Microstory 2778: The Agenda Comes Out in the End

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There’s a knock at the door. Interim Axiom of Eggs Antinan Witt taps his fingers in the right sequence to signal the security AI to open it. “You must be Vantu Hidayat.”

“You can just call me Van,” he answers.

Antinan nods. “Thank you for coming, Van. You were in the Teaguardian that rescued everyone from Eyrenland, correct?”

“It’s not a Teaguardian, it’s a stateless vessel, but yes,” Van replies.

Antinan nods again. “Firstly, as a citizen of Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida, I would like to thank you for that. You saved a lot of people. As the Interim Axiom of Eggs, I would like to explain our needs moving forward. Vonearthan lives are not all that is at stake.”

“Can I ask,” Van begins, “why are you the Interim Axiom? We rescued the Axiom of Eggs. I remember seeing her on the manifest. She is alive and well.”

“This is our way,” Antinan says. “When a leader’s life is threatened, or their substrate is destroyed off-schedule, their consciousness goes under review. During this waiting period, they are not allowed to make any state decisions. I will only hold this position for a few weeks at most, at which point I will undergo the same review. We like to be extra thorough here. As I was saying, my responsibility is to the eggs.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to catch me up. What kind of eggs are we talking about?”

Antinan takes a deep, reverent breath. He almost ceremoniously approaches the egg locker. This was the Axiom of Energy’s private stash. She graciously donated it back to the Egg Department to support restoration efforts. But there’s only one place they’ll grow now, and it’s not here. He carefully slides the opaque lid up and over so Van can see what’s inside. The eggs are still protected in the transparent preservation chamber.

Van chuckles voicelessly and lightly as he looks into the chamber. “They do look like eggs.” He looks up at Antinan. “I’m guessing that’s a misnomer, though?”

“They’re literally eggs.” Antinan recloses the opaque lid. He wants to preserve them for as long as he can. Even when they manage to seriously increase the yields at the secondary location, they won’t be the same. They are technically the same species, but epigenetically different enough for a dedicated expert like him. There will never be another Eyrenland egg once the last remaining ones in storage are consumed or spoiled, and that’s nothing that can be undone. He almost tears up just thinking about it.

Antinan composes himself and turns on the presentation. It starts with a video of a cute little creature. It’s bulbous and green, with stumpy little legs that can move surprisingly fast. Small plates are protruding all along its back, resembling a stegosaurus—they’re even called stegs, but they’re not hard, nor even made of bone. They’re soft and rubbery, like mushrooms, but stronger. “We call this the uquirapod.” He jumps to the next image. “And this is the uquira. Now, don’t try to call one an animal, and one a plant. Our Earthan terminology holds no water here.”

Antinan continues through the presentation, showing various footage of uquirapods wandering the uquira fields, but no mating shots yet. “Our taxonomical structures create rigid divisions between the branches of life, and to be sure, Bida has that too, but they’re not the same. Many creatures blur the lines between plant and animal. Some move but photosynthesize; some are rooted, but have a digestive tract. One ecosystem basically has a form of marine snow, except it’s in the open air, thanks to extremely tall tree-like specimens which shed their waste from the top.

“The uquira and uquirapods are more like two genders of the same species, but also not exactly. We sometimes call it a symbiotic relationship, but it’s hard to accept that with all the nuances of their practices. They can mate within their gender, or with the opposite gender, and they do both. Again, don’t try to attach assignments to these things. Neither is male, neither is female; there is simply no obvious analog.

“Now...for reasons that we still don’t understand, when two uquirapods mate, each partner will drop fertilized seeds on the ground. They’re very social creatures, and more intelligent than they look. One will press their partner’s seeds into the ground, and once they’re done, they will systematically travel together up to eleven kilometers to switch roles. We believe they do this to prevent inbreeding. The seeds will germinate into uquira. They will not breed more uquirapods, because that’s not their job.

“Similarly, the uquira are sexual beings, which connect via wind dispersal. In a fascinating process, they communicate with each other remotely, sometimes across several meters. They utter a mostly subsonic frequency, though, that’s in relation to the range of hearing for baseline humans.” Antinan shrugs. “Many can hear it just fine. In fact, you can’t work in this department if you don’t modify yourself to hear it, assuming you can’t already. Anyway, once two uquira match each other’s resonant frequencies, they will shoot their unfertilized seeds towards each other in an attempt to find cross-purchase. If a seed does not reach its target, it will usually die in the soil. But more on that later. Is all this making sense so far, or do I need to slow down? Because I can.”

“No, I’m fine; I’m following you,” Van assures him.

“Okay. Continuing on then. Once the seeds find the right mates, they will communicate success to each other, and reproduction begins. They will produce eggs, which will grow into uquirapods, not uquira. We do not call these eggs eyren because they are fertilized, and we obviously don’t eat those, because we’re not monsters. It’s okay, it’s very easy to tell the difference. They’re just kind of a plain tan color. Eventually, the uquira stops being able to care for its eggs—which usually come in clutches of three or four—so a uquirapod has to retrieve them, incubate them, and raise them. But they will always be able to find their parents. They frequently return to them out of respect, and we think, even love. They talk; they have language. They use the same language. It’s not anywhere near as complex as ours, but they convey ideas.”

“So where do the unfertilized eggs that you eat come from?” Van asks.

Antinan smiles. “The wind is unpredictable. Uquira have gotten pretty good at aiming, but they can only do so much, and they all mate at the same time, which means they end up with a lot of seeds that don’t belong to them. Since they resonate at the wrong frequency, the mismatches will not be fertilized, but will grow an egg; a proto-eyren. When the uquirapods sniff around for eggs to care for, they will find these proto-eyren, and eat them whole. They will lay a clump of cells on the ground. They won’t typically stomp them into the soil, but we can do it for them. And what comes out of it is a sort of sterile third-gender; more plantlike, not intelligent. The process is fragile; eyren are now endangered, thanks to the black hole cataclysm.”

“This is as interesting as it is sad,” Van says. “What does it have to do with us?”

“Eyrenland was our largest source of eyren, but not the only one. They are endemic to one other, tiny region on the other side of the world. We need you to protect it...even if that means removing the stubborn, narcissistic farmers who live there now.”

Microstory 2777: Fewer Deaths Than It Looks

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There’s a knock at the door. Elty Fenstermacher opens it quickly. “Come in, come on, hurry,” he urges. He tugs his friend inside, then looks around to see if anyone is watching. They are. He has to smile and wave at a small group of people gardening against their own abode. The battle may be over, but the war has only begun, and he doesn’t know who he can trust anymore. This is a test...a test of his resolve.

“What did you want to show me, Elty?” Streamer asks. Elty can’t remember what his real name is anymore. Everyone calls him that because he’s the only one in the group who has a digitized brain. He never needed to escape with them. He shouldn’t be a part of the rebellion. But he is, and Elty respects the hell out of him for it.

Elty steps over to the other side of his little lab, and presents the chamber.

“What is it?” Streamer asks him. “A time machine? Please don’t tell me—”

Elty rolls his eyes. “It’s not a time machine. It’s an equilibrium chamber. This is what they use on Varkas Reflex to keep their users in spatial stasis.”

“I don’t understand,” Streamer says. “I went to VR, I never saw this.”

“Well, this is a modified design, and they’ve not always had equilibrium drives,” Elty explains. “When you’re in this, you’re basically floating. Every single square millimeter of your body experiences an equal amount of pressure. They use it because some log in to VR for years at a time, and that comes with health problems.”

“What are you trying to tell me, that you digitized yourself?” Streamer questions.

Elty shakes his head. “I don’t care about VR. I don’t even really care about equilibrium.” He bends down and switches it on. As the power starts running through, he smiles and looks back up at Streamer. “You hear that? You feel it? If you disable the privacy field regulator, the equilibrium stays in the chamber, but the signal jammer escapes. If we install one of these things in every house, the Teaguardians and Bidans can’t spy on us. Nor can anyone else, for that matter. It’s there so users can have private virtual sessions without worrying about someone sneaking in and finding out what they’re doing. We’re gonna use it to live in peace, which is all we’ve ever wanted. I’m not happy that we have to settle for Bida, so if we’re here, let’s make it our own.”

“Hm. That’s interesting,” Streamer notes, but he doesn’t sound enthusiastic.

“I thought you would be more excited,” Elty says. “You’re the one who taught us how to hide our location on Doma Tertia. I just upped our game.”

“Yeah, and I appreciate that,” Streamer agrees. “I just...the Teaguardians agreed to leave us alone. What that Delgado chick did for us in Gatewood was her responsibility, and we’re not at fault for that. We have a good thing here, Elty. I don’t want us to risk that. I’ve kind of given up my anger. Our home was destroyed, and honestly, people have bent over backwards to find a new one for us. This is that, man. Just be happy. Or are you mad because Shimizu left us, which places you in charge, but we don’t need a rebel leader anymore, because we’re not rebels anymore?”

“Don’t make me out to be so petty. I’m just trying to help,” Elty contends. “Something is happening in the sky that they’re not telling us. I’m still trying to figure out what it is, but in the meantime, I’m gonna do what I must to protect us, and our way of life. These people aren’t our heroes. They’re assholes, like everyone else.”

Streamer sighs, and jerks his chin towards the window. “You see those people out there? They still need leadership. Are you gonna step up, and help them settle down once and for all, or are you gonna hole up in here, and tinker with your machines?”

Elty looks through the window. The gardeners are still out there. They’re so bloody happy, it makes him sick. This is not what they wanted. They wanted a planet to call their own. They could have come to Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida right after Proxima Doma fell apart, but they choose to go for something greater. Now they’ve all given up.

As he’s watching them toil away, totally content, they suddenly disappear.

“Whoa,” Streamer exclaims. “Did you see that?”

“Yes,” Elty replies. “It’s happening.” He rushes into the equilibrium chamber. Pushing himself down so there’s enough room for the both of them. “Get in here.”

“Why would I do that?” Streamer questions. “It looks uncomfortable.”

“It is,” Elty yells, “but it’s better than the alternative! Now get in!”

Streamer shakes his head, and misses his chance. The ground shakes. The roof flies off the house and soars into the sky, taking Streamer up with it. The whole house follows suit. All around, Elty can see everything fly away from him as if gravity somehow got turned on its head.

“No!” Elty screams, but it’s futile. In seconds, he’s completely alone on his back. Not a building, not a tree, not another person in sight. Only sky and dirt.

Elty lies there in his pod, scared as all hell to stand up. Not only does he not know what will happen to him if he does, but he doesn’t want to see what has become of his new home. He takes a few deep breaths, however, and decides to muster the courage. He’s not going to be afraid. He’s supposed to be a leader. He stands up and looks around at the devastation. It’s gone. Everything is gone. He can’t even take one step forward, or he’ll die. He survived the impossible, but he was the only one. Someone is going to answer for this. Someone is going to pay. It was probably the Teaguardians again.

Below him is nothing by lava. His equilibrium chamber is floating just above it. It’s getting so freaking hot here. He’s having trouble breathing. The noxious gases are just too much. Wait, this is a life support vessel. It has a self-contained breathing apparatus. He brushes his hand along the sides, looking for the access panel, finding it at the head. He takes out the mask and wraps it over his face.

Now Elty can breathe again, but it doesn’t fix the heat. He reaches over to close the door, but then he remembers that he removed it. He didn’t need the door itself gone, but it was in the way of him modifying the machine to expand the scope of the signal jammer. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. He’s gonna die. Is there some kind of communication system? He gets on his knees and rifles through the emergency panel, but there’s nothing. Because of course there’s nothing. He synthesized the parts from the original specs, and the original specs expect you to install it in a room full of these things, where communication is handled in network. It doesn’t need its own transmitter.

The crater was a massive tragedy for the planet of Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida, but not in terms of lives. One was presumed dead after a headcount proved he missed the emergency teleportation. The second was initially presumed the same, but he was discovered later after the quarantine was lifted a month later. The autopsy showed that he roasted alone on a hovering equilibrium chamber over the lava.

Microstory 2768: Next Time on Lost

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Elise thinks that she only passes out for a few seconds. Arms carefully wrap around her body, but she keeps falling. She looks up and sees Azad. He’s looking as cool as ever. It doesn’t last long. The wind somehow causes Elise to accidentally reopen her wings. Before he can save her, Azad loses his grip, and they tumble apart from each other. He teleports again, but doesn’t aim right. Now he’s below her. She’s scared. She doesn’t want to lose these memories. She doesn’t want to go back to not having wings. Her surviving self will not know what she’s missing. She won’t seek to improve herself.

She fights to get back to Azad, but she doesn’t know how to do that. In moves, they tighten themselves up like missiles, but her wings aren’t cooperating. She’s afraid they’re gonna snap off. The ground is coming up fast now. If this doesn’t happen soon, it will be too late. Suddenly, the ground disappears. It transforms into sky. She’s still falling, but now towards the clouds, and slowing down. Wait, that doesn’t make any sense. No, she’s “falling” upwards, and not from flying. Her wings are still out of control. She comes to a complete stop, but only for a second before she reverses. She hasn’t stopped herself from crashing; she has only delayed it. She has to try to recreate whatever just happened. Before she can fall much farther, she concentrates on one word: teleportation. The next moment, she’s standing on the ground, safe and sound.

Azad appears next to her. “How did you just do that?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t know that I could,” Elise says truthfully.

“It’s the chrysalis bioprinter,” Miracle determines. “You saw me and Azad teleport, and at least a part of you wanted to try it. It’s the same reason you’re now part moth. Your subconscious mind knows what it wants. This is dangerous stuff, Rocky.”

“Don’t call me that,” Hrockas requests. “And you’re right. It’s why we restrict it.”

“Are you going to take it away now?” Elise asks, trying to display puppy dog eyes.

“We may be struggling to figure out what our laws should be,” Hrockas begins, “all the way out here in the Charter Cloud, but one thing we and the stellar neighborhood can agree upon is that bodily autonomy is non-negotiable. That substrate is yours now. But there is no fundamental difference between teleportation and time travel. And if you’ve seen any movie about time travel, you’ll know the risks. If you find yourself with the ability to go back in time, I urge you to exercise caution. It’s not illegal here, as it is in other cultures, but I’m considering it. It’s only not written into the laws because the general population doesn’t know about it in the first place.”

“And because you would have to draw a line somewhere to allow your boy, Azy here to teleport as needed,” Miracle points out. “Among others,” she adds

“Yes, that’s true,” Hrockas admits. “Now Miss Perkins is in the same boat. Speaking of which...” He looks over at Azad expectingly.

Azad begins to tap on his wrist interface. He then raises his arm and bathes everyone in a rainbowish light. It’s not the kind of rainbow that you would spot from a rainstorm. It’s more like what you would see in an oil puddle. It actually looks a lot like oil, and even feels like it too. After a flash of light, they’re transported to a desert.

Without another word, Hrockas and Telman converge upon Azad. All three of them teleport away, leaving the hunters to figure out the next challenge on their own.

Jolanda stretches her neck up as high as possible and rotates like a periscope. “I don’t see anything. Elise, do you think you could fly up and scout the area?”

“She should not do that,” Miracle argues quickly. “Elise, we don’t know enough about how your wings work. Mine were always specifically designed to be strong and resilient. They only appeared to be delicate, because that was the aesthetic I was going for. For a real moth, this environment would be a death sentence. You have to assume you’re on the brink right now. In fact, how are you feeling? Dehydrated?”

“I’m hot, but okay,” Elise explains. “Maybe I could teleport around instead, unless that’s also sensitive to temperature or other environmental factors.”

“It’s not usually,” Miracle says, “but I could conceive of a salmon with arbitrary limitations. I knew a guy who could only travel in the rain, and once he did, if he wanted to go again, he would have to dry off entirely, and potentially wait for another storm.”

“All right. Whether we’re moths or not, our bodies are gonna die here if we don’t find water and shelter.” Rage inhales and exhales. “Let’s hold off on teleporting for now. There are seven of us. One needs to stay exactly right here. If you want to dig for clues, that wouldn’t be the worst idea, but you could also conserve energy. The other six will pair off, and begin a concentric circle search. One pair should be at 50 meters, one at 100 and one at 150. Once you complete your circle, move out 150 meters, and complete another circle. Does that make sense?”

“Who is going to stay here?” Colley asks. “Elise if her body is more fragile?”

“She shouldn’t be alone,” Miracle warns, “even if it means walking.”

“I agree,” Rage says. “El, you’re with me. Mir and Zelda, Jolanda and Colley. Minotaur, you okay staying alone to be our Touchstone? We don’t have compasses.”

“Fine with me.” Minotaur gets on their knees and starts digging like a dog, shoveling sand between their legs. They’re gonna get tired going that hard for too long.

“Okay,” Rage goes on. “There are dunes, so visibility will be difficult. That’s why Mino is staying. If you think you’re lost, get up high, and look for their racing jacket.

“Here, take mine,” Jolanda offers. “It’s pink and black, so it will be easier to spot.”

“We’ll only do this for three hours,” Rage continues. “At that point, finish your circle, then come back to our Touchstone. When you’re searching, look down, and both ways. Look up every once in a while, in case there’s a drone, or something. Questions? Comments? Concerns?” She claps her hands in the silence. “All right, then let’s get at it.”

Elise and Rage walk for the agreed upon three hours. It’s grueling work. None of them is dressed for this, especially not Elise, who is still mostly naked from having recently been born. The sand is coarse and uncomfortable between her toes, and even hotter than the sun, so there’s no point in her trying to sit down and rest. She doesn’t want to be more of a burden than she already feels. They had to put the hunt on pause just because she died and came back to life. She has already taken so much, she just wants to be helpful, and not ask for anything, like a layer of Rage’s clothing.

They finish their circle and head back. Rage has an excellent sense of direction despite everything looking the same around here. She grows frustrated when she can’t find Mino. Elise tried to keep an eye on them, but they ended up so far down a dune that it became unreasonable to keep backtracking. This has to be where they began, though. They can see the claw marks from where Mino was digging. The other two groups show up after only about twenty minutes, and agree that this has to be it. They’re not lost; Mino is. They’re missing. They spread out once more, but don’t go too far this time, only about ten meters in every direction. Elise finds a pink and black racing jacket.

Extremus: Year 144

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It’s near the end of year 2413, so it’s been 24 years since the latest captain took the seat. Around this time people are expecting Waldemar to announce his successor. To quell the rumors, he has decided that he is indeed going to make an announcement, but for many, it won’t be what they expect. They’re not going to like it either. The original plan was to simply say nothing, and coast on the chair, but Waldemar keeps forgetting how inquisitive and curious people are. They want to know, and they want to know now. They’re about to find out that it’s not happening.

At one point, they were planning on holding this event in the grand auditorium, but they have decided against that. It’s too dangerous. Even though Waldemar has since taken steps to protect himself, he doesn’t want to give an assassin or an angry crowd the opportunity to attack. If they get mad, they’ll do it within the confines of their quarters. What they don’t know is that they will not be able to leave unless the AI security system detects that they’re friendly to the Captain.

He is sitting in front of the camera, preparing himself mentally for this. It’s not nerves or fear. He wouldn’t know how to feel those things. What he’s feeling is concern for the future. He doesn’t care for uncertainty. That doesn’t mean he’s gonna use time tech to see the future, but it does make him nervous. Hm...maybe he does feel that too.

At any rate, it’s time to get started. His inner circle is behind him, figuratively and literally. It’s important that the audience sees that he’s not alone in this, and that he will have people protecting him, even if it’s only these few dozen men. They will know what to do. “Begin recording,” he orders the camera. It’s already on a five-second delay. “My fellow Extremusians, I sit here before you, humble but powerful. For the last twenty-four years, I have led you into a period of unprecedented peace and personal success. I ended the war with the True Extremists using my covert away teams. I reformed the contribution point system so that all must work to help make this the greatest colony in the universe. I am not the most popular leader you have ever had, but your lives are better thanks to me and my administration.

“I know you’re all wondering who is going to pick up the reins next year. You’re confused, because no one appears to be on the shortlist. There’s a reason for that. Unlike my predecessors, I didn’t limit myself to the few who desperately wanted the job. I didn’t ask for a list of everyone graduating from the academy on the captain’s track. I looked at every single one of you. Everyone who would be at least 21 years old by January 1 was on the table. I didn’t even cap it at a maximum age.”

Waldemar approximates a smile. He’s not good at smiling because it’s an emotional response, but people know when that’s what he’s doing, and they’ve grown used to it by now, so it has the same effect as it would for a feeler. “That’s right. Nearly every adult had the chance to take my place. I was incredibly thorough. Unfortunately, I was unable to find anyone suitable for the job. I looked at that comprehensive list, and I looked at what still needs to be done to make Extremus great again, and I realized that there is only one person who can do what I do.” He clears his throat. “It is for this reason that I am respectfully declining to step down. Twenty-four years was always an arbitrary number. Every crew position here has changed the length of service according to new laws, except for this one, and I see no reason for it to remain an exception.

“I want to make it clear that I’m not declaring an authoritarian state. You are still represented by your civilian government. It is my job to run the crew, and protect the vessel itself from all threats. Your daily lives will not change...except for the better. I have the support of my advisors, most of the crew, the police, and the military. I ask that you remain calm during this non-transitional period. You do not have to do anything. But you do have to recognize that this was never a democracy. You never had any say in who would be your captain. I’m changing the rules because I am the only one here with the experience and vision to continue down the correct path.

“I am not guaranteeing twenty-four more years. I will step down when it is time; when I know that you’re going to be okay without me. And when I do, I will not be an admiral. That was a travesty of a tradition. Admiralcy is something that you earn. It’s not something that you should simply fall into at the end of your useful career. When I have accomplished all of the ship’s goals, someone will take over for me, but not a day sooner than that. In the coming week, I will be scheduling press conferences, interviews, forums, and debates, but I will not be changing my mind. Thank you.” He taps the correct finger gesture under the desk to shut off the camera.

“That was amazing, sir. You were brilliant,” Faramund points out.

The rest of his loyalists agree.

“Show me the unit feeds,” Waldemar orders, ignoring the compliments.

The big screen starts with an establishing shot of the entire ship from the outside. Quickly, the hulls, bulkheads, and walls begin to disappear. The new cameras he installed don’t just record what’s literally happening. They paint a broad image of the room. The AI can then compile all of these feeds into a collective video of what’s happening at the ship. It’s like opening a dollhouse, and viewing the cross-section, except it’s real and in realtime.

He was shockingly right about nothing changing about their daily lives. They’re barely concerned. He can’t hear what they’re saying specifically, since there are thousands of them, but the AI is providing him with a summary. They’re mostly apathetic about it. They don’t think it really matters. It’s not that they love him, but that they think no one else will be able to do a better job. Is that what he wants, for them to not care? He doesn’t want power for the sake of it. He wants prosperity. No, he wants prosperity and enthusiasm. His next term will have to be different. Now that he knows no one is going to stop him, he can definitely arrange that

One thing he forgot to explicitly mention is that laws aren’t simply something you write down, and expect people to follow forever. They’re fluid, they change, and if the people at the top want that change to happen, they shouldn’t have to cross out what someone wrote before, and write a new one. All they need to do is make sure everyone knows about it. They sure as hell know now. He clearly could have been more direct about it, though, because some of their comments suggest that they’re not sure how far this will go, and whether he is lying about their daily lives.

“You’re right, Tensil. If you say something with the sense of authority, people will either believe it, or believe that there’s nothing they can do to stop it. They’re not rioting, they’re not organizing. They’re not even calling each other to talk about it.”

“Is that what you wanted, sir...indifference?” Faramund presses.

“For now.” Waldemar stands up, straightens his uniform, and prepares to leave. Something catches his eye, though. The collective feed has been orbiting around the ship slowly and randomly. There’s one dark spot that he can’t see. It’s completely black. He points. “What’s this? Why can’t I see this?”

“Council chambers,” one of his sycophants explains. “The civil government didn’t allow us to install the cameras there due to the sensitive nature of their discussions.”

“Why am I getting the feeling that something in particular is happening in that room right now?” Waldemar asks. He sighs when someone tries to come up with an answer. “That was a rhetorical question.” He shakes his head and tries to teleport there.

He finds himself literally bouncing back, and falling on his ass against his desk. “I’m fine!” he shouts at the men who try to help him up. “There’s an anti-teleportation field around it, which shouldn’t be there, because I didn’t authorize it.”

“You can teleport to just outside the room and—”

“I know the trick, Tensil. I’m not an idiot. “Waldemar tries again, this time only trying to get close to his final destination, but again, he’s thrown back. This time, the men are able to break his fall, but it’s still humiliating. “Argh!”

“Sir, it’s really not that far. We could just walk. Or I can get you a hoverchair.”

“I’m not old!” Waldemar complains. “Just shut up and leave me alone!” He teleports away again, but this time to his stateroom.

Finally, this works. If he’s going to be forced away this time, it will remain private. He teleports yet again, trying to get close to the council chambers, but not even as close as he tried the second time. He falls down once more, but instead of boomeranging to his room, he ends up back in the speech room. Oh, someone is messing with him. When he finds out who, they’re gonna die. They’re literally gonna die.

“I’ll walk,” he says, holding a finger up before Tensil can reiterate what he said before, “but I’ll do it alone.” He looks back at his people. “Disperse.”

Waldemar steps out of the room and takes the long way through the corridors to the council chambers. An odd sensation emerges in his stomach. It feels like bugs are crawling around in there. No, more like dull knives. Is this nerves again? What the hell is wrong with him? He tries the door, fully expecting it to be locked, but it opens.

He walks to find that the entire council has convened. His girlfriend, Sable is standing on the dais. To her left is a screen. It’s currently paused on a frame showing his speech. No, it’s after his speech was done, when the camera should have been off. He’s mid-blink, but due to his advanced age, his right eyelid always falls ever so slightly faster, making it look like he’s trying to wink here. Sable obviously did that on purpose. “What is the meaning of this? You knew I was giving a speech. Why meet today?”

“We’re here to discuss the future of the ship,” some dumb bitch council chairperson says.

“That’s what I was trying to do, as you can see. Again, why did you schedule it for the same time?”

“We were watching your speech,” the chairperson goes on. “We have not completed the vote, but enough have voiced their concern that I’m confident in the way it will turn out. Captain Waldemar Kristiansen, you will be free to continue as captain of this ship for as long as you are able. Your job will be to remain on the bridge, and supervise the monitoring crew. You will have no jurisdiction over the rest of the crew, nor anyone else on the ship. You say laws can be changed? Well, you’re right, they can be, and they are. This is a civilian vessel now. You have no authority here.”

Waldemar sneers at Sable. “You did this. You orchestrated all of it.”

“You’re out, Waldy. Buh-bye.” She gives him the old four-finger baby wave.

He points aggressively. “I’m fighting you on this. It may turn violent.”

Sable sports that evil grin she usually only does in bed. “Bring it on, honey.”

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Microstory 2757: Point of No Return

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Jolanda tries to walk out the door into the empty city, but Rage warns her off, saying that something is still wrong. They must have assembled the puzzle incorrectly. Perhaps it poisoned them and caused them all to lose time, or there’s just something weird going on that none of them can explain.

“I can explain it,” Miracle says as she walks right outside. “We are in a Facsimile.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Rage is in the doorway to protect everyone else.

Miracle rolls her eyes, and waves her arms like she’s parting the Red Sea. “Would you please? I need everyone to see and hear me.” She sighs. “I didn’t know we would encounter time travel on this journey. I thought it was possible, but I guess I gave Hrockas too much credit. I don’t have the time or bandwidth to explain everything, so let’s just go over the basics. Has anyone seen an old show called Stranger Things?”

A few people raise their hands, including Colley.

“There’s an evil world in that show that looks just like ours, except there aren’t any people in it, and it’s horrific. There are all sorts of vines and mold covering everything, and toxic particles float around all the time. Spoiler alert, what they eventually discover is that this copy of the world was created on a particular day in the past, like a snapshot of a single moment. That is basically what this is, but without the horror overtones. Well...there was that one time when zombies and other monsters were fabricated here in secret so they could be let loose on the populace—”

“I remember that,” Zelda jumps in. “I was trying to relax in Mildome when a serial killer from Bloodbourne suddenly attacked. They weren’t too hard to kill, though.”

They all look at her like she’s crazy.

“What? I don’t only spend my time in Adrenadome. I like bees and butterflies.”

“Well,” Miracle continues, “now you know, this is where they came from. I can’t tell you not to worry about lingering monsters, but let’s hope not. The person who controlled them no longer has control over this place. He was sent away. We actually fought alongside each other against a bigger threat, but he never returned. I’m just trying to give you an idea of where we are, and what we’ll find. Any questions so far?”

“Yeah.” Rage raises her hand. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Miracle sighs again. “Hrockas can force me into any substrate he wants, but he can’t stop me from using my powers. Those are based on my neurology, so he would have to kill me to get rid of them.” She squares her shoulders and makes sure that everyone is watching. She disappears, simultaneously reappearing on the ground a few meters away. She screams in agony as she holds her head. “Ah, you son of a bitch, what did you do?” More screaming.

A gargantuan holographic screen resolves in the sky. It’s Hrockas again. “Nuh-uh-uh. No time powers. You think I didn’t plan for that? This world is littered with temporal suppression fields. Good luck turning them all off.” He blinks away.

Elise helps Miracle back to her feet. “Don’t do that again. We get the idea.”

“I’m still not sure I believe it,” Rage reasons. “I can think of four major explanations off the top of my head for what she just did.”

“I have seen people do what she just did before,” Jolanda admits. “I was born on Proxima Doma. Before you ask, I wasn’t on the surface or in low-orbit when it was destroyed, but I did become a refugee. They ferried us to Gatewood where we could choose our final destinations for free. I ultimately opted to transmit my consciousness here, but not before I witnessed a riot that had to be quelled by a bunch of teleporting cops. I don’t think they were faking it. What would have been the point?”

“I’m sorry you went through that.” Minotaur gives Jolanda a hug from the side.

Miracle nods. “The faster-than-light technology some ships use now? Researchers didn’t simply finally figure it out. People like me gave it to them. They had this big meeting in the year 2400 with the, uhh...sort of council. I had nothing to do with it because I’m not on the Shortlist, but there’s a very low chance that your life has not been impacted directly by a time traveler one way or the other, for good or bad.

“Miss Shin, if you were a refugee, you probably spent some time on The Tangent, or at least you saw it. Their artificial gravity was a gift from that council. Hrockas has a number of friends with powers and patterns. A team of them was instrumental in making Castlebourne what it is today, and he continues to employ others. For the most part, they try to keep the tech more conventional, but there are some things normal physics can’t handle.” She gestures at the world around them. “This is proof of that. I’m betting they keep it up and running just in case they ever need it, for times like these.”

“So, what are we facing?” Zelda asks Miracle. “How dangerous is this tech?”

“You’re not actually listening to her,” Rage complains. “We can’t trust her.”

“I’m not trying to be your leader,” Miracle defends. “I’m only giving you the facts. What are we facing? No way to know, but throw your rule book out the window, because it no longer applies. Time travel is a very loose term, and a misnomer. Many who can manipulate spacetime don’t simply move forwards or backwards. Some can turn invisible by basically showing you what’s behind them instead of them. Some can duplicate themselves by pulling from microrealities. Hrockas may only be using this dimension to separate us from gen pop, but he also might be planning to throw temporal obstacles at us. Rage, you can listen to me or not, but if it’s that second option, I have an incredibly unfair advantage, because I’ve seen this stuff before.”

A deafening silence falls, making this city even more a liminal space than it was when they first set foot out here. Miracle could be wrong. The people they saw before might have been volumetric images. Or the dome they were in simply spun around to the other side, which was made to be a replica of this, but never populated. There are other explanations for what happened to them, but on the off-chance that Miracle isn’t mistaken or lying, they have to pay attention to her. Trust, but verify.

Elise stands over by her friend. “Rage is the leader. That’s not changing. Miracle, let’s call you the advisor.” She gestures to her main teammates. “We’ve been working together for weeks, and we know what each other has to offer. We’ve settled into our respective roles, so that can be yours. But until further notice, we must all be in an alliance together. Do you disagree, Miss Brighton?”

Miracle smiles. “I do not. Like I said, I don’t wanna lead. Advisor feels right.”

“Rage?” Elise asks, hoping that the tensions don’t escalate.

“Very well,” Rage decides. “I’ll listen to you, Miracle, but I promise nothing regarding my actions. If I want to make a different call, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Sounds good.” Miracle turns around. “Now. First thing we need to do is check for—” She takes a step forward, and suddenly disappears. A few seconds later, they hear her screaming from the heavens, right before she splats on the ground. “...Time mines.”

Extremus: Year 140

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Waldemar has gathered his most trusted advisors and loyalists in a sector of the ship just for them. He knows what these people think, and how they react to news. Still, he’s not just going to stand here and blurt out the plan. He’s divided everyone into circles. A lot of people in history seem to have had inner circles, and then everyone else, but he’s chosen to have nine of them. The outermost is simply the entire population of the ship, though, so it doesn’t really count. And they are certainly not all here today.

This isn’t just for the ninth circle either, though. Those are the ultra-loyalists. He could literally extinguish the entire population of Extremus, and they would still be on his side, as long as they personally survived, of course. That’s obviously not on the table, but it’s important for him to know who those people are, and to keep them happy. Right now, he’s standing before the seventh circle, which includes the niners, and everyone in the eighth as well. Only the people in this room are even aware that the circles exist. The people in the sixth circle outwards can be trusted to varying degrees, but never enough to let them in on all this. Even so, he has to play this smart. He has to play it cool.

Waldemar is the one who came up with the vice captain program. It was great for him—it got him the job—but now it’s a threat. Most people expect him to step down to let the next one step up. He has no intention of doing that. He only allowed the program to continue to find his last true loyalists. Unfortunately, none of the candidates passed the secret tests he ran on them while they were undergoing the overt tests. So they’re not here. It’s time. It’s time to start planting the seeds. Will some intelligent people figure it out before the time comes? Yes. Will they voice their concerns? Absolutely. Will it matter? It won’t if he rewards his current army of loyalists...and curates more.

That is why there aren’t too many people here today. It will be their jobs to go out and start spreading the good word, so to speak. He first has to teach them subtlety, though. Well, he won’t be the one to teach them subtlety. He is not particularly good at it, because he still doesn’t understand human emotions. But he has someone right by his side for that. “And now—you all know him, you all love him—it’s my new steward...”

His late wife has been haunting him. He still doesn’t know how it’s possible, but Silveon claimed to have seen her too. That’s one reason he had to fire him. They’re not enemies, but he’s only in the fifth circle now. He just doesn’t get it. Ghost!Audrey doesn’t either. She keeps trying to get him to change his ways, but if anything, it’s made him more determined. She almost invariably shows up when he’s alone. That’s why it was so hard to prove to himself that she was a ghost, and not simply alive and teleporting around at will. But she’s here now. She has just suddenly appeared on stage right in front of his steward. Waldemar is too confused to stop himself. “Audrey Husk!”

The crowd was ramping up into another cheer, but they fall deathly silent. They know that name. They know it’s not the name of his steward. They don’t know what to think. It is certainly an odd mistake to make with no explanation. She has been gone for many years now. Why would he call his friend that, accidentally or otherwise?

Waldemar freezes. He has never been so embarrassed. No, he has never been embarrassed at all. He doesn’t feel shame, because he doesn’t care about other people’s opinions. How can he save himself now? What explanation could he give? “That’s right!” he decides to say. “It doesn’t matter what your name was, or what you prefer to be called! If I want to call you something else, that is exactly what I’ll do! You are now the new Audrey Husk! That’s the only name I’ll ever let you use! Accept it...or die!”

The new Audrey accepts it.

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Microstory 2713: The Laws That Govern

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Isavet’s training doesn’t ever have to be over, but it can be today. She has been with this warband for the last six months, and has learned a lot. She has turned out to be wrong about Caleb. He knows his way around a sword and a spear. All the guys do. They might be mercenaries, but they are honorable men. Her plan to prove herself on day one worked. They accepted her, and treated her like one of their own just about immediately. Of course, she had to continue to be worthy of their regard, but she never felt like her bust had anything to do with it.

The men have not been too forward with her either. It was a few months before she realized that it’s because Caleb, as their leader, essentially has inherent claim to her as his woman. One thing she understands about the world that lies beyond is that there is no such thing as owning another person, in any sense. So he has not tried to exercise any control over her, except in his capacity as her leader. He has not technically relinquished this claim, however, hopefully so no one else tries to take it, and not because he is planning something for the future.

Isavet stands at a crossroads now. Two choices lie before her. Will she begin to go on campaigns with the men, or is she satisfied with her training? If she stays with them for two more years, they will help her get revenge. If she cuts out now, she will have to do it on her own, but now that she has the skills, that might be okay. That doesn’t mean she’s confident yet. She is still thinking.

“Do you want to know what I think,” Caleb asks, “or should I just shut up?”

“I am open to your opinion,” Isavet begins, “as long as it is a good one.”

Caleb sighs. “You were born to this world, and in this world, death is permanent. That is a gray area for Castlebourne. Certain domes are off-limits to people like you, because of how dangerous they are. Being born in here is not something that the laws accounted for, but if you will indulge me, I would like to show you this.” He removes something from his bag. It looks like paper, but it’s glowing.

Isavet recognizes it. That is the magical technology which her mother showed her when they were trying to explain that this was all only a simulation. “I don’t want to mess with that. I will see plenty when I’m ready to leave, which will be on my terms.”

“I respect that, so I’ll just tell you. The law was changed because of Talus. I don’t think they are going to force you to leave, but someone may show up here to strongly encourage it. You would be well within your rights to return if you opt for virtual imm—”

“Don’t say that word,” Isavet warns. “That means something to my people. It is not something that you can simply request from one of your friends, or however it is you do it. I like myself the way I am. I’m not changing. When I go out there and fight the men who burned down my home, I will do it knowing that it could be the last thing I do on Earth. I’m okay with that, and you’re going to have to be okay with it too.”

“But that’s just it,” Caleb says. “You’re not on Earth.”

“I know. It doesn’t matter. I have made my choice. Your king can send as many people as he wants, I’m not leaving my world until the job is done,” Isavet explains.

“Okay. So what are you going to do? I won’t make it easy on you, and except you from our traditions. Will you stay and fight for our causes, or will you go off alone?”

“I believe that you have shown me the light,” Isavet says. “Now that I know others may be after me, all I can do is stay alone. Goodbye, Caleb. Thank you for teaching me.”

Extremus: Year 134

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The fairytale dream is over. Waldemar no longer feels emotions, but he is not back to his old self either. That experience has changed him, and he’s having mixed feelings about it. No, that’s obviously the wrong way to word it. He’s having contradicting thoughts. On the one hand, it’s familiar, so he’s much more comfortable again. This is how he grew up, and it seems right. It was working before. People weren’t happy, but he didn’t need them to be. Still, it’s not like the end of the year of empathy means that he can revert. He’s now living in a paradox. The logic in how he behaved, and the kinds of decisions he made, are still in his head. They still make a lot of sense. The darkness is fueling his rage, but it’s also...intoxicating, and he doesn’t want to give it up again. Because, now that he has spent time without it, he realizes that that’s what it is. It’s fuel. It makes him feel strong and powerful. There’s that word again, though.

He’s standing in his bathroom now, staring at the mirror. He’s looking at himself in disgust, not because that’s what he’s feeling, but because he knows others would if they knew the truth. He slaps himself in the cheek. “Feel something,” he urges.

He feels nothing.

He slaps himself harder. “Feel something!” he cries.

Nothing.

“Feel something!” he screams at the top of his lungs.

“Stop that,” comes a voice from behind him. “Stop hitting yourself.”

He turns to see his late wife, Audrey Kristiansen. “Where have you been?” He declared her dead, but he never knew what happened. When he didn’t feel anything, he didn’t care, and when he did, he wanted to leave her alone if she wasn’t really dead.

“I like the new place. I would have felt more at home here when I was alive.” During the empathy year, he downgraded himself to smaller quarters to look more like the common man, and he didn’t regret it. It didn’t really matter.

“You know I don’t like to repeat myself,” he told her.

“And you know I don’t like to be ordered around. I’m not one of your crewmembers. I was your wife, and you treated me like shit.”

“You knew who I was when you married me,” he pointed out.

“Yes, I did. That’s why I did it. I took that bullet so no one else would have to. And I died for it. Now you are at a crossroads. You are starting to believe that the only way you can get respect from both sides of the imaginary political line is if you align yourself with a new belle. I’m here to tell you that you don’t. You don’t have to be the ruthless dictator, and you don’t have to be a squirming bleeding heart. You just have to follow logic. And logically, hurting people has never made any sense. Yes, you have a darkness. You can’t ignore it, so I’m not going to try to tell you to. But it doesn’t have to define you. The year that you felt something taught you what others experience all the time. Don’t try to get it back, but don’t let it go either. Learn from it. Be better.” She paused for a moment. “And stop with the self-harm. It makes you look weak.”

“I am not..weak!” he cries, lunging towards her with the anger of a magnetar.

She doesn’t blink. “Prove it. Get out there, and do your job. Lead the people. Don’t tell them what to do. Tell them what needs to be done, so they can decide. If you don’t know what needs to be done, then lean on advisors. That is what they’re there for.”

“You’re not really here. What are you?” Waldemar questions.

“That’s not the question you need to ask yourself, Captain,” she begins. “The question is...who are you?”

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Extremus: Year 133

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It has been months since the paradigm shift, and the Extremus is thriving like it never has before. Waldemar has been living as a completely different person than he was. His ability—or curse, rather—to absorb other people’s psychic darkness is entirely gone. He only trusted one medical professional with this information, and it’s because he had to. She said she doesn’t know what caused it. She doesn’t know if it’s permanent either. They checked the sensors. If anyone did this to him on purpose, they did it remotely, perhaps remotely in time, or in space. He wants to be mad. He wants to call it a violation, but that’s the old him. He doesn’t want to hurt people anymore. He doesn’t want to throw people in the brig. And that is what he’s calling it still. What happened to him, it doesn’t change the fact that the traditional word has always been more logical. It doesn’t change who he is in every single sense. He still holds many of the same beliefs.

Waldemar is not reversing every decision he’s made, but he’s trying to put things right. He’s better—he believes that now—but he doesn’t hate who he once was. He understands it better, and unlike in the beginning, he is no longer actively trying to go backwards. He accepts his new reality, even though it’s scary every day just to wake up.

Some people are upset. They’re not all entirely upset about the decisions themselves, just that they’re reversals. He’s basically putting the ship back to how he found it. No, he’s almost putting it back to the pre-Jennings days, when Tinaya was captain. Oh, Jennings. Waldemar has killed people. Here’s the thing, if was totally cured of his problem, he would confess to his actual, unambiguous crimes, wouldn’t he? But he has no plans to do that. He’s not even telling anyone about them, even though it might be pertinent to his new situation. He used to have a drive to kill—not like some serial killer, but it was always an option if he needed it. Now he doesn’t want it at all. Now he has a strong aversion to it. A part of him regrets those past actions, but he still remembers why he crossed those lines. He was protecting himself, and honestly, the Extremus. What good would it do to throw himself in the brig now, and risk someone even worse than him coming in as a replacement. No. Stay in charge, just do better.

He is no longer trying to figure out what happened to him, or if it can be undone. He mostly fends off his critics. That’s a big downside. He has lost a lot of support, which he’ll need if he decides to move forward with the secret master plan. The people who didn’t like him before were either in the brig or better about hiding. Just because he’s let them out doesn’t mean they’re grateful and happy. And the people who agreed that the old critics should be there are now mad that they’re not. He can’t win; not since he didn’t start out this way. It’s his mother’s fault. She made him this way. If you have a curse, you don’t risk passing it on to a kid. You leave it as it is. That’s really why he killed her, and if he regrets nearly all of his kills, that one will remain an exception. She had to go. She was hopeless. But then again, so was Waldemar, and look how that has turned out. Every once in a while he grows terribly curious about who might be responsible.

Sable may be a good candidate. She’s special. She’s special and powerful. He doesn’t know how, but there’s definitely something different about her. He has a strong memory of killing her too, but then she was totally fine the next day. He wrote it off as only a dream, but what if it wasn’t? What if she has actual temporal powers, and is the one who changed him? Now his curiosity is returning. Should he confront her, or simply continue to accept the gift? He has to be strong. If he starts playing with fire, he will get burned. He doesn’t want to change now anymore than he wanted to change before, even though that change was good. Stay the course. Save lives. Thrive.

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Microstory 2678: Another Speech Immediately

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The Assembly tries to deploy the Tamboran Army, but it’s harder than they thought. The Kutelins have infiltrated every facet of society on this side of the island. Many of the people who attended the valley rally are in the military. This could have created an internal conflict, but even those who were never a part of it don’t want to fight their own compatriots. That was not why they joined up, and Speaker Keller doesn’t push back too hard on this. He doesn’t likely want a fight either. At the very least, it makes them all look bad. Trust that the irony in what’s happening is not lost on Resi. His predecessor—the original First Tongue of Aether—is said to have built a military force centuries ago. Resi never wanted that. He never had any intention of the situation escalating this hard and this fast. Was his predecessor in the same boat? Was history repeating itself, not because power corrupts, but because change always leads to violence, or the risk of it. For now, not a drop of blood has been shed, but it’s not over.

After that first rally, news obviously spreads all over the island. The very next day, they take over the Tadungeria. No more Kidjums will take place until Kutelin approves, which may mean that it will never happen again. During his first speech, Resi didn’t have all of the information. They sprung all of this on him. Now he has had time to look at the facts. Now he needs to address the people of this nation, and make some sweeping changes. He has been invigorated by the recent developments. Again, he didn’t plan any of this. He genuinely tried to exile himself to the border. But the movement is bigger than him, and it needs a leader. He may not know much, but 12-year-olds are not fit to perform the kind of hard labor that is expected of people after choosing their permanent House. They’re also just too young to be separated from their families. He hasn’t been able to see Kala much since the exile, but as precocious as she is, she needs to be raised by someone who has known her for her entire life; not strangers. It’s too early, it’s just too early. She’s not the only one, and he’s not the only who feels this way.

Resi stands on stage, and looks into the serious cameras that Arumay has set up for him. He delivers another speech, armed with more of the truth. He still isn’t going to tell anyone about the immortal liars, but he will always have that in his back pocket. He has told a few other trusted people in case something happens to him, though. He’s not an idiot. “In summary, I address you so quickly after my last message because I now better understand what is happening, and what is at stake. I’m sure you have all noticed how great our army grows. This is due to an incredibly successful propaganda campaign, leading some of our most vulnerable to taking up arms, where they would not have before. The Assembly would have you believe that they are all volunteers, but it is an insidious effort to bolster our strength, in preparation for an actual war.

“I cannot give you specifics on their military strategies, but this is not an in case of emergency kind of situation. The emergency is here, and they are acting. To fill the void left behind by the former civilian workers, the Assembly has decided to lower the Kidjum age. This is wrong, and I won’t stand for it. I urge you, if your child is turning twelve anytime soon, to keep them close. Teach them your values, as you have been doing, and protect them from tyranny. I will be fighting for our children, and for you. And remember, we are a peaceful peoples, so I don’t want to see any act of violence, from any ideological group. I welcome the Assembly to meet with me so that we can discuss options, as well as the truth. Speaker Keller, you know where to find me.”