment. “You wanted to see me, sirs?”

“There is no time to beat around the bush,” Arqut starts to tell her. He’s sitting up now, feeling better than before, but he knows that he’s going to have to go to sleep again soon. “Are you aware of your place in the competition?”

Détha is a straightforward person. She recognizes the value in lying, but is very good at seeing what others know, and what they don’t, so when lying is pointless, it becomes counterproductive. She knows that Tinaya and Arqut already know the answer, so any optimism or confidence will come across as unearned, even though she got to where she is due to all that confidence. Fake it ‘til you make it, except unfortunately...she’s not gonna make it. And she knows that too. “I’m losing, sir.”

“Do you know why that is?” Arqut goes on.

Now she’s hesitating.

“Be honest with us about your perspective,” Tinaya encourages her. “We’ll take it to our grave, which is coming up soon.”

Détha clears her throat, and tries to straighten up, but really, she was already standing at high attention. “It’s a boy’s, club sir. It has been for over twenty years. I’m sorry if that offends.”

“It doesn’t,” Tinaya assures her. “You’re right, but that’s not the problem. I’m guessing that you would be happier if Pronastus won. Not as happy as if it were you, but better than the alternative?”

Détha hesitates again, but pushes through it. “He should be in first place. He’s clearly the best, I’m not sure why he’s not. He understands people. He knows what they need. He has literal superpowers. Waldemar, on the other hand, is...”

“Incompetent? Reckless?” Arqut tries to guess.

“Inhumane? Dispassionate?” Tinaya adds.

“Lost,” Détha contends. “Sirs. He gets confused about why he should care what others are going through.”

Arqut nods. “As Superintendent, when active, I don’t have the power to relieve a captain from duty, unless under extreme circumstances, and even then, I would need a lot of people backing me. I wouldn’t be able to just do it.”

“Sir? Is there a problem with Captain Jennings? Is he corrupt?” Détha asks.

“No, not him. It’s Kristiansen. He’ll be a problem.”

“Apologies, but it appears that you won’t be the Superintendent anymore, sir.”

“Exactly,” Arqut confirms.

Détha winces a little. She’s not quite connecting the dots, but she’s close. Or maybe she’s there, but she doesn’t want to assume.

“We need you,” Tinaya says. “We need you to take his place, so you can be in a position to help when the day comes that this ship requires an active Superintendent again. As he said, you can’t remove a captain, but maybe you could move enough other people around, and gather enough support.”

“You’re planning a future coup,” Détha argues. “You won’t even be around to suffer any consequences.”

Tinaya sighs. “There are things we know about the future. I’m breaking laws just by telling you that, and I won’t say anything more, except that you are a variable that we didn’t see. Perhaps...you can make things better. Based on your track record, I don’t think you can make it worse. You and Vice Captain Kegrigia are the only two people who might have a chance of keeping Extremus in one piece. One of you should be lieutenant, and the other the new Arqut.”

Détha considers the offer. “You don’t think I can win?” she asks. “You don’t think something can change within the next two years?”

“You deserve it,” Arqut says to her, “but no. Time is usually fluid, even for time travelers who have knowledge of future events, but sometimes, there’s nothing you can do. We believe that this is the best course of action to take right now. It might be the only one.”

Détha nods respectfully. “I accept the position. I will take on my new responsibilities with honor and grace.”

“Now, you understand that you won’t have power over the vice captains either, right? They’re just like the captain in this regard. If we were still doing things the old ways, you couldn’t veto a candidate. They’re insulated, by extension of the captain. So even though you’ll be starting by the end of the competition, you won’t be able to change the outcome.”

“I understand,” Détha replies. “With all due respect, I can promise you nothing when it comes to my future decisions. I will have to be my own Superintendent, and if I calculate that Waldemar Kristiansen is the absolute best thing to happen to Extremus, and its mission, then I will support him appropriately. If you’re looking for someone to carry a set of instructions that you write down before you die, you’re looking at the wrong girl.”

“We would never expect that,” Arqut says sincerely. “I would not be choosing you if I thought I could. That’s the point.”

Détha nods again. “Then once more, I accept.”

There are a few minor details to iron out, but there’s very little that she needs to know before she starts her job. They won’t announce the decision for another few days, and she won’t actually start anything until Arqut dies, or if he’s declared mentally unfit to continue. They are considering asking the doctor to do just that so she can go ahead and get started. It’s not like they would be lying. He gets tired all the time, and he’s on his actual deathbed. Technically, he’s mentally stable enough to make decisions, but in a practical sense, he should also be able to attend council meetings. Even sitting up in a chair has become difficult. They don’t get the chance to do any of this, however. A couple of days later, Détha is found dead in her stateroom.

It was clearly murder, but they have no evidence that Waldemar was involved. It doesn’t even kind of look like he might have done it. Only a few people understand his full motives. Since he was winning the competition for the captain’s seat, to outsiders, it doesn’t look like he would have much reason to feel threatened by her. If anything, he should have killed Pronastus to secure his own win, but that’s not what happened. Their best guess is that he found out that Détha spoke with Tinaya and Arqut, even though she doesn’t know them, and wouldn’t have been on the list of visitors unless it was something that wasn’t in Waldemar’s best interests. Murder is wrong, of course, but he’s not crazy to hold these fears. They are plotting against him, just probably not in the way that he thought. Or she confessed to him, either beforehand, which led to the murder, or during the violent act, as a desperate plea for her life. So they don’t know what he knows. It doesn’t matter for long, though, because Arqut and Tinaya die at the exact same time just a few weeks later anyway. They never found a new superintendent.

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