Castlebourne Capital Community: First Rule of Warfare (Part VI)

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Two aspects of the scalar representative council government that carried over from the advisory-administrative model were the main leaders of all the councils combined. If your community were to join the federation, these two would be at the tippy top. The Moderator and Facilitator weren’t policy-makers per se, but they did make sure that everyone was on the same page about the policies. Having democracy didn’t mean that everyone was on the same level. It was prudent to have people who managed and directed the conversations. They were never meant to be unilateral nor tyrannical, though, hence the titles.

Facilitator Abascal walked into Dreychan and Yunil’s shared office after they unlocked the door from Dreychan’s desk. Yunil was sitting on his lap. They weren’t doing anything untoward, but they should probably be more professional. They were just tired, and ready to be done working. That was the point anyway. She climbed off of him and stood at his side. He stayed seated. “Amazine, how the hell are ya?” he asked.

Amazine reportedly lived on Castlebourne for years before anyone pointed out that the name she chose for herself simply sounded like the word amazing. She felt so embarrassed, but she didn’t want to change it, because it felt right to her. Like so many others, she had spent most of her life as nothing but a number. In the end, it was a decent name. It sounded nice on its own, and it made her unique, which was an unheard of characteristic in the Goldilocks Corridor. “We need to talk about Vip.” Vip was Amazine’s direct superior. Now, Vip...Vip chose his name quite deliberately. It was a mononym, and it stood for very important person. He would deny this if you were to ask him about it, but he came here with a complex, just like Maaseiah, though maybe to a lesser degree. Then again, Maaseiah was still in prison, and Vip was the Moderator of the Castlebourne government, so who had the highest aspirations here? He wasn’t evil, as far as they knew, but Azad called him a populist candidate, which Dreychan still didn’t understand, but he was told it wasn’t a compliment.

“Are you suggesting that I remove Vip from his position, and replace him with someone else?” Dreychan asked, absolutely knowing that this was not at all what she would suggest to him.

“Wull...no, of course not. We’re not there yet, but—” Amazine began.

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Dreychan said, holding his hand up. “My job as Superintendent is not to settle your internal disagreements. My job ought to be done.”

“Our job,” Yunil corrected.

“Right,” Dreychan agreed. “Our job was to start the government. It’s supposed to be able to run itself. My position is a failsafe against tyranny, but if all goes according to plan, I should be able to sit on a beach in Polar Tropica, and not worry about anything anymore. That’s how our Earthan ancestors designed the system, and it is a characteristic that we have chosen to maintain.”

“I understand that, I just...”

“You mostly wanna vent,” Yunil guessed.

“Yes,” Amazine admitted. “You may not technically be above me in the org chart, but you’re certainly not below me. Everyone else is. I don’t have anyone to talk to about his bullshit, or I’ll appear weak and unfit for office. I just thought..maybe you would have some ideas. I know it’s not your obligation, but maybe you could save beach day for tomorrow?” A look of horror spread across her face. “Oh my God, that was so rude. I am terribly sorry, I was out of line.”

“It’s all right,” Dreychan said to her calmly. “I’m not offended. And you’re right, there’s no need for us to be lazy. Maybe we should be available to people who need our guidance. The problem is...”

“That’s not really where his strength lies,” Yunil explained. “I, on the other hand, give great advice.” She glided around the desk, reaching out towards Amazine. Once they made contact, she wrapped her arm around her shoulders, and started leading her back towards the door. “Let’s go off somewhere to talk. Have you ever heard of Christmas?”

“No,” Amazine replied.

“Oh, it’s this delightful little Earthan tradition. We can have a cup of hot cocoa in Holidome. Have you ever heard of hot cocoa?” Yunil asked her.

“No,” Amazine repeated.

“You are going to love it.”

Dreychan stayed in his office, glad that Yunil stepped up for this one. His sense of relief didn’t last long before Moderator Vip showed up.

Vip was just as annoyed at Amazine as she was at him. “She is undermining me at every turn. She’s talking to Dominus Petit behind my back, ya know. I was this close to convincing him that I need to be in charge of the military, but she screwed it up, saying all this nonsense about peace, and the..middle way. I don’t know what the hell she’s talking about.”

“Why would you be in charge of the military?” Dreychan questioned.

Vip flinched like it was obvious. “I’ve been studying Earth history. The most powerful country was called The United States, and their leader was the Commander in Chief. He ran the civilian government and the military at the same time. It just makes sense.”

“That was a democratic republic,” Dreychan argued. “That’s a completely different model. You’re here to moderate, that’s why you’re called that. And besides, the military isn’t an ex-Exin contingency. It’s managed by the Executive Administrative Authority. They’re not going to give you anything. I’ve known Azad for almost a year now. He and his superior officer aren’t going to give it up, to you, or anyone.”

Vip shook his head. “The Governor. That guy’s even softer than Petit. I’ll tell you what, you should superintendent his ass out of here.”

“That’s not my purview,” Dreychan said. It wasn’t the first time he had to explain what his job was to this guy. Dreychan would not have picked him for this role, but there were two sides to Vip. He was charismatic and well-spoken to the public. In private, he was temperamental, contrary, and sometimes downright dumb. Dreychan and Yunil could have designed the government so that they could move members around with impunity, but that wouldn’t have been very democratic. They bowed to what the people wanted, and the people wanted Vip. That was why it was so important that they maintain the council federation structure, so he wouldn’t have any actual power. In that way, they were a lot alike.

“Whatever,” Vip mumbled.

Dreychan sighed. “Vip, why do you want control over the military? What would you do with that?”

“I would protect our home from the Exin threat.”

“Defensively or offensively?” Dreychan pushed.

“The first one, obviously. Wait, which is the one where we go out and murder as many of our enemies as possible?” He feigned an evil grin. He did have some sense of humor, albeit a rather dark one, so at least that was one redeeming quality. “I don’t know what I did to make you all think that I’m some power-hungry moron bent on destruction. But you have largely stayed out of the military’s dealings. I’ve been paying attention, and I see the issues. Drey, they’re not doing anything. They’re barely training, they’re relying far too much on their robots. Have you seen them? Each soldier has this whole compliment of bots that follow them around. They have this animal-like one at their side that carries all of their gear. I think Azad said it looked like a dorg, or a duck, or something, I dunno. Then they have their hawk, which flies above to look out for future obstacles. And then there’s this flutterby thing that—I don’t know what it does, but it’s small enough to fit in my hand, so it can’t possibly help.”

“What the hell is your point?” Dreychan asked.

Vip sighed. “They need someone to lead them...inspire them. Governor Whinawray is not up to the task. The way I hear it, he just sort of fell into the role because he happened to be on the planet when the Charter Contingency was born. I strongly believe that we need to grow our numbers, and what, are they gonna promote him to Ligament or higher? I don’t think he can handle it. I don’t think he wants it.”

Dreychan slammed the side of both fists on the table.

“Oh, no, I’ve said something else that you don’t like,” Vip quipped.

Dreychan tapped on his desktop device, and pulled up what he needed. He spun his monitor around to show Vip the resignation form.

“I don’t wanna quit.”

“Well, you don’t wanna be here, doing this. A Moderator needs to be non-violent by nature. He shouldn’t be looking to grow an army, or train its officers. He shouldn’t be disparaging his colleagues’ names, or complaining that soldiers are safer and better equipped than they have ever been because of their bot pack. And the flutterby, by the way, is for stealth recon. It’s that lack of attention to detail that tells me that you really shouldn’t be responsible for our military, and you probably shouldn’t be the Moderator either. So go ahead, go on, resign. I’ll find someone who wants to do it. The planet will be fine without you. And hey, if you’re really serious about aidsmanship, there’s nothing stopping you from signing up. But you won’t be starting at the top, like you think. Whinawray didn’t start where he is today, and neither did Petit. They’ve been at this for literal centuries. So you’ll train first. Maybe spend a year in Mêléedome. Or two. Or a few decades. I don’t care where you go, or if you quit at all. Just for now, get the hell out of my office. I need to focus on garnering support for the next vote on the stellar engine.”

Vip was trying to hold it together. “Ya know, I voted against that.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t campaign for the opposition—I was a good soldier—but I voted with my heart. I think we should stay here and fight.”

“And if it were just us here, I might agree with you,” Dreychan admitted, “but the visitors outnumber us almost 230:1 at last count. A million new visitors are arriving every week. Unfortunately for them, they are not capable of voting, so it is up to us to ensure their safety. We do that by running and hiding, not by subjecting innocent people to our problems.”

“Why didn’t you say all of this before?” Vip questioned.

“Because we underestimated the opposition. We won’t make that mistake again.”

Vip’s face changed, but it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. He seemed to be absorbing the information, and processing it in some way. “Let me help.”

“You voted against it.”

“You’ve changed my mind.”

“Just like that?”

“You’re very persuasive,” Vip explains. “You should have been more involved in the discussions. You underestimate yourself, but people listen to you. They want to hear your opinion.” He looked around at the office. “Don’t just hide out here. You decide what your job entails. Tell me how I can help.”

Dreychan sighed and glanced over at his inbox. Still no messages. Well, he had a ton of messages, but not the one he was looking for. “The primary voice of dissent. I messaged him yesterday, and he still hasn’t responded. He seems to like you, so maybe you can talk to him.”

“Well, where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Check the tracking system.”

Dreychan didn’t budge.

“We all know you have access to that. The prison is allowed visitors. People talk, especially members of the Old Council of Old Worlds. Just look him up, and point me to him. I make no guarantees, but I will give it my best.”

Dreychan sighed again and checked the tracker. Once he saw where the guy was, he leaned back in his chair and tapped on his lips.

“What is it?” Vip asked. “If you feel uncomfortable with telling me, that’s fine, or if you feel guilty about using this tool in the first place, that’s okay too. I’ll just send him my own message, and see if he responds to me instead.”

“It’s not that, it’s...he’s in XDome.” XDome is probably the most controversial one of all. Azad hinted that Hrockas agonized over whether to include it way back in the day. In the end, he approved the idea when the AI he placed in charge of coming up with most of the dome concepts produced its master list. The truth was that sex was a part of life, and a necessary one, though technically no longer a required activity in a galaxy of gene splicing and artificial gestation. Still, it was a primary human motivation, hard-coded into most organic people’s DNA. Even the most enhanced of transhumans typically kept that trait, because life without pleasure was just survival. Ignoring it as a fundamental component of happiness wasn’t going to make it go away. People were going to have sex, and those who couldn’t find anyone to do it with them—or who couldn’t find their ideal partner—were going to do it with synthetics. At least, by creating a central hub for all sexual fantasies, it kept it fairly isolated and contained. It was easier to keep it out of reach of children and asexual individuals when there was one best place to get it above all, and access to that place was easily controlled.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised. You’ll notice he hasn’t joined the military either. He doesn’t want to fight, he just wants someone else to do it for him. Do you know where he’s from?”

“Slain?” Dreychan asked rhetorically. “I don’t actually.”

“You didn’t know him?”

“Huh?”

“On Ex-777?”

Oh. Dreychan’s face went numb. “Oh. That explains it.”

“That explains it,” Vip echoed

Dreychan didn’t keep up with the refugee manifests. It would be too many people to keep track of anyway, but as far as he knew, he was still the only former 777er. So if Slain was also from there, he must have come to Castlebourne really, really recently. Why were people listening to him? Why were people following his lead when only a year ago, Dreychan was quite nearly murdered for being from the same Old World?

“I bet I know what you’re thinking,” Vip began. “My hypothesis is that it’s your fault. People hated you because you were from a luxury world, but you proved them wrong. You proved your worth. I think they’re overcompensating in their heads, and deciding that maybe ex-Ex-777ers are the best amongst us. That is why you need to make your voice heard, and not just play in the background. People need to know that it’s not because of where you’re from, but despite it. They need to hear a voice of reason.”

Dreychan leaned back again, and tried to rethink the strategy. Maybe they were going about this all wrong. The reason the so-called opposition won out was because, as Vip was just saying, the voice of reason wasn’t strong enough. He had thought it made sense to try to convince Slain to change his mind, and do the right thing, but Ex-777ers were not known for their open-mindedness. And honestly, Dreychan didn’t want the rest of the refugees to start seeing 777 as some kind of hot bed for the intellectually enlightened. It was full of entitled assholes who didn’t understand the danger of war and struggle because they had never faced it before. They were living in a post-scarcity civilization before anyone on Earth had even dreamed it up. “Scratch that. I don’t need to talk to him. We need to talk against him. You’re smarter than I give you credit for.”

“I am?” Vip asked. “I mean, I am.”

Dreychan laughed. “The first rule of warfare: the bigger the gun, the more compelling your argument is.”

“Okay...” Vip didn’t know what he meant by that.

Dreychan stood up. “So let’s go recruit some bigger guns.”

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Castlebourne Capital Community: Castlebank (Part V)

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For the next few weeks, Castlebourne was essentially being run as a police state. It wasn’t as bad as it was depicted in movies. The Expatriate Protection Bureau had no intention of holding onto power. They didn’t even want it in the first place, because it stretched their resources thin. They had a mandate, and they wanted to return to it exclusively. But restarting the real government was taking time. Dreychan held at least one press conference every day to remind the public of this, and to inform them of their progress. He was walking a fine line, exuding the confidence that everyone expected to see, but being clear that he never wanted any of this, and didn’t have the experience for it. This was such a tricky little dance, because while it was true that he didn’t know what the hell he was doing, he didn’t want to create any unrest or rebellion. Everyone just needed to be real patient while they figured this out. He also needed to remember to forgive himself for his deficits.

One thing he was unambiguous about was what his job entailed. As Superintendent and Deputy Superintendent respectively, Dreychan and Yunil were not in charge of the public. They were only responsible for finding and securing the leaders who would be. They needed some help with this as none of the ex-Exins had ever lived in any sort of democratic society until recently, and even then, because of the way the council was structured, it wasn’t all that democratic either. There were better ways, and people living here who straddled both worlds could help them come up with them. Some of the highest ranking members of Hrockas’ Executive Administrative Authority had once lived on Earth; some of them centuries ago. Yunil and her little faction of academics had studied Earthan sociopolitics, but these others had experienced it first hand. They understood the nuances, and historical shiftings, which the central archives could only describe in an objective sense. They provided insights that the two of them were using to decide what to do here and now.

In its current state, Earth and its nearest neighbors were what they called a scalar representative council democracy. It was infinitely scalable, and could go all the way down to a household of two people. A given independent population would elect or select a representative. There were different ways of going about this, but it had to be agreed upon. Anyone who felt it was unfair could appeal to a higher class, and ask for help. With each higher class of population range, one representative would act on their behalf, with other leadership chosen to aid in the administration of policy. The representatives in a given class also sat on a committee together. These committees only met when they had to; when they needed something from other communities, or couldn’t enact changes on their own. But being self-sufficient and independent was the goal most of the time. There was no need to get the whole planet involved when a single settlement could handle their own business. It was a complicated array of committees and subcommittees, banding together in temporary federations when required, and disbanding when the work was over.

This was all well and good, but it only existed in the stellar neighborhood, and the farther from the Core Worlds you went, the looser the structures became. A colony forty-two light years from Earth did not typically ask for aid from Earth because that aid would usually be at least forty-two years away. However, it was certainly possible, especially in terms of Teaguardians, which were always posted nearby. Castlebourne was a single planet, with no meaningful light lag, and a relatively small planetary population. The visitors did not count. They followed guest law. Only the refugees needed representation. So perhaps the scalable representation model would not really serve them here. Perhaps they needed to reach further back in history, to the advisory-administrative model. That was what Dreychan thought they had agreed upon.

Yunil had a different idea that she was only now suggesting. “Wait, why are we only including the refugees? Why not the visitors?” she posed.

“That’s how it was before,” Dreychan answered. “The Council of Old Worlds held no sway over the visitors.”

“That sounds arbitrary to me. This is the capital of Castlebourne, so let’s have the new government lead the whole planet...of Castlebourne.”

“Well, visitors aren’t citizens,” he reasoned. “As soon as we stepped foot on this rock, we became citizens of it. It was by default, because we had no other real home. Visitors belong to wherever they hail from. They could stay a hundred years, and they still wouldn’t be true citizens.”

“Why shouldn’t they be? Why shouldn’t we allow them to become citizens?”

It was clear to Dreychan that she was not asking him these questions because she didn’t know the answers, but because she was preparing to explain how those answers were inadequate, and the plan ought to be changed. He didn’t want to make it easy on her. “Well...that’s not how Hrockas has it set up. This is a tourist destination. He didn’t design it for us; he just accepted us when we needed somewhere to go. We can’t change that without his authorization.”

She wasn’t satisfied yet. “What are we getting as citizens,” Yunil pressed with airquotes,” that visitors aren’t?”

“Um, erm...” he teased.

She didn’t think that he would ever get there this time, so she skipped to her thesis. “I looked it up. It’s energy credits. We get a daily stipend of credits, which when saved up enough, could theoretically allow us to go to other planets. Except, it’s hardly anything. You would have to save up for a thousand years to even travel to the next star system over. It’s not like that in the stellar neighborhood. Their credits let them go places. They often have to get a job to earn extra, but the two of us have jobs, and neither of us has saved up enough. Not nearly enough.”

“What are you proposing, that we make them all citizens, and increase this energy budget?”

“There are tens of thousands of domes here, which require an immense amount of power to run. They obviously have the energy. Let’s incentivize people to become full citizens, and participate in society. Right now, there’s no reason for an Earthan to move here permanently. They still earn their stellar neighborhood stipend. It’s not much, but it’s free money, and it gives them the option to cast back to that region of the galaxy, and travel somewhere else. Let’s start our own bank and give people a reason to exchange their currency. We could call it Castlebank.”

“Wow. Did you come up with that just now off the top of your head?” he joked.

“Shut up,” she said with a scoff.

Dreychan sighed. This was her M.O. She had her ideas, and she wanted them heard, but she didn’t want to pitch them unprompted. She wanted the conversation to end up in a place that made those ideas inevitable and unavoidable. He was on to her little games, and rarely let her get there like that anymore. He knew that she was always trying to steer him, and this time, he knew where. Good thing she was so cute. “Enough tricks. Let’s see your proposal. You always write one up, don’t deny it. If it makes sense, we can submit it to Hrockas to see what he thinks. As of yet, we don’t have the power to implement some sort of Civil Access Support Trust, or whatever we might call it.”

Her eyes widened. “How did you...” She thought about it for another half second. “Oh, you already read my proposal.”

“I did,” he admitted. “We both have full access to each other’s stuff. I also looked a little back at your revision history. You came up with a lot of names for it, but you clearly wanted the acronym to be C.A.S.T.”

“Well, it makes sense. This planet is called Castlebourne because the first structure under the first dome was a castle, but also, the most common way people travel here, by far—even accounting for the refugees who came via the Vellani Ambassador—is quantum casting. I’m not sure who came up with the name, or whether they realized the double-meaning, but it’s there. Let’s use it.”

“You don’t have to sell me on it. I think it’s a fine idea. I just don’t think Hrockas will go for it. He’s sort of a king. He may actually prefer that most people remain visitors, because that way, he can institute whatever rules he likes, and if the visitors don’t like it, they can leave. If they become citizens, the expectation will be that they will stay unless something changes. In order to prevent these changes, or rather changes that they don’t care for, they will demand representation. He’ll no longer be a unilateral voice. He may even lose his power altogether if all the new citizens ultimately vote him out. I’m not calling him a tyrant, but he’s clearly a control freak.”

“Well...” Yunil began, only trailing off for a matter of seconds. “Well, let’s polish this up, and devise some counterarguments. He probably won’t come out and say it’s because he’s a king, though, so we’ll have to be on the lookout for the subtext.”

“Oh, you think this is about his power?” Hrockas was too busy, so the next day, they requested to pitch their new idea to one of his staffers. Angelita ‘Lita’ Prieto was the Director of Transition for the Department for Cultural Transition Assistance. She was the one who greeted all the refugees, and helped them get acclimated to their new situation. She explained how Castlebourne worked, but also how the free galaxy as a whole functioned. She and her team were the ones who taught them to no longer fear the Oaksent’s rule, and that they would be safe here. Most people loved her because of her lessons, and because so far, she had not been proven wrong.

They had it all worked out; how the government was going to operate, and who would fall under its purview. Visitors would have the opportunity to become citizens, converting their current energy credits to a Castlebourne equivalent at a ratio of 1:1.1. This 10% bonus was necessary, because at the moment, the only happening place to be this far out in this direction was Castlebourne. It would be a long time before the circumstances changed. Once a citizen, they had voting rights and representational power, meaning they would have to declare a home. They never had to spend any particular amount of time in this home, but it helped determine who represented them. And it couldn’t be any random dome. If you were a little odd, you could lie down and sleep every night in The Wasteland, but it was not officially categorized as Residential, so it didn’t count. They had some ideas about how to manage votes from people who were spending extended periods of time in character, like in the Spydome or Nordome networks, but this was the gist of it.

“Sorry,” Dreychan said. “I didn’t mean to imply that he didn’t have the best interests of your people at heart—”

“This is about the sun,” Lita said...weirdly.

“What about it?” Yunil asked.

“Well,” Lita began, “it needs to be moved, remember? We’ve not been able to do that, because your government fell apart. We can only ethically return to the possibility after you set up the new one, but if that new one gives voting privileges to everyone on the planet, it’s going to take even longer, or fall through entirely. What if the former visitors overwhelmingly don’t want to move? They don’t understand the stakes. Do you know how many warships we built that we literally never used because we stopped going to war? This is before the Teaguardians, which are primarily defensive, and while they are indeed manned, they hardly do anything either. The visitors don’t know about the Exin Empire. They don’t know why you fled. They don’t know how powerful The Oaksent is, or that magical time powers exist. They don’t know anything. We’ve had to lie to them since they got here, and that would have to stop. Are you prepared for the fallout?”

“That’s a good point,” Dreychan admitted. “I don’t want to exclude the visitors, and I think it would be great if they became citizens, but they’re too ignorant. That’s not on them, it’s on us, and even as Superintendent, I certainly don’t feel like it’s my right to give them the whole truth.”

“What if we just delayed it?” Yunil asked. “Not the stellar engine, but CAST.”

“You need some form of government now,” Lita argued. “Someone has to agree to the move, and they have to do it in an orderly, structured fashion.”

“But it’s like we say in the plan, this model is scalable. We could start out with a smaller scale—just the ex-Exins—and incentivize citizenship enrollment later, when we’re already well on our way.”

“That...isn’t the worst idea,” Lita acknowledged. She looked up to consider the proposal. “You certainly can’t get mad about a law that was passed before you became a citizen. I mean, you could, but you would have no leg to stand on.” There was a silence for a moment before she looked over at the lawyer. “What say you?”

“No, no, no, you’re right,” Jericho replied. “You clearly know what you’re talking about, I don’t know why you bothered inviting me to the planet, let alone this meeting. The visitors have no legal recourse. It happened before they became citizens. Of course, it’s not a problem that we were contemplating the two transitions at the same time; the physical move, and the citizenship naturalization process. We can certainly argue that they’re not connected, and that the 10% bonus should not in any way be construed as hush money, or some kind of preemptive out-of-court settlement, or anything like that. Everyone would believe us, and it would all turn out totally perfect and happy, and I have..no notes.” Jericho Hagen was a snarky little shit sometimes. Everything he did seemed to be against his will. To be sure, he was on Castlebourne of his own accord, but he harbored resentment regarding some things that went down many years ago, which pulled him into all this timey-wimey nonsense, and it seemed as though he still hadn’t gotten over it. Dreychan and Yunil were not cognizant of the particulars.

“What would you propose?” Yunil pressed him.

“Decouple the decisions. Move the sun now, like we need. I don’t remember how long that’s gonna take, but just go ahead and do it while you’re legally in the clear. You don’t have to wait until we’ve reached our final destination to open your little CAST program, but I recommend at least twenty years, maybe more.”

“It will evidently take about sixteen or seventeen years to get there,” Lita reminded him.

“Perfect,” Jericho decided, looking at Dreychan and Yunil. “That gives you a full three years to have supposedly and reportedly come up with the completely separate proposal to integrate the visitor population into the community as full, legal voters.” He looked over at Lita. “I recommend we scrub the meeting notes from the record. We never talked about this.”

“Is that legal?” Lita questioned.

“On Castlebourne, yeah,” Jericho promised. “The reason we’re in danger with moving the planet and signing up new citizens, is because it involves the rest of the galaxy. We are not fully beyond the laws of the core worlds. Our charter forces us to have some liability, and places us under some scrutiny. We have the latitude to make our own choices, though, as long as it doesn’t impact anyone else.”

“Okay,” Lita said. “Draw up the revised proposal,” she suggested to the ex-Exins, “removing all mentions of citizenship, and let me look over it before we submit it to Hrockas together. We will establish the new government, step one; move the sun, step two; and then begin CAST, step three.” She and Jericho left.

Dreychan and Yunil buckled down, creating the proposal yet again, and really getting all the wrinkles ironed out. It was a masterpiece, if they could be so bold as to declare. Lita loved it, Jericho tolerated it, and Hrockas accepted it. They spent several weeks advocating for the new governmental plan to the people, and setting up a voting schedule. It was another couple of months before the first candidates came out to campaign for themselves. After nearly a year since the fall of the Council, the Castlebourne scalar representative council democracy was officially implemented. Dreychan and Yunil were able to step back, and let the gears turn smoothly without them. The representatives’ first order of business was to hold a referendum on the stellar engine plan. Instead of letting the Council and Hrockas alone decide, they opened it up to everyone’s opinion. And that opinion was overwhelming. The current citizens of Castlebourne did not support moving the sun.

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Microstory 1837: Foreign Fighter

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In 1991, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics broke apart into fifteen distinct nations, which thrived independently of each other to varying degrees of success for three decades. Russia was the largest of these by far, and maintained strong political power over the rest of the world. The rest developed their own governmental bodies, and systems of law. In 1994, inspired by these developments, a district of Russia called Sakhaido declared its own independence. Sitting about 400 kilometers from the island of Sakhalin, as a sort of second peninsula branching from the Kamchatka Peninsula, Sakhaido always needed to maintain some level of autonomy in order to function. It once belonged to the Empire of Japan, and still consists of a significant population of Japanese people. The Japanese language is spoken by 24% of the population. Much of the leadership of Russia at the time did not want to let Sakhaido go, since they felt it shouldn’t be necessary, but the president himself did not want to cause any civil unrest, and had to admit that it wasn’t worth using up resources, and damaging their reputation. Sakhaido prospered after that, forming its own democracy, and becoming a hub of international trade amongst the other nations in and around the region. In 2016, a new president of Russia took office, having built his political platform upon strength against both enemies and allies. Russia was meant to be the dominant force in Europe, and he wasn’t happy with the direction his neighbors were going. A few months ago, he decided to attack Sakhaido, but had no intention of stopping there. The rest of the world was going to learn who called the shots, whether he was their official leader, or not. He didn’t need to take Sakhaido over, or any other country. He just needed to make sure that someone was in charge who would do what he wanted. The invasion began.

Nations of the free world condemned the Russian president for his cruel and unwarranted attack on Sakhaido. They made political and economical maneuvers against him, thinking that he would back down when it started causing his people harm. But he didn’t care about his people. They had suffered so much up until now, and they could continue to suffer, as long as he got what he wanted, which was pretty much everything under the sun. The Sakhaidoans held their ground, maintaining a nigh unassailable border between them and the Kamchatka Peninsula, but they could only do so much. They were not prepared for war, they did not have the resources, and they did not have the help. Refugees fled to other countries, nearly all welcomed by Japan, Alaska, and even Usonia, but that didn’t solve the problem of how to save their homeland. Their military force was only so great. They needed additional support. They needed—I believed—people like me. According to my country’s laws, it was not illegal for me to temporarily join the army of another country, as long as the actions I took there weren’t treasonous, and I wasn’t planning on defecting. So that’s what I did. I went across the sea, accepted the gun they put in my hands, and fought for a bunch of innocent people who had never done anything for me. Because I wasn’t just fighting for them. I was fighting for democracy all over the globe, and for justice as a whole. I was fighting for peace. Not everyone was happy with my choice, and I returned home to find no parade, no thanks, no welcome mat. But that was okay, because I know I did the right thing, and this assassin they sent to kill me knows it too, whether he can admit it or not.

Microstory 1726: Southern Crown

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I am a member of the royal court for the Southern Crown. There are two kingdoms in our world. One holds domain over the entire Northern hemisphere, and we rule over the South. We are a fair and just regime, and while not technically democratic, we do listen to our people and recognize their needs. We do not condemn those who would criticize us, and we do our best to make everyone happy. It was a long road that took us to this point, and no one here would welcome the opportunity to endure it again. We used to be broken into hundreds of independent nations, and though the majority of them were indeed run by democracies, they were full of corruption and selfishness. It was quite easy to get elected when you had the money, knew what to say to your voters, and had the right people backing you. That didn’t mean you would act in the best interests of your people, and it didn’t mean that you were peaceful. Now that there are only two separate states, things are much better for everyone. We don’t pay much attention to the goingson of the North, but according to our intelligence, they feel the same as we do. We have always met each other in peace, but not warmly. We are not allies, and we are not friends. Each kingdom can provide for itself, so we are not even trading partners. For the most part, we leave each other alone. But things have now changed. The threat we face threatens us all equally, which means there is no one to help us but our collective selves. We all have to do our part, and we all have to agree about what that means. A dragon has been on the attack for decades, even before the two kingdoms were formed. Some believe in the dragon, and others do not. Some believe, but are still not worried about it. To them, the dragon is always either far away in time, or in space.

The dragon is invisible, you see. Like the wind, we detect its impact on the world. We see the fires, and the smoke. We feel the heat as the water boils around us. We suffer the great storms that ravage our lands. We know that it’s there; we just can’t prove it, and without proof, stopping it from destroying everything may be impossible. Some of us have taken measures to slay this dragon, but it is too heavy a task for us, the brave few. Everyone must first admit that it is real, and help with the effort, if only in their own way. I am one of the more vocal proponents of fighting against the dragon, but there are not many who feel the same. The others, they laugh at me, or simply dismiss my concerns as not much of a priority. This region needs to send food to this other region, because they are not getting enough rain for their crops. This other region has had a bad fishing season. These are the issues that must be prioritized, according to the rest of the royals. I try to tell them that it is the dragon that is burning the crops, and it is the dragon that is poisoning the fish. They will not hear of it. It couldn’t be. No way could a dragon do so much worldwide. And if I make any attempt to convince them that we were the ones who released the dragon in the first place, they will surely have my head! No man could birth a dragon, and if he did, it would be easy to maintain, so that cannot be the problem. But no man birthed the dragon. We summoned it. Together. We summoned it when we did not take care of this world. It has come in response to our neglect, and the only way we’ll be able to kill it is if this becomes the accepted truth. I fear this cannot happen until the right person places that Southern Crown atop their head. And if it must be me, then it will be me. I cannot let the dragon consume us all.

Microstory 1482: President From Earth

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Things were pretty bad after the Deathspring sent a bunch of people from Earth to Durus. The Durune didn’t want them there, and the Earthans didn’t want to be there. Two seemingly contradictory things were happening at the same time, which sort of fed into each other. Durus was trying to get rid of all the misogynistic laws of the past, and become a more just society, but they were struggling to accomplish that with all these refugees here. So they treated those refugees poorly, and didn’t really give them that much thought. They tucked them away in isolated camps, and got to work on rebuilding their government from the ground up. It was years before they started listening to the people who were trying to explain to them that the Earthans would be able to help them do that. After all, they had just come from a world of equality and fairness, so maybe they had a few pointers? Well, it took some time, and a military state, but society eventually figured it out. Some of the Earthans went back home with the Elizabeth Warren interstellar ship, along with a few Durune who wanted to start new lives, but for everyone left, there didn’t appear to be much chance of further rescue, so the best thing to do for the Earthans was to dig in, and get used to the here and now, instead of dwelling on what might have been. That got easier over the course of the next two decades as policy adapted to the diverse population. One major thing to further this philosophy came in 2185, when the first person to have been born on Earth was elected as president of the Democratic Republic of Durus. They were long past the elitism and bigotry that formed in 2161, but it was still a huge step for the original Durune. On the other side, the Earthans had mostly accepted this as their new home, and that was impressive as well. Everyone was a native now. As for the new president himself, things were a little rough. Earth had moved so far beyond a standard representative democracy by then that he had some trouble understanding that Durus was not technologically advanced enough for a comparable system. He had to make a lot of mistakes, and reach some compromises, and he only lasted one term, but it was a decent start.

Microstory 1477: Reconstruction

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For the 2175 elections, the people of Durus were not only voting for the people they wanted to lead them. There were certains laws and projects the current administration wanted everyone to decide on. One of these projects proposed that the city start rebuilding all of the towns that they lost during the final battles of the war against the monsters, and afterwards, when the remaining structures were all pulled together into the city of Aljabara. By this time, there were already several outposts built away from the city. Before powerful builder Andromeda retired, and later died, she agreed to help people spread out into new communities. There was nothing wrong with these towns, but some thought it might be nice if they went back to their roots, and honored their history. They weren’t intending to break Aljabara apart, but construct new buildings where they were once standing. It wasn’t necessary, but it could be kind of cool. This would be yet another symbolic gesture, to signify the rejection of the former Republic, and a return to the glory of the Mage Protectorate, though with more democracy. Polls suggested that it would be a tight race, because not everyone was convinced. Sure, these towns were part of their history, but their downfall was no less part of that, and some were worried people would forget that. If they just ignored the last eighty plus years of their past, and made it look like it would if it had not happened, were they doomed to repeat their mistakes? No one was really worried about who their next elected leaders would be. The incumbents were fine, and their competition was fine. They weren’t going to end up in some kind of fascist state because of them, so the 2175 elections were more about debating the reconstruction issue. People from both sides made arguments in the streets, and in more organized forums. The news was dominated by the topic, and everybody had their own opinion. The more people talked about it, the more they realized that this was far more complex than just a single yes or no response. Some of the original town sites were already being used for other things. Ladytown was already built on top of Hidden Depths, and even though that had a history of its own, it was still standing and still going. The original Springfield was already being revitalized, the Earthan refugee camp that came up after the Deathspring was built right next to where Shieldon used to be, and they were already starting construction near Watershed. In reaction to these arguments, the vote was scrapped, in favor of a more long-term approach. They would still consider doing this, but they weren’t going to be able to figure it all out by the time election day rolled around, so the next administration would be in charge of solidifying whatever plans they were going to go through with. One thing was for sure, they weren’t going to remain exactly as they were. They were absolutely going to build new outposts, so it was just a matter of what and where, and whether they would have anything to do with the old towns. This didn’t mean they wouldn’t make any decisions at all when it came to the reconstruction effort. Everyone agreed that they wanted to move forward with the completion of Town Sixteen, which was famously unfinished by the time the war ravaged the lands. They just needed to know what to call it. The people chose Gimura.

Microstory 1472: Democracy Prevails

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The nightmare was over. Life wouldn’t be all rainbows and ageless puppies from now on, but at least Durus finally had a real democracy. Everyone over the age of fifteen had a vote, and everyone’s vote was worth the same as everyone else’s. The Earthan refugees and the Durune natives were starting to come together, and consider themselves all part of the same community. People were starting to dig in, and make a decent life for themselves. It wasn’t really over yet, though, until every member of their former military occupiers was gone. It was a great big relief for the world when the majority of the salmon battalion disappeared through their portal. The achievement almost made people forget that some of them wanted to return to Earth as well, and the salmon could try to give them that. So it was an even bigger relief that not all of them had left yet. There were still a couple people there who would be staying to help in any way necessary. Unfortunately, the way they needed help was not possible. Even though the officers had come from Earth, they did not do so using their own agency. They were beholden to the powers that be, and if these mysterious controllers didn’t want the Durune to go back with them, then they weren’t going to go back with them. Hopefuls could even try to literally step through the portal, but nothing would happen. They would just pass right through it, as if the portal were not there at all. Even if the salmon wanted to try to help, there was no telling when and where they would end up on Earth. Their job was to travel throughout time, fighting in wars. They were sometimes given lead time to prepare for a particular battle—what kind of uniforms, and other clothing, they were given to blend in was often a really good clue—but they didn’t ever have much else to go on. There was just no way for the battalion to take any Earth-bounders with them, as much as they may have wished they could. The last of them left in 2170, but they didn’t go alone. One man was chosen to join them, though not by the leader’s decision, or himself. He was conscripted against his will. Fortunately, this man wanted nothing more than to fight for justice throughout all of time. The problem was, now they needed to find a new mayor of Aljabara.

Microstory 1471: Salmon Battalion

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In an alternate timeline, the paramounts on Durus started a war with the regular humans. Most of them didn’t actually believe that those with time powers were superior to those without, but they were tired of the Provisional Government, and they wanted to see real change in their world. They figured creating a common enemy for the native Durune, and the Earthan refugees, to fight would unify them. Well, that part of the plan worked, but the part where they would arbitrarily end the war, and try to form a peaceful union for all, was lost. Some of the paramounts decided they were happy with this new direction. Yeah, people with powers were better, and they ought to be ruling the planet. As one might imagine, this caused a lot of problems, and the sort of fake war transformed into a real one, with plenty of empowered people on both sides. This meant that it would probably end in the total destruction of humanity on the rogue world. Worried this would happen, and not wanting the fighting to continue either way, a time traveling paramount went back to the Deathspring in 2161, and purposefully made sure that he was sent to Earth. Once there, he contacted someone named The Overseer, who was the go-to leader for any major endeavor that involved salmon and choosing ones working together. Salmon were a subspecies of humans who experienced nonlinear time, but lived under the control of a mysterious group called the powers that be, while choosers were people with powers, who could choose to use them at will. They were the Earthan equivalent of paramounts, and they had a pretty reliable network, which could make things happen. One of these groups was called the salmon battalion. It consisted of a few hundred people from all over time and space. They fought in various wars throughout the timeline, turning the tide to their leaders’ will, which was generally to ultimately create peace. Some members fought only in one battle, while others were more long-term participants, and these people cycled in and out of the battalion as necessary. The Overseer was not in charge of the battalion, but she could petition for aid if she felt it was warranted, and the powers that be were obliged to at least consider the request. Though Durus was beyond their scope, they agreed to come set things right. The highest number of simultaneous battalion members transported to Durus, and created a new timeline, which wiped away the formation of the New Crusades. They took control of the government, just for the time being, and started the Salmon Battalion Military State.

Now, this was a scary thing to call it, and though they kept the peace through peaceful means, the battalion did use that fear to keep people in line. They didn’t tolerate violence, or bigotry, or the infringement of people’s rights. They let protestors speak their peace, but most people eventually became glad that the battalion was here. They brought with them people who were experienced with democratic procedures, and though these experts didn’t dictate how the new republic would be set up, they did provide them with a lot of great advice. They helped them figure out what the Durune leaders would be called, and what responsibilities they would have. They helped build the capitol, so the new government would have a place to work out of. They helped set up the 2168 Special Election, so the first administration could star making decisions on their own. And finally, they helped them draft the Constitution, so that everyone would understand what the laws were, and what was expected of them as citizens. To that end, they wanted to ensure that every single person on the planet was considered a full citizen, whether they descended from Earthans who came in 2016, or if they just had arrived in 2161. Everyone, regardless of gender, sexual orientation, race, color, religion, disability, age, or temporal status would be treated as an equal, and enjoy the same rights as everyone else. As far as what the paramounts were allowed to do with their time powers, the battalion left that up to the administration, and the people of Durus. Immediately following the special election, which established the leadership until at least 2175, nearly all members of the salmon battalion left Durus, and returned to their respective time periods on Earth, or on to the next mission. Only a few key officers remained behind to tie up loose ends, and answer any lingering questions. In the end, the people were grateful to the battalion for them having been there.

Microstory 1470: The Transition Continues

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Since 2100, the city of Aljabara had not gone more than five years without holding an election. Most of these weren’t fair or legitimate, but they did take place, and those who the government decided were worthy of casting votes were free to do so. After the fall of the Republic, there were a lot of decisions that needed to be made in order to sustain the Provisional Government, but these weren’t determined through formal votes. They were polls. A special committee formed which did what they could to understand public opinion, and then used the general consensus to form policy. But no woman alive today had been free to cast a real ballot on Durus, except for Ecrin. The year 2165 was meant to be the time to do that, but this temporary governmental body wasn’t quite prepared for it. The greatest number of people ever, by a huge margin, would be voting in this round of elections, and no one around knew how to handle that. Even the visitors from Earth who had always been part of a democratic system didn’t know how to organize it, because none of them had experience in that field. They did their best, and tried to include everyone, but ballots were lost, or miscounted, or damaged, or people weren’t registered correctly. It was a huge mess. They would have remained in the transitional period even if it had gone smoothly, because no one had written a new Constitution...because no one knew how. Even so, it was a requirement for full-fledged governmental recognition, according to a recent poll. So new people were elected into leadership positions, and new committees were formed to make decisions, but nothing was official, and not everyone recognized the authority bestowed upon certain people from the votes. No one knew whose ballots were counted, and whose weren’t, but people whose preferred candidate lost tended to believe that their voice had been ignored. However close to accurate as it might have managed to be incidentally, no one was completely happy with the results, since it was so unclear. People began to protest, and demanded a revote. Few people were against this happening, except of course people who were still, or now, in power. It didn’t start a war, but the whole thing might have collapsed in a few years if something wasn’t done about it. Fortunately for them, a threat was on the horizon that galvanized the people of Durus into action, and finally forced them to form the Democratic Republic. But until this was official, the people lived under something called the Salmon Battalion Military State.

Microstory 1469: Drumpf is Fired

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One of the first paramounts to rise up after the Hokusai and the Deathspring changed the whole system was a young woman named Andromeda. She was a builder, who could configure building materials in complex and extremely useful ways. She was one of the most powerful people Durus ever saw, save the source mages and Jayde Kovak herself. Because of this, Andromeda garnered a lot of favor amongst both the Earthan refugees, and the Duruen natives. She would later turn Aljabara into a real city, with stable buildings and roads, rather than the haphazard fustercluck it was before. She built outposts as well, like the settlements that formed during the Mage Protectorate. But even before she did all that for them, everyone loved her, and listened to her, much like they did Ecrin, so when she came to some kind of decision, it was tantamount to law. Some insisted on calling her Queen Andromeda, but if they were going to do that, she in turn insisted they address her as Your Badass. It was a play on words, and modeled upon certain other honorifics, like Your Honor, or Your Highness. Despite his higher standing in the Provisional Government, even Drumpf had to acquiesce to her authority. But this authority was not taken, or earned, it was just given to her. Because that was how this new transitional system worked. People trusted whoever proved that they could be trusted, and when that person started to fail them, they demanded the individual be removed from power. For now, this would probably be okay, because of the whole provisional part. But it was not necessarily a good dynamic in the long-term. It could end up okay, like the Adhocracy that formed a hundred and forty years ago. Or it could just lead to anarchy. They needed something better; something more formal, and though it would take a very long time to actually get there, progress towards this goal would start with Andromeda. They held a meeting, where governmental officials pleaded for her to help them with the reconstruction efforts, and she was happy to help, but she had a list of demands.

While the people were busy trying to correct their history of misogyny, they unwittingly fell into another trap of injustice. They treated the people who had come here from Earth a couple years ago as second-class citizens, forcing them to live separately in a refugee camp. The Durune weren’t openly hostile, but they were preoccupied with their own problems, and didn’t want to help these new people. Andromeda had to explain to them that they were all part of the same community now, and if that truth were to be respected, everyone would be able to contribute in their own way, including the Earthans. The Provisional Government had to officially recognize the Earthans as citizens. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t be allowed to leave if an opportunity came about to return to Earth, but it would allow them to enjoy certain privileges, such as moving about the surface of the planet at will. She also engineered a way for Poppet Drumpf to step down as provisor, because she could easily see how toxic he was, and how he had not changed from his past. He wouldn’t have done it on his own, so Andromeda had to ask for help from a friend named Loa, whose time power it was to broadcast what she was seeing to anywhere—or everywhere, as it were—in the world simultaneously. He said some nasty things about his people, and they finally understood that he really hadn’t learned from his past mistakes. It would be a few more years until a round of elections came about, but for now, the government was at least peaceful and stable, and would be allowed to continue trying to make the world a better place. She wouldn’t do it forever, but Andromeda did use her powers to construct homes and other proper buildings, and would die a rare hero in most people’s eyes.

Microstory 1468: Paramount Issue

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By the year 2162, the Provisional Government was well underway. They had successfully shed some of the worst laws that the Republic had instituted, and people were yet to feel like they were taking too long to prepare for a new round of fair elections. That problem would arise after 2165 came and went, but for now, people were happy making piecemeal policy changes, using the leadership who stepped in to fill the void after the previous administration was removed. Despite Drumpf’s constant hesitations when it came to making these changes, he was balanced out with Ecrin’s radically progressive ideas, so things were moving forward at a reasonable pace. A series of laws were proposed that no one asked for, but still made people happy. These extra little decisions weren’t designed to make huge changes to the way society was run, but they did serve a nice purpose. One particular example of this was what they would call people with time powers. No one really understood what was happening, but mage remnants no longer seemed to be remnants anymore. After Durus barely survived colliding with Earth, and created the Deathspring portals, those who had special abilities started noticing an increase in their powers. They were stronger, more precise, more useful. It was as if their fated journey towards annihilation was holding it back, and now that it was subverted, these remnants were free from their bonds. They weren’t mages, though, and a provisional policymaker thought it made sense to formalize this reality. She asked the public to come up with a new term that would replace mage. She proposed a couple of ideas herself, but openly asked for anyone else’s input. It wasn’t the most important thing to do right now, but it had symbolic significance. People wanted to move past their past, and start fresh, as if this world were only now being colonized. The nomenclature of yesterday just reminded them of their mistakes. Over the course of a few weeks, they started paring down the assortment of ideas, until only one was left. People with time powers would now be referred to as paramounts. Historical records would remain as they were when discussing their ancestors who lived during Mage Protectorate, but any powered individual still alive today, or born from now on, would go by the new designation. Again, this didn’t absolutely have to be done, but most people found it a welcome relief to be involved in something so trivial. It showed them that there was more to this world than its history of misogyny, and the monumental work that needed to be put in to fix it. They just needed a win, and the good thing about this vote was that there was no real way to lose. Just about everyone was happy with the results, because they were achieved democratically, and that was what they were striving for all along.

Microstory 1467: Ecrin’s Release

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One of Provisor Drumpf’s first orders of business was to release famed mage hero, Ecrin Cabral from her prison cell, where she had been living for the last sixty years. He wanted to endear himself to her, and to everyone. She spent six decades in relative isolation, and there were few people left around who still believed she had deserved it. How quick they denounced their old ways, and how many of them began to pretend like they weren’t just as much a part of the misogynistic system as everyone else. The planet needed to move forward, yes, but that didn’t mean ignoring their past, and as the years went by, Ecrin Cabral would be there to remind them of how terrible they had been. Even the people born into the system knew what they were doing was wrong. You couldn’t brainwash a child enough to make him grow up and live his whole life under the impression that there was something wrong with the women around him. At some point, they had a responsibility to realize that this was not okay. Until then, Ecrin just wanted to be free, and to try to scrape together some kind of new life. She never had the pleasure of keeping up to date with the goingson of Durus while she was in hock. It was actually illegal for anyone to share information with an inmate, no matter how small or insignificant as it may seem. Ecrin hadn’t heard any news about the outside world since the early 22nd century, which meant that she was going into her new life with a huge disadvantage. One of these disadvantages was that she was completely out of politics, and wasn’t aware of who was in charge, or who had been in charge, and this ignorance extended to the current provisor of Aljabara. She wasn’t told who Drumpf was, or what he had done, but she could still tell that he couldn’t be trusted. A blind person can smell the bullshit in the air. If he was waiting for her support, then he would be waiting for the rest of his life, and then some. Of course, though, he wouldn’t need to wait that long, because his days as a leader were numbered, and she knew that.

For the five years the Provisional Government was up and running, Ecrin used her many years of experience as a protector to guard diplomats as the people of Durus attempted to fix what was broken. Everyone wanted her on their detail, but she refused to be quantum duplicated, so there was only so much she could do. People were just falling over themselves to apologize for what she had been through. Some took too much blame, even though they weren’t around when she was imprisoned in the first place. But some people didn’t take enough responsibility for the system they let stay in place all this time. Ecrin grew a little bit resentful as the months passed following her release, because she could never be satisfied with anyone’s attitude or semantics in regards to how she had been treated. Some even attempted to avoid saying something insensitive and sort of pretended like she was a normal person, but that made her mad too. She had to seek therapy to get by, which was not easy, because all educated psychologists were men, and they had been conditioned under the same misogyny as everyone else. They tried to be empathetic, and help her work through her issues, but the truth was that they didn’t know what the hell they were doing. She declared that all mental health professionals were unfit, and even though she did not technically have the authority to stop them from practicing, everybody just kind of accepted her decision. She realized she could do a lot of good during this transitional period, helping people understand what exactly was wrong. She had been born on Earth, so she had seen pretty much every form of government this world had tried up until they locked her up. That gave her a unique perspective that Aljabara desperately needed. While she still maintained her work in diplomatic security, she used her access to advise the most important people, and when the new republic formed many years later, they used her wisdom as its foundation.

Microstory 1466: Drumpf Returns

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For the next five to seven years, things were really rough on Durus. As great as it was that the world was finally changing, it wasn’t a painless process. The Republic did pretty much die overnight, but its replacement didn’t come until much later. After Hokusai Gimura saved two planets from their destruction, the people rose up, and overthrew the administration. The Thicket spearheaded the effort, but people who had thus far had nothing to do with the revolutionary movement were also in on it. It was not a fun time for anyone who was responsible for maintaining the oppressive government. Regardless of how committed—or secretly against—someone was to misogyny, if he was part of the system, he had to go. Citizens rejoiced for about a week, until reality set in, and they realized that they had no idea what they were going to do now. Every system of government until then had been created to replace whatever was already there. Even the Interstitial Chaos was less chaotic than the name would have it sound. But who could lead them? Remanoir Amrit Bax was nowhere to be found. There was no evidence that he had been killed, however, so the assumption was that he was accidentally transferred up to Earth during the Deathspring. Most of the other former primary leaders were also missing, though, so perhaps there was indeed some kind of conspiracy. Only one man came out of the shadows, and promised a brighter future. Former Sekundas Poppet Drumpf started to appear in front of crowds, making people feel like only he could deliver them from uncertainty. He spoke of his past mistakes, and heavily implied that he had just spent the last several years on some kind of walkabout vision quest in the wilderness, even though witnesses reported seeing him all throughout the city this whole time. He talked about the prison of his own mind, and regaled them with stories of breaking himself out of his old prejudices, as one might break free from a real prison. He fancied himself the Nelson Mandela of Durus, which was offensive on so many levels, but no one could trace this claim directly back to him, so in a lot of people’s minds, he was a changed man. People loved him on both sides, which was quite frustrating. He told them he didn’t want to maintain power forever, but until a new democracy could be formed, he might be the only one with the experience to save them. So they did it. They installed him in a new position called Provisor, so he could help them transition to something better, more progressive, more fair. The truth was that he had every intention of holding onto power forever, and not everyone was fooled by his new beginning bullshit. He only lasted two years before the people of Durus had finally had enough of him. The Provisional Government needed someone they could trust.