The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 21, 2565

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Things were awkward and tense on Ramosus, though it was no one’s fault. It wasn’t even Romana’s, though she definitely felt like it was. They were in a holding pattern. Ramses believed he had successfully cleared all the corruption in her by flushing her system of all foreign bodies, but they still weren’t going on missions, even though they received two pings from the alert system. They were all saying it was because they were burnt out, but they just wanted to stay and support Romana. Yet that was exactly what she didn’t want. She didn’t want to be coddled or protected, because it just made her feel worse. She clearly had other things on her mind anyway.

Romana was brushing off their concern. She seemed to be more worried about Boyd at this point, which was fine. Mateo would be fine. Ramses had a lot of data on who he really was, and what separated him from any data corruption. Boyd, on the other hand, was a threat—to them, and to himself. She wasn’t even allowed to talk to him.

Mateo was in her room now to check on her. “Hey. I’m not gonna ask you how you’re doing.” He coolly sat down on her bed next to her. “Instead I’ll say...what’s up?”

“We have already talked,” Romana said. “We do not need to go over it all again.”

“That’s why I asked that question,” he pointed out. “You decide on the topic.”

“I wanna talk about those outstanding pings,” Romana decided. “You should go.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Mateo insisted. “Before you say anything, I know you don’t need to be cared for like a little baby, but I think you need to be distracted, and it’s easier to do that if the distraction is being created and controlled by someone else. If you spend all day dwelling on what happened—even unintentionally—it will eat away at you. You run the risk of it becoming part of your personality. You don’t want that, do you?”

“Guilt and regret are facts of life,” she responded. “They serve a necessary function. They prevent future potential mistakes. I don’t wanna dwell, but I don’t wanna forget either. I’m going to spend the appropriate amount of time reflecting on it.”

“I respect that,” Mateo admitted. “And if you really don’t want to do something with me, like play a boardgame, I won’t force it. But I still need to be here as an option, not off on some colony, helping aliens decide where to plant their grapes, or whatever.”

“Someone should respond to the pings,” Romana reasoned. “It might not be the problem of low-stakes garden design. It could be really serious.”

“No, that’s the actual problem,” Mateo explained. “It’s a grape conflict. They don’t know which side of the river is the best, and don’t have time to observe the seasons.”

“Why would the system flag that?” Romana questioned. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Because the computer calculated a high probability of it leading to what will initially appear to be a compromise by planting on both sides. But this grape species is high maintenance, so they will have to live in two separate communities. Years from now, the computer thinks it will start a war. It has apparently run a lot of simulations.”

Romana was annoyed. “So you should go. Why are we arguing about this?”

“That could take decades,” Mateo dismissed. “They will still be there a few days from now. I’m staying here. Again, we don’t have to do anything, but I’m not leaving.”

She sighed. “Yes, you are.” She reached up and slapped the back of his neck.

It stung. He tried to pull it out, but whatever it was burrowed into his skin.

“Boyd helped me build that. You won’t be able to return to Ramosus until you’ve completed whatever task you went there to do. This is my decision as navigator.”

He teleported into the on-base slingdrive, which powered up on its own, and sent him away, along with Ramses and Angela. A second trip took the other three.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 20, 2564

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Time was weird in Romana’s simulation. Ramses and Leona worked the problem for the better part of three days before they were able to get Mateo and Boyd out of there. And they did get Boyd out of there too. They didn’t have a physical body for him to inhabit, since they didn’t know his wishes, but they moved his IDCode to a new server, and isolated him from Romana’s original system. They then ran a bunch of diagnostics on him, and medical tests on Mateo, to determine whether there were any lingering risks associated with them having been trapped in there.

Romana was devastated, but otherwise all right. Beyond her artificial implants, she wasn’t presenting any other signs or symptoms. She appeared to be physically and neurologically healthy. Still, Ramses extracted the implants, and flushed her of any dangerous foreign bodies. It was a relatively simple procedure, because it was one of the first things immersive VR researchers came up with, under the concern that something like this could happen. The only reason they didn’t do that earlier was because of her visitors. She was not saying much, save for apologizing profusely. It wasn’t her fault.

Mateo was pissed. Someone did this to her. It could not have simply happened incidentally. Glitches did happen, of course, but there was too much intent from the monsters. They were far too organized and driven. Of course, Mateo still didn’t know what they would have done if they had caught up to the humans, because they didn’t give them the chance, but they certainly weren’t trying to say hello, and they weren’t random. When he found whoever was responsible, they were gonna wish they had targeted someone else.

“That may not be what happened,” Leona said. “It may not have been an attack.”

“You didn’t see them,” Mateo argued. “They were absolutely relentless. Boyd and I literally had to keep running. Thank God I was able to shut off some of my bio-responses, or I would have grown too tired to make it.” He shook his head.

“The blobs,” Leona began. “Why did they chase after you at all? If they were a part of the system, why not simply materialize right in front of you. You didn’t actually run anywhere. You were only ones and zeros, as were the blobs themselves.”

“Exactly,” Mateo reasoned. “They weren’t a part of it. That’s how I know someone put them in there. It couldn’t have been your average file corruption, or whatever.”

“I have another hypothesis,” Ramses jumped in. “I think it could have been natural and unintentional. I think they were a part of her, but not the simulation.”

“What, like her antibodies, or her stress hormones?” Mateo questioned.

“Something like that,” Ramses went on. “Do you remember when Romana was abducted by the original Boyd? He placed her in a dark particle stasis field.”

“Yeah, it changed her,” Mateo said. “It made her just like him. That’s over now.”

“Perhaps not,” Ramses suggested. “I’m still detecting periodic neutrino collisions inside of her body, and in yours. It would be nothing to be worried about, it means your bodies can handle it. But it looks like her mind is being negatively impacted.”

“Well, she’s been dark particle-free for weeks, and nothing. What’s changed?”

Ramses frowned at Mateo sadly, but didn’t say anything. He looked nervous.

“Me,” Mateo surmised. “I visited her simulation. I have lingering dark particle-ness too.” He had to sit down. “I did this to her.”

“It’s not your fault either. It’s just nature,” Leona said comfortingly. “It could also be this star system. Different stars, different solar flux.”

“Fix this,” Mateo demanded. “Do whatever you have to do, even if it hurts.”

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Microstory 2718: Whatever it Takes

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Isavet has been allowed visitors, but she hasn’t allowed anyone in. She said what she wanted to say to her family, and heard what she wanted to hear from them. She may see them again one day, but she might not. Until then, she wants to be alone. That is evidently not an option this time. The so-called owner of the entire planet is here. He wants to speak with her personally, which sounds incredibly ridiculous to her. She has to remember, though, that genuine murder is all but impossible these days, out here in the real world. The fact that she attempted it probably shook everyone to their core, so it makes some sense that he would want to meet the killer.

“May I sit?” a man named Hrockas Steward asks. He’s flanked by his personal bodyguard, Azad Petit, who is the one who warned the family about Talus’ indiscretions.

“It’s all yours, sir,” Isavet replies. The way she sees it, the sentence has been handed down. She’s going to the same place where her brother is. She doesn’t have to pretend to be unhinged anymore. She can be polite and cordial.

While Azad remains a statue next to him, Hrockas sits and adjusts his outfit. “Has anyone ever explained to you where you’re going in terms that you understand?”

“A friend of mine told me about Varkas Reflex,” Isavet begins, referring to Caleb. “It’s not like a regular prison. For most people, only their minds are there. They convert your thoughts and memories into tiny flashes of light, and throw your body away.”

Hrockas smiles, and doesn’t quite chuckle, but he clearly wants to. “That’s one way to put it. If you choose the right simulations, you will one day understand it even better. And I do hope you do that. I know that Danmörk speaks to you, but there is so much more out there, and you can have it all without moving a centimeter. Miss Truett, you’re special. That body you’re in right now is the only one you have ever had. It is for that reason that it is illegal for anyone to destroy it. Even if your mind is safely uploaded to a server, it just can’t be done. So where you’re going, you get to keep it.”

“Yes, my friend told me about that too, before the lawspeaker explained.”

Hrockas nods and leans forward. “On the planet in question, there are very few people in quarantine. It’s just not something that needs to be done. The majority of the population are there for recreation. It’s not unlike Castlebourne, except you the world can be anything you want, even if it would break the laws of physics. Honestly, it’s technically better than what we have. One day, my planet will be shut down. It’s cool, doing all these things in base reality, but it’s not gonna last forever. In millions of years, the idea of having a physical body at all will probably seem quaint. Until then, if you want your pick of VR, you go to Varkas Reflex. The initials are a very lucky coincidence.

“Anyway, the quarantine zone, as you might imagine, is far separated from everyone else, and it’s quite small. They anticipated a few guests such as yourself and your brother, but not many. My primary adjudicator has a particular affinity for it. There actually are still physical penal colonies for those who have also not been digitized. She almost sent you to one of those. I’m glad she chose otherwise.”

“Sir?” Isavet asks. Why would he care where she goes?

Hrockas leans forward even more. “I know what your plan is.”

“Sir?” she repeats.

“You are not as opaque as you believe. Don’t worry,” Hrockas assures her, “I don’t think your family sees it. They’re young. They don’t know what life was like when we had scarcity. They tend to see the best in people. I’ve seen the darkness. I see it in you. And you’re smarter than they give you credit for. I know you knew what would happen when you killed that couple. I know you wanted to get sent to Varkas Reflex, and I know why.”

“I just want to pay for my transgressions,” Isavet lies.

He doesn’t hold back a laugh this time. “The Viking boy must have told you a lot about virtual quarantine. When you go there, you will not be in the same room as the younger Talus. You will not see him unless I let you. I’ve made quite a name for myself in this galaxy, so I have friends. I can give you what you need to do what you are hoping to do, but in exchange, I’m going to need something from you.”

Oh, there it is. “And what’s that?” Isavet asks.

Hrockas turns his head towards his bodyguard, but doesn’t actually look up at him. “Plausible deniability.”

“Sir,” Azad protests.

“I’m backed up. Go,” Hrockas insists.

Azad clears his throat, and looks at Isavet. “I have a license to kill. I’ll need it to fight in the war that’s coming, but I’ll use it now if you give me a reason, even if he survives anyway. So think about that before you do something stupid.” He disappears.

Isavet is so shocked. Are they already in the mind prison, or is there more going on with this world than she understands?

Hrockas turns back at her. “You and Talus Junior are not the only people in quarantine. Most of the people, I don’t care about, but there is one which threatens every living being in the universe. She’s smart. She was born in a virtual world, and she is incredibly patient. She will find a way to break out one day. What I need you to do is break out first. You can kill your brother, but I need you to kill this other entity as well. It won’t be easy, but I can give you the tools. Are you up for it?”

“This feels like a trick; like you’re waiting for me to confess to my intentions so you have a reason to imprison me somewhere else,” Isavet worries.

“I own the planet. If I want something to happen, it does. I don’t need a reason. This is real. You don’t have to admit to anything. Just submit to a simple procedure.”

“What kind of procedure would this be?”

“An undetectable implant in your brain,” he answers. “When you’re digitized, you become code, and killing code isn’t easy, but it is possible. With a zero blade.”

Isavet leans back and eyes this strange little man. She has met many strong and powerful men in her day, but none who owns a planet. Everyone she has talked to about him says he does. That obviously doesn’t mean he can be trusted, but he should definitely be respected. Even if there is only a remote chance that he’s being truthful, she has to say yes. She always knew that she might need help. Caleb acknowledged only knowing so much about the prison. “Okay. Show me.”

Hrockas snaps his fingers, and they’re suddenly in a different room. A doctor there named Telman explains the procedure. He can cut into her brain, insert a hidden, dormant little bead, then seal it back up like magic. It sounds crazy, but necessary, and Hrockas says it will help her with Talus too. As long as it gets her what she needs too, she’ll do anything he wants, or anyone else for that matter. So she lies back in the chair, and accepts whatever weird thing they’re going to put in her head. She’s not scared. She and pain go way back. After she’s settled, she breathes deeply. “Do it.”

Microstory 2464: Hivedome

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There are all kinds of hive minds, and some are more dangerous than others. According to the Core World definition, however, all hive minds are dangerous, because they have the potential to destroy all individuality in the entire universe. I used to think that that was an exaggeration, but I feel differently now. I am a former member of the Baileribo Colony. Founded by a man whose last name you can probably guess, the Baileribo Society first formed in the year 2062. At the time, mind uploading and consciousness transference were still in their infancy, and a true hive mind was beyond our grasp. Archaea Baileribo died before his dream was realized, but the hive mind honors his name to this day. I used to believe in that, but what I didn’t understand was that I didn’t believe in anything. The collective believed in it, and I was forced to agree. I won’t go too much into what my life was like before, but I was born about 300 years ago in a libertarian lunar base. It was a hellscape, and I wanted to get out. Everything was about individual liberties, but nothing was about community. I yearned for something better. Then along came a group of Baileriban recruits, and I was instantly hooked. The promised to take me out of the dystopia, and into paradise. I believed them, I trusted them. Now, I’m not saying that Baileribo is an evil entity, just that it could stand to be more honest and transparent. I didn’t have the chance to learn all the facts before it was too late, and at that point, I wasn’t myself anymore. The Baileriban are telepathic, but the means of telepathy is not something that can be genetically engineered. I don’t know why. It wasn’t my department. That might sound paradoxical, but I’ll get into that. In order to join the collective, they implant a special telepathy organ called a baileriboport, which allows forces you to share your thoughts with everyone. It takes a few weeks to get used to, but then it’s a magical sensation. I won’t lie to you, I was the happiest when I was connected. Then I saw something that I wasn’t meant to. The hive mind isn’t the only entity in Hivedome—which I should have told you before, we fled to recently to avoid persecution by the Stellar Neighborhood establishment. It’s only one layer of the lie. It’s run by a group of individuals who can share their thoughts with each other, but don’t have to. They can block their own signals, keep secrets from each other, and can even disconnect at will. They are the elite. They make all the decisions while making it seem like a group idea. They were walking amongst us without the rest of us knowing. Seeing this truth broke my brain, and allowed me to override my own baileriboport just enough to start behaving erratically. They didn’t know why I wasn’t conforming, but it was disruptive, and I had to be stopped. I wasn’t the first to exhibit idiosyncratic conduct, and I won’t be the last, but I do believe that I’m the only one whose memories weren’t successfully erased after expulsion. Again, I don’t think that the Baileriban have any plans to hurt anyone, and they don’t technically coerce recruits. But they certainly don’t tell you everything. The Castlebourne government has granted me this opportunity to write a review of this permanently isolated dome which no one else has been allowed to speak on, because anyone who knows anything wouldn’t dare reveal our secrets. I implore you, if a recruiter comes to you, remember that they’re not really part of the hive mind. They’re just part of the people who control it from the outside. They can’t be trusted.

Sic Transit...Lar Familiaris (Part II)

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Treasure had never traveled the bulk on purpose before. In fact, she had no recollection of ever having done it. She didn’t even have proof growing up that she was capable of such a thing. Perhaps the time she transported her family to this world, and the time she accidentally transported to some random dangerous world by herself, were all lies her parents made up. Why would they do this? Why would they force her to wear a collar, and claim it was so she didn’t end up getting lost in the multiverse? What could possibly be weirder—or worse— than that? Nothing, apparently, because as she was proving now, it was all true. Her scream really could resonate at the right frequency to break a temporary hole in the membrane of the universe, and allow her to jump to other worlds. Unfortunately, her father had promised to teach her how to use her powers once she turned eighteen. They were planning a family vacation on that day to celebrate. Since she was leaving early, she didn’t know what she was doing, or where she was going. She could figure it out eventually, though, as long as she survived long enough. Once she did, she would be able to return home at the very same moment she left, and unless she said something, her parents would never know exactly how long the trip was from her perspective. But again, she had to survive.

Alarms were blaring, and she could hear gunfire outside the door. It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low lighting. This room appeared to be an advanced futuristic laboratory, but what did she know? If this really was a different universe, their history could be unlike anything she had ever studied before in Miss Collins’ class. There were an infinite number of branes in the bulk, and this could be pretty much any one of them. The furniture and instruments looked somewhat familiar, though, so it probably wasn’t the version of Earth where dinosaurs evolved planet-dominating intelligence instead of humans. She wanted to escape, fearing for her life, but she couldn’t just leave without doing something. One time, when she was younger, she took a train to visit Chicago. It stopped to pick up a few more passengers in Iowa, so she took that opportunity to step off the train, just so she could say she once went to Iowa. But she hadn’t really. She was out there for all of thirty seconds, and had never returned for real. This could not be a repeat of that. She needed to explore, to make some mark—however small—so someone could corroborate her claim that she was here.

She stepped over to the door, and cracked it open carefully. The gunfire was farther away now, so she hoped the hallway would be empty. It wasn’t. Someone pulled the door open all the way, and forced himself in, nearly knocking Treasure down to the floor. He shut the door behind him, and pressed his ear against it. Treasure straightened up her clothes, and cleared her throat. “What’s going on?” Treasure whispered.

The man hissed at her in a language she didn’t know.

“I’m whispering,” she explained, even quieter this time.

He hissed at her again, and tightened the suction of his ear on the metal. They waited for a good five minutes. Once he was convinced they were safe for now, he breathed a sigh of relief, and started trying to talk to her. Language was the weirdest thing about the bulkverse, according to her studies. All these different worlds, some not even just alternate versions of Earth, but unrelated planets. And they all pretty much spoke English. It was the dominant language everywhere. Of course, other languages existed, but Miss Collins spoke of only a few planets that developed completely without it. The evolved dinosaur one was an example. This was a human, and she didn’t know what language he was speaking. It didn’t sound like anything she had ever heard before, except maybe...Ancient Egyptian?

They continued to try to communicate with each other, using hand gestures and facial expressions. He pretended to hold a gun, presumably asking whether she was armed. When she shook her head, he got really offended, and tried to frisk her, which she promptly put an end to. He put up his hands, somewhat apologetically, but not sincerely, and started pantomiming again. He held up an invisible gun, pointed to the door, and turned his fingers into legs. He opened a hypothetical door, and entered what he seemed to think was a glorious room. Something was lining the walls. Paintings? No. More finger guns. All different kinds. He threw a grenade. An armory. He wanted them to go search for an armory. Treasure wanted to shake her head again, but she didn’t know what to do. Was this guy a terrorist who deserved to be caught by the authorities? Was he an innocent accountant for this place who was just trying to escape? There was no way to know which side of this conflict she had stumbled upon. The only way she was going to understand it is if somebody here happened to speak English, French, Arabic, Mandarin, Hindi, Japanese, or Maramon.

Treasure relented, and followed the man out the door. They crept down the dim hallways, sticking to the walls as much as possible. They could still hear gunfire, but it was even fainter now. That certainly suggested an attack, rather than an authoritative raid. She would think cops would leave agents scattered throughout, instead of just moving through the whole thing together. But maybe not. There was no telling how large this facility was. She didn’t know what they did here, or why there was both a lab and an armory. They kept going until they could no longer hear the bullets. They were replaced with humming. It didn’t sound ominous or evil, but pleasant and comfortable. She almost sounded...bored. The man wanted to get away from it, but Treasure insisted they go check it out. If she was another survivor, they had to know, and if she wasn’t, Treasure could always scream.

They slipped through the door, and into what looked like a hock. The woman was alone, locked up, and didn’t stop humming when she saw them. Her arm was lying on the floor, which looked quite uncomfortable. She appeared to be stuck there. The two of them started speaking to each other in their language, so Treasure just stood there patiently. The conversation became heated, though, and he grew angry. It almost looked like he was blaming her for something. Finally, he took Treasure by the shoulder, and tried to pull her out. “No,” she responded, pushing his hand off of her. “What’s going on?”

“I couldn’t give him the answers he was looking for, so he’s abandoning me here,” the woman explained.

“Wait, you speak English?” Treasure questioned.

“I do, yes. I’m from Ansutah.” That was one of the bad universes. Miss Collins would never use such a word, because she was a kind and understanding person, but all the students got the idea. It was populated by monsters, who broke off of the universe that Treasure’s mother was from. They caused a lot of problems all over the bulk. They weren’t as bad as the Ochivari, but it was dangerous to trust them.

“You’re one of the human refugees,” Treasure guessed.

The man started complaining again, forcing the prisoner to get back into the argument. She dismissed him, and he finally gave up, deciding to leave Treasure behind, and go look for his precious armory.

“Sorry about that. I’m half human, half Maramon. They call us hybrids. My name is Azura, and I was sent to this universe to neutralize one Missy Atterberry as a threat.”

“So you are bad?” Treasure said.

Azura scoffed and laughed at the same time. “No, I never had any intention of doing that. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Missy won’t show up here for another several billion years. I purposely screwed with the algorithm, so my creator would send me to the wrong time period.”

“Oh. My name is Treasure. I’m from voldisilaverse,” she felt compelled to reveal.

“I see. You don’t seem like a pretentious asshole.”

“I wouldn’t call them that. They’re just...proud of themselves.”

“What did I say?” she joked.

“Umm. Are you, like, bolted to the floor?”

“Kinda, yeah. These people hacked into our medical implants, and pushed the gravity up to eleven. I only survived because of my Maramon side. It won’t last forever, though. If you could kindly hand me that cuff right there, I would be eternally grateful.”

Treasure looked over at the object on the table. “What does it do?”

“It will disable my chip, putting my gravity back to normal. You don’t have to unlock the gate, I just don’t want to die on the floor.”

Miss Collins taught them about the adventures of The Newtonian Expats, and The Hybrids. The latter were sent to remove the time powers of the former. Each ended up in a different universe when The Crossover exploded, and started impacting history from there. Most of the hybrids switched sides, and became friends with the Expats, but not all of them, and this Azura person was never mentioned. Still, if Treasure was going to make her own difference, she had to start by giving Azura the benefit of the doubt. That was what Miss Collins would do. Treasure grabbed the implant disabling device, and slipped it through the bars. Azura pushed the buttons on the screen, which were displaying what looked like hieroglyphs. She wrapped the cuff around her arm as well as she could, and activated it. Then she was able to stand back up after however long. She stretched, and massaged the implant site.

“Why are you in here?” Treasure asked.

“I built this device,” Azura said, holding up the cuff. “The implant tracks every single member of the Astral Military Force. I really just wanted to be able to go off-world without my superiors knowing about it. I didn’t know it could have saved lives. As it stands, other than me, it only saved two.”

“Where are the other two?”

“Off fighting against the invasion, I imagine, surely presuming me dead. I did pass out for a while. Anyway, thank you for your help—”

“I’ll let you out,” Treasure assured her. “You don’t have to be weird about it.”

“Okay, thanks, because...I don’t belong in here. As punishment, they would have made me clean the restrooms for a few weeks at worst.” She guided Treasure towards the keycard, which unlocked the hock gate. She repeated herself, “Thank you for your help, but we should get you to safety. This is no place for a youngling. Where is the door to the Crossover?”

“I didn’t come in the Crossover.”

“Hm. The Prototype?”

Treasure shook her head. “It’s just this thing I can do.”

“Hmm. You weren’t on the list.”

“The list of what?” Treasure questioned, worried.

“The list of people who can travel the bulkverse,” Azura clarified. “You’re not on that list. With a name like that, I would have remembered.”

“I’ll use that to my advantage.”

“That would be wise. Though...because of time travel, once the secret gets out, it was always out.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Two questions, did that guy know where the armory is, and do you?”

“Not really, and yes. He was just a visitor who wishes he had come yesterday instead. The armory is just next door.”

“That seems stupid.”

Azura smiled. “This hock is meant for insubordinate soldiers who they don’t plan on kicking out of the military. If I were a traitor, or deserter, or something, they would have put me somewhere much more secure. This is mostly my commanding officer’s office. What does it matter, though, aren’t you just going home?”

“I have to help you. It’s why I’m here. Let me get you to wherever it is you need to be.”

The two of them stepped out of the hock office, and down to the next door. Treasure kept watch while Azura punched in the code. They walked in, and started gathering supplies. Azura took weapons and tactical gear, but Treasure just fitted herself with a bullet proof vest, and a helmet. Her father taught her how to defend herself, but no one trained her on weapons, and she grew up in a fairly peaceful world. All she wanted to do was protect herself, not hurt anybody. Azura, meanwhile, was carefully removing a grenade from a lockbox, placing it into a smaller box, and lowering it into her bag.

“You really need a grenade?” she asked.

“This is not a grenade,” Azura answered. “Are you ready to go?”

“Where are we going?”

“The Condensed Command Center. There will be very few survivors, and they will all convene there.”

“Okay.”

They opened the door, and tried to leave the room, but were immediately spotted by the enemy. Before she could react, Treasure heard a shot, and felt a choking pain on her neck. Something wet rolled down her chest, and she fell to her back. Azura returned fire only briefly, before dragging Treasure back into the armory, and locking it.

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Varkas Reflex: Thought (Part III)

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Osiris seemed like a genuine person, who legitimately wanted to help people. Hokusai probably needn’t worry about what he was going to try to do with her technology, but that was rarely the problem. Most technological advancements didn’t risk falling into the wrong hands so much as each development inevitably led to further developments. Sure, you have things like the Manhattan Project, which was specifically designed to kill people, and the scientists working on the problem of fission knew exactly that that was the goal. But most of the time, science must, and will, press forward, and the best one can hope for is understanding consequences. At first, dimensional gravity was used to allow people to walk around on this heavy world in designated areas. Then it was used to launch ships into the sky. Now it was being used to help people move around anywhere, with their own personal gravitational field. This all sounded very good and benevolent, but each application could transform, and that could happen in the blink of an eye.

Given enough time and motivation, someone with dimensional gravity could create an execution platform. They could launch a vulnerable living being into the empty, or they could increase gravity, and crush them like a soda can. They could create a handheld weapon that tore a target apart, with each limb being drawn in a different direction. They could design regular-sized missiles that traveled interstellar distances at such mind-boggling speeds—and thus contained ungodly amounts of energy—and destroy a whole planet. Plus, manipulating gravity also means manipulating time, so something like this could be used to imprison people for years, while only seconds passed for those outside the prison. These were just the risks that Hokusai could come up with on the top of her head, and they only involved the artificial gravity aspect of it. Tapping into other temporal or spatial dimensions could come with even worse consequences.

Osiris appeared to sense that her concerns had not gone away, which they never would. Still, he was determined to help alleviate them any way he could. “Come. I want to show you one last thing for the day.” He led them farther down the hallway, until reaching a very ominous door at the end. The sign said, Gravity Weapons Laboratory.

“This. This is exactly what I was worried about. I can’t believe you—!”

“Open the door, Madam Gimura,” Osiris said.

Hokusai could only shake her head in disappointment, so Pribadium decided to open the door herself. On the other side was nothing but a stone wall. “Is it a hologram?” she asked. To answer her own question, she reached up to find a real, physical wall.

“What is this?” Loa questioned, kind of protectively of her wife.

“It’s a symbol,” Osiris began to explain. “This is no trick. It’s not a secret transporter that takes you to the lab. The lab doesn’t exist, and it never will. We built this door to remind us that nothing we need is on the other side of it, and it never needs to become a room. As long as we’re in charge of this technology, it won’t be abused, and we will remain in charge as long as we’re alive, and if we do die, it dies with us. We’ve been very careful to quarantine the information. Only a few key people understand how it works.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small spherical cube box with a single button. It almost resembled a detonator. He handed it to Hokusai.

“Conceptual understanding of dimensional gravity was copied and sequestered on eight neural implants. Every time we want to do something with the knowledge, those in the know have to access the data using the implant. Practical application runs directly from this chip, and into our hands. Incoming data runs directly back to the implant, and we no longer share information. I, for instance, don’t actually know how gravity clothes work. Nor does anyone else, except for Dr. Petrić.”

“What is this?” Hokusai asked, indicating the sphube.

“The implants are airgapped, and they come with a single vulnerability,” Osiris went on. “A radio signal sourced from this box will disable the implants almost instantaneously. Now you’re the one in control of it. If you decide to erase everyone’s access, that’s what will happen.”

Hokusai looked down at her doomsday device. “Will it hurt?”

“I don’t think so,” Osiris answered. “Even if it does, the pain will be minimal, and temporary.”

She now half-frowned at the device. “Okay.” And with that, she pressed the button. A squeal escaped from it, and made its way through the air beyond them.

Osiris pressed his fingers against the top right side of his head. It didn’t look extremely painful, but more like he had accidentally bumped it against the edge of the coffee table after retrieving his contacts from underneath. Tiny massive weights hooked themselves to his eyelids, and he only barely fought against them. He quickly succumbed to the fatigue, and collapsed to the floor.

“Was that supposed to happen?” Loa asked.

“It’s not what he said.” Pribadium knelt down, and checked his pulse. “He’s still alive, just sleeping.”

“I don’t feel bad,” Hokusai said. “He gave me the button.”

“No one’s blaming you,” Loa assured her.

Pribadium walked a few meters down the hallway to the emergency box. There were two buttons. One was for urgent need, and the other simply connected with dispatch. She pressed the latter.

“Can I help you?”

“We need assistance transporting an unconscious man to the nearest medical facility.”

“A carrier is being sent to your location. It has been programmed to transport him to where the others are being taken. Please follow behind for routine questioning.”

A couple minutes later, a hover gurney appeared, and wedged itself under Osiris’ right side. Hokusai and Pribadium worked to drag him onto it, so it could take him to the infirmary. An investigator was waiting for them. Five unconscious people were already there. The other two were hopefully on their way, so they too could be treated. The investigator was taking someone else’s statement, and adding notes to a computer system that had been grafted onto the skin on his forearm.

“This is what did it.” Hokusai handed him the detonator sphube.

“What is it?” he asked her.

Hokusai felt no need to hide the truth. “You should find neural chips in each of their brains. These chips contained very sensitive information. The box was engineered as a failsafe, to prevent this information from leaking.”

The investigator nodded. “The gravity data. Yes, I know of it. Why was it activated?”

“He placed me in control of it, and I decided to use it.”

“Forgive me,” he said, “but we’ll have to wait until we revive them to determine whether you’re telling the truth.”

“Of course.”

“I’m sure they are.” The scientist who was observing the gravity children before stepped into the room. The seventh hover gurney followed her through, and took its place next to the others.

“How are you awake?” Hokusai asked, almost accusingly.

“That’s what we need to discuss,” the scientist replied. She faced the investigator. “You may go now. I’m invoking scientific immunity for everyone involved.”

The investigator switched off his arm interface. “Very well.”

“I’ll take that,” the scientist said before he could leave. Then she snatched the box out of his hand.

A robot surgeon removed itself from the wall, and began to perform brain surgery on the patients, starting with Osiris.

“My name is Katica Petrić. I was responsible for human gravitational adaptation, and there’s a secret I never told anyone; not even Osiris.”

Hokusai figured she understood. “You’re immune to the button.”

“Not exactly. I mean, no more or less than anyone else who didn’t have a gravity chip in their brain. Eleven years ago, my colleague was experimenting with dimensional energy. He was taking his job beyond his mandate, and because of it, something went wrong. I had to go down and release the energy before it blew another crater into the planet. Obviously I survived, but the incident had a side effect. The chip—for a reason I don’t know, because I’m not a neurologist—released all of its data into my mind, and then it melted. I was under the knife for hours while a surgical robot cleaned the chip out of my gray matter. It could do nothing for my memory, however. That button won’t work on me, because I possess knowledge of dimensional gravity that can’t be erased without seriously damaging my mind. I’m more like you now.”

Hokusai nodded. “No technology is foolproof.”

“Are you going to kill me?” Katica asked.

“Of course not.” Loa was more insulted than her wife. “We used the button as it was intended, for people who we presume consented to the eventuality. We don’t kill, and if your team hadn’t thought of the chips in the first place, then we just would have trusted that you wouldn’t do anything wrong with the knowledge.”

“You obviously didn’t want anyone using this knowledge anymore, though,” Katica began, “so I agree to retire.”

Pribadium had been searching her own memory archives since the first time she heard the name. “You’re a Petrić, as in the Kansas City Petrićs?”

“Yes,” Katica confirmed. “Third generation.”

“Thor told me about you,” Pribadium said. “I mean, he told us about your family, and the other three Croatian families. You’re kind of the unsung heroes of Kansas-Missouri history.”

She laughed. “I dunno, they sing songs about the Matics, and Bozhena.”

“But no one else,” Pribadium argued lightly. “That’s not my point, though. From what I gather, your family, in particular, has always been fully aware of salmon and choosers.”

Katica knew she had been found out. “Every Petrić is born without the ability to move backwards in time, but we’ve all been protectors in our own human ways. I’ve been deeply invested in what happens to salmon since we found out what my adoptive brother and sister were.”

“Who were your brother and sister?” Hokusai asked.

“Mario and Daria,” Katica answered. “The Kingmaker, and The Savior of Earth from 1981 to 2034.”

“You don’t just protect salmon,” Pribadium pointed out. “You’ve been protecting the vonearthans from them. You got yourself onto this team to prevent it from growing out of control.”

Katica turned to watch the surgeon continue removing the neural implants from her colleagues. “I do what I have to.”

“Your story was a lie,” Hokusai accused. “There was no energy generation accident. You removed the chip, and kept the knowledge for yourself.”

“Oh, no, there was a definite energy crisis, and I did have to stop it,” Katica contended. “I also just happened to be the person who started it. If I didn’t do something to prevent them from learning too much, Beaver Haven Pen would have imprisoned them all.” She dragged her knuckles against her upper teeth, presumably as a nervous tick. “I modified the killswitch for the same reason.”

“Are you telling me this is a real killswitch?” Hokusai was horrified.

“No, sorry, that’s not what I meant. It’s just...”

“What?” Loa prodded.

“The chips didn’t work. No one else knew, but there was no way of sequestering the information. The longer the data was in their heads, and the more they used this data to invent things, the more their brains absorbed. Mine did it faster, because I already had some preexisting knowledge, but it would have happened to them eventually, and I can’t be sure they would have all been as noble as Osiris was about it.”

“What did you do?” Hokusai pressed.

“I didn’t just modify the button,” Katica started to say. “I had to alter the chips themselves. I turned them into gateways to the brains. When you pushed that button, it did exactly as you wanted, but because the chips were no longer the only issues, the memory wipe had to be more...comprehensive.”

Just then after a few minutes of recovery, Osiris started to reawaken.

Ever the mothering type, Loa glided over, and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I think so,” he replied. “I do have two questions, though. Who are you? And who am I?”

< > Entire Story

Microstory 918: Posthumanism

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If you redirect your attention to this post, and this post, you’ll see that I’ve already spoken on the subject of transhumanism. If you’ve already read those stories, and don’t feel like going back, or if you just don’t want to, here’s the gist of it. Humans are weak and fragile creatures, just like most other creatures. There are too many things that can destroy life. Even the most ferocious beasts, and the hardiest of extremophiles are susceptible to multiple dangers. A lot of people have this belief that evolution is heading towards some level of perfection, but that is not how it works. A specimen develops a trait as a random mutation, and if it’s a bad mutation—one that hinders their ability to survive—then they simply won’t live long enough to procreate. If it does happen to help, then they’ll pass those genes on to their offspring. The reason humans have hair still, even though we’ve learned to fashion clothing, build houses, and invent central heating, is because there’s no one to change it. Having hair isn’t a problem for us. At best, our descendants might evolve out of it due to sexual selection, if mates begin to favor less hair enough, but that’s so unlikely, because for humans, it takes all kinds. The point of this is that evolution isn’t going to give us gills or wings, because we don’t live in environments that would require them. Winged humans wouldn’t have an advantage over non-winged humans, because we do just fine right here on the ground. If the floor suddenly literally turned to lava, we would just die out by the time our physiology changed to accommodate our new conditions. If you want wings, then you’re going to have to have them implanted. You’re going to need two things to do this, though. One, superhuman pecs. Seriously, look at any bird. There’s a reason the breast contains so much more meat the rest of any poultry. Two, you’re going to need to live in the future, because we can’t attach wings to people yet. We can’t implant gills, or artificial eyes, or neural interface chips. But we will be able to. One day. That’s what posthumanism is all about, and posthumanism is what I’m all about. Like I said, humans are weak, and I am no exception. I have allergies; my hands are in a permanent state of pain. I wear glasses, frequently have to ask people to repeat themselves, can’t smell the black mold in a house, can’t taste the difference between a hundred dollar steak, and a ten dollar steak, and can’t ever tell when my skin is wet, or just cold. I used to be adamantly opposed to body mutilation, like piercings, and tattoos. I guess I still am, but it wouldn’t bother me to have one, even if it seems permanent, but I know a secret: it isn’t. I’m young enough to still be around when we can replace any organ with a 3D printed upgrade. That’ll let me live long enough to see a time when my consciousness can be transferred to some other body; say a robin, a dolphin, or maybe a sentient tree. Posthumanism is looking forward to breaking the limits of our birth, which is why I love it.

Microstory 592: Surviving AMF Platoon Primarily Incipiants

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News brief: following the attack on our galactic military force, a small group of soldiers were left standing amongst the rubble. Only they remained of the Astral Military Force’s once great numbers. Several organizations are attempting to run independent investigations in the matter, but this small contingency has pushed them back every time. We still do not know what happened to the vast majority of AMF soldiers, but we do know that even those on other planets were affected. This led some to question how it is that anyone survived, but there is a logical explanation. The survivors are primarily, and possibly exclusively, incipiants. These are the newest recruits, having been just recently introduced the day of the initial attack. They have not even been there long enough to receive their standard-issue medical implants. This is what sets them apart from the others, and explains why they alone survived. Their authority over the galaxy is questionable at best, but for now, they maintain power of all interstellar transportation. More details to follow.

Microstory 581: World Leaders Debate Universal Identity

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Every sovereign nation in the world has some way to manage and track their citizenry. In the past, we’ve used ledgers, and other analog means, but now all of this information is kept in a central location. Some nations even share this information amongst each other, for ease of transportation. Others, however, do not. Travel between two countries can become problematic depending on the relationship between those two countries. Who hasn’t experienced a delay at the airport due to customs procedures. And it can get even more complicated if the traveler in question needs to first stop in a third country. One young man born and bred in Bellevue, Kansas believes that he has the solution to this problem, but it’s going to require a lot of cooperation between a lot of countries. “The variables are nearly incalculable for an endeavor like this. There are so many moving parts that no one person could accomplish this, which is why I need so much help. Unicards (working name) can help increase the efficiency of every nation, but it works best if everyone accepts it,” says Ikodo Murdoch, inventor of the new technology. Unicards would be a singular form of universal identity, with room for no competitor. Murdoch envisions a world where literally every person on the planet either carries one of these, or agrees on a subcutaneous implant. It would be used for identity verification, seamless purchasing transactions, and perhaps even tax purposes. Instead of carrying around credit cards, cash, and passports, one would need only this one thing. Murdoch believes that this would make everyday life much easier. Instead of worrying about having enough money, or whether a particular location accepts particular kind of card, everything would just be in one place. World leaders from seventy-three countries are currently debating such a program. Murdoch acknowledges that if only a fraction of countries agree to use the unicards, it might be worth it, but still hopes for growth beyond this. “It’s not an all or nothing thing,” Murdoch says, “but the technology serves the populace better if there’s only one. Now it doesn’t have to be my unicards, it could be something else. But I truly feel that this is the future. We must become one peoples...of one world. Most of our issues can be ultimately traced back to our own fragmentation.” The seventy-three countries that belong to the Wesmandian Alliance will be assembling in Iceland for the annual Northery Summit. The question of universal identity, in whatever form, is expected to be the primary topic of discussion.