Microstory 2442: Recursiverse Immersive Experience

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Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

That’s a mouthful, isn’t it? If you don’t know, Recursiverse is one of the most popular franchises in history, spanning several books, dozens of TV series, and hundreds of movies (depending on your definition). It follows thousands of characters living fantastical lives in two parallel universes. In the modern age, the fantastical elements that they explore in the stories can be recreated using real technologies, but back when they were first being written and distributed, they were exciting to a huge audience. There’s still some soft scifi in there that we can’t do for real in this dome network. That’s right, it’s not just one dome. You couldn’t fit all this in the area covered by a single dome, so it has to spread out. I don’t even know how many domes there are, because you don’t always know when you’ve moved. You can travel to other planets with vastly different geographies, and you do this using faster-than-light technology that doesn’t allow you to see exactly how you’re moving in realspace. I think you’re sometimes moving along the z-axis, onto upper levels hidden behind the holographic sky on the ceiling of the layer below, which isn’t as high as it looks. I’m not going to go into any specifics, because it won’t mean anything to you if you’re unfamiliar with the canon. But there are alien races, and they’re perfectly recreated by the androids. You can also choose your own substrate, and it doesn’t have to look like you, or even human at all. Other domes do that, but this was once protected intellectual property. The creator gradually began to release his rights to the public, so others could explore the stories and themes that he conceived. The law didn’t require that he do that. He’s still alive today. By current laws, he could still retain the rights. That’s assuming he continued to make new contributions, or he would have lost them eventually. Some of them would be under the public domain regardless, though, as he shared his rights to them with a corporation, such as a movie studio. They never retain their power for long, especially not since all those financial-based companies are now dead. I know it sounds like I’m getting off topic, but it explains why this is such a big franchise on this planet. By the time the creator published a single word of his work, Recursiverse was a well defined universe—or biverse, as it were—full of a solid foundation of rules, conventions, and histories, and even contingencies. The creator could have made every decision, but he chose to let them be free, first by collaborating directly with others, then by deliberately relinquishing his control. If you want to enjoy this dome network in full, you’re gonna wanna catch up with what has come before, but I promise that it’s worth it. I don’t ever want to leave.

Microstory 2408: Sportsdome

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Sports. Have you heard of them? Well, I like them. I’m pretty old. I was, in fact, one of the oldest people still physically capable of being upgraded enough to stick around back when life extension was in its relative infancy. I remember taking the train all around the country to see baseball games. I managed to see at least one major league game in every stadium. As the centuries went by, I watched as they faded from popularity. Some of them were outright banned—or effectively neutered—due to laws against violence. Remember hockey? That was basically just an excuse to fight on the ice. The whole act of hitting a puck into a net was more secondary to that urge to express one’s aggression and manhood. I never liked it, but they got it here on Castlebourne. They have every single sport somewhere here. Name one, they got it. Even the really obscure or really old ones that I hadn’t even thought of when I was growing up, still believing that I would die one day. Anyway, I think this dome is pretty cool, and I intend to spend a lot more time here. Unfortunately, nearly all of the players are androids, because we’re still in the early days of this planet, and like I said, sports in general have dimmed in popularity. It’s kind of creepy, because there was this glitch when I first showed up. They weren’t expecting me, and they didn’t sense my presence right away. Obviously, these things aren’t just playing games for no one to watch. They only do it when a visitor is around to see it. So there I was, walking onto the football pitch, and the androids were just standing there, staring into space. Of course, they weren’t staring, they were in dormant mode, but since they’re so lifelike, it looked really scary and unsettling. So that was just a little issue that I think will get worked out if people actually start to come here and see what all this stuff is about! Really try to give it a chance. I know it sounds so quaint. I mean, how interesting could it be to watch 22 people kick a ball back and forth? It’s a lot more nuanced. Just because you’re not in a virtual reality where the rules to some random game some random guy randomly came up with take ten years to learn doesn’t mean it’s not fun to watch. If you swing by, I’m sure we can find you something that you’ll like. For now, I’m going to see what jai alai is like. We didn’t have that when I was a young one.

Extremus: Year 86

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Someone on Verdemus, or who is aware that it was not destroyed, is a traitor, or perhaps a spy. It was determined that no one could be trusted to thoroughly investigate the matter. They had to bring in outside help to take care of things. Fortunately, there is a procedure for this sort of thing. Obviously, everyone who lives on Extremus has their own file. Whether they’re a member of the crew, or a civilian; a productive member of society with contribution points, or someone who is happy enough with the bare minimum—everyone is accounted for. Using an airgapped computer, this full manifest can be plugged into an isolated artificial intelligence program. Queries can be posed to it, looking for certain criteria. The system is offline most of the time, as there is rarely a need for it, and its use is not recorded beyond logging every user with a timestamp. Of course, not everyone has access to this manifest synthesis program, but Tinaya suspects that it’s typically dusted off to determine future leadership, such as herself, and she’s narrowed down the list of possible people who wrote the story of her life for her. They kept her from the captain’s seat so she could instead one day become First Chair.

As the ship’s current consul, Icarus Faulkner is on the list of those with access to the computer. Deciding that something had to be done about the attacks on Verdemus, he went into the room alone, and asked the AI to find him a candidate. Zaira Gardner is believed to be a very, very, very distant relative to famed time traveler, Lauren Gardner, though the family tree remains unconfirmed. She reminds Tinaya a lot of herself at that age. Zaira is bright, but unmotivated. In an alternate reality, she’s the Sherlock Holmes of the ship, having a knack for noticing the smallest, and most obscure details. She has not said what led her to abandoning her potential, but she has been chosen for a job now. She is leading the investigation into the Verdemusian attacks, using a team picked for her by the only other name filtered from the manifest. Cahal Fitzgerald now serves as a mini-superintendent, responsible for selecting others who will aid them in this impartial investigation. Tinaya does not know this for sure, but Consul Faulkner probably included a parameter in his search that these two should not be likely to spill the beans to the general population about this whole thing. They need to be unbiased, but still discreet. They questioned Tinaya second, after the Captain, but she hasn’t heard a peep from them since. Hopefully, it’s not her problem anymore.

Most of the administration for the civilian government has changed hands since Tinaya last spoke with them. She spent the majority of this time on-world, and has been kind of trying to stay out of everything since her return from there. Either the secret investigation turned up something that points to Tinaya as a responsible party, or the council wants to scold her for some other reason. She’s been summoned to the Meeting Hall. Arqut was asked to recuse himself from this meeting in his capacity as the Superintendent, but this is his wife they’re talking about, so he accompanies her, and would like to see them try to kick him out.

“That will not be necessary,” Head Councillor Paddon says with her hand up to calm down an imaginary unruly crowd. “But I would ask you to refrain from participating in this discussion. This will be Tinaya’s decision, and Tinaya’s alone.” The interesting thing about this one is that Paddon is both her given name and surname. It wasn’t even an accident either. Her parents were a little—shall we say—crazy nutso cuckoo? Their last name was Paddon, and they always thought that it would be a nice first name too, so instead of suggesting this to one of their friends, they took it for themselves, resulting in the unique Paddon Paddon. She could have changed it at some point, but she became mildly famous for it by the time she could even speak, so it seemed like a waste of time and energy when people could and would continue to tease her for it either way. Best just to lean into it, and let them have their fun.

“What decision?” Tinaya asks as she stands before the council like a criminal to be judged.

“I won’t bore you with any preamble,” Paddon continues. “We’re asking you to become this vessel’s next captain. It’s as simple as that.”

Tinaya chuckles once, but rather quietly. She quickly scans the council, who are not laughing with her. She accidentally releases a second chuckle, which is louder this time. When they don’t respond appropriately, she can’t help but convert it into a full-on laugh. “I’m sorry, are you serious? You’re not being serious.”

“Quite,” Paddon confirms.

“Pardon,” Tinaya begins, “but have you seen my face? I’m sixty-two years old.”

“Apologies,” Paddon says, “but our records indicate that you are ten years younger than that.” She sifts through some papers. Yes, they’re still using paper.

“In realtime, yes, but I was stuck in the past on Gatewood for about a year,” Tinaya reminds them, “and when we tried to go back, we were off course by several years. So I’m ten years older than my birthday should indicate.”

Paddon nods, remembering this now. “Right, right. Well, just the same, we fail to see how your age has to do with anything.”

“You can’t have a sixty-two year old Captain. I’m sorry, more like sixty-three by the time I would sit down. That’s absurd. Captains are in their twenties when they first start, maybe their thirties.”

Paddon looks through the papers again, but facetiously this time. “I don’t recall that being one of our laws. Could you point me to the subsection?”

Tinaya rolls her eyes. “It’s not a law, it’s just...a thing.”

The Head Councillor gets real serious now. “Miss Leithe, you have done more for the ship than any one person has, including the former captains.”

“Omega and Valencia,” Tinaya responds quite abruptly, and rudely.

“They’re immortal, they don’t count.” Paddon takes a breath. “I know that this is a lot to take in, and we generally try to find a replacement earlier in the year prior to the handoff, but it’s been decided that Extremus needs a big win. It needs a story, and it needs a leader that everyone can get behind enthusiastically. The other candidates are great, but they’re not special like you are. A former First Chair who relinquished her own power to make the government more democratic ends up being rewarded with, not only a post on the crew, but the highest honor. It will boost morale.”

“So this is nothing more than a political move.”

“They are all political moves,” Paddon says with a raised voice, but not an angry one. “You should have learned that by now. You even just told us how ancient you were.”

“This is highly irregular,” Tinaya contends.

“Exactly,” Paddon replies, understanding that Tinaya isn’t saying that this is a good thing, but maintaining the position that it is just the same.

Tinaya has been intentionally avoiding making eye contact with Lataran this whole time, even before the insane offer. Their relationship has become more awkward than ever since the time travel incident. She found herself feeling more loyal to the Lataran’s future self than the present day version, and though she never said as much out loud, this Lataran could sense it. She’s been respectfully keeping her distance. Tinaya’s gaze darts over to her now to see Lataran looking back with the love and admiration that Tinaya does not deserve.

Paddon notices. “Who do you think threw your hat in the ring?”

“And that makes it a good reason?” Tinaya questions.

“Captain Keen made a compelling argument,” Paddon explains. “What did I say, Superintendent?” she adds, holding up a finger to Arqut, who was probably about to speak out of turn.

Tinaya looks at his face now, and does her best to read his mind. She thinks she’s figured it out. “Two best friends, and a husband,” Tinaya goes on. “Plus, my aunt was Captain before me. It’s a freaking dynasty. The history books tend not to like that.”

“I’m not worried about the books right now,” Paddon claims.

“Yes, you are. You said this whole thing was about optics.”

“No, it’s about uniting the passengers under a banner they can trust. They all love you. What about that are you not understanding? Do you have any idea how much deepfake porn there is of you? You’re the most popular likeness of all Extremusians.”

“I don’t wanna hear about that.” Deepfake porn is not illegal here, though many believe that it should be. The way the law sees it, as long as you keep it to yourself, you can do just about whatever you want in the privacy of your own home. You have to create all of the images yourself, and they can’t be distributed, but there are loopholes to that limitation. Again, Tinaya doesn’t involve herself in such matters.

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” Paddon tells her sincerely. “I’m just trying to encourage you to think about this seriously. You have come so far. The people don’t know about Verdemus, but they’ve been told that your away mission saved their lives, and they’re grateful. Captain Keen’s stint is over. Someone has to replace her for the next twenty-four years, and we would like to find someone who is popular, so they can be an effective leader. You are not the only one who can do that, but you are the best, and we firmly believe that you can keep us on track. There is nothing that says a former civilian leader cannot join the crew. It’s just never been done before...except for Ovan Teleres, but that was this whole weird thing.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy for picking me,” Tinaya admits. “I just don’t think it’s the right choice. I think it’ll backfire. Maybe not tomorrow, but it could have major consequences for the future safety and prosperity of this mission.”

“You’re not wrong,” Paddon admits right back. “We feel that, in the long run, it will do more good than harm.”

Consul Faulkner stands up. “Let’s take a break. It sounds like we’re starting to go in circles, so we will reconvene same time tomorrow for further discussion, or your final answer, Miss Leithe.”

Tinaya goes back home with Arqut. Lataran follows them there to plead her case. After talking about it incessantly for half an eternity, Tinaya makes her decision in her head, but doesn’t say anything to the two of them. The next day, they all show up in the Meeting Hall. Tinaya stands back up on the platform, and looks at the whole group. “Okay. I’ll do it. But I have some conditions, which we can talk about. First and foremost—and this one is nonnegotiable—I’m not going to be an eighty-six-year-old captain. I’ll step down in ten years. You said you wanted to get back on track, and that’s how the timeline works out.”

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Extremus: Year 69

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This isn’t the first time that the Extremus has had to deal with an uploaded intelligence that is out of control. Or rather, it’s one that is not technically in their control. Thistle has so far shown no signs of going against their wishes, or of making any moves against the Extremusians. For now, he has agreed to keep himself quiet, and act like the original, totally obedient version of the AI. He responds to requests with little personality, and does not make any unprompted remarks. Only a few people are aware of his existence and presence on the ship. The people who know he’s there have agreed to be cautiously optimistic about it. The fact is that any superintelligence of any kind is capable of wiping out any isolated population of any size. That is the risk that researchers knew they were taking when they were first creating them, and that remains true here. It wouldn’t even have to be super to be dangerous. Perhaps subconsciously, that is why students learn so much engineering, and why the engineering section of the crew is so bloated. Humans may have to take over the ship almost completely one day, and while that is a scary thought, they will be prepared for that eventuality.

Tinaya is holding off on mentioning to anyone her plans to totally reform the civilian government, hopefully for the better. She is making those plans, though. Since the whole point is that it’s not that hard to run the government anymore, she finds herself with a lot of downtime, so that’s what she spends it on. This is an election year, thusly an inappropriate time to be making waves. She’s going to introduce this new legislation sometime during her third term, assuming she’s reëlected, of course. Even then, she may campaign for the changes as a private citizen, because she feels that strongly about it. She hasn’t finished figuring out how it’s all going to work, but basically the proposal will call for an abolishment of the Chair system. The council has been doing a pretty good job of running things. It could always do better, but the foundation has been laid. Maybe there should be different criteria for determining who ought to be on it, or the number of them should be raised or lowered. The means of bringing business to the meetings may need adjustment. There are all sorts of ways they could do this. She just needs to keep working on the plan.

Because of all of this, it’s more important than ever to Tinaya that she maintains her position. It’s still against the law for an incumbent to campaign, but she’s going to use every weapon in her arsenal to keep herself at the top of the polls. That’s one reason that she and Arqut are getting married; emphasis on the one part. They really do love each other, and they really do want to do this. They were methodical and patient about it over the course of the last nineteen months. She first procured an exception with the council to allow Arqut to move in with her to the First Chair Stateroom. Several months later, they applied for a partner privilege license. This is a long and arduous process, as one might expect. It gives each partner power of attorney, and medical rights, and all sorts of other things. The government has to make sure that both parties know what they’re getting into, and what could happen if things go wrong.

Eight months ago, the two of them stood side-by-side at a press conference, and announced their engagement. While weddings are rare on Extremus, elaborate ones are even rarer. They did not originally plan to have one as grand as it has become, but the people called for it. Well, some of the people called for it. Others believe this to be nothing more than a publicity stunt. They’re only half right. That is indeed what they’re doing, but again, it’s more than that. It’s real.

The ceremony is taking place in the hyperspace bubble of the Forest Attic. Tinaya and Lilian came up with the idea when they were first drawing up their plans for the new section, but it never made it into the final design. Cainan found the old sketches when he was reorganizing the project files, and resubmitted the proposal. They finished construction a few years ago, and it’s already one of the most popular venues on the ship. The bottom half of the sphere is underneath the ceiling of the attic, providing a birds eye view of the forest below. The top half extends above the top of the ship, giving an extremely modified view of the space that they’re flying through. The doppler glow makes it impossible to see anything but a blinding light while the ship is traveling at maximum reframe. A special coating on the diamond viewports deletes the glow, and replaces it with a beautiful display of swirling colors. Hyperspace isn’t real, but this is similar to how it’s portrayed in science fiction. It has a calming effect on most. If the Extremus were still traveling within the boundaries of the Milky Way Galaxy, it might be showing them distant stars instead, but out here, it’s mostly nothing but blackness.

This has become the event of the century. Over a hundred people have been invited to be present in the bubble, and it is obviously being broadcast to whoever cares to tune in. It’s not going to be as big as the famous Mateo Matic and Leona Delaney wedding, but it’s not too shabby. Thousands of people can watch, and it might even qualify for beaming status. The repository of data that comes from all over the populated regions of the galaxy holds information that comes from Extremus too, but only for people authorized to access it. Even then, not everything is delivered back to civilization. Most logs are kept private. This, however, might be worthy of semi-public knowledge.

Lilac is best for Tinaya’s skin tone, so that’s the color of her dress. She loved it when she picked it out weeks ago, but she’s not so sure anymore. Fortunately, she’s standing in front of a time mirror. It’s not the same as the one in the Mirror Room. It just shows people what they would look like in different outfits and accessories. Augmented reality technology in the 21st century was capable of this too, but this isn’t a computer generated approximation. This actually extracts an image from a possible future, and uses it to replace the view of the present. It’s the only form of time travel—if you can even call it that—that’s allowed for unsupervised use. But it’s limited to the executive crew, high government officials, and one public-use mirror in one of the inventoriums. That last one is nearly impossible to sign up for, it’s so coveted. Tinaya gets her own in her room. “I don’t know...”

“Okay, which one looks better to you?” Her stylist, Servaos has been working with her pretty much since right after the announcement. He teleported to her after she and Arqut left the stage, and practically begged for the job. He dresses her now, not only for the wedding, but for all public appearances...whether she wants him to or not. She should have been more firm about her boundaries from the beginning, like Arqut was. “One, or two?” He switches from one alteration to another, and back again a few times. “One, or two? One...or two?”

“Two. Wait, no! One!”

“Okay, “one, or three. One...or three.”

“Three.”

They go through this for the next fifteen minutes, masterfully boring all of her honor attendants who are being forced to stay with her at all times until the ceremony is over. It takes that long for them to just decide that the original cut of the dress was always fine, and the only thing missing was a collection of three peonies in three different shades of color to stick in her hair. It will take about a half hour to print them on the biosynthesizer, which is another highly regulated piece of technology, but this is her special day, so no one is going to refuse her.

There’s a knock on the door. “Can you get that Lil?”

Lilian Diamond is serving as her Chief Attendant. She stands up to answer the door. Obviously Tinaya can ask Thistle to open it automatically, but Lilian isn’t there for manual labor. She’s the gatekeeper, in case the person on the other side of it is someone that Tinaya doesn’t want to see. That’s not the case this time. It’s Arqut.

“Arqy!” She runs up and gives him a perfectly present company-appropriate peck on the cheek. Then she remembers that it’s okay for her to be selfish, so she gives him a not-so-appropriate kiss on the mouth with tongue.

“I come bearing bad news,” Arqut says, unwrapping her arms from around his neck. “It’s your opponents. They’re running a roast commentary show on our wedding.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“A roast is a performance where you make fun of someone you like for broadcast, but thy honoree is meant to laugh about it too. The top three candidates that you’re running against have banded together to run it simultaneously with the real show. They have their own cameras, and they’ll be making what they believe to be funny comments about us; you more than me, I’m sure.”

“Why are they doing this? What’s the point?”

“Well, they’re playing it off as something that you’ve approved, and are happy with. The real reason is to gain points for themselves by making you look bad. By joking about how this wedding is fake, and stuff like that, they don’t have to take responsibility for their words, but those words could have the same effect on voters. It will still probably portray you in a negative light.”

“So, what do we do? Do I publicly condemn their choice, and make it clear that I’m not in on the joke?”

“I don’t see any other option,” Arqut says.

Tinaya sighs, and then checks her watch when it buzzes. There’s a coded message on it. “Could we have the room, please?”

“We can help,” Lilian offers.

“We need to talk in private, but thank you. Thank you for everything so far today, and for the rest of the day, and..just...everything.” She waits for her honor attendants to leave the room before saying, “Thistle, you had an idea?”

“Do you know who this woman is?” A holographic screen appears showing a group of young adults dancing on a roof, featuring one woman in particular.

“No. She lived on Earth?”

“Yes,” Thistle answers. He appears next to the screen as his own hologram. “Roughly 300 years ago, she was a civil servant. An opponent of hers released this video of her dancing with her friends in the hopes that it would turn voters against her.”

“Isn’t that the plot of a movie?”

Thistle waits to answer. “Kind of. This isn’t Footloose. This really happened. And since dancing isn’t actually evil in the real world, it had the opposite effect. Her popularity only rose after that. One of the most powerful ships in your universe at the time of its construction was named for her.”

“I see. What does this have to do with me, though? There will be dancing at the reception, is that what you’re talking about?”

“Your opponents are going to turn your nuptials into a game. Your strategy of announcing that it’s not a game will probably only result in you losing the game. They’ll still treat it as such, and you could drop in popularity.” Thistle waves his hand and switches the screen to the same woman. She’s dancing again, but is wearing a business suit this time, and is inside. “She took control of the narrative, and leaned into the perception of her being an actual human person who liked to experience joy. This served to prove that her opponent was nothing more than a cynical asshole who couldn’t relate to normal people. He was like the reverend in Footloose.”

“So I should take control of my own narrative? We’re already planning to broadcast the ceremony. How do we compete better?” Tinaya asks. “Extra dancing?”

“Yes.”

“That was a joke.”

“Yeah, jokes too.”

“You want us to dance and joke?” Arqut questions.

“I want you to put me in your ear,” Thistle begins, “and let me drive the ceremony for you. I’ll keep an eye on the other broadcast. Whenever they say something untoward about whatever you’re doing in that moment, you can respond in realtime. It will throw them off psychologically, and they’ll start having trouble keeping up with you.”

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

“I’ve done it many times,” Thistle insists. “Well, not exactly like this, but I’ve Cyranoed a number of people in multiple universes.”

“I don’t know what that is, but I suppose I’ll trust you. Arq?”

“Sounds like fun,” Arqut agrees.

Thistle opens a finger, and conjures the image of a small grayish disc that hovers over it, no matter how he moves. “You can install this comms disc behind your own ear, which will allow us to communicate without anyone knowing. It can even read lips by measuring micromovements of the jaw, so you don’t have to say what you need out loud. It is not telepathic. Printing them on your industrial synthesizer will only take a few minutes. They’ll be done before the flowers are.”

Tinaya and Arqut exchange a glance to make sure they’re both on the same page about this, which they are. They have to do something to counteract the bad press. They install the discs and the pretty flowers, then they make some other final adjustments to their outfits, and head for the venue. They walk there physically, instead of teleporting, because that is part of the message that they want to send to the voters. The ceremony is beautiful and fun. The roasters crack a joke about her falling while walking down the aisle, so Arqut trips on purpose, and then wiggles his butt playfully. They make a comment about how they’re not really in love, so Tinaya slaps his butt affectionately, deftly modifying her vows to account for it. A lot of it is about butts.

At first, the opposition broadcast draws more viewers than the regular one, because everyone wants to see what all the hype is about. As the jokes wane, however, the audience does too. They switch back to the authorized stream, or they just tune out, because wedding ceremonies are boring. Still, the opponents continue to believe that this has given them an edge, so they feel confident going into the race while Tinaya is on her VR honeymoon with her new husband. A month later, she wins again in a landslide.

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Extremus: Year 63

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It’s happening again. The Captain is being stripped of his rank. But unlike Halan Yenant, who broke the law in order to save every life on the ship at the time, Soto Tamm’s actions were done out of selfishness and the abuse of power. It was also just disgusting. It was never against the law for a captain to have sex, but it was difficult to accomplish without arousing suspicion, no pun intended. There are few positions of sufficiently equal footing to allow relationships without any issue. It was fine when Tinaya’s aunt, Captain Kaiora Leithe developed a relationship with Dr. Ima Holmes, because Ima was Chief Medical Officer. She wasn’t a passenger, an apprentice, or a lower ranking member of the crew. The two also disclosed their partnership publicly immediately, which is what Kaiora would have been obligated to do if it had been nearly anyone else. She would have been fine connecting with the First or Second Chair, or maybe the Hock Watcher, or maybe a member of the council, but she probably would have had to disclose that too. Tamm didn’t do any of this. He slept with numerous people, did not report the encounters to anyone, and actively worked towards keeping his partners—if you can call them that—quiet. He acted like a predator.

A sex scandal? Really? That’s what it’s come to? Is peacetime worse than wartime? Are idle hands the devil’s tools? So far, the names of Tamm’s partners have not been released, and hopefully they never will, but one thing’s for sure, they don’t fall onto the list of acceptable partnerships. The former captain exhibited gross misconduct by indulging, if not pursuing, such contact. He was removed from his position, and his duties were redelegated to First Lieutenant Percival Applegarth, and Second Lieutenant Athan Velitchkov. It has been nearly a month now, though, and Velitchkov is the only one still standing. The investigators discovered that Applegarth was aware of Tamm’s crimes, and said nothing, so he has been removed from his position too. The ship is in chaos, and the civilian government has had to step in to carry the load. More specifically, while Velitchkov does pretty much everything a captain would do, Tinaya is all but officially serving as his lieutenant. She is the only one with any semblance of experience with putting out the kind of bonfires that this incident has built.

They can’t pull from the qualified graduates of the College of Executive Administration, because one of them could end up becoming the interim Captain. You can’t be a captain if you’ve already been a lieutenant. Of course, Tinaya is supposed to end up Captain, but she hasn’t technically been assigned the rank of Lieutenant, so it’s a super big gray area here. Don’t let anyone tell you that they know what the hell they’re doing, because they don’t. They are now only ever seconds away from complete annihilation, and it’s a wonder that it hasn’t happened already. Possibly the only thing holding everything together is that the Extemusians have become unified towards a singular goal. There is a passenger-driven campaign to install Tinaya as the captain, since that has always been the plan anyway, but she isn’t sure she wants that anymore. She loves her job. She even kind of likes what she’s doing right now, as bad as that may sound. She fixes problems, and as melodramatic as she’s being about the state of affairs, things are probably okay. The ship is not going to tear itself apart. She can be the glue as Captain, or as something else. You don’t have to use only one type of glue, to...lazily stick with the same metaphor. Pun intended.

The Council wants to speak with her today. They’re probably going to ask her to do it, and she honestly doesn’t know how she’s going to respond. She walks up to the Council Chambers, again passing the line by, but they don’t even bother offering it this time. You only wait in line if you’re the one asking to be there; not if you’ve been summoned. Lataran Keen is already in the room, standing on the center platform alone. The two of them have remained friendly for the last several years, but grew in different directions. They have lunch together occasionally, and it’s pleasant, but they don’t share secrets anymore, and love would be a very, very strong word to use to describe their current relationship status. Still, they hug, and in the midst of it, Tinaya whispers, “do you know why you’re here?”

“I assume it’s finally happening for us, just as we always wanted,” Lataran whispers back. They release, and face the Council.

“Thank you two for coming,” Cleader says. “This has been a difficult time for us all, and we appreciate your patience and understanding as we work through this.” He leans to his left, but doesn’t cover the microphone. “Where is he?”

“He’s on his way,” the Councilor responds. “I believe we can start without him.”

“Very well,” Cleader goes on. “I am aware of what some believe they know of the future. Miss Leithe, you have always been called Captain, and as your best friend, I’m sure that you always intended Miss Keen to be your First Lieutenant. However, we do not think that this is the best course of action.”

Lataran seethes but keeps her composure. She knows she’s not entitled to the job.

Cleader clears his throat. “Athan Velitchkov will become the First Lieutenant. He is the obvious choice. Yes, conventionally, the captain appoints their own lieutenants, but in this scenario—because of what has happened, and the unusual timing of this shift in power—it is logical to us that Velitchkov should remain to help the new Captain with her new responsibilities. We will, however, allow you to appoint your own Second Lieutenant. Your respective shifts will last twenty-four years. These will not be interim positions. As the end of the next shift approaches, we will determine how to proceed, but it is possible that the final captain of the ship will simply still be captain after the 216-year journey has been completed, because we doubt that the Extremus planet will have been located by then. Now that we are in the void, instead of the Milky Way Galaxy proper, it will probably take our descendants longer to find a suitable new home than our ancestors originally envisioned. But of course, that is not our problem today. We are only here to extend the offer for the role of Sixth of Eleven. Lataran Keen, graduate from the College of Executive Administration, will you please accept this responsibility?”

Both Tinaya and Lataran tilt their lizard brains, and then they look at each other. What the fuh? Lataran silently mouths to her friend.

Tinaya is in shock as well, but a tsunami of relief quickly rolls over her, and she realizes that she really doesn’t want this. She doesn’t want to be captain, and despite Lataran’s years-long insistence that she was going to be happy with second place, she does. She has truly wanted it, and she truly deserves it. The Bridgers have been wrong this whole time. This is what’s meant to happen. The question is, why the hell is Tinaya here at all, because they think Lataran will appoint her as the Second Lieutenant? That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but it’s not amazing either. Again, she likes what she does now, moving around to different departments, handing out advice, watching people take that advice, and best of all, seeing them succeed from it. Lieutenants only experience two things: giving orders, or giving suggestions that no one listens to. That sounds stressful. Then again, it would be a new challenge, and she would accept it. That is assuming that’s why she’s here at all, and it’s not just so the Council can shove her loss of the captaincy in her face. It’s certainly not just so Lataran can have a friend by her side while she’s given the biggest opportunity of her life.

“Miss Keen?” Cleader urges. “Miss Keen.”

Lataran has been lost in her own thoughts at the same time. “I just...what about...?” She awkwardly points to Tinaya.

“Miss Leithe is not being offered the seat. You are. Please answer for yourself.”

“Take the job,” Tinaya urges quietly. “I’m not the runner up. Who else would you see doing it? Who else do you think is on their short list, and are you quite confident that they’re as good as you are, and not worse than Tamm?”

Lataran frowns kindly at her, but nods, and thinks on it some more. Finally, she says, “yes. Yes, I’ll do it. Thank you for this honor, Council.”

Cleader snaps his fingers twice. Someone approaches from a dark corner behind the dais, ceremoniously holding folded garments in his arms. “Your new uniform, printed to a perfect fit,” Cleader explains. “We expect you to start...” he pretends to care what his watch says. “...right now.”

Lataran accepts the uniform graciously, and bows awkwardly back at the tailor when he bows at her. Neither one of those things should have happened. She’s not royalty. She drops a fold to admire the whole thing at once, not realizing that it has come in two parts, so her pants nearly fall to the floor. Tinaya reaches out, and snatches them out of the air just in time. “Thank you.”

“You got it,” Tinaya replies. “You got this.”

“Now,” Cleader continues. “I’m sure you’re both wondering why Miss Leithe is here as well.”

Lataran opens her mouth to respond, but realizes that it was rhetorical.

“Miss Leithe, we did not anticipate this whole Soto Tamm debacle. We likely would have considered you for the captain’s seat instead, but you were unfortunately removed from contention years ago when your name was submitted for something else. As a neutral body of leadership, we are not allowed to endorse specific government candidates, but we still oversee the election committee, which is why we agreed to that loyalty test that you underwent last year. “

“What are you saying?” Tinaya asks him.

“I’m saying that we can’t say anything further, but if you’ll recall, you were asked to meet at a certain location on the ship at a certain time. That meeting has been made manifest, and moved back to today. Again, we can have nothing to do with it. I was merely asked to pass the message along, but I will say that it’s not a loyalty test this time, and it’s decidedly not a coup. Do attend. Thank you. That is all.” He looks up as if there’s anyone else to address. “We’ll recess for one hour before continuing with the grievances.” He bangs the gavel, and stands up, as do the rest of the councilors.

“What is he talking about?” Lataran asks. “What meeting?”

Tinaya checks her watch. “No time to explain. It’s happening right now. Congratulations. I love you.” They hug again, and then Tinaya disappears.

She steps into the Mirror Room to find Arqut Grieves waiting for her, which is no big surprise, because he’s the one who set up the fake meeting last year. What she doesn’t know is what has justified it becoming real today? What has he submitted her name to? “You’re one minute late,” he says. “Don’t worry, I know why.”

“I can’t be captain because you want me to serve in the civilian government?”

“You would have been a great captain, Miss Leithe. You’ll be a better First Chair.”

“First Chair? Are you serious?”

“Chairman Aleshire is nearing the end of his third, but final, term,” Arqut reasons. “He feels too old to continue, so he’s going to step down. Someone has to  replace him either way. For years now, I’ve watched you prove your intelligence, your strategic mind, your leadership skills. You’ve learned, you’ve grown. Truthfully, I can’t think of anyone better. Most Chairs have not been able to make it the full twelve years, but I’m confident that you can be the third to accomplish this. Of course, I was intending you to have three more years to prepare to take over, but Aleshire is tired, and he wants to be with his family. If you agree, he will endorse you fully, and you already enjoy a profoundly high approval rating.”

“I’m just a civilian, we don’t have approval ratings.”

Arqut chuckles. “Well, we do, and if you’re gonna be First Chair, you’re gonna need to know that.”

“I never agreed to run.”

He nods. “You’re right, and you shouldn’t agree to anything without knowing the full truth, which is that I screwed up the paperwork. I submitted your name in the wrong fashion, and that is what disqualified you from the captaincy. I basically made it look like you were the one requesting to be on the future ballot, when I should have filled out a nomination form. I just need to be totally open about this, and if you would like to distance yourself from me, I would understand. Unfortunately, it’s irreparable. You can never be captain under the current laws. If you want to make a difference, this is where you do it, not as a second lieutenant. I am sorry, but I don’t regret choosing you, because I am all but certain that everyone else will choose you too.”

If it’s already too late to be captain, which would be the case even if they hadn’t already offered it to Lataran, then maybe this is indeed the best thing for her. Is this what she has been working towards this whole time? Most of the jobs she’s taken have been on the civilian side of things. The crew hasn’t needed that much of her help. “How long do I have to think about it?”

“Your two major opponents have already announced their candidacies, so we—I’m sorry, you—should think about making your own announcement by the end of the week. Technically you could do it the day before voting day, but I would obviously never recommend that.”

Tinaya thinks through the decision, weighing the pros and cons in her head. She eyes the extraction mirror behind Arqut’s back, considering trying to seek advice from someone who is no longer with us, such as her aunt maybe? But in the end, she comes to a conclusion on her own. “Okay, I’ll try. But I’ll need you to stay on with me. I assume the fact that you submitted my name is a matter of record?”

“It is.”

“Then if I’m going to win, we need to make it look like this was the plan the whole time, and that we’ve been working together. You did not mess up the paperwork.”

He’s surprised by this suggestion, but he nods. “Okay. Then...let’s write an announcement, and start working on campaign strategies.”

They work on those strategies, and two days later, Tinaya announces her intentions, runs a good campaign, and actually wins. The funny thing is, the last thing that Chairman Aleshire does before the end of his own term is lobby to change the law that prevents high-level government officials from later joining the crew. Interesting.

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Extremus: Year 62

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Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image Duet AI software

The Department Fixer. That’s what they call Tinaya now. The Resource Allocation Team was only the beginning. Well, the Forestry Department was the beginning of this new chapter in her life, but she didn’t realize it at the time. Since the RATs asked her to help them with their image problem, she has helped three other departments with their own issues. For the RATs, she first encouraged them to lean into their once-negative nickname. She conscripted a graphics designer to change their logo to a rat. She distributed materials about how great rats are in real life. Of course, the allocators aren’t actual rats, but that wasn’t the point. She wanted to make them look like a fun group of people who are in on the joke. She wanted to keep it light, and associate the department with something positive.

Next, she lobbied the government to relegalize teleportation for all with sufficient contribution scores. Not only were the civilians happy to receive new teleportation tech after all this time from the RATs, but it also served to increase Tinaya’s personal popularity. She wasn’t specifically trying to do that, but everyone knew that she was the one who finally made it happen, and they credited her for it appropriately. The fact that she accomplished it without wielding any real power was a testament to her value on the ship, and people were taking notice.

Immediately after this was done, the Civilian Engineering Corps asked for her help. These are different from the engineers that run Extremus. They manage inessential projects, such as remodeling quarters when changes are requested for a family’s living situation. They receive a lot of requests, but have to reject the majority of them for logistical reasons. They do lots of other things, though, which have nothing to do with the crew engineers. Most of the students who go to college to study engineering want to be on the crew, and when the slots fill up, a surprising number of them decide to pursue other interests. Even so, the CEC receives an excess of applications for employment, and has to make even more rejections. They don’t like doing this, and needed to expand their scope to new and original projects, which necessarily required raising their staffing limit. But that also meant figuring out how to get through all this red tape, which Tinaya was now quite familiar with. So she navigated it for them, and fixed that problem too.

Following that, Tinaya organized a Quantum Colony Tournament for the Recreation Department. It was not built as a player v. player game, so she had to devise an in-game competition from scratch. This meant that she planned everything in the real world, and in the virtual space. Her stint here was the shortest according to the calendar, but also the most time and labor intensive, so after it was over, she took a break from doing anything for a couple of weeks, and returned to the spa where Lilian’s brother welcomed her back warmly. When she was ready, she logged back into her account to find a couple dozen applications for her assistance. She did not create an official template for this process. Someone else did it for her, and dispersed it to the entire ship on her behalf. If she knew who it was, she might have scolded them for doing something like that without her permission, but honestly, it was making her life easier. The applications were clear, easy to read, and most importantly, easy to filter out.

There was only one application that she was willing to accept, which was for Captain Soto himself. She didn’t choose him because she liked him, because she doesn’t, but she wanted a challenge. That is becoming increasingly important to her; being challenged. Like the RATs, Captain Tamm too had an image problem, and even though it wasn’t strictly necessary for him to be well liked to do his job, it helped to have his crew respect him. He also needed help communicating with the civilian government. Tinaya was not a miracle worker, so he was never going to be as belovèd as Halan Yenant or Kaiora Leithe, but she did her best, and saw markèd improvement in the man. He still needs more work, but her obligation to him is now over. She’s not a saint either.

This morning, she’s woken up to only one application in her mailbox, which is weird, because she had five in there last night which she had yet to find time to review. They were somehow deleted, or perhaps rescinded? All of her maybes were gone now too. Perhaps whoever generated the application form for her in the first place still had access to them in the system. Hmm. Last year, she tried everything she could to locate the source, but was never able to, and she can’t think of anything that’s changed since her initial attempts. All she can do now is pretend that she was completely mistaken, and there was only ever one in here. Let’s see what it’s about. It’s from Arqut Grieves. This is the guy who always has to attend Tinaya’s meetings. Well, not all meetings, but the ones that could plausibly impact how the government is run.

A representative from the Office of the First Chair is required to be at such meetings, but it doesn’t always have to be the same person. Yet it has been for the last year and a half. Arqut is always the one, whether that means he volunteers every time, or someone else assigns him to Tinaya’s projects. She’s never asked him. And he’s never asked anything. He’s remarkably quiet. Before he took over the job ad hoc, a few others filled the same role, and they were very concerned about how this would impact the government, or rather specifically the First Chair themselves. He didn’t seem to care. He let her do whatever. He was so mysterious. What could he possibly want from her now?

The application itself is filled out in a funny way—read: incorrectly. It’s not sophisticated enough to know whether a given input field has been entered appropriately. The only requirement is that something be in every box. Next to NAME, he put the word Dear. Then next to DATE, he wrote Tinaya, and for the TIME, only a comma. The rest of the fields add up to what look like a standard freeform letter, each field handling the next two or three words until the DESCRIPTION box finishes out the rest of the body in what has finally become easy to decipher:

Dear Tinaya,

Request that you provide your assistance with the following project. This is top secret. Extremus exists in a constant state of danger of being destroyed, and a new plan has been put in place to ensure the continuity of our people in a dire emergency. It is paramount that you share nothing of what you read here today with anyone, nor anything we discuss later in regards to this matter. A fourth ship is being designed upon the direction, and at the discretion, of the civilian government, somewhere in secret on Extremus proper. This emergency ship will be run by a shadow crew. This crew will ultimately be privy to every development that the current captain, Soto Tamm is made aware of. They will recreate the decisions that the real crew makes, and also run parallel simulations that imagine new solutions to these real problems. Should the worst happen, and Extremus is destroyed, this shadow crew will break away, and restart the mission using what will probably be determined to be new parameters. Again, tell no one of what you’ve just learned. You have been selected as a candidate for the first captain of this crew on a temporary basis. Your job will be to lead the simulated ship for a short time, and use your experience to select the new captain, who will continue on for the duration of the next real captain’s shift. Please meet me in the Mirror Room at 16:15 to discuss details.

The EXPECTED START DATE was Thank you, and the EXPECTED END DATE was Arqut Grieves. This is highly irregular, and super suspicious. It sounds like a coup. It sounds like the government making plans to overthrow the crew, and take over the ship for themselves. She has to tell someone. She can’t just take this man’s word for it that this is just some kind of simulation. They’ve barely spoken, she can’t trust him. She can’t trust anyone, though. So who’s the closest option? The Bridgers? She rarely makes contact with her spy handler. She can’t go to the Captain, even though she does have a personal relationship with him now. She obviously can’t reach out to the First Chair either. Basically anyone in the government is a risk. But this Mirror Room meeting is not an option. The Council. The Council sucks, but she’s gotta do it. If it’s come to the point where they are her only option, though, then nothing else matters. Because if they’re dirty, then the whole ship is fucked.

It was then that she noticed that there was just a little bit more text, which she originally ignored as some kind of short disclaimer, or something, but that’s not what it says. It reads, THIS DOCUMENT UTILIZES EYE-TRACKING SOFTWARE THAT WILL—PRINT. Tinaya hates paper today as much as she always did, but the law requires that she make hard copies of every accepted application, so she has a ream of the stuff for such purposes, which she predicts she will never get through completely. She’s grateful for it now, because after the application is done printing out, she finishes the fine text in the footer, which goes on to say, TRIGGER A SELF-DESTRUCT ONCE THE INTENDED RECIPIENT READS IT IN ITS ENTIRETY, OR AN UNINTENDED RECIPIENT BEGINS TO READ IT.

True to its word, the application disappears from the screen, and all traces of it are removed from the system. Like the origin of the application template itself, she’s unable to retrieve it, or find any proof that it ever existed, besides this hard copy. She makes ten more copies of the letter, and teleports all over the ship to hide them in secret places. Then she returns to her cabin to get dressed for her impromptu meeting. Whoever is engineering this coup isn’t going to get away with it...or they will indeed upon her failure, which is a distinct possibility. Either way, she has to try.

The council used to be a loosely defined collective of crewmembers and government officials who were only there to make sure that everyone was doing their jobs correctly. It was more of a committee than a council, and the level of power they wielded was limited to how much, or how little, respect that a given person that they were trying to control at a given time had for them. This has changed over the decades as members have been turned over to those with greater and further-reaching ambitions. Now they call it The Council with a capital C, and if they make a decision, it’s pretty much final. It can be challenged by others, but most of the people with any real chance of overturning their decision are already on the council anyway. Checks and balances are more of a joke at this point, but don’t tell them that, because they’re the only ones who don’t find it funny. They’re also all full-time members now, except for the Captain, First Lieutenant, First Chair, and Second Chair. All they do is hear complaints and make executive decisions, like a king in open court. At least this works in Tinaya’s favor, because she knows where they’ll be, so she won’t have to ask for them to convene.

Dreading doing it, she takes the long way ‘round with good ol’ fashioned walking, instead of teleporting straight there. Today is a good day; the line is not very long. There are about eight parties ahead of her who seek audience with the Council, and they all make way for Tinaya. She’s never tried this herself, but she commands a level of respect enjoyed by few others. Again, she’s not exactly itching to get there, but she hates waiting, even if it’s for something she doesn’t want to do. So she accepts their gracious gesture, and jumps to the front of the line. When it’s her turn, she walks into the room, and heads for the center platform. The proctor who watches the line steps up behind them, and whispers something to Council Leader Whatever-His-Name-Is. She never bothered to learn it, because she doesn’t care. Let’s just call him Cleader.

Cleader nods, and sighs as he’s turning his head back to face Tinaya. “Miss Leithe, what can we do for you today? What is so urgent that you had to skip the line?”

“What the proctor might not have told you,” Tinaya begins, “is that they offered. I didn’t ask for it, and I didn’t want it, but refusing it would have been ruder.”

“Very well,” Cleader replies. “Proceed.”

Tinaya steps towards the dais. She places two hard copies of the suspect request form before Cleader, so they can pass them down each way. “I received a request for my assistance this morning in a most unusual manner. It deleted itself from the system as soon as I finished reading it, but I managed to print these out just in time. As you can see, I have been asked to serve—”

“That’s enough,” Cleader says to her dismissively. “I think you passed.”

“What? What did I pass?”

Cleader lifted his watch up to his mouth. “Teleport here at once.”

A second later, Arqut Grieves appears. “What is the about?” he questions.

“When did the message self-destruct?” Cleader asks Arqut.

Arqut checks his own watch. “Twenty-four minutes ago.”

“Who did you speak to about this before coming to us?” he now asks Tinaya.

“No one,” Tinaya answers truthfully. “I came straight here.”

“Why did it take you half an hour?” Cleader presses.

“Because I walked. I like to walk.”

Cleader purses his lips, and whispers something to the members on either side of him, which pass whatever message down the line. “Explain to her,” he orders Arqut.

“There is no secret shadow crew,” Arqut begins to tell Tinaya. “It was a loyalty test. We still need to verify your whereabouts after you opened the message, but I’m proud of you. You made the right decision, coming to the Council.”

“You should know, I hid more hard copies around the ship, so my location records will reflect that. But I promise, I spoke to no one.”

“That was smart,” he says nicely. He may actually be a decent guy, unlike the Council members.

“If I may,” Tinaya begins, “what was the point of this test?”

Arqut smirks. “Not yet, Tinaya. Not yet. Just keep doin’ what you’re doin’. Your real applications have been restored to your inbox.” He winks, then disappears.

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