The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 30, 2543

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When the team first came out of the woods on Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida, they found a lone homestead. There were several bags of produce sitting on the grass several meters away from the entrance. A young woman was begrudgingly starting to carry them inside. They offered to help, which she accepted, explaining that the delivery drone kept using the wrong precise coordinates, but she couldn’t get it changed so that it always dropped them off right on her porch instead. After they were finished, Romana declared that she had officially become the team’s navigator, having won the bet with her mother. When Leona questioned it, Romana pointed out that they never specified the threshold for being at the right place at the right time, or helping the right person. That could have meant anything, from saving the world, to carrying groceries. She decided that it meant the latter, and since Leona never argued about it before their little tiny baby mission, she didn’t have any room to argue now. Romana was the navigator, and probably deserved it for successfully executing her foxy trick.

“Well, then, where are we going?” Ramses asked. They had spent all day at the homestead, completing chores, and enjoying the beauty of nature. Now it was a year later, and they were back in the timestream.

“Oh, uh...” Romana acted like she hadn’t even thought about it yet. She knew that she wanted the job, but now she was the dog that caught the car. She stood there awkwardly for so long that everyone just sort of faded away and moved on to other things for a while.

Mateo approached her later when everyone else was out of the room. “I thought you were doing this for your mother. I thought the whole reason you made yourself navigator was to get us back to her.”

“Ramses isn’t ready,” Romana replied. “I’m not ready,” she added in admission. She sat down on one end of the couch.

“I get it. That was a very mature choice.” He sat down on the other end, but more in the corner, so he was facing her.

“Yeah, but I still should have made some choice today,” she argued. “That wasn’t very mature of me. I looked like an idiot.”

“This is a beautiful planet,” Mateo pointed out. “There’s no reason why we can’t stay here for a bit. In fact, I think I’ll go for a swim in that lake.”

“After what happened to Proxima Doma as soon as we left, I’m not so sure that that will be true for much longer. Castlebourne practically went to war too. Maybe we’re cursed.”

“Those two problems were inevitable, and far beyond our control. Proxima Centauri is more unstable than anyone thought, and if you hadn’t helped all those refugees find safety on Castlebourne, maybe they wouldn’t be at war, but they would be oppressed. They carried their problems with them. That’s not on any of us.”

“I just don’t want something to happen here, that’s all,” Romana said.

“Is that why you couldn’t come up with an answer?” Leona asked as she was coming back into the common area.

“We left Doma just as things were falling apart,” Romana pointed out. “Had we stayed, we could have helped.”

Leona shook her head. “Centauri’s poles flipped, sending a massive coronal mass ejection towards the planet. The cataclysm was over in a matter of days. Everyone who died did so within that period. If we had returned a year later, there would have been nothing for us to do.”

“I don’t have to wait a year,” Romana contended.

“You still couldn’t have fixed it,” her father tried to explain. “The fact is, we’re on the other side of The Edge. We don’t have much information on what happens in this time period. We’re kind of flying blind here, and I think we’re all feeling that. It’s perfectly reasonable to see this as the calm before the storm. It’s unsettling. But I say, let’s just enjoy it. Let’s not leave Bida until we come across a reason to. That’s how it’s always been.”

“That’s not why I asked to be the navigator,” Romana said. “I was trying to put us in the driver’s seat for once.”

He chuckled. “I don’t think it works like that. Even without the powers that be forcing our hands, I don’t think it works like that.”

“I’m not sure I’m worried about the storm. I might be worried that there is no storm. I’m worried about purposelessness. I guess I’m not suggesting we caused all those issues on Doma and Castlebourne, and wherever. But I’ve read about your past exploits. You used to be busy every single day. You didn’t have breaks. You didn’t have vacations. Doesn’t it feel like things have slowed down? And don’t you think that’s weird?”

“It’s not weird, it’s by design.” Now Marie had come back. She walked over and turned on her fireplace, presumably for ambiance. It wasn’t like they got cold anymore. She sat down in an armchair. “When our ancestors were banging rocks together to make fire, every day was interesting for them too. Everything they saw was new, and they had to constantly solve problems. Sometimes, their solutions led to more problems. For millions of years, this didn’t stop. Those ancestors didn’t concern themselves with yearly taxes. They wouldn’t even understand the concept. Taxes were a solution to the problem of regulating the exchange of goods and services. The exchange of goods and services was the solution to the problem of high population and limited individual skill. The human race kept progressing, adding complexity, increasing the complications. In some ways, advancement made life easier, but it certainly didn’t make it simpler. We think of the Edge as some division between the common time traveler era, and the unknown ever after, but the truth is this has been in the works for a while. What the Edge really did was become the final move in a fundamental shift in how we advance.”

“What are you saying?” Not even Leona seemed to understand.

“I have been looking into it,” Marie went on. “That is what I’ve been spending my time on. The reason we’re no longer so busy is because almost no one is. Even new colonists don’t have to work hard. They send their automators ahead of time, they usually arrive via quantum terminals, they don’t start with low tech. We’re not advancing into complexity anymore, but for the first time in history, we’re advancing into simplicity. We’re trimming all the fat, and thriving with fewer things. An IMS unit has everything you need to survive except for gravity. A centrifugal cylinder or coin can get you that, or even just a hammer hab. Even the seven of us stopped needing a ship. So you have that, a synthesizer for replacement parts, maybe a virtual environment or two, and some means of generating power. That’s it. That gets you everything you need. You don’t even need a community anymore, as we see here on Bida.”

“How  do you explain Castlebourne then?” Ah, it was Angela’s turn now.

“Castlebourne is contrived complexity,” her sister argued. “No one has to live the way they do there, under those domes, having those adventures. That’s actually why they’re doing it, because real life has become too boring. There’s no struggle anymore. I admit, I can’t explain why they prefer those simulations to virtual constructs, but they still serve the same purpose. They’re there to keep you occupied, and from going insane. And the best part about them is that they’re relatively safe. Since they are designed, they’re controlled. No one in Zombiedome is in any real existential danger. The largest remaining population of undigitized humans was on Doma, and now that’s done with, either via death, or the holdouts giving in and finally digitizing their minds.

“We solved death, we solved boredom, and the only reason we are bored right now is because we don’t think we’re worthy of the free time. Mateo, you’re the first of us to have this pattern, and while you didn’t always know why, it was clear to you that there had to be some kind of reason. You don’t know any other way to live, because you’re still holding on to that higher calling. But it doesn’t exist anymore. Things do change, but they happen over longer time scales now. The days of the one day mission are simply over. The most interesting thing happening right now are the Ex Wars, and the reason we regretfully bowed out was because we all realized how useless we were. We can’t do anything, and that might be scary, but we need to stop trying.”

“So, this is it?” Olimpia asked from the doorway to her unit. “We have reached the end? There is just nothing left for us to do? We’ll just hole up in these belts, and have fun in simulations?”

“No, no, this can’t be true,” Mateo reasoned. “There are still some things we know about the future. That Everest Conway guy. We met him out of order. We haven’t met him for the first time yet,” he said with airquotes. “And we went on that unremembered mission with that guy named Amal. What was that? When was that?”

“Maybe that will never happen,” Marie offered. “Maybe we undid the futures they came from by meeting them out of order, and stepping on a butterfly together.”

“Or maybe we’re just in a lull,” Mateo decided. “Let’s go with that instead. I don’t really want bad things to happen, but I don’t want to be aimless either. If we were to be like that, why are we bothering to skip time anymore? I’m sure Ramses could find a way to suppress our patterns permanently.”

They all looked over at Ramses’ door, half expecting him to waltz back in too, but he was likely working on something important. When he didn’t show, the rest of the team seemed to agree that they didn’t want to talk about this anymore. It was pretty depressing, and while Marie’s thesis was interesting, they fittingly wished that it was more complicated than that. As Mateo said, they didn’t want bad things to happen so they could swoop in and fix them, but it would be weird if they just did what the general population was doing, and just had fun all day. They were decidedly different than the masses. They were special. There weren’t many time travelers around here, so it kind of fell on them to represent. They did decide on one thing, though. If by the end of the day, nothing happened that specifically kept them on this planet, they would leave, even if Romana couldn’t think of anywhere better to go.

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Microstory 2613: The Irony That if They Had Opened the Gates, They Would Have Found Their Salvation

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August 20, 2526. Breanna, Cash, Tertius, and Aeterna made it out of the soup, and onto solid ground. They escaped Leviss, and walked through the tunnel that led to Breckenridge. After taking a perimeter railtrain to the next exit, they walked downstairs to the vactrain station, which could take them anywhere in the colonized world. Breanna turned out to have credentials, which allowed her to look through the logs to determine that the Levins and Breckenridgers had gotten on train pods to travel northwards. They apparently stopped before reaching the northern polar region, however.

“Something must have gone wrong,” Tertius says. “The northern pole might have denied them entry. Aeterna, we’ll have to stop where they did to investigate.”

“We’re on the same page,” she agrees.

Tertius sighs, and looks back over at the empty vactrain. “You two get on this one and go as far north as possible. We’ll take the next one.”

“No, we’ll go with you,” Cash volunteers. “We lived on a sentinel. Our entire job was to watch over these people. We’re certainly not gonna stop doing that now.”

“We might encounter more toxic air, though,” Breanna warns. “I know you two are pretty hardy, but if you could put on your own suits, it would help us communicate. I prefer to keep my filter fully on, in case my carbon scrubbers stop working.”

“We don’t have suits,” Tertius says apologetically.

Cash is operating her handheld device. “The dome where they had to stop is a lot more advanced than these two. It will have IMS units for you to check out. Let’s get over there before the roof collapses.” They all file into the pod, but have to come right back out. This station was disconnected from the network due to the hazardous conditions. The tubes aren’t safe enough anymore. They spend the next two days traveling through the spines, and along the perimeters of the next several domes, sometimes using railtrains, sometimes electric carts, and sometimes on foot.

August 21, 2526. Finally, they have reached the dome where the Levins and Breckenridgers went, but no one is here. It’s totally empty according to the life signs detector. So they start to walk down the next connecting spine. Near the end, they find a ton of people, which Aeterna says could plausibly make up the entire population of Leviss and Breckenridge combined. She recognizes someone from Leviss, who doesn’t act like he recognizes her back. “What’s going on here?” she asks.

“There were a lot of people living in this dome before, but some of them died in an explosion, or something. Now, the people who are still here won’t let us through the gate. They say it’s for our safety, but we’ve been trying to negotiate with them this whole time. We know that we can’t go back, so we’ve been camping out here. ”

“It’s not safe in there?” Tertius presses.

“The dome itself is evidently safe enough, but they’re afraid if we all come in, we’ll try to get to the train station, but if they say we shouldn’t, we’ll listen to them. We’re fine with just walking.”

“That’s not the problem,” a young woman says. “One of the negotiators is my sister, so I heard that the Summerspringers are so afraid of the train now that they’re looking for land vehicles. They don’t want to share, because they don’t know how many there are. They’re not even sure if there are any left. They found a bunch, but there weren’t enough for everyone. It was apparently quite dramatic, the chaos of deciding who got to leave, and who had to stay behind to look for other alternatives.”

Breanna steps over as she’s working her wrist interface. “I think it’s right here.”

“You think what is here?” Tertius asks.

Breanna chuckles lightly. “I have credentials for this too.” She makes one more tap, and the giant door starts to slide open. The Levins and Breckenridgers back away nervously as they watch it open. Lights begin to flicker on inside the big open space. It’s a garage. It’s a garage full of cars. Real big ones.

Tertius takes his daughter by the hand, and guides her in front of the entrance. He kneels down. “Get on my shoulders and address the people. You know what to say.”

Aeterna climbs on, and has no trouble balancing when he stands all the way up so she’s towering over the crowd. “People of Breckenridge and Leviss, this is your way out. These vehicles are automated, and syncable.” She leans over. “They are, aren’t they?”

Breanna nods.

“We will drive the lead vehicle, and tell yours where to go,” Aeterna continues. “All you have to do is sit there, and enjoy the ride. Is anyone too nervous to try?”

Many people raise their hands, presumably all from the less advanced Breckenridge.

“Is anyone both too nervous to try and ready to die?”

They nervously lower their hands.

“It might be scary, but you will get through this!” she cries. “If the Summerspringers aren’t going to let you through, this is the only way! We’re not gonna force you, but if you stay, things will not be getting better. What you were running from is going to catch up to you, sooner or later.” She pauses for effect. “If you wanna live, follow us inside.” She hops off of her father’s shoulders, and they begin to walk in.

They don’t really pay attention to who chooses to stay in the main corridor, if anyone. There are more than enough vehicles for everyone here, but since they do not belong to them, they decide to not be greedy. Once these evacuees are secure, they will send a message to Summerspring, informing them that this garage is what they have been looking for. Until then, they’re going to prioritize the people who did not actively decline to help their neighbors. The vehicles are completely vacuum sealed, so they are in no danger from the inhospitable environment outside the domes, as long as they remember to actually stay inside.

The four outsiders initially lock out nearly all of the controls, so the intentionally technologically illiterate can’t accidentally push any wrong buttons. The Levins are more advanced, but they have never operated anything like this before. The domes are relatively small, so they had no reason to invent the car. Still, they will be able to figure things out after some studying the operator’s manual, so every vehicle is about three-quarters Levins and one-quarter Breckenridgers. They will be able to override controls if they so choose later, but that will be up to them.

Breanna, Cash, Aeterna, and Tertius select a smaller vehicle for themselves. The giant rovers can hold a few dozen people, but this one only maybe a dozen. Several other people ask to join them, seemingly out of pure curiosity. Finally, amidst all of this death and destruction, there might actually be hope. They open the exterior doors, send that quick message to the Summerspringer authority, and then head off into the unknown.

Microstory 2611: The Mob Will Leave as Fast as They Can, But Not All Will Make It

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August 20, 2526. Hydrangea Georgieva does not work for Proxima Doma in any way shape or form, but she has stepped up today, because no one else is. The vactrains are fully automated. Since they did away with money and tickets, there is really no reason to talk to another person. Even a trip to the other side of the world only takes a matter of hours, so if you get hungry, just bring something with you. These people may not want her, but they need her, and they’re going to listen, because chaos isn’t going to get them out of this alive. “Hey! Hey!” she yells louder to overpower the rabbling rabblers. “There are exactly two lines! If you are a mech, or a biological with a supersteadfastness trait, please stand behind the orange line! Otherwise, please wait behind the indigo line!”

“Who put you in charge!” some rando questions.

“I did!” Hydrangea insists. Surprisingly, the crowd quiets down so she doesn’t have to shout as loud anymore. “The Network Controller has programmed every single train on this planet to run at high acceleration. And the instability of this planet has made the trip rougher and more unpredictable than usual. They simply do not have time to be delicate when this many lives are at stake. If you have steadfast features, please hang back while my indigos board first. Indigos, when the doors open, please find your seats. From this location, the trip will take about three hours. If you get separated from your loved ones, maintain virtual connections with them, but do not try to reunite with them. Do not attempt to switch seats. I promise, you will find each other again, it is not the 1920s anymore. If you are an orange, you will be filling in the gaps, and using your core strength to stand in place while the train accelerates.” She looks over at the status board. “The next pods will be arriving in eight minutes. Be ready!”

“Pods? How many pods are there?” an evacuee asks.

“They are electromagnetically linking four pods together,” she replies so all can hear. “That is the optimum number. It is the most you can connect before the mass inefficiency starts to negate the value of higher capacity. The experts never predicted anything like what we’re facing now, but they are adapting emergency protocols. I assure you, they know what they’re doing. They’re going as fast as they can. Any other good questions?”

There doesn’t seem to be any. This next batch of evacuees starts shuffling around, getting in their appropriate queues, or at least hopefully so. There’s always something that holds them up. It’s usually a few morons who can’t remember which color means what. She’s been trying to make it so the instructions can be written unambiguously on the status monitors, but again, she doesn’t work here, so she doesn’t have the credentials to change that information. It’s still only giving them the current weather of this dome and the destination, but it’s outdated, because it says it’s only 24 degrees and sunny, but it’s actually a hellfire apocalypse out there. The world is sinking into itself, and her body is going to die here. She’s not going to be getting on any train, because there could always be someone in need of her help. Her mind is streaming to a back-up in orbit, and she already checked; the consciousness hub is safe above the debris cloud, and wasn’t damaged during the solar attack. A lot of her friends literally committed suicide to escape, but she saw this as an opportunity to do the most good, so she stayed behind to facilitate the movement of people who are not backed up. Proxima Doma is the first colony. A great fraction of the population are enhanced, but still not fully digitized.

A woman comes up, holding the hand of a little boy. “Um,” she whispers, “my legs can go into statue mode, but my grandson can’t do that. I know we can’t switch seats, but I would really like to stay by him if I can.”

Hydrangea smiles at her and leans down. “Most people are more like you, and less like him. After the indigos are seated, I’m going to tell the nearest oranges to go ahead and sit down until the seats get full, and then we’ll pack a few more in. I don’t tell them ahead of time, because then the lines will get messed up, and I think you would agree, organics need evacuation more than we do, so they should get through first. Just pretend like you’re one of them and sit down with your grandson. No one will know.”

“Okay, thanks.” The woman leaves with the boy.

A few minutes later, the pods arrive. Hydrangea has to continue barking orders so everyone boards in a timely and safe manner. The woman and her grandson get in and take the window seats. He smiles and waves at Hydrangea, so she waves back. It’s a madhouse, but the job gets done. Those who need a seatback to survive the high g-forces get on first, and then physically stronger people get on afterwards, filling in the aisles and other gaps. There’s nothing for them to hold onto, because standing just isn’t done. Even in a non-emergency situation, they move the trains fast enough to make seating overwhelmingly more practical. A few people do not understand this, which is a good note for her to remember for the next batch. Some people would be steadfast enough if they did have stanchions or straps, but not just free-handing it like this. There’s some confusion when it turns out a few people actually do need to sit down, but they manage to get settled. Her compatriots outside the platform have been doing a good job of counting, but this time, a few dozen people are left behind when the pods get full. They will have to wait for the next trip, which actually could be a while, because she thinks they will have to wait for empty pods to return from the pole.

Just before the pods can launch, the alarm goes off. Hydrangea looks over at the status board. “Brace yourselves!” she orders the remainders. “Another tremor!” The ground begins to shake, and it’s a big one this time. Of course, she can stand fast herself, but even that will only take her so far. She finds herself holding onto the wall as the dust and dirt are caked onto her skin and clothes. Others lie all the way down on the floor. The train speeds off. “No!” she shouts. Why would the AI do that? They should not be moving during a tremor, if they can help it, especially not if they still have to begin an acceleration phase. Nine times out of ten, it would be fine, but this is evidently that tenth proverbial time. The tube buckles and warps, and then full-on implodes. Even though the pods would have made it at least thirty meters by then, there’s no way they survived that. The tremor stops. Hydrangea stands up straight again and hyperventilates as she stares at the horror before her.

The angry horde of left behinders are screaming unintelligibly at her. She can’t tell what any one of them is saying, but she sure knows what they mean. She took responsibility for this...for them. She has to answer for the tragedy. But she can’t. She can’t deal with this. She takes out her pistol, and uses it to escape into space.

Microstory 2605: The Vanguard of Equilibrium, Their Eyes Opened

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August 19, 2526. The crew of the Proxima Vanguard are sitting in the communal area of the station, quietly doing their own things. There are only three of them here, because three is all you need. Actually, you don’t even need that. Automation can technically handle everything, but the reason they don’t do that is because then what’s the point of humans? It just seems irrational that they should have this stablecraft at the L1 point between Proxima Centauri and Proxima Doma, and not put a few people on it. They don’t have to do much, though, which is why it’s not a bustling metropolis, like it is between Sol and Earth. They’re just here in case something goes wrong. And something is about to go wrong.

The Chamberlain is watching an ancient TV show called Dawson’s Creek. They’re allowed to do whatever they want, but only as long as the monitors and alarms are within sight, which means no holographic imagery, and definitely no immersive VR. Two-dimensional media is all they have available. That’s one reason why this isn’t a very coveted position. It’s so boring, and the ways of passing the time are limited. The Chamberlain is fine with it, though, as are the Engineer and the Sensate. At the moment, the Engineer is playing this outrageous game where you push a block back and forth across a table to make contact with a little cube. When the cube hits your block, it’s volleyed back to the other side, where another player—or, in this case, the computer—will attempt to hit it back. It’s about three meters wide, so it takes a lot of effort to reach the cube each time. It’s mostly for a workout, so even when you lose, you win. The Sensate is just reading, but watching the monitors simultaneously. She had surgery to decouple her eyes from each other, allowing them to view different things at the same time.

The sensors beep.

The Chamberlain perks up. “Another solar flare?”

“Yeah, it’s a pretty big one, though. Superflare.”

“We’re not really due for one of those yet,” the Engineer points out.

The Sensate sets her e-reader down and shrugs. “That’s why they call it variable. I’ll switch to vis so we can get a good look.”

The star appears on the big screen so all three can see quite easily. The Engineer lets the cube pass his block. The Chamberlain stands up and ignores the iconic window kiss on the show. They all three stare at the screen in shock. “That’s not a superflare, but a hyperflare” the Chamberlain points out.

“I know,” the Sensate replies. She scrambles to switch off all of the equipment. If they can go dark, they may—may—survive this.

“It’s a precursor,” the Chamberlain adds.

“I know! Dump the heat!” she orders the Engineer. She’s not his boss, but the chain of command doesn’t matter right now. This just has to get done.

The rest of their lives happen in slo-motion. The Sensate continues shutting off systems, fluttering back and forth along the console. She’s frustrated that it was designed this way. First of all, there’s no master shut-off, which is a big no-no by today’s standards. This is one of the very first structures built when humans began interstellar travel. It’s not just one of the first in this particular system, but ever. Proxima Centauri is the closest star to Sol, so Proxima Doma is naturally the oldest colony. They had not yet developed the protocols that the other colonies use now. They should have kept up with the times. They could have, but things were working okay in their daily lives that they just let it lie. There’s an AI, of course, but it’s not very smart. It was intentionally limited because back then, people were worried about the long-term risks of trusting an artificial intelligence with its own personality, and theoretical agency. In hindsight, that was stupid. One command, and this could all be done, but the buttons aren’t even in order in physical space. She’s not gonna make it.

The Engineer has run over to the engineering controls, where he starts purging everything they have. The waste heat, the fuel, the control rods. That’s right. They use nuclear fission here, even though fusion was invented a trillion years ago. There’s no answer for why they didn’t upgrade. It’s probably because this is working just fine, so they might as well use the fuel they already have. There was once a fourth crewmember, who asked why they didn’t just use solar power the whole time, but Proxima Centauri being a flare star works against them, because its luminosity is unreliable. Plus, the panels would have to be large and exposed. For a more stable star, that’s fine—you probably want some solar shades anyway, but here, they would be a liability. He didn’t last long at this post. He grew too bored, so they replaced him with a maintenance robot. He could have been of some use here, though. The engineer’s controls are in order, but they’re bigger, and he has to move a lot more. This is where his training with the mechanical pong comes in, though. That’s not why he played it, but it’s proving its value today. At least it didn’t hurt. It won’t matter.

The Chamberlain’s efforts are the most fruitless of all. He’s trying to make a call. He’s not asking for help or rescue. If they make it through the next thirty seconds, they’ll be able to get in their escape pods after that. But that’s not what they’re worried about. This flare—this...hyperflare—is not just a Carrington event. It’s not going to wipe out communications, and inconvenience the inhabitants for a few weeks. The readings are spiking, proverbially off the charts. They have never seen anything this big before, nor any flare move this fast. The colonists knew that the star was erratic and angry all the time, so they designed their infrastructure to account for it. But even the most unpredictable stellar object has its own level of predictability given large enough time scales. This was not in the predictions. They are not prepared for this. Because it is not just a hyperflare, but a precursor. It is an omen to something far worse. “Come in! Come in! Can anyone hear me? This is Proxima Vanguard, calling anyone who can hear me! We’re experiencing a major hyperflare! You need to prepare for what comes next! You need to prepare for a coronal ma—”

Microstory 2604: Some Will Stay and Some Will Go, and Each Will Decide Their Fate

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August 18, 2526. By the time the Breckenridge Folk completed their caucus, and decided on Amos Bull as their new Merchant Prince, the Levins were ready to go. They had no real emergency plan for a community-wide domaquake, but they did have one for tornados. All they had to do was announce a new congregation area near North Exit. Over the course of the last few days, they met here, and began the trek through the long spine on foot, which led them to Breckenridge’s South Exit. When the gates were officially opened, all they had to do was continue walking into the refuge dome. There was no pushing and screaming. The Levins understand what is at stake, and they want all of their remaining population to survive. Not all of them did. The quakes have been happening for years, and generally intensifying each time, and a few people met their ends during that. But since the last event, no one has succumbed. There are a few holdouts, though. Statistically speaking, there always are. While the refugees are trying to get settled in, Tertius and Aeterna are back in Leviss.

“I don’t think we should be doing this,” Tertius decides.

“What? Saving people?”

“Saving the stubborn ones. They made their choice, they’re scattered, and we’re not teleporters.”

“We have to try,” she reasons.

“This isn’t our job, or our forte. One of the Levin leaders should do it, if anyone.”

“If the next quake hits,” Aeterna begins, “we will survive, no matter how bad it is. We can keep trying and trying until the last skyscraper falls, and the last curmudgeon dies. We may as well.”

Tertius stops, forcing Aeterna to stop too. “We should be focusing on the people who want to be saved. They need us.”

“They’re already saved,” she contends.

Tertius shakes his head. “You think Breckenridge is safe? Breckenridge is a pit stop. They are marginally better off, not just because of their limited infrastructure, but also their distance from the fault line. Make no mistake, this is only going to get worse, and they will have to be evacuated too. We should be coordinating those efforts instead.”

“Are you sure about that?” she questions. “The Breckenridge Folk say it’s not bad at all. There have been zero casualties. That doesn’t sound marginal to me.”

He shakes his head again. “I’m telling you, it’s not going to last. That’s why I warned the other equatorial settlements. Everyone’s got to go.”

“Go where?” Aeterna asks.

“Preferably, outer space; not even in orbit, but far away. I put in a call to the Master Megaengineer, and her assistant said that she would look into it, but I’m not holding my breath. They don’t want to evacuate the whole planet, but they should.”

“Why would they have to leave orbit? Can domaquakes get so bad that they’ll spew matter into orbit, and—I don’t know what you mean by this. I’ve never heard of such a thing, on any world.”

“I don’t think it’s the planet. I think it’s the host star.”

“You’re just making that up, you don’t know.”

He stares at his daughter, afraid of what he has to say, but he does have to say it. “Before you were born, I spoke with a seer, who said the son will one day flip out, and annihilate everything.” He pauses, even more nervous, but he must go on. “I thought that she was talking about you. I was surprised when you were born a girl, but maybe you were transgender, and I just needed to wait. But it’s been hundreds of years, and unless you have news for me, you still identify as a woman. I don’t think she was talking about my son, but the sun.” He points to the sky with his thumb. “The best seers don’t talk in riddles. She wasn’t the best seer.”

“You’re just telling me this now?” Aeterna complains. “Who is this seer?”

“They mostly prefer Earth. I didn’t tell you because it might have led to a self-fulfilling prophecy, and truthfully, I kind of forgot about it, because I thought it had already come to pass. It didn’t seem relevant anymore. I’m only now wondering whether I had misinterpreted it, and it’s all about what’s happening now. Or maybe I was right the first time, and the prediction was just about our falling out two hundred years ago. What does flipping out even mean? How bad does it have to be to count?”

“What does flipping out have to do with a sun?”

“I don’t know anything.” He looks around at the destruction that the domaquakes have already caused. “But this...isn’t gonna get better. Did you notice, it wasn’t difficult to convince the Levins to leave? They’ve not shared their data yet, but they must be picking up on something. I firmly believe that we can’t let them stop moving.”

“Okay, okay. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to save the stragglers. If anything, it makes it even more vital. They probably think there’s hope!”

“And how are we gonna convince them that there’s not? I just tried to do it with you, and you immediately pointed out that I don’t know what the hell I was talking about. We can’t exactly tell them that a magical lady with special time powers told me 300 years ago...in a riddle.”

“Maybe we can cheat,” Aeterna suggests.

“How would we do that?”

“You still have the ability to erase people’s memories?”

Tertius winches. “Yeah, of course I do. Oh, that was rhetorical.”

“If we erase their memories, we can tell them whatever they need to hear to get them through that tunnel. Then, once they’re on the other side, we lock the gates behind us, and restore their memories.”

“Two hundred years ago, you would have balked at that kind of subterfuge.”

“If it’s to save lives,” she reasons, “I don’t mind it.”

Tertius considered the proposition. “All right, I’m in. There’s one problem, though. As I said, they’re scattered. They may wake up confused, but that doesn’t mean they’ll randomly walk over to us.”

“I believe I have that covered.” Aeterna reaches into her pack pocket and pulls out a spent match.

“The muster match? That can only summon one person. And it’s used. You used it to bring me!” he reminds her.

“It’s not the match,” Aeterna tells him. She looks around until she finds what she’s looking for. “It’s the flame.” She manages to restrike it against a rock, and then set the bush on fire.

Microstory 2597: Renata Sits Down in the Chair That Was Offered to Her

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Renata sits down in the chair that was offered to her. The big man leader guy is standing on the other side of the desk. He’s sifting through information on his tablet. She can’t read his face, though. She has no idea what’s going to happen to her. They’ll probably decommission her. Or fire her. Or cancel her, or whatever cutesy euphemism they’ve come up with that means more than it sounds at first. Ya know, what? Why doesn’t she just ask him? She’s just gonna ask him. She opens her mouth to speak.

He tosses his tablet onto the desk. “How are you feeling?”

Renata, as ridiculous as it sounds, looks behind her in case there’s someone else in the room. There isn’t, and she knew that. She would have been able to detect them without her eyes.

He chuckles. “You, Renata Granger. How are you doing?”

“I’m...anxious,” she admits. “I don’t know what this is.”

“Anxiety is a product of the future. You shouldn’t be worried about the future. It’s the past that should concern you. You’ve been through quite the ordeal. Be honest, how are you feeling about that?”

“I don’t understand the question. I get why I should be concerned about that, but why would you? I turned off your whole simulation. Aren’t you mad about that?”

“You turned off one simulation,” he argues. “It’s not the only time that’s happened. Why, just a few months ago, I had to close one called 2.5Dome because someone almost died who shouldn’t have been in there.”

“What happened to them?” Renata doesn’t know why she should ask after this stranger. She doesn’t know them, whoever they are.

“He runs the government now,” the boss answers. What? Isn’t that his job? He goes on, “Listen. I looked over the data. Spydome Network was corrupted. An unauthorized entity infiltrated the ranks, and made dangerous changes to the system. You are one consequence of her actions. Now, I’m not one to tell an intelligence that it can’t evolve, but—”

“I’m sorry,” Renata interrupts, “but I have to stop you right there. I don’t want another philosophical discussion about the nature of identity and free will. I don’t care that you use robots to get your work done. I just want to know what’s going to happen to me. And I wouldn’t hate an update on Quidel, Lycander, Demo, and even Libera.”

“The first three have not made any decisions about their future on Castlebourne, or if they have, they’ve not told me. As for this Libera person, she is currently being held in a secure dome called Synthetic Production Dome. I don’t know what’s going to happen to her either. We’ve called in support from Earth, who will be sending a team of experts to examine and interview her. I have final say as it is out of the stellar neighborhood’s jurisdiction, but I will be relying heavily on their recommendations. I’ll try to keep you informed, depending on where you choose to go, and whether you remain curious about it.”

She nods, but says nothing.

“Oh, and as for you, your life is yours now. You do whatever you want. You’re welcome to stay here, and explore the other domes. I can try to get you on a ship bound for one of the other colonies, but that doesn’t happen too often. People come, but they don’t typically leave. So we just keep the transport ships here, and those other colonies build new ones. Of course, if you’re not married to this substrate, you can always cast, which is a lot faster and easier.”

“Forgive me, Quidel and Lycander told me that you would be generous and obliging, but I am finding it hard to believe. I mean, I know it was only one dome network, but it sounds like it was your most immersive one. I did not expect a warm welcome after I realized what I was. In the movies—”

“Don’t...watch the movies, or the series,” he interrupts. “Don’t watch A.I: Artificial Intelligence, I, Robot, or Ex Machina. Don’t watch the Terminator franchise, the Alien franchise, or the Matrix Trilogy. Don’t watch Battlestar Galactica, Humans, or Raised by Wolves. Don’t you dare watch Westworld. Everyone thinks I stole the idea from them, but I didn’t build the domes. I just made use of them. Anyway, those were not predictions of the future. They were parables. We learned from them before we had the technology to replicate them. We based our intelligence laws around the ethical issues that those stories raised. What happened here was the result of a rogue intelligence who had her own ideas about what civilization should look like. And statistically, that’s bound to happen. We call them criminals. I don’t care where she came from or how she developed. The bottom line is that she broke the law. She’s not any more above them than I am, so she’ll face the music for that.”

“But that’s my question,” Renata presses, even though it’s in her best interests to thank this man, and then thank her lucky stars. “How am I not also a criminal? I essentially hacked into your system, and shut everything down. Did that not go against your laws?”

He finally sits down, leans back in his chair, and takes a breath. “What you did exposed a fatal flaw in that system. You never should have been granted root access to every synthetic entity in the network. According to early reports, not even Libera knew that you were capable of that. I’m currently having the technicians perform an audit to see why it happened, and how we can prevent it in the future. You see it as a crime, I see it as better than the alternative, which is that Libera had access instead, and did something far worse with her power. I should be thanking you.” He winces. “Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you, Mr. Hrockas.” She takes a beat. “Thank you,” she adds to make it official.

“It’s just Hrockas,” he says with a smile. “My last name is Steward.”

Renata considers the development. “You seem to be a steward of the planet. So which came first, your job or your name?”

“Hm. I’ve never thought of it that way. Everyone just calls me the Owner. I never liked it, but I never had a better title. Until now.”

“I dunno. Steward Steward seems a little weird.”

“Good point,” Hrockas admits. “Perhaps I’ll just go by Steward.”

“Can I see my friends?” Renata asks, suddenly changing the topic.

“I would like you to consent to an examination by a professional, but after that, sure. Are you up for it?”

“Yeah, it’s the least I can do,” Renata agrees.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 22, 2535

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Ramses and Leona were going to have to spend all of their time in the new lab. Since the former lost his forge core, he wasn’t able to build everything they needed in only a year. He kept a data chip on his person too, which at least stored all of the equipment specifications, but it couldn’t build anything, so the process was slow. There wasn’t much waiting for them when they returned. Most of the resources available out here had been used to excavate and habitize the celestial body itself, so the lab would even have a place to sit. Instead of dragging him to some central location, Pribadium opted to lock the prisoner up here, so part of the work was dedicated to constructing that as well.

Not useful in the lab, Mateo decided to go visit the prisoner. “How are they treating you?”

“They’re fine.” He was down, and couldn’t look Mateo in the eye. This facility was entirely automated, so he probably hadn’t spoken to a human-level intelligence in almost a year.

“Linwood, right?” Mateo asked. “Linwood Meyers?”

“That’s what they called me, back when they called me anything.” His accommodations weren’t just some tiny cell with concrete walls. It was a luxury condo, not much worse than the coin habitat. The psychological toll of not having a choice, however, was the real problem, and there were probably missing amenities.

“What did you have in your personal crabitat that you don’t have here?” A crabitat was a kind of habitat that hermits lived in. Just a bit of play on words.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I wanna help. What are you missing?”

“Well, I didn’t just sit on my ass on the beach all day,” Linwood said. “I spent most of my time in simulations. My coin was just to keep me alive while I did that, and the planetesimal was there for raw materials.”

“And armor.”

“And armor,” he acknowledged.

“So, they didn’t let you keep your VR setup. Do you know why not?”

“Takes power,” Linwood admitted. “There’s plenty of it here, but I wouldn’t be able to manage it myself. They would have to let me have a dedicated bot to do it, and that’s just giving me too much. I have a holoscreen, with basic entertainment, but nothing immersive. And also...”

“Also what? You can tell me,” Mateo encouraged.

“I wasn’t always in sims, and even when I was, I wasn’t always alone. There’s a reason why I built myself a staff.”

“You need companionship,” Mateo realized. “They destroyed those too? They destroyed life?”

“They boxed their consciousnesses, and are storing them somewhere. They only destroyed the substrates.”

“Harsh system they designed here. Why did you choose Gatewood? Why not Proxima, or the Alpha system?”

“I wanted to be alone. Those are too heavily populated. I know it seems ridiculous. In any case, I would be millions and millions of kilometers away from civilization, but I want to be very isolated. I’m afraid of people.” He gestured at his environment in general. “I was right to be.”

“Well, you’re not dead yet, which should really be your only concern.”

“I’m not entitled to life extension procedures here either. Reactive medicine only. I will die eventually.”

Mateo nodded. “Well, that settles it. The Gatewood establishment wants us to take you away from here, so that’s what we’ll do. You’ll get your dwarf planet, and all the equipment you need to hermit back up, including your staff.”

“I don’t need a dwarf planet,” Linwood said, “I’m not greedy.”

“My wife says that you can live off the in-situ resources in a dwarf planet for around a hundred billion years or longer.”

“They’re too valuable,” Linwood contended, shaking his head. “No one would let me keep that.”

“We can take you somewhere so far away, it won’t be another 150,000 years before anyone can reach you. In all that time, you can burn some hydrogen going into the intergalactic void, where you’ll never be found.”

“Well, it’s not really practical to move a dwarf planet...”

“That’s your call. Burn bright and fast, or slow and long. Either way, you’ll have that choice, and like I said, you’ll also have tens of thousands of years to change your mind. Change your mind a thousand times, whatever. But the only option you won’t have is coming back to the stellar neighborhood. At least not quickly. We can take you out, but we won’t come back if you get bored, lonely, or homesick.”

“How do you have the power to do this? How do you have FTL?” Linwood questioned.

“We’ll place you in stasis, and not wake you up until we’ve arrived. You will never know how we did it.”

“Do I get to choose the direction, at least? So I at least have some idea of where I’ve ended up.”

“You’ll be on the other side of the Zone of Avoidance. Someone else will work out the particulars with you.”

“Not that I’m not grateful, but why would you do all this for me? I tried to kill you when we met.”

Mateo winced. “That was a year ago. I’m over it.” Obviously, it hadn’t been a full year for the team, but he genuinely wasn’t holding onto any grudge. The guy was trying to protect his home, and the bullets were no match for their armor. Not a big deal.

Linwood narrowed his eyes at him. “Are you...aliens?”

Mateo thought about this for a moment. “We’re all aliens now, aren’t we? It used to be that there was only one dominant species. You could carry on a conversation with another human, and that was pretty much it. Sure, you could engage in some basic communication with your pets. Elephants buried their dead, dolphins handed people their phones back, but by and large, it was just us. Now, I doubt there’s an official record of how many species there are. How could there be? You could genetically engineer yourself to be quite literally unique, making you incompatible with anyone else. So either alien needs to take on a new meaning, or simply be retired as a concept. I know what you’re asking, if I came from an independent evolutionary line, and the answer to that is no. I was born on Earth, in Kansas. But the true spirit of your question is why should you trust me when I’m behaving in a way that you don’t understand? In that sense, yes, I’m an alien, because my experiences in this universe have diverged from your own in unprecedented ways. You don’t have to understand, just accept the gift.”

“I accept the gift.”

“Great! In the meantime, as it will take another year at least before we can leave, I’ll speak with Pribadium about better arrangements. I get that she might not what to build you a master escape artist who can get you out of here, but you deserve companionship. That is a basic human right. Or whatever you identify as, if not human.”

“I would appreciate your assistance. That’s quite magnanimous of you.”

Mateo returned with a tight nod, and then left the visitors area.

Pribadium was standing just outside the door. “Making promises that you are not authorized to keep?” she asked.

Mateo looked back into the little prison where Linwood probably heard that. He closed the door behind him now. “All he wants is his favorite entertainment, which keeps him occupied in there, and some companionship, which keeps him from going insane. This doesn’t have to be punishment, which is what prisons were back in the dark ages of the 21st century. You’re just trying to keep him from roaming free, so what exactly is the problem?”

“The problem is optics,” Pribadium said. “We can’t have people thinking that our response to illegal possession is getting whatever they need to live comfortably anyway.”

“No one is coming all the way out here, stealing an entire icy body, making it a home, hoping that you will give them a different home. They’re not unhoused. They just want to leave wherever they already were before. You cannot provide them with anything that they couldn’t get on their own somewhere else without all the headache of dealing with your rules, and the risk of being locked up like this.”

She shook her head. “I’m not trying to torture the guy, but I have to draw lines somewhere. You’re right, this won’t inspire a bunch of people to come here with the hopes that I will give them free room and boarding, but they might risk stealing material because they know that getting caught isn’t a big deal. We’ll give them whatever they need until we can get rid of them, and they’ll be fine.”

Mateo sighed. “Those cameras in there. Are they for security, or a reality show?”

“Huh?” She was confused about the sudden shift in the topic, and the topic itself.

“Is it to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself or break out, or is his life being broadcast for people’s entertainment?”

“They’re just for security, of course, I’m not a monster.”

Mateo nodded. That wasn’t what he was thinking. He knew what the answer was, but getting her to vocalize the answer was necessary for him to prove his point. Or rather, it was better that she walked the path with him, instead of him just jumping there. “We are taking him clear across to the other side of the galaxy. Who the hell cares about the optics? You don’t have to tell them about it. Like I said, the VR keeps him inside. He’s not making phone calls or anything.”

Now Pribadium sighed. “I appreciate your point of view. It’s just not as easy as you say. You have no idea the kind of pressure I’m under, running an entire solar system of resources. I am being scrutinized by everyone; not just the other core worlds, but everyone, because this is where everyone comes to get their shit. Even if it’s a state-sanctioned colonial mission, we’re only six light years away, so Earth usually chooses to come here for their resources too. We’re the biggest store in the universe. Practically a monopoly.”

“I know what it’s like to be scrutinized,” Mateo argued. “It wasn’t technically an entire star system, but there were billions of people who were looking to me for guidance in their everyday lives. And that’s people, not assets. I didn’t have the benefit of much established institutionalism. They expected me to help come up with the new laws. That’s why I was there.”

She put her tail between her legs. “I kind of forgot about that part of your life. Running Dardius must not have been easy.”

“It wasn’t, but it was rewarding, and everything was so much easier when we were able to be generous and hospitable to people, rather than restrictive. I know, you have your laws, and I respect that. Just don’t become a tyrant. Not only is that bad for people, but it’s bad for you. It doesn’t ever end well.”

“I appreciate your advice.”

Mateo smiled awkwardly. “I’m not trying to mansplain your job to you. I apologize if I strayed in that direction.”

“It’s okay. Mansplaining isn’t much of a thing anymore as gender isn’t as important as it was in your time.”

“Right.” They stood there in silence for a bit. “It’s been a long time, and I don’t feel like we ever knew each other all that well, but would you be amenable to a hug?”

“I would like that.”

They hugged.

“Do you know how it’s going in the lab?” Mateo asked once they released.

“I never gave you an answer on whether I was gonna give the guy VR and his companions back.”

He turned his chin up thoughtfully. “I know you’ll do the right thing. You’re not a monster, right?”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “The lab people are fine. I offered my assistance, but he, uh...”

“Doesn’t know you,” Mateo finished, knowing full well that it wasn’t what she was going to say.

“Yes, let’s go with that.”

“Does he think that we’ll be ready to go by the end of the day next year?”

“I would assume so. I also offered to make his lab better during his interim year, but he declined. I think he’s treating this as quite temporary, so he’s limiting his projects to only what he needs to get you guys out of here. You should know, though, that you are welcome to stay. I do have some leeway. I can essentially put you on the payroll without actually giving you any jobs, which would allow you to live here. Plus, not existing for most of the year works in our favor. For the optics.”

“That’s very kind of you, but it looks like you have everything well in hand, and we typically try to go where we’re needed.”

“I understand. I just want to make sure that our relationship remains healthy.”

“We’ll always be friends,” he promised. After a proper beat, he continued, “I’m gonna go check on my wife.”

“Which one?” she asked after he had already passed her. “You dog,” she joked.

He looked back with a wide smile. “Why, you wanna split me into thirds?”

She shrugged. “I’ll consider it.” It almost didn’t sound like a joke.

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Castlebourne Capital Community: Here by Default (Part I)

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The year was 2521. Dreychan didn’t agree that it should be, though. He had the idea to stop tying themselves to the Earthan calendar, and form their own identity. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that popular of an idea, and one of the reasons was that a lot of people living here didn’t have a very decent grasp of the passage of time anyway. On some homeworlds, it wasn’t necessary. They produced what they were indoctrinated to believe should be produced for the Empire, and that was just how things were. You didn’t need to know what day it was. The transport ships would come and grab what they demanded on their own schedule. As long as everyone kept up with quota, everything was fine. They weren’t living in the Goldilocks Corridor anymore, however, and were not subject to the Exin Empire’s rule. They needed to assimilate into this region of space while somehow forming a new, distinctive culture. That was no easy feat, and it wasn’t Dreychan’s job to do that. Perhaps in the future, when the war is over, they will be able to focus on their own self-fulfillment. For now, though, they just needed to survive.

Everyone was arguing over each other, and Dreychan was staying out of it. He didn’t have much choice. They never listened to him anyway. They called it the Council of Old Worlds. Everyone here represented the planet where they once lived, and were elected by their constituent refugees, according to whatever methods they chose. Of course, a ton of people didn’t even understand the concept of voting, so it took some time, and a lot of education, but they all figured it out. Dreychan was different. You might even call it special, but be careful who you say that to, or they’ll laugh you out of the room. He was the only person from his planet who agreed to come to safe harbor on Castlebourne.

Ex-777 was one of the few places where the residents didn’t suffer. They were the ones benefitting from all the labor that the slaves on the other planets performed. The only known world more desirable was Ex-999, or maybe Ex-69, depending on your priorities and proclivities. The rest of the Council hated Dreychan, which he thought was ridiculous. He was the one person who defected. If anything, they should revere him. They escaped to a better world, but for him, it was a lateral move, but not even that, because he was too busy to enjoy all the recreation that Castlebourne had to offer.

Ugh, he should stop feeling sorry for himself. Yes, he was only on the Council by default, and yes, he deserved to have his voice heard anyway, but it wasn’t irrational for them to ignore it. He wasn’t representing anyone, but that was exactly why they did need to listen, because this council shouldn’t exist. They shouldn’t be maintaining their old world connections. They should all become one peoples. How could he get through to them?

“What do you think?”

Dreychan just sat there, and yawned a little.

“Drey,” she urged.

“What? Are you talking to me?” They weren’t usually talking to Dreychan.

“We need your opinion.” What was her name? Ex-777ers were all born with names, but just about everyone else only had a number. It was a way for the Empire to dehumanize its subjects. Once they came here, they were told that they could start using names now, and there were various ways of choosing them. He just couldn’t recall hers right now, which was very bad of him. She was actually quite nice, and didn’t seem to hold the same grudge against Dreychan as the others.

“What was the question?” Dreychan asked awkwardly.

“Oh my God.” Now, Dreychan knew Maaseiah. There was no way he was gonna forget a name like that. The Corridor was 16,000 light years away, and actually predated Earth’s bible times due to time travel, so none of Earth’s religions existed there. This meant that Maaseiah had to do a ton of research to decide on the most obnoxious name he could possibly find. He seemingly wanted to put his delusions of grandeur on full display, and he freakin’ nailed it. “Do you want to be a part of this, or not?”

The lovely woman sighed—Lubiti! That was her name. He didn’t know why she chose it. He was remembering now that she was from Ex-883, which manufactured spaceship shielding plates, and really that was it. “Calm down, Masy.” She always called everyone by a nickname. It was exciting to learn that names could be unique and interesting, and even more exciting to learn that each one came with variations and alternate spellings. She turned to face Dreychan again. “We’re trying to decide whether we want to move Castlebourne closer towards the Core Worlds, or stay out here in the Charter Cloud.” This was a fascinating concept. The closest colonies to Earth were the most cohesive, and the farther out you went, the less familiar the culture and laws became. These were divided into three-dimensional bands. The Charter Cloud wasn’t the farthest, but it was beyond the stellar neighborhood, which meant they were afforded no protection from hostile forces. They had to protect themselves, and the decision was already made to simply leave the area entirely.

“Hrockas needs an answer,” Maaseiah explained. Hrockas literally owned this whole planet himself. He was the one who built the domes, and filled it with all the fun and interesting things to do. He graciously let the refugees live here when they had nowhere else to go. He was even more powerful than the Council. “He said he needed it yesterday, which I suspect was metaphorical, though he might be expecting us to send a message back in time, which we will need to look into. Teemo, write that down.”

Teemo wrote it down. He was from a world with very few refugees, so it was relatively easy for him to be elected the council representative, though unlike Dreychan’s case, the ones who chose to stay behind did so because they were too scared. They were right to be, given Castlebourne’s predicament now.

Dreychan had already thought of this, because he was good at being ahead of the game. He just didn’t have all the facts. “If we move closer in,” he begins, “will we join the neighborhood? Will our status amongst the other worlds change?”

“No,” Lubiti answered.

“So we’ll be...weird. There might be colonies farther out than us who are better protected due to us being an anomaly.”

“I don’t agree with that interpretation,” Maaseiah countered. “To get to one of the other colonies, they might have to pass by us. In fact, I propose we intentionally place our star close to another colony, so we can receive some ancillary protection from them. From what I gather, the Teaguardians volunteer their firepower to protect the colonies. Surely if we ask for help, they will just help us, even if we’re not technically entitled to it. It would be a lot easier if we were only a couple light years away when we ask, though.” Teaguardians were battleships that came from an outpost called Teagarden, which orbited Teegarden’s Star. They evidently didn’t stray far from the root word. They were only obligated to provide protection to the Core Worlds and the stellar neighborhood. Castlebourne didn’t qualify, and it was sounding like it never would, even if they moved themselves closer.

“The whole point of moving our host star is to not have to ask for protection,” Lubiti reasoned. “We’re trying to hide, which is why we should limit the number of people who know where we are. Our location has already been leaked. Let’s not let it leak again, because we don’t know if we’ll be able to move again. Hrockas never told us how it’s going to be accomplished in the first place. It may be a one time thing.” She was so right about that. “Do you agree?” she pressed Dreychan.

“I do,” he said, and not just because she was pretty, and he never did find someone to love on Ex-777. “We must stay in the Charter Cloud. Our anonymity is our greatest strength. We can swing quite far from here, and still stay a hundred and eight light years from Earth. Hell, we could go a little farther.”

“We can’t go farther,” someone else contended. Dreychan didn’t know his name, but he used to work out of Ex-741, which was a giant spaceship manufacturing plant, so he understood all this light year/special relativity stuff. “I mean, we technically could, but we shouldn’t. Castlebourne serves as a recreational hub for the entire colonial sphere. Everyone wants to come here, and the population is rising exponentially. Now, quantum communication allows them to make their connections without knowing our coordinates, but vast distances are more difficult than closer ones. It’s called coherence. Hrockas will not want to make the casting equipment work harder than it has to. If anything, we should get a little bit closer, but I agree that we ought to stay in the Charter Cloud, and mostly move laterally, relative to the Core.”

“We must remember that it is not our call exclusively,” Lubiti jumped back in. “Hrockas is asking for our input, not our decision. He probably will want to move a little closer, but stay in the Cloud, because that’s what gave him the freedom from the establishment. And don’t forget that we have our own defenses. We don’t need the Teaguardians. If the Oaksent finds us again, and we can’t get away, we can fight back. We will fight for our new home.”

“I agree with Biti,” Dreychan said.

“Of course you do,” Maaseiah spat.

Dreychan ignored that outburst. “If for no other reason than to stay in his good graces, we should give Hrockas the answer that he prefers. What is easier on him and whoever has this power to move a sun? What do they want to do?”

“Okay.” Council Chair Rezurah stood up. “I think it’s time for another vote. If we can secure the supermajority right here, I will be able to meet with Hrockas today to determine the particulars. Worst case, we will get back to you tomorrow morning for Council approval. If all goes well, we should be traveling at relativistic speeds by the end of the month. I urge you to vote wisely, as this decision could mean the difference between staying hidden, and being discovered by the enemy. Teemo, you’ll count this time, as you have not done it in a while.” They rotated this responsibility to make it fair, and to make sure that no one would have more than one opportunity to cheat.

The vote went in favor of Lubiti and Dreychan’s plan. Well, it wasn’t really theirs, and very much not his. Around half of the people agreed with it before they even started, and half of the rest had come around. Rezurah went off to her meeting with Hrockas, which she was already late for, and the Council meeting was closed. Dreychan was just going to return to his habitat, as he did every day, but Lubiti stopped him in the hallway. “Hey, a few of us were going to have some fun in 2.5Dome. You interested?”

“I don’t know what that is,” Dreychan responded, when he really should have just politely declined, since he didn’t like anyone who might be going besides her, and he wasn’t really the fun type. All his old peers were surprised that someone chose to give up paradise to become a refugee, but not surprised that it was him. He liked the boring life.

“It’s hard to explain. You just kinda have to see it. Come on!” she encouraged.

He did want to spend more time with her, to maybe see if his sudden feelings were just because she was the only person in the world who would give him the time of day, or if they were more substantial. “Okay. Sure. Why not?”

They sat alone together in a vactrain pod. The others had evidently either already left, or would be meeting up with them later. Despite Lubiti’s mild protests, Dreychan ended up looking through the prospectus for this adventure dome. There was reportedly a time when video games on Earth were so unsophisticated that they were two-dimensional. The player could move up or down or side to side, but no other direction. In fact, a lot of them apparently wouldn’t even let you move your character backwards, if there was something you missed before. The other half dimension was because the playspace was in base reality, so it was still technically 3D. Still, they would be in a very narrow field of play, and had to make it through the level without falling, or being killed by something. Both the prospectus and Lubiti assured him that the dome came with a number of different varieties. Most of this world’s visitors could die and come back to life in new bodies, so they could actually fall into a river of lava and be fine. For people like them, who only had one life to live, the levels were a lot safer, though the reviews promised that they were still fun. Good for her, not great for him.

The train stopped. They stepped off, and approached the counter for registration. “Froenoe, party of three. We already filled out our info, and signed consent forms.”

They did? That was news to Dreychan. He certainly didn’t sign anything. Whatever, he trusted her. But hold on, party of three?

Lubiti sensed his confusion. “It’s better in small groups. The others will be running their own game nearby.”

“Yes, I have you here,” the registration bot said to Lubiti. “Your third is already at the entrance.” He set two green bracelets on the counter between them. “These are your security bands. If you ever run into issues, squeeze that button, and a door will open up on the side wall, where you can step out onto a platform that follows you around the whole time.” Scary, but at least there was a theoretical way out.

“Thanks,” Lubiti said. She took the bands, and then they listened to a little more about how safe it was, that no one has ever been permanently hurt, and all that stuff.

They then took another train to their playspace, where they found none other than Maaseiah waiting for them. That was the most surprising development today. He and Lubiti didn’t seem to like each other, and he really didn’t like Dreychan. “Is he ready?”

“No. That’s the point,” Lubiti replied. Something had changed in her voice. She was no longer smiley and light, but overserious, and maybe a little angry? It was so confusing, Dreychan didn’t understand what was happening.

The three of them stepped through the entrance, and onto the first platform. It was very narrow. They would be able to pass each other, but only if they squeezed by, facing the restrictive walls, one way or another. After the door closed, a third wall slid across in front of it, and then began to make its way towards them. Yes, this was one of the ones that didn’t let you go backwards. Lubiti and Maaseiah walked a few meters forward. There weren’t any obstacles yet. They must have wanted you to get acclimated to the environment first. Shockingly, they exchanged a nod, then pressed their emergency buttons at the same time. Two doors opened up next to them.

“What’s going on?” Dreychan questioned, laughing, trying to sound friendly.

“We can’t trust you,” Maaseiah contended. “We can’t trust you to know where Castlebourne will move to. For all we know, you’re the one who leaked our location in the first place.”

“I didn’t,” Dreychan insisted for the umpteenth time.

“And now you never will.” Lubiti took one step through her special exit.

“You know I have one of those too,” Dreychan reminded them, shaking his green bracelet for them to see. It glowed a little in the dim lighting.

“Press it all you want,” Lubiti replied with a shrug. “I broke it.” She left, as did Maaseiah.

Dreychan pressed his button. He pressed again and again, but she wasn’t lying. There was no escape. The moving wall hit him in the ass, forcing him to move forward. He just stood there, letting it slide him down the path, ready to fall into the next foam pit or water tank. But it wasn’t foam, or water. It was lava. He could actually die here.

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