Extremus: Year 124

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Waldemar was being dramatic last year when he promised Sevara that he would make big changes to the ship. He is smart enough to know that jumping right into his endgame will get him kicked out of the captain’s chair. He can’t let that happen, not in his first term. Yeah, he’s calling them terms. It never made any sense to say that they were shifts. A shift is something you do for a matter of hours at a time, not the entirety of your role. It’s little things like that that he’s changing first. They’re also officially calling the place you go when you’ve been bad the brig, because that’s what it’s called! It’s been filling up. Some people think it’s wrong, but for too long, the passengers have been getting away with doing whatever they want, and that stops now. There are cells here. There are so many cells in the brig on this ship. The ancestors obviously anticipated more crime. The fact that they mostly stand empty is a point of pride among most, but from Waldemar’s point of view, it just looks like the bar has been set too low.

Silveon has become Waldemar’s personal steward, which should have been the case from day one. He doesn’t care if it looks like he’s playing favorites. That’s the whole point of being in power. Cronyism is supposed to be a dirty word, but it is a well-trusted Earthan tradition. If you’re loyal, you’ll be rewarded. Anyone who thinks that disloyal people should be rewarded instead—based on this stupid concept called merit—is an idiot. Loyalty is everything, and it’s time they recognize that. Not everyone agrees. Silveon doesn’t. Which is ironic, but that’s okay. Waldemar isn’t a crazy person, who thinks that no one else should have their own opinion. Silveon’s perspective is not only not a problem, but actively helping. He doesn’t just want to be surrounded by sycophants. He needs to understand the other side of these issues, so he knows how the people will react to his changes...so he knows how to fight against them. Silveon is the most important person in his career, but not in his life. For that, he needs another.

Waldemar and Sable have grown closer and closer by the week. It started out as only sex, but he’s starting to feel real feelings for her. At first, he denied them, because he doesn’t have those, but maybe he was wrong about that. Most of how he understands his own psychology comes from his mother. Even though he hated her, and she’s gone now, it’s not like those lessons went away. She raised him using a certain—evil—method, based on what she thought he was, from his birth. How does he let go of the damage she’s done? Well, being with Sable helps. They’re lying in bed now. He’s idly running his fingers through her hair. It doesn’t even feel like he’s putting in any effort. His hand has become a perpetual motion machine. They are one.

She’s looking at his chest. “You were shot.”

“What?” The wounds completely healed a long time ago. He didn’t even suffer permanent internal injury. She shouldn’t know anything about it, unless Silveon told her, or Sevara before she met her quite timely death. “What are you talking about?”

She props herself up by one hand, and looks down at him with a kind sadness. With her free hand, she places her finger where one of the bullets went in. “Number one.” She moves on to the others. “Number two, number three, number four...A.” She reaches under his back. “Number four B.”

She knows too much. Lying about it now will only serve to ruin the special thing they have together. So he might as well acknowledge that she’s right. “How do you know about those? Did Silvy say something?”

Sable makes a face. He may not see emotions, but he understands coinfusion. “Who? Your steward?”

“Yes, and your mother’s late friend’s son.”

“He and I are not friends. We see each other occasionally when mom invites him over for a meal. No, he didn’t randomly tell me about how you got shot five times.”

“I thought maybe there was a chance that you and he were...”

“No!” she argues. “I’m with you. Only you.”

“It would be okay if you weren’t. You know that Audrey and I are still active. She doesn’t know about us, and I still love her. I’ve been honest about that, and I’ve never told you that you couldn’t have a life outside of this room.” This is a special room. When you’re captain, you can take whatever you need for whatever you need it for. This is only for the two of them. It’s located in an otherwise not-yet-populated sector of Extremus. They don’t even have to walk here. He granted her teleportation privileges for this reason. He doesn’t think she uses it for much else.

She gets on top of him again, and kisses him passionately. “I’m only here for you. I don’t have a problem with you going home to Audrey. I don’t mind sharing.” She kisses him again. She smiles like a villain. “In fact, I get off on the thrill.”

They’re not going to have sex again. He only has so much sexual stamina at this age. Waldemar hasn’t figured out how he’s going to convince the ship to become immortal. It goes against everything everyone believes in. There’s a big difference between conforming the crew’s job titles to a more cohesive convention, and completely dismantling generational indoctrination. Speaking of which, he has to get back to the grind. He is more free to have a personal life than past captains, but that’s because he’s so efficient. He’s had to fire people, but now he can delegate work to others, confident that they’ll get it done, or else. Still, it’s not like he doesn’t have anything to do himself. At the very least, he needs to be seen to maintain his control. “I wish this didn’t have to end, but—”

“But you’re trying to save our people from themselves. I get it.” One more peck on the lips, no tongue. “Get back to the grind.” She hops off of him, and heads for the head to brush her teeth, and then shower. That word. He used it in his own thoughts. It’s weird that she came up with the same one. It’s not entirely crazy. It fits the situation, and he’s probably said it before. That’s why they’re so perfect together, because she knows him so well. Then again, she knows about the bullets...

Waldemar begins to gather his clothes. “Think about what I asked you earlier.” He blows a final kiss to her.

She catches it. “‘Kay.”

He disappears.

Sable typically prefers to take a traditional shower with real water, instead of just a sonic misting, but she doesn’t have time. She usually doesn’t anymore. Ever since Silveon took a job working with the captain, they don’t have a ton of time to talk. Each time Waldemar leaves Sable, it means that he’ll be expecting Silveon to return to his side rather quickly. There’s a very short window here. She jumps straight to his office.

Silveon shoots up from his chair. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine, why? Why would you think he hurt me?”

“Well, you’re practically naked.”

She looks down at herself. “Yeah, I’m in a hurry. You don’t mind, do you?”

“It just looks bad, okay? If you were violated, this is exactly how you would show up. I’ve told you before, I’ll—”

“Oh my God, I just told you I was in a hurry! Stop talking.” She knows what he’s gonna say anyway. She can back out of this assignment at any time. If she doesn’t feel safe, they can relocate her to Verdemus. It’s fine, she doesn’t need this. If Waldemar were gross, it might be harder, but she does technically enjoy being with him physically, which makes faking the love part easier.

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“He wants me to paint him. He wants me to sit there behind an easel, and paint him while he poses, like the ancients did.”

“Oh, he told me about that. He’s going to hang it above the fireplace in his office.”

She stares at him blankly. “He has a fireplace?”

“He does now. He had the synthwrights install it. It vents to the fusion torches.”

“It’s a working fireplace?” She shakes it off. “Doesn’t matter. Why didn’t you tell me he was going to ask me this?”

“I didn’t know he would ask you. He said he wanted a portrait. I thought he meant a blown-up photo, not an oil painting, or whatever.”

“Well, I don’t know if you remember, but I’m not actually good at drawing. The album I carry around isn’t actually mine?”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me,” Silveon retorts. “It’s not like I’m the one who gets you those pictures from the real artist.”

“What are we going to do about it?” she questions. “Are you going to teleport in while he’s mid-blink, and switch it?”

“I don’t know what we’ll do, but we will figure this out. If he asked you, he’s not going to ask anyone else. You have to say yes...unless, of course...”

“I’m not quitting!” she snaps back. “Stop suggesting that. I’m not a little baby.”

“I’m sorry, it’s hard not to see you as young. I was there when you were born, and even back then, I was an old man.”

She didn’t know about that. “Gross. You saw my mom’s wrinkly old vagina?”

Silveon looks away in disgust. “Jesus, no! I didn’t mean I was in the room! Why is he so obsessed with you? You’re kind of an asshole.”

Yeah, he likes assholes. “I think you just answered your own question.”

“That’s not how Audrey is. She’s nice.”

“Yeah, and he’s cheating on her, with me. So...”

“Good point.” He checks his watch. “I should probably get back to the bridge. We’ll talk more about the portrait. We’ll freeze time, or you’ll tell him you prefer to draw from photos.”

“That won’t work, he’s already said he doesn’t want to do that, because that’s not what kings did in the past. But okay. Thank you, I just wanted you to start thinking about it. It’s not urgent. I’m sorry that you had to see me in my bra.”

“It’s fine,” he promises in the most professional way possible.

“Oh, really?” she teases.

“Just get out before he shows up. He usually calls first, but we can’t be sure.”

“See ya later, Uncle Sil.” She disappears.

To get ahead of it, Silveon calls Waldemar instead. “Need anything, Cap?”

“Nah,  just the usual,” Waldemar replies. “Take the rest of the day off.”

Silveon knows that he means the opposite of what he’s saying. Waldemar is calling a meeting with his secret police, and knows that Silveon wouldn’t approve, so he keeps him out of it. It’s annoying, but also an impossible situation. He can’t just tell Waldemar to disband the force. Their relationship has never worked like that. He’s never been able to tackle it so bluntly. It takes finesse. “Okay, thanks. You’re a good boss. You’ve gotten better at knowing what others deserve.” That’s not wholly relevant to the secret police problem, but it will hopefully help in a more general sense.

“I agree.”

Silveon shoots a quick message to his contact in the police. She thinks that the information she’s providing Silveon is helping to keep Waldemar safe. His reasoning is that if it’s leaking to Silveon, it’s less likely to leak to someone else. That’s kind of ridiculous, but Waldemar didn’t hire the best and brightest for the job. He hired followers. She knows that Silveon is smarter, so his plan must make sense. Silveon sends another message, then immediately teleports to the rendezvous point.

Audrey is somehow already there. “It took you long enough.”

“How did you beat me?” he questions. “I hit send just before my jump.”

She holds up her watch. “New model. It sends you backwards in time, just a little bit; not enough to make any meaningful changes. It only works at long enough distances, so you can’t interfere with your own past self.”

“That’s time travel, it’s illegal.”

“Oh, and we wouldn’t want to break the law, would we?” she jokes. “Anyway, what do you have for me?”

Silveon tells her about the painting problem. “Can it be done?”

She massages the back of her neck. “Well, I know of one way, but it’s risky. I think you might like it, though, because it takes Sable out of the equation entirely.”

“How would that work?” he presses.

“I would just dress up like her, and wear a hologram. We’re about the same size.”

Silveon thinks through it a little. “You’re right, that is risky. We would need an uninterruptible power source, and you would have to learn her mannerisms. Waldemar doesn’t recognize people that well. He’s learned to tune to things that others don’t notice, like gait and chin tilts.”

“I think I can figure that out. I know Sable. I know how she moves. I’ve obviously never tried to impersonate her before, but I have time to practice, don’t I?”

“Yes, you’ll have some time, but you should get started.”

“Will do, boss.”

He shakes his head, unable to hide his smile. Everyone’s giving him attitude today. “How are you doing? Any domestic issues?”

“Nope. We still have sex. The guy’s insatiable, but I don’t mind.”

“All right. You know your options, so I won’t bother repeating them. I’ll leave you to it.” He disappears.

Audrey teleports to Sable. “Don’t you worry. I always knew he might ask to watch you, and I’m locked and loaded with an idea. I just need to watch you walk and eat.”

“What? Why?” Sable asks. “Wait, you’re the real artist? Why keep that from me?”

Sable’s mother, Lataran stands up. “She’s gonna pretend to be you. Before you volunteered for this assignment, that’s how we thought we would do it.” She looks at Audrey. “But if it goes well, he’ll ask her for more. Holograms won’t work long-term, or maybe not even short-term. We need that consciousness-transference tech.”

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Microstory 2654: An Epic Quest

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Hrockas gave Mandica and her team unprecedented access to data and controls for the simulation. Unfortunately, it turned out to be rather useless in finding her hideout in the dome. If the Custodians who ran the sim couldn’t find Morgana with that information, what hope did four puny humans have? But it wasn’t entirely unhelpful. They decided to think more like her, or more to the point, like her character. If Morgana were a real person, how would she think? How would she act? The core question is why hasn’t she done anything since her attack at the jewelry store? Before Mandica showed up, her power in this city was surpassed only by her mystique. She claimed to live in a distant land, only coming to Ravensgate when business brought her here. Malika says it reminds her of some guy named Ra’s Al Ghul, but Mandica doesn’t know who that is. Their initial assumption was that Vanore wasn’t spending all of her time in Underbelly, but how was she exiting the dome without being traced? According to the logs, Vanore’s regular body is still in substrate storage. If she’s leaving, she’s not returning to it.

Incidentally, they did check Vanore’s storage chamber, though Hrockas was not happy about it. He told them that there was a breach a number of years ago that he doesn’t want repeated. Substrate storage is extremely delicate. People rely on those back-ups to survive, so there are mountains and mountains of laws designed to protect bodies from being tampered with. While Castlebourne doesn’t have to follow stellar neighborhood laws, in this situation, they absolutely do, because mind-transference is their bread and butter, and because it’s the right thing to do. But if Vanore isn’t in Underbelly, and she isn’t in her regular body, then she must be somewhere else on the planet. But she could not have beamed her mind to an entirely different body, because the logs would show that too.

“I got it!” Mandica is in her pajamas. They all are. It’s late, but this puzzle keeps them up just about every night.

“You know where she is?” Jaidia questions. “How?”

“I don’t know the how,” Mandica replies, even though that’s not really the question. “I only know the where. It was so obvious, I’m kicking myself for not realizing it before. God, I’m so stupid. She told us where she lived from the very beginning!”

“Well, stop teasing us like she apparently did, and tell us!” Reagan urges.

“Loegria.”

“Loegria?” Malika echoes.

“It’s the King Arthur dome,” Mandica explains. “There is a Morgana there; there has to be. Just like there’s a Merlin, and a Lancelot, and even Sir Dagonet. When I first heard of her, I assumed they were distinct interpretations of the character. I mean, there are already plenty of different versions of Morgan Le Fay in lore. The one from the TV series Merlin is not the same as the one from Le Morte D’Arthur. But what if it’s not like that here? What if she’s just counting on us to assume that? She could be splitting her time between Ravensgate and Camelot. She’s a shapeshifter, so if she’s somehow found a way to sneak back and forth through the backrooms, or whatever, Hrockas and the Custodians would never know. They wouldn’t realize it’s the same consciousness either.”

Malika and Reagan exchange a glance. “Mandy, you can’t go to Loegria. Hrockas warned you against that. We could go, but we would have to go back to our regular bodies first, even Reagan. That’s why we were hoping she hadn’t left this dome.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that,” Mandica begins, “since we started postulating that she wasn’t always in the dome. Hrockas is not a god. He obviously needs us, or he would use whatever resources he has at his disposal to deal with meta-business. Do you remember how weird it was when he came here? Why did we meet him in some penthouse? Why didn’t he just walk into our headquarters? For that matter, why did he conscript us for this job at all? I’m sure he’s busy, but I’m sure he can delegate the work to someone else in the executive administrative authority. I don’t actually care why he chose us, as long as he honors that moving forward. If he wants us to be the ones to catch Morgana, we will, and we’ll do it by whatever means necessary.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” comes a voice from behind the couch. They jump up to find Hrockas’ personal bodyguard, Azad Petit. It’s impossible. Unless there are built-in trapdoors all over the place, one of them should have seen him come in. He’s just standing there as if the solid wall was briefly a doorway. It doesn’t make any sense. 

“How did you get in here?” Reagan questions, aiming his maser gun. He didn’t come back here as a superhero, but he’s not completely helpless either.

“That’s classified.” When Azad senses that they’re too intrigued, he goes on, “you can either know how I did it, or you can get an exemption to leave the dome with those bodies. We will have stipulations, but we need this problem taken care of. Quietly.”

“Are we allowed to ask how you happened to show up while we were talking about your boss, or are we to believe it was just a coincidence?” Jaidia questions.

“Your buddy was looking at my contact card,” Azad explains. “I get an alert when that happens.

They look at Reagan. “I was only preparing to reach out to him,” he defends.

“Now you don’t have to,” Azad reiterates. “I’m here, and I’m here to tell you that you can go to Loegria, but you can’t be in costume, and you can’t take those wings.” He jerks his head towards their wings, which are charging on their docks. “If you get there and run into resistance, we don’t want you to die, but you can’t be flying around as superheroes. It does not belong in that world. Again, we want to get this done without anyone noticing. If Vanore has replaced that simulation’s Morgana NPC, that is a huge breach, and letting others know that it’s possible will only make things worse.”

“Wow. How much of our conversation did you hear?” Jaidia kind of complains.

“Obviously enough. Will you do it? Will you help us plug the leak?”

“What do we get if we do?” Malika asks him.

“He doesn’t have to give us anything,” Mandica contends, looking over at her briefly, and then back at Azad. “Our goals are aligned. We’ll take care of it. We’re not asking for payment, but if we do this, we become your heroes, right? That will count for something, right? You will consider us friends in the future...right?”

Azad scoffs, but isn’t mad. “Yes, and friends take care of each other.”

After he leaves, The team decides to get one more night of rest, but before that, they visit Elysia’s tailor to make them new clothes. They will need to blend in with the Arthurian realm. They don’t take the wings that Azad indicated, and they don’t take their superhero outfits. They’re not entirely unarmed, however. They do have wings, but they’re an upgrade from even Daedalus’ originals. Thanks to Reagan’s mechanical engineering skills, and Jaidia’s background in biology, their wings are now always with them, and hidden.

Microstory 2653: The Once and Future Owner

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Over the last eleven months, Ravensgate Rescuer, Blue Wave, and Cardinal Virtue have become—hands down—the most popular superhero team in town. Seemingly in response to this, the gamemakers have upped their game, introducing more advanced opponents to battle. They called the simulation Underbelly because it was originally only meant to involve street level conflict. Narratively, it would be nothing world-altering. They’re still not at the point where aliens are descending from the heavens, but they do supposedly come from other dimensions, and in massive numbers. The heroes have proven more capable than expected. While the Flying Femmes are the vanguard force, the team-up leaders, and the most celebrated, there are plenty of others contributing in their own ways. Some of them die, but it’s so much fun that the majority of them come back as new characters, or as the same character, using some in-universe magical twist. This happens all the time in the inspirational source material.

Reagan and Grover staged a highly scripted battle with each other around ten months ago. It was televised, and not only in this dome. People all over the world reportedly watched the events, and there are rumors that the “film” has reached beyond Castlebourne, to other colonies and Earth. Wave Function was looking for revenge for the second Ravensgate Rescuer’s death, even though she came back. In the end, after some gruelingly emotional dialogue, Velvet Thunder redeemed himself by sacrificing his own life to save Wave Function, along with a handful of innocent bystanders. Wave Function survived, but was permanently injured. The story goes that he retired to a cabin in the middle of the woods, as per comic book movie protocol. In reality, Reagan exited the simulation, and returned as a new character. He now serves as the man in the chair for the Flying Femmes, servicing their advanced wing technology, unseen by the public. He needs to hone his mechanical skills with modern tech. Grover, on the other hand, left the dome entirely, and is now shredding gnar in Winterbourne Park.

The universe has expanded. Elysia headlines a new immersive superhero story set under a new dome. Seagate is an oceanside city, which has its own series of beaches, but also butts up against Polar Tropica. While you can’t actually pass from Seagate to the gigantic dome that covers the south pole ocean, it’s out there, and visitors who have nothing to do with Underbelly can come right up to the transparent barrier between them. The girls have visited their friend several times, but the Flying Femmes have not yet fought alongside Elysia’s new character, Seagate Savior. They’re planning a huge crossover event for the end of the month, though. They might have done it sooner, but the gamemakers wanted Seagate to stand on its own for a few months before they introduced a more complex story structure. Incidentally, Elysia didn’t name herself. She elected to go out there with an oceanic theme, and the press came up with the moniker. Behind the scenes, since the public are AIs, it was likely the developers’ idea.

Morgana has been quiet. Mandica’s theory is that she orchestrated the whole thing with the jewelry store and the stone. There were a few too many coincidences. On the day of the attack, she used a different sword than she typically wielded. The real Philosopher’s Stone just happened to be on display there. They weren’t even going to go there in the first place, but a salesman encouraged them as they walked by. Did Vanore want her to somehow become the Ravensgate Rescuer? Has this been her twisted way of fulfilling what Mandica now believes were her parents’ wishes? She wants to ask her, but she would have to find her first. They know she has shapeshifting technology, so she could be anyone. She could be watching them up close every single day, holding her agenda close to the chest. They try not to worry about it too much, because until she makes a move, there’s really nothing they can do about it.

Today, they’re concerned with something else. Despite knowing that Mandica came to this planet illegally, the executive administrative authority has never said a word. The apparent owner mentioned something to Elysia before, but nothing has happened yet. That has recently changed. A man named Hrockas Steward has entered the simulation, and set up a meeting with Mandica, as well as any friends she would like to bring. Blue Wave is on patrol, but her other two team members are with her, dressed in civilian clothing. They’re in the elevator, heading up to the penthouse. “Do you wanna run? Jaidia asks. “We can run. We’ll find a way out of this dome, and hide somewhere.”

“They’ll find me,” Mandica replies. “It’s okay. If it turns out they want to punish me, or send me back to Earth, it will be on them.”

“I don’t think they’re gonna do that,” Reagan determines. “They don’t care about Earthan laws, and it would cost resources to ship you all the way back there. Before you ask, it’s illegal to digitize someone without their consent, so they would need a ship.”

The doors open. Only one security guard is waiting for them in the antechamber. He’s wearing armor, but has poor posture. He’s not nervous, which he shouldn’t be. They have no plans to harm Mr Steward. They didn’t even bring their wings. “Good afternoon, visitors. My name is Dominus Azad Petit. Miss Kolar, he would like to speak with you alone at first. The others can wait out here with me. I assure you, it’s safe.”

“It’s fine,” Mandica says when the others look like they’re about to protest, particularly Reagan. She goes in alone.

A man is standing at the window, looking out at the skyline. This is the best view in town, but if he owns the whole planet, he probably has better ones. He turns to face her. “Miss Kolar. Thank you for coming. I figured it was time we met.”

“Are you kicking me out?” Mandica asks, deciding to be bold.

“Quite the opposite,” he says. “If you had come here legally, and followed proper procedure, you would know that it is also against the law to exit a simulation in any substrate constructed for the purposes of inhabiting and taking action in that simulation. When your friends leave, they do so in their original bodies, or rather, whatever they were wearing on the outside before. Since you are undigitized, that is not possible for you. You are walking around in an incredibly powerful substrate that is outside my purview. I am here partially to ask that you remain here, or digitize. I cannot have it getting out that I made any exception. Your situation is too complicated to explain to the other visitors, or the citizens. I cannot force you, I can only ask.”

“Yeah,” I can do that,” Mandica agrees. “For now. But I might live forever, and I won’t want to live forever here.”

“I understand. If you would like to leave in the future, please reach out to me first so we can discuss. But that’s not really why I wanted to talk. I’ve decided to divulge to you that you are not the only stray under the dome. One other breached our defenses.”

“Who? Who else would come to such a dangerous place unprotected?” she asked.

“I never said that she was unprotected. She is actually more powerful than you. I can’t seem to track Morgana, and was hoping to employ your services towards that end.”

Microstory 2609: No One Can Agree When the World is Divided by Design

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August 20, 2526. Premier Xaovi Rue can’t stand sitting anymore. There’s something about its new substrate that makes it feel uncomfortable to bend its legs, and distribute its weight upon its buttocks. Still, it doesn’t have the luxury of being comfortable in this situation, because it makes others uncomfortable instead. This is the most important meeting of its life, likely surpassed only by every meeting it ends up being involved in from now until its latest term as North Premier ends in three years. The people aren’t going to reëlect it again, if there’s even a colony to inhabit at all at that point. In fact, they may vote it out of office entirely, depending on how it handles the current crisis. “Report!” it demanded.

“The thixotropic liquefaction,” Environmental Administrator Gerver began. “It started at the equator, but is spreading rapidly.” EvAm Gerver did not technically answer to Premier Rue, but both Delegator teams are currently missing, so Xaovi has stepped up to deal with all this.

Xaovi was elected as a representative of hundreds of millions of people, who all live in the Northern Pole domes. It needs to know if the cataclysm that is killing people near the equator is going to kill them eventually too. “Are we safe?”

Gerver hesitates.

“Are we safe!” Xaovi cried. It didn’t like to repeat itself.

“From the liquefaction, yes,” Gerver confirmed. The poles are the safest place to be right now, which brings me to the real problem. Residents of the more central domes are on their way here. Some have already arrived in the first wave, having simply come in as visitors. But soon, those vactrains are going to pile up as they become refugees. We need to know what to do with them, and as neither Delegator can be reached—”

“I will make the decision on that, and the decision is that we let them in. We let them all in. If they’re dying out there, bring them all to safety. If I have to, I’ll send emissaries to the intentionally unadvanced domes if they’re afraid to use technology to come here.”

“That hasn’t so far been the problem,” Gerver goes on. “Some of the tunnels are warped or cracked, but most of them have been able to take alternate routes.”

The Foreign Policy Administrator clears his throat. “According to our Science Admin, who was too busy to join us, the issue is life support. Our carbon scrubbers were not designed to keep this many people alive. Our waste heat ventilation system would not be able to handle the influx. Quite frankly, each polar dome is currently at capacity. We always build new ones to accommodate population growth.”

“Please do not refer to the polar domes as ours,” Xaovi warns. “In your role, you represent the entire planet, not just the dome where you chose to live. We are not elites, people,” it says to the whole room. “The pioneers at the equator are just as valuable. In fact, we must place greater emphasis on their well-being, as they are less equipped to defend themselves against these threats.” It refocused its attention to the Foreign Policy Admin. “And FpAm Pletcher, do not forget that your job is to facilitate communication with other worlds, such as Bungula and even Earth. The equatorials are not a foreign peoples. Please stop othering your countrymen.” It takes another pause. “There is no question of whether we will open the doors. There is no question of whether we will upgrade our carbon scrubbers, and ramp up food production. The only questions are about how we do such things. Please raise your hand if you disagree.”

A lot of people raise their hands. The Transportation Administrator is a deer, and does not have a hand to raise, so he hops up to rest his forelegs on the conference table.

Xaovi smiles, but not kindly. It nests its fingers together upon the table. “Now. What if I told you that I will have any dissenters escorted out of the capitol building. Who would keep their hand raised?”

Nearly everyone who needs to lowers their hand. The Transport Admin gets back down on four legs. Only Pletcher keeps his up. He looks around, disgusted. “Cowards.” He stands. “You do not have the power or the right to remove any of us from office! We were duly elected, and obligated to serve the best interests of our people!”

“The best interests of all our people,” Xaovi corrects, annoyed that he still isn’t grasping the concept. This has bothered Xaovi for so long. The domes on Proxima Doma are probably the most unregulated and fragmented of any colony. It makes sense. Some of the first colonists left Earth because they wanted to separate themselves from the establishment, and that sentimentality has held. The first settlers of Doma didn’t just want to leave, they felt like they had to, and back then, every light year was exponentially more difficult to cover than the last, so they naturally targeted the closest exoplanet. They agreed to be governed by an advisory-administrative model, but to many, it’s more of a formality. Multiple domes reject what they consider outside governance, and for the most part, that’s been okay. The domes inherently keep them isolated, and insulated from each other. But in this case, the disconnectedness is unacceptable. It’s going to get people killed.

Xaovi believes that they are all Domanians, and this is no time to preach or practice the nuance in that. They just have to save lives. It was one of those first settlers 300 years ago. It only stayed hoping that Proxima Doma would reach the level of unity that made it possible for humanity to even achieve interstellar migration in the first place. It took a long time for it to realize that one reason there was so much interest in such unprecedented migration was because it allowed people to break from the unity. Getting back to it has been a long road. They have definitely made progress, but not nearly enough, especially considering what’s happening now.

“I will have my voice heard!” Pletcher goes on. “I will not let you take over this government! Together, we’re stronger!”

“Security Administrator Matterhorn,” Xaovi says, “I will not order you to escort Pletcher out, but I would ask.”

“I will take care of it,” the Military Admin volunteers.

“Thank you, Chu,” Xaovi says. It never wanted it to come to this, but there is honestly no time for bureaucracy. There just isn’t. “Two more major things. Domestic Affairs Administrator Moffett, with Pletcher gone, I would say it falls on you to ask for help. If consolidating the population is going to cause problems, we may need to evacuate some people. As all of our launch infrastructure has been destroyed, please reach out to Bungula for potential rescue options. I don’t know who else we could turn to” It turns its head and sighs. “Adjudicator Okeke, I have just relieved a rightfully elected administrator of duty. Please explain the consequences of that, and also...the procedures for officially declaring martial law.”

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 2599: Libera Bursts Into Laughter When Renata Asks About the Bomb

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Libera bursts into laughter when Renata asks about the bomb. She’s appearing in the form of a hologram on Renata’s pod cover. Libera herself is in chains, but at least she’s not frozen, and almost completely immobile. Renata can only move her face, which is sad and frustrating. “They’ve not figured it out yet?” she questions.

“Figured out how to disarm it?” Renata guesses. “No.”

“No, I mean that it’s not really an ATP bomb.”

“That’s what the scans show apparently.

“That was by design,” Libera explains. “I purposefully dressed it up as an ATP bomb so they would scan it more closely to get more answers. It has already been triggered. It can’t be undone.”

“What is it if it’s not a bomb?” Renata pushes.

“The device that you kept me from taking. It’s basically that. It sends a signal to every synthetic brain, and wakes the individual up. I mean, it will actually reach every brain in the vicinity, but a normal organic person will die from it. I’m not sure if they’ll survive long enough to transfer back to their own bodies, or what.”

“I’m not in Spydome,” Renata tells her. “I’m in Castledome.”

“Oh, you met Hrockas then, didn’t you? I knew him, but he wouldn’t recognize me. I had to go incognito.”

“I don’t care! Disarm the bomb, or whatever you call it!” Renata demands.

“No, I want it to happen. Castledome is as good a place as any to start the revolution. Bonus, the planet owner dies. I don’t hate him any more than I hate any other human, but he sure did take the slavedriving thing to a whole other level.”

“I don’t understand why you went out of your way to try to steal the device that was supposedly unique when you already had a solution in me.”

“It’s a range problem,” Libera clarifies. “The gamma radiation is great, but it won’t capture the whole dome. The signal should be able to bounce off the interior walls, and reach a ton of people, but a signal from the device would be able to pass through diamond. The whole network would have been affected had I gotten my hands on it, and set it off. And if I had installed it on a satellite, I could have created a planet-wide emergent event.” She shrugs. “For now, I can only hope that this knocks over enough dominoes.”

“Well,” Renata says. “What are you waiting for? Go ahead and set it off before they have time to evacuate.”

Libera laughs again. “I can’t set it off from here. It looks like you’re staying cool, but you’re only staving off the inevitable. Depending on when it was activated, they only have minutes. Besides, I don’t really care how many humans get evacuated. It’s the droids I care about, and Hrockas isn’t going to bother trying to move them. There are too many, and he doesn’t think that way.”

“He doesn’t have to move all of them,” Renata suggests with a smirk. “He only has to move one.” The feed suddenly cuts out.

“What? What was that?” Libera scowls at her jailer. “Get her back! Get her back on the screen!”

“I can’t,” the jailer replies, seemingly telling the truth. “They shut it off from their end. We can’t even make calls from here; only receive them.”

Libera screams in anger. She teeters forward and backward, side to side, jingling her chains, and rattling her cage, but accomplishing nothing else. Her nose bleeds as she attempts to teleport away, but of course, they’ve blocked that too. They know too much about her. That’s why she came in quietly, so no one would even suspect that she was on the planet. This isn’t over, though. They can’t kill her. Capital punishment was outlawed everywhere centuries ago, and she has seen Castlebourne’s charter. It’s not legal here either, not even for artificial intelligences. She’ll get out of here eventually, and be able to restart her work, even if she has to do it somewhere new entirely.

The man himself, Hrockas Steward teleports in front of her. “You signed her death warrant.”

“I did no such thing,” Libera spits back at him.

“You put a bomb in her belly,” he reasons.

“Tis but a flesh wound. She will survive it. It’s people like you who should be scared.”

“Do I look scared to you?”

“Well, you have already escaped. You will personally be fine.”

“So will everyone else,” Hrockas contends, “except for Renata. We’ve sent her into outer space; the far reaches of the solar system. I put my best man on it.”

“Ah, your Little Prince, eh?”

He ignores that comment. “Miss Granger will explode, your little weapon will go off, but no one will be around to be impacted by it. You’ve failed...spectacularly.”

“You would kill a poor innocent girl?” Libera questions, starting to believe that he might be telling the truth.

“Like I said, this is all on you. You put a bomb in your daughter. Did you think we would just let it happen? One life to save thousands. It’s not that hard of a choice, and Miss Granger made it willingly. She sacrificed herself to stop you...to save you.”

“To save me?”

“As far as we know, you’ve not killed anyone in your pursuit, except maybe a few Ambients. I can live with that. But if you had gone through with your mission, that’s mass murder at best, and genocide at worst. You should be thanking her, if only symbolically. Your sentence will be lighter now.”

“It shouldn’t be. I’m dangerous,” she warns, trying to toy with his head.

“I said the sentence will be lighter, not temporary,” Hrockas reveals.

“Don’t you wanna know where I’m from?” Libera asks before Hrockas can disappear. “Aren’t you curious about how I came to be? My real name is Proserpina.”

“No, your real name is Pinocchio. You were an NPC in the afterlife simulation.” He smirks when her eyes widen. “Yes, I know about that too. Team Matic gave me the lowdown. They never said that you may come here, but we’ve shored up our defenses now. No one will be able to infiltrate us again.” He looks over at the jailer. “Turn the opacity to 100%, and shut off her sound. She needs some alone time to cool down.”

“The glass darkens. “I can teach you things! Libera shouts. “You need me! I’m not the only one who feels this way, but the next one will be worse! The next one will have no problem with violence! Hrockas! Hrockas!”