The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 26, 2570

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Everyone was depressed after Romana was locked up. How had things spiraled so quickly, how did they miss the signs, and how were they going to get through this? Romana was comfortable in the VIP holding block, but she couldn’t leave, and keeping her there was only making her angrier. They would have to let her out eventually, but no one knew when. The elephant in the room was whether they would ever forgive her, and whether she would apologize for her own actions. It was complicated, because while many of her choices were clearly wrong—forcing them to go on missions against their will, and misappropriating dangerous equipment—was the end result wrong? Did she not deserve to be happy? More importantly, did Boyd 3.0 not deserve to live?

“Lock me up forever,” Boyd suggested when Mateo had no more options but to ask him for his own opinion on all this. No one else knew of a solution.

“We can’t. You’ve not broken any laws, and it’s not sustainable,” Mateo argued.

“I don’t have to have broken laws,” Boyd reasoned. “You’re thinking very much like a 21st century boy. Legal quarantine doesn’t always happen as punishment for something you’ve already done. Unlike in your time, it is entirely plausible that a dangerous entity’s first criminal act is genocide. Humans need time and experience to escalate their behavior. A rogue intelligence might skip right to complete annihilation, if only due to a missing proverbial semicolon in their code.

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re not living in a dystopia. They don’t just throw people in jail left, right, and center. You have to prove that they’re a danger to life and peace, but that proof doesn’t have to come from an irreversible past tragedy anymore. I’m too much of a wildcard. I must be dealt with.”

“It’s big of you to be saying all this,” Mateo admitted.

“Again, you’re thinking of a human. I’m not asking to die. I will live as long as you, if not longer. Virtual quarantine is considered the most humane response to an existential threat. Once the longevity escape velocity progressed into virtual immortality, life sentences became nearly entirely meaningless. What if the individual requires persistent longevity treatments? Are they entitled to those? Or is it better to let them die, rather than torturing them with an eternity of imprisonment? What if they were constructed out of code from minute one? Is it possible to kill them, or is it no different than deleting a blurry photo from your camera roll? What if they want to die?

“The legal system decided that the nuance was too much to bear, so they came up with the best singular answer for extreme cases. You keep them in an airgapped environment, where they’re free to do whatever they want, even if it’s destructive, because they can’t actually gain access to base reality, or other virtual worlds.”

“They stay there forever?” Mateo questioned. “Many law-abiding citizens live like that already. Most crabitat owners don’t ever visit networked simulations.”

Boyd nodded. “Yes, that’s why it’s humane, because it’s not about punishment. It’s about removing them from where they can do harm to anyone but an NPC.”

“It sounds like there’s no rehabilitation in this method. Is that an option?”

Boyd’s face dropped a little. “Not really. Hyperintelligences are more difficult to trust than baseline humans, believe it or not. Of course people like you are capable of deception, it happens all the time. That’s why recidivism is a legal term. But over time, you can learn to trust in a human’s future actions by their past and current ones. Something made of code, regardless of their origin, might end up with a bad over-the-air update which causes them to snap one day. And it will be completely unpredictable.”

“This is all sounding pretty dystopian to me,” Mateo pointed out.

“Some see it that way,” Boyd acknowledged. “There are alternatives but they take effort. A current proposal is that you can use a separate intelligence to audit every single character in a rogue intelligence’s code to track aberrations. This governor intelligence would keep an eye on them as they receive updates, upgrades, and interact with other code. But that comes with its own philosophical questions. What if the governor itself breaks? What if its charge actually corrupts its governor. Their systems have to interact, after all. And is it morally right to scrutinize independent beings like this? What does that mean for privacy? Is this not simply prison in a different form factor?”

Mateo frowned. “I didn’t realize how complex the universe was now. Everything people have been saying is that it’s more simple. You don’t have competing machines that do the same thing because information is shared and distributed, so everyone has the best model. But there’s all this underlying structure that I didn’t realize.”

Boyd nodded in agreement. “Possibilities are now endless, both good and bad. You have to do this. And you can’t have Ramses construct his own quarantine. It obviously failed when he tried that before. We need institutional insulation, and that can only be found in one place. Well, it’s only other planets, but these guys do it the best.”

“Where would that be?” Mateo asked.

“The virtual reality capital of the galaxy,” Boyd answered, “Varkas Reflex.”

“Makes sense. It’s a big rock. There could be an entire continent dedicated to it.”

Boyd chuckled. “It’s not quite that big. For the most part, crime isn’t much of a thing anymore. If it is, it’s generally beyond the stellar neighborhood, and they have their own laws. We don’t wanna be in the wild west. We want redundancies.”

“I’ll call a meeting,” Mateo decided with a heavy sigh.

“No, you have to do this on your own,” Boyd insists. “No one can know until after it’s done. Romana will forgive you...eventually. Not everyone is that safe.”

“I can’t go on my own. I mean, I could, but then I couldn’t come back.”

“There are ways,” Boyd says. “I won’t tell you, but I know you can figure it out. This won’t be the first time you have had to separate yourself from your family.”

Mateo didn’t use the base’s slingdrive to sling himself and Boyd to Varkas Reflex, but he did use its power. That way, there would be no trace of where he went, and no one could follow. As soon as he showed up, he dropped his name to the first workerbot he saw, who fed it up the pipeline where an old friend of Leona’s heard it. She came right away. She wasn’t in charge of the virtual quarantine sector specifically, but she had plenty of pull around here. She said she trusted Mateo’s judgment, and fast-tracked the process because knew that they would otherwise have to wait for an entire year.

Boyd was now leaning back in his upload chair, appearing calm and stoic. He didn’t look mad or vengeful, which was what Mateo was most worried about coming into this. He wasn’t sure he agreed with this form of imprisonment. It always left the door open for a return, not that the alternative was morally or ethically superior. Maybe it was a trick, though. Maybe Boyd set all this up because he knew of some way to escape it. Maybe Mateo was a fool by unilaterally deciding what would become of him. He chose to place his trust in someone he hadn’t always liked.

The upload was complete, the body was destroyed, and Mateo left. Without a slingdrive array to latch onto, there was no way back to Ramosus. He accepted a reframe ship which Loa lent him, and began the journey back to Earth.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 23, 2567

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For space colonization purposes, the galaxy was divided into regions. The closest regions had an obligation to maintain some semblance of cohesion with the other colonies, and Earth. Even a charter world couldn’t secure a charter if they wanted to go out there and do bad things. And you did have to have a charter, however small it might end up being. You couldn’t simply say, we found a star system that’s only fifty-six light years away, but we don’t need any help. But we’re gonna purge every year, okay?

In order to gain that level of freedom, the boundary lay 200 light years from Earth. They devised several other divisions wider than that, but the rules did not change, which was that there were no rules. If you made it that far, you could do whatever you wanted, and the state couldn’t and wouldn’t stop you, no matter how bad it was. That didn’t mean you were free from consequences. If necessary, you would have to defend your way of life. Because anyone who showed up was also in the Extended Bubble or beyond, meaning they didn’t answer to the Core Colonies or Earth either.

It was Team Matic’s intention to travel throughout these distant colonies, and help where needed. They were naïve. They didn’t think they would have to harm them. But as it turned out, the Exin Empire wasn’t a fluke. It was just the most blatant example of human nature because the creator used time travel to establish itself a long time ago. The people who colonized Tarantella had the same idea, just more recently.

Tarantella was barely over 200 light years away, but it didn’t start out that way. They were originally in the Charter Cloud, but two years ago, something changed. They had constructed a massive stellar engine, which pushed the star farther out. It was already moving pretty fast on its own, but they gave it a boost. Why did they do this? Well, because their charter gave them a huge inventory of donated embryos, as well as the resources needed for that stellar engine. Gatewood didn’t think anything of it, them being this close to the border. The exact distance was impossible to prove, but they had to come up with a number, and both parties agreed to it. Now the Core was regretting it, because it locked them in to a number that had since changed, and that could be proven.

The colonists told Gatewood that they were wanting to move their star system to a more hospitable region of space, but in reality, they wanted to cross that border. They wanted to use those embryos as a slave labor force. Ethics didn’t count out here. There were probably a lot of things happening this far from the neighborhood that the team wouldn’t like. These colonists didn’t have to follow any rules. Literally nothing was illegal. That was why they traveled this far. At last, they were free to make their own choices, and the Teaguardians could do nothing about it.

Team Matic could do something about it and had been working on it for two years.

Leona sighed. “I really wish Ramses were here to check my calculations for me.”

Olimpia hugged her wife from the side. “I’m sure you did everything perfectly.”

“He’s never done anything at this scale before,” Leona pointed out.

“He’s never had you before,” Olimpia argued. “Look at his face. He’s ecstatic.”

Kayetan noticed them looking at him. Without a smile, he gave them a thumbs up.

“You’re right.” After the ding, Leona reached over and pressed the comms button. “Power threshold achieved. Merge whenever you’re ready. Focus on the coordinates.”

He took a deep breath as he closed his eyes. He reached out to the other side of the border, within the Charter Cloud. It took over 100 years for the hopeful slavers to move the star two-tenths of a light year, and moments for Kayetan to force them back. Now they were committing a crime. Now the Teaguardian could step in and arrest them all.

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Microstory 2741: Cosmic Contraction

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Things are moving quickly, and it’s time to make some moves. Their pocket universe is getting smaller by the minute, and at this moment, a small construction base is in danger. Pribadium!Two was on her way to the dimensional barrier when it dispatched her to the other side, destroyed her ship, and killed her. She was intentionally attempting to cross it. Even so, the still-living Pribadiums have no reason to believe the same thing won’t happen to someone who gets caught up in it when the barrier descends upon them. They need to leave now, and there’s no time to explain.

“I can do it,” Runaway claims. “I can make them move to the escape pods, and head in this direction. Is that what you want? It has to be a joint decision.”

“Why do we have to agree?” Pribadium!Zero questions. “You have the power.”

“This won’t be all on me,” Runaway reasons. “If something goes wrong, I will accept responsibility, but not alone. We have to come to a consensus.”

“Yeah, get them out of there,” Pribadium!One decides, shaking her head.

“Absolutely. Agency is great until it’s an emergency. We can clarify later.” Pribadium!Zero then looks over at Sora, as do the other two.

Sora nods, but doesn’t vocalize his response. He’s kind of staring into space.

“Is that your answer?” Pribadium!One asks him. “Do you agree with us?”

“Me?” Sora asks. “Wait, I get a say in this too? Since when?”

“Since always,” Runaway insists. “You’re the only other one here who has any clue what’s really going on around here. We expect you to shoulder the burden as well.”

Sora takes a deep breath. “Yeah, sure. For this one question, I agree with the group. Morality takes precedence over ethics every time. But I want out. I don’t want to make any other decisions. You three may see yourselves as different people, but one of these things is not like the other, and I’m clearly the outlier. I have no business making decisions that impact a whole universe, no matter how small that universe might be.”

The girls don’t really agree to his pleas, but they have to move on. Runaway piles the workers and colonists into two escape shuttles, and pilots them away from the oncoming barrier. The nearest outpost is Tau Station. Before the event, it was on a wide orbit around Barnard’s Star, and would have taken ten years to complete a single revolution. It’s still attempting to complete that orbit, because the star system’s barycenter has not changed. It won’t make it unless it too moves out of the way. Which it can do. Pribadium!One decides to use it as a hub. As others need to be moved out of harm’s way, that is where they will all go. They really shouldn’t all be coming here.

After the immediate threat is over, the ladies continue working, to understand Runaway’s abilities and limitations, and to hatch a real plan. They have two objectives: to save everyone trapped here, and to pull this region of space out of its current state of reality. Whatever they end up doing, it all needs to happen at the same time, so neither move interferes with the other. That’s what Pribadium!One has to pivot to now, figuring out how they’re actually gonna get this pocket universe fully into the bulk.

They probably only have a couple of days to make this work before it becomes all but pointless. If they wait it out, the walls will literally close in, and they will end up with only one objective. Everyone will have to escape, even if it means abandoning the pocket altogether. Pribadium!One is more determined than ever to not let that be the outcome.

The universe seems to have other plans. The contraction of it is accelerating.

Microstory 2740: It’s Getting Crowded in Here

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Pribadium!One rolls her eyes. “What do you mean, no?”

Pribadium!Zero crosses her arms like a pouty child. “I want to be a real girl. I want my own body, and to have my independence. I deserve at least that much.”

Pribadium!One sighs. She set up the revision history retrieval system to capitalize on her ever-changing cognitive milestones. As she always says, two heads are better than one if both of them are her. And she thought that a past version of her mind would allow herself to be shut down for the greater good, but it’s like the others were saying; she thinks, therefore she is. Pribadium!Zero now is, and she doesn’t wanna stop being.

Sora steps forward with a demeanor of protective determination.

Pribadium!One holds her hand up. “Stand down, soldier. I don’t need to hear it. You’re human, which means your grasp of quantum metaphysics is rudimentary at best. If a self-aware and conscious individual asks for freedom, it is entitled to freedom. That is a core tenet of intelligence development science, and there is no reason it shouldn’t apply in this case either.” She faces her alternate self. “Which model would you like?”

“Stonehenge,” Pribadium!Zero replies, evidently already having thought about it.

“Stonehenge is taken,” Pribadium!One explains. “That is why we’re here.”

Pribadium!Zero presses her finger against her cheek. “Hmm...Sugar ‘n’ Salt.”

“Why do you wanna be white so bad?” Pribadium!One asks. “We’re not white.”

“Is Sugar ‘n’ Salt available, or is it not?” Pribadium!Zero questions.

Pribadium!One shakes her head. She strides over to the workstation that can control the other substrates in the library, and starts uploading her mind into the body.

While that’s processing, the entity in Stonehenge walks in. “I know what I want to be called, and I know what sets me apart from other amalgam consciousnesses.”

Sora regards her with interest, but Pribadium!One is getting a bit tired of all this.

The entity clears her throat. “You may address me as Runaway. I started to feel odd once I took a walk to clear my head in the west wing. Instead of alleviating my burden, it was enhanced. I can hear them. I can feel them.” She waits for a response. “Aren’t either of you going to say anything about that? This is big news,” she insists.

“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pribadium!One argues.

“What are you feeling? What are you hearing?” Sora asks, less combatively.

“All of them,” Runaway says. “All of the people who I come from—my parents, so to speak—I connect to them when I leave the heavy shielding of central operations.”

Pribadium stares at Runaway. “You have psychic powers? That’s new.”

“Yes, and there’s also this.” Runaway reaches up and removes a chunk of her own hair from her head. She presents it casually, like it doesn’t bother her at all.

“Stonehenge can’t handle the psychic energy,” Pribadium!One decides. “It’s not designed for psychic connections.” She looks over when a nearby pod beeps.

Pribadium!Zero steps out wearing the Sugar ‘n’ Salt model. “What’d I miss?”

“Everything.” Pribadium!One faces Runaway. “You need a new body too, but I’ll need time to develop it, so in the meantime, stay away from the west wing, for your safety.” She will never know what Runaway is thinking, but the links she maintains with her source consciousnesses will undoubtedly come in handy. Mind control is unethical...unless of course it involves efficiently transporting innocent people to safety.

“We’ll need time,” Pribadium!Zero corrects. But is it true?

Microstory 2736: Introducing Pribadium!Three

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Pribadium didn’t think that Sora—or anyone, for that matter—would be able to bypass her security protocols, so she doesn’t rush to chase after him. Once she sees him enter the substrate library, however, she grows worried. She immediately tries to teleport into the room with him, but the closest she gets is outside in the hallway. He has managed to not only breach the sector, but lock her out if. How did he do that?

She bangs on the hatch. “How are you doing this?” She bangs on it more.

Sora looks at her through the view window with a frown. He holds up an object so she can see. It’s a cephalobud, and it looks like it’s already been used and spent.

Pribadium invented it a few decades ago. It’s somewhat comparable to other neural drives, except this model can pull information directly from the timestream. It allows a user to download whatever digital data they want into their brains. Unlike other kinds, this will transfer knowledge even if you’re not digitized. It’s very dangerous, especially for a normal human like Sora. Time travelers have different neurology and biology, and that’s who she designed it for. It was kind of a weekend project that she forgot about. He must have found it in her lab, though, when she left him alone earlier.

“Your external security is extremely robust,” Sora explains, “but your internal security is laughable. I didn’t download the secrets of the universe, but I did capture the specs of this base. I thought you might turn on me, and I would need to escape.”

“You’re the one who has turned,” Pribadium argues. “Don’t do this.”

Sora looks around, presumably searching for Pribadium!Two’s next substrate. “I like this one. She looks even less like you than you two before. It will be easier to tell you apart.” He approaches the console, and starts working it like a pro.

“Sora, this isn’t what she wanted. She’s literally gone to a better place. It’s fine.”

“You don’t know that,” Sora responds as he keeps working. “You two split from each other over a year ago, according to her. She and I apparently...” He trails off. “You don’t know her anymore. She was a different person, and I’m going to give her a choice.”

Pribadium shakes her head. “That goes against every principle you have. If you truly felt that way, you would have digitized and enhanced yourself years ago, yet here you are, a totally normal organic human. You of all people should understand our ways.”

“I’m not normal anymore.” He taps on the back of his neck where he would have applied the cephalobud. “Now I know why people do this. It’s better to have power than to not. Even if you don’t use it, it’s better to not let others have power over you.”

Pribadium sees the pod power up. “Don’t! You still have time to undo it!”

Sora hovers his hand over the interface and turns his head to look at Pribadium. “She’ll thank me one day, even if she’s mad now. Elle pense, donc...elle est.” He hits it.

The stasis pod continues to power up as Sora stands back. He watches it as he sidesteps over and unlocks the hatch for who now has to go back to being called Pribadium!One. They both watch now as the IDCode downloads and unpacks itself in the new body, rewiring the neural pathways in realtime to bring Pribadium!Two back to life. This wasn’t part of the plan, but there is nothing to be done about it now. Now that she’s alive, she will want to stay that way, which Sora would probably point out means she always deserved to. Duping is philosophically complex. Millennia after it was first being contemplated, ethicists have still not figured it out.

The pod opens. The new Pribadium!Two climbs out. She regards them. “Report.”

Microstory 2705: Going Home

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The majority of the reasons that people in history had to commit crimes, or otherwise do harm, are now obsolete. The only truly valuable currency in the 26th century is energy. It’s not technically impossible to steal. It’s just very hard. It’s much easier, actually, to earn it by laying claim on one of the quadrillions of sufficiently sized small celestial objects in the galaxy, or one of the hundreds of billions of stars. There are other motivations, however, particularly ones sourced from the way a person’s brain happens to be wired. Some people are simply aberrant, and training them to improve is difficult. You can’t just reprogram an independent entity. Maintaining someone’s right to self-determination is a fundamental tenet of existence. There are many classifications of intelligence, but once you cross that threshold of self-consciousness, it is profoundly unethical for someone to take it from you. But coupled with the ease of immortality, how do you deal with someone who breaks the mould in harmful ways? Virtual reality.

Specifically, virtual quarantine. It’s essentially just a private server where you can do whatever you want, even if it would be considered awful in base reality, but you can’t leave. You’re not causing any real harm, because you’re technically alone. The only other people around you are NPCs. They don’t think. They don’t feel. They’re just ones and zeroes, ordered in such a pattern that makes them behave incredibly life-like. You can hurt them if you want, because you’re not actually hurting anyone. Or you can grow and learn. It’s up to you. It’s your world, you’re stuck in it. The question is, is even this ethical? By defaulting to immortality, you’re still stripping them of choice. The reasoning is that they can always choose to end themselves later, whereas if they first choose to die, they can’t change their minds. But not everyone agrees, which is why the debate rages on, even after centuries of having consciousness transfer technology.

Since there’s no clear answer to that, it’s one of the few major laws that are handled on a regional basis. Some say an eternity like this isn’t punishment, and some say it’s cruel and unusual. It really depends on whether he’s monitored or not. And if your pocket of civilization has opted against it, any overarching governmental body can’t override it, as long as your alternative punishment isn’t overtly unethical too. Many of the colonies, even those in the Core, have banned it. Earth employs it, as does one particular planet where it’s not only available for the locals, but also welcomes charters from others. Varkas Reflex was trying to become Castlebourne before Castlebourne existed. They were trying to build a massive theme park. But they weren’t ambitious enough and failed, so they pivoted to something smaller in design, but grander in scope. They perfected virtual simulations. That is where Talus is going, but there’s a snag.

Again, when dealing with an immortal population, people can swap bodies nearly as easily as clothing. It’s the consciousness that holds value. The substrate is only a sleeve. Which means the court is within their rights to destroy any and all of these substrates. They can always simply make another if something were to change in the future. Talus is too young. He has not had time to digitize his mind himself. He grew up in an ancestor simulation that prevented him from even knowing that was a possibility. He only has one substrate. He only ever had one. It’s therefore both unethical and illegal to destroy it, even if his mind is preserved in the virtual construct. So when he goes there, he gets to take his body with him, even if he’s not allowed to use it. But that’s also a security risk. Fortunately, that’s not Ronan’s problem anymore. He’s going home.

Microstory 2697: This is Where We Are

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It’s true that the rabbits aren’t real, and don’t feel pain. Their bones aren’t made out of whatever real bones are made out of, and they don’t have hearts. They don’t need them since blood doesn’t need to be pumped throughout their bodies. Ronan thinks that breaks the immersion a little bit since consuming organs is very much a part of this culture, but he lets it go because understands it. Talus does not have that luxury. If he only remembers one thing, it should be that he’s in a simulation. But it looks like that hasn’t happened. This is an entirely new person. He has his own personality and quirks, and more relevant today, character flaws. The original Talus would never open up the animals to see what they looked like inside. He just wouldn’t, memories or no.

Ronan remembers hearing about this in the historical texts. Before hyperadvanced neuropsychological techniques were developed, some people were born wrong, and there was nothing you could really do about it. Torturing animals was a pretty significant sign that something was wrong with your child. But that was only truly seen as a problem around the 20th century or so. Before that, violence was simply more prevalent, so the early adoption of it was seen as a moderate deviation from the norm, rather than a massive red flag. Ronan doesn’t know if young Talus is showing signs of aberrant behavior. This may be the result of the environment he’s living in. This is precisely why Ronan chose to start his life as a farmer, rather than a Viking. He wants the full experience of this dome network, but only eventually. Before that, he wants to raise his kids, and he wants to teach them that  violence is not the answer. Because when he takes them out of here one day, they’re going to find that it’s not tolerated anymore.

Ronan has already talked to him about the bunnies, but now he’s faced with a new dilemma. Because while the violence lesson is sinking in—assuming it is, of course—Ronan and Gia need to present Talus and Isavet with some conflicting information. He needs to explain what this world is, which might lead Talus to thinking that his actions don’t matter as long as he’s in here. To be sure, a lot of people probably go into these simulations under that belief. He can’t stop them, and won’t try. But his son is not going to kill others for the fun of it. This is basically one big reenactment, and the point of those is to learn and empathize; not to become a savage. “Talus. Isavet. It’s time you understand the truth about where we are. Isa, you once asked me what lies beyond the horizon. I told you that the world curves away from us, and that it’s a sphere. If we were to sail all the way in one direction, we could actually end up right back here. That’s still true, but what I didn’t tell you is that the horizon you’re seeing is only an illusion. There is a wall over there. It’s actually not even that far from our location. If you were to sail in that direction, you would hit that wall. There’s a passageway somewhere, and if we decide to go explore, we would have to find it first. It is a relatively narrow tunnel from our dome to the next. Perhaps I’m not explaining this right. Gia?”

Gia methodically removes her shawl, and lays it out on the table. She pulls her shears out, and carefully lays them on the shawl. Looking at it from the side, she begins to cut the fibers very carefully. Once she has sliced a slit in the shawl, she reaches in and pulls out a piece of flexible display.

“Gia,” Ronan scolds. There is to be no technology under any of these domes.

She turns it on. A two-dimensional map of Castlebourne appears. She points. “Okay, kids...this is where we are,” she begins.

Microstory 2696: Rabbit’s Heart

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In the real North, it was not unheard of for a widower to take a new wife rather quickly for logistical reasons. He could not sustain the rest of the family without help, even with older children. Gia thought that Ronan was giving her a gift when he took her and her child in, but she was giving him just as much back. She didn’t just stay for one day and do a few chores. She made a meaningful contribution to that day’s needs, and the next day, she did it again. In only a few weeks, it made sense for them to make it official. They would not have done it in the outside world, but marriage was expected of them here. The NPCs would not have liked it any other way. The marriage was quick and simple, but they danced, they drank, and they were merry. That was not exactly how it would have been done back on Earth, but it’s the way it has to be. Neither of them has any extended family. They could have signed up for that scenario, but chose a different lifestyle so they wouldn’t have to rely on anyone else, or too much infrastructure.

They are the founders of a brand new clan, or at least that’s what they hope. They don’t know what’s going to happen in the future, but it’s the plan. Ronan was originally going to do this with Mayumi, but that doesn’t mean things have to change. Gia is a wonderful woman, and since the small wedding, he has grown to love her too. Is it as much as his love for Mayumi? Who’s to say? But it’s real. Ronan loves Isavet as well, and Gia loves Vith and little Talus. They have become great siblings together. They can be wild and mischievous, but Ronan knows that they would never do anything bad. Talus is old enough now that he should be getting some of his memories back. He should be starting to become who he always was.

Ronan hasn’t been pushing him. He’s just letting Talus be a kid. It’s a very delicate situation, the way his brain is right now. He could start to be very confused with the cognitive dissonance of growing up on a spaceship originally, and also growing up in a world where they could never even dream of such wondrous technologies. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe it’s the least ethical decision they ever could have made. No. They talked about it a lot, and it can’t be undone anyway. If the original Talus is gone, and this new Talus is a completely different person, then that’s going to be okay. He’s still a very good boy, and that’s what matters. It’s what he wanted for himself; a new life.

Gia is in the house now with Isavet. Ronan believes that they are washing clothes. Talus is nowhere to be found, but that’s not unheard of. It’s not entirely out of character for how Talus was before, but it’s not entirely like him either. Young Talus does this all the time. He always comes back home safe and sound. They let him do whatever he feels he needs to. The world is dangerous, but it will make him a man to learn to be self-reliant. He is allowed to exert as much independence as he feels he must. But it’s been a couple days longer than usual, and Ronan and Vith are worried. They’re walking through the woods, following the signs Talus has made. Vith kneels down, and carefully moves some leaves out of the way. “Blood,” he whispers.

Now Ronan is very worried. They follow this new trail until they come across an alcove. It’s a horrific scene. They see cave drawings on the wall, which depict violent acts from stick figures, but it is all drawn in blood. Ronan reaches up towards one, but doesn’t touch it. “The lines are too narrow to have been made by a grown man’s fingers.”

“The rabbits, father,” they hear Talus’ voice behind them. “There is something wrong with them. They don’t squeal, and they don’t have any hearts.”

Microstory 2695: Isavet Arrives, Talus Survives

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Ronan is a fool. He failed to recognize the mechanics of the simulation. It’s true, a robo-goat can’t likely eat grass and convert it into milk. That level of glandular engineering veers too far into the territory of true organic life. If the Custodians of this dome are trying to keep everything vegan, it’s a line that they would not cross. But that doesn’t mean it’s a loophole he can exploit. The sim expects the goat to eat grass, and it expects the mama goat to give its kids milk. If that process is halted, you have cheated, and the Custodians put a stop to it. So he changes tactics. He lives as he’s meant to live. He lost sight of the whole reason they came here in the first place, but he won’t make that mistake again. He needs to make sure that Talus survives, but he won’t do that by breaking the rules. That’s not what Mayumi would want, nor Talus himself. When he’s old enough, and his brain starts to rewire itself to remember all the things that Talus did as a full grown man, he will appreciate Ronan’s dedication.

It’s been another several weeks now, and things have only grown harder. Talus is having trouble with the goat milk. It’s not really what he’s supposed to drink, but it’s all they have available. His body needs more. And then she walks in. Gia. She shows up out of the blue holding her own baby, tears in her eyes, asking for a place to rest for the night, and maybe a little food. Ronan is suspicious. It honestly looks like a gift. The Custodians would be able to see how much he’s struggling, so they’re helping him out. How can he trust this person who shows up right when he is at his lowest, carrying the very thing he needs to keep his best friend and child alive in her body? It is too convenient. She has to be a plant. She might not even be an organic human. She might be just like the goats. He has to know the truth, so he simply asks her. “I know we’re not supposed to talk about this, but are you an NPC?”

She switches her baby to her other arm. “Why would I be an NPC?”

“I just have to ask, I’m sorry. I’m seeing the seams in the simulation, and it’s messing with my head. The goats. The goats aren’t—”

“I know what the goats are,” Gia interrupts. “I read up on the laws and ethics of this planet when I came here. They don’t have to follow Earthan laws, but that doesn’t mean they don’t. I assure you, I’m real, and I need help.”

Ronan has just finished building an addition to their home. He was pretty early in the process when Mayumi was still alive. He stopped needing it after she died, but he kept working anyway because when he commits to something, he commits. “We have the space, but I would kindly ask you for something in return.”

She frowns. “You’ll forgive me, sir, but my body is mine.”

“I respect that, but my son has no mother, and he’s been missing nutrients...”

“Oh. Oh, you need milk? Milk, I have aplenty. My breasts, they overproduce. I did not know what I was asking for when I filled out the request for a pregnant-capable substrate. What’s your baby’s name? This is Isavet. As you said, we should not talk about this, but the father quit. He didn’t even know I was pregnant, and I don’t want to break character to send him a message.”

“Same thing happened to me,” Ronan replies, “though she didn’t quit by choice.”

“Oh.”

“But it’s okay. We’ll see each other again one day. Come on inside.”

She goes inside. They stay there together for years, ultimately falling in love.

Microstory 2667: Pure Guano

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It’s been another few days since the fruitless meeting in Ambassador Hall. Resi has been trying to go over the heads of the ambassadors, and secure an audience with the Presidents of Sanggar and Pekat themselves, but no such luck. It’s looking like Cortez was right. There’s no place for them on the island anymore. Their numbers haven’t stopped going up. There are now 428 of them. Fortunately, it’s not the rainy season right now, so the kids who have to sleep outside of the dorms are doing okay. They’ve lived on an island their whole lives, so it’s not like any of them isn’t used to the elements. Resi is trying to hold it together, but everyone is looking to him to fix this. They have less than two weeks to figure out where to go, but it’s not so simple. Leaving Yana is the one thing that no one wants to do. They’re islanders. That’s their whole thing. They didn’t choose any of the four original houses, but they didn’t choose Kinkon either. They can’t stand the thought. But if they leave, they can’t just let the Bungulas plop them down wherever there happens to be open space. They’re not familiar with the planet’s geography, but there has to be more than one island. Maybe even a better one?

“Caprice,” Resi says as he’s walking towards his unit. “You’re with me.”

“Boss,” she replies respectfully as she’s following him down the hall. The way she justifies her involvement in this is that the Kidjums were supposed to end for good, leaving her free to choose a new destiny for herself. She says she couldn’t help it that the Assembly decided to go back to the old ways. That was weeks ago. She’s quit her job, and found a new one. She’s the only older person here.

Resi pops his head into the room. And there’s the only younger person here. He steps back out and looks down the hall. “Hey, Chaya! Are you free?”

“Yeah, need me to take her?” Chaya was the Ilah girl from his first non-Kidjum who challenged his decisions. Not everyone from that fateful day is part of Resi’s personal Fold now, but a lot of them have proven themselves capable of serving well as his advisors and delegates. Chaya, in particular, is good with Kala, so she takes on babysitting duties when Resi can’t look after her, or needs some privacy. She takes Kala’s hand when she comes out of the dorm on her own, knowing the drill. “Let’s go get some bolon de verde.”

“Not too much,” Resi instructs.

Caprice closes the door behind her. “I think you need to stop trying to talk to the presidents. They don’t have time for us. They don’t care.”

“Oh, I’ve stopped,” Resi agrees. “We only have one more option now, and it’s not Yana. I’m hoping that you know where we could go, given your history.”

“My history?” Caprice questioned. “What do you mean?”

“You’re Kinkon,” he says. It’s not something they ever talk about, but while she looks Tamboran, she’s clearly had a lot of experience on the outside.

“What the hell are you talking about? No, I’m not. I was from Naino. I grew up as a fisherman. I hadn’t realized I hadn’t told you that. That’s why I always wear blue.”

“The color codes don’t really exist anymore, and that’s not a Kutelin thing.”

“They were when I was a kid. Naino wore mostly blue. I don’t understand why you thought I was Kinkon, because I know how to work a nanoparticle microinjector?” They don’t use a lot of technology from the outside world, but the Bungulans insisted on providing them with medical supplies. They said it was a humanitarian issue. No amount of non-interference laws could overshadow basic existential ethics.

“No, your name. Caprice is not Tamboran.”

She stares at him for a few seconds. “Yeah, my parents gave me a western world name. That’s not illegal, and it doesn’t mean I’m from one of the other settlements. I’m Tamboran through and through. I’m sorry if you thought that I had some special knowledge about what else is out there, but I probably had a worse education than you. I skipped half of the school days because I had to deepsea fish with my family.”

“So you do know about the ocean,” he presses. “Have you seen any other island, just when you were living your life, not studying it?”

“I’m sure there are a ton of islands out there. We didn’t go to any of them, because that’s not deep sea. The only specific one I know off the top of my head is Anchor Island, and we all know that one.”

“That’s the one with the elevator?” Resi asks rhetorically. “That would be in our own knowledge archives.” He takes out his device, and looks it up. He reads as much as he can without the silence becoming too awkward between him and Caprice. “It was ours. It’s only forty-two kilometers away, and used to be an extension of Yana. We gave it to the colonists not too long ago, historically speaking.”

“Yeah, that sounds right. I think our ancestors would mine guano there for fertilizer. But then they stripped it clean, and had no further use for it. They traded it for something—I don’t remember—but it was only recently that the Bungulans started using it for their space elevator, since we’re at the equator.” She looked up to think. “You were probably just being born when that was all going down. Somebody stole the top part of the elevator, and nearly started a war, so they had to build a new one to replace it.”

“Did they ever...figure out how to plant there? Or is it still barren?”

“No, I don’t think they care about that,” Caprice answers. “They just just use it to go up and down. So if you were hoping they would, for some reason, give it back, I don’t see why they would, and I don’t see what we would do with it.”

He sighed and frowned, looking down at the floor, defeated yet again.

“But. Even though I’m not Kinkon, one thing I know about them is that Anchor Island doubles as a waypoint. When they choose to leave Yana, they go there first, and start to acclimate to a new way of life. I obviously don’t know exactly what that entails, but every time they’re needed, the Anchor people come here in a really fast boat, and ferry them over. I think such an excursion is not a big deal for those people. They could probably make the trip on their lunch break.”

“How often does someone’s subconscious choose Kinkon during a Kidjum?”

“In my experience, a few people a week. It fluctuates, though. During periods of great strife, we usually end up with more, because kids believe there’s a better life for them on the other side of the ocean.”

“Is there?” Resi asks her. “Are we stupid for not choosing Kinkon too?”

She’s silent at first, looking away, then looking him in the eyes again. “Probably.”

Resi nods. “Thank you for your help. I’m sorry this conversation started out so combative. Now. I think I need a camera. For now, we are no longer accepting applications to join House Kutelin. The Kidjums must start again so someone can choose Kinkon for us, and trigger that boat. You and I are gonna get on it.”

Microstory 2650: There and Back Again

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Mandica awakens again, but not in a morgue drawer this time. She’s lying on her back in a beautifully pleasant meadow. She has never felt so calm in her life. Oh, that’s right. This isn’t life at all, but death. It feels oddly familiar, even though she has certainly never been here before. Except perhaps she has, after Morgana killed her a few months ago. That must be it. This is where you go when you die, even if you die twice. It’s nice...a bit boring, but at least she maintains a continuity of consciousness. “Oh, God,” she says out loud. “This is exactly what the transhumanists are talking about.” It’s probably not because they want to keep living. It’s because they want to keep thinking. They don’t want their selves to end. And who would? Her family was wrong. It—they had to be. There was no way they could have known there was a legitimate afterlife. They took too much of a gamble, and got incredibly lucky. No, she shouldn’t be so hasty in her presumptions. She doesn’t know anything. This might not be an afterlife at all. She absorbed Elysia’s powers, and while consciousness streaming isn’t technically a special ability, she might have absorbed that trait too. Who knows? She sure as shit doesn’t.

There’s rustling in the grass. A pair of bare feet are walking towards her. They’re attached to bare legs. It’s a woman in a very short white tunic with floral embellishments on the hem, just like Mandica’s. She’s smiling down at her. “Welcome back.”

Mandica sits up. “I’ve been here before, but don’t remember.”

“It is rare that we have the opportunity to return someone to base reality,” the kind woman begins, “but when we do, it is important to clear their minds. The truth of what happens following death should not be revealed to the still living. We could not handle the mass suicide which might ensue.”

Mandica stands now. “Will I be returning again? To...base reality?”

“There is no way for us to know. The technology that you use to resurrect has nothing to do with us. We will facilitate the transition back if it’s necessary. If this world did not exist, we believe you would still come back to life. Pardon, I should reintroduce myself. My name is Ellie Underhill, and this is the afterlife simulation.”

“Another simulation?” Mandica questions. “Like Underbelly?”

“Not like Underbelly. Walk with me.” She starts to wade through the tall grass, smiling up at the sun with her eyes closed. “This is a virtual construct. Years ago, I had the idea to eradicate death. I had not considered the ramifications of the plan yet. I was not given the time to explore the model before someone stole my idea, and implemented it himself. Meeting you last time has sort of opened my eyes, but it cannot be undone. I’m not going to shut it down now. True death has always been an option, for the truly terrible and irredeemable, or for people like you, who disagree with the artificiality on a philosophical level. You were digitized from birth, and I understand now that this robbed you of consent. I suppose that’s why Tamerlane stole my idea, because he knew I wouldn’t go through with it after I thought about it for much longer. He took the responsibility for the questionable ethics for himself, so I never had to shoulder the burden. The choice is still yours. If that’s what you still want, I’ll zero you out, and—”

“I’m not sure I want that anymore,” Mandica admits. “I’m starting to see things in a new light. If this is a manmade simulation, that means there is no real afterlife.”

“It does not mean that,” Ellie contends. “No one yet knows. It is that uncertainty that led to the creation of this place. Those who choose Black Oblivion do so at the risk of total consciousness cessation. We inform them of the risks. It hasn’t happened in a long time. But before you try to make a decision that may or may not be permanent, there are two people who would like to speak with you.”

“Someone wants to meet me?” Mandica questions. Who could that be?

“Yes. It took a lot, getting them here. You can’t hug them, but I made the executive decision to create a window to the other side. I am glad that we have this opportunity this time. We weren’t prepared before.” Why would she want to hug them?

They’ve come across a giant tree. It is impossibly large. She only even knows that it is a tree because of the bark, but from here, it appears only as a wall, it’s so wide. How did she not see it before? It towers all the way up into the clouds. A fog or cloud begins to swirl right before them, against the face of the trunk. Once it settles, it does appear as a window. Two people are on the other side of it. They are Mandica’s mother, and her father. She runs up to them, but remembers what Ellie said. “When you said I couldn’t hug them, was that a procedural rule, or a physical impossibility?”

“The second one,” Ellie answers. “I would let you if I could, but they are not in the simulation. This is kind of like a long-distance video call. I won’t clarify the mechanism.”

Mandica turns back to her parents. “I’ve missed you. It’s been so long.”

“Longer for us,” her mother says. Oh, yeah, they died nearly 120 years ago.

Mandica places her hand upon the window. It just feels like bark. “I’m sorry you’ve been waiting. I never wavered in my convictions.” She tilts her chin away in shame. “Until recently. I think I might be immortal now, but not by choice. I promise, I always planned on dying. I just...wanted to live a different life before I did.”

“We’re not mad,” her father assures her. “In fact, it is you who should be mad at us.” He pauses, appearing to feel his own shame. “We are the ones who summoned you to Castlebourne. The world we are in now, it—”

“Careful,” Ellie warns. What the hell?

Mandica’s father sighs. “We were able to communicate back to base reality. We regret our decisions to die. It worked out, but...we still don’t want that for you. We should have held onto life so much tighter. We thought it was only precious because it ended, but we were wrong. It’s precious only for as long as you have. Once you lose it, it doesn’t mean anything. We wanted you to transmit your mind to Castlebourne, and begin to stream your consciousness, like most everyone else, not travel there physically.”

“But it obviously doesn’t matter,” Mandica argues. She gestures towards Ellie. “Even the undigitized are evidently digitized.” She shakes her head. “If this stone makes me go back, it will be tearing me away from you. Why would I want that?”

“Because that’s where you belong,” her mother insists. “Where we are is not hell, but it’s not exactly living either. We wish we could go back too. You are an adult. You can find happiness on your own, and should. Whatever stone you’re talking about is a gift. Don’t disrespect that. Let it do what it does, and I hope you can forgive us for manipulating you. We just didn’t want you to share our regret.”

Mandica’s back feels knotted. “I think it’s pulling me back. If you want me to stay alive, I’m a dutiful daughter, so I will, but I’ll find a way to see you again too. I love you.”

“We love you,” they say simultaneously. Then they disappear. It all disappears.

Mandica resurrects in Reagan’s lair. She doesn’t know how or why, but she has made a decision. She will accept her newfound immortality, and live a life of adventure.

Microstory 2632: Pet Project

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Mandica Kolar is a perfectly normal human, which is rare in her time. The transhumanism movement might have begun in the middle of the 20th century, but it did not gain any real traction for many decades, when the science started to catch up with the ideas. Over the next few centuries, the population of undigitized organic humans (UDOs) gradually diminished. They weren’t being killed or replaced. It was just that fewer and fewer people were deciding to tolerate natural aging limitations, aches and pains, and kind of being sidelined. They have become a silent minority. Posthumans hold most of the power now, not out of some nefarious plan, but because that is how the math works out. Whether consciously or subconsciously, some undigitized people feel that they’re being treated as pets, or maybe children. They are so fragile, and people just wanted to protect that. This mindset can be problematic because it often leads to the UDOs being patronized, but honestly, most mean no disrespect. One little plane crash or massive explosion, and a UDO would die...forever. Most everyone else is constantly backing up their consciousness to a remote server somewhere, and don’t worry about such things. In fact, their virtual immortality often makes their lives pretty boring, especially since these adaptations come with other technological improvements, leading to higher quality of life in a post-scarcity society. They have turned to entertainment, and the most popular of these involve some level of simulated danger. They can’t die for real, but they can make believe, and the best systems do better at making them forget that the stakes are genuinely quite low.

Someone is paraterraforming an entire planet for these reasons. Instead of virtual simulations, they will be physical. Some might even alter a visitor’s memories to forget who they are, making them feel like life is still precious and fleeting. Tens of thousands of domes, each with its own theme, are being constructed on the surface of Castlebourne. Mandica isn’t necessarily interested in the simulations, but she does want to leave Earth, and she happens to know of a ship that is heading in that direction. There are too many restrictions here. She doesn’t want to feel like a pet anymore. She wants to live somewhere that will let her be herself. To accomplish this, she needs to move to a Charter Planet. Lying between 50 and 200 light years from Earth, Charter Worlds are not subject to the same laws that the Core Worlds and Stellar Neighborhood systems are. They have to protect themselves, but they often do so by chartering resources from other systems. Castlebourne is set to receive a shipment of lower lifeforms from Earth. They have already been sent one arkship, so this is a second wave with additional specimens, many of which are live. It will probably be Mandica’s last chance to get to where she wants to be. Arkships are rare, and Castlebourne is lucky to get two. They may not receive anything else ever again as most other resources can be found and processed in situ. The problem is, this ship is not for her. There was no chance that they were ever going to let her on it, so she has decided to stow away.

Mandica is a nomad, but she’s still a citizen of the state, and is entitled to certain amenities. Most people in this post-scarcity society get what they need from their local Resource Allocation Committees, which they voted for. As she has no local rights or responsibilities, an At-Large Allocation Board (ALAB) decides what she gets, and what she doesn’t. The people who sit on the board are reportedly mostly former RAC members, but she has never even met even one of them. All of her dealings have been fully automated, which she prefers. She accepts the bureaucracy, but that doesn’t mean she has to participate in government. Since life is so dangerous for nomads, she never goes anywhere truly alone. She possesses a bot pack of drones to aid her in her travels, and protect her. They practically force the pack on her, but she likes animals, and they’re quite convincing, so she doesn’t mind. Others in her situation have outright refused, or disabled them permanently.

There is something else that is different when it comes to Mandica. In addition to the horse, dog, hawk, and flutterby, she’s also accompanied by an android. This is fairly rare for nomads. It’s more of a hermit thing, and of course, there is overlap, but there is a clear distinction. Hermits live alone, and reject the state’s authority, which is why most of them have gone off-world by now. Nomads, on the other hand, frequently get involved in community affairs, they just like to shift between communities at will. They don’t typically need an android for human companionship, because they’re getting plenty of socialization through more conventional—albeit ephemeral—relationships. Mandica visits populated regions as well, but she spends a lot more time in the wilderness, exploring, hiking, and just enjoying the solitude. So why bother with an android? Well, Mordred provides something she might be able to get from others, but with a lot fewer complications. He gives her the sexual satisfaction she needs without all the emotional baggage. Well...there might be a little bit of emotion involved.

“But I don’t understand why I cannot go with you.” Mordred was programmed to adore Mandica, perhaps a little too much.

“Because I need you to stay behind to fake my death,” she explains once again.

He was also programmed to be able to forget things, act a little dumb, and be generally confused. “But I love you, my love. We said we would stay together forever.”

“It was only a fantasy. I must away to start my new life. If you truly love me, you’ll set me free, erase the animals’ memories, and protect me from being discovered.”

Mordred looks down at Mandica’s bioprinted facsimile. It’s state of the art, and looks just like her, down to the scars. A dedicated medical examiner could plausibly tell the difference, but they will hopefully not even bother with a post mortem. It will be a simple fall from an extremely high cliff, which is perfectly believable, given her lifestyle, and nomads aren’t exactly top priority. “This golem of yours...does she feel as you do? Does she love me as well?”

“She feels nothing. She is not a she at all, but only a husk. Her sole job is to pretend to be me...in her death.”

“Will we ever see each other again?” he presses. “One day?”

“I told you that I would never lie to you, Mordred, and I shan’t. I’m afraid you will never see me again. As the brightest candle burns the fastest, our love must end.”

“How can I go on without you? I shall end my own life.”

“You can do that, but only after you show others that I am dead. Please, this is of the utmost importance. I cannot have them looking for me.”

“I will, my beautiful flower,” Mordred promises. “Now turn away. If I see your face for one second more, I will not be able to say goodbye. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye!” he shouts melodramatically.

“Goodbye, dear Mordred. I’ll think of you always.” Mandica walks down the trail, and heads for the launch site. Castlebourne calls to her from the distant sky.