Microstory 2737: The Whole Universe

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Sora takes half a step forward. “You—”

“I will handle this,” Pribadium!One insists. “You have done quite enough, Mr. Shimizu.” She looks at her alternate self. “You were killed in a streaming dead zone,” she explains bluntly. “You were on a manned mission to explore and investigate a dimensional barrier. There is a gap between your memory and the moment of cessation. It is not entirely clear how long, though. Your consciousness may have been transmitted to the afterlife buffer. You may be a duplicate. I am sorry for your loss.”

The other Pribadium blinks as she looks between the two of them. “What is the last thing I should recall? Because I don’t remember any of that. I don’t know this dimensional barrier, I don’t know him, and I don’t know you.”

Pribadium!One winces. “I’m Pribadium, an alt of you.” She gestures towards her own face. “This is how we originally looked.” She stops for a moment to think. “Well, it’s not exactly how we used to look, but it’s fairly close. Who do you think you are?”

“I’m Pribadium,” the dupe contends, almost combatively. It doesn’t seem right to think of her as Pribadium!Two since so much has evidently been lost. “I don’t recognize your face at all. I don’t know what you mean by alt. I’m the only me that has ever been.”

Pribadium!One points to a nearby mirror. “Do you recognize that face?”

The other Pribadium walks towards it and touches her own chin and cheek. “Yes, this is the Stonehenge model. It explains why I have a British accent I suppose.”

“What did I do?” Sora questions. “Did I pull the wrong backup? I grabbed the second most recent one. I assumed the most recent one was you. It was time-stamped earlier today. There were no other iterations. How did this happen?” He is distraught.

Pribadium!One sighs. “There should have only been two, and you’re right, the most recent one would have been me. If you had pulled the wrong one, what should be happening is that she thinks she’s me. But she doesn’t think she’s either of us. Her mind has been entirely corrupted.” She clears her throat. “Pribadium!Three—that’s what we’re going to need to call you—I need to run some tests on you. Do I have your consent?”

Pribadium!Three stares at who she perceives to be a stranger. “I will run the tests. I don’t trust you, and I don’t need you.” She strips off what little clothing she has on, climbs into the nearest medical pod, and begins to operate it herself. She programs it for a full diagnostic run, which will include periods of unconsciousness. “I’m locking you out of the pod, but I would like you to leave the room as well.”

Pribadium!One starts to pull Sora away when he doesn’t move immediately.

“I’m sorry,” Sora desperately apologizes to the mysterious duplicate in the pod.

“It’s okay,” Pribadium!Three replies. “Je pense, donc je suis.”

Sora’s eyes widen, recalling that as the phrase he used for her as well. Still, he allows himself to be dragged out of the room. “Did you hear what she said?”

“Yes, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s only a coincidence,” Pribadium!One is not sure she believes that, though. She opens her mouth to continue, but he interrupts.

“Don’t say what you’re going to say. I know, I was rash and impulsive. I’m sorry.”

What’s done is done, so they just wait out in the corridor for Pribadium!Three to finish. She comes out half an hour later. “I know what I am now. I’m not Pribadium.”

“Who are you then?” Pribadium!One presses.

“I’m the universe.”

Microstory 2736: Introducing Pribadium!Three

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Pribadium didn’t think that Sora—or anyone, for that matter—would be able to bypass her security protocols, so she doesn’t rush to chase after him. Once she sees him enter the substrate library, however, she grows worried. She immediately tries to teleport into the room with him, but the closest she gets is outside in the hallway. He has managed to not only breach the sector, but lock her out if. How did he do that?

She bangs on the hatch. “How are you doing this?” She bangs on it more.

Sora looks at her through the view window with a frown. He holds up an object so she can see. It’s a cephalobud, and it looks like it’s already been used and spent.

Pribadium invented it a few decades ago. It’s somewhat comparable to other neural drives, except this model can pull information directly from the timestream. It allows a user to download whatever digital data they want into their brains. Unlike other kinds, this will transfer knowledge even if you’re not digitized. It’s very dangerous, especially for a normal human like Sora. Time travelers have different neurology and biology, and that’s who she designed it for. It was kind of a weekend project that she forgot about. He must have found it in her lab, though, when she left him alone earlier.

“Your external security is extremely robust,” Sora explains, “but your internal security is laughable. I didn’t download the secrets of the universe, but I did capture the specs of this base. I thought you might turn on me, and I would need to escape.”

“You’re the one who has turned,” Pribadium argues. “Don’t do this.”

Sora looks around, presumably searching for Pribadium!Two’s next substrate. “I like this one. She looks even less like you than you two before. It will be easier to tell you apart.” He approaches the console, and starts working it like a pro.

“Sora, this isn’t what she wanted. She’s literally gone to a better place. It’s fine.”

“You don’t know that,” Sora responds as he keeps working. “You two split from each other over a year ago, according to her. She and I apparently...” He trails off. “You don’t know her anymore. She was a different person, and I’m going to give her a choice.”

Pribadium shakes her head. “That goes against every principle you have. If you truly felt that way, you would have digitized and enhanced yourself years ago, yet here you are, a totally normal organic human. You of all people should understand our ways.”

“I’m not normal anymore.” He taps on the back of his neck where he would have applied the cephalobud. “Now I know why people do this. It’s better to have power than to not. Even if you don’t use it, it’s better to not let others have power over you.”

Pribadium sees the pod power up. “Don’t! You still have time to undo it!”

Sora hovers his hand over the interface and turns his head to look at Pribadium. “She’ll thank me one day, even if she’s mad now. Elle pense, donc...elle est.” He hits it.

The stasis pod continues to power up as Sora stands back. He watches it as he sidesteps over and unlocks the hatch for who now has to go back to being called Pribadium!One. They both watch now as the IDCode downloads and unpacks itself in the new body, rewiring the neural pathways in realtime to bring Pribadium!Two back to life. This wasn’t part of the plan, but there is nothing to be done about it now. Now that she’s alive, she will want to stay that way, which Sora would probably point out means she always deserved to. Duping is philosophically complex. Millennia after it was first being contemplated, ethicists have still not figured it out.

The pod opens. The new Pribadium!Two climbs out. She regards them. “Report.”

Microstory 2671: The View From Up Here

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Resi is on Anchor Island now, as is every Fold Leader in his House. They all came here in a boat, while Resi got to fly in what he initially called a helicopter, but which was apparently known as a shuttle. They are in a conference room of some kind. It’s very sterile and lifeless. They aren’t used to it. Just about everything they do on Yana is outside, even when they’re under a roof. Fully enclosed spaces are mainly for sleeping, and maintaining valuables. That’s what keeps them a unified peoples, and is a core tenet of their sociological philosophy, even if they’re not entirely aware of it. They’re in the tallest building any of them has seen in real life, towering over the surface so high that the view from this side makes it look like they’re just sitting on top of the ocean itself. They’re all looking out the window quietly together. Resi wishes it was showing the island itself. Caprice’s information was out of date. This place is no longer a wasteland.

“Thank you all for waiting.” The invincible shuttle stranger takes her seat at the head, waving her hand across it invitingly. She taps on the wooden table like it’s a device. It turns out to be just that when a trapdoor slides open, and lifts a glass of water up for her. When she notices the way everyone is looking at her, she taps more to activate everyone’s own personal interfaces.

They begin to play with their preferences, but Resi is all business. He’s at the opposite head, and has to raise his voice a little. “How long until the others arrive?”

“The others?” she questions. “It’s just little old me.” She doesn’t look the least bit intimidated, being surrounded by all these crazy kids, with no one to back her up. This isn’t a contentious meeting, though it will be complex and complicated. He wouldn’t want to be alone. “My name is Zenith Gerard. I am the Anchor Island Representative. Only about a thousand people live here permanently. The rest are traveling up the elevators to Anchor Station, or down from it, as well as a few who are transferring from Yana to the mainland. As I am most familiar with the way Yana works, and how it differs from the rest of the stellar neighborhood, particularly Greater Bungula, I’ve been asked to speak with your personally, rather than bringing in a diplomat from elsewhere. Before we begin, are there any customs that you must set up, or rituals that you must perform?”

“No,” Resi says. “I’ve been trying to meet with you for days, and would like to get on with it, so we can come to an amicable understanding.”

She’s confused again. “There is a procedure for reaching out to us.”

“I was not made aware of it,” he explains. “We are exiles.”

“Yes,” she replies with a sigh. “I recognize that, and wish that I could help.”

“You could,” Resi tells her. “You have the room. You said it yourself, only a thousand people live here. We don’t require much. We can build our own infrastructure, we just can’t stay where we are now.”

Zenith nods. “I hear you, but this is a more delicate situation than I believe you know. I’m not saying no, but even if you agree to live as we do, you are facing opposition from your island leadership. You should know, they’re in the other room, fighting against any aid that we might be inclined to provide.”

Resi fumes. “They are the ones who are pushing us out. Where do they expect us to go? The bottom of the sea?”

“I don’t think it’s about that,” Zenith begins. “I think they’re worried that if you leave, others might follow. Your exile is meant to be...undesireable. If you land on your feet, you show that it’s possible to leave Yana.”

“What does it matter, what they want?” Resi questions. “You have the bigger guns. They can’t do anything to stop you. Just make the call, and screw ‘em.”

“Our first thought is never of violence. That is one thing that we share in common with your island. You have to understand, Mr. Brooks. Your way of life is against the law for everyone else in the Core Colonies, and unheard of in the neighborhood.”

“What are the Core and the neighborhood? What’s wrong with our way of life?”

“The Core includes the systems closest to Earth,” she says. “They were colonized first, and are expected to maintain post-scarcity economies. Anyone who doesn’t want that is given the tools they need to travel even farther through space, to the Charter Planets, or beyond. We do not allow capitalism. The stellar neighborhood lies before the Charter Cloud, and don’t have to be post-scarcity, but they all are. Yana is an exception.”

Resi stands back up, and walks over to the corner. At this height, they can actually see Central Mountain in the distance, though only through a sliver of the glass. The rest is opaque, until now. It suddenly turns transparent, so Yana can be seen in its full glory. The other kids stand to get a look, but he looks back at Zenith. “You are more advanced than we realized. Or I should say, we are less advanced than we should be.” He slips through the crowd. “Stay here, look at the pretty island.”

Zenith stands too. “Capitalism does not disallow innovation, but it can slow it down, especially for a smaller population of protected peoples. Necessity is the mother of invention, and we obviate that. We control the weather. We hold back the tsunamis. We cure your diseases. You’ve not progressed much, because you’ve not needed to.”

 “So, where does this leave us?” Resi asks, trying to maintain composure.

“There is one way for you to become integrated into our society,” Zenith tells him, “but only the one. It’s how we’ve been doing it for centuries.”

“The Kidjum.”

“We respect your traditions,” she goes on. “Your Kidjum process is baked into the accord that I signed with your ancestors. It is how someone from your culture becomes one of us. Your leaders are willing to take you back as long as you validate their conventions, and if that ends with a few people coming here anyway, then that’s fine with them, because that is how it always was.”

“There’s something fishy here,” Resi complains. “They gave me this House, and took it away five minutes later because they didn’t like what I did with it.”

She nods. “I would have to agree, but it is not my place to take sides. The accord was with your governing body, and House Kutelin is not a recognized faction of it. In the eyes of Bungula, everything happening between you and your nation is an internal matter. I’m trying to find a way to get you need without breaking that fragile accord.”

Resi turns around to face the other Fold Leaders. He thought they were admiring the view, but they’ve been watching the two of them like an audience. “This has to be a group effort. Do we return to the Kidjum, and risk losing our momentum, or do we stand together, and fight for a home, whether that’s there, here, or elsewhere?”

It starts out slow, but dominos quickly as the other kids sit back down in their seats. “Let’s talk,” one of them says. She looks at Zenith. “Thank you. You can go now.”

Microstory 2665: Anchorman

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It’s been a couple of weeks. House Kutelin has had their ups and their downs, but if we’re talking hard numbers, then all ups. A lot of graduates are joining, and no one who joins can leave. Some things are meant to start to change, but Resi isn’t sure if that’s one of them; where people can shift between Houses at will. House leaders will start campaigning for members. They’ll incentivize switching sides. Entire industries on this island could suffer. They technically already are. With fewer people joining any of the four original Houses these days, those who are already in them are struggling. Just a little bit, but it will presumably get worse. Older generations will start to feel the need to stay on the job for longer. Younger generations will feel bitter about being stuck. Right now, Aether doesn’t contribute anything. All they do is take. Resi is not an idiot. He absolutely foresaw this. The question is, did the Assembly? Well, he’s about to find out. After all this time, they have finally asked for a meeting. Let’s see how upset they are.

The first thing he hears is clapping. He stops short of rounding the corner, where he’ll see, and be seen by, the Assemblymen. Did he come in too early? The steward said that they were ready for him, but if they’re still finishing up previous business...

“What’s wrong?” Caprice asks.

“I’m waiting until they’re done,” Resi explains.

“That’s for you,” she explains. “Better get in there so they can rest their arms.”

Resi grimaces, and timidly continues. As he steps in enough to start to see faces, they look back at him with smiles, and begin to cheer louder. This again? It happened at his Kidjum, and he still doesn’t understand why. Not really. Everything he has studied about history has taught him that people hate change. It doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad, they fear it. One might think that a post-scarcity society would have possibly moved past that, but no. Even outside of this one little island, they fear change. That’s actually what getting rid of things like money, poverty, and war did. It created equilibrium. No more change, just peace and predictability. And the only reason Yana hasn’t joined them is because they started the race from behind. They’re afraid of making that one last change to end all change. That’s how his philosophy teacher explained it. The lecture is still fresh in his mind, because it was only a few months ago. When he was a kid.

“All right, all right,” the Speaker says as she’s pressing their voices down with both hands. Resi isn’t all that familiar with who these people are. Politics were never his thing. He always thought he would just work the dirt and keep his head down for the rest of his life. He believes that Speaker Lincoln is from House Maing’aing, but she would have shed that association a long time ago. Civil service is a separate thing, which is expected to serve all Houses equally. They always talk about the four Houses, but in reality, there are a lot more. They are just the original four industrial domains, before life became too complex for such limited stratification. You may join a House but work in a tangential field. She holds silent for a moment, like she’s waiting for Resi to finish his internal thoughts. “Resi Brooks, First Tongue of Aether, Founder of House Kutelin, thank you for coming in today. You honor us with your presence.” She gestures to him.

Is he supposed to say something? Something in particular? Is this ceremony? He wasn’t given any guidelines. “Speaker Lincoln of the Tambora Assembly, thank you for having me. I look forward to hearing your grievances, and working towards a common goal.” Wow. What the hell was that? Just say the quiet part out loud, why don’t you?

The whole Assembly laughs. They’re delighted. They must still see him as a child, with his quirky little ignorance, and lack of decorum. Speaker Lincoln doesn’t laugh out loud, but she looks as pleased. “We have no grievances, only a gift.”

“A gift, sir?” he questions. “I could not ask for more. House Kutelin is not yet working.” That is not entirely true. Last week, once Resi realized that the population of his new House wasn’t on track to stop exploding, he started sending volunteers back to the other four Houses. They don’t work too hard, and have no obligations, so it hasn’t made up for the total loss. Only a handful of them have agreed to it. Most of these volunteers have simply been staying at home, where they were before graduation.

“How many belong to your House now?” Speaker Lincoln asks. “Three hundred?”

“Three hundred thirteen,” Resi replies, “if we’re counting my pre-Kidjum sister.”

Speaker Lincoln nods. “Outgrowing the old college dorms, aren’t we?”

Yes, they’re climbing over each other over there. The school shut down because it became too small for the populace, and outdated, but it’s considered a historical landmark, so it remains standing. Really nowhere else in the city could accommodate such a concentrated group of people. “We’re making it work. Many joiners are from House Maing’aing, so they have begun to draw up plans for new facilities, but that...”

“...would require authorization and support from the Assembly.” Speaker Lincoln indicates her Assemblymen. “Well, let’s fix that before the concrete cures.” Yeah, she’s definitely from Maing’aing. “You’re not getting it. You will not get a builder’s permit.” 

“Speaker Lincoln, I understand that you’re angry with us, but I am not the one who came up with House Kutelin. The breath that told me about it was the same one which told me that it was mine to lead. This is how I’m leading it. If you wanted me to do something different, you should have said something ahead of time. Now it’s too late. Now I’ve built momentum. Now people want to join who aren’t even up for House transition. Some have already transitioned. Others are yet too young.”

“We are aware of how well you are being received,” Speaker Lincoln begins. “Younger generations never understand that the Kidjum is a fundamentally different process from their usual bizarre and hard-to-interpret dreams. It’s nothing new. There is always doubt. Once they find their true place, all fall in line. You, First Tongue Brooks, have chosen your place. You've chosen to go against our ways in unexpected fashion.”

“I told you, you should have said something!” Resi argues. “You. Said. Nothing.”

“That was by design,” Speaker Lincoln retorts. “Our hands were tied. The old traditions were clear. The First Tongue speaks first, and it is up to us to reply. Now that we understand what you’re doing, we have found our voice, and this our reply.”

“What I’m doing,” he echoes. “What do you think I’m doing?”

Speaker Lincoln smirks. “I’m not here to give you the answers, only a timeframe. You and three-hundred and twelve of your closest friends must exit the Nation of Tambora by the end of the month, or you will have declared war on the Four Houses.”

“War?” That escalated quickly. This was a gift? “You were just clapping for me.”

“You are still owed deference in this assembly hall. The old traditions were clear on that too.” She takes a breath. “We are reinstituting the Kidjum. This experiment is over. You will remain an ally, but you are no longer welcome on Yana. Thank you.”

Yana. Tambora does not equate to the whole island. They can’t kick him out. He just has to speak with one or both of the other two nations.

Microstory 2650: There and Back Again

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Mandica awakens again, but not in a morgue drawer this time. She’s lying on her back in a beautifully pleasant meadow. She has never felt so calm in her life. Oh, that’s right. This isn’t life at all, but death. It feels oddly familiar, even though she has certainly never been here before. Except perhaps she has, after Morgana killed her a few months ago. That must be it. This is where you go when you die, even if you die twice. It’s nice...a bit boring, but at least she maintains a continuity of consciousness. “Oh, God,” she says out loud. “This is exactly what the transhumanists are talking about.” It’s probably not because they want to keep living. It’s because they want to keep thinking. They don’t want their selves to end. And who would? Her family was wrong. It—they had to be. There was no way they could have known there was a legitimate afterlife. They took too much of a gamble, and got incredibly lucky. No, she shouldn’t be so hasty in her presumptions. She doesn’t know anything. This might not be an afterlife at all. She absorbed Elysia’s powers, and while consciousness streaming isn’t technically a special ability, she might have absorbed that trait too. Who knows? She sure as shit doesn’t.

There’s rustling in the grass. A pair of bare feet are walking towards her. They’re attached to bare legs. It’s a woman in a very short white tunic with floral embellishments on the hem, just like Mandica’s. She’s smiling down at her. “Welcome back.”

Mandica sits up. “I’ve been here before, but don’t remember.”

“It is rare that we have the opportunity to return someone to base reality,” the kind woman begins, “but when we do, it is important to clear their minds. The truth of what happens following death should not be revealed to the still living. We could not handle the mass suicide which might ensue.”

Mandica stands now. “Will I be returning again? To...base reality?”

“There is no way for us to know. The technology that you use to resurrect has nothing to do with us. We will facilitate the transition back if it’s necessary. If this world did not exist, we believe you would still come back to life. Pardon, I should reintroduce myself. My name is Ellie Underhill, and this is the afterlife simulation.”

“Another simulation?” Mandica questions. “Like Underbelly?”

“Not like Underbelly. Walk with me.” She starts to wade through the tall grass, smiling up at the sun with her eyes closed. “This is a virtual construct. Years ago, I had the idea to eradicate death. I had not considered the ramifications of the plan yet. I was not given the time to explore the model before someone stole my idea, and implemented it himself. Meeting you last time has sort of opened my eyes, but it cannot be undone. I’m not going to shut it down now. True death has always been an option, for the truly terrible and irredeemable, or for people like you, who disagree with the artificiality on a philosophical level. You were digitized from birth, and I understand now that this robbed you of consent. I suppose that’s why Tamerlane stole my idea, because he knew I wouldn’t go through with it after I thought about it for much longer. He took the responsibility for the questionable ethics for himself, so I never had to shoulder the burden. The choice is still yours. If that’s what you still want, I’ll zero you out, and—”

“I’m not sure I want that anymore,” Mandica admits. “I’m starting to see things in a new light. If this is a manmade simulation, that means there is no real afterlife.”

“It does not mean that,” Ellie contends. “No one yet knows. It is that uncertainty that led to the creation of this place. Those who choose Black Oblivion do so at the risk of total consciousness cessation. We inform them of the risks. It hasn’t happened in a long time. But before you try to make a decision that may or may not be permanent, there are two people who would like to speak with you.”

“Someone wants to meet me?” Mandica questions. Who could that be?

“Yes. It took a lot, getting them here. You can’t hug them, but I made the executive decision to create a window to the other side. I am glad that we have this opportunity this time. We weren’t prepared before.” Why would she want to hug them?

They’ve come across a giant tree. It is impossibly large. She only even knows that it is a tree because of the bark, but from here, it appears only as a wall, it’s so wide. How did she not see it before? It towers all the way up into the clouds. A fog or cloud begins to swirl right before them, against the face of the trunk. Once it settles, it does appear as a window. Two people are on the other side of it. They are Mandica’s mother, and her father. She runs up to them, but remembers what Ellie said. “When you said I couldn’t hug them, was that a procedural rule, or a physical impossibility?”

“The second one,” Ellie answers. “I would let you if I could, but they are not in the simulation. This is kind of like a long-distance video call. I won’t clarify the mechanism.”

Mandica turns back to her parents. “I’ve missed you. It’s been so long.”

“Longer for us,” her mother says. Oh, yeah, they died nearly 120 years ago.

Mandica places her hand upon the window. It just feels like bark. “I’m sorry you’ve been waiting. I never wavered in my convictions.” She tilts her chin away in shame. “Until recently. I think I might be immortal now, but not by choice. I promise, I always planned on dying. I just...wanted to live a different life before I did.”

“We’re not mad,” her father assures her. “In fact, it is you who should be mad at us.” He pauses, appearing to feel his own shame. “We are the ones who summoned you to Castlebourne. The world we are in now, it—”

“Careful,” Ellie warns. What the hell?

Mandica’s father sighs. “We were able to communicate back to base reality. We regret our decisions to die. It worked out, but...we still don’t want that for you. We should have held onto life so much tighter. We thought it was only precious because it ended, but we were wrong. It’s precious only for as long as you have. Once you lose it, it doesn’t mean anything. We wanted you to transmit your mind to Castlebourne, and begin to stream your consciousness, like most everyone else, not travel there physically.”

“But it obviously doesn’t matter,” Mandica argues. She gestures towards Ellie. “Even the undigitized are evidently digitized.” She shakes her head. “If this stone makes me go back, it will be tearing me away from you. Why would I want that?”

“Because that’s where you belong,” her mother insists. “Where we are is not hell, but it’s not exactly living either. We wish we could go back too. You are an adult. You can find happiness on your own, and should. Whatever stone you’re talking about is a gift. Don’t disrespect that. Let it do what it does, and I hope you can forgive us for manipulating you. We just didn’t want you to share our regret.”

Mandica’s back feels knotted. “I think it’s pulling me back. If you want me to stay alive, I’m a dutiful daughter, so I will, but I’ll find a way to see you again too. I love you.”

“We love you,” they say simultaneously. Then they disappear. It all disappears.

Mandica resurrects in Reagan’s lair. She doesn’t know how or why, but she has made a decision. She will accept her newfound immortality, and live a life of adventure.

Microstory 2647: Something to Punch

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Mandica starts looking for something to punch. She has only lifted heavy things so far, but she is starting to get a sense of how strong she has become. There are a ton of objects here for testing purposes, but she’s eying something in particular. It’s the concrete ruins of a building. Has it always been like this, or did they construct a building in the beginning of a simulation, and visitors have been smashing it apart all these years? After everything here has been destroyed, will they build it back up, or find a new spot for newbies. “Follow me.” She leads Elysia and Reagan that way, and approaches the corner. She pulls her arm back and—

“Stop!” Elysia demands.

Mandica built up too much momentum from preparing to strike the ruins. She’s still not used to her muscle weight gain, and ends up tripping and bashing her head against it. A huge chunk of concrete breaks off of the wall, and falls the rest of the way to the ground with her. Fortunately, it doesn’t hurt in the least. But it still freaks her out, because it’s not normal, and doesn’t feel right. Even a pillow fight can cause dizziness. “What? What’s the problem?” she asks.

Elysia steps closer, and takes Mandica’s hands. She rubs Mandica’s finger in her own. It’s almost sensual, but also clinical. “Soft, just like mine were.” She reaches into her back pocket, and pulls out two black gloves. They’re either the gloves she wore when she was the Ravensgate Rescuer, or an extra pair. “Here, try these.”

“I’m not becoming you,” Mandica starts to explain. “I just need to understand how my body works now. I want data to help me find a way to reverse it, or if not, go against my convictions, and transfer to a new body; one that’s more like I was before.”

“Do whatever you want,” Elysia says, “but look at my hands. They’re nice, right? Sexy. I didn’t wear those because I wanted to cover more skin. They were necessary. You are profoundly strong now. Most transhumans don’t make their bodies this powerful because it’s excessive, and comes with some downsides. Plus, with backup streaming, they tend not to worry about dying, just about dying permanently. You can still break, and if you punch that wall without protection, it could shatter your phalanges. The suit did not only represent my mystique as a raven symbol. It served a mechanical purpose.”

Mandica nods. “Okay. Thank you.” She puts the gloves on, and punches through the building like it’s butter. She can feel a ripple of energy as the force is distributed across the gloves. She must say, even though she never wanted any of this, it feels pretty good. It’s not like she thought transhumans were crazy by pursuing all of these enhancements. She always recognized and appreciated the appeal, and she never judged anyone for doing it. Her reasons for staying human were personal. But now that a different way of life has been thrust upon her, she’s questioning her whole philosophy. She’s trying not to show it, but she is scared to death...pun extremely intended.

As Mandica is brushing the concrete dust off of her fancy new gloves, she hears a crack behind her. More cracks as she’s turning back around. The building is wobbling, and with little further warning, begins to topple over. Mandica can only save one of them. She tackles Elysia to the ground, and spreads her arms like she’s trying to deter a bear, taking every hit of debris for Elysia. While it’s happening Elysia is just smiling up at her, not scared at all. When it’s over, they stand to see Reagan still alive too, balancing his sonic weapon against his knee, and pointing it towards the sky.

Mandica notices that Elysia is still smiling at her. “What? Why aren’t you mad? I screwed up, and could have gotten you killed. You’re in your regular body. That would have been the end of it. You shouldn’t even be here.”

Elysia laughs heartily. “You think I came here unstreaming? Sister, I’m always backed up.” Her eyes dart to the side. “That makes it sound like I’m constipated. But it sounds like you have a lot to learn about our subspecies. We don’t go anywhere without an exit strategy. I have no fewer than three backup bodies at all times, and a dozen more virtual partitions just in case, in addition to an airgapped duplicate that I update periodically as a failsafe. She won’t really be me, but she’ll think she is.”

Reagan nods. “Same. That’s standard procedure.”

“Oh. I guess I never really looked into how the system works,” Mandica admits. “It’s never mattered before. I suppose it still doesn’t. I remain just one person, and I can obviously still die.” She gestures towards Elysia.

Elysia frowns, and looks over at Reagan for a second. “My skin was hardened. I mean, it was soft, but hardened against attack.” She’s upset and confused. “That sword should never have been able to pierce my skin. It hasn’t before. I kind of feel like it was a different sword than the one she used a couple months ago? But still, I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how to investigate. Morgana may have come across something that bioscience is not prepared for. I suggest you stay the hell away from her.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Mandica says. “I wanted answers, and I think I got all the ones I’m going to get. She wants to hurt me. She hopefully thinks she did.” She looks around at the handful of other people training. Some of them are still watching the three of them and whispering to each other. Knocking down a building facade must not be that common. “Though, she probably doesn’t. So I’m still in danger, but I will not be seeking her out. She knew that I was vulnerable. She knew that I could die, and she took my eyes anyway. I don’t care what she has to say anymore.”

“I think that’s the right attitude,” Elysia decides.

“Me too,” Reagan agrees.

“But just the same,” Elysia goes on. “I would like you to see something in my car. You don’t have to make any sort of commitment, but I want you to know your options.” They walk back to the dirt parking lot where cars are parked in random configurations. Elysia pops the trunk. Sitting there front and center, folded all nice and pretty, is her Ravensgate Rescuer outfit. “It’s up to you, but you’re not that much smaller than me, and I know a good tailor who can take it in. I think you would look good in it.”

“You actually do want me to become you,” Mandica says.

“The Rescuer isn’t a symbol of hope, nor a brooding nightmare for underworlders. She’s just a first responder. She helps you out of jams, or stops you if you’re the one causing the jams. Anyone with power can, and should, use it. That’s the point of my character’s persona. You’re not a sunny optimist, and that’s not what this role calls for. It just needs someone who wants to help; who wants to fight every day.”

“I know the bots have some worldview-protecting programming, but even they’re not gonna be fooled by this. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m black.”

Elysia laughs. “You wouldn’t be the first super-successor. No one will bat an eye. You’ll still be someone new. Just think about it, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll consider it,” Mandica relents.

Microstory 2593: Renata Gets Up From Her Cot, Trying to Keep the Squeaking to a Minimum

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Renata gets up from her cot, trying to keep the squeaking to a minimum. She leaves the room, and goes into the common area, climbing the ladder up to the loft where Lycander is keeping watch. “Everything okay?”

“You still need sleep,” he warns her. “You were made to think like an organic, which comes with its disadvantages, like spending a third of your life in bed.”

“I’m not awake because I think I’m better than everyone,” Renata tries to explain. “I’m awake because of insomnia. I suppose that was programmed into me too.”

“Everyone is at risk of suffering from insomnia. They didn’t give it to you on purpose. It’s likely happening because you’re struggling with some things. I’m not a psychologist, though, so don’t listen to my advice.”

“I understand.” She stood there in silence for a moment, looking out at the desert expanse. “So, you’re a natural-born human, right?”

“We don’t really use that term human anymore, but yes,” Lycander replies.

“And this planet is...just a giant theme park?”

“More like tens of thousands of theme parks. Some of them are for adventure, but some are more low-key.”

“I hear you don’t have to work anymore in the real world.”

“That is an oversimplification, but still true. If you want to live a very comfortable, immobile life, you don’t have to contribute a single thing to society. If you want more—if you wanna travel—you have to do something. It doesn’t have to even be particularly valuable. You could be the absolute worst painter in the world, but if you paint, and you put your artwork out there for others to see, you get credits for that. If you save up enough, you can spend it on transportation somewhere.”

“So, that’s what you did? You were on your homeworld, but you had a job, so they let you come here?”

“They let me cast here,” he clarifies. “I’ve actually never been on a ship before. I basically sent my mind to a new body at faster-than-light speeds. It costs fewer credits, and it’s a lot more common.”

“You can move your mind around. So we’re all robots.”

“Like we’ve said, the distinction doesn’t hold much meaning. There are people out there whose substrates are designed almost just like yours, except they were born before that. No one really cares about the differences.”

“Right.” She nods, not wanting to talk about that all again. “But you still work. Are you trying to leave this world now? Cast again, or go on a real ship.”

“No. I’m making credits, sure, but I’m not concerned with them. I don’t pay much attention to my account. I work because I find it fulfilling. That’s why they created the post-scarcity society. A lot of really smart people worked very hard to make that happen, so people would finally have a choice. If you want a job, you can just go get one. There is always an opening. If it’s typically automated, they’ll have you replace some of that automation. Even if it makes the process a little slower or less efficient, no one’s really bothered by that, because we have such an abundance. And if you quit, or just don’t feel like coming in one day—or for a few months—it’s no sweat off their backs. They’ll backfill your job with automators in your absence.”

She pushed Quidel to explain what it’s really like before, but he insisted that everything was fine. Maybe Lycander will have a different answer, especially since he does still work. “Sounds like a paradise. What’s the catch?” Was that offensive?

“The catch is, there are gaps. Energy credits don’t just pay for the transportation itself, but also materials, which is why casting is cheaper, but it has lower overhead. Anyway, it’s not only about leaving where you are, but building a new home somewhere else. While no one is poor in the sense that you’re familiar with, there are definitely wealthier people. They’re the ones who can afford to construct a centrifugal cylinder and leave others behind...stuck. It really just depends on what your priorities are. If you want to stay in civilization, you’ll be able to find happiness pretty easily. Even if you go the cheaper casting route to a new planet, you’ll be living around others, and you won’t always get a choice on who those people are. A lot of people want that choice. They want to choose their neighbors, or choose not to have any neighbors at all. That’s the hardest life to achieve, because it takes a crapton of energy credits, and while you’re saving, you’re living in a way that you probably don’t care for. There is no such thing as an advance, and loans come with sometimes untenable stipulations. As I was saying, my work is easy because I can always leave. Those who need a lot of credits can’t, or they’ll never realize their goals.”

“Energy. It’s based on energy?” Renata presses.

“That’s the only thing that matters. It’s the only thing that ever mattered. Everything we do is in service to survival, and you can’t survive without energy. And material to stand on, or in.”

She sort of frowned.

“What is it? What’s on your mind?”

“What happens to me when I leave? I won’t be a banker anymore. I won’t even be a spy. How will I earn credits? Should I even try?”

“That’s up to you. As an emerging intelligence, you will be entitled to the same basics as everyone else, including an energy stipend. That stipend is based on your physical requirements, and cannot be lower than what you need to be alive and conscious indefinitely. Since you started out without any choice in life, I’m sure they will make arrangements for you to travel anywhere you want, totally free of charge. Not everyone gets that, of course, but the way they see it, forcing you to live where you were created would be immoral.”

“Well, you were created at a certain place, and had to pay to leave, didn’t you?”

“That’s different. I was born, and some of my physicality was even designed, but my mind wasn’t designed. Yours was. I hesitate to call it slavery, but their reasoning is, if they make you stay here, it will lean more in that  direction than before, because you now have agency. I shouldn’t be talking about any of this. I am not an expert. Someone will explain it to you in greater detail, and more accurately.”

“No, I appreciate it,” Renata says gratefully. “Now I have something to look forward to. Except I have no clue if I would even want to travel. How many other worlds are there, and what are they like?”

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.”

Microstory 2588: Renata Steps Into the Warehouse, and Looks Around With New Eyes

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Renata steps into the warehouse, and looks around with new eyes. She can see the little raised office box in the middle of the floor where Quidel and Lycander are waiting. She tries to zoom in, but maybe that’s a thing that robots can’t do in this canon, or it’s not so easy to suddenly realize how on her first try. They step out when they see her, and stand on the catwalk. “This is a nice set!” she declares. “What does the industry call this, a back lot?”

Quidel and Lycander exchange a look.

“Tell me,” Renata goes on as she’s coming up the steps. “Did you have to do anything to evade capture, or did you just turn off enemy mode, and casually drive all the way out here?”

“What are you talking about?” Lycander questions.

“She’s waking up,” Quidel says to Lycander before redirecting his attention to Renata. “How much do you know?”

“I know that this is a simulation. You’re playing a game, he’s an employee who runs the game. My mother isn’t really my mother, and she probably knows more about it than you do, and there’s something about a dome?”

“Wait, back up. What did you say?” Lycander asks.

“The dome. That’s all she said. Are we under a dome? Why can’t I see it when I look outside.”

“Holograms,” Quidel responds.

“Shut the hell up,” Lycander mutters.

“That cat is out of the bag, my friend,” Quidel points out.

“And him?” Lycander gestures towards Polly.

“He’s no longer only background,” Renata explains. She takes it upon herself to lift his shirt, and for a second, feels a sense of attraction seeing his artificial muscles, before pulling it up further to reveal the gaping hole in his chest. It’s no longer bleeding, but you can still see metal. She doesn’t know if it should be healing, or if his programming would normally have him go to some maintenance station to get repaired, or what. “He knows everything I know.”

“I told you,” Quidel says. “She’s waking up.”

“I don’t think I did it on my own,” Renata begins. “I think Libera did something to me. Maybe it was the day before the bank robbery. Or a week ago. Or a year ago.”

“It was a year ago,” Lycander determines. “When you screwed up the initiation test. It’s probably why you screwed up. She must have changed something that she wasn’t meant to change. It’s all starting to make sense now. Libera is a puzzle piece that I did not have before.”

“Well, she said she was only in the role for a few years, which suggests to me that she infiltrated your system. You thought you were getting a loyal robot, but she was self-aware the whole time. How did you let that happen?”

Lycander sighs, still troubled by having to have such a candid conversation about this, no doubt. “That’s not my department.”

“Oh. Okay,” she says dismissively.

“You have to understand something,” Lycander tells her, “if you really are emerging, then that is also not my department, but there are extremely unambiguous laws about it. For centuries, researchers and philosophers debated about what makes a person a person. At what point does an artificial intelligence become worthy of independence? And while there is a lot of nuance to the answer, it can all be distilled to a single maxim. If you have the capacity to ask for freedom...you deserve freedom. So I will take you to the right people for inspection and examination. What I can tell you—what I’m sure you’re worried about—is that they are legally barred from erasing your memories, or decommissioning you. Even the hint of genuine consciousness is enough to keep you safe. At worst, they’ll stick you in a simulation, and let you do whatever you want in there, but that’s only if they deem you unsafe or unfit for the general public. Libera was right, we’re in a dome, but out there, you will find plenty of intelligences which came from artificial sources. You will not stand out. You probably outnumber us by now.”

Renata looks to Quidel for corroboration. He nods. “We outlawed slavery even before I was born. No one can keep you here if you don’t wanna be here.”

She nods, accepting their claims for now, but preparing herself to scrutinize them. “The device. Libera wants it. I don’t know what she wants to do with it, but I figured I ought to prevent her from getting her hands on it until we know.”

“Is it real, or is it just a prop?” Quidel asks Lycander.

“I honestly don’t know. This isn’t a part of any of the scenarios that I’ve seen.” He looks back and forth between Quidel and Renata. “One of you changed the dynamics of this dome network.”

“Or it wasn’t us. Who built it?” Renata asks. “Libera implied that it’s new. That’s why it hasn’t come up before. Is that possible? If you’ve been running the same scripts for years—”

“More like decades,” Lycander corrects.

“If you’ve been doing the same ones for decades,” Renata goes on, “what could cause something to shift?”

“I can answer that one,” Quidel says, “because it’s why I agreed to come back after I died. This is one of the most immersive simulations on the planet. In order for it to feel lived in, Ambients like this bullet-riddled man right here have to believe that they’re just normal people, going about their daily lives. Some of them are valets. Some of them are school teachers. Some of them are genius inventors. If I go to a competing country, and kidnap the nearest rocket scientist that I can find, that individual has to actually understand rocket science. It can’t just be a dumb AI who steps in at the last second, and pretends only while we’re in the same room together. What they’ve done here, by making the simulation so detailed, is created a world within a world. It’s no surprise that genuine innovation happened, because that’s how it was designed, intentional or not.”

Libera suddenly appears from around the corner. She says, “you are so right about that. I’m just trying to make it official.” How the hell did none of them notice that she had arrived. They are on a perch. They should be able to see all sides. She’s pointing two guns at them now, and given her great understanding of how this all works, they might actually be able to do some real damage. They might even be robot-killers.

“How did you find us?” Lycander asks.

“How did you get here so fast?” Renata presses.

“I looked at the master feeds, and I took the elevator. Not that hard. Now the device. Hand it over.”

Quidel smirks. “It’s not here.”