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 2769: X Marks the Spot

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Elise instinctively teleports back to Rage holding the jacket that they last saw Minotaur wearing. She’s on the verge of hyperventilating. There were no clues where she found it, at least none which was obvious. She takes Rage by the arm, and jumps back to that spot with her friend in tow. “Over here, guys!” she cries out to the rest of the group.

Together, they start to dig in the sand, looking for any sign of Minotaur, be it evidence they left behind, or—if they were taken—a deliberate clue left behind by their captor. They cover a ground of a few square meters, but there’s nothing. There’s no trapdoor, which would be the most likely explanation, or maybe something less manmade, like a hidden hole. If something had taken them away in the air, someone probably would have seen it. Rage tells everyone to stop digging as she narrows in on Miracle. “This looks like the work of a teleporter. Besides Azad, who else can do it?”

Miracle shakes her head. “There are far too many to list, and remember, we’re generally called time travelers. They could be from the future, or the past, or a parallel timeline. There are too many options to use that knowledge alone to locate them.”

“Well, are any of them bad?” Rage presses. “Do you have...villains?”

“Sure we do,” Miracle confirms. “I...was technically one for a bit, though we tend to use the word antagonist amongst each other because who’s to say which is which?”

“This isn’t helping,” Rage argues. “You’re not giving us anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Miracle begins, but she doesn’t get the chance to finish her thought.

“Can I find them?” Elise interrupts. “Just now, I wanted to jump to Rage, and so that’s where I went, instead of several kilometers away. I didn’t even know exactly where she was, on her hands and knees behind that ridge. I thought about her, and it happened. Could I do that with Minotaur? I don’t wanna try without understanding it.”

Miracle sighs. “Have you ever seen the 12 Monkeys movie, and have you ever seen any of the Back to the Future movies?” she asks weirdly.

“Not recently,” Elise answers. “What’s your point?”

“They follow different rules,” Miracle begins. “In the former, time travel is a contained loop. It’s called predestination. It doesn’t matter what you do, you can’t change things. Whatever happened always happened, and you’re just following a preexisting path, blind and in the wrong order. In the latter, you can change the future, and they, in fact, do it multiple times. Those stories aren’t contradictory because they take place in different universes. They have nothing to do with each other.

“In our universe, there are—well, no, it’s not like there are no rules—it’s that we have all the rules. Can you teleport without being able to see where you’re going, or beyond some distance limitation? I don’t know. We all have our different abilities and restrictions. It’s utter chaos. I can teach you how to try to jump to Mino, but I can’t promise it will work. I can’t even promise you won’t end up kilometers away this time, or dead, stuck halfway through a wall. It’s a crapshoot. Most are born the way that they are, and discover what they can do intuitively. People who are transformed into travelers typically have a harder time. They’re usually older, and have developed more traditional coping mechanisms, which makes their new skills low access.”

“Then you’re not doing it,” Rage decides. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Wait, you could teleport before,” Zelda says to Miracle. “You said that Hrockas couldn’t take that away from you because it was in your mind, not your body.”

Miracle nods. “He figured out how to suppress it when he gave me a new, new body. I’ve already tried since I returned, and have not been able to do anything.”

“Then I’ll do it,” Elise insists. “Before you say anything, Rage, this is my body, my choice. Hrockas just told us that counts here a few hours ago. You can’t stop me.”

“I can’t,” Rage acknowledges, “but I don’t wanna lose you too.”

“Borrowed time, remember?” Elise asks. She faces Miracle. “Tell me what to do.”

“I’m inclined to agree with our fearless leader,” Miracle says. “It’s risky.”

“Then we vote,” Elise offers. “Who here thinks I shouldn’t do it?”

Everyone raises their hand.

“Just kidding, it’s my body! Tell me what to do, or I’ll try it on my own!”

“Very well,” Miracle agrees. “But I’m not responsible for what happens to you.”

Everyone pays close attention when Miracle explains how the process of using teleportation to find someone might work. They’re just as curious, even though they can’t do it themselves. Finally, it’s time to try. Miracle suggests she practice first, but she also said one thing about potentially running out of something called temporal energy, so talk about a risk. Elise closes her eyes as Miracle instructed. At first, she focuses on her whole family, but most of them are already here with her. She only needs to concentrate on one person. She visualizes Minotaur’s face, and considers how they make her feel. It seems that Elise is falling in love. She does realize she keeps thinking that.

The air was hot and dry, but now it’s cool and humid. Though Elise’s eyelids were closed, she could see the light penetrating her skin. Now that’s all gone. She opens them to find herself in darkness, with only red emergency lighting. It’s enough for her to see that she’s not alone, and she can even tell who it is. “Mino.”

Minotaur is startled. They spin around and desperately grab Elise’s mouth. “Shh,” they whisper. “I don’t know how you ended up down here too, but this is a maze...and we are not alone. I’m going to let go of you now, okay? Just whisper.”

Elise nods, and once she’s free, whispers even quieter than Minotaur, right in her ear. “I teleported to find you. Do you know who took you, or where we are?”

“No idea,” Minotaur answers. “I didn’t see who took me. They were totally robed up. I managed to push them off and run away, but not too far, and I couldn’t scream. That’s when I felt the sharp pain in my neck. I was hot before, but then I felt like I was burning up, so I took off my jacket while I was passing out. Then I woke up here. I’ve been trying to navigate the maze this whole time. I figured you were all taken too.”

“I think this is mostly about you,” Elise figures. “There is no way they could have set this all up after they found out that I could teleport. They expected you to find your way out, and for us to find our way to you. We’re cheating. I don’t know if that’s okay. But I’m just gonna go with it. I teleported in, so we can teleport out.”

“No,” Minotaur argues. “There’s something here. The monster is guarding something. Trust me, we want it. I’m glad you’re here, but I don’t want to cheat any further. Let’s play this straight, and find the way to the prize. Are you up for it?”

“We’re a team. We should all do it together.”

“Yeah, if you can gather everyone, then go for it. Just tell them to stay hushed.”

Elise transports most into the maze, but before she can do the same for Colley she evidently runs out of temporal energy, leaving them both stranded on the surface.

Extremus: Year 129

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Audrey Husk is sitting in hock. Yes, that’s right, that’s what she’s calling it. That’s what everyone calls it. No one uses the new terminology that Waldemar instituted, except to his face. It’s a new problem in this timeline. He didn’t do that before, because he didn’t have anyone trying to steer him in a different direction. The language policing was a way to exert his control when more destructive ways were off limits to him. Those barriers are breaking down, though. Audrey and Silveon’s hold over him has been slowly eroding, and his true nature is coming out. They didn’t want to believe it. They wanted to believe that anyone could be a positively contributing member of society, no matter their brain chemistry. But she is beginning to doubt that. She has to, because if she maintains her philosophy of seeing the good in everyone then it means the reason their plan didn’t work was either because they had a bad plan, or they didn’t execute it well.

Either way, it’s over now. She’s done fighting. Or rather, she’s done not fighting, because this subtle psychic driving bullshit is not working. Out of all the contingencies they came up with, none of them involved being an outspoken detractor or enemy. They thought he needed to be finessed. But that just encourages him. Everything they’ve done has encouraged him. She’s glad she’s in here now. It has given her multiple chances to give him a piece of her mind without fear of repercussions. She’s already at the lowest point in her life. The only place to go from here, other than up, is death. She doesn’t welcome it, but at least she won’t actually die. She’ll spend some time in the buffer, then she’ll answer yes to the question, and wait on ice for ninety to a hundred years. When she gets back, Waldemar’s reign will be over. He may have revived too by then, but he will have gone down in history as a terrible captain, so she won’t be alone anymore. That’s the future she wants to see. She might prefer it. She may go that route anyway.

 Silveon walks casually into her cell like he’s just come home from work.

“What are you doing here?” Audrey questions. “You are going to get caught.”

“Master codes, remember?” Silveon reminds her. “I didn’t only unlock the doors. I also took care of the security system.” He holds his hand out towards her.

“What are you doing? What is that? You want me to go with you? Where would we go? We’re on a ship, there is no escape. That’s why I didn’t use the master codes to break out last year. You think I didn’t memorize what I needed just in case?”

“I think you told me you had a plan, and I’ve been waiting for you to fulfill it, but you’ve not done a single thing, so now we’re doing it my way. Let’s go,” he insists.

Audrey shakes her head, and turns her body away from his offering hand. “No. I have been moving forward with my plan. I’ve been arguing with Waldemar. I don’t mean I’ve been trying to get him to see the light. I’ve been calling him an asshole, and a tyrant, and really letting him have it. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him about you, or say anything about the future. I just acted like a bitter ex-wife, which is basically what I am.”

“Aud. You’re going to die in here. You’re going to die in hock, and there was another way. Let me send you to Verdemus. He will never find out. You can even—”

“Don’t say it.” Audrey closes her eyes and breathes. “Don’t...don’t even say her name. She is being cared for, and I can’t leave. Please respect my wishes.”

Silveon agrees and leaves, but then he comes back when she’s sleeping, knocks her out with a drug, and drags her to the mini-Nexus in Admiral Hall. She will never forgive him for this violation.

She wakes up on the green grass outside. Green!Audrey is the one who helps her wake up. “Welcome home. Would you like to meet your daughter, Silvia?”

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Castlebourne Capital Community: The Man Who Finally Died (Part VII)

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It was done. They proposed a new referendum, which was basically just like the old one, but tweaked enough to be considered original. Thanks to the tireless efforts of Dreychan Glarieda, Yunil Tereth, and all of their friends, including even Vip, they were able to sway people’s votes. Slain kind of became a pariah on Castlebourne. He was so well-liked, but they eviscerated him in the media, so to speak, and he was not happy about it. He didn’t speak out in public, though. He aired his grievances to Dreychan and Yunil in private, but he didn’t poke his head out of his hole. He was too embarrassed. He shouldn’t have been. People had short-term memories. Many were glad to be done with the political decisions for a while.

When the refugees first came to this world, they were super hesitant to enjoy themselves, because there weren’t as many opportunities to do so in the Corridor. They had pretty much gotten over that, though and loved their recreation now. To them, the government was there to do their job, and stay out of their hair. No more voting, no more referendums, just do whatever you need. So they were all out of the spotlight by the time the sun actually started moving across the galaxy. None of them was allowed to know any details about it, or how it was being done. The sun-mover evidently wanted to maintain their anonymity, and that was fine. Perhaps Dreychan and Yunil could do the same, and finally rest. Or maybe not.

Someone yanked the dark hood off of Dreychan’s head, and pulled the bandana out of his mouth. He looked to his right to find Vip and Amazine. Yunil was to his left. They were all on their knees, with their wrists tied behind their backs, and still gagged. Amazine was scared, but the other two weren’t. He realized why. Like him, she was undigitized. If she died here today, that would be it. Yunil and Vip would be fine, so why were they here? What were these assholes trying to prove? He looked up, and didn’t recognize the scowling thugs, but he did know the smirking thug boss sauntering over behind them. “Slain. You do understand that that’s a dumb name, right? It means that you’ve died, not that you kill. Perhaps you meant to call yourself Slayer?”

“My name is my name,” Slain contended. It really wasn’t. After discovering that Slain was also from Ex-777, Dreychan did a little research. Like Dreychan, he was born with a regular name, instead of a number, but it certainly wasn’t Slain. So he made it up too. He must have thought it sounded cool.”

Slain crouched down so he was at eye-level with Dreychan. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“Judging by the design and decor, I’m guessing you’re putting us on trial?”

“A tribunal, actually.” Dreychan didn’t know the difference. Slain probably didn’t either, it just sounded cooler. He stood up, and started pacing around with his own hands behind his back, mocking them, but also giving off the impression of levity and ease. “Do you recognize where you are? We’re not in the Capital anymore.” Dreychan didn’t, but wouldn’t have had the chance to answer anyway. “Of course not. This is the three-dimensional Winner’s Hall of 2.5Dome. It’s where you would have gone had you played your game fairly, and won without cheating.”

Dreychan didn’t say anything. Even claiming to not care about that would imply that he actually did have some strong feelings on the matter, when in reality, he was totally over that, and absolutely never cared about the inherent value of winning. He had just been trying to survive.

Dreychan’s indifference angered Slain, so he had to work hard to keep it together. He pointed to one of the camera operators who was presently at rest. “The tribunal will be broadcast, but if you think that means someone’s gonna come rescue you, you got another thing coming.”

“Another think coming,” Dreychan corrected.

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry about it, little dum-dum.”

Slain was fuming. “You will show me respect. By the end of these proceedings, you will be begging me for your life, I guarantee you that!”

Dreychan was silent again. He just made himself look calm and disinterested.

Slain didn’t want to point it out, so he just moved on. “You are here to answer for your crimes against the Castlebourners. I’m not talking about the visitors, by the way, I couldn’t give a flailing fuck about those people. I’m talking ‘bout us; the real Castlebourners. You manipulated the people, and you rigged the referendum, and I have the proof. You will answer to the people of this great new nation, and more importantly, you will answer to me!”

One of his thugs batted an eye at his last claim. Perfect. This wasn’t one big happy family. There was a way to exploit that, he just needed that thing out of Yunil’s mouth, so she could use her silvertongue to do that. He gave her a look, and she winked back, still unfazed.

Slain notices this. “Oh. Oh, I see. You think you’re safe? I assure you, you’re not. No one knows where we are. The cameras won’t show any distinguishing characteristics, the signal will be bounced around different quantum servers, or scrubbed of its metadata, or whatever my expert did to hide us. When it’s your turn to speak, you can see 2.5Dome all you want, but my other expert will be censoring all that shit during the built-in delay, so it’ll just make it look like you’re cussing a lot on one of those old Earthan TV shows where they weren’t allowed to say certain words to the public.” He gestured at the walls in a general sense. “Even if they do find us, they’re not getting in. No teleporting in or out. You see, that’s why you don’t get. We are from all over. One of us worked on the teleportation field research labs. One of us is a carpenter. One a computer scientist. You just sat around and played games all day. My people know how to work.”

“I must have been misinformed. I thought you were also from Ex-777.”

Slain shook his head. “Not everyone who lived there was wealthy like you. Some of us worked for people like you.”

Dreychan scoffed. “Not true, they were bots. Our planet was specifically designed to keep all human workers out, so they weren’t even close to the luxury.” He looked around at the people with guns. “If he told you he was a workin’ man, he lied. They simply didn’t exist.”

Slain bolted back over, and backhanded Dreychan across the chin, causing his head to fall into Vip’s lap. “I told you to show me respect!”

“You gotta earn that,” Dreychan replied. “But I don’t like your chances. I don’t have much respect for the dirt on the bottom of my shoe, or even my own fingernail clippings.”

Yunil giggled.

Slain turned his head to her. “You think that’s funny? You’re only so calm because you think your safe. But my carpenter, teleportation expert, and signal technician aren’t the only geniuses I have on my side. We can also suppress quantum consciousness transference. Your last backup stream was just before you crossed the threshold into this dome. Even if you’re not one of those people who philosophically rely on continuity of thought, your backup substrate is in no safe place either. While we’re talking, my people are out there, destroying any extra bodies you got lying around.” He leaned in closer to her. “We’re tuned in, sweetheart. We didn’t do this on a whim.” He forced a kiss upon her lips, and then booped her in the nose. “Boop!”

“You should not have done that,” Yunil said firmly. “Sexual assault is no joke.”

Slain led into a laugh from a scoff. “Relax. We’re all friends here, aren’t we? Or aren’t we?” he posed, as if that was some justification for this kangaroo court.

Slain wasn’t worried. He straightened his knees out, and went back to pacing around menacingly. “Now. Before you get all up in arms about me being judge, jury, and executioner, let it be known that I am only the first one. The panel of your peers will be composed of people who know firsthand what it’s like to be slighted by the great Dreychan Glarieda of Ex-777. Come on in, folks!”

And they did. Dreychan recognized every single one of them. They were former members of the Old Council of Old Worlds. Teemo, Rezurah, Maaseiah, and Yunil’s sister, Lubiti were all there, as well as everyone else who had gone to jail for the conspiracy to kill Dreychan. They didn’t look happy, though. They weren’t smirking, or even smiling. They look kind of perturbed. Which was weird. They had all somehow been freed from prison, yet they could not be more annoyed. “This is why we’re here?” Lubiti questioned. “You want us to judge this man?”

“I figured you would want to take your shot at some justice, since you’ve been waiting for it for a year now.”

“We have not been waiting for that,” Maaseiah argued. “We have been doing our time. We have been repenting for our sins.”

“What are you talking about?” Slain was so utterly baffled. “He’s right there! The guy who put you all away—the man who you hate with such profound disgust—this is your chance to exact revenge. Take it!”

“So this was never going to be fair?” Yunil asked. “You weren’t even gonna pretend to be impartial?”

“I said it’s a tribunal, not a trial!” Slain argued. He looked back over at the councilors. “Come on! What’s your problem? He ruined your lives!”

“No, we did that ourselves,” Rezurah said. “We tried to kill him, and regardless of our reasons, that was wrong, and we all recognize that now. We have said this on the record. We have done interviews. Did you not watch them?”

“I thought you were playing for the camera,” Slain explained. “I don’t understand, you forgave him for real?”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Lubiti reasoned. “He didn’t do anything to us. He didn’t even call the authorities. They conducted their investigation without his knowledge. Like Rezurah was just saying, we are the architects of our own demise.”

Slain shook his head. He could not wrap his mind around this. He expected to win today, and he was losing steam by the minute. His thugs weren’t outwardly going against him, but they didn’t seem ready to start a firefight either. It was looking like no one was going to get hurt today. Enraged, he let out a primal scream. “Argh! You dumbasses aren’t going to take this from me!” He pulled out a knife as he was coming around to the other side of Dreychan. He held it against his neck, letting it dig in enough to make it bleed.

“Now, hold on,” Lubiti said, trying to keep him calm. “This isn’t going to get you anything. Right now, it looks like you’ll be done for kidnapping, trespassing, and maybe some hacking, or whatever. That’s not great, but it’s not murder. You can still get out of this. The laws are rigid, but the punishments are fluid. There’s not much crime anymore. No one really knows how to handle it all the way out here. You might just get exiled. They may send you to Outcast Island. You would probably prefer it there anyway. Dreychan’s a good guy, I’m sure he would advocate for you. Right, Drey?”

“Yeah, I don’t care,” Dreychan confirmed. “I don’t hold grudges, and I’m not the vengeful type.”

“You know who else isn’t the vengeful type?” Slain asked. “Dead people!” He tensed up, and cut into Dreychan’s neck deeper. Okay, this was really starting to hurt.

“Don’t. Do it,” Maaseiah urged. “I regret my actions here last year. Don’t make the same mistake we did.”

“It’s not the same,” Slain argued. “You failed. I’ll succeed.”

Lubiti breathed deliberately, presumably hoping to get him to mirror her subconsciously. “The fact that you’ve not done it yet tells me that you don’t want to. If you go through with it, no one here is gonna hurt you. So if you’re not on the fence, what have you been waiting for?”

“Good point.” And with that,” Slain dug into Dreychan’s neck deeper. He didn’t just pull it clean across his throat. He sawed at it like a cellist. It was bloody, and messy, and gruesome. He didn’t just want to kill Dreychan. He wanted to make it hurt, and it wanted to put on a show. His fun didn’t last forever, though. When he could no longer bear Dreychan’s weight. He dropped him to the floor, and let his victim succumb to the black.

Dreychan broke through his chrysalis and emerged anew. It felt weird. He didn’t know what was happening, or where he was. He just had the urge to escape. He had the impulse to move upwards. So he jumped up, and started to fly. He didn’t know how he was flying, but he certainly wasn’t very good at it. He was bumping into all sorts of things. The walls were soft and mushy, so it wasn’t really painful, only disorienting. It was pitch black except for a pinprick of light, which Dreyhan thought might have been an illusion. Still, he went towards it. He focused his thoughts on flying towards it. He kept scraping against the gooey walls, but never stopped. The pinprick grew larger and larger until he finally reached the exit. The light was blinding, so he started flying more erratically now. He was so confused and lost, but he didn’t know whether there was anywhere safe to land, so he didn’t.

He tried to blink, but he didn’t seem capable of it. So weird, having wings, but no eyelids. Was this heaven, or just a simulation? Whatever the answer was, the real question, was why? His vision adjusted, and he was finally able to see where he was. As it turned out, he hadn’t moved. This was still the kangaroo court. Everyone was staring at him, equally confused, but there was something else different. Oh right, they were giants. They watched as he fluttered about, small enough to fit in one of their hands. There was Yunil, standing up now and rubbing her wrists, no longer bound. She was smiling at him, not in shock, but in triumph. She did this. She turned him into a flutterby. But still, why...and also how? He was growing a little tired, so he landed on her shoulder.

Yunil gently petted Dreychan’s wings and giggled. She turned to face Slain, whose arms were now being held behind his back by two of his own people. They never wanted any of this. No one was on Slain’s side anymore. “I didn’t know that you were going to suppress consciousness transference, but still, this is a handy backup plan. It’s not always prudent to transfer your mind across vast distances. Some people just store their own backup, sometimes in the form of a fairy, and sometimes, a flutterby like this. I’m told holly blue is the most popular model. He’s quite pretty now, don’t you think?”

Dreychan wanted to say something to her, but he couldn’t speak. Insects didn’t have vocal cords. So he sat there patiently on her shoulder, more in love with her now than ever, even though he had always been afraid of transhumanistic upgrades.

She peered at her new little pet. “I’m sorry I did this to you without your consent. I just couldn’t bear to lose you. For the record, I fed you a sort of seed, which grew into this in the lining of your stomach. It didn’t require any surgery, or anything.”

Dreychan still couldn’t say anything to her, so he launched, and playfully fluttered around her. He then flew over, and started fluttering around the former council members. They seemed to get the idea, because they were smiling, and reaching up with the palms down, hoping that he would land on their fingers. He chose to land on Lubiti, who let him flitter back and forth between her hands. It wasn’t for another few days when they were able to have a real conversation again. That was when she and the others apologized to him directly.

Slain was taken right to jail for murder. The prosecutor wasn’t going after him for reckless substrate destruction, or consciousness back-up endangerment, but full-on murder. He had no idea that Dreychan was backed up by any method, and in fact, had strong reason to believe that the destruction of the substrate equated to true death. Time would tell what became of him. The same could be said for the former councilors. As it turned out, Slain’s movement had run deep enough to reach the prison. He had them released under the guise of a legitimate criminal forgiveness program. He kept them isolated from each other until the day of the tribunal that never was. They willingly went back to their cells immediately. The terms of their respective parole schedules were currently being revised to account for their swift voluntary return, evidence of their remorse and self-improvement, and overall good behavior. Meanwhile, the new government was holding strong. Vip and Amazine continued in their positions, and the representatives under them were representing their people admirably.

And Dreychan and Yunil? They finally got their break. The former was provided with a new human body, but he didn’t always use it. He let her teach him to switch as appropriate, when he needed something different for a certain dome, or just on a whim. The superintendent protocol was suspended since it was no longer needed. The two of them left the Capital, but could come back later, if their services were ever required again, or they could pass their power onto someone else. Meanwhile, the host star and all of its celestial bodies were on their way to a new region of the Milky Way. As for the war...well, Castlebourne wasn’t out of the woods yet.

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Microstory 2316: Earth, August 23, 2178

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Dear Corinthia,

My father had to extend his diplomatic mission, which happens all the time—he had already extended it twice before this—but he calls every time, so I was able to confront him about his involvement in our separation. I would have preferred to speak with him in person, but I didn’t want to waste any more time, because there’s no telling how long this will take. We really need that food and the medical supplies, and they just can’t come to an agreement with our neighbors. I believe that he will make every effort to return as soon as possible, though, as delaying a real talk will only give me more time to hear the truth from you instead. He would have rather gotten ahead of the narrative, but of course, we both know that he had every opportunity to fess up, and never did. In the meantime, I’ve been trying to find anyone who may have known our parents back then, but he and I came to this habitat alone a year ago. So far, no one here has been of much help. I did meet a rather old woman who believes that such awful practices were not unheard of four decades ago, and there’s apparently precedent that goes back even further. Back in the early days of space exploration, there were two famous sets of twins who were studied for comparison. One would go up into space, while the other stayed on the ground. That’s how they learned that low gravity changed the immune system, and even genes. There were other twin studies throughout history, such as when one turned out to be really intelligent, and the other not so much. This old woman thinks that these experiments became more ethical over time, but started to backslide as governments lost control of society, and corporations started being able to make up their own rules. It’s hard to know for sure what I can trust about what this woman says, though, as she’s made some more outrageous claims, like that aliens walk among us, or that she once met an immortal mystic man who was born in the nineteenth century. Anyway, I’m quite curious to know more about how Vacuus works. I know that it’s quite dangerous to live on an airless world, but what does that do to people? What kind of laws do you have? Would you call them fair and reasonable? I should think that a mission that included a kidnapped baby would be rife with corruption and amorality, but I truly hope that things have changed since then, and you at least feel safe and happy with the people around you. Write back when you can.

Love (I hope it’s okay to say that),

Condor Sloane

Microstory 2270: This Global Investigation

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It’s been all over the news, so I’m sure you’ve already heard about it, but I’ll tell you what’s going on from our perspective. Nick has been abducted. Those men in suits who showed up on our doorstep, and gave our personal security team their credentials, were not affiliated with any government branch. Though don’t blame our security, because the authorities are about 90% sure that these were not random amateurs who got drunk one night, and decided to try for some ransom money. They’re highly trained professionals who probably used to have the credentials, so they know how to make fakes, or something similar. That is currently the most promising lead, hunting down military vets who were dishonorably discharged, or even missing in action. Everyone is doing everything they can, and they will catch these assholes, sooner or later. We do not presently know the motive, but we’re guessing that it’s political. They don’t want Nick to meet with the President, or vice versa. It can’t possibly be that they’re trying to turn him into a double agent, or something, right? I mean, I seriously doubt that the DPA is going to let the meeting move forward now anyway. No, they want something that Nick can offer today. We have to figure out what that is, and use that information to determine who wants that, and where they’re holding him. The frustrating thing is that he could be on the other side of the world by now. They took him so early in the morning, and it was hours before anyone knew that anything was wrong. We thought that it was above board. They knew things. They knew things about the plan, which probably means that this is an inside job, and at least one person still working in the right position in the government is feeding them the info. That’s another angle that will help the agencies find who is responsible for this travesty. We’re going to get our man back, and those who did this to him will pay for it. Governments from other countries are even reportedly cooperating with this global investigation. If the perpetrators manage to find anywhere to hide, it won’t do them good for long. [This post has been officially approved by the Diplomatic Protection Authority for posting and lawful redistribution.]

Microstory 2112: Been Burned

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Sorry to worry you. The ID makers who were looking for the girl didn’t hurt me. As they were closing in, I slammed my laptop shut, and took off. That’s why I didn’t get a chance to technically finish yesterday’s blog post. I then forgot to stop the scheduled social media post where I imply my demise from going out. Those kind of time-delayed messages might work great for other people, but with my terrible memory, it’s just a dumb idea. So from now on, if I die, you won’t see one final post that suggests that’s what happened, you just won’t ever hear from me again. In reality, everything turned out okay. The girl is safe, and on her way to finding her real family. She agreed to an emergency DNA test. They still don’t know who her parents are, but it was enough to determine that the couple who raised her were not related to her at all. They were a thousand miles away, in pursuit of her. They only found me, which I thought would indeed result in my death, but it obviously didn’t. One flaw in this plan is that it gave the two of them a head start on their escape from being caught by the authorities themselves. In luring them away from her fake daughter, I necessarily kept them away from anyone who might hold them responsible for their despicable actions. I reached out to the federal government, but they might never find them. And anyway, it’s not my problem anymore. I’ve done all I can for the situation. Now I have to figure out what I’m going to do with my own life. I’ve been burned. The Kansas City cops know that I had been hiding in Iowa, and that I ended up in Alabama, so I can’t stay here, or go back to either of those places if I want to stay free. I could try to sneak down into Mexico, or wind my way up north to hide in Canada instead. Neither option sounds particularly appetizing to me. The U.S. has strong extradition policies with both neighbors in every version of Earth that I’ve been to. I think the best thing I can do now is turn myself in. I’ll do it, but I have some conditions. You can punish me, or make me pay, for what I’ve done in any way that you see fit, but I refuse to acknowledge your belief that I’m not from another universe. You can think whatever you want about me, but you’re not going to brainwash me into falling in line. Even if that means that my punishment is enhanced in some way, then fine. As Selena Gomez says, I won’t apologize—why should I apologize? No, I won’t apologize for who I am. I’m done running, though. No need to come pick me up. I’ll be there soon.

Microstory 2111: I Did Not Kidnap The Girl

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It’s been a few days, so I can finally be honest with you. I did not kidnap the girl. Her so-called parents are the ones who did that, but I’m not the one who got her out of that situation. As soon as she told me what she remembered about her past, I reached out to my old social worker for guidance on my secure network. I told him that I didn’t think that she was safe, and later that local law enforcement was not doing their due diligence to help her. I can reveal to you now that this was all happening in Iowa. I’ve been to Chicago several times in my life, and more than once, I got there via train. So I couldn’t tell you when this specific instance was, but basically, I would have to pass through Iowa to get there, and one time, I stepped off the train for maybe thirty seconds when we made a stop, and then got right back on. Besides that, my only prior experiences with Iowa have involved driving behind incredibly frustratingly slow drivers. I hate Iowa, I never ever wanted to come here, and even though you didn’t know that about me, I felt like it was the best place to hide. Maybe psychic powers really do work to a very low degree, and you could sense that in me. Who knows? Anyway, when I started worrying about what would happen to this teenage girl if she had to go back to her captors, I asked my social worker for help. He has a lot of contacts, many of whom work in various government departments. He called a friend of his who works in the FBI. They have a special program for this very thing. To my knowledge, it’s not used very often, but it’s quite important when it’s needed. They are the ones who took the girl, and I agreed to pretend that it was me in order to throw the ID makers off the scent. My ability to stay secure and hidden from them was deliberately flawed, so they would follow me instead of her. And it worked. I made it all the way to Alabama, which is another state for which I don’t have a lot of love. They’re outside right now, sniffin’ around, looking for my exact location. I normally like to write these in a word processing program, and then copy it over to my blog, but I’m working right in the blog this time, so it can post automatically, even if they find me before I have a chan

Microstory 2110: That’s Fair, I Hope

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I took her. I intercepted transport from the group home back to where her kidnappers live, and I put her through what she’s already gone through twice now. Someone took her from her real parents, and then the ID makers took her from them, and now I’ve taken her from them. I honestly don’t know if it was the right thing to do, but I had to get her away from those people. She outed them as her abductors, and even though they’ve reportedly never abused her before, she was living in misery, so this may push them over the edge for all we know. They might kill her, and make it look like a suicide, which would make them my archnemeses. I really don’t know; the level that these people are unpredictable is ten, ya see? We’re both on the run now, and I obviously can’t tell you where, or it might get back to the Ol’ Man, and the Ol’ Miss. My little secure workstation is mobile, though, which is how I’m able to post this without being traced. She is four months from turning eighteen, at which point, she’ll be able to make her own decisions. She says that her first order of business will be to submit to a DNA test, so they can find her true family. We can only hope that she is in the system. If I have to keep her safe, and everyone at bay, then that is what I’ll do, regardless of what happens to me in the end. I can’t really say much about what we’ve been dealing with since last night, because I don’t want to leave any clues about our location. We could be in Mexico by now, or close to it. Or maybe we’re on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic ocean, or even a southern state where they like to play golf. All I’ll say is that she is safe with me in every way possible. I never thought I would do anything like this, but I will never hurt her, and I won’t let anyone else hurt her either. She is free to go whenever she wants, and she understands that. If she ends up deciding to just go back to those people, then I’ll drive her there myself, and finally just turn myself in...for everything. That’s fair, I hope.

Microstory 2109: Conflating it With Her Own Life

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This world is so weird. Because the girl is under eighteen, she can’t consent to a DNA test, and since the couple who claims to be her parents obviously won’t consent to it for her, the lazy coppers are just gonna send her back to them. I’m still in contact with her, and she told me that the authorities ran whatever facial recognition system they have access to. They apparently didn’t find a hit in the missing persons database, but that doesn’t mean anything. She was taken when she was a toddler, and their age progression software doesn’t sound very sophisticated. The girl doesn’t have any idea where she was born, or who her real family is, but one thing I do know is that she is backing up my story. There was a chance that she was screwing with me when she told me about her resurfaced memories, but she also insists to the police that she really does remember living with someone else in her younger years. The cops think that she just watched something on TV one time, and she’s conflating the memory with her own life, but she doesn’t think so, and neither do I. So far, no one has found me in my hiding place, but I’m about to put that all at risk yet again. I’m going to do something drastic to solve this problem. It could get me caught, or truly killed this time. I need to focus on planning everything right now, so I’m going to cut this installment short. If I’m able, I’ll detail the undertaking for you tomorrow. I’m scheduling this one to post on my blog for sometime after I start the process, so by the time you read it, I will already be on my way, and they won’t be able to prepare themselves for me. You can wish me luck, if you want, but it won’t help, even if such psychic power were possible here. Temporal psychic powers would do it, if you had those.

Microstory 2108: My Total Withdrawal

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One thing that the couple who set me up with this untraceable computer cage didn’t realize is that I pay attention to the things that happen around me. I watch the cable guy installing my TV and internet. I watch the cashier ring up my items at the grocery store. I even watch the mail deliverer sort and scan the pieces of mail as they approach my door. There is not a single vending machine, janitor’s closet, ATM, car hood, desktop computer, or anything else like that open that I pass that I don’t inspect to the best of my ability. I’m not very handy, I don’t generally know how things work, but I like to have some idea of what they look like inside, because I’m a curious specimen, but I do not like surprises. I’ll never need to know how to load money into an ATM, and if I do, I would receive the necessary on-the-job training, but I might as well take a look while it’s there in front of me. When they installed all this gear, I took notes, some in my head, but some on a paper receipt from my wallet. When you’re on the run, you can’t trust anyone. I built a replica of their handiwork at a second location, and that’s where I am now, in hiding. The only reason I’ve not been living here the whole time is because I didn’t want to be seen going to and from it, but now that I can’t go back to work, it doesn’t really matter. I still had a little cash left over from my total withdrawal in Kansas City, and I received an advance while I was a janitor, so I’ve been stocking up on supplies in preparation for something like this. I will find a way to pay my employers back, but right now, I need to focus on my survival. I still don’t know if I’m going to stay where I am now, or if I’m going to run again. The ID makers have my fate in their hands, just as I had theirs in mine. I made my choice on what to do with them, and I’ll have to live with that. I just hope that the girl they kidnapped makes her way back to her family. Then it will all have been worth it. Signing off now, from my secret location inside a secret location.

Microstory 2107: Freedom at Risk

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As it turns out, the people who helped me with my new identity in this mystery city are a married couple, and they have a daughter. According to them, she’s very irresponsible and hard to deal with. That’s not what I experienced when I met her, and I didn’t get the feeling that she was just manipulating me. My first thought was that the parents haven’t been giving her much attention, because they’re so busy making IDs. As a result, she doesn’t do the chores, because where they live is more her house than theirs, and she doesn’t personally care about that stuff. They basically want to come home to everything being done after spending a string of days in the city away from her. They hired forced me to supervise her, which I did, even though I really didn’t want to. I made sure that she mowed the lawn, completed the laundry cycle, vacuumed the carpet, mopped the hard floors, and made dinner. The daughter didn’t even push back. She just rolled her eyes, and completed the tasks. I helped her out, because I felt like it was too much for one person, and it felt really weird just standing there, barking orders at her. A lot of it involved things that I do for my real job, and I get enough of that stuff there, so I wasn’t ecstatic about the extra work. Here’s the first issue, and it pales in comparison to the real problem, but I’ll get to that in a minute. The first thing is that they were so pleased with my work that they now want it to be a regular thing. So after my eight-hour shift as a janitor, I have to drive out to the outskirts to this new second job? I’m going to be exhausted every day, and annoyed about the whole thing. But I could deal with that. When I was waiting for Cricket and Claire to find me in Moderaverse, I spent twenty years without much of anything to do. So I’ve had it pretty good, working a little harder now isn’t that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. No, the real problem is that this girl isn’t even their daughter.

The first clients that they had in this business were reportedly themselves. They’re cagey about how they got started, which is understandable, but my guess is that they used to work for the DMV, or social security, or something else along those lines. You don’t just jump into this kind of thing without having any frame of reference for what people might be looking for. I don’t think they lived around here for their original lives. After they came this way, their second client was a couple who were trying to escape the law for whatever reason. They needed IDs for themselves, and their very young daughter. At some point, the ID makers came to find out that she wasn’t their daughter either. They had kidnapped her, and instead of contacting the authorities, the ID makers just essentially kidnapped her for themselves. For years, the girl didn’t know where she originally came from, and she still doesn’t have any details. After years of school counseling, and mostly introspection, she figured a few things out, and made some memories resurface. All she knows now is that the parents who she has been living with aren’t her real parents, and nor were the people they took her from. She has not yet tried to get out of this situation, or find out where she came from, but it’s made her less interested in doing these chores, or anything for these people, really. Now I’m in a real pickle. I obviously have to save her, but doing so puts my own freedom at risk. I suppose I’ve already decided to intervene, no matter what ends up happening to me. The two of them have never expressed interest in reading my blog before, but they definitely know about it, so there’s a chance that they’ll read this after it automatically posts later tonight. I’ll have to figure out what to do by then, and put a plan into action. I’ll let you know how that goes, unless I die, like I said before. But just know, whatever the supposed cause of death, it was murder.