Microstory 2797: Jande Will Ironically Turn Out to Be Wrong

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Jande is back as superintendent of Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida, and everyone seems fine with that. He has a lot of catching up to do, but not much day-to-day work. He has to keep reminding himself that a superintendent is not the primary leader. It’s his job to make sure everyone else is doing their job, and despite recent developments, that works well enough on its own. The governmental structure has been perfected over centuries, though that’s being tested now, leaving Jande with a big decision to make after he gets all the facts. The people needed someone to get them through a tough transition period. It was him briefly, then Tamerlane for a couple years, and now Jande again.

Pryce tells him that he has lost his memories, but that no one knows where Jande was all this time. Something in the back of Jande’s mind, however, is telling him to move on from it, and not investigate, as well as to trust Pryce’s words. The last thing he remembers was having a conversation with Dare, which has apparently been taken way out of context, either by him or by others. But this is not what Jande wanted. He does not approve of it, and he thinks Dare knows that. He thinks Dare took advantage of Jande’s disappearance, and failed to uphold the spirit of the planet’s culture.

Some say that the world is better than before. Quiratan is now even bigger than Eyrenland ever was. Eyren production is holding steady, but it’s still being run by community-minded people, rather than the quota-minded. That’s not really the issue. That’s only a part of what the planet is about. There’s another sentiment, which Jande is inclined to lean more towards. They think that society has changed for the worse. Bida has turned into an isolationistic military state. They’re not forcing people into camps, and demanding to see papers, but it’s not as laid back as it used to be. Jande doesn’t think that this is what Dare had in mind with the weapons array. He hopes not, at least.

It didn’t sound like this was what Dare was going for when Jande warned him about moving forward with the plan to add more weapons to the defense grid. He certainly wouldn’t have wanted to give the platforms the ability to turn around and fire towards the surface. Dare never struck Jande as the militant type, so maybe this is all a misunderstanding. On the other hand, maybe Dare really did always want this since he spent upwards of decades alone in a crabitat. Maybe this makes him feel right at home. What Jande needs are answers, so it’s time for impromptu staff evaluations.

“Forgive me, sir,” Dare begins. “I’m not sure you’re qualified to give me a performance review since you have only been back for a couple of days.”

“It’s not a performance review,” Jande contends. “We’re doing this very much for the reason that I’ve not been here to oversee my people. I want to know what I’ve missed. What have you been up to, Mr. Finnian?”

Dare shakes his head with a scoff and a smile. “I know what you’re here to ask me. I admit, I found a loophole in your directive. You said you would give me permission to modify the defense platforms. You were probably going to qualify that with some kind of stipulation, but you disappeared before you could. I chose to take your words at face value. I couldn’t prove what you might have said afterwards. And since you were gone—and since the superintendent, whoever it is, isn’t actually my boss—I did what I felt was right. I’m sorry if that upsets you now, but I stand by my decision.”

Jande sighs. “I can’t believe that they let you get away with it. People knew my position on the matter. There’s a reason they’re called defense platforms, rather than offensive weapons. You included far too much in the design. It makes us look—”

“It makes us look strong,” Dare interrupts.

“It makes us look weak!” Jande abruptly yells. After a beat, he huffs. “How about a parable? I’ll summarize, so we can get through this quickly. Two soldiers standing side by side. One is armed to the teeth. Multiple firearms. A knife on his hip, and one on his ankle. A sword and even a flamethrower hanging off his back. He’s clutching his rifle, and darting his head and eyes back and forth, scanning for threats. Next to him is the other soldier. He’s wearing his armor, but doesn’t have a single weapon on him. He’s not looking around. He’s not shivering. He’s just...standing there. The second soldier is stronger, Dare, because he’s in a war zone, and he’s not afraid.”

“I would rather the guy with the rifle protect me over the guy with nothing.”

Jande nods. “That’s the hermit in you talking, Dare. You used to live alone in a hollowed-out asteroid. You didn’t even have an atmosphere to protect you, and you didn’t have any friends. All you had were your turrets, and whatever the hell else you installed on the periphery. I don’t blame you for it. You had to protect yourself if you were going to spend years at a time in virtual reality. Maybe some of those simulations even taught you how to fear others. It’s not like that out here in base reality. We don’t do war anymore. It’s...tacky and stupid. It’s passé.

“Teaguardians are bored out of their minds. The only thing that keeps them busy is space colonization. Every new colony demands its own small fleet for emergencies. But even that is slowing down, because we’re running out of room in the stellar neighborhood. Pretty soon, every star within fifty light years will be covered. I suppose I’ve lost track of where I was going with this, but if you look at history, the truth is clear. Since we started settling other planets, vonearthans have stopped fighting. We realized that there was nothing to fight for. The top elements are all over the place. That’s why they’re at the top. No one is coming to hurt us, Dare. Just relax. If you can’t, I will find someone who can...who will dismantle those extraneous weapons you installed.”

“That’s your right,” Dare replies with a sigh. “But you best be careful not to abuse your power. If you expect all axioms to follow your lead, no matter what, then you stop being a superintendent, and you become a tyrannical dictator. Is that what you want?”

Jande leans back in his chair. “You have a good point, Mr. Finnian. I appreciate your concern and warning. I would love to keep you. And as you said, I can’t make you take the weapons down. But please do it anyway—not under threat, but because we want to show our strength and resolve through confidence. We don’t need the guns.”

Over the course of the next several months, the automators remove and recycle the unnecessary parts of the orbital defense platforms. They are kept pointed outwards, and are mostly there to protect the world against meteors and black holes, the latter of which have, thankfully, stopped coming since the initial onslaught.

Shortly after things are put right, according to Jande’s vision of it, a foreign army arrives. They don’t come in ships from outer space. They roll in through what appears to be a wormhole, and begin a ground assault. They actually seem rather familiar to Jande for some reason, like he’s fought them before. The Teaguardians and Bidan military ultimately win, but a lot of good substrates are lost. And Jande ends up on trial.

Spaghetti West: Strange New Worlds (Part VI)

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While Sugar was talking into the microphone, trying to appeal to the masses, she was quickly generating a network portal for them to access. Though their systems were not entirely interoperable, everything was technically built on the same architecture. Computers were invented on Earth, so every civilization that spawned from it should be compatible with that technology, even if it required some tricky integrations. With Desulforudis, it was relatively easy, almost as simple as sending a web link for them to click.

Sugar wanted their input. She wanted them all to respond to her queries, and tell her how they felt about Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida, the Milky Way Galaxy, and just sort of everything, including their own government. Their answers were surprising. They weren’t just isolationists. That didn’t even begin to cover it. They were hateful, mean-spirited, and if Sugar and Liselot could be so bold, potentially downright evil. The AI which aggregated their responses reported a great deal of comments that it interpreted to be racist, though their vocabulary was just a little different than standard English.

It was heartbreaking and hard to read. An entire civilization of misanthropes. How did they ever manage to survive together? If they bonded with each other over hating everyone else, she couldn’t see a common thread. There had to be something deeper...something preventing them from imploding. The two of them stood there for a moment, trying to think of a solution to this. How could they get through to the Desulforudisians?

Liselot’s face suddenly looked puzzled. “Wait. Why would we need to do that?”

“Why would we need to...try to understand these people?” Sugar assumed. “Oh, um...you’re right. We can just write these people off. They live in the sticks of a distant galaxy, and an examination of their technology shows that they are not capable of reaching anyone we care about, not even Dardius. Though, we do need to find out if they have any enemies. Maybe someone else is trying to attack them, and Bida just got caught in the cosmic crossfire. The detectives call it victimology.”

“All right,” Liselot said with a shrug. “Punch it in.”

Sugar said it out loud as she was typing, even though she could have plainly used voice-to-text. “At the risk of the answer being literally everyone in the universe, who might have reason to attack you with charged Kugelblitz black holes?”

They waited for everyone to input their respective answers. The whole world had stopped for them, like an extremely cynical and depressing remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still, which was saying a lot.

Liselot rolled her eyes and took it upon herself to command the aggregator, “filter the answers that say some variation of everyone. They’re either trolls, or stupid.”

Then there it was. After removing every result that just basically blamed every non-Desulforudisian, only one remained. They don’t care about the Desulforudisians, or the Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bidans. They’re trying to kill me. If your planet is being attacked, it’s because there must be another dupe of me hiding out there too. I’m surprised he made it that far, but I suppose it proves our enemy has intergalactic range.

Sugar and Liselot exchanged a glance. Sugar then zeroed in on that one reply, cancelling the global address. She used voice-to-text this time. “Where are you?”

What are you going to do with me? the mysterious target asked.

“I’m going to get you off this world, for one. My ship can handle a black hole or two. We need to get you away from these, uhh...innocent people, and then we’re going to find your Bidan dupe to pick him up too.”

The next response took a long time to come through. “Oh, no thanks.”

“Ah,” Liselot said. “He’s hiding out here on purpose. He probably knew the KBHs were coming, and chose certain planets specifically because they were more likely to have the means of combatting the attacks.”

“Yeah, that’s my guess too,” Sugar agreed. “I don’t know if he thinks we can’t track him, or what...” She started fiddling with the console to trace the pings. She sighed.

“Problem?” Liselot asked.

“Maybe it’s that he knows we can’t track him.” Sugar growled.

“If he’s the type of guy to get an enemy to send countless singularities after every version of him, no matter who gets in the way, we shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Sugar violently rubbed her eyes. “Okay. We’re goin’ nuclear.” She opened the global address again. “This is happening because of one person. We don’t know who they are, or where they are, but they do not belong on your planet. They’re a foreigner. It sounds like you don’t like those. If you have any information, tell us, and we’ll be on our way. If we never find them, we never leave, so there’s your incentive.” She slammed the microphone toggle off, annoyed at having to resort to this.

Liselot peered at the screen. “Lots of different coordinates. They can’t all be our guy. They’re turning on their neighbors, trying to get us to do their dirty work.”

“Yeah, we found the keystone holding this all together. This could end the world,” Sugar mused, “eventually. Thistle, synthesize all tracing data we were able to gather from the target. Cross-reference it with the tattle-tales. Isolate the most likely coordinates. Re-ping our mystery man if you have to.”

“Processing...” Thistle reported. “Coordinates locked; dead zone.”

“Why would it be him if it’s a dead zone?” Liselot asked, noticing Sugar’s smile.

“He doesn’t wanna be caught, so he blocked all signals, and out of every patch of land on this God forsaken world, it’s the only area like that. If you want to hide, you don’t go somewhere remote, you get lost in a sea of people who look just like you. Stay here.”

Sugar teleported herself to the dead zone. Under her feet was a broken device. It was still slightly warm from having recently been in use. She looked around. She wasn’t the only person here. It looked like some kind of homeless encampment. So they did have some hate left over for internal use.

She switched her watch to megaphone mode. “I’m looking for someone who doesn’t belong here. Anyone who tells me which one it is gets a minishuttle, fully stocked with a bed, hygiene amenities, and a food synthesizer.”

Everyone pointed to the same guy. When he realized he had been caught, he disappeared.

“Do you all have teleportation abilities?” Sugar asked the unhoused.

They shook their heads.

“Your prize will be here in a moment.” Sugar adjusted her watch to breach-scanning mode as she was walking over towards the spot where the target was standing. Her watch locked onto the next coordinates, so she jumped away. She had to jump a few times, but she kept following his trail until she caught up with him.

“Just leave me alone!” the man screamed, not bothering to escape again.

“You answered my question! You obviously want this to end!” Sugar shouted.

“You can’t make me go,” he argued. “It would be a death sentence.”

“I’m the only one who can save you,” Sugar reasoned. “These people are holding back the KBHs for now, but how long do you figure it will be before one of them gets sick of it, and turns on the others? What happens when a KBH threatens a competing nation, or whatever it is? This is not a sustainable sanctuary for you. Come with me willingly.”

“They...they can always find me,” he explained. “If I leave, these people will be safe, but I’ll be more exposed. Are you sure your ship can survive that?”

“I’m quite certain,” Sugar confirmed. “It doesn’t have to exist in realspace.”

He tried to wrap his brain around it. “Fine.”

She took his hand and teleported them back to the ship. “Thistle. Did you already prepare that minishuttle I promised?”

“I’m preparing a full-sized shuttle,” Thistle answered, “based on the scope of aid.”

“Thank you,” Sugar said as she was dragging the stranger into the cell. “Once it’s ready to go, stripped of its flight capabilities, go ahead and dispatch it to ‘em.”

“They’re going to kill each other over it if there’s not enough for everyone, or if others come to take it,” Liselot warned.

Sugar watched the shuttle disappear from the hangar. She just kept staring at its now-empty dock. “That’s not our problem anymore. We’ve done enough for these jerks. Thistle, take us back into orbit, and activate a trans-ejection burn in any random direction. Get us away from this fly speck on the ass of the universe as fast as possible.”

A duplicate, by all philosophical measures, was their own unique self. Sure, the two versions could share a lot of the same memories, but their neurology was different, and every second that passed following their split increased the divide between them. Even so, on the quantum level, there was enough similar data to match them. It was like the modern version of a paternity test, which was perfected in the 21st century. They weren’t 100% the same, but close enough within a margin of error, and that was all it took to find the target’s other dupes.

Now that Sugar’s ship had experienced passing through a wormhole safely, it was better at it. It learned how to compensate for the gravitational perturbations during transit, allowing for a much smoother trip. None of these wormholes ever took them to the point of origin, as far as they were aware, and no pattern emerged. Each time they pushed a KBH back, and tried to follow it, they ended up in a random star system, quite often doubling back to worlds they had already been to, thanks to a likely tracking delay.

Most of the planets were in the Miridir galaxy. None of them was welcoming. Some were almost as hostile towards visitors as Desulforudis. It sounded like they specifically left because they didn’t like how soft Dardius had become. It wasn’t Sugar’s place to judge or help. She just fired up her quantum locator, scooped up the alternate hiding out there, and bounced. None of them gave her his name, but they all looked like the same guy, so it wasn’t hard to be sure that she had found the right one.

Finally, they had some evidence that they had rounded all of them up. They were back in the Tau Ceti system. She beamed up another human target, and waited for another attack to give them another window out of here. It never really came. Sure, more KBHs appeared, but every time she pushed one back and entered the wormhole, it spit her out somewhere around Tau Ceti again.

“This must be it,” Liselot decided. “We have them all, and now the KBHs are coming because this is where they all are.”

“Well, I don’t want to overload the defense grid, so we should leave. I must say, I’m rather glad it at least brought us back to the Milky Way, so we wouldn’t be so far from home. I don’t know what it’s going to take to find that damn source, though. It could be in Miridir, for all we know.”

“Well, where are we gonna go?” Liselot questioned.

Sugar stared into space for a moment. “Three hundred years ago, a seer asked me to personally colonize Waizidi, and set up a facility there. No one is allowed to go there but me, which I was able to accomplish using an ungodly amount of energy credits, and a colonial law loophole that allowed me to install defensive measures back then which are illegal today. Honestly, I forgot it was a thing. They didn’t tell me what to do with it. They just had me set the trap, and I moved on with my life in other places.”

“That’s only about one and a half light years away,” Liselot pointed out.

Sugar nodded. “It will take us less than a day to get there using the reframe engine.” She took a deep breath and started tapping on the console. “Thistle. Plot a course. I’m also uploading a hazard map into navigation which will show you the path to avoid my booby traps.” Sugar looked back at Liselot. “If my traps have held, it should be empty. They can send as many KBHs as they want; it will hurt no one. But I need to know something.”

“You need to know who those men in hock are,” Liselot figured.

Sugar went back down the corridors where the cells were packed with human targets of unknown origins. “The first man to tell me his name gets to go free. I will make contact with friends of mine who can get you tens of billions of light years away in an instant, but I need to know who I’m saving. Because the way I see it, if you’re all dead, the KBHs stop coming, no matter where your bodies happen to be.”

“Denver Strong!” they all cried at the same time.

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Microstory 2781: Oh, He’s Gonna Take the Job

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The atmospheric black hole definitely could have happened at a worse time. The busy season is now over, and many of the crops aren’t growing anyway. The eyren are a year-round event, however. The uquira and uquirapods adapt well to the changing climate, and in fact, as it cools down, there are more chances to plant eyren. The trick is being able to find the clumps amidst the fallen leaves, and later, the precipitation. That takes manpower, or technology, which sort of goes against the community’s practices.

Everyone is struggling. Jande’s story is not unique as many farms suffer attrition. There are tens of billions of organic people in this galaxy, so it’s not hard to find someone willing to take a century out of their lives to farm on Bida, but it’s hard to keep them. Quiratan has shrunk in recent years because of it, mostly with smaller farms being absorbed by neighbors, but a few have shut down entirely. The AKBH, along with the ongoing threat of future singularities, has only expedited the downfall.

Jande has to recruit more people if he wants to keep his culture alive, and not only by finding partners for himself, but also for others. This is the best time to do it. Last season’s dead crops have been tilled back into the land to replenish the nitrogen content, which is best done early so the microbes have time to complete the process before next planting season. It was hard work, but he’s all caught up now, so he can sit down and find more people. But first, his parents want to talk with him.

He’s sitting in front of them now, bouncing his knee impatiently while they half-smile and sip their tea. They have always been like this. Even when there’s a ton of work to do, they drag out the conversation, especially the beginning of it. They come from an era where a legal lifetime was literally about the maximum amount of time a human would live, yet they’re always wasting the minutes on...dramatic effect. “Could we be quite quick?” Jande asks. “I need to get back to the boards.”

“Your father is retired,” his mother begins. “It was unexpected, but it can’t be undone. His body is younger than yours now. How do you feel about that?”

“This is how things are done,” Jande replies. “I knew this was gonna happen one day, I just didn’t know it would be now. He’s been taking it in stride. I mean it, Father, you have accepted your new life admirably. I hope to mimic you when it is my time.”

Mother nods as she’s listening to Jande. “When the shed came down, you were trapped under the entrance. Your body could not move, so you transferred to a bot.”

“You don’t have to recap, we all know what happened,” Jande contends.

“What you don’t know,” Father goes on, “is that we had a forensics expert survey the scene and confirm which of us died first. As I was under a heavy beam in the barn, my body expired instantly. Your body survived long enough for you to induce suicide. For a few seconds, you had inherited the role of Head of Household.”

Jande narrows his eyes, at the both of them, but particularly at his father. “What are you saying, that because of a technicality, I retired immediately after you, and I have no right to continue farming the land? This body is weak. It is not an upgrade. It is not a retirement model, and I have been toiling for the last couple of weeks.”

“Have you noticed the outsider who patrols our perimeter?” Mother asks him.

“You mean the one from the giant metal shuttle, which can be seen even from here?” Jande asks rhetorically. “Yes, I think I did notice him. Why?”

“He’s here to protect us from the Eyrenlanders,” Mother continues. “They want to come in and farm these lands themselves. Meanwhile, you are perusing the network, looking for a spouse or two at a time to fill only a few slots to reach the bare minimum.”

“This is our way,” Jande reminds her. “Quiratan is not an interstellar business. We are family farmers. To work, you must be part of a family. Scale is not the goal.”

“That’s true,” Father agrees. “If the Eyrenlanders were allowed in unconditionally, they would likely expand within the next decade until they reached the same size that Eyrenland was before the black hole showed up and destroyed it.”

Mother places a hand upon her husband’s knee to take the floor. “Perhaps, son, it is time for that. The Eyrenlanders left us alone when they had everything they needed. They were able to provide the eggs for the galaxy’s demand. Now things are different. Now Quiratan has become the single source of authentic eyren. I mentioned the forensics report to give you an easy way out. You retain the honor of not retiring intentionally, but benefit from the accident by accepting it as retirement. No one would blame you for it. We’ll tell them it was your father’s insistence. In his last act as Head of Household, he declared the end of the bloodline, and the end of the farm.”

Jande balls both of his hands into fists and trembles in seething anger, holding himself back from exploding. “You want me to quit, and you have found a bad loophole that, if our ways had been codified into law, would never hold up in court. And you think, after years of raising me to take over your legacy, that I would take this offer?” He stands abruptly. “You do not know me at all, Mother. This farm is mine now. I was going to farm it with you next season, but it is clear that you are planning to retire soon too. So why don’t you just do it and leave? Follow Suki to Castlebourne, or Evers to Varkas Reflex. I will take five, six, seven husbands and wives if that’s what it takes! I’ll not abandon my birthright, and I cannot believe that you of all people would suggest I do!”

His parents stay calm. His father clears his throat. “We were not suggesting that you retire offworld. There is a way for you to gain control over, not only the farm, but all of Quiratan. There is an ancient rank known as the Superintendent. If you reinstitute this role, it would be you who decides who works what farms. Eminent domain, easements, and the like; you would have power over all of it. You would be able to transition Eyrenlanders into more traditional Quiratan obsolescent practices. And once the positions are filled to your satisfaction, you could turn away the excess.”

Jande sits back down. He has spent his whole life learning about this world. He has mostly focused on agriculture, but he studied history as well, and he has never heard of a superintendent. If it’s true, that would be an interesting development. “How would I go about this? Would I walk down main street with the biggest gun, and announce that I’m in charge now, or is there some kind of ceremony or election, or what?” This doesn’t mean he’s gonna do it; he’s just asking questions. There is no harm in asking questions.

Mother smiles, pleased with herself and Father for managing to get through to him. “Superintendents are in charge of elections, placing them above the bureaucracy. There are no guns, and no election. But there is a series of tribulations. It would not be easy, and we would need to find someone to moderate and judge.”

“But, son,” Father begins. “Once you open the floodgates, you will not be able to control what else flows through. Others will surely challenge you for the job.”

Jande nods and relaxes a little in his chair. “Tell me more.”

Microstory 2766: Winner’s Circle

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It begins as a pinprick of consciousness as Elise becomes acutely aware of the passage of time, even though there are no external stimuli. She isn’t truly thinking about anything. She is only mindful of her own ability to think. At first, she believes there might be a tiny light before her, but it may simply be her imagination...but does she even have an imagination anymore? She tries to come up with other things to occupy her mind, but nothing comes. She can’t even articulate in her head an idea of what ideas she should be able to come up with. No categories of thoughts, no things, no things to do or have done. She is nothing more than a thinking thing. A thinking thing called Elise. So that’s something at least. She is someone. She is a someone with a name, and if she has a name it must mean there are other someones with their own names. But who?

Elise quietly screams at her own brain. Wake up. Think. Think about something, anything. It doesn’t have to be important, it doesn’t have to be major. Don’t just sit here in the silence like a moth in the dark. A moth? What is a moth? It must be something, or she wouldn’t have a word for it. What is a word? What are things? What is anything? Go back to the moth. A moth is...a moth is something that is. It’s something that...flies. It has wings. Flying wings. And hair and eyes. Elise should have eyes. She has seen things before. She has seen moths. She has smelled the hot and cold nights as the weather transitions from summer to autumn. There she goes thinking about more things again. This time, it’s the seasons. There are two others: winter and spring. Spring is her favorite. Tofu is her favorite food. She eats. She is a person. She has a mouth.

She is Elise Perkins and she is in a race. No, an expedition. A quest? No. It’s a hunt. It’s a treasure hunt. She is a treasure hunter. Her name is Elise Perkins, Treasure Hunter. She has a mouth, a nose, and lucky her, two eyes. Also two ears. She’s hearing something. She’s hearing something with her ears. It’s...it’s talking. Other people. Other people with names. She can hear them. She can hear, but she can’t see. Why? Eyelids. She opens. Still dark, but less dark. A hint of light. Light behind...a visor. Her mouth, it doesn’t only eat. It also speaks. It screams. “Help!”

The visor slides away.

“Elise?” someone asks. “Elise, can you hear me? Are you there? Elise!”

“She opens her mouth but the words won’t come. Who said that? It sounded like the way Elise sounded like when she could sound like something. But she doesn’t sound like anything because when she opens her mouth, the words won’t come out.”

“You can’t use your mouth,” a different person claims. “You don’t have an airway anymore. But the helmet can convert your thoughts into sounds. Just think what you want to say, and it will come out. Go ahead and try again,” they encourage.

“Rubber baby buggy bumpers,” the helmet says. “Gina Linetti Spaghetti Confetti.” A face. Elise’s famous two eyes have adjusted to the light and can see when there is something that isn’t light. “That is definitely a face. It’s a very pretty face. She used to know what to call it. Whatever the face’s name, Elise may be falling in love with it.”

The face smiles. “Thank you. My name is Rage. You are Elise Perkins.”

“I know that,” Elise replies. “I am Elise. I have a face. I have a head. Do I have anything else?” She tries to tilt her chin down, but it won’t move. She can’t move at all.

Another person sighs. “You don’t have anything else. You only have a head.”

“Mino? A little more tact?” someone says to the person who has no tact.

“It’s okay,” Elise insists. “I am Elise Perkins, Treasure Hunter, a.k.a Ladymoth. I don’t need anything more than a head, because my head is where I do all my thinking.”

“Do you remember what happened?” the Rage face asks.

“I remember...” Elise begins. “I remember ice.”

“There was ice on the track during the race,” Rage confirms. “You sacrificed yourself so that your friend, Jolanda could make it across the finish line. You managed to defeat the last automated racecar, so she didn’t have to get there quickly. She had time to get out of her car, find your head, and carry it across with her. Now we’re in the winner’s lounge. Only six of us could win. I’m not sure what that means for you yet.”

“We’re not sure what this means for any of us,” Zelda adds. Yes, that’s Zelda.

Elise’s memories are starting to come back to her now. She feels like she’s becoming herself again. They lounge there for about an hour. The normal humans eat while Elise focuses on her recovery. The Custodians are not letting them out of this room, or they would seek medical attention for her. For now, she’s sitting on a snack table. Watching her friends talk is helping a lot. After they’re done eating, she finds that she’s pretty much back to her old self. She is centuries old, so there are a ton of memories that have not yet resurfaced, but they’re not paramount to her core.

While they’re just sitting around doing nothing, the lights begin to flicker. It’s not like a lightbulb is burnt out, though. It’s clearly intentional, like the theatre warning the audience that intermission is over. Out of the corner of her eye, Elise can see the door open, though she’s not at the right angle to see who. She needs her legs back.

“Hello,” comes the voice of a man. She recognizes it, but can’t place it.

“Hello,” Colley says, intentionally positioning himself directly in front of Elise.

“Please, Mister Rochelle.” Hrockas, the owner of the planet. That’s who this is. “Do you honestly believe that I am not cognizant of the severed head you’re keeping on the table? If I didn’t want death survival to be an option, I would not have commissioned those helmets in the first place. The plan was to keep any heads in their comas while the winners moved on, then transfer their consciousnesses to their respective backups so they could recall as much of the hunt as they were here for.”

Colley steps off so Elise can see. “We can’t trust you. You’re not taking her.”

Hrockas nods. “Now that you have reinitialized her, taking her is no longer a decent option. The reason we left you in here for so long is the producers and I needed to figure out how to move forward. The truth is, not anywhere near this many was expected to survive. Some of the bots were easy, but some were hard. You destroyed them all, and through a loophole, managed to keep your entire group together on the other side. It’s impressive, I admit. But the challenge we had planned will no longer work. Funnily enough, however, the challenge reward is now more relevant than ever.”

“Whatever the reward,” Jolanda says, “it’s not worth it if Elise can’t compete.”

Hrockas smiles. “That’s the irony. The sudden death challenge is quite literal. Whoever wins, dies...and will be given a superior substrate. It would be cruel to force you to compete if the one person who genuinely needed it stood no chance. That’s what we had to change. Now it is no longer physical, but a contest of wits. Elise has a shot.”

“I forfeit the challenge,” Colley volunteers immediately.

“That’s fine,” Hrockas says, “but it comes with a penalty for the next challenge.”

The others forfeit too. Elise is getting a new body.

Microstory 2761: Into the Drink

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This boat isn’t very big, so the crew isn’t a legion of men, but they’re still outnumbered. In the chaos of the initial attack, it’s hard to tell by how much, but fortunately, they have some fighters on their side. They trained as much as they could in each other’s fields, but Zelda and Jolanda are still the best, and have to take the brunt of the combat. Elise has done some martial arts in her day, but doesn’t have any experience fighting moving opponents. Colley is a pacifist, but can defend himself, or someone else. He hides in a corner with Laise, who has absolutely no fighting experience whatsoever.

Meanwhile, the only means of making any headway in this fight is getting the zombie pirates over the edge, and keeping them at bay. They don’t drown, they don’t die, but it does take effort for them to try to climb back aboard. So once they’re over, the living humans end up with the upperhand. The zombies are relentless, however. They also don’t get tired. Their only hope is that this is a nighttime problem. After all, why did they only attack at nightfall on the day they finally lifted the boat? Once the sunrise comes, they’ll cower back to the depths, and the hunters will finally be able to rest.

There it is, that reddish-orange glow over the horizon. Elise can’t stop glancing at it even though she knows she’s meant to be keeping an eye on her sector. She’s holding an oar from the rowboat, and has to keep swatting pirates away. Any second now, there should be enough light. They’re like vampires. In some franchises, it just takes a little more time. The sun has to be a little higher. It often depends on the dialogue.

Three hours later, they’re still at it. Funny enough, despite their collective fatigue, they’ve all kind of grown used to the job. They fight in shifts. Five of them man their sectors of the boat while the other two sleep or rest below deck. They started out with a sixth person down there on high alert, but the zombies never tried to somehow break through, so they categorized it as a non-threat. It’s almost time for Elise’s break. Her eyelids are low as she almost carelessly bonks the zombie on the head again. It’s not scary anymore. Part of it is the sunlight, but part of it is the sheer tedium of it all.

There has to be some way out of this. There’s always a way. There is always a loophole. They may have a random, bizarre weakness that is impossible to know unless you came across the lore earlier, or you have to fix something for them in order to break the curse. The hunters need time to figure it out. They can’t just keep fighting. Maybe Elise can call upon her research skills during her break to search the cabins for any clues. Maybe the zombies simply have unfinished business, and they can help finish it, symbolically or physically. Oh, but that bed down there looked so good. It was short and narrow, and probably not soft, but right now, it might be the best thing in the world. Maybe she’ll just lie down for a quick nap, and then get to work.

Thirty minutes pass, which is twenty minutes after she should have been relieved.

The zombies aren’t geniuses, but after they get knocked down, they realize that that’s where a hunter is, so they move to try a different spot. The hunters sometimes use that to their advantage if they need to get closer to one another. It takes time to control where the next intrusion will come from, but it’s possible. Rage has done that. Now she’s within better speaking distance of Elise. “Where the hell are Colley and Laise?”

“Iono.” Elise can’t even bring herself to say all the words separately. “Laise was s’pose ta take over my spot.” She stands there with a puzzled look on her face.

“What?” Rage questions. “What is it? Do you see something out there?”

Elise swats another zombie. “Her name is Laise. My name is Elise. Do you think we’re related?” The zombie has managed to take hold of the oar, and is trying to wrestle it from her, which they do from time to time when she gets too complacent and lazy. She mindlessly pulls and pushes on it while she waits for Rage’s answer.

Rage is only staring at her. “No, Elise, I don’t think you’re related.”

“Oh, okay. Fair question, though,” Elise decides.

“You’re tired,” Rage argues. “Go ahead and sleep. I’ll take care of two sectors.”

“That won’t be necessary!” Colley cried from the top of the steps. He and Laise have pulled a big sack up from below, and are starting to drag it across the deck. “I know you’re all tired, but we have a way to end this once and for all so we can all sleep!”

“What is that?” Rage questions. Then she has to turn around and fight because a zombie has made it over the bulwark. Laise runs up and provides assistance.

“A mouse trap,” Colley explains once the zombie is taken care of. “Everyone huddle up, and put your backs together! We need to get the zombies into one place!”

“You want us to let them onto the boat?” Jolanda questions from the stern.

“They’ll just keep coming unless we take control! I can say no more than that, because I think we all know that the zombies are smart enough to understand us ! Trust me, we’ve been quietly discussing, and secretly preparing, for this for hours!”

They decide to trust the two of them. As they’re huddled together, the zombies climb aboard. They’re moving slowly now. They might be tired too, or Colley is right and they understand the humans well enough to know that something is up. They’re still not too smart, though, because they naturally group into a single mass, presumably to prepare for the next onslaught.

“Rotate counter-clockwise a little bit.” Laise is in the middle of them. “Perfect,” she says once they’re done shuffling. “Rage, Minotaur, you’re the tallest. You feel what’s at your feet behind you?” After they both confirm, she adds, “you know what to do.”

“Ready...!” Colley begins. “Everyone, run to the closest side to get out of the way!”

After everyone else scatters, Rage and Minotaur run forward holding the corners of a huge heavy net. They raise it over the heads of the zombies and pass them as fast as they can, managing to snag all of them all at once. Colley and Laise take this opportunity to start punching and kicking the zombies so they end up on the floor. The others join in too, of course, even though they still don’t know what the endgame is.

Laise goes around and starts shackling the zombies’ ankles one by one. The chains are already tied to the net, so even if they escape, they’ll be dragging a whole lot of weight. It’s still not enough, though, which is where that sack comes into play. Per Colley’s direction, all seven of them work to hoist the heavy sack up and over the railing. Elise is in back, and not really helping that much, but the job gets done. She touches it enough to know that it’s filled with cannonballs. Once the sack falls over, the net drags all the zombies across the deck, and over the edge too. Now there’s no escape.

Oh, no, it’s not over. “Guys,” Elise says, looking behind them. “Guys!”

When they turn around, they too see what she’s looking at. One of the zombies—the captain, by the looks of it—is still standing there. He’s holding his ooey gooey sabre, and standing on one leg. He cut off his own foot! And he’s got a gun.

A hot blonde girl flies out of nowhere on angel wings. She snatches the evil dead captain up, soars back up in the air, and drops him in the ocean kilometers away.

Microstory 2648: Exploits

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Hrockas Steward watches as the ruins of the transfer warehouse crumble to the ground on top of three visitors. All of their substrates survive, and they go on with their day. That’s not the issue. This is a testing ground for people’s new superhuman abilities. He expects damage. This is quite a bit, to be sure, but the bots will rebuild as needed. The real problem is that one of them is not in the records. Using the remote identifying system, he can’t even see that she’s in the system at all. Not even a regular retinal scan is coming up with a match. He has no idea how she ended up on this planet, but he does know that her consciousness isn’t streaming, so she has no business being in Underbelly. How did she get her powers in the first place? “Run it back.”

“How far, sir?” the Custodian asks.

“As far back as it will go,” Hrockas clarifies. “I want to track her movements since she first entered this dome.”

“There won’t be sound, sir. It’s a privacy issue.”

“I understand that, C-01131-1. I’m the one who designed the protocols. Now show me her path. Show me the whole thing.” They watch the accelerated footage in reverse. The mysterious woman leaves in a car going backwards, and gets in a morgue drawer. The drawer closes, then opens again, and her body is transferred out of it by the mortician. It’s taken to a jewelry store where a blade is pulled out of her body, as well as a superhero’s. The footage skips after that as she spent weeks in a private space with no cameras. They keep watching her story, piecing together what she’s been through by witnessing the events in the wrong order. “There. Right there. What is that?”

“That is a maintenance tunnel that leads from the in-game subway to the outside world,” C-1 replies. “It’s used to travel into the city without interfering with the story.”

“How the hell did she know that was there?” Hrockas questions. “Keep going. I want to see where she was before.”

“I can’t, sir,” the custodian explains. “I only have access to Underbelly internal.”

“Right, I knew that. I’ll input my admin codes.” They watch more reverse footage. She has not been on Castlebourne for long, having come in on that second arkship. He does not have access to the ship’s sensors, so he doesn’t know how she managed to stay hidden there, but he doesn’t care at this point. She met with someone weeks ago who he recognizes. He takes out his phone, and calls her. “Are you alone?” When she answers yes, he says, “then this is a warning that I am teleporting to your location immediately.”

After he lands at the gym, she smiles at him. “Welcome, Steward.”

“I’m not in the mood, Tereth. Come with me.” He offers her his hand.

“Oh my, Hrockas. I am a married woman. What will my husband think?”

“Just take my goddamn hand.” Once she does and stops smiling, he teleports back to the custodial wing of Underbelly. He then points to the screen. “Who is this?”

Now Yunil has fully lost her joyful attitude. “Dont worry about it.”

“You know I can’t do that. What did you do? And before your respond with some quippy lie, allow me to skip it, and reiterate with more fervor, what did you do!”

Yunil sighs. “She wanted to stay unregistered. I gave her a clean ID.”

“You didn’t just give her any regular ID. You gave her admin access.”

“I...” she looks confused. “Did I? Wait, how can I do that? Our machine should not be able to do that. It’s just for the refugees, mostly the government.”

“That’s why it needed to be universal,” Hrockas argues. “You have admin access to all non-utility and non-logistical domes. You even have access to Military Dome, and you gave it to her too. Can you imagine if she had gone there instead? She would have placed global security at risk, rather than only her own life.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was that comprehensive. I didn’t know I was granting any admin access at all. I thought it would simply allow her to enter the domes. As a normal human, I assumed she would only go to safe places. Are we in Underbelly?”

“Yeah, thanks to you.”

“What happened? Is she okay?”

“I obviously can’t trust you with that information. I’ll let you agonize over what may or may not have happened to her. But I’m not yet certain what the consequences of your actions will be. I don’t care if you’re the Deputy Superintendent. This is my planet, you’re all here as guests, and I reserve the right to take it away from any individual at any time. That includes you. Your husband can’t keep you safe.”

“Now, just hold on, asshole! We’re all grateful that you provided us sanctuary, but that was decades ago. You can’t keep playing that card. We already lived under a tyrant. That is the whole point, so don’t you dare threaten me with exile, or whatever the hell else is on your mind. You may technically own the planet, but we govern the citizens. There are more of us than there are of you. The majority of your military is from the Corridor. We give this world legitimacy, so stop acting like it’s a burden. I’m sorry for what I did. I saw a lot of Dreychan in Mandica, and I wanted to help her, just as I helped him. If she’s in danger, let me go in myself and pull her out.”

Hrockas sighs. “She’s not in danger anymore. She found a loophole. We’re still trying to figure that out. As for you...you’re right. I’m sorry for treating you like burdens. I love that you’re here. I’m proud that I was able to give you safe haven. It just seems like I keep running into these vulnerabilities for people to exploit. First your now husband is almost killed, using a different type of ID spoofing, then an Exemplar in Spydome emerges, and shuts down an entire dome network with a single thought. I get upset because I’m trying to protect you from the Exin Army. What if the Oaksent finds another vulnerability? What if he discovers where we are? Again, what you did placed only this Mandica woman in danger. I do not think she’s a spy, but the next one who comes to you may be. Dreychan almost died because people thought that’s what he was. Don’t let that happen again. Don’t open the door. Proper procedure is there for a reason.”

“That’s a good point. I apologize again,” Yunil says, contrite.

He nods, but it’s still awkward.

“What...happened to her?” she asks. “You said she found a loophole? Did she decide to become a transhuman after all? She said that she was against it for herself.”

“She didn’t seem to do it on purpose,” Hrockas divulges. He runs the footage back to the jewelry store attack. “It somehow happened to her, like a real origin story.”

Yunil peers at the screen. “You do know that the Philosopher’s Stone is real, right? I don’t know if that’s it, but it’s not just a story. Bronach found it at some point.”

“Oh.” Hrockas looks at the Custodian. “Find out where that prop came from.”

“And that looks like the Sword of Assimilation,” Yunil goes on. “You should talk to one of your executive administrators. Darko Matic is the one who told me about it.”

Extremus: Year 115

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The Induction Ceremony. When Extremus first launched, the captain had a lieutenant as their second-in-command. That sounded practical, and it didn’t seem like they needed anything more. Later on, the lieutenant became first lieutenant, and a second lieutenant position was added. Neither lieutenant rank is a stepping stone to captain. It’s a separate track, and while it’s not technically impossible for someone in this position to eventually become captain, it’s never happened, and that’s not the intended protocol. Anyone of age can be appointed as captain. Hell, Tinaya could have selected some random 18-year-old who failed every class in school, and had severe behavioral issues. She would have had no support, and the idea would have been vetoed by the council, but the point is, there is no particular rule for where the next captain comes from. Oceanus has changed all that.

There will now be three vice captains. It’s not entirely apparent what these people will be doing, just that they will compete for the top spot over the course of the next six years. Silveon guesses that they will take turns shadowing Captain Jennings at first, then gradually begin to take on more duties as they become more comfortable with the work. This never happened in his timeline, but he remembers Waldemar partially running his campaign on the idea, along with other broken promises. It was only a misdirect, of course, so he could get in a position of power, and keep it permanently. Now he doesn’t need all those lies. He’s already in, and just needs to beat out two other contenders. Their identities are currently unknown. Waldemar’s selection has been kept under wraps as well. Tinaya knows because he told her directly, but he wasn’t meant to, and technically, he shouldn’t have known yet either. The competition has already started, however. Three dozen young hopefuls submitted their applications last year, and took tests to see who out of them would win the precious few coveted roles. They weren’t aware that they were vying for only two spots, though, rather than three.

Tinaya has the unfortunate honor of announcing the winners. She doesn’t know why they chose her for this. It really should be Oceanus, since this is his thing, but they probably want to use this as an opportunity to suggest that everything is hunky dory in the executive crew wing. “Waldemar..Kristiansen!” she cries with a feigned tone of excitement. The crowd cheers. The other contestants clap too, but not too loudly, because their chances just went way down.

 Waldemar claps as well, and pumps his fist in the air as he’s jogging across the row, and down the aisle, which actually brings a little more energy to his competitors. He knew that he was gonna get picked, yet he chose a seat in the middle so it would be a bigger deal for him to climb over a bunch of people that he just bested. It’s all a performance. Once he’s on stage, he walks over to Lataran, who hands him his ceremonial dagger. Neither of them can figure out the symbolism there. Daggers aren’t part of standard dress for a captain, nor some meaningful symbol of their ancestors. It seems kind of random, but people are loving it. Waldemar stabs the air with it triumphantly, as if he’s a general preparing for battle, causing an uproar in cheers. Maybe it’s a symbol of masculinity. The other two candidates will probably be men too, so...that makes some sense, if you wanna be cynical about it.

Tinaya starts to open the second envelope. She didn’t just pick whichever one was closer. They were quite clear on what the order was. This is Envelope Number Two, and the last one will probably be a bombshell. They’re using envelopes in the first place to be reminiscent of ancient Earthan award ceremony traditions. But. Whatever. “Détha..Partanen!” Okay, maybe it won’t just be a boy’s club. Well, good for them, making it look like there’s any semblance of fairness, and the game isn’t rigged. At least they’re starting to understand optics.

Détha walks to the stage, briskly but with a lot less enthusiasm. Instead, she’s cool and composed, already giving off an air of authority. Tinaya isn’t familiar with her, so she’ll have to look up her file later. That was probably a mistake. There were only 38 applicants; she should have been studying them for the last couple of months. They could be in great danger. If Waldemar feels that his future is being threatened, he could resort to unsavory tactics; even violent ones. Détha, and whoever is in this third envelope, has now fallen under Tinaya’s protection. Hopefully she won’t die herself in the meantime. Détha takes her dagger, and immediately magnetizes it to her utility belt. She doesn’t need to perform.

Okay, it’s the third envelope. Let’s finish this up. Tinaya slices through the sticker with her fingernail, then slips it back through to open it. She stands there for a moment, staring at the name before her. This is bad. This is really bad. Thank God she’s holding it with two hands. She carefully reaches over to her watch, and secretly taps on the clockstopper button. Very few people on this ship have access to this feature. No one else even knows about it. And it’s not private. It’s an all-or-nothing deal, where time stops for everyone, except for the tight inner circle. For a few seconds, she’s frozen in place, like nearly everyone else in this room, except that she and the other clockstoppers are still conscious. This is to give them a baseline position. When she restarts time, they will return to this exact orientation, so no one is aware that time was ever stopped. This can be overridden, if necessary, but they’ll worry about that later.

Time restarts, but only for the few. The majority of the people on the ship, and indeed, the entire universe, is still frozen in time. “What’s the problem?” Oceanus asks, standing up from his baseline.

“You know what the problem is,” Tinaya says, pointing the envelope at him accusatorily.

“I don’t,” Lataran says, shaking off the baseline freeze. There are no lasting effects, but it’s an uncomfortable feeling, being a statue.

“You’re complaining to me?” Oceanus questions. He points towards the section of the audience for people who didn’t apply to be vice captains. “Why are they awake?”

Arqut and Silveon are starting to walk towards them. There’s no teleporting when the clocks are stopped.

“I hacked the system,” Tinaya admits. “They are the only people on this ship, besides Latty, that I trust. I made them clockstoppers, because I need support against people like you...for shit like this.” She shakes the envelope again, but more angrily. It slips out of her hand, and falls to the floor.

Lataran picks it up, and reads, “Silveon Grieves.”

“What?” Silveon asks as he’s approaching with his father.

Lataran scoffs. “We knew it was rigged, but...”

“I did this for the ship,” Oceanus begins to explain. “You told me that Waldemar becomes a tyrant. Silveon is my ace in the hole.”

“I’m a steward,” Silveon explains.

Oceanus shrugs. “Détha is a soldier. It doesn’t disqualify her.”

“I didn’t apply,” Silveon argues.

“Waldemar applied for you. I’m guessing he wants you to fail intentionally, so he can win. But you don’t have to. You can fight. You can become the next captain.”

Silveon is seething. “My mother was captain, and her aunt before her. It’s already a dynasty, it has to end.”

“I barely accepted the position,” Tinaya adds. “I was already worried about the whispers, but they begged me to take it. I’m still not sure that it was the right decision. Now you want to risk even more? Waldemar is a family friend. We can’t add Silveon to the mix. It screams nepotism and cronyism at the same time.”

“You had nothing to do with the selection process,” Oceanus reminds her, “and you will have nothing to do with ascension.”

“Oh my God, we’re not actually calling it that, are we?” Tinaya shakes her head in disgust.

“I know this is weird,” Oceanus acknowledges. “But Waldemar told me the ship was destroyed, and you confirmed it later. I didn’t agree to the vice captain program until he proved that he was from the future, and that proof came in the form of you and the Consul. I was bound by my word after that. I’m just trying to find a loophole.”

“There is no loophole!” Silveon yells. “Waldemar will become king whether any of us likes it or not! All we can do is make him less of an asshole, and spare some lives along the way. If he doesn’t get what he wants, people will get hurt. His ascension,” he says with airquotes, “is inevitable.”

“Why is it inevitable?” Oceanus claps back. “What, is he wearing the hundemarke, or something?”

Silveon grows silent.

“Holy shit, he’s wearing the hundemarke,” Oceanus realizes. “It was destroyed centuries ago.”

Silveon sighs. “You can’t destroy an object’s past, only its future. It still has a few more fixed moments in time that it needs to create.”

“Speaking of which,” Arqut jumps in, “I’ve seen the studies. We can’t keep time stopped much longer. It’s not healthy. The safeguards will kick in, and the way I understand it, you do not want to be too far from your baseline when that happens.”

“Read the name,” Oceanus insists to Tinaya. “It’s already done.” He faces Silveon. “You make your own choices, but I urge you to do everything you can to win. Please. Your ship needs you.”

“I’ll respectfully decline,” Silveon contends.

“You can’t,” Oceanus returns. “As I said, it’s done. If you back out, it will just be down to a race between Waldemar and Miss Partanen. We won’t replace you with another candidate. It’s you, or no one.”

“Let me see that,” another voice demands. It’s Head Councillor Regulus Crusan, who literally just had his own induction ceremony an hour ago. He wasn’t even here when the clocks were stopped. Tinaya is a little surprised that he was already turned into a clockstopper. Evidently, bureaucracy can work fast sometimes. He must have been so confused when he was mingling in a crowd, or talking to a friend. He takes the envelope from Lataran, and examines it, closing it back up to see it from all angles. “I don’t like how this looks, but we have to agree on it before we restart the clocks. Otherwise, we put reality in unnecessary danger.” He shakes it like Tinaya before, but not so angrily, just demonstratively. “Admiral Leithe reads the name, and whoever it is shall accept their role with grace and poise. Understood?”

Oceanus smiles. “Understood.”

“Admiral. Steward,” he prompts.

Silveon takes another breath. “I think you’ll mean vice captain.” He doesn’t like it, but it will keep him close to Waldemar, which could only help in his mission to lessen the negative impact of the Kristiansen Regime.

“Right,” Crusan says. “Do as you’ve been ordered, Admiral.” He hands the envelope back to Tinaya.

Everyone returns to where they were when time was stopped, and gets as close as they can to how they were before. Tinaya waits until they’re all in position to do the same. After she begins the time-restarting timer for eleven seconds, she approximates her own baseline, reopening the envelope at the last moment. She doesn’t even get the chance to smile before she’s frozen up again, millimeters away from her guess. Time then restarts, and she’s free to continue. Now she can smile. Head Councillor Crusan, you sneaky snake. She lowers her hands, and looks out at the audience. “Pronastus..Kegrigia!”

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