Boundless Battlefields Broadening: Seclusion (Part I)

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Sentille Tereth dropped out of reframe speeds and opened the main viewports. There it was, her destination. It didn’t look like much from here, but what counted was on the inside. She twisted her helmet on and waited. She drew closer and closer until she reached the threshold. All of the Dritewing’s systems shut down. The asshole didn’t even ask after her business. He just took them out. He was probably trying to murder her right now, but it wasn’t going to work. There was a reason she volunteered for this mission. She was not susceptible to his ability. She still needed this suit, though, or he could kill her the old fashioned way. He still might try.

As her now dead battleship continued drifting on its own momentum, Sentille stepped into the custom escape pod, and launched. It was freezing cold and a rough ride, but this was what she trained for. They had been trying to make contact with the Aerie for decades, but every time they sent someone, the envoy never returned. They finally figured out why, but the number of people capable of surviving Falstead’s attacks was decreasing. Sentille deliberately kept herself vulnerable. Intentional obsolescence, her father would call it. He understood more than anyone. He stayed organic for a long time after everyone else upgraded. He had to give in eventually, though, or he likely wouldn’t be alive today, and Sentille wouldn’t exist at all.

She latched the pod onto the back of the shuttle, slid her own hatch open, and simply knocked on the door. If she had to, she would be able to break in, but she wanted to start on the right foot. Maybe all he needed was the right friend to talk with him, person to person. It seemed like he never gave anyone a chance, but they didn’t really know what went down during those earlier missions. She looked through his rear viewport. Something moved around the corner, but she couldn’t see what it was.

A face appeared—well, part of one anyway. Was that him? Was that the infamous Falstead Granperson? Such a funny name. Like she should talk, going around as Sentille Tereth. He looked nervous and mousey from here, but it was hard to tell since she couldn’t see a full facial expression. He was so used to attacking remotely, he probably didn’t have any experience getting his hands dirty. If he wanted to kill her, though, he was going to have to do it himself, and he was going to have to accept the fact that it would be permanent in her case.

She knocked on the glass again.

This startled him even though he was looking right at her. He reached out and waved her away. He didn’t want a confrontation. That was good, she could use that.

The door was the weakest part of the shuttle, and she had detailed specifications for the whole thing, straight from the designer’s plans. It sounded like Falstead had modified it since then, but he probably didn’t bother with the hull since he could neutralize any threat before it could get near him. Until today.

Sentille unhooked the blowtorch from her PRU and showed it to him.

Falstead’s one visible eye widened. He finally stepped out from his protective barrier, and held up his hands defensively, begging her with hand gestures to not use it.

Sentille reached up with her free hand and pointed in the general direction of the door control. She couldn’t see it from this angle, but she knew exactly where it was. She studied the designs hard. She had to in order to prove herself worthy of this job.

Falstead used gestures to concede. He cautiously walked towards her. He inched his hand towards the control at first before suddenly shooting it forward, and opening the door. As quickly as he could, he raced back to the safety of his corner.

Sentille stepped inside, closed the door back up behind her, and removed her helmet. She then made contact with Falstead’s eye. “If you don’t hurt me, I won’t hurt you, but we’re gonna have a conversation. Do you know how those work? Have you ever had one before?”

“Have I ever talked to people before?” Falstead questioned. “Of course I have, I’m not feral.”

“Good,” Sentille replied. “That’s a good start.” She held out her hand, even assuming he wouldn’t take it. My name is Sentille Tereth of Castlebourne, daughter of Dreychan Glarieda and Yunil Tereth. Don’t try to shut down my suit. It’s mostly mechanical. If you have been trying to upload my consciousness to your server, don’t waste your energy. I’m baseline organic. I can’t be uploaded.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Falstead contended. “Everyone is digitized.”

“Not me,” Sentille insisted. “We are aware of the afterlife simulation. They specifically designed me to be cut off from it. I am as I would be if we lived in the twenty-thousand years ago. I came here to ask you what the hell you’re doing. I was specifically chosen for this because you keep kidnapping everyone else.”

“I’ve not kidnapped anyone, they’re fine,” Falstead claimed.

“We know what you’re doing,” Sentille began. “We’ve done our research. You have the power to transfer digitized minds across substrates and systems. You can do this without consent, and most people are vulnerable to your power. I’m not. If you want to put me in your simulation, you’re going to have to shove a needle in my brain. Are you comfortable with that?”

He was silent for a moment. “Just leave me alone. I don’t know if you noticed, but we are in the Outer Sphere. I am not subject to your laws. I only upload those who would do me harm, or who would harm you!” He spoke calmly until those last few words. “Most of my prisoners are prisoners of war. They were on their way to destroy Castlebourne and enslave any survivors. I am doing this to protect you. I’m carrying on my parents legacy. You can’t stop me, and you shouldn’t want to.”

“We are not questioning your motives, or even your methods...only your right. My progenitors were prepared to handle the armada as appropriate, and according to their values. They did not ask you, or your parents, to intervene. Where are they, by the way? In one of your simulations too? Are they POWs too?”

Falstead was already frowning, but now he frowned more. “They didn’t understand either. They tried to negotiate. You can’t negotiate with an Exin. They’re fanatics. They can’t help it. They were indoctrinated from birth.”

“My parents are from the Goldilocks Corridor. They grew up under the Empire. My father lived on a luxury planet. He had no reason to leave, but he did, because even he could see that what they were doing was wrong. People can see the truth. They can change. But you have to trust them first. You can’t just transfer them to hell, and expect the universe to get better just because they’re gone.”

“They’re not in hell,” Falstead clarified. “They’re in a copy of our galaxy. They think they won the war. Nothing changed for them. One second, they were in base reality, and the next, they were in there, and everything felt the same. To them, they conquered Castlebourne, and enslaved them. I wasn’t lying about that, but what I did was protect real people from it. Their slaves are only NPCs. Everyone’s happy. I did that, I made you happy. So instead of trying to stop me, maybe I could get a thank you.”

Sentille breathed in, and then out. “Thank you.”

Falstead winced. He didn’t expect that response.

“Thank you for doing what you thought was right. I’m here to tell you, it wasn’t, and I’m here to ask you to stop. Free them from their prison. Just because they don’t know they’re in one, doesn’t mean they aren’t. It isn’t just, but there’s still time to undo it. They deserve the truth, no matter how dark their own desires. There’s a cliché that goes two wrongs don’t make a right. I have been trained and ordered to commandeer this vessel if need be. Need it be, Falstead?”

Falstead scoffed and shook his head. “You people do this all the time. You dress it up in fancy wording like virtual quarantine, but it’s VR prison. That’s what it is. The detainees can’t leave. And as I said, we’re not in the stellar neighborhood, or even the charter cloud. I have declared sovereignty over this region of space. There’s nothing here, so there’s nothing to squabble over. In my capacity as the owner and ruler, I imprison hostile forces at my discretion, just as they do on Varkas Reflex. Tell me where the difference lies. Because I’m only one person? Last time I checked, only one guy owns Castlebourne too, and I think I heard one woman owns YZ Ceti.”

“I don’t care about your sovereignty,” Sentille explained. “Because you’re correct, this is out of Castlebourne’s jurisdiction. Which is why I’m not here to arrest you.” She removed a tactical baton from its holster and flicked her wrist to extend it. “I’m just here to stop you, by whatever means necessary. And since you reminded me of where we are, you must realize that there’s no one to stop me.”

“Besides me,” Falstead pointed out.

“I read you quite clearly, Mr. Granperson,” Sentille laughed. “You’re not a fighter. You never had to be. You rely too much on your special powers.”

Falstead laughed back. “You’re gonna have to kill me. If you take the POWs I already have, I’ll just restart the program as soon as you leave. If you force me to go with you, you’ll just end up taking me to a planet full of people whose minds I can control.”

Sentille squeezed the trigger sending a surge of electricity throughout the baton. “Who said we’re going to a populated world?” She approached her target briskly and confidently, reaching up to drop him before he could reach for his own weapon. He tried to retreat into the bathroom, but he didn’t stand a chance. He struggled against her a little, but he was unpracticed. The tip of the shock-stick made contact with his neck, and he was out.

Around seven months later, Sentille turned off the anaesthesia, and gradually woke Falstead back up. He groaned in confusion. As his thoughts sharpened, his confusion did not abate. He still didn’t know where he was, or what was going on. He was likely starting to feel the technology around him, as well as Sentille.

He managed to crack a smirk. “Miss Tereth, you digitized. You think your job is over, and you’re safe now?” He was slurring his words a little, but improving. “You don’t understand. What I did to those soldiers was a mercy. I put them in new worlds. I maintained their consciousnesses; their...continuity. I can just as easily simply shut you down. You’ll just be dead at that point.”

Sentille nodded. She wasn’t in her bulky suit anymore. She was wearing a sexy little number now, to give him something to remember her by after they parted ways forever. “I didn’t digitize my brain, Falstead. This is just a surrogate substrate.” She picked up a kitchen knife and stabbed herself in the chest. “I can’t feel anything. You can sure shut me down, but I’ll wake up safe and sound on the Aerie. I promised to commandeer it from you, and that’s exactly what I did.”

“Where are we?” he questioned. “I feel some tech, but not a lot.”

“You have everything you need to survive, including your own simulation server, if that’s your thing. We have laws, we follow them. You’re entitled to immortality. But you’re not entitled to anyone else’s life. Now you’re alone. No one lives on this moon but you. Your habitat is self-sufficient, but you’re not leaving. Ever.”

“You can’t do this,” he argued. “You’re establishment. You have rules...due process.”

“I’m from the charter cloud, and we’re still not there. The extended bubble may be closer to the heart of civilization, but it has no laws either. Goodbye, Falstead. You did this to yourself.”

She was about to jump back to her own body, but he was evidently feeling vindictive. He shut her surrogate down himself. She would never be able to return now, and that was on him.

Sentille sat up, but didn’t climb out of the chair. She sat on the edge of it and breathed deliberately.

“Was he mad?” Renata  asked.

This was a serious situation, but Sentille couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, Madam Granger, he was mad.”

“Maybe we should have gone down there too,” Quidel suggested. “We might be able to reason with him. We turned him into this. The least we could do is try to help him change for the better.”

“I don’t know if this is your fault, Mr. Jesperson,” Sentille said, “but I know going down there would not have helped. It would have made him hate you. As it stands, I’m his number one enemy, and as far as he knows, you had absolutely nothing to do with it. It might hurt, but this was the only way.” She hopped out of the chair and headed towards the door. “Now, I’m going to need you two to go back into the sim. You obviously can’t know where he is. And every time you even think about breaking him out one day, or even just visiting him, I won’t hesitate to give you the same treatment again. This is happening people. Get used to it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods, but says nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Microstory 2566: Police Chief

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I was in charge when a suspect made an attempt on Mr. Landis Tipton’s life, but I was not allowed to make an arrest. Despite the fact that the crime happened in my jurisdiction, I was overruled by men in black who called it a national security threat. I guess I can see where they’re coming from. Mr. Tipton is a national treasure, and not just in the sense that a lot of people love him. He’s a wildly important asset that is making major changes to the dynamics of the world, almost single-handedly. He’s not just talking about fixing our problems, he’s actually taking action, and I admire him for that. The Foundation and the station have a really good relationship. We provide protection, in addition to the private security that they employ. They handle all of their internal stuff, and we take care of the outside. When you pull into the campgrounds, there will always be at least one patrol car there. My officers won’t check you in, or help security confiscate items that go against policy, but we’ll do what police do when called to action. I like to keep a uniformed presence within the campground too, but we can’t always spare the manpower for that. There’s always something to do, and something to worry about. My people consider it an honor, and most don’t find it boring. There’s a lot of people around, which means a lot of activity, and unlike with some of these rich schmoes who simply have enough pull to request protection, they typically actually want to protect this guy. I really wish I could have interrogated that suspect. We could have learned if he’s working with anyone else, or gotten an idea of whether there are more out there with his same motivations. Maybe he posts on a message board, or something. We don’t know. We don’t know anything. Neither does the public, and I don’t think that’s right. Here we have a direct threat to my community, and I’m not even allowed to report it. That’s not how we do things. Transparency is key to maintaining a healthy and prosperous civilization. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do about it. When people with those credentials tell me what to do, I have to do it. I will never know who this would-be assassin was, or why he wanted the healer dead, but I’ll keep doing my job, and keeping my city safe. Mr. Tipton can perform miracles, but he can’t stop violence. They’ll always need people like me.

Microstory 2086: And Even Chaotic

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I have been trying to figure out, not only where my co-worker went, but also where everyone else has gone. One person has mysteriously disappeared from Kansas City every day for the last month and a half. None of them showed signs of wanting to go somewhere before their disappearance, they leave no trace behind, and the authorities have not categorized any of them as suspicious. One thing they seem to have in common is that their respective friends and family aren’t extremely surprised by the development. The cops eventually stop investigating entirely, because none of them is a child, or someone else at high risk, like a dementia patient. They’re all self-sufficient adults who have been known to be a little bit flaky and unpredictable. They also come from different jurisdictions, so no one but me has any hope of seeing any of this as a pattern. In some of the stories I was writing before I disappeared from my own world, I came up with this organization called the Kansas City Metro Corps. It’s a police agency that operates in all of Kansas City, even across state lines, which to my knowledge, is not something that exists in the real world. There are federal agents, of course, but no one that can carry out investigations regularly between only two states. They might do it occasionally, but in that case, two different departments will have to liaise with each other, which can be complicated, disorganized, and even chaotic. They don’t have anything like the KC Metro Corps on this Earth, so no one is talking to each other, or seeing the connections.

I have been doing my own investigating, and I’ve come to a startling discovery that made me throw up in the middle of my shift. Don’t worry, I made it to the bathroom in time, because I was already in the break room, but I don’t know if I can live with myself anymore. It’s me. I’m the cause. I don’t know how I’m doing it, but it’s definitely me. Tracing the disappearances have been difficult, because no one witnessed anything strange happening, so their true locations aren’t so cut and dried, which is why I didn’t see it before. But if I add myself to the map along with all the others, and adjust for people’s hypothetical movement after the last person to see them loses sight of them, then I am at the epicenter. Every disappearance happens from that point, and has continued outwards in a spiral formation. The pattern would be beautiful if it weren’t so sickening. They all happen early in the morning, which makes sense, because that’s when I first arrived on this world. So I’ve already missed today. I’ve not heard anything yet, but I’m sure whatever mysterious force is causing this has struck again, and I have an idea of where. I can’t save that person, or anyone else we lost before, at least I might not be able to, I don’t know. But I know that there’s a chance for me to save whoever is meant to go missing tomorrow. I’m taking the day off, which is something that I didn’t want to do this early on at my job, but I don’t think I have any other choice. I’ve asked the high school girl to fill in for me, since it’s Teacher Planning Day. I’m going to the store today to gear up. I don’t know what I’ll be going up against.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: November 3, 2398

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Kivi can presumably find anyone anywhere, but it helps to have a general idea of where they are. If their targets had run off to hide in Croatia, for instance, she probably would have never found them unless someone tipped them off to this fact. Fortunately, her SD6 team is not the only interested party. Investigators from multiple departments have been looking into the bombing of the former Balance of Power studios, and they do not believe that the culprits have managed to get out of the city. They’re still in New York, and as long as she doesn’t get distracted again, Kivi can take it from there. That’s not all the other investigators found.

A small group known as the Weighers of Justices have claimed responsibility for the attack. This is a new organization; so new that organization is a strong word to use for them. They say that they’re loyal to Solomon Powers and his legacy, and were retaliating against Leona’s legal killing of him, and her takeover of his microsovereignty. They’ve not released names, or shown themselves on camera, so this could all be a red herring, but Kivi and the other members of her team don’t care. Understanding motive is not part of their job descriptions. They just have to find these assholes.

It’s called a Pyramid Whelm. In a standard square or rectangular building, two members of the tactical team will take up positions on corners diagonal from each other. This allows them to watch for escape attempts from all side doors. A third member will take up a position on the roof, in case someone has some way out via helicopter or wingsuit, or something like that. When the main door of any given building is breached by two more tack team members, anyone hoping to evade capture will usually instinctively move to the back. The final two team members will be waiting for them at that exit. This is the most efficient use of a seven-member team, but it is a scalable tactic. A group totaling fourteen can double up on each position, or spread across a larger area, depending on necessity, threat level, and resource inventory. A single-family home can probably be contained with a single team, but an abandoned bulk store, for example, may need some extra people to cover all bases, but the same vaguely pyramidal formation is used in either case.

Before the Whelm comes the recon, which is when a single person, or maybe two people, attempt to gather as much information about a target location as possible before anyone else goes in. This is especially useful in urgent cases such as this, but it’s also risky if a security system tips the targets off to the oncoming containment. That’s what Kivi is supposed to be doing right now at that abandoned bulk story. But she’s not just doing it for her team, because they’re not preparing a Pyramid Whelm today. This is called a Deluge Configuration. It’s basically when every able-bodied law enforcer in the area comes out, and dominates a target location. This has become such an important case, despite the fact that no one was severely hurt, that everyone wants a piece of it. Leona Matic has her detractors—case in point, the bombing—but for the most part, she’s become very popular. People want to see the bad guys go down for this, so every department has a strong incentive to get it done quickly, and unambiguously.

Kivi does not feel the same way that everyone else does, and she knows that neither does Leona. That’s why she’s going to secretly convert the recon mission into a capture mission. She does not have the training or experience to take on all these guys on her own, but she’s doing it anyway, because it’s the safest way to go about it. It’s also the most rational, or maybe it’s more that a Deluge Configuration is an insane tactic. First of all, these people are bombers. This whole structure could be rigged up with explosives, which would put hundreds in needless danger. Secondly, when you have this many people who don’t even know each other, it would be incredibly easy for the suspects to slip away in the chaos. She refuses to let that happen.

As Kivi is double-checking her count of the suspects, Paula crawls up to her. “What are you doing here?” Kivi whispers. “You’re supposed to be hunting for underground exit points.”

“You think I’m going to let you do this alone?”

“It’s my job. I’m the Spotter.”

“Yes, but you’re not just spotting, are you? You were just about to go in alone.”

How does she know that? “What makes you say that?”

“I could see it in your eyes. Maybe I should be the Spotter.”

Kivi frowns. “The Deluge—”

“Is the dumbest thing that some guy with a computer keyboard came up with two hundred years ago. There’s a reason that the SD6 has never employed it once, because it doesn’t work. We’re surgical, that’s the whole point of a seven-person tack team.”

The Technician, Hurst crawls up to their position on the catwalk. “Hey, are we doing this, or what?”

Right behind him are Corolla, Hartwin, Klein, and Alserda. Now the whole team is here. “Are you mad?” Kivi asks their leader.

“No, you had the right idea, just the wrong tactic,” Alserda says. “We’re doing Hermit Crab Formation,” she orders.

“I’m not familiar with that one,” Kivi says.

Lieutenant Klein looks between Kivi and Corolla. “You’re in back.”

“Because I’m the newest?”

“Because you’re the smallest,” Alserda clarifies.

Hermit crabs live in shells created by other organisms. When one specimen grows out of its shell, it has to find a new one. So what they’ll do is get in a line next to each other, and trade shells one right after the other. In this case, Hermit Crab formation dictates the largest member of the tactical team approach the targets in front, hopefully giving the impression that there is only one person about to attack them. As soon as the targets see that an enemy is coming, and the tactical advantage of the ruse is lost, the crabs in back will break formation, and begin the attack using whatever means necessary and authorized. Despite the fact that two people on the team have never done this before, their technique serves them well. All bombing suspects are apprehended without anyone firing a single shot.

Once it’s over, Alserda conducts a brief interrogation in an attempt to ascertain whether there are any impending attacks. This is when they learn the truth. These guys never cared about their former boss, Solomon Powers. There was a vault in the sub-basement, which they robbed. The explosion was just to cover their tracks. They refuse to say where the money is, though. “That isn’t our problem,” Paula advises Kivi.

Kivi turns away, realizing that she’s right, and feeling a sense of relief in this truth. She’s not responsible for detecting clues, extracting confessions, or prosecuting crimes. She finds people; that’s it. What happens afterwards is out of her hands. Then again, that was Leona’s money. Maybe Kivi is responsible for recovering it after all.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: November 2, 2398

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Leona wakes up in a hospital bed. Her husband’s is the first face she sees. The nurse’s is the next. She tries to speak, but it doesn’t feel like her voice is coming out. The nurse hands Mateo a cup of water so he can hold it under Leona’s chin, and help her sip. Quenched, she can utter the only pertinent word right now. “Report.”

“There was an explosion,” Mateo begins to explain as the nurse is leaving to get the doctor. “They don’t know who, and if they know how, they’ve not released this information to the public. The investigation is going slow. The fact that the crime took place in a crime hole is causing some jurisdictional issues. Normally, an internal investigative team would be expected to handle this on their own, but when neighboring areas are at risk, external forces are willing to come in, which they have to, because—”

“Because I drained the swamp of nearly all staff, and absolutely all security,” Leona recalls. “I don’t regret it.”

“This being the case, police would usually try to get consent from the owner of the crime hole to step in, but since you were incapacitated...”

“They have it,” Leona says. “Anyone with the authority to investigate crime has my consent and support to do what they must.”

“I’ll text Winona,” Mateo says, taking out his device.

Once he’s done with that, Leona says, “go on.”

“Cheyenne and Marie were hurt; Cheyenne the least. She was conscious, and able to inform the rescuers that only the three of you were in the building at the time. Is that a fair assessment?”

“As far as we knew, yes. We kept a few staff to help with the transition, but we asked them not to come in today—”

“It’s the second of November,” Mateo interrupts.

“We asked them not to come in on that day,” Leona amends. “We wanted to walk the space, and envision the changes. Is it destroyed? Is the whole thing gone?”

“It is, yes. It was a massive explosion.”

“That’s a silver lining. We were just discussing how we would prefer to knock it down, and rebuild from scratch...assuming we haven’t lost ownership over it.”

“No one has said as much. I don’t know how it works.”

The doctor comes in and performs a basic examination on Leona. She has multiple bruises, a head laceration, and both of her legs are broken. She cracks a joke about this being a blessing since she didn’t have to cut them off, like last time. He doesn’t think it’s funny, but if he knew that she wasn’t lying... She’s going to make a full recovery, but the healing process is going to take some time. She will be confined to a wheelchair for the next three months at least, maybe even longer. She would be able to transition to crutches sooner, but there’s little point in trying that when both legs need time to heal. Leona is taking it surprisingly well. Again, if he only knew the kinds of things she has gone through, he would understand that this is not life-shattering news. It sucks, but if all else fails, she should eventually be able to just transfer her consciousness to a new body.

Shortly after the doctor leaves to let Leona get some rest, there is a knock on the door. Mateo answers to find Kivi on the other side. She steps into the room quietly, and looks around cautiously. She opens the door to the bathroom, like she’s expecting another person to be here. Then she settles her gaze back on Leona, and finally exhales.

“Are you looking for another bomb?” Leona asks.

“No, I was looking for the people who did it,” Kivi replies.

“What made you believe that they were in here? You don’t think that one of us did it, do you?”

“Of course not!” Kivi says. “I think I’ve overestimated how much control I’ve developed over my psychic abilities. I want to catch the people who did this to you, but my heart just wanted to make sure my friend was okay.”

“That’s sweet,” Leona says. “Thank you.”

“I better get back to the team.” Kivi lifts her watch up, and speaks into it, “code orange. Stand down.”

“Code orange?” Mateo asks.

“Like a detour sign?” Kivi explains. “These are not the droids we’re looking for.”

“Why do you know pop culture references from the wrong reality?” Leona questions.

“I dunno.” Kivi starts to back out of the room casually. “Why is a tree good? Why is the sunset good? Why are boobs good?”

Leona narrows her eyes at her. “I love you.”

“Love you too!” Kivi calls back just as she’s stepping out of view.

Leona manages to get a little bit of sleep before Ramses abruptly invites himself into the room. “She’s asleep,” Mateo tries to whisper, but it’s too late.

“I’m up.”

“Good.” Also without asking, Ramses lifts the bedsheets, and slides Leona’s hospital gown up to get a look at her legs.

“Oh good, you’ve graduated from medical school at last,” Leona jokes.

“I just need a quick look.” Ramses feels Leona’s upper thighs, and sticks his fingers down her casts.

“And a feel.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s your body; you built it for me.”

Ramses rolls his eyes. Then he takes out his version of a Star Trek tricorder, and scans her legs. “Yeah, I think this will work, but I can’t promise.”

“What will work?” Mateo asks, growing impatient.

“Did anyone tell you that we’re planning to raise the Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez from the bottom of the ocean?” Ramses asks them as he’s checking Leona’s lymph nodes for an as of yet unknown reason.

“Yeah, what does this have to do with my wife’s medical condition?”

“Do you remember what happened to you when you teleported yourself into orbit? Did you die up there?”

Leona realizes what Ramses is thinking. “Oh. You think if I break the planet’s atmosphere, I’ll regain my transhumanistic upgrades, and reactivate my healing nanites, which will repair my legs.”

“That’s the idea,” Ramses confirms.

“Is that even a thing?” Mateo asks.

“Only one way to find out.” Ramses and Leona high five each other.