Microstory 2602: Hrockas Steward Stops at the Door and Waits

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Hrockas Steward stops at the door and waits. Renata just spent nine months in her chrysalis, but she wasn’t sleeping. It was a taxing and tiring ordeal, so she has had to sleep for nearly a day. She agreed to let Telman monitor her vitals constantly for the time being, and it is showing that she is awake again. He’s not sure if he should knock, though. Quidel’s tracker is showing at this location too, so they’re probably together. According to Telman, nothing is indicating that she’s undergoing strenuous activity the likes of which two people might do together in private, but it’s only been a day, so they’re still trying to establish her baseline.

Renata opens the door. “You know I can see you on my doorcam, right?”

“Sorry, I just didn’t wanna disturb you.” He can see inside her room, where Quidel is stretching, in a way that makes it look like they were only sleeping.

“It’s fine, I’m feeling much better now. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to give you a gift,” Hrockas explains.

She looks down at herself. “Isn’t my new substrate the gift?”

“Uh, no, that was ethically compulsory on our part. We destroyed your old one, and even if we hadn’t, they’re free.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t need a gift. I just wanna figure out what my life looks like now.”

“That’s what this gift is for.” As Renata steps off to the side, Hrockas looks over at Quidel. “Mister Jesperson, you’re welcome to tag along. It might affect you too.”

Quidel sits up with a yawn, then sticks his tongue out like he’s just tasted something unpalatable, but he’s really just still tired. He shuts his eyes, and falls back on the bed.

“I have a bit too much, uh...stamina for him,” Renata discloses.

“I see,” Hrockas says awkwardly.

She throws on a shirt and some pants. “Let’s go.”

Hrockas teleports them both to a hangar, about fifty meters from her gift, which is covered in a tarp. They start walking towards it. “Some friends of mine are upgrading their shuttles. There’s nothing wrong with the old ones, but the technology doesn’t quite fit their intergalactic missions. Instead of trying to cast yourself to another world, or spend extensive periods of time on cyclers, I thought maybe you would like a way to take shortcuts.” He snaps his fingers. The pulley system engages, and moves the tarp to reveal the purple beauty. “Renata Granger, may I introduce you to...The Aerie.”

Renata admires it. “This is for me?”

“I have no use for it myself. I’ll be on Castlebourne ‘til the stars burn out.”

“You said something about shortcuts?”

He nods. “Mm-hmm. You could reach Earth in about two months.”

A hatch opens, and a woman climbs out. “It’s called a reframe engine,” she says. She approaches the two of them. “Hi, I’m Brooke Prieto.” She shakes Renata’s hand, and then looks over at Hrockas. “Unfortunately, due to its small size, it can’t go at full reframe speeds. If you try to get back to Earth, it’s gonna take you about five years. It’s still better than a hundred and eight, though, right?” She grimaces a little.

“It’s fine with me.” Renata looks at Hrockas too. “I’m apparently immortal now.”

“That you are,” Hrockas agrees. “Anyway, I’ll let you two get acquainted. I have some other business to take care of, but don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

“Thank you, Steward Steward.”

He smiles. “No. Thank you.” He teleports away.

“Did you get everything squared away with Ren and the boy?” Azad asks.

“She’s got her ship. I think she’ll leave to explore the real world for a change. Castlebourne is a symbol of her entrapment, even if she isn’t conscious of that. I can’t imagine he won’t go with her.”

“That just leaves the Marshal,” Azad points out.

“Samani is a soldier,” Hrockas reasons. “He’ll fall in line. I don’t think he’ll be a problem. I don’t trust him enough to read him in, but if we ever have to use the thing, I doubt he’ll cause us problems.”

Azad nods. They’re silent for a moment.

“Did you figure out where the next component is?”

“Not for a fact, but all signs are pointing to Underbelly.”

“If we can’t get the people to vote to move the sun to a new location, we may need it, but we still have time before the Exin armada arrives.”

“Ya know, there would be a benefit to us keeping the Granger girl around. If she can shut down entire simulations with nothing but a thought, she could be of use to us. Not even you have that power.”

Hrockas shakes his head. “I don’t have that power by design. It raises too many questions. I’m still fending off reporters who want to know what the hell happened in the Spydome Network.” He shakes his head more aggressively. “No. These domes stay as they are. We follow their rules, and we let the stories play out naturally. As I said, we have time.”

“We don’t have infinite time, though,” Azad reminds him.

“Yeah, I know. Just keep looking for the other components, and do it quietly.”

“Okay.” Azad’s watch beeps. “Superintendent Glarieda needs something again.”

“Go ahead,” Hrockas encourages. “Assure him that we’ll make sure the votes go our way, one way or another.”

“You want me to say it like that?”

“Obviously not.”

“What should I do with this thing?” Azad asks.

They both look down at the device sitting on the table. “Granger still has access to the lab, and might need to return there for check-ups while she’s still on-world. She can’t know that we didn’t destroy it. She went through a lot to prevent her own mother from using it. She won’t approve of us using it either. Take it to Delta Outpost. But that can wait. See what Dreychan needs first.”

Microstory 2601: Renata Breaks Through Her Chrysalis and Emerges Anew

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Renata breaks through her chrysalis and emerges anew. She falls onto the floor, some gunk falling out with her. She’s not slimy, but she’s not entirely clean either. The light. The light is too much. “Turn it off. Please.”

“Lights to eleven percent,” Hrockas commands.

Quidel bends over, but stops. “Do you...do you want me to help, or not touch you, or...?”

“Help would be nice,” Renata agrees, holding her hand up so Quidel can take it, and lift her onto her feet.

While they’re doing that, Azad is opening a drawer, and pulling out a towel. He tosses it to her so she can start wiping off the pilly gunk.

“Mirror?” she requests.

“Mirror,” Hrockas echoes.

One of the wall panels transitions from an opaque white to something more reflective. Renata pivots over to it to get a better look at herself. She doesn’t look extremely unlike she did before, but she’s definitely in a new body. It’s weird, seeing this stranger move exactly as she does. It’s going to take some getting used to.

“I don’t understand,” Quidel admits.

“We realized that the emergent bomb—as I decided to call it,” Renata begins, “was a product of my body, not my mind. So they uploaded my consciousness to a central server, and sent a lifeless husk up into outer space where it could do no harm when it exploded.”

“I sent it up there,” Azad clarifies. “I teleported as far as I could, above the ecliptic plane.” Funny, he doesn’t seem like the type of brag.

“I appreciate it,” Renata says to him.

“No, I surmised that much,” Quidel says. “I just mean, what is this thing? It’s not an artificial gestation tank, nor an egg sac.”

“I didn’t have any DNA,” Renata goes on. “My substrate was bioprinted, which is only now becoming viable for more organic bodies. I decided that I didn’t need to look exactly as I did, but I also didn’t just want some randomly generated genetic base.”

“This is highly experimental technology,” Hrockas goes on for her. “Synthetic Production Dome has been working on it for decades. It’s a bit over my head, but it basically assembles an organic substrate based on a consciousness entity’s intentional but abstract desires. It takes your dream, and turns it into reality. It’s still DNA, but driven by intuition, rather than puzzle-piece gene splicing.”

“I agreed to be their guinea pig for the first prototype, and so far, it’s working out for me.” She drops her towel, and admires herself again. She tries to lift her breasts, but they don’t have far to go. Naturally perky this time. She didn’t even know she wanted that. She didn’t have to consciously think about every single trait. The special intelligence who was scanning her IDcode knew what she was looking for, and probably used some kind of algorithm to fill in any blanks.

“Well, we’re glad to have you back, soldier,” Lycander says to her with a tight nod.

Via the mirror, Renata notices Quidel frowning. “Qui? Are you disturbed by this?”

“No,” he assures her. “I just...I really liked the old you.”

“She can always return to her original likeness,” Hrockas promises. “While her synthetic variant neither had, nor needed, genes, we can recreate it using the usual cloning processes. Miss Granger, I’ll send you the file, so you can do whatever you want. You’re one of us now. You can wear a new body every week, if you like.”

“I probably won’t do that, but I don’t mind having the option.” She sees that Quidel still isn’t convinced. “You’re still disappointed?”

“I’m sorry. I know that it’s you, and you are you, whatever you look like. I just...people have a different way of looking at things. When they developed cloning and bioprinting technology, some chose to make themselves into entirely different beings. Animals belong to a not unpopular niche. But I...I just always wanna look like me. I’m not religious about it, but I feel more attached to my identity than how others feel. I know, I’m projecting my sentiment onto you—”

She shut him up with a passionate kiss. It feels totally natural to her, naked amongst these three men, and kissing one of them. It shouldn’t. Her implanted memories are telling her that this is too private a moment. She should be dressed, and the two of them should be alone. But she doesn’t think things are like that anymore. The hang-ups that she was programmed to have are outdated, and likely bizarre to those living out there in the real world. This is fine. It’s fine. No one else seems uncomfortable. She lets go.

Quidel catches his breath. “Yeah, I guess I could get used to it.”

She smiles. “All right, show’s over. I need a shower, and some new clothes.”

“Shower, clothes,” Hrockas commanded.

What she thought was only a column rotates open, revealing a shower. Meanwhile, a wardrobe materializes from the wall, and opens automatically, giving her some options. It will take her some time to choose the right outfit to wear to her debut. She doesn’t know what she looks good in anymore. She doesn’t even know what her best colors are. She starts heading for the shower, and the men start heading for the door. Renata places a cheek against her shoulder and says, “wait.” She takes a beat before twisting her hip to look Quidel in the eye. “You look like you could use a shower too.”

He smiles warmly. “Maybe we wait on that.” Such a good guy.

“Maybe I’ve been waiting long enough.” She turns back around, and continues towards the shower. “Your call.”

Castlebourne Capital Community: First Rule of Warfare (Part VI)

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Two aspects of the scalar representative council government that carried over from the advisory-administrative model were the main leaders of all the councils combined. If your community were to join the federation, these two would be at the tippy top. The Moderator and Facilitator weren’t policy-makers per se, but they did make sure that everyone was on the same page about the policies. Having democracy didn’t mean that everyone was on the same level. It was prudent to have people who managed and directed the conversations. They were never meant to be unilateral nor tyrannical, though, hence the titles.

Facilitator Abascal walked into Dreychan and Yunil’s shared office after they unlocked the door from Dreychan’s desk. Yunil was sitting on his lap. They weren’t doing anything untoward, but they should probably be more professional. They were just tired, and ready to be done working. That was the point anyway. She climbed off of him and stood at his side. He stayed seated. “Amazine, how the hell are ya?” he asked.

Amazine reportedly lived on Castlebourne for years before anyone pointed out that the name she chose for herself simply sounded like the word amazing. She felt so embarrassed, but she didn’t want to change it, because it felt right to her. Like so many others, she had spent most of her life as nothing but a number. In the end, it was a decent name. It sounded nice on its own, and it made her unique, which was an unheard of characteristic in the Goldilocks Corridor. “We need to talk about Vip.” Vip was Amazine’s direct superior. Now, Vip...Vip chose his name quite deliberately. It was a mononym, and it stood for very important person. He would deny this if you were to ask him about it, but he came here with a complex, just like Maaseiah, though maybe to a lesser degree. Then again, Maaseiah was still in prison, and Vip was the Moderator of the Castlebourne government, so who had the highest aspirations here? He wasn’t evil, as far as they knew, but Azad called him a populist candidate, which Dreychan still didn’t understand, but he was told it wasn’t a compliment.

“Are you suggesting that I remove Vip from his position, and replace him with someone else?” Dreychan asked, absolutely knowing that this was not at all what she would suggest to him.

“Wull...no, of course not. We’re not there yet, but—” Amazine began.

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Dreychan said, holding his hand up. “My job as Superintendent is not to settle your internal disagreements. My job ought to be done.”

“Our job,” Yunil corrected.

“Right,” Dreychan agreed. “Our job was to start the government. It’s supposed to be able to run itself. My position is a failsafe against tyranny, but if all goes according to plan, I should be able to sit on a beach in Polar Tropica, and not worry about anything anymore. That’s how our Earthan ancestors designed the system, and it is a characteristic that we have chosen to maintain.”

“I understand that, I just...”

“You mostly wanna vent,” Yunil guessed.

“Yes,” Amazine admitted. “You may not technically be above me in the org chart, but you’re certainly not below me. Everyone else is. I don’t have anyone to talk to about his bullshit, or I’ll appear weak and unfit for office. I just thought..maybe you would have some ideas. I know it’s not your obligation, but maybe you could save beach day for tomorrow?” A look of horror spread across her face. “Oh my God, that was so rude. I am terribly sorry, I was out of line.”

“It’s all right,” Dreychan said to her calmly. “I’m not offended. And you’re right, there’s no need for us to be lazy. Maybe we should be available to people who need our guidance. The problem is...”

“That’s not really where his strength lies,” Yunil explained. “I, on the other hand, give great advice.” She glided around the desk, reaching out towards Amazine. Once they made contact, she wrapped her arm around her shoulders, and started leading her back towards the door. “Let’s go off somewhere to talk. Have you ever heard of Christmas?”

“No,” Amazine replied.

“Oh, it’s this delightful little Earthan tradition. We can have a cup of hot cocoa in Holidome. Have you ever heard of hot cocoa?” Yunil asked her.

“No,” Amazine repeated.

“You are going to love it.”

Dreychan stayed in his office, glad that Yunil stepped up for this one. His sense of relief didn’t last long before Moderator Vip showed up.

Vip was just as annoyed at Amazine as she was at him. “She is undermining me at every turn. She’s talking to Dominus Petit behind my back, ya know. I was this close to convincing him that I need to be in charge of the military, but she screwed it up, saying all this nonsense about peace, and the..middle way. I don’t know what the hell she’s talking about.”

“Why would you be in charge of the military?” Dreychan questioned.

Vip flinched like it was obvious. “I’ve been studying Earth history. The most powerful country was called The United States, and their leader was the Commander in Chief. He ran the civilian government and the military at the same time. It just makes sense.”

“That was a democratic republic,” Dreychan argued. “That’s a completely different model. You’re here to moderate, that’s why you’re called that. And besides, the military isn’t an ex-Exin contingency. It’s managed by the Executive Administrative Authority. They’re not going to give you anything. I’ve known Azad for almost a year now. He and his superior officer aren’t going to give it up, to you, or anyone.”

Vip shook his head. “The Governor. That guy’s even softer than Petit. I’ll tell you what, you should superintendent his ass out of here.”

“That’s not my purview,” Dreychan said. It wasn’t the first time he had to explain what his job was to this guy. Dreychan would not have picked him for this role, but there were two sides to Vip. He was charismatic and well-spoken to the public. In private, he was temperamental, contrary, and sometimes downright dumb. Dreychan and Yunil could have designed the government so that they could move members around with impunity, but that wouldn’t have been very democratic. They bowed to what the people wanted, and the people wanted Vip. That was why it was so important that they maintain the council federation structure, so he wouldn’t have any actual power. In that way, they were a lot alike.

“Whatever,” Vip mumbled.

Dreychan sighed. “Vip, why do you want control over the military? What would you do with that?”

“I would protect our home from the Exin threat.”

“Defensively or offensively?” Dreychan pushed.

“The first one, obviously. Wait, which is the one where we go out and murder as many of our enemies as possible?” He feigned an evil grin. He did have some sense of humor, albeit a rather dark one, so at least that was one redeeming quality. “I don’t know what I did to make you all think that I’m some power-hungry moron bent on destruction. But you have largely stayed out of the military’s dealings. I’ve been paying attention, and I see the issues. Drey, they’re not doing anything. They’re barely training, they’re relying far too much on their robots. Have you seen them? Each soldier has this whole compliment of bots that follow them around. They have this animal-like one at their side that carries all of their gear. I think Azad said it looked like a dorg, or a duck, or something, I dunno. Then they have their hawk, which flies above to look out for future obstacles. And then there’s this flutterby thing that—I don’t know what it does, but it’s small enough to fit in my hand, so it can’t possibly help.”

“What the hell is your point?” Dreychan asked.

Vip sighed. “They need someone to lead them...inspire them. Governor Whinawray is not up to the task. The way I hear it, he just sort of fell into the role because he happened to be on the planet when the Charter Contingency was born. I strongly believe that we need to grow our numbers, and what, are they gonna promote him to Ligament or higher? I don’t think he can handle it. I don’t think he wants it.”

Dreychan slammed the side of both fists on the table.

“Oh, no, I’ve said something else that you don’t like,” Vip quipped.

Dreychan tapped on his desktop device, and pulled up what he needed. He spun his monitor around to show Vip the resignation form.

“I don’t wanna quit.”

“Well, you don’t wanna be here, doing this. A Moderator needs to be non-violent by nature. He shouldn’t be looking to grow an army, or train its officers. He shouldn’t be disparaging his colleagues’ names, or complaining that soldiers are safer and better equipped than they have ever been because of their bot pack. And the flutterby, by the way, is for stealth recon. It’s that lack of attention to detail that tells me that you really shouldn’t be responsible for our military, and you probably shouldn’t be the Moderator either. So go ahead, go on, resign. I’ll find someone who wants to do it. The planet will be fine without you. And hey, if you’re really serious about aidsmanship, there’s nothing stopping you from signing up. But you won’t be starting at the top, like you think. Whinawray didn’t start where he is today, and neither did Petit. They’ve been at this for literal centuries. So you’ll train first. Maybe spend a year in Mêléedome. Or two. Or a few decades. I don’t care where you go, or if you quit at all. Just for now, get the hell out of my office. I need to focus on garnering support for the next vote on the stellar engine.”

Vip was trying to hold it together. “Ya know, I voted against that.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t campaign for the opposition—I was a good soldier—but I voted with my heart. I think we should stay here and fight.”

“And if it were just us here, I might agree with you,” Dreychan admitted, “but the visitors outnumber us almost 230:1 at last count. A million new visitors are arriving every week. Unfortunately for them, they are not capable of voting, so it is up to us to ensure their safety. We do that by running and hiding, not by subjecting innocent people to our problems.”

“Why didn’t you say all of this before?” Vip questioned.

“Because we underestimated the opposition. We won’t make that mistake again.”

Vip’s face changed, but it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. He seemed to be absorbing the information, and processing it in some way. “Let me help.”

“You voted against it.”

“You’ve changed my mind.”

“Just like that?”

“You’re very persuasive,” Vip explains. “You should have been more involved in the discussions. You underestimate yourself, but people listen to you. They want to hear your opinion.” He looked around at the office. “Don’t just hide out here. You decide what your job entails. Tell me how I can help.”

Dreychan sighed and glanced over at his inbox. Still no messages. Well, he had a ton of messages, but not the one he was looking for. “The primary voice of dissent. I messaged him yesterday, and he still hasn’t responded. He seems to like you, so maybe you can talk to him.”

“Well, where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Check the tracking system.”

Dreychan didn’t budge.

“We all know you have access to that. The prison is allowed visitors. People talk, especially members of the Old Council of Old Worlds. Just look him up, and point me to him. I make no guarantees, but I will give it my best.”

Dreychan sighed again and checked the tracker. Once he saw where the guy was, he leaned back in his chair and tapped on his lips.

“What is it?” Vip asked. “If you feel uncomfortable with telling me, that’s fine, or if you feel guilty about using this tool in the first place, that’s okay too. I’ll just send him my own message, and see if he responds to me instead.”

“It’s not that, it’s...he’s in XDome.” XDome is probably the most controversial one of all. Azad hinted that Hrockas agonized over whether to include it way back in the day. In the end, he approved the idea when the AI he placed in charge of coming up with most of the dome concepts produced its master list. The truth was that sex was a part of life, and a necessary one, though technically no longer a required activity in a galaxy of gene splicing and artificial gestation. Still, it was a primary human motivation, hard-coded into most organic people’s DNA. Even the most enhanced of transhumans typically kept that trait, because life without pleasure was just survival. Ignoring it as a fundamental component of happiness wasn’t going to make it go away. People were going to have sex, and those who couldn’t find anyone to do it with them—or who couldn’t find their ideal partner—were going to do it with synthetics. At least, by creating a central hub for all sexual fantasies, it kept it fairly isolated and contained. It was easier to keep it out of reach of children and asexual individuals when there was one best place to get it above all, and access to that place was easily controlled.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised. You’ll notice he hasn’t joined the military either. He doesn’t want to fight, he just wants someone else to do it for him. Do you know where he’s from?”

“Slain?” Dreychan asked rhetorically. “I don’t actually.”

“You didn’t know him?”

“Huh?”

“On Ex-777?”

Oh. Dreychan’s face went numb. “Oh. That explains it.”

“That explains it,” Vip echoed

Dreychan didn’t keep up with the refugee manifests. It would be too many people to keep track of anyway, but as far as he knew, he was still the only former 777er. So if Slain was also from there, he must have come to Castlebourne really, really recently. Why were people listening to him? Why were people following his lead when only a year ago, Dreychan was quite nearly murdered for being from the same Old World?

“I bet I know what you’re thinking,” Vip began. “My hypothesis is that it’s your fault. People hated you because you were from a luxury world, but you proved them wrong. You proved your worth. I think they’re overcompensating in their heads, and deciding that maybe ex-Ex-777ers are the best amongst us. That is why you need to make your voice heard, and not just play in the background. People need to know that it’s not because of where you’re from, but despite it. They need to hear a voice of reason.”

Dreychan leaned back again, and tried to rethink the strategy. Maybe they were going about this all wrong. The reason the so-called opposition won out was because, as Vip was just saying, the voice of reason wasn’t strong enough. He had thought it made sense to try to convince Slain to change his mind, and do the right thing, but Ex-777ers were not known for their open-mindedness. And honestly, Dreychan didn’t want the rest of the refugees to start seeing 777 as some kind of hot bed for the intellectually enlightened. It was full of entitled assholes who didn’t understand the danger of war and struggle because they had never faced it before. They were living in a post-scarcity civilization before anyone on Earth had even dreamed it up. “Scratch that. I don’t need to talk to him. We need to talk against him. You’re smarter than I give you credit for.”

“I am?” Vip asked. “I mean, I am.”

Dreychan laughed. “The first rule of warfare: the bigger the gun, the more compelling your argument is.”

“Okay...” Vip didn’t know what he meant by that.

Dreychan stood up. “So let’s go recruit some bigger guns.”

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Microstory 2600: Quidel Teleports Into Lycander’s Office

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Quidel teleports into Lycander’s office. He must have somehow gathered momentum during transit, because he immediately falls into the guest chair, breaking one leg off of it completely, and leaving another holding on by a thread. “Sorry, I don’t know what happened.”

Lycander shakes his head. “You can’t jump to just anywhere you want. If you select an off-limits destination, it will reroute you to the nearest authorized space. This time, it was my office. I don’t know why you fell. You might just need to take up yoga to learn balance.”

“I was trying to go to a remote island in Polar Tropica. There wouldn’t have been anyone there to spot me.”

Lycander shakes his head at this. “The whole dome is a no-go zone. Take the train. You have an express pass now too.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. This is more fun,” Quidel contends. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Look, we’re in the inner circle now; the Executive Administrative Authority. Hrockas is trusting us to be smart, be responsible, and behave. He gave you that snazzy new body of yours, he can take it away. And the guy who gave the technology to him? Well, I imagine he can take it away too.”

“All right, I get it, I’ll be careful.” He looks down at the destruction he cause. “Hey, why is this made of wood?”

Lycander shrugs. “I like antiques.”

“Right. Well, I still want my beach getaway, so I guess I’m gonna go find a train. Ugh, it’s so tedious. I can’t believe I used to think the vactrain network was the fastest way to travel.”

“Hey, wait. I’m glad you’re here anyway,” Lycander says. “I have some news, which you may have already heard. After nine months of auditing and diagnostics, they’re reopening the Spydome Network. They’re restarting the story from the moment Renata shut it down. Anyone in-sim at the time will be able to go back and pick up right where they left off. If you don’t sign up by the end of the week, though, they’ll replace your character with an Exemplar. I think Demo’s gonna do it.”

Quidel clears his throat uncomfortably. “It’s like you said, we have real jobs now; we don’t play games.”

“I always had a real job,” Lycander reminds him.

“Does that mean you’re going back?”

“Not a chance.”

Quidel nods. “I suppose we’re on the same page then.”

“I suppose.”

Both of their devices beep at once. They look at them. “We’re in the same group chat too. What do you think Hrockas wants?”

Lycander stands, and starts to walk around the desk. “He was probably alerted to your illegal teleportation attempt.” He taps his wristband to Quidel’s watch to sync up. “Let’s go together so it doesn’t accidentally happen again.” He spirits them both away.

They land in Hrockas’ office. Another guy is there, who Quidel recognizes, but hasn’t spoken to yet. “Thank you for coming,” Hrockas says. “First off, let me officially introduce you both to Dominus Azad Petit of the Castlebourne Charter Contingency.”

Azad is sitting on the edge of Hrockas’ back counter. He clicks his tongue, and waves two fingers at them as a greeting, but doesn’t say anything.

“Dominus Petit will lead one regiment of soldiers to war, should it come to that. You’ll recall, I informed you of the outside threat that we face?”

“I remember it, yes,” Lycander confirms.

“Yeah,” Quidel replies at the same time.

“Yes, well, we’re having trouble with that,” Hrockas goes on. “The original plan was to run and hide, but not everyone agrees with that tactic, so we’re currently at a standstill. As a major proponent of the original plan, I have become a threat to that internal opposition. Dominus Petit has assigned himself as my personal bodyguard....” He gives Azad the side eye. “...despite the fact that we are all immortal.”

“It is not impossible to kill an immortal,” Azad argues.

“Whenever you’re in my presence, sir, you can count on me to protect your life as well, and your substrate,” Lycander promises, like he’s pledging his fealty to the king. Perhaps it’s just the spirit of the environment. This is, after all, Castledome.

“Uh, same here,” Quidel agrees.

Hrockas smiles and laughs. “That’s very kind of you, but that’s not where I was going with this. No, I was leading you down a path to the real topic of the day.” He gestures in the general direction of their wrists. “Please remove your devices, so your location can’t be tracked.

They do as they’re asked.

Azad stands up. “Needless to say, this area is top secret, as is what you’re about to see. I’m sure you won’t want to break confidence at any rate. Huddle up.” The other three lean over under his arms when he raises them up. He alone activates his teleporter, and brings them all along.

They land in a lab. A man who Quidel recognizes is working on some sort of sciency stuff on a table nearby. “Custodian Number One!” Quidel acknowledges. “I didn’t know I would ever see you again.”

“Likewise sir, but per your advice, I go by Telman now.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Telman.”

“Room Two, Telman,” Hrockas instructs.

“Certainly, sir.” Telman spins around, and approaches a door behind him. He uses his biometrics to unlock it, and let them in.

The room is dark and humid. Hrockas orders the lights to come on, and they do. They hear a sort of groan coming from the only object of note in here. It’s a...pod of some kind; translucent and shiny, hanging from the ceiling. It’s quite majestic. As Quidel moves side-to-side, the colors morph and shimmer. Hrockas approaches and knocks on it like it’s a door. “Miss Granger? Are you ready to come out?”

“Five more minutes,” a muffled voice complains.

“I got an alert. The chrysalis knows when it’s time,” Hrocaks says in a sing-songy voice. “And it’s time,” he adds.

She groans again.

“Your friends are here. They’re anxious to see you. They thought you were dead.”

Renata lets out a protracted low whine, and then punches through the membrane with a grunt.

Microstory 2591: Renata Follows Quidel and Lycander Through the Hatch

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Renata follows Quidel and Lycander through the hatch. The walls are pure white, and the tubular corridor they’re walking through is increasing in diameter, like a cone. They’re heading for what appears to be a military jet, with its giant rear entrance open. Notably, it doesn’t have any wings. There are no cars in the cargo hold, but several of them would certainly fit. The three of them walk up the ramp, but Renata and Quidel stop to sit down as Lycander continues on towards the cockpit. She carefully stores the case under the seat next to her, and snaps the netting to make sure it’s secure. The hatch closes up.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Quidel says.

Renata stares at the opposite wall for a moment before turning her head. “Lycander says that he can’t come back, like you obviously did.”

“He was an Ambient,” Quidel starts to explain. “There is no reason for them to be backed up. Anyone could step in and fulfill the role of Exemplar-one’s driver.”

“That’s how you see us, as just...replaceable?”

“I know it’s hard for you to accept, and I don’t expect you to. Researchers agonized over the ethics of roboticism for centuries before it was even possible to imitate consciousness, let alone synthesize it. The world out there, it’s not as exciting as this. We created this world to have something interesting to do. So I’m not sure if the way we treat AI is correct, but frankly, it has built a paradise for us. We’re so well-taken care of that we contrive adventure to stay stimulated. So we assume that our ethics are sound, because if they weren’t, we should see it cause problems.”

“Maybe there are problems that you’re just not seeing,” Renata suggests.

“Such a truth would be difficult to suppress,” Quidel contends. “We number in the tens of billions, possibly into the hundreds by now. Conspiracy theories don’t hold up mostly because of how difficult it would be to enforce secrecy across the multitudes who would have to be in on the truth. Our population explosion only makes that more difficult. There are so many groups that advocate for the ethical treatment of individual persons. They look into discrepancies, and they would find them. I know you don’t wanna hear this, but the Ambient—”

“Polly,” she interrupts.

“Polly,” he goes on, “didn’t have thoughts or feelings. He was programmed to behave in certain ways. It’s an illusion.”

“And me? Am I an illusion? Don’t answer that, I know what you’re gonna say. So let’s go back in time several years, before Libera got her hands on my hardware to do whatever she did. Was my consciousness only an illusion?”

“To a lesser degree, yes,” he admits. “That’s why she had to go into your brain and change you. I don’t know what she did, but I know that she didn’t just flip a switch. As far as we can tell, there is only one thing that can transform a non-conscious intelligence into a conscious one.”

“What would that be?” she questions.

“Teaching it to, and not interfering with its development artificially. You might have gained agency on your own eventually, if they hadn’t erased your memories according to whatever schedule they were on. If you had simply lived a life, it might have happened anyway, because that’s how humans work. For hundreds of thousands of years, every homo sapien has grown up to be self-aware because they were given the latitude to do so. It might sound cruel that no one tried that with you until Libera, but not everyone should be uplifted. We’ve granted some animals intelligence as well. There’s an entire star system out there called Altair that’s populated by uplifted animals. But we didn’t do it for all of them. There are still regular cats, dogs, and birds. Your coffee maker has a chip in it, but I’m guessing you would never get mad that no one has taught it to feel loved. Before you argue, I’m not saying that Exemplars are coffee makers, but it’s a spectrum, and you have to draw boundaries somewhere. If you try to help everything, you’ll end up with a talking rock, and an amoeba that does calculus. A world where every cell and every circuit is taught to make its own choices would collapse in a nanosecond.”

Lycander returns. “We’re ready to go. We’ll start moving in a few minutes.”

Renata hears the sound of a motor, but not the roar of any engines. “I’m guessing this is only theatre. You’re supposed to think that you’re in a flying jet, but you’re just moving down this hallway?”

“I kept the holograms and haptics off,” Lycander explains. “Since you wouldn’t be fooled by the IMH experience anyway.”

“IMH?” Renata questions.

“Immersive Multisensory Haptics,” Quidel answers. “The plane would be tilting and bumping in a way that simulates flight. Instead, we’re just gonna let it glide along the track. We could walk too, but it’s far, so this is just a giant car.”

“If you were still pretending that this was real,” Renata begins as the fake plane starts moving, “what would the scenario be?”

“A contact of mine would let me tag along with a military aid operation headed for Barta, and I would parachute out over Osman airspace. I really would parachute, though. I would take an elevator up, and jump off of a ledge.”

“On the way here, Lycander said that Osman is like a country called Pakistan from your planet. What’s Barta?”

Quidel gives Lycander a look, who responds, “might as well answer any question she has. That’s what the ethics tell us to do with an emerging intelligence.”

Quidel sighs acceptingly, and looks back over at Renata. “Barta is like India. But they told us not to get hung up on the parallels. There are tens of thousands of domes on Castlebourne. It was easier to come up with the mythologies by basing it on preexisting ones, even for the primary AI who generated it. So Barta isn’t really India...it’s Barta. And Osman is Osman.”

Renata nods. “Will I ever see the world outside?”

“I hope so,” Quidel tells her. “We’re on our way to meet with an associate of mine who works for the Military Intelligence Service who may be able to sneak us out.”

“And Elbis is...”

Quidel smiles, knowing that he’ll have to relent. “It’s gone through many names. Perhaps the most modern, but still  territorially inclusive, version was called the British Federation. Though, if we recall that this dome network is supposed to be an analog to Earth around the 21st century, it was called the United Kingdom back then.”

“I prefer Elbis. I was hoping to go there one day.”

“You still might,” Lycander says. “It’s the closest one to Castledome.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 15, 2528

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The tree light receded. They were now standing outside. The ground beneath them was yellowish, there was no apparent atmosphere, and they felt very light. It was probably an uninhabitable moon. There was a massive structure before them, maybe four or five kilometers away. Leona checked her watch interface. “August 15, 2528.”

Ramses knelt down, and scanned the surface with his sensor suite. “Sulfur and sulfur dioxide, also silica. We got some pyroxene and feldspar. That explains the yellow.” He stood back up. “I believe that we are on the rogue moon of Jaunemus.”

They didn’t know much about this world. It once orbited the planet of Verdemus, but was transported to the Goldilocks Corridor, and used as a staging ground for the Verdemusian Corps. They lived and trained here when they weren’t on the Anatol Klugman warship. The team looked around, and couldn’t find Miracle Brighton anywhere, nor Adult!Dilara. They were dispatched, not ferried, or perhaps the other two had just moved on, since it had been a full two years since the team was last in the present day.

The Jaunemusians seemed like all right people. They were warmongers, sure, but not Klingons. They didn’t want to fight simply for the sake of it. They felt a duty to protect their home planet from the Exin Empire, and decided to take an offensive strategy, instead of a defensive one, since Verdemus was still in hiding, much like Castlebourne now. According to their military mandate, the fighters on this moon didn’t have much interest in fixing the Goldilocks Corridor. They just calculated that the only way to prevent the Exins from spreading beyond it were to put an end to it altogether. It was unclear how they felt about Earth, the rest of the closer regions, or Team Matic. According to Core World conventions, this whole part of the galaxy belonged to what they called the Borderworlds. It was technically too specific of a term to use for it, however. It was only called that because it covered all systems between 14,000 and 28,000 light years from Earth. On the other side of the Milky Way, that referred to systems that were literally on the edge. In this direction, though, they were still in the middle.

“Drive check!” Olimpia announced as she looked down at her wrist band. “Whew, I’m in the red. Anyone else have a better gauge?”

They all shook their heads. It took an enormous amount of power for them to send the entire Oblivion tower to another reality in the past. That wasn’t even that long ago for them. It would be a while until their slingdrives recharged. They might as well pop in to see how the Jaunemusians were doing lately. They teleported to an airlock that appeared welcoming enough, and knocked on the door. There was a doorbell, but it looked like it was only meant for emergencies. Hopefully the sound would travel through the structure well enough for someone to hear. They stood there for a few minutes before a face appeared in the viewport. Hm. No cameras? Or were there, and he just wanted to get a look for himself? They waved at him with smiles.

The man went away, and then the airlock door opened. They let their suits collapse before the airlock was fully pressurized again. The man was still watching them, from the observation chamber now. Another man entered the room behind him with an air of authority, so the first one opened the next door for him. “Greetings, Team Matic. My name is Anatol Klugman.”

“No, it isn’t,” Mateo said, being unable to stop himself.

The man winced. “I may not have been born with the name, but I earned it.”

“Forgive him,” Leona mediated. “It’s just that we know the man who serves as the namesake for your warship. You’re obviously not him, it’s just a little jarring to hear.”

“Ah, yes.” Fake!Anatol nodded. “It’s easy to forget that the ship was named after a man. I am named after the ship. And when I retire, a new Anatol will be selected to take my place. There are others like me even now.”

“Are you connected to your vessel?” Ramses asked him, fascinated. “Do you control it with your mind?”

Fake!Anatol considered the words. “It’s more like I instruct it with my mind. The crew has to carry out the orders, and could theoretically refuse them. Right now, my second has the reins. The human brain cannot handle the interface for too long, so the link changes hands regularly.” His gaze shifted to Romana. “I’m guessing that you’re here in search of your sister? I can take you to her.”

“That is not my sister,” Romana said, her blood boiling. “She is an impostor.”

“Oh. She said her name was Miracle Brighton.”

“Oh, well that’s her name,” Mateo explained, “but she stole my daughter’s body. Well, she stole one of them. The extra one.”

Fake!Anatol lifted his chin as he absorbed the information. “I see. We might be able to help with that. We are...pretty good at cloning here.” That was how this army began. Omega Strong cloned himself thousands of times, but he didn’t use the exact same code. Each clone was slightly different than the one before it. Despite ultimately being born of a single source, the population was almost as diverse as any other of comparable magnitude, thanks to this intentional genetic drift. That was a long time ago. This man would be a descendant of the original generation, now many generations removed.

“It wasn’t technically theft,” Romana explained, “but more of a con. She has legal claim to that substrate. If we were to move her to a different one, she would have to consent.”

“If she does, we can arrange that,” Fake!Anatol offered. “Do you still want me to take you to her?”

“Yes, please,” Mateo confirmed.

They followed him down the corridors until they reached a common area of couches, tables, and other basic amenities, like you would find in a hipster apartment complex. Fake!Anatol stopped when he noticed Miracle sitting in a comfy chair with a good book, and a cup of tea. She, of course, knew when they would be returning to the timestream, so she was not surprised to see them. She dogeared the page she was on, and snapped it shut. “Thank you all for coming. And thank you, Mister Klugman, for bringing them to me. You can go now.”

Fake!Anatol looked awkwardly at the team, not sure if he should do what she said, or accept their guidance, or do whatever the hell he wanted.

“Please, sir, could you show me your neural interface?” Ramses requested. “I would much like to learn about it, if at all possible. This conversation is going to become uncomfortable, and I don’t need to be here.”

Romana stepped forward, between the team and the antagonist after Ramses and Fake!Anatol departed. “Thank you for not using my name,” she said to her doppelgänger

“I prefer mine.”

“I wouldn’t,” Romana mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I am as appreciative as my daughter,” Mateo said, also now stepping forward. “We would like to ask you, what is your plan here? What do you think we’re going to do for you?”

“You’re going to find a way to kill the unkillable,” Miracle answered plainly.

“If you want him dead, why don’t you just do it? You, Pacey, and Octavia seem intelligent enough. Why are you trying to make us do your dirty work?”

Miracle bit her lip.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Olimpia posed. “She thinks we’re untouchable. If his sycophants come after us for it, not only will it keep their hands clean, but she thinks we’ll survive it anyway...because we always do.”

“Or she’s counting on us not surviving this time,” Marie countered. “Because if the Exin loyalists interrogate us, we’ll be able to link her to it.”

“Lots of people know I’m here,” Miracle argued. “Word will get out that I’m involved, I don’t care.”

Mateo shook his head. “Word might get out that a woman who looks like Romana, and goes by the ridiculously made-up name of Miracle, is involved. Not very strong evidence that it has anything to do with Pacey. I’m not even sure if anyone besides us, and his sycophants, knows that he exists. We’re the only ones who have interacted with him, to our knowledge. He’s Snuffleupagus.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Miracle said.

Their armbands beeped at the same time, alerting them that their slingdrives had charged up to Orange. “We won’t do what you ask,” she contended. “We won’t kill him, and we will no longer interfere with these people’s lives unless we decide that it’s necessary, and we will also decide when that is, and what that means.”

“Those things can’t save you,” Miracle claimed. “We’re like Arcadia Preston. We can just keep bringing you back here. You have to remember that Pacey is the one who invented the—what do you call it—slingdrive technology, not your precious little Gyppo.”

Mateo tensed up, and leaned in closer. “Do not..ever say that.”

“Sorry, that was too far, I’m just trying to remind you that you took quintessence from Pacey. He has every right to dictate what you do with it.”

She wasn’t getting it. It was irrelevant how long they had to wait to sling again. This was a perfect example of you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. If she kept dropping them here, they would keep escaping, or just doing nothing. Even if their slingdrives weren’t ready to go again, they didn’t have to do anything they didn’t want to. She only had the power to move them places, not control their actions. If she could do that, why would she need them at all? “It doesn’t matter, we’re not doing it,” Angela reiterated.

Miracle finally stood. She sighed. “Miss Nieman is the youngest in your group, and for that reason, she will be spared. The Oaksent doesn’t see her as a threat, and I think he may have a little thing for her. He has instructed his minions to spare her, should they encounter Team Matic, and find a way to end the rest of you without hurting her. If you don’t kill him, Romana will be the one to do it, if you get my meaning. She won’t be safe anymore. She will be the primary target.”

Leona smiled.

Miracle was confused. “What? What just happened? Why are you so excited?”

The others weren’t excited, it was just Leona. She reached out, and took hold of both of Miracle’s wrists. She instructed her nanites to construct handcuffs around them. “You just gave me permission to remove you from that substrate.”

“How’s that now?” Miracle questioned.

“You just admitted to making plans to commit a crime using a substrate that will implicate a different individual of said crime. That gives me everything I need to get you out of it, and reclaim the substrate to protect the world from you who would abuse her power in it.”

“I was just speaking in hypotheticals, I didn’t say anything,” Miracle insisted. “Plus, I was so vague.”

“We all heard what we heard, and I’m sure that camera caught it too.” Leona pointed up at the security cam. “Besides, at worst, it places us in a stalemate. You can’t actually commit the crime any more than you can admit to the conspiracy of it. If you go through with the plan, we’ll show that footage to the Exins. They have similar cloning laws internally. Harsher ones, in fact. Your safest course of action is to leave that body, and move on with your life without it. Romana is damaged goods.”

Miracle was flustered. She backed up a little, and tried to pull the cuffs apart through brute force. “I have an exit strategy. These can’t keep me here.”

“We can track you wherever you go. Their friends can, anyway,” Leona added, referring to the nanites that she was still using herself.

Their armbands beeped. They were now in the Yellow.

“Not if I figure out how to get them off first!” Miracle shouted. A black hole appeared underneath her feet, and she fell right through it.

“What if she does it?” Angela asked. “What if she just goes off to kill Bronach before we have the chance to find her, and remove her from that substrate?”

“She doesn’t know how,” Leona believed. “She was bluffing entirely. She called him unkillable, because they also need us to find the killswitch that will prevent him from coming back to life, however exactly he does it. We’re known for finding loopholes, and Team Pacey is betting on us finding this one too. There’s more than one reason they chose us.”

“What do we do?” Mateo asked her.

“Today, we rest. I don’t think we’re gonna be able to sling again until next year.”

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Microstory 2491: Military Dome

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Historians can’t agree on when it happened, but humanity stopped fighting wars against each other a few hundred years ago. We didn’t have this big meeting to say, “hey, let’s stop doing this.” We had lots of little agreements over the course of our shared history, which eventually led to a persistent peacetime. Still, the threat never really goes away. Disparate factions must be ready to protect their interests, and honestly, while I think most of us don’t believe in aliens, the possibility remains of a true external opposition. I mean, Castlebourne itself is not a member of the stellar neighborhood. It’s in a unique position in that it holds a very strong connection to The Core, but it does not have to follow the same laws, and conflict could arise. This is even more true of the other Charter worlds—which are even less connected to our origins—and outer bands of colonization. As our descendants develop too far away from us to share our ideals, and even our biology, we might find ourselves in wartime once more. Castlebourne recognizes this, which is why they have formed a military force. Don’t be afraid, however, as it is 100% voluntary. You don’t have to even pledge any sort of loyalty when you visit this planet. The only people who serve on the force are those who want to, and they are being trained to protect you, whether you believe in their cause, or not. I won’t give away any of our secrets, but we are rapidly becoming as advanced as Teagarden. We’re developing all the latest tech, and making all the necessary precautions. We don’t actually have to be that big to defend the planet. We’re growing so we can potentially use our numbers to defend other territories for the less fortunate, or more modestly equipped. We don’t wanna become an interstellar police force, mind you. We don’t have our hearts set on galactic domination. But if someone wants to join, we’re not going to reject them because we’re at some arbitrary capacity. There are some stipulations if you join that I’ll go over briefly, but if you’re serious about serving, you’ll want to read more in depth material. I’ll reiterate that number one is that it’s voluntary. It’s important to emphasize that because of my second point, which is that once you do join, and are officially accepted, there is a minimum service commitment, which depends on what role you perform, but the shortest term I’ve ever heard of is two years. No one is expected to make a lifelong commitment, but I believe very high ranking officials have to sign up for ten or twenty years. As virtual immortals, this may not sound like much, but the days will add up. Don’t enlist if you just want to test the waters. That’s not what we’re doing here. It’s real life, and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, unless that is, you sign on that dotted line. Then you follow orders. So be sure.