| Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3.1 |
August 17, 2526. Tertius Valerius and Aeterna Valeria are in a dome called
Breckenridge. It’s the closest one to where they live, Leviss. Well, Aeterna
lives there. Tertius left a while back when he and his daughter had a
falling out, and only recently returned. Things have, quite frankly, turned
to shit. Leviss has been experiencing intensifying seismic activity. It
turns out that Breckenridge has too, but not quite as bad. Their
infrastructure is worse, which in some ways, is a good thing. One
significant tremor, and a skyscraper can come tumbling down. But sparse
handmade houses that are already low to the ground? Not great, but easier to
survive. Back in the day, Leviss was the absolute least advanced dome on
Proxima Doma, but they intentionally had their memories wiped of their
technological origins. They’ve never heard of Earth. They didn’t know they
came here in a ship. This is just where they have always been, as far as
they know. Breckenridge also opted for a low-tech society, but their
memories were left intact, so they knew why they did it, and were able to
instill their values into their children. Without this legacy, the Levins
have kept advancing until now, when their level of technology resembles that
of their ancestors before the split. Unfortunately, it’s all falling apart.
And they need somewhere to go.
“Merchant Prince Rinaldi, please,” Tertius begs. “We need to talk about
this.”
“Uh-uh-uh, call me by my current title.”
“Uh, Incumbent Rinaldi, please,” Tertius begs further.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” Rinaldi contends. “Not until after the vote,
and only if I win.”
“This isn’t a vote,” Tertius argues. “This is a caucus, and a bloody mess
one at that. It looks like you’re going to win anyway.” Most of the
candidates are yelling out their future plans for the dome, trying to entice
voters to support them. As incumbent, Rinaldi has evidently found that he
doesn’t need to risk his voice. He has the largest crowd at his platform
right now.
“There’s no guarantee,” Rinaldi says. “Just look at Bull’s crowd.” He’s
right, it’s pretty big too. He stands up, and adjusts his giant ridiculous
hat. “Hey!” he shouts across the room. “Get away from that platform! Have
you seen his tractor during harvest? Spotless! Guy wastes time
cleaning when he should be picking!”
Tertius rolls his eyes, and looks over at his daughter. “We’re not getting
anywhere with this guy.”
“It’s like you said, he’s gonna win,” Aeterna replies. “We need him.”
Tertius sighs. “Rinaldi, this is quite time-sensitive. The Levins need to
evacuate, but since humans can’t breathe on this planet, they need a dome to
go to, and you have more than enough space.”
Rinaldi sits down, but is still staring at his rival with disgust. “Yeah,
I’d love to help, but it’s not my place. You should have come last week when
I was still in power, or next week when I’m back in power.”
“The quakes weren’t bad enough last week for us to know that they’re not
gonna stop,” Tertius explains.
“Yeah, whatever. We’re dealing with them just fine.” Rinaldi stands up
again. “Hodge, you get the hell away from those hats! You think you stand a
chance? Don’t humiliate yourself, you son of a bitch!” The
voting system is even more outrageous than a regular caucus. They
decided a while back that, even with these platforms, it can be confusing
who here is running for office, and who here is only a constituent. Any
candidate can make a declaration on the day of, even hours into the caucus,
so people need a way to get the news that someone new wants the job. Someone
came up with the idea of having each candidate wear a big hat so they’re
easily spotted in the throng. Over time, these hats have evidently just
gotten bigger and crazier. Most candidates are expending energy holding them
on their heads. They won’t stop, though. It doesn’t look silly to them.
Taking the hat means you’re brave and confident, even if it’s
unearned. To be fair, it’s what’s allowing Tertius and Aeterna to stand up
here on the platform, and have a conversation without worrying about it
looking like they’re declaring themselves candidates too.
“The Levins need you,” Aeterna says to Rinaldi, hoping that her words
might sway him. “They helped you out with your crops a few seasons ago, did
they not?”
“Oh, you mean the superpoop?” Rinaldi asks.
“The...probiotic nanofertilizer, yes. It’s revolutionary.” Of course, when
you build a dome—on an inhospital world like Proxima Doma, or
anywhere—controlling the weather is as easy as adjusting the thermostat in a
regular house. They chose not to do that here. Actually, the Valerii suspect
that the weather is indeed controlled, but is deliberately programmed to be
erratic to simulate natural chaos. The crops don’t always yield, and despite
their unwillingness to advance their technology past a certain threshold,
they have been known to accept outside help so they don’t starve to death.
That might be key to this whole thing.
“Eh.” Rinaldi waves it away. “We paid for that. We owe them nothing.”
Tertius sighs. “We don’t have time for this.” He and Aeterna switch to
Bull’s platform. “I can get you the win, but you have to guarantee taking in
the Levins as refugees, and you have to enforce the process before you
technically take office. I know you can do that. Your whole system of
government is too disorganized for that to be illegal.”
Bull has been screaming his message into a bullhorn that he probably made by
hand out of wood. He moves it away from his mouth, and leans in towards
Tertius. “You snag me the win, I’ll open the tunnel gates by the end of the
night.”
“Grab that scythe for me, hon,” Tertius says to his daughter as they’re
walking towards the stage. He’s not really supposed to talk, but no one is
gonna stop him. “People, people! Listen to me!” he demands. “If you stand by
Bull, I promise an end to your drought! I know where there’s water!” The
megaengineers who colonized this world designed it so that liquid water is
pumped into underground aquifers by use for people who reject the kind of
technology required to do that. It allows them to pretend that it’s not
artificial. But there’s a backup system. There are also just tanks, and
every dome—even the primitive ones—can access them if they know how.
“How can you guarantee that?” a random citizen questions.
“Hit the floor, then hit me,” he requests of Aeterna.
She does so. She breaks into the floorboards to prove that it’s a real
scythe, and not simply a prop. Then she slams the blade against her father’s
back. He doesn’t budge, and the metal buckles. “Because we’re gods!” she
lies.
