Microstory 2680: Brooke, Bungula, and Blood-Brain Barriers

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Resi has big plans to break into the Assembly Chambers, and find out all their secrets, but he can’t act on his rage just yet. He is still so weak. Father doesn’t think he will ever be strong enough to be part of the physical aspect, but surprisingly, he doesn’t say no to the plans altogether. He decides that, even though they managed to get their ally, Keller, in a position of power, it hasn’t been enough. They have been at this for decades, and still haven’t moved the needle, he laments. Resi isn’t so sure about that. If the insanity of the last few years is any indication, it must be a maddeningly constant battle. Things could be far worse if they chose to stay out of it. In that theoretical reality, Yana might be a police state, or an entirely apocalyptic nightmare. That is what Resi needs to focus on while he is recovering. He asks to see Caprice, since she is the only one he can trust with this particular task who would also have hypothetical access.

She is able to procure him one dose of the Kidjum elixir, and doesn’t even argue that it’s dangerous for him to take it. She doesn’t know how important it is for him to conjure a vision. She doesn’t even know about the visions in the first place, but she believes in him. He loves her for that. The house is empty now. She has offered to stay by his bedside and be responsible for his care while the rest of the family is out in the fields, or in Kala’s case, attending what are potentially her final days of school. The Assembly still wants to drop the age of majority, in labor terms. It still hasn’t taken effect. Those who will turn twelve before the official start date will grandfathered in, but they might be expected to go through it when they turn thirteen in a year, or maybe fourteen. It is all still high up in the air, and hopefully it never comes to that anyway. They have to do everything they can to put a stop to it.

Resi accepts the dose, and lies back down on his pillow. He might be the only person in the universe who has done this more than once. Now it’s three times? There’s no other choice. The first time, he had no idea what he was in for. The second time, he didn’t know it was going to happen at all. Now is his chance to take control of the reins. Earlier, he read up on lucid dreaming techniques; data he downloaded from the Bungulan network while he was briefly on Anchor Island. He shuts his eyes, and lets the solution flow through his veins, and break the blood-brain barrier.

The next thing he knows, he’s lying in a hospital bed. Kartica is looking down on him with that weird little smirk that she has had since she reyoungified herself. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demands to know. “What did you do to me?”

“Resi, don’t you know, there’s a reason Kidjum elixir is so regulated. This is dangerous stuff. You can’t just take it whenever you’re thirsty”.

“You’re the one who wants me to see the future. Now that I’m actually trying, you’re trying to stop me? Make up your mind, granny.”

“I’m not doing anything of the sort. Res, you have the power to see the future. The elixir taps into it, but it comes from you. If you had taken the real stuff, you may have died. I saved your life by switching the vials. You’re welcome. You need to learn how to trigger a vision without aid. It’s the only way you’ll avoid the negative consequences.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’re the only one who can teach me how to do that.”

“No.” Kartica steps to the side to let someone else dominate Resi’s field of vision.

“Hello, Mr. Brooks,” the woman begins. “My name is Brooke Prieto. I believe that you’re named after me?”

Microstory 2679: Plague Doctor

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Resi is ill. He was hot and sweaty during his speech, and he doesn’t even remember the end of it. He’s just waking up now in his childhood home. The last time he was here was three years ago, but it feels like he’s never really been here at all. It feels like that was a movie, and now he’s fallen into the screen. He’s delirious. Kala walks into the room holding a wet towel. She dabs his forehead with it, and then drapes it across his face. He’s breathing heavily and erratically. “How did I get here?”

“Father brought you,” Kala explains. “He wants to speak with you, but he doesn’t know if you’ll want to see him.”

“Bring him in.”

“It can wait,” Kala offers.

“I’m okay. Bring him in. Thanks, Kal.”

Father comes in after she leaves. He sits on the edge of Resi’s bed, and is silent for a moment. He sighs. “I think it’s time I tell you the truth. It’s gone too far.”

“What has gone too far?” Resi squirms, trying to find a more comfortable position, but his muscles are achy.

“You are not actually my son,” Father begins. Just with those few words, apparently that’s no longer the right thing to call him any more, though. “You are not even Tamboran. When we first discovered that we were not in the garden of heaven, a faction of us asked for advanced technology. The rest stayed as they were.”

“Kartica already told me this. She didn’t mention you, though. Is everyone an immortal?” Resi asks.

“No, but I’m sure she didn’t tell you everything. She couldn’t have. She probably forgot. There’s a reason you can’t figure what the Assembly’s motivations are. A little over 200 years ago, a plague swept the island. All three nations were affected, but none worse than Tambora. To be fair, we had a greater population, and of course, still do. That’s because a Bungulan cloned themself a body that looked more like us, and infiltrated Yana. He claimed to have discovered a plant that could cure the plague, and they were right. Well, I mean, they just used science, but it did cure us. Most islanders are immune now, but there was a problem. The immortal faction—our fearful leaders—suffered permanent brain damage, and it is that damage that persists, even when they jump to new bodies. The reality is that every member of the Assembly is a little bit crazy. I was not one of them in the beginning, but a few friends and I discovered their technology, and decided to become like them. We have been trying to get ourselves elected to offices ever since, and son, we have always failed. They know how to run a campaign. They’ve been doing it for a long time, and they grease the right palms.”

“What does any of this have to do with me?” Resi questions. He’s still in so much pain. He can’t even process his father’s words. He’s just listening to them.

“When the Kokore called you to the First Tongue of Aether, she said that there was one other in the past, right?”

“Yeah.”

“That was you. You are that Bungulan, Res. You saved our island, and in doing so, doomed yourself. Since you were just as much of a clone as the members of the Assembly, your brain continues to suffer its negative effects. We put you on ice, so you could be studied. Don’t fret, you agreed. You see, you went against the Bungulan authority to help us, so you could never return to your normal life. So we couldn’t ask them to research the problem on our behalf. Non-interference, and all that.”

“But you think you figured it out, so you moved me to this body, and raised me as your child,” Resi guesses.

“Pretty much. The Assembly, I suppose, realized what we did, and concocted this bizarre plan to turn you into a hero so you could be knocked down to a villain. Don’t try to understand their reasoning, they have none. Some Assembly members wanted you to create the Fifth House so you would take all of the recruits and leave. They think the island can’t provide for our blooming population, and they may be right about that. But there was infighting. Some started to see you as a genuine threat, and came up with demands that you literally couldn’t fulfill, because they were paradoxical. Now-Speaker Keller put a stop to it. He’s one of us, not of them. We finally got him elected when we realized that the only way to beat them was to simply pretend to be one of the originals. He’s just been lying, and it’s working, because as I said, they’re nuts.”

“But Keller is the one building the army.”

Father shakes his head. “Keller isn’t in charge of the military. He only has so much power as Speaker. He has to pick his battles, but he doesn’t want war.”

“So I’m a Bungulan, trapped in a Tamboran’s body, suffering from a plague, which I contracted 200 years ago. How do my visions fit in?”

“You’re visions?” Father asks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My Kidjums. Kartica said that I was actually seeing the future.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Father clarifies. “You never told me, and they certainly wouldn’t have either.”

“So it could still be true.” Resi finally forces himself to sit up. “If you were born centuries ago, then you know that the myths are true, and our ancestors were saved from Earth using time travel, which means that kind of thing is real, and I could really be seeing the future.”

“I...can’t argue against that, but I’ve seen no proof of that. I wasn’t born until after our people came here. Unlike Kartica, I never saw Earth.”

“Bungulans have technology that we don’t understand,” Resi reasons. “Predicting the future might be as easy for them as forecasting the weather. If Central Mountain is going to erupt, we wouldn’t have the technology to detect that, but they could, and I could somehow be channeling that knowledge.”

“Central Mountain? If anyone else were to tell me that it was about to erupt, I wouldn’t believe them, but you’ve been nothing but kind to our people since you showed up, so I will. The problem is, you’re sick. Our scientists thought they fixed you by erasing your memory of your past, but the plague has obviously caught up to you anyway. That’s why I’m fessing up now.”

Resi sits all the way up now, and swings his legs over to hang off the edge. “Then we need to find whatever plant,” he begins with airquotes, “I used to stop it in the first place.”

“We don’t have any,” Father reveals. “I would have already given it to you. The Assembly might have kept it, but Keller hasn’t located their secrets.”

Resi nods. “Then we need to go in ourselves. Let’s stop trying to play the sneaky game. Let’s just take the fight to them.”

Microstory 2675: A God Am I

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Resi doesn’t answer the girl’s question. He lies back on the cot and tends to his pain. He’s starving and exhausted too. As if they read his mind, someone wearing black walks up to him with a cart of food. Resi reaches up, and grabs the first thing his fingers touch. It’s two slices of cheese. He stuffs them in his mouth like a toddler, and carelessly chews. Some of it falls off of his face. He just reaches for more. Plain bread this time.

The girl appears over him, her dark hair hanging down from her head, making her look like a Japanese ghost. “It’s not too terribly urgent, but we don’t have forever either. I need to know what happened in your vision.”

Resi keeps chewing, not looking her in the eye. “Can’t you people watch people’s Kidjums on the dream recorder, or whatever the hell tech you have.”

“I don’t have access to that tech,” she explains. “I’ve gone rogue.”

“You and your grandfather?” He asks. He accidentally pulls one of the platters off of the cart. A granola bar lands on his chest, so he begins to eat that. “Or just you?”

“Just me,” she answers. “He’s not actually my grandfather.”

“I don’t really care.” Resi tucks his legs in as he turns to the side, away from her. His hand finds a churro on the cart, so he munches on that. What an odd sort of spread.

“Please. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I believe that it’s a matter of life and death. We weren’t honest with you regarding your original Kidjum. There’s more to it. We’ve been trying to help you reach your destiny, but it’s not working. You keep making decisions that we did not anticipate. If it looks like we’re flip-flopping, it’s because we disagree with each other on how to move forward. The Speaker is a figurehead for the Assembly. They are not always the one in power. It shifts frequently.”

“I don’t care about that either.” He finishes the churro. “If there’s a drink up there, I don’t want to spill it.”

The girl moves over to the other side of him, and starts making sounds. She pushes the cart out of the way with her hips and kneels down with a mug of milk. She guides the straw between his lips, and holds it there while he has his fill. “Better?”

“What you did...” he trails off for a moment. “...was wrong. You hurt me. You tied me up. You drugged me. You forced me to hallucinate.”

“They’re not hallucinations, Resi. They’re visions.”

“What are you even going on about and is there cake?”

She picks up a saucer of chocolate cake, and sets it on the cot in front of his face.

There’s a fork there too, but he flicks it onto the floor, and eats with his hand. “Don’t judge me,” he says as he scoops more into his facehole.

“I’m not,” she tells him. “I’ve never gone through Kidjum before. I have a lot of respect for what you people do. Your dedication, your hard work; admirable traits.”

“You’re acting like you’re older than me.” He rolls over to his other side.

She follows him over there, and gets on her knees. “I am. I’m a lot older.” She sighs, preparing herself. “Look at my face, Resi. It is a face you have seen before. We normally switch forms as necessary, but my transfer was unplanned, so my only option was my own clone. You saw me before that. You saw me when I was older.”

Resi stares at her. He’s sleepy, but he can’t pull his lids down. There’s a tingling fatigue amidst the headache that he still has, screaming at him to turn off the lights and go to sleep for real, but his eyes won’t cooperate. Tired but wired. She looked familiar when he first saw her, but he had no context then. Now he knows what he’s looking for. There’s only one person she could be, even if she looked different. This is Speaker Lincoln. Well, she’s no longer the Assembly Speaker, but she probably will be again one day. “Lincoln,” he says quietly. He tries to shut his eyes again, but they pop back open.

She nods. “My given name is Kartica.”

“You’re Kinkon,” he guesses. “That’s why you have mind transfer tech. The Bungulans gave it to you. Why? Why would they do it? Why are you hoarding it?”

Kartica shifts her position to sit cross-legged. “When Mount Tambora erupted seven hundred and thirty years ago, I was a little girl. I listened to my parents. I did what I was told. I believed that we had died and gone to heaven. But then things started to happen that didn’t make any sense. People injured themselves, we got sick, old people died. If this was the afterlife, where did they go? Some other level of heaven? Or no, we were just on another planet. Aliens, or whatever, had saved us, for whatever reason. It was decades before we ran into the Bungulans and confirmed the truth, but I saw it for a long time before then. I was skeptical. I rejected my family’s beliefs. I rejected our traditions. I accepted the Bungulan way of life. A few of us did. We were pushed out of our new home, exiled to what we now call Anchor Island. Then a plague spread throughout Yana, and suddenly, they wanted our help again. So we gave it, for a price.”

“Undying loyalty and devotion,” Resi assumes.

“We didn’t frame it that way, but we were more knowledgeable than them at that point. We had the tech. We had the medicine. If they wanted our help, they needed to listen to us. It was only fair. Over time, people kept turning over to death, and my people kept jumping to new bodies whenever necessary. I can’t even remember what I used to look like anymore. What we truly were was lost to time. We didn’t try to hide it from the subsequent generations. We just stopped talking about it, and people back then had trouble grasping the concept anyway. We looked different, so we were different.”

“But you keep doing it. You keep jumping to new bodies, growing up, and getting the power back. You know how to run a campaign, because you’ve already run thousands.” Resi gets up to drag the cot out of the spotlight that’s still on him.

“Well, four times for me, going on the fifth. Others have done it more. They don’t like to get old, so they switch more often. It has only been a couple of centuries. ”

“Oh, only a couple? Pshaw, that’s nothing.”

“For everyone else, that is nothing. Someone on Castlebourne just celebrated their 600th birthday. I think they’re literally the oldest person ever, but still...”

“What do you want from me?” Resi questions. “Why am I here, Kartica?”

“I need to know what you saw,” she reiterates.

“What does it matter? It’s not real!”

“Yes, it is. That’s why you were selected to be First Tongue of Aether. That wasn’t just a Kidjum for you. It unlocked the power of your mind. There’s a name for people like you, who don’t experience time linearly, or can choose not to.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s the name?”

“They call them choosing ones, and they’re the reason we’re on Bungula in the first place. They’re the ones who brought us to the future from Earth.”

He studies her face. She’s not lying. She may be wrong, but she believes what she’s saying. So maybe he should say what he believes too. “Death. All I saw was death.”

Microstory 2674: Dissatisfied

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Resi is back on the river of lava, standing on a small solid lilypad of a rock. His feet are made of stone again, his legs fire, his torso water, and his head air. He represents all four Houses. Before, he wasn’t really able to move, except maybe one foot up and down. He felt very heavy and locked down. Now he feels free. Now it feels like these four parts of him belong together, working in harmony. No element is trying to take over the others. He is one with himself. He hops off of the lilyrock, and begins to skate upon the lava. He feels free here, so he just enjoys the thrill of sliding around.

He’s having so much fun, he’s barely paying attention to the hellscape around him. It’s not too hot for him. It’s not scary. He’s perfectly content. But he’s also alone. He continues to skate, until he begins moving downhill, at which point, it’s more like skiing. Faster, faster, faster. He twists and turns, and makes killer jumps off of little lava rock ramps. He can’t fall. His airhead keeps him aloft for as long as he needs to find his footing. He tucks his legs in intentionally. The wind compensates more persistently, until he’s flying.

He soars and loops in the air, sometimes flapping his arms like a bird, and sometimes straightening out like a superhero. He points himself downward and dives into the lava. It doesn’t burn. It’s not even thick. It feels like water to him. He opens his eyes as he’s swimming, admiring the little rock creatures passing him by, looking for little minerals abundant in the lava snow falling from the surface. He pops his head back out, and climbs onto the rock. He starts to walk again, catching his breath, and enjoying the crisp, hellish air.

He comes upon a metal floor buried in the dirt. It looks familiar, but he can’t place it. He decides to dig. His arms and hands are the only fleshy part of him in this state. Bits of dirt stick under his fingernails. It feels good. Cool. Pleasant. It makes him feel like he’s a part of something big and beautiful. He digs and digs, and digs some more. Black paint peeks out from the ground. It’s writing. Someone has written on this curved metal wall. Yes, it’s so thick, it must be a wall rather than a floor. He keeps digging. It’s a V. No, he digs farther and realizes it’s just the top of a Y.  Y, Y, why is he digging? He can’t help himself. There is empty space to the left of the Y, so it’s the beginning of a word. He moves to the right, and pushes the soil away. A. He pushes more. N. He already knows what it’s going to say, but he has to finish that last letter. Another A. Yana. This is the Yana water tower, it’s the only building on the island that’s higher than five stories, and the next highest building only has to be that way to accommodate the movie theatre.

The island has been buried in the lava. He thought this was a fun place, but it’s not. This was his home. It was home to hundreds of thousands. Did they escape, or are they dead? They’re dead. Look at that sky. This isn’t Earth. He’s not picturing the cataclysm his ancestors escaped centuries ago when they came to Bungula. This is Bungula. That now-distant volcano is Central Mountain. It only looks shorter, because the lava has overwhelmed the land below. It erupted, and killed everyone. He knows it. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he does. They didn’t see it coming. They couldn’t. And now they’re all dead. Only Resi remains. Or maybe he’s dead too, because how could anyone survive such destruction? He’s not really here. He’s only the ghost of Resi, receiving the warning of what will happen if they don’t act. But how will they act? What could they possibly do?

He looks closer at the bright stars in the sky, growing brighter, becoming true suns. They’re shining their glory on the ground. The lava is beginning to disappear. He doesn’t see it end.

Resi awakens to a massive headache. He tries to reach up to massage the back of his head, but he’s tied up. He looks down at his side. It’s a cot. It’s been turned up, and he’s wearing it like a backpack, sitting on the cold, dark floor. He can’t see a thing around him besides the cot. The spotlight trying to blind him blocks his vision of anything else. Disembodied arms take hold of his. He feels the ropes begin to loosen. The cot tips backwards with a crash. The edge of it hits the back of his head, briefly worsening the pain.

The hands pull him up by the armpits, and sit him down on the cot. A second light bangs on, not towards him, but into the auditorium seating. Speaker Sherman’s granddaughter is the only one sitting there. She’s staring at him stoically, legs crossed. She plants both feet on the floor now, and leans forwards with apparent fascination. “What did you see?”

Microstory 2672: Allegiance

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Resi demanded to speak with the Assembly, or whoever was trying to stop House Kutelin from exiling to Anchor Island. They refused, as always, but Zenith and the Bungulans were not happy about it. The purpose of this island is to facilitate movement and communication. Refusing to meet your opponent is the first sign of being on the wrong side. So Zenith pretty much forced it to happen. Since Speaker Lincoln committed suicide, she was replaced by the next in line. Sherman is now the interim Speaker, and will serve in this capacity until a new appointment can be made. He brought his granddaughter here for some reason. She is fifteen years old—having not yet gone through her Kidjum—and Resi has never heard of her before, but she looks familiar, like she showed up in a dream once recently, or something. That can’t be it, though. He hasn’t dreamed even once since his botched Kidjum. She really has no business being here, but he can’t argue against it. She looks at him like she knows something he doesn’t, which she surely does.

“Can we all be civil, or do I need to remain here to mediate?” Zenith asks.

“You may go,” Speaker Sherman tells her.

“You do not need to mediate,” Resi begins, like he’s going to agree. “But stay anyway. They are your guests. I would like you to see who they are.”

Zenith closes her eyes and bows slightly before taking a seat against the wall.

It’s important that Resi speaks first, so he can seize the upper hand. “Tell me. Where do you expect us to go? You won’t allow us to return to Yana, and you won’t let us live here. So what other options do we have? What do you want, or think we should do? Should we kill ourselves, like your coward of a former leader?”

Sherman isn’t pleased by his words, but his granddaughter has the strongest reaction. She doesn’t speak, though. “It may sound like a contradiction, but I assure you that it’s not. You may not stay on Yana. You may not live here on Anchor Island,” Speaker Sherman says.

“There’s nowhere else!” Resi cries. That was the wrong move. He has lost his advantage now. He needs to stay calm and in control. Let his enemy see no emotion. No one ever taught him that, it just makes sense.

Sherman is successfully managing to follow Resi’s internal advice, so it must be the right call, at least in theory. “I am not here to give you answers, or options, only restrictions. It is our job to manage the affairs of the Tamboran nation, and to engage with other cultures when necessary. House Kutelin is not a culture whose sovereignty we recognize. Therefore, there is nothing we can do for you.”

The other Fold Leaders begin to yell and argue against his ridiculous position. Resi motions for them to relax. “You may not think that you owe us anything, and the truth may be that you don’t. But if you don’t answer me, you will be the ones declaring war against House Kutelin, not the other way around. We do exist, and the other Houses know us. You may tear us down, and wipe us out, but your will lose your power over Tambora. The people will not stand by. You will lose your reëlections, and you will have accomplished nothing good. Is that what you want?”

Sherman only smiles. “I’ve told you, I’m not here to give you any answers. This conversation is over.” He looks over at Zenith. “I have fulfilled my promise. I gave him five minutes. Now we’re done. Please arrange my transport home. Resi and his people must leave within one day, and the rest of his House must leave Yana a week after that. If I find out you’ve been harboring any members of House Kutelin after that, the Accords will be broken, and you know what that means.”

“I do.” Zenith wasn’t happy, but she wasn’t going to go against him either.

No one on this planet has the authority to do anything. If that’s true, then maybe he should stop asking for what he needs. Maybe he should just take it.

Resi watches the Speaker and the Assembly walk out of the room. As she passes by, Sherman’s daughter flings something from her device to his. He doesn’t look at it until they’ve all left. It’s a note from her. She wants to meet on the rock beach. Alone.

Here it is. Here’s where the relative or assistant swoops in with a knowledge bomb, and our hero has to decide if she can be trusted or not. In half the movies, she can be, and in the other half, she can’t. If she can’t, and is still loyal to the villain, the hero seemingly takes her advice anyway, only for it to turn out that he knew the truth the whole time, and was playing the long game to dupe them both. There is no workaround for this trope. If you operate inside of the system, there is no way to beat that system. The reality of her loyalties, and the hero’s actions, are equally dictated by the needs of the story. This is real life, which means what he chooses here could result in failure, and even casualties. No author is trying to make it more interesting, or lead things down the right path.

“You’re not going alone,” Vantu insists. “You must be protected.” Vantu is a bit of a brute, but a very kind one, and very protective of anyone smaller or weaker. That’s usually not Resi himself, but he’s been particularly clingy on this trip due to the high stakes. Still, it won’t be necessary. Resi already has a plan.

“If they want to hurt me, there are easier ways to do it. A Bungulan-run island is the worst place to try something fishy. They got drones flying all over the place.”

“They only react so quickly,” Vantu argues, “and won’t be able to stop anything. Let me stay out of earshot, but in line of sight, so she knows she’s being monitored.”

“Really, it won’t be necessary, but I’ll let you walk with me,” Resi tells him.

He follows the girl’s directions, and heads towards the beach. He sees her standing there on the rocks, hair blowing in the wind. She’s changed her clothes into an asymmetrical shawl loosely wrapped around her waist, and what at this distance looks like a flower bikini top. She must think that he will listen to her because of it. He doesn’t advertise his asexuality but he doesn’t hide it either. If she’s done her homework, she’ll know that this won’t work. Or maybe she’s just hot. They are in the tropics, after all. He shouldn’t assume what her motivations are. He has no clue who she really is, or what she wants. He can’t trust her, though, that much is absolutely certain. She appears to be rather patient. She’s not folding her arms, or even shifting her weight between legs. She’s a statue, which may be telling him all he needs to know.

Resi looks over his own shoulder at Vantu, who nods, acknowledging that this is where he will remain so he doesn’t interfere with whatever is exchanged here. It doesn’t matter. Resi turns back at the stranger. He slowly draws his open hand up against his forehead in salute. Then he steadily swings it forward dramatically. If he could see her face from this distance, it would probably look confused. He doesn’t go up to see if he’s right. He just turns and walks away. The only way to win this game is to refuse to play.

Extremus: Year 126

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That wasn’t what you all wanted?”

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

“So we just fade into the background?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“She has time powers.”

“Which ones?” Oceanus presses.

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

“You switched bodies?” he interrupts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was desperate.”

“I am too,” he states plainly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s your wife?”

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

“Sir?” Oceanus questions.

“I hear you stopped by for a visit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t kill me. I’m an admiral.”

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

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

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

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Microstory 2662: Last to Still Believe

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, that part I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t even know your name.”

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

Microstory 2661: Destratified

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Resi Brooks has feet of stone, and his legs are on fire. His torso sloshes around, spilling drops of water on the steaming ground. His headwinds pull upwards, trying to force him into the sky. He takes another step. His left leg begins to harden, but it doesn’t last long. The fire beats against his knees, and takes back over. That’s his mother, trying to bring him over to her side of the island. That would be okay. Any of the Houses, he would be proud to be in. He just doesn’t want to end up in Kinkon. His family would be so disappointed. He can feel the stars in his eyes. They’re a smaller part of him than they are for some. Many have willingly crossed the ocean, and joined the colonists and their descendants. And they have returned, bringing their new bloodline with them. He does not come from a family of bigots. He welcomes his brothers and sisters, and the strangers. He just does not want to become one of them. Kinkon isn’t a real House. It’s just what they call it when you don’t fit in anywhere else; when you embrace the colonial lifestyle. Again, there’s nothing wrong with it. He’s been known to partake in their technology, and enjoyed their media. They make good stuff. He would miss his loved ones too much, though. He would have to leave to learn their ways, and while his family members have completed their Mori journeys, and would be free to visit him, they wouldn’t. They like it here too much. God is the one who brought their ancestors here in the first place, and they want to stay close to Him. Of course, everyone knows that it was The Mirror, the Flyer, and the Bird who actually rescued them from the Ash Death, but they believe that he was working through them. They still thank him for this world.

Resi has been so much in his head this whole time, he didn’t even notice that the wind has begun to take over his body. It’s down to his shoulders now. It’s not strong enough to lift him from the ground, but it will happen soon if he’s not careful. But does he want to be careful? House Enaiyo would be a perfectly acceptable selection. He doesn’t have any family there, but his parents would be just as proud of him, and they’re not too terribly far away. It feels like this Kidjum is taking a long time. When he would watch the ceremony as a child, the sleepers would reawaken much faster than this. Perhaps that has all been an illusion. After all, when he’s just having a regular dream, time passes differently inside than on the outside. Still, he doesn’t want to be the last to wake up with his declaration. The others won’t tease him for it, but he doesn’t want the spotlight to be on him, and he doesn’t want to waste anyone’s time. Kidjum ceremonies are boring for anyone who isn’t in it, or doesn’t personally know someone who is. He remembers that from childhood. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. The way they described what it was like to be in the dream sounded fascinating, but not something worth watching from the outside more than once. It’s only interesting now.

He wakes up. No warning, no final decision. He’s just awake, and it wasn’t even finished yet. The audience is clapping. Oh, no. He really is the last one. Oh, how embarrassing. He rolls over to see the cot next to him. The dreamer in it has not awoken yet. He sits up and looks around. No one else is awake. He’s not last? Why the hell are they clapping then? They’re gonna fall silent once he tells them that he never came to a decision. Does he have to pee? Why in the world did he wake up before his time! What is he supposed to choose? He never got his answer! The Kokore walks over, and reaches out to help him up. She has a huge smile upon her face. She guides him towards the audience, who are still clapping and cheering. They know more than Resi does. She holds his hand up triumphantly.

They cheer louder. Resi notices that the kids are clapping too, but they look just as confused as he is. Whatever this is, it must be something that you don’t learn until after your own Kidjum, which explains why he doesn’t understand why he’s being singled out when the other dreamers haven’t even opened their eyes yet.

“Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time in over 200 years,” the Kokore begins, “I give you a founding member of House Kutelin!”

House Kutelin? That’s not a thing. It just means five.

“Resi Brooks, First Tongue of Aether, you honor us with your presence.”

Aether? What the fuck is that?

Microstory 2378: Earth, October 21, 2179

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Dear Velia,

I know what it’s like to feel a connection to a place or event that I’ve never actually been a part of. That’s what happens when I’m reading a good book. Corinthia and I have been reading The Winfield Files, and watching the corresponding seasons of the adaptation. Even though the stories are very personal and intimate for the characters that we’re following, the writer manages to do a great job of going into great detail with everything that’s happening around them. It’s set in a fictional universe, but it almost plays like historical fiction, because the background is so rich and intricate. It might as well be a version of Earth that really does exist somewhere out there. I sometimes feel more attached to it than my own world, probably because of all the darkness and sadness that has defined our past down here. I also know what it’s like to have a job that makes sense for you, but isn’t necessarily something you would have chosen if you had had every option. My dad was good at what he did, and it was more practical for us to stick together, which meant me finding my own way to contribute by becoming a sort of flight attendant. I don’t know what I would have done if I lived in the kind of world that I read about in some of the classics. The tales are fascinating, but they take place in mundane settings. If you were privileged, you got an education, and pursued your dreams. Not everyone was able to do what they wished, of course, but it was at least there in front of them. We lost so many options when society fell apart. I think maybe, if I were one of the lucky ones, I might have become a scholar. I could have dedicated my life to learning, and possibly become a teacher. I appreciate the characters who wear nice but not overly fancy clothing, and spend their days indoors, reading books of their own, and searching for answers. In the real world, it’s always been about survival, but in a more perfect world, we would mostly have everything that we needed, and could focus on things that aren’t absolutely vital. What would you do if you were born on Earth, and the poisonous gases never befell the lands? Do you think you would have gone into fashion anyway, or is there anything else you find yourself daydreaming about. I must say, you’re not bad at what you do, if the outfit you’re wearing in your photo is any indication. In my opinion, it’s not too much cleavage, though I admit to being a bit biased. I hope it’s not too forward to say that you’ve a very beautiful woman.

Warmly,

Condor

Microstory 2325: Earth, November 10, 2178

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Dear Corinthia,

I had a dream last night, instead of responding to your letter in a reasonable amount of time. All that happened in this dream was that I sat on my computer to write a message to my father. It’s been frustrating, anticipating his return. You may be okay with waiting for answers, or even never getting them, but I don’t think I can do that. I appreciate your plea to not leave the dome, and I promise that I won’t go try to intercept him. I suppose my brain was trying to reconcile that, so it came up with a fantasy scenario where I got to tell him off anyway, and express how I really feel about what he may or may have done to us. I don’t normally write or read in dreams, but now that you and I are connecting almost every week, my mind is getting used to the concept on a subconscious level. The dream felt so real, and even does now that I’m awake. If I had been flying over the oceans, or fighting off giant monsters, my waking self would acknowledge that that couldn’t have happened, and been able to move on. But this, the way that it was so mundane, and something that I actually could have done, I can’t let it go. What’s even more annoying is that I can’t even remember what was in the letter! I keep sitting down to rewrite it in the real world, but nothing comes out. I will never get it back, which is a shame, because it was so perfect. That’s how it seemed anyway. I know that it wasn’t real, but it feels like I spent a lot of time crafting a perfect speech, and now, not only is it gone, but it probably wasn’t all that relevant. It was most likely total nonsense. And I still need to come up with something good. I need to write him something for real, whether it’s as amazingly pointed as the fake original or not. On top of this whole ordeal, I didn’t get very much sleep. Or rather I didn’t wake up well-rested. So maybe I should wait to write it either way. Maybe I should delete what I’ve written to you here, and start over with your letter too. What do you think? Give me your thoughts on this message right away, so I can write you a new one tomorrow if I need to. Lol, I’m joking, but I really should get some sleep, because it almost feels like breaking the laws of physics makes sense as an idea.

Your catfish,

Condor