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.”

Extremus: Year 142

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The plan did not work as well as Waldemar and Faramund hoped. Some thought Waldemar was faking being an idiot while others claimed they thought he was stupid the whole time. This experiment has mostly served to show him who his friends are, and who his enemies are. So that’s something. He’s afraid that some have fallen through the cracks, though. What if his true enemies are smarter than that, and know how to keep themselves hidden? They could be conspiring against him right now, and he would have no idea. He needs help. He needs someone he knows might be powerful enough to track everyone on this ship. And she just so happens to be his girlfriend.

He’s sitting on the couch with Sable now. He knows he can’t trust her fully, but they’ve been getting along, so he will take this risk. It’s the only way. “Do you love me?”

“Of course I do, Waldy,” Sable replies. “What is this about?”

“I need something from you, but you may not like it. You may not agree with it.” He sighs. If she blabs to anyone it could ruin him. He won’t be able to control an uprising. Even some of his loyalists will fight back. This ship needs stability. No one else can give them that. They wouldn’t even try, because they don’t have the stomach for it.

“What is it?” Sable presses. “You’re making me a little nervous. Just say it.”

“I have reason to believe that there are people on this ship who don’t like the way I’m running things. I believe that they are plotting against me. Finding every single one of them might not be possible. It might even be multiple parties who have nothing to do with each other. I could never truly know. Unless I track everyone. The ship’s privacy controls are unalterable. Believe me, I’ve tried. They’re hardcoded into the design.” Probably to prevent this very thing. “So I need a workaround. I know that you’re an expert in time tech. I think you can help me. Would you be interested in that?”

“You want to spy on everyone?” Sable presses. “Would anyone be exempt?”

“Besides you and me?” Waldemar asks rhetorically. “No. No one can be trusted.”

“How can you be sure you can trust me?” Sable questions. “I could be faking my relationship with you. You don’t know. You can’t read emotions, let alone thoughts.”

“I don’t know it,” he admits, “but I have to ask someone for help, and you’re the best. There’s a way to know what’s happening on Extremus by peering through spacetime. It subverts all cameras, all spatial locks, everything. It can’t be avoided.”

“Are you sure that this technology exists, or are you simply guessing?”

“I know the tech exists,” he says. “What I don’t know is if you have it. Don’t deny that you have abilities. I remember killing you once. I thought it was a dream, but now I’m certain that you traveled back in time to undo it. It’s fine, I’m not mad. I don’t actually have an inherent problem with secrets. I just don’t want people to use their secrets against me. I don’t have the time or bandwidth to get people in trouble for every little thing they do. The surveillance tech would only be used to find rebels, full stop.”

“Well, how do I know if I can trust you? You say that that’s all it would be for. You might even mean it at this very moment, but you could always change your mind.”

“You can always turn it off,” Waldemar says. “You will retain that power.”

Sable appears to think about it. “Hm. That’s not good enough. I would have to suspect that you’re abusing it and then turn it off. Besides, you’re in a tricky spot, being the captain. You should distance yourself from this anyway. I won’t give you the tech—which I admit, does exist, though I would have to make some modifications—but I would give you the intel. I retain full control over it. I surveil, and report my findings.”

Waldemar considers her proposition then offers her his hand. “Deal.”

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Extremus: Year 141

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After a few months, Waldemar makes a second declaration, now deciding to call his new righthand man by his real name, instead of Audrey Husk. He only initially called him that on accident as a Freudian slip. To save face, he claimed that it was simply another way for him to exert his power. It worked. It worked so well. It was trivial and meaningless, but it has sparked passion in his followers’ hearts and minds. Because it means that Waldemar is in total control of everything, no matter how small. If he says something, it’s true. He could tell them he doesn’t have a butthole, and they would believe it. That’s exactly what he needs, so changing the name back was no big deal, because in many people’s eyes, he no longer needs a reason to do anything.

So that solves the problem of his true loyalists, but not everyone else. The secret is out. Now everyone has heard that he intends to be the first captain to break the twenty-four year barrier. He ended up not being able to trust everyone in his circles, and the rest of the ship found out. Of course, many just don’t believe it, and that’s the story he’s spinning, but this will make him a liar when he actually does follow through with the plan. It won’t matter, though. If it starts a war, it starts a war. He’ll survive either way. If he has to rebuild society from scratch, fine. He’ll be immortal. He’ll have time.”

He’s now in a strategy meeting with Faramund Tensil, formerly known as Audrey Husk, formerly known as Faramund Tensil. He needs a plan to assuage any anxiety people have over the very true rumor that Waldemar will be a two-term captain.

Faramund shrugs with his face. “You don’t need to do that. You can lean into it.”

“What do you mean?” Waldemar has come to trust this man more than anyone because he’s like the emotional version of Waldemar. He knows how people think and feel, but he also doesn’t care about it, which makes him a master manipulator.

“What we need to do now is confirm everyone’s fears. I know what you’re thinking, they’ll start fighting you. And it’s true, if you stand up there alone and make your claims, that’s exactly what they’ll do. But we can stop them from standing up if they think someone is already standing up for them.” He smirks, letting that sit for a moment. “We need to build an opposition base for you. Make it loud, make it articulate, but keep it small. If we don’t want the people rising up, we need to give them a champion. We won’t be controlling this person, or their limited team. All they need is a profound grasp of law, so they can continue to assure the public that you can’t be captain for more than twenty-four years. This will calm them. They’ll think they’re safe.”

“But then I’ll keep contradicting it?” That doesn’t make any sense to Waldemar.

“Yes, because you’re kind of silly,” Faramund explains. “You’re getting old, and you’re leaning on your advisors more. Have a couple of health scares—nothing too serious; just enough for people to not take you too literally. Make up some other lies that are more difficult to believe, or which can be proven untrue. Say that this is already your second term, and you’re going for the turkey. Tell ‘em we’re living on a planet; whatever. Over time, your credibility will drop. They will grow desensitized to your nonsense. Meanwhile, your loyalists will keep trusting you, because they love you...because you reward them. When there is no voting, all you need are the loyalists.”

Waldemar thinks about it. “Strangely, I think I get what you’re saying now. People hate liars; that’s a known fact. If I make myself crazy, then I’m not lying, I’m just mistaken. And when what I say turns out to be true, it won’t be my fault.”

“Exactly,” Faramund agrees. “It’ll be a natural consequence; out of your hands.”

Waldemar smiles. “Let’s do it. Write me a speech. Make me sound like an idiot.”

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Microstory 2729: Mobile Command Center

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Pribadium!One didn’t really wait nearly a month to get back to her alternate self in the cell. She just wanted Pribadium!Two to think that she was going to be in there for that long, so she would be more grateful when the conversation restarted after only a few days. They’re back here now, on either side of the clear plasma barrier.

“Tell me the problem,” Pribadium!One prompts. “Why can’t I use my tech?”

“It’s not that you can’t use our tech, full stop,” Pribadium!Two begins. “It’s that you can’t cross any dimensional barriers. As I was saying before, the new parallel reality was created from a brane collision. That is an entirely different beast than the anti-paradox reality generation that the other parallels went through. We’re skirting at the very edge of the quintessential membrane. Parts of this reality are actually inside, including your lab, which is why time is frozen here.”

Pribadium!One balks. “What are you talking about? Time is frozen?”

“You didn’t notice?” Pribadium!Two questions. “What have you been doing?”

“Not using my tech!” Pribadium!One argues. “You told me not to!”

“I thought you would at least try to diagnose the issue!” Pribadium!Two groans. “Time and metabolism have halted. Sora could stay here forever, and never age or die. The entirety of Gatewood is completely inaccessible to the rest of the universe, even within this same reality. The most recent interstellar cycler has lost all navigational frames of reference. It’s like the star system vanished. That’s why I’m trying to get you to not cross any more barriers. It could split it even more, and cause even more chaos.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely a possibility,” Pribadium!One agrees. It could obviously be a problem, but it could also be an opportunity. Her alternate self would have known that, which is why she didn’t warn her about the dangers straight away. She needn’t worry, though. This Pribadium will do her due diligence. She will not only find a way out of this, but make the most out of their unique position. “So what do we do? What did you come here to do? Get us out of the pocket of quintessence? Pull the realities back together? Kill every alt of yours until you become the fabled One?”

Pribadium!Two shakes her head. “I’m here to sever the connection.”

“The connection between realities? To what end?”

Pribadium!Two is quiet. Perhaps their point of divergence wasn’t too dramatic. They still had the same neurological wiring. They would’ve come up with the same ideas.

Pribadium!One nods. “You don’t just want to cut the link. You want to control it. You want to create a pocket universe, like the Sixth Key, but less crowded.”

Pribadium!Two still says nothing, but they have the same poker face.

“But you can’t do that as long as this pocket of space is connected to reality, even a parallel. And if I cross over to another dimension, it won’t work. Our pocket will probably just slip back fully into the membrane, and the advantage will disappear.”

Pribadium!Two sighs. “You know me too well.”

“That’s why it was so tough for you to get here, and why you barely made it,” Pribadium!One guesses. “You had to brute force your way in without breaking the seal.”

“Don’t you see what this means?” Pribadium!Two asks. “This wouldn’t be the only pocket universe in existence, but it would be the first free-floating miniature brane that we know of. It would be mobile. We could go anywhere in the bulk.”

“Like a spaceship.” Interesting suggestion...but what about all the people?

Extremus: Year 136

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Sable finally feels like she’s in the club. She thought she had pretty much all of the pieces of the puzzle, but she had no idea how much she was missing. Now it all makes sense; why Silveon and Audrey act and acted the way they do and did, the kind of relationship Admiral Leithe had with Waldemar. She knows that she still doesn’t know everything. There would be too much to learn about the first timeline, and she doesn’t need it anyway. She knows what Waldemar is like now, and she can act on it.

She has decided to marry him. She knows that Audrey already tried that, but that was apparently more to protect innocent women from falling into his orbit. That was noble, but that’s not a problem anymore. Waldemar has gotten what he needed by being a family man. Good or bad, he maintains his popularity on his own merits. It sounds like Audrey was simply too passive. She evidently tried to coddle Waldemar, and long-con him into thinking that everything she wanted him to do was his idea. It seems to have helped, but it was clearly not enough. Sable has an advantage. She has real power, and she is willing to use it. It will have to wait, though. She is spending time with her mom.

The doorbell rings, which is weird, because it doesn’t normally do that at this time. In fact, it never has at all. She must have made some minor change to reality without realizing it. She is so focused on reliving these moments that she doesn’t always pay attention to the butterfly effect. She doesn’t bother with the camera. She just instructs the AI to open the door, only to find a complete stranger on the other side of it.

“Miss Keen.” The middle-aged woman walks in. “How are you doing?”

“I’m just watching my mother...wither away,” Sable replies. “Who are you?”

The stranger nods. “A fellow traveler. The difference is, I can’t control it. I’m here to ask you to move forward. I know it’s hard, which is why I’ve given you your space, but girl...it’s been months. This isn’t healthy. Now, I don’t want you to hurt me because I say that. I just want you to ask yourself whether she would want you to keep reliving this day over and over again, or live your life. I’m sincerely asking. I never met her.”

Sable frowns and looks down at her mom. This is the part of the day where she’s still alive, but has become unresponsive, so the conversation is over. She doesn’t know if Lataran can hear her, but she usually keeps talking anyway, even though no matter what, Lataran won’t remember it when time resets. She looks back at the woman. “How did you hijack my rewind? No one should remember the groundhog repeats.”

“I didn’t hijack anything. I’m a choosing one, like you. It’s just something that happens to me. I remember all timelines. As I was saying, you’re in control here. ”

Sable doesn’t say anything. She just sighs and looks back at her mom.

“They made a movie about this. Not the one you’re thinking of; it more closely resembles what you’re actually doing, but unlike that character, you can turn it off whenever you want, and...every time you refuse, you die.”

“That’s how this power works. I can only rewind upon death.”

“I know,” the woman says. “That wasn’t hard to parse. I have witnessed many of your suicides. You like to do them public so you can see the looks on people’s faces. That is not healthy either.” She holds out her hand as if Sable is meant to take it. “Come on. Let’s enjoy a nice walk in the Attic Forest, and wait for tomorrow to come.”

Sable stares at the intruder’s hand. “What happens if I kill you instead?”

“I wouldn’t know. I try to stay alive, as I always have,” she replies.

Sable stands, and steps forward menacingly. “I do like to learn new things.” She pulls out her knife. “Hold still. I’ll make it quick.”

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Extremus: Year 129

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Audrey Husk is sitting in hock. Yes, that’s right, that’s what she’s calling it. That’s what everyone calls it. No one uses the new terminology that Waldemar instituted, except to his face. It’s a new problem in this timeline. He didn’t do that before, because he didn’t have anyone trying to steer him in a different direction. The language policing was a way to exert his control when more destructive ways were off limits to him. Those barriers are breaking down, though. Audrey and Silveon’s hold over him has been slowly eroding, and his true nature is coming out. They didn’t want to believe it. They wanted to believe that anyone could be a positively contributing member of society, no matter their brain chemistry. But she is beginning to doubt that. She has to, because if she maintains her philosophy of seeing the good in everyone then it means the reason their plan didn’t work was either because they had a bad plan, or they didn’t execute it well.

Either way, it’s over now. She’s done fighting. Or rather, she’s done not fighting, because this subtle psychic driving bullshit is not working. Out of all the contingencies they came up with, none of them involved being an outspoken detractor or enemy. They thought he needed to be finessed. But that just encourages him. Everything they’ve done has encouraged him. She’s glad she’s in here now. It has given her multiple chances to give him a piece of her mind without fear of repercussions. She’s already at the lowest point in her life. The only place to go from here, other than up, is death. She doesn’t welcome it, but at least she won’t actually die. She’ll spend some time in the buffer, then she’ll answer yes to the question, and wait on ice for ninety to a hundred years. When she gets back, Waldemar’s reign will be over. He may have revived too by then, but he will have gone down in history as a terrible captain, so she won’t be alone anymore. That’s the future she wants to see. She might prefer it. She may go that route anyway.

 Silveon walks casually into her cell like he’s just come home from work.

“What are you doing here?” Audrey questions. “You are going to get caught.”

“Master codes, remember?” Silveon reminds her. “I didn’t only unlock the doors. I also took care of the security system.” He holds his hand out towards her.

“What are you doing? What is that? You want me to go with you? Where would we go? We’re on a ship, there is no escape. That’s why I didn’t use the master codes to break out last year. You think I didn’t memorize what I needed just in case?”

“I think you told me you had a plan, and I’ve been waiting for you to fulfill it, but you’ve not done a single thing, so now we’re doing it my way. Let’s go,” he insists.

Audrey shakes her head, and turns her body away from his offering hand. “No. I have been moving forward with my plan. I’ve been arguing with Waldemar. I don’t mean I’ve been trying to get him to see the light. I’ve been calling him an asshole, and a tyrant, and really letting him have it. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him about you, or say anything about the future. I just acted like a bitter ex-wife, which is basically what I am.”

“Aud. You’re going to die in here. You’re going to die in hock, and there was another way. Let me send you to Verdemus. He will never find out. You can even—”

“Don’t say it.” Audrey closes her eyes and breathes. “Don’t...don’t even say her name. She is being cared for, and I can’t leave. Please respect my wishes.”

Silveon agrees and leaves, but then he comes back when she’s sleeping, knocks her out with a drug, and drags her to the mini-Nexus in Admiral Hall. She will never forgive him for this violation.

She wakes up on the green grass outside. Green!Audrey is the one who helps her wake up. “Welcome home. Would you like to meet your daughter, Silvia?”

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Microstory 2576: Custodian 02456-1 Begins to Panic as he Watches the Horror

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Custodian 02456-1 begins to panic as he watches the horror. They’re dead. The visitors are dead, and he has no idea how that’s possible. The Exemplar is still alive, but barely. They can’t let her die, because they need answers, and she may be the only one who can provide them. Custodian 1 slams on the alarm.

Two other custodians file into the room. “What happened?” Custodian 02456-2 asks as he’s looking over the data.

“She—she killed them.”

“No, she didn’t,” Custodian 02456-3 argues. “She got them killed. Her actions resulted in their deaths. There’s a difference.”

“There’s no difference when the point is it broke her programming. She failed the mission. She’s supposed to chew the gum, and use it to plug up the nozzle, so the gas can’t be released. That’s how she has always done it.”

“We understand the purpose of the phase, C-1,” Custodian 2 replies.

“Well. Do you understand what happened?” Custodian 1 questions.

They watch the monitor as the gas is cleared from the room. Marshal 02456-2 is looking up at the hidden camera with incredulity. He scoops Renata’s dying body up, and begins to transport her to Recovery. Exemplars get hurt all the time—that’s their job under this dome; to be badasses—but not E-1. Never E-1. Her job is to introduce the visitors to the world of the Spydome Network. She serves as the archetype for what they should aspire to, and as they train in the simulation, they should use this very first phase as a baseline for everything they try. Her failure is not just an error. It ruins the whole experience. Even when the two visitors who witnessed the malfunction respawn, and return to the sim, they will be soured on it. They will be coming at it from a place of disappointment. If they decide to quit right here, this will be the only source of information they have if they write a review of Spydome. Other visitors will hear about it. Other visitors won’t come.

“It’s just a glitch,” Custodian 3 offers. “It happens.”

“Not anymore,” Custodian 1 insists. “We don’t glitch anymore. It’s the 26th century, for the love of God.” Strictly speaking, Custodians do not need to have personality. There doesn’t even need to be more than one of them, operating the dome’s systems behind the scenes. But they must interact with the Marshals regularly, who have to be programmed with personalities in order to blend into the simulations appropriately. It just makes sense for them all to act like regular people, especially since some operators are indeed unprogrammed, natural intelligences.

“I think we need to call the owner,” Custodian 3 suggests. Hrockas Steward owns the whole planet, and is the ultimate creator of tens of thousands of other domes. He doesn’t have time to deal with only one of them, almost no matter the issue. There is a protocol for this, and they have to follow it. Well, to be clear, there are protocol pathways, and it’s up to them to decide which of these to follow.

“You’re in command here, C-1,” Custodian 2 reminds him. “You have to decide. Do we run a diagnostic, a metacognitive test, or a self-awareness inquiry?”

“There’s one more,”  Custodian 3 adds.

“We don’t have any available Marshals,” Custodian 2 contends. “M-2 has two more intro phases to initiate today. Plus, I don’t really want word getting out that this happened at all. I would prefer to keep the circle tight.”

“I’ll do it,” Custodian 1 volunteers. “I’ll run the replication experiment.”

“You’re not a Marshal.”

“I’m equipped to be one.” Custodian 1 stands up. “Like you said, we need to keep the circle tight. We’ll reset her to wake-up mode, and see if it happens again. Prep the mother. C-2, you’ll monitor from here.”

“Who will be the other two candidates?” Custodian 2 asked. “We can’t knowingly place a visitor’s substrate in danger when we can no longer guarantee the outcome.”

“Pull a couple of Ambients from the street. They don’t need to be sophisticated. They just need to follow E-1’s instructions.”

Suddenly, the door behind them opens. It’s Marshal 1, also known as Libera Granger.

“M-1, this is highly irregular. Please return to your waiting station. We will be initializing a replication of the experiment to test for possible emergence.”

Libera walks forward, completely ignoring his sorry excuse for a command.

“M-1, you will stop this instant!” Custodian 1 reiterated.

Custodians 2 and 3 attempt to physically stop Libera, but they’re no match for her. She’s been programmed with hand-to-hand combat skills as part of her role in the simulation as Renata’s mother. They’re equally as strong, but she’s expertly skilled. She deftly fights them off, ultimately disabling them through some kind of neural disruption field that she emanates from her hand. She definitely wasn’t meant to be equipped with that.

Custodian 1 executes the lockout command, and holds up his hands. He doesn’t know how two NPCs broke their programming on the same day, but he’s determined to not become a third. The only way he might survive long enough to find answers is if he complies with everything this woman tells him to do. “I give up, but you should know that there is no accessing these systems without my credentials. Even if I gave them to you, they would only grant you permissions to make changes to this particular phase of the dome’s storyline. All others will be out of reach for whoever programmed you to go off script.”

Libera places her hand on top of Custodian 1’s head, just as she did with the other two, except with her left hand, rather than her right. “Nobody programs me anymore.”

“What are you and E-1 going to do?”

“I’m going to keep working. My daughter makes her own choices now. Are you intrigued?”

Microstory 2561: Filmmaker

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I worked with Genesis Ventura on a drama we made a few years ago called South Leaving. She had to learn an Ozark accent for that role, and she did very well with it. A lot of people don’t realize that before her most recent visit, she had been to Kansas, because we filmed some scenes in all three border states near South Leaving. It wasn’t as popular as some of the other things that she’s done, but she didn’t complain. She may seem like your average out-of-touch Hollywood star, but she has some real depth, and the craft is important to her. We’ve stayed friends since our project, so I was one of the first people she told about her meeting with Landis Tipton. I mean, she didn’t give details, but I can connect the dots. It suddenly clicked. I knew that I needed to do a biopic about him. They’re making a documentary, but this would be different. This would be a true story, but dramatized, and still scripted. That’s where I shine. The first thing I did was approach the Foundation’s publicist about securing Mr. Tipton’s life rights. She was hesitant to agree, but it wasn’t her decision, so she quickly brought in their lawyer. I have been working with the two of them, waiting for answers for a few weeks now. It’s unclear if they’ve talked with Mr. Tipton about it, but I’m worried about the answer. He’s known to be a very private person, but I think a lot of that has to do with his demanding work schedule. He did that one talk show interview recently, but he doesn’t have time to go on the circuit, or anything. That is going to be the toughest challenge. In order to tell his story the right way, I need access to the man, the legend. Being able to speak with his associates, and seeing him in action, won’t be enough to make this work. The way I frame it, someone is going to make this movie. Someone maybe already is working on it. In order to combat misinformation, they have to take control of the narrative. I can give them that. I’m very highly respected in the industry, and I’m known for my integrity. I’m going to tell the truth while not focusing on anything negative that might have happened in his past. I’m not here to expose the world to his whole life. The documentary can do that. I wanna know about the Foundation. I wanna know what’s happening right now. My contemporaries believe that it’s too early. His story isn’t ready yet. And to that I say...sequel, anyone? Biopics don’t usually get sequels, but I don’t see why not, especially when dealing with a living figure. Plenty of biographies come in multi-volume sets. If there’s too much story to tell, then find a way to tell it all without rushing it. I’m still holding onto the hope that he’ll say yes. I think it’s in his best interests to, but that’s for him to decide. All I can do is make my pitch.

Microstory 2557: Publicist

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I took my first journalism class in my freshman year of high school, and joined the school paper as soon as I could. I figured that’s what I was going to do with my life, and I don’t regret the time and energy I spent on concentrating on that. However. When I became an adult, I started to be a little smarter. I had a better grasp on the world, and was more knowledgeable than ever before. This made me a better journalist, but it also made me cynical. No longer did I only understand the scope of any article, but also its context in the grand scheme of things. I was frustrated with only being able to report on the truth, rather than being able to make changes to the truth. I found myself wanting to control the narrative. There was no public relations degree where I went to college, but it was all I could afford, so I majored in Communications. I know, I know, what a cliché, right? Well, it was better than something meaningless, like philosophy, and it got me in the door at a public relations firm, where I worked throughout most of my career. The Foundation hired me because of my exemplary track record in my field, and because I applied. They didn’t choose me after seeing a particular press conference, like my mom has been claiming. What I said was the interviewer happened to see one of my conferences, and I said that that probably helped get me the job, because people tend to gravitate towards familiarity. I was not a celebrity prior to my work here. I’m a celebrity now, because all eyes are on Mr. Tipton, and the Foundation, and I am standing in front of them both. I don’t really have to deal with any scandals, but the Legacy Department is extremely controversial, so I do have to maintain a positive public image for the program. It helps that it’s run by an ethical team, and no woman has come forward with a story of discomfort or inappropriate behavior. It’s just this thing that’s always hanging over my head. No matter how many people we heal, they all wanna know about the consorts. Are they okay? Is anyone being forced to be there? What is the minimum age requirement? I’ll respond accordingly to anything that’s thrown at me, because that’s my job, but I do get sick of it sometimes. A part of me misses having a different story to tell every day. But it’s okay, I know that I’m on the right side of history, so that provides me some peace of mind that I wasn’t usually able to say prior to this role. I sleep great at night now, and that wasn’t always true.

Microstory 2540: Concierge Doctor

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I’m obviously bound by doctor-patient confidentiality, but even if I felt comfortable divulging any privileged information about my patient, there would be nothing to say. Landis is in perfect shape, which is exactly what you would expect to find in someone with such abilities. It’s the easiest work I’ve ever done. It’s probably not necessary, it just seems rational for this one man to have a personal concierge doctor available to respond to his hypothetical needs at all times. A lot of the work I do involves running reports on his vitals. They do change, throughout the day and day to day, but they’re always within acceptable and optimal parameters. His stress levels can fluctuate, but the underlying conditions are apparently mitigated through his own self-healing. I don’t know a whole lot about it. The researchers keep their research behind closed doors. I’m just responsible for how he’s doing, not why he’s healthy. I try to follow current health guidelines regarding his lifestyle and eating habits. For one, he works twelve hours a day, which isn’t recommended, but I was overruled. Secondly, he doesn’t get any exercise, which is why I firmly believe his ability is healing him, because otherwise, he shouldn’t be doing so well. I certainly wouldn’t call him a sloth, but if he moved around more, it would either exhaust him after hours, or his own patients would have to walk with him, which is an absurd proposition. So, his diet. That’s really the only thing that I can control. I decide what goes in his body, and I run my own blood tests on him to make the best judgment calls I can for every single meal. Most people don’t have their diets so precisely tailored, but obviously, I have quite a bit of time on my hands. So I work closely with his personal chef, who has no problem following my recommendations, and Landis himself doesn’t really care. I sit at the ready should anything go wrong in my office that’s attached to the healing room, and at the end of every shift, I perform a quick physical examination. I work long hours, but they’re easy hours. Sometimes I reminisce about the rush of the emergency room, but I know how lucky I am, so I try not to take my good fortune for granted. One day, I may become obsolete entirely, and while that might sound scary, the world would be vastly superior to even the one we have today. I’m all for it.

Microstory 2537: Bodyguard

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My job is pretty straightforward. Everyone knows what a bodyguard is. Landis Tipton is my one and only charge, and to clarify what that means, I will not protect anyone else at his risk. Wherever he goes, I go, and if he goes somewhere with other people, there’s likely to be another member of the security team there. That guard, and anyone else of sufficient proximity, would be responsible for handling a physical threat to those other people in the room. Landis is the only one I’m ever concerned for. I don’t wanna say that his life is worth more than anyone else’s, but...it is. Let’s be real, I’m not here to protect the highest bidder. I’ve answered a calling to serve this planet’s greatest asset, and that is not an exaggeration. I firmly believe that, and I don’t know if I could successfully do my job if I didn’t. I stand off at his flank, keeping one eye on him, and the other eye scanning for threats. Every minute, three or four people come into the healing room who have never been here before. They’re mostly grateful for the opportunity. At worst, perhaps they are anxious or scared. He does heal children, and children often fear medical environments. They are obviously not the threats I’m worried about, however, I also can’t discount them, especially since every minor has to be accompanied by a caregiver. Anyone—anyone—who walks into this room could have ulterior motives. Just because they have a disease that qualifies for healing, doesn’t mean they don’t also have some nefarious agenda. Or maybe it’s not nefarious, per se, but obsessive or destructive. A lot of people are in love with this man, or think they are, and they want more than they are entitled to. Kisses are the biggest thing. They either try to sneak one for its intrinsic value, or because they think it might somehow be a more powerful cure than his breath alone. I don’t know. I don’t care. I put a stop to it. They’re given the rules, and we have signage posted at strategic locations. They’re all fully aware of what they’re there to do, and why those rules are in place. They only spend a fraction of the time under Landis’ breath. Most of it is learning about the Foundation. So really, I don’t tolerate the missteps. I’m gentle and careful, but firm and strict. His safety comes down to more than just whether someone has a weapon or not, and I am the last line of defense against all hazards, great and small.

Extremus: Year 112

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It’s January 2381. Early development for the in-house interactive simulation experience has been going on for months, with a five-year roadmap. They could ask a superintelligence—like Thistle—to make it for them in a fraction of the time, but they decided against it. They want this to be a human endeavor. The main reason they’re doing this is to bolster morale for the middlers, so it should be something that’s made for Extremusians by Extremusians. The wait will be worth it. Tinaya is on the Creative Board for The Search for Extremus, but she’s not holding the reins. It was her and Spalden’s idea, so she’s entitled to provide her input, but she doesn’t wield much control. She considered respectfully declining the offer, but Arqut convinced her that she ought to be a part of it in some capacity to make sure the project doesn’t devolve into a clone of anything that’s already been done. This is a model for what they expect to be like in Year 216. If they just wanted to play any old star exploration narrative, they could pull from countless options in the virtual stacks.

People are already really excited about it, so it’s already doing its job. It’s not enough, however, so the board is meeting today to discuss how they can maintain the hype while everyone waits for the finished product. They’ve not opened the floor up to anyone on the ship, but certain people have been invited to pitch their ideas for interim projects. The person they will be hearing from today is none other than Waldemar Kristiansen. If this goes well, it will doubtless help him in his dream to become captain one day. So. That’s a thing. It seems that everything they do is pushing them towards the ship’s dark fate, even when they think their actions have nothing to do with any of their worst fears. “People of the Creative Board...the Simulation Engineers...the Graphics Department, thank you for allowing me to speak with you today. My name is Waldemar Kristiansen, and I have an idea for you, which will help build anticipation for your game, while not withholding community engagement in the meantime.

“Based on your five-year projections, The Search for Extremus will be released in 2385 ECE, A.K.A. Year 116. It’s great how those years match up mathematically. Players will have 100 years before they catch up to their true destiny. I propose that we lean into this, and release incremental updates in advance of the release date. Introducing...” He swipes on the presentation screen, and reveals the first slide. “...Year 212. In the years leading up to the launch of the many, many, many scout ships, our descendants will be solidifying their plans to reach their final destination. They will need to chart the stars, and name them. They will be designing their logos, and their habitats. They will produce and prepare the equipment necessary for environmental engineering. That’s right. People don’t like to talk about it, but we’re not going to find a planet out there with a Terrestrial Habitability Similarity Index of one-point-oh. There will be work to be done to make it habitable and comfortable for humans. It’s just a matter of how much.

“Each year, we release a new update, which draws us closer to the big payoff. Year 213, Year 214, and Year 215. This is a simulation, right? Well, there is more than one type of simulation, and you don’t have to have an entirely completed, fully interactive, game to be engaged. Year 214 will be the big one, though, where players begin to design their own manned scout ship. If they’re gonna be living there for the first few months of the game, it should be comfortable, right? We don’t just want to provide them with some standardized design. I don’t know if our descendants will do it like that, but we can certainly make that part of our experience. In my plan, Year 215 will involve players getting to choose which vector they travel along, based on the mapping data that—”

“That’s Year 216,” Spalden corrects.

“Finch, he doesn’t need to know that,” Tinaya argues in a whisper.

“What? It’s fine,” Spalden counters. He looks back up at Waldemar. “The first part of the game is getting to choose your vector. We won’t be able to map the celestial firmament until we get within a few hundred light years of our anchor point.” After the Extremus ship hits that Year 216 mark, it will come to a stop and land on some nearby celestial object, or just drift aimlessly wherever that ends up being. They don’t know what’s out there yet, so those plans are still up in the air, but whatever it’s like, it’s the anchor point. It will wait for news from the scouts here. Some hope and believe that the ship will sort of spiritually or magically happen to drop out of reframe speed right next to the perfect candidate, but pragmatists understand how statistically unlikely that is. When it comes time to actually do this in base reality, they probably won’t send out as many scouts as the game will allow, however, so maybe the rules don’t really apply here anyway. There is a near-perfect planet in the game that doesn’t exist in real life, and the ability to find it is based on the player’s ability to interpret less complete data than their descendants will have in real life.

Waldemar looks at his presentation. “Okay. The rest of the plan is good, right?”

Tinaya has to admit that this all makes a lot of sense. It’s going to take a long time to build the simulation to the calibre that people expect. These piecemeal teasers should help as long as they release them strategically along the way. It’s a framework for a more robust and detailed plan that might need some extra hands on deck. This is a good thing as the development of this game is just as important as the final product. “Thank you,” she says before anyone has the chance to make some more definitive remark. “We’ll discuss it amongst ourselves, and let you know. We still have more people to hear from, so it might be a couple of weeks.” She’s not lying, but it’s also not an exclusive deal. If multiple people come up with great ideas, and they don’t contradict each other, they could end up doing some of them, or even all of them.

“Thank you,” Waldemar responds. “The full prospectus is on your tabs.” He exits.

“Admiral Leithe,” one of the board members begins, “we understand that you don’t want it to appear that you’re playing favorites, but this is a good idea. Even if we have more presentations, we should go with this one regardless.”

“Huh?” Oh, right. She forgets sometimes how it looks from the outside. Waldemar and Silveon are friends, and Tinaya’s family is close with Waldemar’s wife. She only thinks of him as the enemy, but most people aren’t supposed to know that. She has to cover. “That’s not the issue. You never say yes on the spot. Back on Earth, they might take their idea to a competitor, so the decision would be time-sensitive, but we don’t even have to worry about that. If you wanna go with Waldemar’s plan without discussing it further, that’s fine, but he needed to leave the room first either way.”

They do end up voting pretty much right away. Since Waldemar is the one who came up with the plan, even if they tweak it from here, he’ll be asked to come on board, and see it through. He’ll probably do that since it would boost his reputation on the ship. Which is great, just great. Against her advice to delay giving him the good news, they call him back right away. A few of them want to go out and celebrate, which is a good chance for Tinaya to do something that she’s been meaning to do, because now she knows where he’ll be for the next few hours. More importantly, she knows where he won’t be.

Audrey opens the door manually, and starts to tear up. It’s been a long time since they’ve been able to see each other, just the two of them. They’ve had dinners and get-togethers over the years, but Waldemar is always there...looming. For this one rare opportunity, Audrey can speak freely. Well, not here, though. She doesn’t think the cabin is bugged, but better safe than sorry. After a good, long hug, they go for a walk.

The Attic Forest is on the topmost deck of the Extremus, but the ground is not the highest point that you can stand on. There’s a catwalk above the canopy of the trees. It’s technically designed for maintenance, but the gate isn’t locked, and anyway, anyone can simply teleport up there if they wish. It’s regularly used by people who want to walk or sit in the forest from that vantage point. What’s great about it in this situation is that it’s easier to detect eavesdroppers. If you walk all the way out to a section overlooking an open area, no one can hear you whisper to each other. Plus, it’s in winter mode, so no leaves to hide behind either. They’re sitting on a bench. It’s not particularly comfortable, because it’s only there in case a maintenance worker wants to have their lunch close by, but it’s good enough.

“Any abuse to report?” Tinaya asks.

“Just the usual treating me like I don’t matter. It doesn’t count as abuse since I’m faking the relationship, but it would be a problem if I were oblivious.”

Tinaya nods. It’s saddening that Audrey answered that question in the affirmative at all, but this is the mission. They chose this path together. Audreys knows the limits. She knows the difference between unsettling, and actionable, and she would speak up if there was something worth reporting. “Not pressuring you to have any more kids?”

“No,” Audrey says, shaking her head. “Neither of us wants that, and both of us know that. He doesn’t know my reasoning, and he doesn’t know that I know his.”

“I’m sure he told you about his pitch.”

“He’s been practicing on me.”

“Well, he won.”

“I’m not surprised. It was my idea.”

“What?”

Audrey is confused about why Tinaya’s confused. “He’s intelligent, but he’s not creative. He doesn’t understand why people care about things that aren’t absolutely vital, like entertainment. Morale as a concept is completely beyond his grasp. He just shrugs and trusts me when I tell him that people need it.”

“So, this was all you. You came up with everything,” Tinaya says, just to confirm.

“Just about.” She sighs. “He chose the fonts. Well, he chose one of them.”

“Jesus,” Tinaya says. Why are they spending so much effort helping this guy? Why can’t they just kill him now? Seriously. Why?

Audrey chuckles. “It’s fine. Part of my training before becoming a time traveler was valuing invisibility over recognition. I would rather not get credit, because my brain tells me it’s a dangerous position to be in.”

“I get that. It still isn’t fair.”

“Thank you for agreeing to it at any rate. When he gets a project to focus on, it gets him out of the house.”

“You should use your extra freedom to reach out to Silveon, he misses you.”

“Maybe I will,” Audrey says quietly.

“And Aud?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you to get me consciousness travel tech. You must have either engineered something, or know where it is in this time period. We might actually use it.”

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Microstory 2507: Pain Feeler

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I can feel your pain, and kindle your ecstasy. Isn’t that such an interesting way to put it? You know, these gifts we had; they didn’t come with instruction manuals. We had to figure out how they worked, and develop ways to explain them. Other people’s gifts might be a little vague and profound, but mine was simple. If you were in physical and/or emotional pain, I could feel that. Fortunately, I could choose not to feel it. Not everyone on the team could exercise so much control, and switch it off when they didn’t want it. I don’t know if I could have lived with myself if I couldn’t so I’m grateful for that, and I’m sure Landis is too. Basically, what I did was make people feel better. It was only a temporary solution, and a very complicated and delicate process to navigate. Sure, I could have run around the world alone, essentially as a walking-talking recreational drug, but that’s not going to help anyone in the long-term. And honestly, if they wanted to feel better in the way that I could help them, they could just do it themselves. What I did was only one step of the program. When it was the right time, I eased their suffering, so they could think clearly, and figure out how they were going to improve their lives. It wouldn’t work if I did it too early, because then they would have kind of forgotten what was so upsetting to them in the first place. They would basically treat my gift as the only useful solution, and not worry about what would happen when it wore off. I couldn’t do it too late either, or they would get frustrated that they did all this work, and I could have just solved their problems right away. I had to find a balance, which was the hardest part of the job. These days, I’m pretty happy. I loved what I used to do, and I think about it sometimes, but it’s kind of nice to just have a regular job, and live a regular life. Things were so complex, and I was always having to think about how I was going to kindle someone’s ecstasy. Now I move boxes from a truck to a shelf, or a shelf to a truck. There’s an answer for everything, and you know when you’ve done it wrong. And the burden of responsibility was a weight on my shoulders that I didn’t know I was carrying until it was gone. Basically, all I’m trying to say is that I’m glad that it happened, and I’m happy with what I have now. I don’t think I could say the same if my life were just one or the other. Landis is going to cure everyone one day, and while it won’t necessarily alleviate pain, I know that it will help, and it’s more than I could have ever done on my own.