Microstory 2784: He is Not Really Going to Die

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Registration is over. After one more person signs up following Ersence, they lock it down. Now the contenders are waiting for their next instructions. They still have no idea what’s in store for them, or when it’s gonna happen. They just go about their day, and go to sleep that night.

The front door creaks open. It’s the 26th century, doors don’t have to creak if you don’t want them to. Jande’s grandfather designed it to do it because that’s how history taught him. Once the world transitioned to a post-scarcity economy, people stopped having to worry about their neighbors much, but Rolof Ter Avest believed in full immersion. They’re not playing a game here, with their intentionally low-tech lives. Protecting the home has been a tried and true practice for millennia, and it doesn’t have to stop here. The creak means someone is using the door. Jande is so intimately familiar with his home that he can even tell when it’s being opened from the inside or out.

Jande is up and out of bed before the intruders can make it more than a few steps into the house. For a split second, he catches sight of Ersence still fast asleep. He reaches over the headboard and unlocks the shotgun. He swings it around and aims it at his bedroom door just as it’s opening. “Halt or catch fire!” Jande orders.

Ersence is startled awake. She curls herself up against the wall, but isn’t scared.

If the first intruder isn’t backed up then they’re stupid, and they deserve to die. Jande has every right to defend that home. Post-scarcity conventions and virtual immortality diminished the need for violence; they didn’t erase the possibility of being attacked anyway. No court would convict him. So once he sees the figure move another centimeter forwards, he fires at it without hesitating.

The enemy twists backwards when they get shot in the shoulder, though they don’t fall over. In response, they lift their undamaged arm and point towards him. An electromagnet spins up, pulling the gun out of Jande’s hand, along with every ferromagnetic object in the room. A pair of hands takes the first figure by the neck and wrenches them backwards to make room in the doorway. The true threat emerges from the hallway. “This is why we came to you last, because we knew you would make noise.”

Jande hears another shot. The speaking intruder’s head jerks backwards before the rest of his body follows and falls on top of the robot. Jande looks over at Ersence.

“Whoever told you to own a gun made out of metal did you a disservice,” Ersence says. “There’s intentional obsolescence, and then there’s willful incompetence.”

Jande reaches out and takes her wrist. “Come along, darling.” He takes her into the bathroom because the window in there is easier to open.

As they’re slipping out, they hear hushed voices nearby, but Jande can’t tell what they’re saying. This is a full-on assault. The Eyrenlanders don’t want to wait for the Superintendent to decide who takes control over the community because they know the five people they registered are gonna lose. Jande just needs to make it over the border where he’ll find asylum with the Mount Pryce-dwellers. From there, he will take back control of his land, and if he’s the last surviving competitor, he’ll automatically be Superintendent by that point anyway. They just have to stay quiet and stay vigila—

A sharp pain starts on the surface of the skin of his neck before sliding in deeper. It’s a needle...not even a jet injector, but a bona fide 5-centimeter-long needle. Arms gently help him down to the ground as the stars above twinkle off. Someone else is sedating Ersence, and there is nothing that either of them can do about it.

Jande wakes up in a reclined wooden chair. His wrists and ankles are strapped down, and there’s an IV line in his arm. Something is attached to his head, but he can’t tell what it is. It’s somehow both spongy and hard at the same time. He is in a dimly lit room, with whirring machines to his left and an electrical box to his right. Before him is a window, and next to it a nondescript door. As the fog lifts from his mind, he starts to realize where he is. This is an execution room, but a hodgepodge of various methods. All that’s missing is the firing squad and the guillotine. He cranes his neck to look up. Oh, no, there’s the guillotine. Well, at least they have all their bases covered.

The door opens. Several men enter solemnly. The curtains fall away, revealing the audience. His parents are there, having returned from their first retirement location on the edge of Eyrenland, where it’s still green and alive. Other Quiratani are sitting around them, hardened looks on their faces. No one is upset by this. They look robotic.

One of the men is wearing a black hood. He walks over to the electrical box lever and rests one hand upon it. Two men in lab coats go over to the machines to push buttons and take notes. A man in a three-piece suit nods once at the guys carrying rifles over their shoulders. They spread out along the wall and aim their weapons at Jande.

The boss man looks over at a landline phone on the wall, consults his watch, then looks back at the phone. This is some sick reenactment shit, and Jande doesn’t appreciate it. It was a savage time in human history when they did this, and yes, he does recognize that murder wasn’t completely illegal for the vast majority of the timeline.

When the phone doesn’t ring, the man sighs and takes a half step towards Jande. “This be your last moment on Earth, son. Do you have any last words?”

Jande chuckles. “Uhh...ai gonplei ste odon? Or...shel kek nem ron.” Yeah, that’s the one. Let’s get this pinnacle of literal overkill over with.

“Ready!” the man in the suit cries.

The electrician tightens his grip on the lever. The firing squad cocks their guns. The lethal injectors turn one last knob.

“Aim!” the man adds.

Jande’s chair turns down so his neck is directly under the guillotine blade.

“Fire!”

A mask appears in Jande’s field of vision. Someone affixes it to his face. The air inside feels different on his tongue and in his nostrils. He breathes deeply as euphoria floods his whole body, and he begins to drift away. His eyelids bounce up and down while he smiles. The electrician never pulls the lever. There is never any tightness in his arm at the injection sites. The gunmen never fire. The guillotine never falls.

Jande awakens yet again, this time in a bioprinting pod. He pushes the lid away and climbs out. He has transferred bodies before, but he’s not as experienced as some are these days. He stumbles around like a newborn fawn. He manages to make it over to the next pod where he finds Ersence’s new body still finishing being printed. As he makes his way around the room, he sees the other nine contenders in varying stages of the printing process. What the fuck was that all about?

Microstory 2773: Proceed With Caution

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Elise follows Miracle through the rows and rows of casting chambers. They’re here to recruit an old friend of the latter’s, though she won’t say exactly who it is, or why they would be here. The Terminal is just where you come out of when you cast your consciousness from somewhere else, and presumably where you come back to when you want to leave. Elise has never actually heard of anyone leaving Castlebourne, but it probably happens every once in a while. Either way, it’s not residential, so no one should be living here. They seem to be in a rather remote part of it too, which is ominous.

Miracle stops and looks around like she’s worried they’ve been followed, but it’s still just the two of them. She pulls the brainscanner out of its pocket on the side and lowers it over her head. The chamber door unlocks and opens for her. She almost roughly takes Elise by the arm, and shoves her inside with her.

“What is the deal?” Elise looks around. “Is there a trap door, or something?”

Miracle opens the casting pod hatch, but instead of the normal chair, it’s some kind of computer. She extends the keyboard, and starts typing on it. The ambient lights shift colors in a pattern. Miracle periodically looks up, apparently when one of the colors stays on too long. “Blasted thing.” She smacks the side of the machine, which triggers the color to change again. “Okay. I’ve recalibrated it for two people. This should work.”

“What will work?” Elise questions. “You’ve still not said what we’re doing here.”

“I told you, we’re here to meet a friend,” Miracle answers as if that’s enough.

“I don’t see anyone else here, so where exactly are they?” Elise presses.

Miracle points to the screen, which is showing an image of the stars. “This is where we’re going. You don’t need any more detailed information than that. Just focus on transporting there. We just need to aim close enough for the relay to detect us.”

“I don’t know much about this teleportation stuff,” Elise begins, “but I can’t imagine that I can jump that far. I won’t even be able to breathe.”

Miracle shakes her head. “We’ll end up in a ship. You’re right, you probably don’t have that wide a range, but don’t worry, the machine is boosting your power.”

“All right,” Elise agrees. “I’m trusting you.”

Miracle turns it on, Elise focuses on her destination, and they both jump.

They appear in a luxurious stateroom. Massive viewscreens are showing them that same image of the stars. A shirtless man, having likely heard them, runs out of the bathroom. He reaches out and presumably magnetically summons his sidearm, which was sitting on the bed. He points it at the two of them. “Report.”

“Relax, Reagan, it’s me, Small Miracle,” she claims.

“You changed your face.” The man doesn’t relax. He still might shoot them.

“It was getting confusing for people,” Miracle explains, “looking like Romana.”

“I’ll need to verify,” Reagan insists. “Stay still, don’t try anything...either of you.”

The two of them gently press their foreheads together for several seconds.

“Neural handshake complete; identity confirmed.” Reagan tosses his gun back on the bed. “Are you someone I should know as well, or have we never met?”

“I’m new, I’m Elise.” She offers her hand so they can do a normal handshake.

Reagan nods and looks back over at Miracle. “I’m preparing for battle, I don’t have time to go on another one of your little side missions. I barely have time for tea.”

“I need you,” Miracle contends. “This one won’t take long. Our friend is at risk of being replaced by an out-of-date version of herself. We need to know where her body is so we can halt the reactivation protocol. That will give me the time I need to fix it.”

“Like I said, I’m preparing for battle,” Reagan insists. “I can’t abandon ship.”

“If we don’t do this in the next couple of hours,” Miracle tries to clarify, “it won’t matter anyway. You can delay your battle. You’re the frickin’ admiral.”

“Yeah, and I earned that by being a good leader, and being present,” Reagan argues. He shakes his head. “You saved my life, and I appreciate that, but that was in Underbelly, and I’m in the Outer System program now. I don’t know if you remember, but I don’t do these simulations for fun. I am this close to feeling ready.”

Miracle nods. “Rae, you’ve been ready for decades, but you will never go through with it, because you’re afraid of what it will do to you. Killing NPCs and backed up people is a far cry from permanent murder.”

“Hey!” he interrupts. “Your moth friend doesn’t need to know anything about it.”

“I don’t know what you’ve been through, man,” Elise says, “but Mir has been extremely helpful, especially to me in understanding my new powers. If you need to kill someone, that’s none of my business. I just want my friend back, with her memories.”

Reagan looks at Elise sadly. “I’m sorry. You should have come this morning.”

“Well, just give me the neurospoofing device, and I’ll handle it myself,” Miracle compromises.

Reagan chuckles. “I can’t trust you with that. We may have been on the same—”

“I will give you teleportation,” Miracle interrupts. “You always wanted it.”

Reagan narrows his eyes on Miracle. “You always said I was too reckless for it; that a big, bad prison was gonna come and lock me up for risking their secrets.”

“Eh,” Miracle replies. “I just don’t like to give everybody powers. It’s...too easy.”

Reagan takes a breath and puts on a poker face. “I also want access to the afterlife simulation. You give me that, I’ll resign my post right now, and help you in person.”

“Rae, that’s asking too much. I mean, the afterlife is Fort Knox on steroids.”

He frowns. “Killing the Oaksent won’t do a damn bit of good if he can just come back. We still don’t know if the decoherence gun destroys all quantum connections, or if he’ll still survive it. I at least need to study the specs so I can know for sure what will happen when I try. I will only get one shot at this. I need this more than I need teleportation. I came up with a workaround for being in multiple places at once.”

Miracle sighs, and looks over at Elise, who looks back, trying to convey the importance of this situation while trying to look past all of this talk about assassination and afterlife simulations. “Okay, I’ll get you into the sim,” Miracle says. “I don’t wanna know who your test subject is, though, and you won’t also get teleportation.”

Reagan shrugs. “Fine. You have a deal. Let’s do another handshake on it.”

They tap their foreheads together, then Reagan asks to do the same with Elise. That way, if they ever run into each other later with different substrates, they will be able to confirm each other’s identities based on their respective neural patterns.

“So,” Reagan says. “I’ll need to know whose neural patterns to spoof, and what part of Castlebourne you’ll need access to. I designed other gadgets which may help.”

“We need access to Castledome,” Miracle answers before pausing, either to build suspense, or to work up the courage. “And we need to impersonate Hrockas Steward.”

Microstory 2761: Into the Drink

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This boat isn’t very big, so the crew isn’t a legion of men, but they’re still outnumbered. In the chaos of the initial attack, it’s hard to tell by how much, but fortunately, they have some fighters on their side. They trained as much as they could in each other’s fields, but Zelda and Jolanda are still the best, and have to take the brunt of the combat. Elise has done some martial arts in her day, but doesn’t have any experience fighting moving opponents. Colley is a pacifist, but can defend himself, or someone else. He hides in a corner with Laise, who has absolutely no fighting experience whatsoever.

Meanwhile, the only means of making any headway in this fight is getting the zombie pirates over the edge, and keeping them at bay. They don’t drown, they don’t die, but it does take effort for them to try to climb back aboard. So once they’re over, the living humans end up with the upperhand. The zombies are relentless, however. They also don’t get tired. Their only hope is that this is a nighttime problem. After all, why did they only attack at nightfall on the day they finally lifted the boat? Once the sunrise comes, they’ll cower back to the depths, and the hunters will finally be able to rest.

There it is, that reddish-orange glow over the horizon. Elise can’t stop glancing at it even though she knows she’s meant to be keeping an eye on her sector. She’s holding an oar from the rowboat, and has to keep swatting pirates away. Any second now, there should be enough light. They’re like vampires. In some franchises, it just takes a little more time. The sun has to be a little higher. It often depends on the dialogue.

Three hours later, they’re still at it. Funny enough, despite their collective fatigue, they’ve all kind of grown used to the job. They fight in shifts. Five of them man their sectors of the boat while the other two sleep or rest below deck. They started out with a sixth person down there on high alert, but the zombies never tried to somehow break through, so they categorized it as a non-threat. It’s almost time for Elise’s break. Her eyelids are low as she almost carelessly bonks the zombie on the head again. It’s not scary anymore. Part of it is the sunlight, but part of it is the sheer tedium of it all.

There has to be some way out of this. There’s always a way. There is always a loophole. They may have a random, bizarre weakness that is impossible to know unless you came across the lore earlier, or you have to fix something for them in order to break the curse. The hunters need time to figure it out. They can’t just keep fighting. Maybe Elise can call upon her research skills during her break to search the cabins for any clues. Maybe the zombies simply have unfinished business, and they can help finish it, symbolically or physically. Oh, but that bed down there looked so good. It was short and narrow, and probably not soft, but right now, it might be the best thing in the world. Maybe she’ll just lie down for a quick nap, and then get to work.

Thirty minutes pass, which is twenty minutes after she should have been relieved.

The zombies aren’t geniuses, but after they get knocked down, they realize that that’s where a hunter is, so they move to try a different spot. The hunters sometimes use that to their advantage if they need to get closer to one another. It takes time to control where the next intrusion will come from, but it’s possible. Rage has done that. Now she’s within better speaking distance of Elise. “Where the hell are Colley and Laise?”

“Iono.” Elise can’t even bring herself to say all the words separately. “Laise was s’pose ta take over my spot.” She stands there with a puzzled look on her face.

“What?” Rage questions. “What is it? Do you see something out there?”

Elise swats another zombie. “Her name is Laise. My name is Elise. Do you think we’re related?” The zombie has managed to take hold of the oar, and is trying to wrestle it from her, which they do from time to time when she gets too complacent and lazy. She mindlessly pulls and pushes on it while she waits for Rage’s answer.

Rage is only staring at her. “No, Elise, I don’t think you’re related.”

“Oh, okay. Fair question, though,” Elise decides.

“You’re tired,” Rage argues. “Go ahead and sleep. I’ll take care of two sectors.”

“That won’t be necessary!” Colley cried from the top of the steps. He and Laise have pulled a big sack up from below, and are starting to drag it across the deck. “I know you’re all tired, but we have a way to end this once and for all so we can all sleep!”

“What is that?” Rage questions. Then she has to turn around and fight because a zombie has made it over the bulwark. Laise runs up and provides assistance.

“A mouse trap,” Colley explains once the zombie is taken care of. “Everyone huddle up, and put your backs together! We need to get the zombies into one place!”

“You want us to let them onto the boat?” Jolanda questions from the stern.

“They’ll just keep coming unless we take control! I can say no more than that, because I think we all know that the zombies are smart enough to understand us ! Trust me, we’ve been quietly discussing, and secretly preparing, for this for hours!”

They decide to trust the two of them. As they’re huddled together, the zombies climb aboard. They’re moving slowly now. They might be tired too, or Colley is right and they understand the humans well enough to know that something is up. They’re still not too smart, though, because they naturally group into a single mass, presumably to prepare for the next onslaught.

“Rotate counter-clockwise a little bit.” Laise is in the middle of them. “Perfect,” she says once they’re done shuffling. “Rage, Minotaur, you’re the tallest. You feel what’s at your feet behind you?” After they both confirm, she adds, “you know what to do.”

“Ready...!” Colley begins. “Everyone, run to the closest side to get out of the way!”

After everyone else scatters, Rage and Minotaur run forward holding the corners of a huge heavy net. They raise it over the heads of the zombies and pass them as fast as they can, managing to snag all of them all at once. Colley and Laise take this opportunity to start punching and kicking the zombies so they end up on the floor. The others join in too, of course, even though they still don’t know what the endgame is.

Laise goes around and starts shackling the zombies’ ankles one by one. The chains are already tied to the net, so even if they escape, they’ll be dragging a whole lot of weight. It’s still not enough, though, which is where that sack comes into play. Per Colley’s direction, all seven of them work to hoist the heavy sack up and over the railing. Elise is in back, and not really helping that much, but the job gets done. She touches it enough to know that it’s filled with cannonballs. Once the sack falls over, the net drags all the zombies across the deck, and over the edge too. Now there’s no escape.

Oh, no, it’s not over. “Guys,” Elise says, looking behind them. “Guys!”

When they turn around, they too see what she’s looking at. One of the zombies—the captain, by the looks of it—is still standing there. He’s holding his ooey gooey sabre, and standing on one leg. He cut off his own foot! And he’s got a gun.

A hot blonde girl flies out of nowhere on angel wings. She snatches the evil dead captain up, soars back up in the air, and drops him in the ocean kilometers away.

Extremus: Year 143

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Weird things have been happening on the ship. Waldemar’s support system has been shrinking. People have turned up missing, while others have died under mysterious circumstances. His most loyal followers and sycophants are just going away, and life on Extremus has become bleaker than ever. Waldemar himself doesn’t seem fazed. He remains steadfast and ambitious. It’s become clear to all that he is planning to hold onto the captain’s chair through at least the next shift. After that, he might be too old to continue, unless he finds and unlocks immortality tech. It’s weird, really, that he doesn’t seem to be pursuing that. Is there something he knows that Silveon doesn’t? Well, obviously there is, because his people keep dying, and he doesn’t seem to care.

“He doesn’t care, because he thinks they betrayed him,” Sable starts to explain.

“What do you mean? A couple of these guys have been with him since the beginning,” Silveon points out. “I hardly think they would betray him now.”

“That’s because they didn’t,” she clarifies. “I just told him that they had.”

“Why is he listening to you? You’re his girlfriend, not the devil on his shoulder.”

“I may as well be,” Sable contends. “He asked me to use my time tech to spy on the entire ship. It’s completely untraceable and unhackable, because there aren’t any surveillance devices anywhere. All I have to do is remotely view wherever I want.”

“And you’re feeding him bad information from that illegal surveillance?”

“Oh, one hundred percent.” She walks over to her closet and opens the door. She presents her wardrobe flamboyantly as if it’s a prize on a gameshow. Then she closes it, performs some kind of maneuver which Silveon can’t see from his vantage point, then opens it again, but this time from the hinged side. Instead of clothes, there’s now some kind of fancy contraption. There are indicator lights and interface screens on it, but none of them is lit up. “I don’t even turn it on.”

Sable takes out her handheld device, which is a fairly rare thing in this culture, and tosses it to him. “I had the AI write me an algorithm to decide our next victims. I couldn’t go after the big fish on day one. I started with low level—but wildly enthusiastic—fans who Waldemar was already suspicious of. Each time he found a new enemy, it reinforced his paranoia that no one can be trusted, which told the algorithm who to pick next.” She plops down on her couch, pleased with herself. “Impressed?”

“I’m scared.” Silveon sighs. The logic is sound, but it’s still wrong. It’s an abuse of power, and exactly what Waldemar would do if he were in their shoes. He can’t stop her, though. She’s too powerful to go up against, and he doesn’t want to be on her bad side too. He may yet be able to reason with her, though. “You’ve become him. It’s not—” He stops and shakes his head, not knowing how he could possibly get through to her. “We were never worried about Waldemar Kristiansen himself. Waldemar Kristiansen is only a man. What Audrey and I were worried most about were tyranny and fascism. And anyone’s name can be attached to those concepts. I think you just attached yours.”

Sable stares at Silveon with cold, dead eyes. She turns her hand so her palm is facing up. A glass appears upon it, already filled with a brown liquid. “Do you know what this is? It’s bourbon.” She examines it like a scientist, and doesn’t drink. “Waldemar’s mother used to drink this stuff all the time. She was a telepath...worse than her son, because she could hear people’s coherent thoughts. There was one difference between her and Waldy, though: this brown junk. She internalized her dark thoughts, which protected the rest of us from her. But alcohol is illegal, and even though Waldemar obviously doesn’t care about the law, it never occurred to him to self-medicate.”

She chuckles. “This isn’t a replica. It was actually hers. It disappeared from her hand in the year 2354, because I stole it...just now. Don’t worry, I piggy-backed off of a different time travel event, so the sensors will dismiss it as a minority report.” She sets the glass down on the table. “She was so drunk, she won’t even notice. She’ll think she merely blacked out for a few seconds while she drank the whole thing, and threw it in the material reclamator. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Silveon questions, more scared than before.

Sable leans forward sinisterly. “Because if I took the glass the day before or the day after, I might have been caught. You have to pick and choose when you do what you do. It’s the same reason you didn’t murder Waldemar in his sleep when he was a kid, and why Mateo Matic only assassinated Adolf Hitler after the holocaust. It seems cruel. Why wait that long? Why let so many people die? Because believe it or not, in the void left behind when Hiter died as a teenager in an old timeline, a worse threat took power. He was the lesser of two evils. He saved the human race.”

“That is a despicable thing to say about history,” Silveon warns her.

Sable doesn’t flinch. She reaches down and picks the glass back up to take one little sip. Now her face contorts. “Now that is despicable, and disgusting.” She clears her throat. “I lied to you earlier. I turn that machine on all the time, but instead of spying on my brothers and sisters, I use it to wander the past and future. I’ve seen all of reality with that thing, and I’m the only one in the universe who can handle it.” She closes her eyes to correct herself, “besides, like, Lincoln Rutherford.”

“I’m having trouble following you. Are you Hitler, or are you the worse threat?”

Sable takes a deep breath. She takes another one, and another. “Waldemar is Hitler.” She pauses again. “You are the worse threat.” She snaps her fingers.

Waldemar appears in the room. He’s confused. “How did you summon me?”

“Don’t worry about it, babe. I brought you here to show you, I found the last dissenter. I figured you would want to handle it quietly.”

Waldemar looks down at Silveon. “I’ve always known about him. He was eight years younger than me—a baby—and we had playdates? It never made any sense.”

“Of course you knew.” Sable stands up and kisses the captain on the cheek. “You’re a genius. But I used that machine to see what would become of this ship if he were allowed to live even one day more. Now is the time to end it. You can’t put it off any longer, and I don’t think you want anyone else to know about it. Fortunately, he’s no longer in the public eye, so covering up his death shouldn’t be too hard.”

Waldemar looks back at the man he once called his friend. “Why? What is this all about? You have been trying to change me my whole life? What was the point?”

Silveon turns his chin up. “What does it matter? It didn’t work.”

“It did work, though,” Sable argues. “I used the machine, remember? I saw your timeline, and I see the future in this one. You thought you were trying to stop him, but you were actually helping him reach his full potential. And your job is done. It’s my turn now.” She looks at her boyfriend. “You should kill him here. One clean head shot. This is a dead zone. No sensors will log it, and then I’ll clean up for you.”

“You will make a good wife,” Waldemar tells her. He takes out his sidearm, trains it on Silveon, and squeezes the trigger.

Time stops. Silveon is staring at the explosion coming out of the gun, frozen in space and time. Silveon can’t even move, except for his eyeballs.

Sable gets down on her knees underneath the bullet, and frowns at Silveon. She leans forward and kisses him passionately on the lips before placing her mouth near his ear. She whispers, “meet me in Montauk.” She then puts her three middle fingers on his forehead and violently tips him backwards.

When Silveon opens his eyes, he finds himself lying on the floor of an unfamiliar room. He grasps at his head and winces with a hiss.

A woman is sitting at her desk. She turns around when she hears him. “Report.”

“Just tell me the date please,” Silveon requests.

“It’s August 15, 2311.”

“Can you turn off the light please?” He can barely open his eyes, it’s so bright.

“Do it,” the stranger commands the AI.

“August 15, 2311,” Silveon echoes. “Did I piggy-back off of a time travel event?”

“Probably,” she replies. “There was one only minutes ago, well within the margins of error for the ship’s sensors to ignore your arrival. If you wanna go back, though, you should do it quickly, though, or it will be detected.”

“I don’t know why I’m here. She told me to meet her in Montauk.”

The woman seems taken aback by this. “Here.” She helps him off the floor, and onto the bed. “Are you thirsty?” She hands him a glass of water. “I’ve not had any yet.”

Silveon accepts the water and drinks while she goes over to the opposite wall. She slides a cabinet door out of the way, revealing a huge collection of old media. He can’t remember whether they’re called cassette tapes or DVDs because they are so ancient. She scans the library with her finger before settling on one. She pulls it out, looks at the cover herself, and then kneels down in front of him, setting the item on the floor. She puts her hands on his knees, almost affectionately. “Either the person who sent you here really loves you...or really hates you.” She smiles sadly, and hands him the box.”

Silveon looks at it. “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.” He flips it over to read the description, but stops. “Is it supposed to jiggle like that?”

“No,” she says with a shake of her head. “Open it.”

He lets the big black thing slide out of the box. It doesn’t look right. It looks like part of the outer casing has been pried off. Inside of it is a ring. He picks it up and lets the media fall back to the floor. He takes the stranger by the hand and compares the ring that’s on her finger. “They’re the same.”

“Twins,” the woman says. “It’s fitting you should come here. I had to use mine to save my life during that time travel event, when someone tried to kill me.”

“Someone’s trying to kill me,” Silveon admits, “with a gun.”

She nods. “That can save you, but you don’t have enough time to learn how to use it. It creates temporary pockets of space, allowing you to adjust something’s trajectory.”

Silveon thinks about it. Then he gently places the extra ring in her hand. “Then it’s not for me. If I survive in my time, on that day, I’ll only be putting off the inevitable. My...frenemy wants me to do this, which means I don’t think I should. I should die.”

The woman drops the ring back in the box. “That’s your choice, and I respect it. I don’t know what you’re going through, but have you heard of The Question, by chance?”

“Yes,” Silveon replies.

“You’re meant to answer yes or no, but did you know there was a third answer?”

Silveon returns to his present, and lets himself get shot in the head.

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Microstory 2733: The Cost of a Life

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The Pribadiums have been hard at work for the last three days. They have been performing, checking, and rechecking calculations. They have been running simulation after simulation after simulation. They have sent probes out to scan, analyze, and synthesize. And now they have a better picture of their situation. The first probes told them how expansive the pocket dimension bubble was. These more recent probes are telling them how big it is now, and those figures are not the same. It’s shrinking. At this rate, the window of opportunity will close by the end of the week. Well, they wanted to know their time constraints, and now they have them. That is only part of the puzzle, though. What happens to people and objects who pass back out?

Or are they passing through the dimensional barrier at all? Their intuition suggests that they are, because the Pribadiums are losing contact with the probes, but that doesn’t mean they’re slipping safely through. It might be vaporizing them, shunting them somewhere else, or simply generating too much interference to maintain the connection. Someone is going to have to go out there and gather more information.

“I volunteer as tribute,” Sora says.

Pribadium!One chuckles. “That won’t be necessary. We’ll flip a coin.”

“I’m serious,” Sora insists. “If something happens to me, it’s no big deal. I only have maybe a hundred years left in this universe anyway. If one of you dies, you’re losing eternity. Besides, you’re more valuable than I am. Really, I wanna do this.”

“Well, if we’re going by a simple value analysis, we have an excess of Pribadiums,” Pribadium!Two says. “If I go, my alternate is still here, and we’ve not lost anything.”

Pribadium!One rolls her eyes at her alternate self, and doesn’t validate her words. She faces Sora. “This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with Elke, would it?”

“Elke?” Sora asks. “I told you, I’ve moved past that. You telling me what happens when you die has given me closure. That’s why it doesn’t scare me to do this, because I know whatever happens, I’ll survive. I didn’t realize I was digitized, and I’ve been grumpy about it, but we might as well take advantage. It sounds like you can’t come back, or dead people would be doing it all the time. So you should stay.” He looks at Pribadium!Two. “Both of you. Two heads are better than one if they’re both you, right?”

“I’m the one who said that,” Pribadium!One reminds him.

“Same result,” Sora reasons. “And anyway, death isn’t a guarantee. It’s a test.”

Pribadium!Two shakes her head. “Survival is what is not guaranteed. The afterlife simulation is based on a certain set of criteria. In order for your consciousness to be transmitted to it, you have to both originate from the main sequence, and be in the main sequence. I’m guessing you qualify for the former, but not necessarily the latter. That’s one thing we would be testing out there with this manned mission. The bottom line is that you may not end up in the sim, or in Fort Underhill. The risk is real.”

“Again, that is how I have always lived,” Sora explains. “I never thought I was going to live forever. There is a freedom in that which you have either forgotten, or are too young to remember. I’m part of a long history of doomed souls. I’m proud of that.”

Pribadium!Two nods. She pulls down her pants and removes a teleporter dartgun from a flap of skin on her hip.

“You always had that?” Pribadium!One was surprised. “You could have escaped.”

“Yes,” Pribadium!Two confirms. “But he won’t be able to.” She shoots him.

Microstory 2722: People in Glass Houses

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“Go ahead and ask your questions,” Pribadium encourages. She’s a good liar, so he can ask whatever he wants, it doesn’t mean he will get the answers he expects.

“How many like you are there out there?” Sora asks as if it’s a complete thought.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pribadium says. “Asset managers, or Chief Asset Managers? I’m the only CAM. There are a few other asset managers below me. There are other chiefs. Would you like me to list them?”

“I’m not talking about chiefs or asset managers!” Sora cries. “I want to know how many immortals there are! Stop dancing around the subject! I know what you are!”

Pribadium is confused. “How many immortals? Billions, I guess. I don’t have the numbers. Did you check the aggregate records? Those stats are probably in there.”

Sora shakes his head, growing even more frustrated. “Not people who became that way through life extension consciousness digitization. I’m talking about real, totally unkillable immortals who can survive being thrown into the air by a pyrotornado, and later falling several kilometers down a giant chasm in the planet.”

Pribadium stares at him. She has no clue what he’s going on about. “That’s not possible. No substrate is strong enough to survive what you’re describing.”

“Well, I saw it happen.” He sighs, seemingly working through a debate in his own head. “Tertius. Does the name Tertius mean anything to you, or Aeterna?”

“I have never heard of them. Are they bands, errr...?”

“Quit joking, and quit lying,” Sora whines. “They’re real immortals. They survived the impossible. I know you know them. I heard them whispering about you in the north dome. They said that survivors of Proxima Doma would end up here, and that you would be able to help. They acted like they knew you, and now here we are on Gatewood.”

She continues to stare. She isn’t lying. She genuinely doesn’t know who that is. The number of people in the timeline who have temporal abilities is a low fraction compared to the total population, but it’s still too many for everyone to know everyone. She has never cared to meet more. “Maybe they knew me, but I didn’t reciprocate.”

Sora buries his face in his palms. “You have to help us. You have to fix this.”

Before Pribadium can ask exactly what she wants him to fix, one of the other hostage-takers bursts into the room. “Shimizu. A Teaguardian is here.”

Sora’s eyes widen. He stands up, and paces frantically. “Shit. Get everyone to the tunnels. Hide. If they can’t find you, they can’t make you leave. I’ll watch the prisoner.”

A soldier suddenly teleports into the room. “Chief Asset Manager Pribadium Delgado? I’m here to rescue you.” She raises her gun when Sora moves a single muscle.

“Wait!” Pribadium orders. “I need him alive. He’s undigitized. In my domain, killing him would be a crime. We had a deal with Teagarden. You shouldn’t be here.”

“I just go where I’m told, CAM Delgado. We need to leave now.” They are about to glass this planet.

“That is not necessary,” Pribadium starts to explain. “We’re already doing it.”

“We know, but my superiors believe that there is not enough time for that. They’re going to do it the hard way. It will recoalesce, but that won’t help these people.”

Pribadium actively stops the soldier from teleporting her out of the room. “I’m sorry, but I’m not done here yet. And you gotta go.” She pushes the soldier into a portal, then turns back to Sora. “You can either come with me, or go with her. Your choice.”

Extremus: Year 131

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Silveon is depressed and missing his best friend. He doesn’t know what Audrey is doing, or even if she’s okay. They can’t communicate. Just opening up the mini-Nexus is a risk. It is the last thing that they want Captain Kristiansen knowing about. He doesn’t regret his decision, breaking her out of hock, and sending her away. It was the right thing to do. It’s still hard, feeling like he’s all alone now. His mother’s gone, his father’s gone, and now Audrey. They knew each other for over a hundred years, and fought side by side for more than half as long. That is what makes it sad, but also what makes it okay. A lot of people don’t get a partner nearly as fulfilling as Audrey. It was great; it’s over now. He has no choice but to move on, and keep himself occupied with the work.

He is still serving as the Captain’s personal steward, though their relationship has transformed into a more professional dynamic, rather than the friendship they started with. Silveon is losing his grip on Waldemar’s ankle, which allows Waldemar to run off and start making his own choices. Looking back, this was inevitable. He’s growing up and growing out of the way he was before. That’s what everyone does, to some degree. Silveon himself is no exception. He doesn’t want to give up, but there was only ever so much he could do. Since they made the conscious decision not to kill him, at some point, they have to accept the cards that they’ve been dealt. The thing about this timeline, as it was in the first one, is that no one man can take control over everything. The reason he was able to garner so much support from the populace was that they gave it to him. That hasn’t changed. He may be lying to them in a way, but they’re choosing to believe it.

If the crew and passengers don’t want things to fall apart, they have to take responsibility over that. This is something that Silveon and Audrey didn’t even think about. They thought it was all on them, but that’s too much pressure. Just contemplating all of this now, Silveon is wondering if sending Aud to go find her own happiness is exactly what he should do too. He has no plans to travel to Verdemus, but does he really need to be a steward, or Waldemar’s steward? Has he not done enough, in all this time? He’s so exhausted. A part of him thinks that anyone else would have walked away by now. Again, it was never all on them. There was another possible way to tackle this problem, by formulating a resistance early on, and being truthfully vocal about Waldemar’s destiny. They elected not to do it that way, and the opportunity has passed him by now, but it would have been a hell of a lot less work, in the end.

“Hey.” It’s Sable. They can’t trust her anymore. Or rather, he should say that he can’t, because now there’s no one left. Lataran is old, and like his parents before, genuinely does need to be able to take a step back. Sable is just weird, and she has her own agenda. “I just wanted to check on you. It’s been a long time since we’ve spoken.”

“Nothing to speak about,” he replies. He didn’t tell her where Audrey was. He opted to not even come up with a cover story. She just disappeared, and it’s an unsolved mystery. Waldemar came up with his own cover about her wanting to step out of the spotlight, so to anyone else on Extremus thinking about it, she’s somewhere around here at all times, just not where any given person happens to be looking at the moment.

She sighs. “I know that you and I were never really close, and we’ve lost a lot of trust, but I’m still on your side. I hope you know that. And to prove it, I’ll show you what I’ve been working on.” She acts like she’s going to access an auxiliary interface, but suddenly pulls a gun out of her pocket and shoots Silveon on the right side of his chest.

As he’s bleeding out, he sees Sable split in two. One version of her lifts her hands up, and gradually pulls them towards her shoulders. The bullet flies out of Silveon’s chest, and back into the gun as the wound seals itself up. The two versions of her then remerge into one. She has just somehow reversed time, and also entropy. He still remembers the pain, though. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“I couldn’t always,” Sable explains. “It’s not all I can do either. The rest of your support system is gone. Not only do I know that you sent Audrey to Verdemus, but I also know that she’s dead. I can take you to the funeral without anyone knowing. We can walk right up there, and then basically trim that whole span of time out of the ship’s collective knowledge, replacing it with something more mundane. But you have to trust me, and you have to let me in. This is the last time I ask you. I will never be on Waldemar’s side, but if you don’t agree to me being your new partner right now, I won’t be on yours anymore either. I am sorry it had to come to this.”

Silveon looks at her for a moment while he massages his chest. “Fine.”

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Microstory 2681: Final Exam

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Brooke will not tell Resi Brooks anything about the rescue that she and her friends pulled off centuries ago. She doesn’t even admit that she’s a time traveler. She says that she can help Resi get a handle on his visions, and that is what she does. They work together for weeks. She doesn’t give him a cure for what ails him, but she provides him with treatments that are better than what Yana has to offer on its own. It’s actually better that he not be too active in the world while he’s working on his mental ability. There are too many distractions, and he has to focus. She first teaches him how to meditate. That’s really all the Kidjum elixir does. It drops a person into a relaxed, unconscious state so it can access deeper truths about the dreamer’s psyche. The drug is an easy shortcut, and its side effects might actually be detrimental to the process.

Brooke asks Resi to start with small things. He’s meant to predict things that will probably happen anyway, like the outside temperature that the forecast already predicted, and always predicts with accuracy. This will reinforce his knowledge of the world, and reward his brain for saying something correct. Over time, she asks for more and more uncertain predictions, like the daily harvest yield in the south fields, or the results of an ancient singing competition show which Resi had never seen before. He gets them right too, but it’s still not too surprising, because yields are fairly steady, and we all knew Miki was gonna win season eleven. So far, though, Brooke has only asked him questions about specific things. She has driven him towards a prediction. The hardest part will be when she simply tells him to come up with something new.

He doesn’t think he’s ready for that yet. He’s still not entirely sure that he really has this ability. But she convinces him to try because if the first time he proves it is when the Central Mountain volcano explodes, then they’re all going to have a bad time. He has to start with something that’s still small, but impossible for him to have known just by recognizing past patterns, or relying on other systems. It has to be so isolated and bizarre that it can’t be true until it is. She sits him down, and has him close his eyes. She tells him to focus on the future, and forget everything he knows about everything else. The past does not exist, and it never will. The only thing that matters is what is to come. He’s also supposed to breathe. In, out. In, out. Her voice fades away as she continues the usual instructions. He keeps following them, trying to see something which does not exist, but is inevitable. He sees a tunnel, but it’s not real. It’s only a conduit to a higher plane of reality. It’s his way to seeing the future. He propels himself forwards, becoming one with the tunnel, and preparing himself for the other side, when an image he has never seen before finally comes to light.

He reaches the end. It’s small, and it looks like it’s moving fast, but to him, it’s in slow motion. It’s kind of grayish, or maybe even gold? It’s hard to tell with the light from the visionscape itself. He tries to look at it from a different angle, but a second image slips into view behind it. This one is also metal, but of a more complex design. It’s still covered in shadow, and hard to make out. So he moves closer. Closer, closer, closer. It’s...it’s a gun. Resi wakes up from the vision, and dives to the side just as he hears the shot. He feels the rush of wind as the bullet passes him within centimeters at most. “What the hell was that?” he asks, trying to put his heart back in his chest.

Brooke puts the gun into her jacket. “That was the final exam. In case you didn’t notice, you passed.”

Microstory 2670: You Can’t Fight a Wave

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Resi told the truth, knowing that it wouldn’t matter, because the evidence was overwhelming. The victim was unclothed in her bed. He was found in the room, having no good reason to be there. His fingerprints were found on the gun. The police on the island are absolutely not trained to investigate this sort of thing because high-level crimes don’t happen here, but they know how to dust an object. They’ve seen the same shows and movies that Resi has, and probably more, since this is their chosen profession. They keep order, though. They help facilitate large crowds, so everyone is safe. They don’t solve crimes. They don’t catch criminals. They have no idea what they’re doing, and they know it. A few of them asked him a few questions, but again, none of it was based on any training or experience. It was just what you would expect to ask, like did he do it, what was his motive exactly, and where did he get the firearm?

He’s sitting in his cell now, which maybe has never been used before. Or it’s been used a lot more than he thinks and that’s why it’s so dirty? No, this is dust, not dirt. He’s a rarity here, which is perfect. Just perfect. It’s what he deserves, letting himself become the First Tongue of Aether. He should have meditated more before the Kidjum. There are those who will teach kids to take control over their dreams, so they don’t have to rely on their subconsciousness. It’s not against the rules, but definitely frowned upon, and those people often do poorly in their jobs unless they choose the House they grew up in. He never would have gone that route. He did everything right, except he broke into Speaker Lincoln’s bungalow. That probably was a bridge too far. He will spend the rest of his life paying for it. The officers aren’t buying his story. He just sounds desperate.

He hears a ruckus outside, so he drags his cot over to the high window, and stands on it to peek between the bars. Hundreds of members of House Kutelin are here, swarming the building. “Free Resi! Free Resi!”

“He’s there!” one of them says, pointing to the window. A selection of the convoy breaks off, and crowds around. “We’re here to break you out!”

“You can’t do that,” Resi contends, looking around for someone from his Fold, or anyone he recognizes better. He has not had enough time to get to know everyone, and wouldn’t have the brain capacity for it anyway. “It will make only things worse.”

“We know you didn’t do this,” someone else says.

“Yeah, you’re too smart to solve your problems that way.”

It’s hard not to see them as children. Even though this is the age where Tambora thinks you’re mature enough to make your own decisions, it’s really just about labor redistribution. It’s about keeping things moving. Make no mistake, he’s no better than them. He’s just not as naïve. Breaking him out is just going to make him look more guilty. “Please. Just go. Listen to Caprice. She will figure this out for you. I’m cooked.”

They’ve come all the way into the station now, surrounding Resi on all sides. Finally, someone he knows. “We have the keys,” Kasati says, jiggling them in front of the bars. “We just need to figure out which one to use. The guards aren’t cooperating.”

“You better not have hurt them,” he warns her.

“Are you kidding me?” She looks back at the horde behind her, as she’s trying keys one by one. “We don’t have to hurt anybody. We’re a wave. It’s comin’ whether you brace or not. They’ve just pressed their backs against the wall, not even arguing.”

“You can’t fight a wave!” someone echoes from the group.

“You can’t fight a wave! You can’t fight a wave!” they all start to shout.

“No chanting!” Resi cries. He hates chanting more than most things.

“You can’t fight the wave either,” Kasati replies. She turns a sixth key. “First try.”

They realize that he’s not going to go with them willingly, so several of them flood into the cell, and begin to gently nudge them in the direction they want him to go. It does feel like a wave, pulling him away from justice. He may be innocent, but this is not how it’s done. Even without much crime, they still have procedure. They take him through the station, and outside. Some start chanting the new motto again, others are yelling or cheering unintelligibly. Resi is hopeless to stop it. Have they just sparked war?

They all start to squint and shield their eyes when a gust of wind washes over them from the sky. A flying vehicle is descending upon them. They back up to form a hole. Several kids almost fight each other over who is going to protect Resi from whatever this is. “You can’t fight the wind either!” an Enaiyo boy screams. “Come on, say it with me! You can’t fight the wind! You can’t fight the wind! You can’t—”

He stops when a figure hops out of the opening of the aircraft when it’s still two or three dozen meters in the air. They drop to the ground, landing safely on their feet. She pulls her hood off to let her locks breathe. She holds a finger up, and swirls it around above her head, presumably triggering the craft to fly away, and lower the decibels in the area. “Which one of you is Resi Brooks?”

“I’m Resi Brooks!” someone claims, followed by several others.

“Stop, stop it!” she orders. “He’s not in trouble, I just need to know who to talk to. In case it wasn’t clear, I’m from the mainland. I’m Bungulan.” This whole planet is called Bungula, and the Yana Islanders acknowledge that, but they typically prefer to identify with their nation, and relegate Bungulan to all outsiders.

“I actually am Resi,” he insists, freeing himself from his self-assigned protectors. He approaches the stranger. “If you’re here to process me through your court system, I’ll go willingly. But I must ask that you speak with the Assembly first.”

“That will not be necessary,” the stranger explains. She steps up onto a flower bed retaining wall so all can hear. “Resi Brooks is innocent of the crime he was accused of! I was sent here to personally oversee his release, in case there was resistance! We demanded photographs of the crime scene, and of Mr. Brooks! That’s all we needed! Any bumbling 20th century detective could tell instantly that he did not shoot the victim! It was, in fact, a self-inflicted wound! I won’t go into specifics about blood spatter and blowback, but the reality is quite obvious to us, and we were worried that something like this would happen as a result of the miscommunication! Please peaceably return to your homes! I need to speak with Mr. Brooks myself, so I can understand the full extent of the situation! Thank you!”

The Head Peace Officer pushes his way through the crowd as it’s trying to break apart, and approaches the Bungulan, lifting his pants up by the belt, again, like he’s seen in movies. “I don’t appreciate you coming down here. I only called for an opinion.”

The Bungulan gestures towards the crowd. “You obviously needed more than that. You didn’t do anything wrong. You followed the evidence. I hope I can count on your cooperation, however, now that we know the truth.”

He fancies himself a sheriff, pretending to chew on something when there’s nothing in his mouth. “I don’t care what you do with the exile. Just get off my island.”