Extremus: Year 105

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Today is the day. It might be the most publicized wedding in ship history. Why is it so popular? It seems that Waldemar and Audrey are somehow famous for being famous. A few people heard their story, and they told others, and the story spread. Even though the braintrust is aware that he is destined to become captain one day, to everyone else, there should be nothing interesting about this story. Yet here they are, waiting to get married to much fanfare. Audrey’s mother has been helping her get ready, as has Tinaya, since Audrey doesn’t have any friends besides little Silveon and her fiancé. She has a maid of honor, and bridesmaids, to be sure, but all at the insistence of Waldemar. He has chosen to perform a more traditional wedding. Audrey’s father will be giving her away like she’s a possession. The groom had a wild night with his buddies at a bachelor party. Again besides Silveon, all of these friends were fake, but they agreed to participate, because it sounded like fun, and he just has this magnetism. It’s part of why he ends up being the leader of the whole ship. He doesn’t take control using magical powers. He gets people on his side. He gets them to believe in him and his cause. This could be where all that begins.

“Thanks, mom. Could you go get me something blue?”

Her mother looks over at Tinaya, realizing that she’s being shooed out for a private conversation, but not wanting the day to devolve into a fight. “Yes, dear.”

Audrey picks up her long, flowing dress with her forearms so she can sit down on the ottoman.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m gonna throw up. Everyone’s gonna be watching.”

“That was the point, wasn’t it?”

“Should it be? We’re the ones who are putting the spotlight on him, and I find that sickening. We came here to stop him from being a ruthless tyrant, and we think that involves still helping him gain power, but we don’t know that. Should we be pushing him down into obscurity instead?”

Tinaya sits down next to Audrey, partially on her dress. She breathes in deeply, and makes it seem like she’s about to say something profound. “It’s too late. I don’t know if this is the right path, but you’re here now, and you’re in a better position than ever to control the narrative. If you had discouraged from pursuing notoriety, he would have caught on eventually, and resented you for it. He would have severed his connections to you and Silveon, and that could have been...permanent, if you know what I mean.”

Audrey nods. “He wants me to be a tradwife. He doesn’t want my input.”

“Then don’t give it to him. Make him feel like every idea you have is his.”

“He had a kitchen built in our new unit. No dayfruit, no synthesizers; not even as backup. I am to cook for him every day, the way they used to, where you buy the ingredients, and put them all together in a recipe.”

“How are you going to buy anything? Where are these ingredients coming from?” Tinaya asks.

“He also built a store. He doesn’t want me to be the only tradwife, and he’s not the only one who wants that.”

“He’s starting a movement,” Tinaya says, nodding her head. “Do you remember this, from the other timeline?”

Audrey takes a beat, then slowly shakes her head. “No. I mean, I think he treated his first wife like this, but I don’t think he convinced others to do the same. We did this. We made things worse.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Tinaya contends. She stands to pace. “If he keeps his definition of a wife a secret, he’s free to act on his principles in secret. But by trying to get others to walk backwards with him, he invites scrutiny.” She shines her flashlight on the wedding poster on the wall. “Our spotlight will show the people the truth. We don’t have to build a resistance ourselves if people become disgusted with him on their own.”

“It’s his growing group of sycophants that worries me,” Audrey clarifies.

Tinaya opens her mouth to respond when she thinks better of it. They could go on and on forever, gaming out strategies, and trying to rig the system, but that’s not what today’s about. What Audrey needs right now is to pretend that she’s happy, or even find a way to not have to pretend anymore. “Well. Don’t let it worry you today. You look very beautiful, and your confidence needs to reflect that you belong here, like this. You’re going to brighten your eyes, go out there, and put on the performance of two lifetimes.”

Audrey takes a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re right.” She stands back up, and approaches the mirror, letting Tinaya stand behind her. She stares into the glass, contorting her lips, trying to form them into a smile.

“No, it’s not your lips that’s the problem. It’s your eyes. That’s where your real smile is. If you can make your eyes sing loud and proud, the corners of your lips will reach up to meet. There. Close, you’re really close. Oh, not so wide. You’re not in a dark room, trying to gather as much light as possible. Oh no, you went way too far the other way. Now you look mad.”

“I’m just trying to reset. Maybe tell me a joke?”

“Did somebody say mad ma?” The two of them turn around to find Waldemar’s mother, Calla. She looks surprisingly...sober. She’s gently shutting the door behind her. She glides over to them.

“We don’t think you’re mad,” Tinaya replies. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Oh, honey, there’s no trouble,” Calla insists. “This is a great day.” She looks over at Audrey. “Finally, someone will be responsible for taking care of Waldy for me.”

“Mrs. Kristiansen—” Audrey starts to say.

Calla holds up a silencing hand. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I don’t know why you’re marrying my son, and frankly, I don’t wanna know. But you’re not as good of an actor as you think, and on this—on this one day—I’m afraid that won’t do.” She pulls a tiny silver tin from her purse, holds it in the palm of her hand, and carefully opens the lid. Inside of the tin is what looks like granulated sugar, but the granules are pretty large, and yellow tinted. “This...is madma.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Audrey admits.

“The name is ironic. It will make you feel serene and loving. You won’t be faking a smile; you’ll be genuinely happy. Not about my son, of course, but no one has to know that.”

“It’s drugs? You’re trying to give my daughter drugs?” That was a huge slip. “I mean, my son’s friend.”

“I assure you, it’s legit. I take it all the time. I prefer it now to alcohol. Just stick it under your tongue, and let it be absorbed into your bloodstream.”

“Thistle?” Tinaya prompts.

“I cannot condone the use of recreational drugs,” Thistle begins, “but objectively, I can confirm that that is indeed methylenedioxymethamphetamine, also known as MDMA, molly, or since the 22nd century, madma.”

“What are the side effects?” Tinaya presses.

Thistle drops a hologram down, listing all the negative effects of the drug, mostly framing them as problems that arise after repeated use.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Audrey decides. “It’s just one day.”

“I’m sure a lot of drug addicts throughout history have shared your sentiment,” Tinaya warns.

“Drugs were phased out at the same time that money was,” Audrey reasons, reaching into Calla’s hand, and taking the tin. “My problems are so much worse than money.” She licked her finger, picked up the granules, then stuck her finger in her mouth, moving it around for a more even distribution.

“It’ll only be a few minutes.” Calla takes the tin back, and begins to leave. “Merry Christmas.”

“I’ll never forgive you for this, Calla,” Tinaya calls up to her.

Calla stops, and looks back. “I won’t live long enough to care.”

Just after Calla leaves, Audrey’s mother returns. “What did that woman have to say?” She doesn’t like her either. Calla isn’t as good at hiding her true feelings as Waldemar, so she pretty much rubs everyone the wrong way.

“Aud was nervous about her relationship with her mother-in-law, but Calla came by to build bridges, and assure her that she’s happy that your families are coming together.”

“That doesn’t sound like her,” Mrs. Husk argues.

“I think she meant it.” Tinaya cannot disclose that she let her daughter take drugs, so this is a good enough lie. Had the mothers not seen each other in the hallway, Tinaya wouldn’t have said anything about Calla’s brief visit at all.

“Are you feeling better now?” Mrs. Husk asks Audrey.

Either Audrey is still faking it, or the drug’s effects are beginning to hit. “I’m so happy, mother.”

Mrs. Husk smiles tightly and nods. “Your father’s waiting in the corridor. It’s time.”

Tinaya excuses herself and leaves first. She joins her own husband and son in the front row of the groom’s side. “Who is that?” she whispers to Arqut. Why isn’t Jennings the officiant?”

“That man is a priest,” Arqut whispers back. “Or a reverend, or whatever. Waldemar asked him to take seminary classes from the archives. He’s been working on this for, like, three years.”

“And the captain’s okay with that?” Tinaya questions.

“Religion isn’t illegal, it just doesn’t exist anymore, except on days like this, which we know to be Christmas Eve. The charter technically allows for religious leaders to officiate weddings as well. The only requirement was that at least one person getting married be a member of the church,” Arqut explains with airquotes. It’s as real as they want it to be. It’s a special denomination of Christianity that only has two members.”

“Is he expecting Audrey to convert?”

Silveon leans in. “It’s just for show. Waldemar doesn’t believe in the hocus pocus either. He just wants this all to be very backwards. And he wants it to be special. No one else is getting married like this. Look at this place; it’s made of wood. I didn’t realize they had cut down enough trees on Verdemus to build an entire fake chapel out of wood.”

Arqut looks uncomfortable. “The wood isn’t from Verdemus.”

Tinaya’s rage bubbles up in her chest, threatening to spill out all over Waldemar’s asshole face. How dare he? She digs her fingernails into the seat of the pew, trying desperately to keep her cool. “This is not what the Attic Forest is for. Who the hell approved this?” Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Arqut turn his head to the other side of the aisle. She turns the same direction, quickly making eye contact with Oceanus.

I’m sorry, Oceanus mouths to her.

Tinaya isn’t wearing her wristband or her wristwatch. Instead, she has a holographic projector hidden in a dress-appropriate bracelet that she’s wearing. She takes Arqut’s hand and flattens it out so she has something to project the image onto. She taps on the images of the keys on her husband’s palm to write up a text message to Oceanus that reads, you will be.

Arqut reaches down with his free hand, and wipes the text away. “You are not...sending that to the captain.”

Tinaya gives Arqut the stink eye while she’s reaching over to arrange her son’s hand the same way. She projects her screen over there instead, retypes the message, glances at it to check for spelling errors, then seethes at Arqut again while sending it off.

Arqut looks back at the altar, and shakes his head. “You’re going to regret that.”

“You’re going to sleep on the couch.”

The ceremony begins, interrupting any further fighting between the two of them. Waldemar waits up at the front as Audrey walks down the aisle with her father. She looks gorgeous and ecstatic, but Tinaya can’t tell if anyone else can tell that she’s high. She’ll have to remember to ask Arqut whether he picked up on it, and to make sure that Silveon isn’t in the room when she does, because he would not approve. The ceremony is long and boring. Tinaya doesn’t remember what she learned in school about old Earth traditions, but it seems about right. All the inequality, all the possessiveness; it’s here. Audrey couldn’t be more pleased. She’s very smiley; showing all of her teeth. The drugs are definitely working.

After the wedding is the reception, and after that, the crowd cheers as the happy couple go off to their VR honeymoon. Obviously, no one is there to see what it’s like, but Thistle reveals that it’s a simulation of a beach resort on an island. Pretty typical. While they’re doing that, Waldemar’s mother kills herself in her unit. Despite not being in any real position of power yet, Waldemar uses his burgeoning influence to cover it up.

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Extremus: Year 102

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There is a very old, and very sad, tradition on Ansutah, which gratefully, no one has had to practice in a very long time. Life was hard on the human continent. It was perfectly designed to be a protective haven from the white monsters, but that was pretty much it. They were limited technologically, because they still had to keep hidden from any Maramon who might stray too close. They couldn’t develop aeroplanes, fireworks, or even tall buildings. They made do, and their population eventually numbered in the billions, but that was thanks to the knowledge that they retained from their ancestors, who lived on post-industrial Earth. Had they been starting entirely from scratch, many experts posit that they would have gone extinct. Unfortunately, while they survived as a people, it did not come without loss.

Dead babies were once a fact of life, on Earth, as it was on Ansutah. Though they don’t receive much news from the stellar neighborhood all the way out here, the Extremusians believe that it’s still going on. There are holdouts, who refuse to adopt certain advances, including those which might save their own children’s lives. Such choices come with consequences. This did not happen in the Gatewood Collective. The refugees embraced modern technology, grateful to finally achieve a way of living that was safer, healthier, and less restrictive. No more dead babies, what more could they want? To not forget their past. History is a profoundly important subject to teach each subsequent generation. Not every kid likes it, nor do they grow up to change their minds, but they do recognize its value. There was a time when the bed of mourning ritual was a common practice, and they’re getting a practical history lesson on the subject today.

When someone died on Ansutah, a funeral or memorial service would start off the mourning process. They were superstitious that the scent of the decaying corpse would attract the white monsters, alerting them to their location. The body was buried deep to hide them, and they were buried quickly. For many years, there was a debate about whether they should start performing autopsies on their deceased when the circumstances called for it. Many murders went unsolved because this belief was so ingrained in the culture that medical examiners had very little time to perform proper inquiries. This technique of a quick burial was also used when it was a child who died, but this created a secondary problem. Especially in the case of infants, there were few—or even no—images of their loved one. There was little to remember them by. Often, the only thing they had that remained was their bed. Often, not even that existed yet, and there was an entire industry that specialized in single-use cribs.

With the body of the child gone too soon, their bed was left temporarily empty, and the Ansutahan humans believed that the angels would not be able to find their soul so deep underground. The belief did not extend to adults, for their soul should be strong enough to seek the angel’s gate on its own. To help the angels find her child’s soul, the mother was expected to drag the child’s little bed out into the cemetery, lie in it the best they could...and cry. Her wails of pain would bring the ferrying angel to her, where they would find the child’s soul below, and rescue it. She would not be alone, at least not at first. Friends and family would attend the ritual, just as they had the funeral. They would not stay forever, though. While the mother continued to mourn, and the father or partner continued to try to comfort her, little by little, the visitors would leave. The first to go were anyone who just wanted to be there for the family for a fleeting moment, who did not know them at all. The next ones were passing acquaintances. And the dance continued until only the mother and father remained. And then...the father would leave as well. That is the most depressing part. The lessons in this are that you are ultimately alone, and that everyone leaves eventually. When that angel comes to retrieve your soul, it comes only for you. No one can be there with you. No one can see you. Not even your mother. For once she has been alone in that bed of mourning for some time, she too will leave. The bed, the body, and the place in their hearts where the child once lived, will finally be empty forever.

Audrey is in her bed of mourning right now, and Tinaya is standing nearby, in irony. It feels like five minutes ago when she was scolding the medical team, and the other conspirators who betrayed the public with their secret plan to impregnate however many women on this ship without their consent. Now it is she who is lying to their people. Audrey’s baby is not dead. She is being kept in a secure location while they put on this little charade. It is not entirely a lie, however. Audrey will never see her daughter again. That is called an ambiguous loss, and it can be just as impactful and saddening as an unambiguous one. Once this is over, she will give the child a name, say her goodbyes, then watch her disappear into the mini-Nexus that they have in the Admiral office. Audrey, Tinaya, Silveon, Arqut, Thistle, and one other person are the only ones who will know what truly happened to the girl. Everyone else is in the dark, including the baby’s father. That sixth person is presently caring for the baby until it’s time to leave. It’s someone they can trust, but whose absence will not be noticed at the ritual.

Waldemar is hovering over the crib. He is incapable of feeling certain emotions, but he has become better at pretending. Tinaya can tell that he’s faking it. She even caught a glimpse of the nanopuffer that he used to induce tearing in his eyes. He still doesn’t quite have the facial expression right. It’s overexaggerated, like what they show in cartoons, so young viewers can tell with certainty which emotion is being displayed. Arqut is gifted at reading people. He’s scanning the crowd for any indications that anyone is clocking Waldemar’s performance. He hasn’t seen any skeptics so far, but they may be exceptionally emotionally intelligent too, and pretending not to notice. One day, everyone will know what Waldemar truly is. That day is unavoidable, but they hope to put it off until there are no longer any innocent people in his orbit. That may be an impossible task too, especially now that Audrey is in so much more of a vulnerable position than she was before the baby.

People are really starting to leave now. They’re in Attic Forest. It’s not expansive enough to fit everyone on the ship comfortably, but they’re not all trying anyway. Some strangers want to be there, but some are just living their lives, or have to be at work. This is the first dead child in a very long time, so it is absolutely noteworthy, but that doesn’t mean everyone has to be involved somehow. Even so, there were a lot of people before, and now, it’s mostly empty. Even Lataran is walking away now. A few random visitors are here because they want to walk around the forest, but the Captain’s people are asking them to leave, because that’s not really appropriate at the moment, even if they are clear on the other side. Tinaya wants to be the last one to stay with the sad couple, but she’s only the mother of a friend of the mother. The families need to go through the final steps alone. Captain Jennings will stick around until it’s time for Waldemar and Audrey to be there alone, though. Waldemar’s mother is still a hot mess, and kind of needs supervision, and he’s perfect for this role because he can go anywhere he wants, and he always carries a good excuse with him.

Tinaya and her family are currently standing outside while Audrey’s parents depart. Audrey overwrote her younger self’s consciousness at an older age than Silveon did, so she was able to hide her maturity from them. They have no idea that she’s from the future. She thinks that Waldemar took advantage of her, and they are pursuing legal action in this regard, which is a whole other thing that they’re going to have to deal with, one way or another. They’re not exactly right, but they’re not wholly wrong either. Waldemar is not a good guy, but it’s unclear what happens to the future if he goes to hock. Will he still become a leader, and if he does, will he be worse than he was in the previous timeline? Will all of Silveon and Audrey’s efforts be for naught?

Immediately after Audrey’s parents round the corner, Waldemar steps out too. He’s supposed to stay in there with his baby’s mother for longer than that, but he’s not feeling anything but annoyed with what this might do to his ambitious plans. He nods politely at the three of them, then walks away. Audrey is now alone in there. Waldemar was right about one thing, there is no need to drag this out. “Meet us in my office.” Tinaya teleports back to the crib, helps Audrey climb out of it, and then waits patiently as Audrey tries to wipe the tears out of her eyes.

“Did I do okay?” Audrey asks.

“That was perfect,” Tinaya answers.

“Believable?” Audrey presses.

“You are in mourning, Audrey. You weren’t faking anything.”

“No, it’s fine. She’s fine. She’s gonna grow up on a planet. That’s everyone’s dream. That’s why we’re here.” She’s smiling, but her tear ducts continue to leak.

“Aud. You’re sad. I would be very concerned if you weren’t. I wouldn’t let you see her again.”

“I know,” Audrey admits. “I’m just trying to be strong, because it’s going to be hard to watch her leave.”

“I can only imagine what you’re going through,” Tinaya responds with a nod. “But you are right. She’s going to be happy there. The only thing that she’ll be missing is you. I know that sounds like I’m trivializing you, or your contribution, but you’re gonna need to make a clean break, and being optimistic about her future is vital to that, for your own sake.”

“I agree.”

“Are you ready?”

She wipes more moisture from her cheeks. “Yes.”

They take hands, and Tinaya attempts to teleport to the entrance to Admiral Hall, but they end up somewhere else. “Thistle? Where the hell are we?”

“This is a sealed chamber in a currently vacant sector of the ship. You can only enter through a teleportation frequency of my own devising. I built a clone lab here.”

Tinaya is confused and apprehensive. “...why...?”

“It’s a gift,” Thistle replies. “Turn to your left.”

They both turn to find a gestational pod. It lights up. A copy of Audrey is floating inside. “What did you do?”

“I understand that one Audrey Husk must stay behind on the ship to fulfill her mission, but that does not mean that a different Audrey can’t travel to Verdemus, and raise her child. I know that it’s not the same thing, but my own consciousness has been copied countless times, split across multiple universes, injected into countless systems and devices. You will get used to the knowledge that there is another you out there.”

“We did not discuss this at all,” Tinaya begins to scold. “You had no right to build this, let alone that clone. It is a violation, on par with what the medical team did with the faulty birth control.” She keeps going on with her admonishment against the superintelligence.

Meanwhile, Audrey has slowly been approaching the pod. She’s looking at herself in there, tilting her head in thought. “Thank you.” She says it quietly, but Tinaya can hear it.

“What was that? You’re thanking him?”

Audrey ignores the question. “Have you already copied my consciousness?”

A light flickers on over a casting pod on the other side of the room. “Not yet.”

Audrey nods as she’s slowly walking towards the second pod. “Sedate me. Copy me. Do not reawaken either of us until one Audrey and the baby are on the other side of the Nexus. It doesn’t matter which one you send away. There is a fifty percent chance that I will simply awaken in my cabin, and an equal chance that I will awaken on the planet.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Tinaya says. “Others would say that there’s a hundred percent chance that you’re the copy, and a hundred percent chance that you’re not. Both of you will think that you’re the original, and one of you will be just as disappointed as the other would have been.”

Audrey spins back around. “I am a consciousness traveler already, Admiral Leithe. I understand the philosophical ramifications of the process, better than you ever could. This is my choice. One of us is gonna stay here as Space-Beth, and the other...will be happy.”

“Audrey...”

“She will be happy planetside...with Silvia.”

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Microstory 2462: Aztec Empire

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My girlfriend dragged me to this place. She’s all in on this historical BS, and I couldn’t be less interested. I’m writing this anonymously because she won’t let us leave, and I cannot even with this guy. He keeps talking about their traditions and customs, but I just don’t care. I’m telling her that I’m looking up extra information about the Aztecs, so you’re my excuse. Just be cool, okay? Be cool. I will say that it is nice here. Like, they did a good job making it feel like you traveled through time to ancient Aztecia, or whatever you’re supposed to call it. I’m sorry, I’m not listening to him. There are a few weird things. The androids who are programmed to believe that they’re Aztecs mostly ignore you. They just go about their day like you’re invisible. Something the guide will say will sometimes trigger them to respond in some way that is relevant. For instance, the guide mentioned how a man would court a woman, and then we would see that play out off to the side. I didn’t notice they were doing that right away, but I guess that’s a nice touch. It’s like they’re a part of this elaborate show, but they don’t realize it, because everything is so well-timed. Anyway, a few of the androids seemed to be breaking character, or they were just straight up broken, because they did seem to notice us. One kid just kept staring at me. I looked over my shoulder to see if there was anyone or anything else, but nothing. I moved over to the side to see if his eyeballs would follow me, and they did. At one point, he pointed right at me, and mumbled something in whatever language they spoke. I had kind of fallen behind the tour at that point, so no one else saw. My girlfriend didn’t even completely believe me about it. It was creepy, but honestly, it made the trip that much more interesting. Well, no. It made it slightly more tolerable. That’s a better way to put it. Come here, don’t come here, I don’t care. Just don’t stray from the pack, lest you be cursed by some evil shaman child. Beware.

Microstory 2431: Melodome

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Don’t let the name fool ya if you’re interpreting the pun to be mellow + dome. It’s not about melodrama either. It’s the first part of the word melody + dome. This is all about music. Recording studios, concert halls, smaller stages, other interesting venues, and even sports stadiums where no one ever actually plays sports. This dome has it all. You can make music, listen to music, watch music. Every genre, every level of interaction; everything. No place like this exists on Earth. Even the cities known for music, like Havana and New Orleans, still had to leave space for regular living. This is the Music City, no matter what Nashville tries to tell you. There are some things that I’m not entirely sure about, unfortunately. When my great great grandparents were younger, they remember a trend where dead musicians were starting to be resurrected through holograms. This isn’t the kind of volumetric immersion that you’re used to in the present-day. It was very crude, and very obviously fake, even if you didn’t know that the subject wasn’t alive anymore. They recall being quite upset by this, not because it was macabre—which it is—but because it was disrespectful. These were real people who lived their lives, and then those lives ended. Before virtual immortality was invented, that was just what happened. These musical artists were immortal because of their legacy. That was what they were striving for, because they probably didn’t even guess at the future of life extension research. Their flame burned bright, but it was short, and that’s what was special about it. If you missed it, that was sad, but it was sad in a good way. The holograms robbed the industry of these artists’ authenticity, and sadly, that never went away. The technology kept improving, and the industry kept embracing it, despite pushback from the audience. There was evidently enough money in it, probably because of people’s morbid curiosity. Melodome has not shied away from this concept. They’ve brought the dead back to life using realistic androids. Not all of them are even dead, but living performers who just aren’t freaking on Castlebourne. I guess they signed away the rights to their likeness, but that doesn’t make it okay. I’m not going to name real names, but if John Doe can’t be here, then I shouldn’t be able to go to one of his concerts, and watch a convincing facsimile reenact his set from X number of years ago. I get that these are at least historically accurate shows, so they’re not merely contriving something entirely out of thin air. They justify it by saying that it’s like watching a recording, but I don’t consider that the same thing. There’s a lot of great things to see here. If you’re an artist, and you want a venue, they will find you one. I doubt the demand would ever surpass the supply. So if you’re a music fan who wants to discover someone new, you can do that. There’s always something going on, and it’s easy to find new acts on the dome’s prospectus, but there’s also this other side of it. They should really lean into the aspect of originality, because the reenactments are unethical at best. But maybe that’s just my point of view. You have to decide for yourself where your line is.

The Seventh Stage: Hit the Rock (Part I)

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It’s the year 2508 in the Sixth Key. Big things are happening today. For the last several decades, Cedar Duvall has held primary control over the entire galaxy. He had every right to this, according to just about everyone. It was he who saved everyone’s life when the four original parallel realities were collapsing. The main sequence was different. It was not going to collapse, and still hasn’t. Everyone who was in it during the Reconvergence is out there, living it up in another universe. If they were on Earth at the time, though, copies of them are also here. Every living organism was duplicated perfectly, and transported here along with everyone from the other realities. These duplicates have no hope of returning home. They’re here in this new reality now, and have had to make the most of it. Things were chaotic when this all happened. Trillions of worlds with their own agendas, divided into five civilizations of varying cohesiveness, and now only 400 billion stars to support them all. War for energy distribution was on everyone’s lips, and a small group of leaders had to come together for diplomatic discussions. These talks were successful, and the galaxy went on in peace, even though the diplomats had trouble returning to their homes, and most of them lost all power. Two of them got their power back, and they’re about to get more. Or so they believe.

Following the Reconvergence, the main sequence copies didn’t want to be known by their old nomenclature anymore, so they made the decision to create a new identity for themselves. In keeping with the apparent numerical pattern, they voted, and settled on renaming themselves The Seventh Stage. Their reasoning was that this placed them above even the Sixth Key itself, which referred to all civilizations collectively. This was effective according to some, but not so much according to the supermajority. Even so, it was their new name, and it managed to stick. The real main sequence was back in the old universe, and there, it would stay. The diplomats in charge of the Seventh Stage were a General by the name of Bariq Medley, and his second-in-command, Judy Schmidt. They did not get along all that well, but they weren’t overly antagonistic. In recent years, they’ve grown closer because they’ve had to in order to raise two powerful children.

Clavia and Echo were not really brother and sister, but they didn’t know that. The former was the avatar of a magical tree, and the latter a projected consciousness of, fittingly, a temporal echo. Clavia corrupted Echo, and tried to use him to gain even more power, so he turned the tables on her, and regressed them both to childhood. They now have no memory of their past life, and have been living as twin siblings under Bariq and Judy’s care ever since. Today is their sixteenth birthday, and that changes everything. This whole time, they have been cultivated and prepared to take over for Cedar. It’s time for him to step down. The thing is, though, while this has been in the works for some time now, Clavia and Echo aren’t mature enough to handle the responsibility. At least, their parents don’t think they are. Echo really warped their minds in order to rid the both of them of all evil thoughts, and it has made it difficult for them to develop. They still need their parents, who have experience with this kind of leadership. Bariq and Judy will still be in control here, even more so now that Cedar will be out of the picture. The twins may have other plans, though.

The time has come for the twins to ascend. They’re standing in their ceremonial robes behind the curtains. They’re not the only ones being celebrated and honored today, they’re just the headliner. They have to wait for the other graduates first. They’re trying to not look nervous, but they are. Judy comes up to them, and starts to make minor adjustments to the hang of their robes, none of which will matter in a few seconds when gravity and their movements readjust them anyway. She just wants an excuse to talk to them. “How are you two doing?” she whispers.

“How are you?” Clavia asks her mother. “This day is as important to you as it is for us. I know how excited you are.”

“I’m great. This is what we’ve been working towards.” She breathes, and gives a sad smile to her son. “Echo?”

“It’s not right.” Echo doesn’t agree with anything that’s happening here. Cedar has been a good leader, and it’s not like he made every decision unilaterally. There are way too many people spread across way too many worlds for him to know everything that must be done to keep the joint-civilizations running. Still, he’s been number one this whole time. Doubling that to Echo and his sister, or even quadrupling it to the whole family, isn’t going to be much better. It doesn’t sit right with him. It’s not democratic enough. Unfortunately, it might get worse before it gets better.

“I know it bothers you, but this is the only efficient way to manage the universe right now,” Judy tries to explain yet again. “Even with all of our technology, we’re talking about undecillions of people. If we tried to vote, it would take years.”

Frustrated, Echo takes his mother’s wrist, and pulls it away from his collar. Gently, though. “Then it takes years. That’s what they should have been doing while we were growing up; figuring out how to coordinate a legitimate democracy.”

“Not all of the minor worlds recognize Cedar as the Sixth Key,” Judy says. “Getting them to get on board with a vote will be even more difficult. They simply don’t want to be a part of the new civilization.”

“So we take power instead?” Echo questions.

Judy sighs. “If we hold a vote, and some refuse to vote, it will call the results into question. There would be those who wonder if they truly refused, or if we didn’t let them” She brushes the non-existent dust off of his shoulder. “This way is cleaner. This is how the Tanadama ran things in the Parallel, and it seemed to work for them.”

“They were treated like gods,” Echo reasons. “So is Cedar. So will we once the people realize quite how powerful my sister and I are. I don’t wanna rule with an iron fist. I don’t wanna rule.”

“I’m not talking about this anymore.” Judy remains calm and self-assured.

“If you just look at my proposal—”

“This is your Ascension,” Judy interrupts. She’s been a good mother; kind of caring, but not very flexible. “I won’t be looking at anything today except you two on that stage, accepting your new posts with grace and poise. Do you understand?” she asks with a wide smile. It’s not really fake, but it’s not entirely genuine either.

“Echo, just let it go,” Clavia urges quietly.

The Assistant Stage Manager, dressed in all black, hustles up to them. “It’s time.”

“Okay, you’ll do great,” Judy tries to say.

“It’s really time, right now,” the ASM presses. “Let’s go, let’s go.”

“Okay, go,” Judy says, ushering them towards the curtains.

Echo and Clavia step into the limelight together. The crowd has been cheering for the other graduates, but they cheer much louder now at the sight of them. They smile and wave, just as they practiced. Echo is faking it, of course, but Clavia isn’t all that excited about this either. She doesn’t like the attention. Unlike her brother, she does want power, but she would prefer to operate in the shadows. That’s where all the important business gets done, where people can’t see it...and scrutinize it. She has improved from her original self years ago, but their parents worry that she’s heading back in that direction. Whatever was in her that gave her a weak moral compass is still there. Yet the debate between nurture and nature rages on, because she’s not evil. She’s been raised by good people, and Echo is here to keep her in check. She’s not sure that she agrees with Echo’s proposal for a galaxy-wide democratic republic, but she loves and supports him, and certainly wants to see what he has to offer.

The two of them stand center stage. They’re meant to go over and accept their diplomas and medals from the presider, but that can wait, because this is what the audience wants. That’s not all they want, though. “Hit the rock!” they chant. “Hit the rock! Hit the rock!” This is something that they do. It’s just a fun little handshake that only works with the two of them. Others may be able to approximate the move, but they can’t replicate the grand finale, unless maybe if they integrate certain technologies, like some sort of concussive weapon. Clavia holds her hand behind her ear like she can’t hear the audience. They chant louder.

“Okay, okay,” she relents, using exaggerated gestures since she’s not wearing a microphone. She gets in place in front of Echo, and he does the same. They begin by punching the air between them without touching, but quickly move on to the next phase. Their fists make contact in the middle, and as they’re pulling their elbows back, their opposite fists meet. Then they return to the first one. They go back and forth over and over again, getting faster and faster until it’s just a blur to anyone else, even if someone were to stand right next to them. Faster and faster still, the crowd is going wild. They’ve obviously done this before, but never with this many viewers. The whole galaxy is watching too, not just the people in the auditorium. Faster, faster, until boom! Without speaking, they reach back with both fists at the same time, and bring them back together for one final move. An intense force is expelled from their hands, and spreads out in a sphere, knocking caps off of people’s heads, and a few chairs over. Several people spill their drinks, but they should have known better. It’s not one explosion either. There’s a reason his name is Echo. A second wave, a third, and a fourth crash into the audience to their great delight, followed by a fifth, sixth, and seventh. They could have made more, but given the numerology of the day, limiting it to seven seemed appropriate. Again, they didn’t discuss this beforehand; that’s how in sync they are. They might as well be actual twins.

The enthusiasm remains strong for a few moments afterwards as they continue to smile and wave, but they do sense that it is fading. Deciding that the ceremony should be over roundabouts now, Clavia and Echo take each other by the and, and reach for the sky before a deep bow. Six bows later, they let go, and begin walking down the runway, still encouraging the audience to clap and cheer. The ASM catches up to them in the aisle between the runway and the seating. “You’re not done yet,” she whispers loudly.

Clavia nods. She teleports to the presider, and takes the diplomas and medals from him. She then teleports back to Echo so she can hand him his. They wave and smile some more until the end of the walkway. They slip through the doors under the balcony, and breathe sighs of relief. It’s over. They’re technically in charge of the Sixth Key now. It is expected of them to openly secretly grant all decision-making powers to their parents until they’re considered mature enough to take over in a more official capacity, but that’s not really what they’re gonna do. “You ready?” Clavia asks.

“Let’s do it.”

They teleport away. The Cloudbearer Dynasty has begun.

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Microstory 2305: Not Some Big Scam

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Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3

I finished this stage script, and that’s what I’m mostly concerned about now. The novel is great so far, but I think that has more to do with Nick’s own imaginative mind. The musical, on the other hand, is a tool. It’s one last gift from him to us, and according to these version logs, he’s been developing it pretty much the whole time he’s been here. There are certain people in the multiverse who can travel to other branes, as he calls them, but there’s no way to contact most of them out of the blue. Could you imagine how difficult that would be? I mean, none of us even knew that the bulk existed until he showed up. But this musical, it’s our one chance. It’s an opportunity to prove that he was right all along, and this was not some big scam. A man by the name of Joseph Jacobson has a magical multicolored coat, which allows him to cross these dimensional barriers. Normally, he goes wherever he wants, whenever he wants. But he can sort of be summoned if you please him with a performance that depicts his life. His story has evidently been altered and adapted so many times, it’s not a hundred percent accurate of what happened, but that’s apparently not an issue. He just wants it to be good, and worthy of his time. This script is the first step in that endeavor. With Nick gone, it will be up to us to put it into production. That’s the next chapter in my life. I’m gonna produce this play, and prove once and for all that Nick was right. So...who’s with me?

Microstory 2217: He Only Watched

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Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 2, and by Pixlr AI image editor

We’re at the hospital today for a check-up. There’s a lot that I can do for him. I can take care of his basic needs, help with physical therapy homework, and draw blood or run an IV drip. There are still things that a nurse or doctor needs to perform, though. He’ll probably be at the hospital about once a week from now on. While I was on their website to make sure we would park in the right lot, I found out that the hospital was putting on a little talent show. It wasn’t this grand, expensive affair, but the staff like to keep their patients active and in high spirits, so they do things like this sometimes. No one was being judged or ridiculed. Some of the talents were unimpressive by most people’s standards, like one elderly woman who just sort of slowly twirled around while she was looking up at the ceiling, waving her arms around occasionally. One of the radio techs beatboxed. It was a safe environment for people to be themselves, and maybe forget about why they were there. I don’t think that it worked for Nick, but it was worth a shot. He only watched, of course. There was no way I was convincing him to get up on that stage. He says that he wouldn’t have done anything like that on his best day. He’s not much of a performer, and has hated having to do things like that in the past, like for school. Lots of teachers told him that he would get used to it the more he tried it, but that never happened. Evidently, in his world, the culture assumes that everyone can do anything if they work hard enough at it, and obviously, that’s not true. This site was his way of reaching out to the world, and when I pointed that out to him, it actually seemed to resonate, so I’m hoping that means he’ll soon decide to inject his own thoughts back into it, even if that means he dictates what he needs me to type for him. One can hope.

Microstory 1861: The Tarmides of Tasmania

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In the late sixteenth century, a certain famous playwright wrote what would become perhaps his most obscure works. He was two years from death, and didn’t even get to see his final piece performed on stage. Once Tarmides of Egypt finally did make it to the theatre, opening night was riddled with such bad luck that it ruined the show’s future indefinitely. The lead forgot many of his lines, his co-star had to give birth halfway through, forcing them to switch to an understudy. The man who played the grandfather died of a heart attack near the end, and another was impaled when the stage collapsed due to all the weight of the people who ran up to tend to the old man. The injury resulted in death a day later. It was for these reasons that all further showings were cancelled. Years later, a different troupe tried to put on another production, but it went badly too. No one else died on the night, but set pieces fell apart, multiple actors flubbed their lines, and historians believe this to be the probable ground zero for what came to be known as the relatively shortlived Lurch Plague. The play was cursed, according to the superstitious majority of the time, and no one else so much as attempted to produce it again for at least a century. Since then, rumors of further unfortunate events have spread about more recent attempts, but most of these claims remain unsubstantiated. The fact of the matter is that the play has almost certainly been produced dozens of times without any issue, but that’s not a very good story, so most students are taught the melodramatically stretched truth that the curse always takes them in the end. The mystique of this whole thing is only fueled by the subject matter of the play itself.

Tarmides was born in Greece, but the narrative is about him immigrating to Egypt to escape his past, only to find himself at the center of one disaster after another. The playwright was probably trying to demonstrate the futility of life, having become more nihilistic in his latter years, but this depressing lesson is lost to the more sensational idea that he was a prophet, who wrote it in order to prompt destruction in the real world. When I was a young man, a tyrant rose to power, and waged a war against the rural parts of my country. Villages were demolished under the weight of his superior technology. I probably wasn’t truly the only survivor, but again, that’s not sensational enough, so the media billed it that way. I became famous, and an international effort formed in order to relocate me to a safer region of the world. Most of the time, developed world nations fight over who has to take in refugees, but in my case, they fought for the honor. Tasmania won, so that’s where I moved. Shortly thereafter, an undersea earthquake in the Southern Ocean sent a tidal wave to the island, killing thousands of people, and destroying a great deal of the infrastructure. Once again, in order to sell papers, journalists began drawing connections between my arrival, and the completely unrelated and unpredictable natural disaster. Like most regular people, I hadn’t even heard of the play myself at the time, but I soon came to be known as The Tarmides of Tasmania. This nickname followed me for the rest of my life. Whenever an item fell off of the shelf at the grocery store, or I was around when it began to rain, I was blamed for it. There was always someone around who enjoyed pointing it out, especially if something even moderately inconvenient happened to someone else. I lived the rest of my life with this mark, and as much as I don’t want to die, I won’t miss it.

Microstory 1668: Curtain Call

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Year after year, Joseph Jacobson showed up to the universe that deliberately invited him with his special summoning ritual. They put on a show that fictionalized his life. Actually, they put on multiple shows at the same time, and crowned the one he responded to the winner. Joseph was aware of what they were doing, and seemed to have no problem with it. When he returned a year later for another go around, the amount of time he had spent away was incongruous. It might have been a year for him as well, or longer. He once spent three days doing this, just going straight to the next one after the last, though that wasn’t too terribly much fun, because the point of the event was to listen to the tales of his travels while he wasn’t with them. He even once jumped to five years in the future from everyone’s perspective, before going back and filling in the years prior, which meant both that he knew their future, and they knew a little bit of his. The point is that he always showed up, without fail. Until one year. It was the largest contest yet, with hundreds of productions around the world hoping to go down in history as the best. None of them won, though, which was odd. By then, they were pretty well versed in his life’s story, and the chances of not one of them being good enough seemed unlikely. Did something happen to him? Was he indisposed? That didn’t make much sense. He was a time traveler in the truest sense of the term. The only thing that could have ever stopped him from not eventually getting their message was death, and maybe not even then, because a younger version of him could simply appear instead. They didn’t even think he could die anyway. He certainly never gave anybody that impression. He had already been alive for millennia upon millennia.

As far as they knew, he was immortal, but they didn’t know everything. Perhaps there was some weakness he quite deliberately withheld from them. That would be completely understandable. But the idea that no one won the contest? That sounded far-fetched. He always acted like he quite enjoyed traveling to a world that knew all about him. He was famous in some circles, but since he moved around so much—and rarely visited the same place twice—there weren’t a lot of others that revered him so much, and continued to show it. The summoning ritual was always a choice. It was a way for people to contact him, not force him to show up at their whims. He never had any obligation to come if he didn’t want to, so if this was his way of saying he was over it, it seemed like an odd occasion. What had changed since then? Well, that was probably the point. He could tell them all the stories he liked, but they never really knew what it was like to be Joseph Jacobson. That wasn’t even suggesting he liked to lie. Maybe he left out enough about himself that they didn’t really know him at all, and there was no explaining his absence, because there was no explaining him, full stop. The reigning theory after everyone went home was that Joseph simply didn’t want to tell his stories anymore, but a close second was that they were so used to putting on the productions that there was nothing interesting about them anymore. People put a lot of effort into analyzing past winners, and trying to come up with the perfect way to perform to maximize their chances. After carefully going over the shows from the total failure year, they realized just how similar they were to each other. Either Joseph couldn’t pick the best, or the fun was gone, and it didn’t matter anymore. The world tried again the next year, but they were much more rigorous about weeding duplicate performances out. Still, Joseph didn’t show, so they tried one more time, but only with one single great performance, and then they just gave up. He never appeared again, and the people chose to move on. Maybe that was his intention all along, to somehow teach them to be completely self-sufficient. Or maybe something else had happened that most people on this planet didn’t know anything about.

Microstory 1423: The First Mage Games

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Later Mage Selection Games would come with better organization, and a better understanding of how to measure a competitor’s potential to become a great town mage. That didn’t mean, however, that the first one went terribly. Well, at least it could have been worse. There were some bumps, and some mistakes they wish they could take back, but in the end, it got the job done, and all the winners went on to prove to be good choices. The source mages were careful to plan it out, so things wouldn’t just fall apart. They spent a great deal of time working on coming up with appropriate challenges, because they were going to have less help with it than they did for other aspects of the new government. While the Mage Protectorate was definitely going to be a democracy, that didn’t mean everyone had to be able to express their opinion about everything. They chose not to ask the people how they wanted to handle this competition. They didn’t even consult their experts all that much. If they alone couldn’t figure out what made someone worthy of being a mage, then they were not worthy of being mages either. Besides, letting a regular person design a challenge could put the entire process in danger. If the fastest runner on the high school cross country team, for instance, suggested every town mage had to be able to run a mile in five minutes, well, that person was obviously just setting themselves up to win. The source mages were the only ones entirely ineligible to compete, so they were the only ones capable of engineering it.

The contest would last the whole day, and be composed of a series of challenges, each testing various aspects of character. They didn’t come up with a list of character traits, though, and try to match each challenge with one trait. A given challenge could allow a competitor to exhibit multiple traits, and in different ways from each other. Some of them were physical in nature, while others were academic, and some were psychological or emotional. The scoring system proved to be, by far, the most difficult component to specify. Was athleticism more important than intelligence? Maybe, maybe not. They needed experience to understand which influenced time power aptitude the most, or if neither of them mattered. They didn’t have very many examples to go on, and they didn’t want a bunch of test subjects running around with powers, who had never gone through the competition. So, without this data, their best guess seemed to be their only option. They kind of had to surrender to the fact that the second time they tried this, in twenty years, was going to be better than the first. The town had to understand this as well, that nothing was going to be perfect. Even ignoring these issues, they didn’t know if they ought to only award points to the winner, or winners, or if losers simply received fewer points. The answer was obvious to most of the mages; just because a competitor wasn’t the best, didn’t mean they weren’t good at all. Few should be so bad at something that they received zero points for their effort. Still, how many points was a challenge worth, and how would they determine the increments of scale, and how they would rate a competitor’s performance with very little in the way of comparison? Standards. How would they set a standard, and how exactly would they know when someone reached, or surpassed it, and if someone surpassed it too greatly, did that just mean they needed to reexamine the standard? All of these questions took months to answer, and even then, as previously mentioned, the system proved to be less than ideal, and more importantly, not entirely fair. So the first Mage Games actually took place over the course of two days, which were separated by a month of repreperation time. They should have known that the best way to see how well the competition would go was to do a dry-run ahead of time. Even though history would remember the Mage Protectorate as having held four games total before it fell, there were technically five, but most agreed that the first one didn’t count.

Microstory 1366: Performance Art

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Art Reporter: Before we begin, I want to acknowledge that you do not generally participate in interviews. I appreciate you making an exception.

Performance Artist: Well, I was kind of obligated to do so. My publicist says we run the risk of a lawsuit if I don’t take the time to explain myself to my fans, and the general public.

Art Reporter: You have a publicist?

Performance Artist: I do, and right now she’s miming slitting her own throat to get me to stop talking about it, which is ironic, given the nature of my work.

Art Reporter: Yes, that’s an unfortunate coincidence. I’m sure it was an accident on her part.

Performance Artist: Now she’s waving her arms at me, begging me to stop talking about her.

Art Reporter: We can edit this part out.

Performance Artist: You will do absolutely no such thing, sir. The entire purpose of my art is to illustrate the lack of true truth in the world because of all this editing, filtering, hiding, and lying. And complacency. I detest complacency. We’ve all gotten so comfortable in our little bubbles, so when we see something the least bit provocative, we just can’t handle it.

Art Reporter: Is that how you would describe your art? Provocative?

Performance Artist: That’s precisely the word I would use. I’m trying to elicit a reaction from people, in order to show how easy it is to freak someone out.

Art Reporter: Okay. Would you describe your art as the least bit provocative, though?

Performance Artist: I see what you’re getting at, and that’s why I’m here. Obviously, since I am sitting with you right now, I’m totally fine. Nothing I’ve done on those streets has been real; at least not in the way you’re interpreting the meaning of the word. I don’t really slice my own neck open in front of people. It’s a prosthetic filled with fake blood. It’s all fake. But does that mean it’s not real?

Art Reporter: Yes, it does. And what exactly are you trying to say with this performance art?

Performance Artist: Well, I can’t give you all the answers. I want you to be able to come to your own conclusions about it. But the main thing I’m trying to point out how desensitized we’ve become as a species.

Art Reporter: I thought you were trying to elicit reaction, because you think people are living in bubbles. That sounds contradictory to me. Are we desensitized, or living in bubbles.

Performance Artist: Like I said, man, I’m not gonna give it all away. I just don’t want to have to stop performing my art. I’m only here to assuage some fears. Yes, that goes against my goals, but sometimes you just have to step out of character, I guess.

Art Reporter: What do you say to those who criticize your choice to involve a dog in your art?

Performance Artist: Well, I didn’t bring the dog with me today, but I assure you that he is one hundred percent okay. No animals were harmed in the making of this profound truth.

Art Reporter: After you presumably pretended to slit his throat, he collapsed on the sidewalk.

Performance Artist: [sighs] I suppose I have to break the illusion further. That was due to some incredibly well-timed sedatives. I think I executed that move quite well. I’ll ask my brother to post a video with his dog, or something, to ensure people see he’s quite alive. It’s art. Get it? I’ve already had to talk with the cops about this.

Art Reporter: Is it legal to give a dog sedatives for no medical purpose? Can we look that up? Someone find out whether that’s okay.

Performance Artist: No, don’t worry about it. You don’t have to do that. It’s totally fine.

Art Reporter: I think we’re gonna contact animal control, or someone, about it anyway. I do have a few more questions regarding throwing the knife towards the crowds after you use it. Is the knife itself real?

Performance Artist: Hey, thanks for talking to me. I think this was really productive.

Art Reporter: I do have a few more questions.

Performance Artist: That’s great, dude. You’re the real hero here.

Art Reporter: What?

Performance Artist: Let me know where I can watch this interview.

Art Reporter: This is print. Do you see any cameras here?

Performance Artist: Awesome. Catch ya later!