Microstory 2788: You Can See Smart Dust With a Flashlight in a Dark Room

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When they’re not running through challenges or going to funerals, the candidates live in a single house together. They’ve not actually competed in anything else since the platform event, but more are theoretically coming. Until then, Tamerlane Pryce believes that the house itself is just as much part of the contest as any formal game.

“Back even before my time, reality shows were blowing up,” Tamerlane explains. He’s standing in front of everyone in the communal living area like a college lecturer. “They weren’t documentaries that maintained boundaries to adhere to cinéma vérité rules. They were money-making machines, designed to get viewers hooked, and advertisers drooling. The primary purpose was to put a bunch of people together in stressful scenarios, and generate friction. Some shows didn’t even have challenges. People were just there, letting their conflicting personalities produce the entertainment.

“These kinds of shows died out—not because broadcast networks decided to be more ethical, or because viewers wanted more intellectual programming—but because tensions gradually died out naturally. It’s a cliché for a reason. Transitioning to a post-scarcity economy didn’t only end poverty overnight. It took away a lot of perfectly healthy societal conflict too. It’s okay to argue with your neighbors about whether your trash bins should be left on corners of the driveway, or on the curb, partially in the grass. But when everyone moved to megastructure arcologies, those problems disappeared, because now everyone has the same trash chute in the same place.”

He’s right about that. People mostly don’t have little personal problems anymore because everything they genuinely need is provided. Things only get hairy when your ambitions call for something greater, like, say, a ship, or the superintendency of a whole planet. So why is it that they’re being filmed when they’re just trying to live together in this big—but still, paradoxically, a little too small—house? Or even are they? The candidates can’t say for sure, because the whole point of smart dust is that it’s hard to spot. They have been stripped of more than their advanced substrates. They don’t have access to the kind of technology they would need to be certain of anything. They need to find the exact text of whatever contract the coordinators think they signed.

“Are you on your way to reaching a point, or are we trapped in a circle?” one of the Eyrenlanders snarks at Pryce.

Pryce smiles like he appreciates the question. “The point is, I think the smart dust question is just another challenge, which is why we’ve not been pulled out for something else in the last few days. I don’t know what they had planned for the funeral. I’m guessing no one predicted that little Pickpocket would crash the party, but we have to assume that everything is a test. We can’t move on unless we solve this.”

“Well, you’re the genius, aren’t you?” a different Eyrenlander asks. Jande is refusing to learn any of their names. If any of the non-Eyrenlanders gets the job, it could be okay, but he doesn’t trust any of the five—or rather, the four remaining. “I mean, that’s why you were in prison, because even before people could download knowledge into their brains, you became the father of consciousness transference, right?”

Tamerlane nods. “I admit, this is a blind spot for me. I was hyperfocused on that technology, and essentially ignored all other fields, such as covert surveillance. So if there’s a way to detect smart dust without a literal smart dust detector, I don’t know it.”

Dare Finnian has been slouched on the couch as he’s listening to this, drinking a beverage known as a soda. Van and the other producers must really be getting their cues from 21st century broadcasting because soft drinks haven’t been popular since pretty much back then. He sighs, downs the rest of his drink, and crushes the can against his forehead before standing up. I’m gonna get another. Anyone want one?” He pivots on his hips back and forth. “Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Cool.” He walks off.

“Like nanotechnology, smart dust has to be powered by something.” It’s the blonde girl who tried to leave, and had to complete the first task on one leg. Her name is Priscilla Kool, but everyone calls her Kool. “You can’t make a fusion drive small enough. The containment components alone would be at least the size of a fingernail. Something in the house has to be providing wireless power. All we have to do is shut that off.”

They can hear Dare bangaranging in the kitchen.

“It’s probably just powered by the house,” Ersence reasons. “Even if they gave us access to the main power source and any auxiliary sources, we need that power. I need light to shave. I’m not going to stop shaving. There are some transhumanistic enhancements that even my people don’t shun. That was one of them. I hate body hair.”

More banging around from the kitchen.

“Can we help you find something?” Jande shouts. “Did you forget which one was the refrigerator? It’s the big silver one.”

Dare starts coming back into the room. “No, I hope what I’m looking for isn’t in the fridge. It would be a stupid place to put it. Though, looking at you lot...” He runs back out to the kitchen, then runs back fairly quickly. “No, not in there.”

“Perhaps if you told us what it was?” Jande offers.

Dare starts to open drawers and cabinets in this room now, which are mostly empty, though some contain boardgames or extra blankets. “Did I ever tell you why I became a hermit? Why did I leave society to go live in an asteroid all by myself?”

“You did it for the same reason everyone else does, I’m guessing,” Ersence says. “The individual no longer requires help from the tribe to survive. If you have the common core elements and at least one nanobot, you can make anything.”

Dare nods as he’s continuing to look. “There you are.” He takes out a giant flashlight, and starts to mindlessly hit his palm with it as he talks. “It’s not that I didn’t require people; it’s that other people are a danger. They are uncontrollable variables, which threaten each and every one of us. I ran away from people because I suffer from extreme paranoia, and the drugs didn’t work. They just made me paranoid that I wasn’t being paranoid enough to protect myself. I never felt safer than when I was alone.”

“So why come back?” Kool presses. “Why sign up for this competition?”

Dare smiles. “That’s a story for another time. Right now, we have to find that smart dust. That’s where this thing comes in.”

“The problem is that it’s small, not dark,” an Eyrenlander argues. “It’s not hiding behind corners, or in the carpet. It’s floating all around us...if it exists at all.”

“The darkness, my good man...is precisely what we need! I believe in a thing called love. Madam Tridali, would you please do me the honor?”

Ersence realizes where he’s indicating. She reaches up and switches off the light.

“Regular dust is dull. Smart dust...sparkles.” Dare sweeps the area with the torch.

Okay, there is the smart dust. Now. What are they going to do about it?

Microstory 2784: He is Not Really Going to Die

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Registration is over. After one more person signs up following Ersence, they lock it down. Now the contenders are waiting for their next instructions. They still have no idea what’s in store for them, or when it’s gonna happen. They just go about their day, and go to sleep that night.

The front door creaks open. It’s the 26th century, doors don’t have to creak if you don’t want them to. Jande’s grandfather designed it to do it because that’s how history taught him. Once the world transitioned to a post-scarcity economy, people stopped having to worry about their neighbors much, but Rolof Ter Avest believed in full immersion. They’re not playing a game here, with their intentionally low-tech lives. Protecting the home has been a tried and true practice for millennia, and it doesn’t have to stop here. The creak means someone is using the door. Jande is so intimately familiar with his home that he can even tell when it’s being opened from the inside or out.

Jande is up and out of bed before the intruders can make it more than a few steps into the house. For a split second, he catches sight of Ersence still fast asleep. He reaches over the headboard and unlocks the shotgun. He swings it around and aims it at his bedroom door just as it’s opening. “Halt or catch fire!” Jande orders.

Ersence is startled awake. She curls herself up against the wall, but isn’t scared.

If the first intruder isn’t backed up then they’re stupid, and they deserve to die. Jande has every right to defend that home. Post-scarcity conventions and virtual immortality diminished the need for violence; they didn’t erase the possibility of being attacked anyway. No court would convict him. So once he sees the figure move another centimeter forwards, he fires at it without hesitating.

The enemy twists backwards when they get shot in the shoulder, though they don’t fall over. In response, they lift their undamaged arm and point towards him. An electromagnet spins up, pulling the gun out of Jande’s hand, along with every ferromagnetic object in the room. A pair of hands takes the first figure by the neck and wrenches them backwards to make room in the doorway. The true threat emerges from the hallway. “This is why we came to you last, because we knew you would make noise.”

Jande hears another shot. The speaking intruder’s head jerks backwards before the rest of his body follows and falls on top of the robot. Jande looks over at Ersence.

“Whoever told you to own a gun made out of metal did you a disservice,” Ersence says. “There’s intentional obsolescence, and then there’s willful incompetence.”

Jande reaches out and takes her wrist. “Come along, darling.” He takes her into the bathroom because the window in there is easier to open.

As they’re slipping out, they hear hushed voices nearby, but Jande can’t tell what they’re saying. This is a full-on assault. The Eyrenlanders don’t want to wait for the Superintendent to decide who takes control over the community because they know the five people they registered are gonna lose. Jande just needs to make it over the border where he’ll find asylum with the Mount Pryce-dwellers. From there, he will take back control of his land, and if he’s the last surviving competitor, he’ll automatically be Superintendent by that point anyway. They just have to stay quiet and stay vigila—

A sharp pain starts on the surface of the skin of his neck before sliding in deeper. It’s a needle...not even a jet injector, but a bona fide 5-centimeter-long needle. Arms gently help him down to the ground as the stars above twinkle off. Someone else is sedating Ersence, and there is nothing that either of them can do about it.

Jande wakes up in a reclined wooden chair. His wrists and ankles are strapped down, and there’s an IV line in his arm. Something is attached to his head, but he can’t tell what it is. It’s somehow both spongy and hard at the same time. He is in a dimly lit room, with whirring machines to his left and an electrical box to his right. Before him is a window, and next to it a nondescript door. As the fog lifts from his mind, he starts to realize where he is. This is an execution room, but a hodgepodge of various methods. All that’s missing is the firing squad and the guillotine. He cranes his neck to look up. Oh, no, there’s the guillotine. Well, at least they have all their bases covered.

The door opens. Several men enter solemnly. The curtains fall away, revealing the audience. His parents are there, having returned from their first retirement location on the edge of Eyrenland, where it’s still green and alive. Other Quiratani are sitting around them, hardened looks on their faces. No one is upset by this. They look robotic.

One of the men is wearing a black hood. He walks over to the electrical box lever and rests one hand upon it. Two men in lab coats go over to the machines to push buttons and take notes. A man in a three-piece suit nods once at the guys carrying rifles over their shoulders. They spread out along the wall and aim their weapons at Jande.

The boss man looks over at a landline phone on the wall, consults his watch, then looks back at the phone. This is some sick reenactment shit, and Jande doesn’t appreciate it. It was a savage time in human history when they did this, and yes, he does recognize that murder wasn’t completely illegal for the vast majority of the timeline.

When the phone doesn’t ring, the man sighs and takes a half step towards Jande. “This be your last moment on Earth, son. Do you have any last words?”

Jande chuckles. “Uhh...ai gonplei ste odon? Or...shel kek nem ron.” Yeah, that’s the one. Let’s get this pinnacle of literal overkill over with.

“Ready!” the man in the suit cries.

The electrician tightens his grip on the lever. The firing squad cocks their guns. The lethal injectors turn one last knob.

“Aim!” the man adds.

Jande’s chair turns down so his neck is directly under the guillotine blade.

“Fire!”

A mask appears in Jande’s field of vision. Someone affixes it to his face. The air inside feels different on his tongue and in his nostrils. He breathes deeply as euphoria floods his whole body, and he begins to drift away. His eyelids bounce up and down while he smiles. The electrician never pulls the lever. There is never any tightness in his arm at the injection sites. The gunmen never fire. The guillotine never falls.

Jande awakens yet again, this time in a bioprinting pod. He pushes the lid away and climbs out. He has transferred bodies before, but he’s not as experienced as some are these days. He stumbles around like a newborn fawn. He manages to make it over to the next pod where he finds Ersence’s new body still finishing being printed. As he makes his way around the room, he sees the other nine contenders in varying stages of the printing process. What the fuck was that all about?

Microstory 2751: Checkpoint

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Thanks to Minotaur’s directions, Jolanda is able to negotiate them to the finish line. She presses the garage door opener just as Elise did before, but nothing happens.

“The second button, probably,” Elise suggests. She has been so helpful on this adventure. They never could have figured out where to find a key, how to open a door, or buckle their seatbelts on their own. She’s really pulling her weight.

The door opens to reveal only a hallway, so they all step out to cross the threshold on foot. It’s eerie; dimly lit with some of the overhead lights flickering, and uncomfortably narrow. Just like the main entrance to the warehouse, the door behind them slams shut on its own, locking them in. The wall to their left rises up, and disappears into the ceiling. On the other side is a torture room, for lack of a better term. They see a table full of scary and sharp instruments, oddly shaped beds, and even what appears to be an electric chair. Rage is here, inside a glass cage. She’s sitting in a toddler chair, her wrists tied behind her back, and she’s gagged. Her mascara is running down her face and she looks scared. She’s screaming unintelligibly at them.

“Nobody move!” Zelda orders. “That usually means there’s a tripwire or trap.”

They freeze and look around, but don’t see anything. They continue cautiously.

Elise goes over to Rage’s cage, looking out for booby traps. “Can you hear me?”

Rage screams again and nods her head.

“I appreciate your dedication to authenticity,” Elise goes on, “but at this juncture, the easiest way to get you out might be to kill myself where I stand, and seek help from the outside world. We’ll continue to play along, but if you’re genuinely being held against your will, we’ll treat it more seriously, and go meta. So if this is real, I want you to blink both eyes. If it’s still part of the team-building game, give me a wink instead.”

Rage winks.

“Okay.” Elise turns around and claps her hands. “Let’s find a way to escape this room. I don’t know of any pertinent quotes from historical figures.”

Five minutes later, Rage is out of her cage, and is able to spend the next twenty minutes helping them solve the rest of the clues to escape the room itself. She says that she asked an AI to design the puzzle on her behalf, so she wouldn’t know how to solve it either. She asks them kindly not to talk about anything but the room until that door reopens, and everyone respects that because this was the deal. She does assure them that this is the last exercise for now. There is no level beyond it until after the debrief.

“I was watching on the monitors,” Rage says after the game is over, and they’re walking into what she calls the lounge. “I only had a bot lock me up once you were at the end of the track. I want to thank you all for playing it straight, instead of finding some workaround. You could have asked to exit the trial at any time, and I would have obliged, but it didn’t seem to cross your minds. I hope you don’t feel tricked or disrespected. Zelda was right, I needed to see how well you five worked together so I would know how to plan the curriculum. It seemed more useful to throw you in the deep end rather than laying out what you would be up against. I’ve not yet synthesized the data, but just from watching you, I think it’s safe to say that we will not need much training. Despite not knowing each other, you breezed through the challenges, and didn’t argue with each other even once. I’m sincerely impressed and grateful.”

“I had a lot of fun!” Zelda announces. “There could have been a few more airplanes to fall out of, but I can’t complain. It’s only the first day.”

“Yeah, there’s almost always one skydiving or basejumping challenge on a treasure hunt,” Rage agrees. “I didn’t get approved for a plane here, but we’re not stuck. We can always go to Adrenadome to do other training. We can go to any of your prime domes, or anywhere for that matter. There’s no time limit. If y’all wanna take a break for a couple years to relax in Polar Tropica, I won’t argue. Based on what I just saw, though, this is the team I want. If I could brag, I think I knocked it out of the park, assembling you. I’ve worked with a lot of teams under Escape Dome, and I’ve never been happier. As I already said to each of you individually, you can leave whenever you want, but I really hope you stay. I want this to be the six, and I will wait until everyone agrees that we’re ready.” She pauses for a moment. “Minotaur, Elise...out of the bunch, you were the most hesitant to come out. How are you feeling now?”

Elise and Minotaur exchange a glance, not having known that about each other. Elise is very curious now, what it was like when Rage tried to recruit the others. Were they as confused, or did they understand the reasoning instantly? Colley can solve clues, and the other girls are used to living fast. Their skills are more obvious. Elise still doubts her value here, and she’s afraid that everyone else sees it too. She’s going to respectfully bow out. She has to. She will only bring them down. There’s no way that a treasure hunt benefits from someone like her. Rage will understand; Elise believes that much about her. This is the right decision, for herself, and for them. “I wanna keep going.” What?

“Great!” Rage says. She’s ecstatic. She could probably sense Elise’s continued reluctance, and is just as surprised by the answer.

Elise is surprised too. Did her subconsciousness respond before she could? She had no idea she was going to agree. What did she just get herself into?

Jolanda, Zelda, and Colley all volunteer to stay as well, to less fanfare

“Minotaur?” Rage presses. “Remember, there’s no wrong answer.”

Minotaur sports a poker face before finally saying, “you son of a bitch, I’m in.”

This does feel like a heist, doesn’t it? Elise doesn’t know all that much about Treasure Hunting Dome, but you don’t play thieves. It’s more of a race where if you find the prize, you’re entitled to it. Still, Rage claimed that there was some deeper level to the whole thing, so maybe they really will be doing something that no one has ever done before. Maybe they’ll have to break some rules. Maybe they’ll have to break them all.

Whatever ends up happening, Elise is out of her comfort zone now. That’s probably a good thing. She has spent so much time on her own, only occasionally working with others when the skill she was learning demanded it. She doesn’t have any surviving family or lasting friendships. It’s not that she dislikes people, but you don’t need them to survive in a post-scarcity society, like the ancestors did. Socialization is a skill which she never thought to develop. Skilldome doesn’t offer it. Perhaps they should. It’s a lost art for some. She’ll suggest that to them, but first, it’s time to party.

They don’t run any exercises for the rest of the day. They eat, they drink, and they interact merrily. They don’t do any training the next day either...or for the rest of the week. Only after that do they get to work, running drills and teaching each other various things. A week after that, they go on their first field trip to a dome that none of them has been to before.

Microstory 2734: The Cost of Time

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They realized something after Pribadium!Two shot Sora, dispatching him to the holding cell in an instant. This has to be a manned mission, because somebody needs to get eyes on that barrier, but that person doesn’t have to die permanently if something goes wrong. They just need to be streaming their consciousness to the base, which both Pribadiums are doing all the time anyway. It is Sora who figures this out, which is embarrassing. It’s not that he’s too dumb, but they should have realized it ahead of time. Smart people sometimes get so laser-focused on what they’re doing, and iterating the work as needed, they can forget the more obvious solutions in front of them. Well, if he understands that, she can let him out. He’s not going to cause trouble.

Sora sighs as he’s stepping out. “So, which one of you is going to go out there?”

“She will,” Pribadium!One explains. “We flipped a coin...an actual, physical coin.”

He nods. “I notice that you two look a little different now.”

“Yes,” Pribadium!One begins. “This was my birth form. I sometimes make adjustments, or just wear entirely different forms. I have a whole library of substrates to pick from. I realized it might be confusing for you, so I changed.”

He chuckles once as he’s shaking his head. “You people switch bodies like I would my hats. I know, it’s commonplace for you, but it’s hard to get used to. No one on Proxima Doma or Doma Tertia would ever dream of such...”

“Of such a brazen and thoughtless attitude towards what you consider to be the core of your being?” Pribadium!One guesses.

“Flexibility,” Sora clarifies. “I was going to say flexibility.”

She nods. “I’m sorry she threw you in here. She didn’t have to do that. It’s not like you could have overpowered us and snuck off the base alone. You don’t have any authorization codes... Anyway, it wasn’t right, and I hope we can still be friends.”

Sora smiles. “We once were enemies. It feels like years ago, but it’s been a day.”

“I never thought of us as enemies, Mr. Shimizu,” Pribadium!One explains. “You must understand that while what you and your people were trying to do was unique, that’s what my job is. People have all sorts of complaints. Back when the post-scarcity society was first blossoming, access accelerated rapidly. What once cost became totally free. It became an expectation. But post-scarcity doesn’t mean no economy. Energy credits were devised because energy and raw material are the only things that matter in the universe. Because they both give you time. People come to Gatewood expecting to get whatever they want with no limitations, but it’s more nuanced than that. I sit through many negotiations. I’ve never been taken hostage before, but...”

He’s bashful. “I’m sorry about that. I guess I shouldn’t complain about being in there for all of five minutes when I kept you locked up for weeks.”

“I forgive you,” Pribadium!One promises.

Pribadium!Two appears on screen. “I forgive you too, and I’m sorry too.”

“Thank you,” Sora replies. He breathes to reset. “So, are you ready to launch?”

“I just need the authorization from the quote-unquote real Pribadium.”

Pribadium!One tilts her head. “You have the greenlight. Godspeed.”

“God is dead.” Pribadium!Two’s shuttle launches and heads for the barrier.

Only a couple hundred meters from the dimensional barrier, the base loses contact with it. Then a bogey shows up on sensors on the opposite side of the bubble.

Microstory 2719: Previously...on Gatewood

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About six light years from Earth, in the direction of the constellation Ophiuchus, there is a small red dwarf named Barnard’s Star. Four planets orbit the host, and since they are all so close to it, they are affectionately known as hot rockies. Due to its local inhospitability and its proximity to Earth, it was assigned a very special job. Earth is the seed and heart of life and civilization. Everything in the Sol system belongs to those who live there. Until Castlebourne came along, it was assumed that Sol would remain the central hub of the galaxy. It only makes sense. In order to preserve their resources, early colonial coordinators decided that Barnard’s Star would be a giant celestial junkyard.

For centuries, the Core Worlds have enjoyed a post-scarcity economy, where every basic need is met, along with many not-so-basic needs. It is entirely plausible and easy to live quiet comfortably without spending a proverbial dime. But it is still an economy, and it is based on a currency of energy credits. Every day, each citizen accumulates a baseline amount of credits, just by existing. Many leave these credits in their private accounts, and don’t do anything with them. Others donate to those in need—not those who need it to survive, but those who want something more.

If you find someone to donate their credits to you, or if you contribute positively to society, you can earn extra credits. Citizens elect the legislators who determine how much a contribution is worth, but it doesn’t really have to have all that much technical value. You could be, hypothetically speaking, the worst painter in the world, but if you paint a piece of art, and provide it to the public, you have made a positive contribution. Even if no one likes it, it is something that you created and provided, so it counts, and you will receive credits for that. It probably won’t be much, but it will at least blip above the baseline. Bigger contributions lead to bigger payouts, and importantly, combining credits with others results in a total that is more than the sum of its parts. Because sharing and cooperation are, on their own, considered positive contributions.

Since most amenities are provided by the state for free, what do energy credits give you? They can pay for two major things: building something at significant scale, or traveling somewhere of significant distance. That is precisely why Barnard’s Star was chosen as the junkyard. It is relatively close, so getting there is fairly easy, and once you’re there, you can go just about anywhere else. There is always an interstellar cycler on its way there, so you won’t have to wait long. You spend your credits on a ticket to the junkyard, and then you’re free to apply for your own transportation. Upon approval, rather than using up Sol’s resources, you take what raw materials you need from Barnard’s Star. The celestial bodies which orbit it are called the Gatewood Collective.

Very few entities live in the Gatewood Collective on a permanent basis. Most are waiting for their applications to go through, or are actively engineering their vessels. These parties may range from an individual to entire fleets of colonists. Only the staff stick around. It’s there job to decide who gets what, and to make sure colonists are doing what they’re meant to be doing. They are the coordinators and the police. All of this stuff is mostly free, so there is no reason to be greedy, and more to the point, there is no reason to stay for any longer than you have to. Build what you need, then bug out.

Not everyone follows these terms, even if they agreed to them before they left their prior homes. That is where the police contingency comes in. So far, it’s been mostly okay; just a few conflicts. Definitely nothing major. There are hundreds of billions of stars in this galaxy alone. It’s perfectly reasonable to expect one of them to be limited to this one use. As previously stated, the planets are far too difficult to colonize. It’s not entirely impossible, but it’s fundamentally ludicrous. And yet, some are trying.

Another six light years from Barnard’s Star is another red dwarf called Ross 154. There is nothing special about it either, so there wasn’t any interest in colonizing it. In the middle of the 25th century, construction began on a stellar shotgun around Ross 154. This was no weapon, though. It was designed to harvest the violent forces of the flare star, feeding into a massive capacitor. It took about half a century to build, and about another half to charge. Once the energy was at its peak, they fired the weapon, not towards Barnard’s Star, but those four hot rockies. The pulse is traveling at the speed of light, which means it will take years for them to arrive. In preparation for this, all other shipbuilding has been relegated to safer regions of Gatewood.

Once the pulses hit their marks, each target will break apart in a matter of only a few days. Anything attempting to live on it will be utterly destroyed. The whole reason it took so long for them to build the stellar shotgun in the first place is so they could run extremely extensive tests on the possibility of life on the hot rockies. They found none. Even extremophiles don’t want to live here. But some humans do. A group of refugees from Proxima Doma made their way to the Gatewood Collective after their own planet suffered a world ending cataclysm. They came to find a new home, and they didn’t want to go far. They were told that Barnard’s Star was the perfect destination, but they failed to recognize or respect the rules. They want to stay here, which would already set a dangerous precedent, but not only that; they want to live on a planet, as they had before.

It’s not everyone. Plenty of migrants from Doma have come, and started work on their ships. Many didn’t bother coming this direction at all. Gatewood is more for people who want to leave the stellar neighborhood. The majority of the refugees wanted to stay close by, and since the destruction of their homeworld was not their fault, the government agreed to ferry them anywhere within 25 light years.

This one small group of rebels, however, don’t like that Barnard’s Star is only meant to be a pitstop. They think that the legislators should treat it like any other Core star. But if they had, there would be no conflict. If they had given it the same colonial designation, no one would have wanted to live here; not if they were so gung-ho on planets. They are all uninhabitable, and the star itself is nothing special. They only want it because they can’t have it. And that is no good reason at all.

The pulses have been sent, and there is no stopping them. The reason it’s taking so long is because of how powerful they are. They’re designed to obliterate planets. Even if the government wanted to back out of this mission, they would be physically incapable of it. The process has already begun. They’re just waiting for the results to come in, and it will not be long now. Chief Asset Manager, Pribadium Delgado should not be entertaining these people’s complaints. If they don’t leave Barnard’s Star e in the next few weeks, they are going to die. That is a certainty. Now, she could remove them forcibly, but that would be a PR disaster. Squatter’s rights were a thing back on Earth when there was such a thing as homelessness, and they still exist today, just on greater scales. Simply landing on their tiny little settlement is incredibly taxing thanks to the heat and terrain. But here she is, trying to negotiate a peaceful solution. The former Domanians are not having it. And now, they’re trying to take her hostage. Hilarious.

Microstory 2704: What Truly Matters

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Ronan is frustrated. After the initial run-in with Mayumi, he goes back to his temporary housing, and tries to get some sleep. He wakes up realizing that none of it matters. It doesn’t matter that Mayumi let her avatar die on purpose. It doesn’t matter that she cheated on him, or that she’s been living with the man Ronan thought he was raising as a child. The only concern is young Talus. While Mayumi is executing her testimony, he begins divorce proceedings. These days, it’s easier in some ways, but harder in others. When people live as long as they do, they have time to accumulate a lot of possessions. Someone could potentially own an entire colony planet. Redistributing that after a legal separation is complex, but they don’t have to worry about liquid wealth.

Ronan has his own energy credits, and Mayumi has hers. Credits can be given as a gift—governments don’t care how they’re distributed after they’re earned; it’s not like they can be stolen—but the two of them never had any reason to do this. By design, they don’t own much overall, and Ronan doesn’t care about what they do own. They have a small storage unit back on Bungula, where they lived before coming here, but as far as he’s concerned, she can have it all. So that’s what he puts on the forms. There is no point in commissioning a lawyer for either side. He hopes Mayumi feels the same way. But he won’t let her stay married to someone she doesn’t love. He’s quickly falling out of love with her too, after all this shit. He has Gia now.

It feels like these proceedings are taking forever, even though he knows it’s not true. As Earth became a post-scarcity society, there was a profound dropoff in crime. Why steal someone’s TV when you can get a free TV of your own, built by automators, which were built by other automators, all powered by the sun? A lot of the justice system is automated as well, though there is still a naturally-created component. You don’t have to be human to be an adjudicator, but you can’t have been programmed. You have to have either been born, or otherwise created as a blank slate. Then you have to develop in realtime. That is a key distinction which may never be changed. Even so, the process is a lot faster than it used to be. Still, he has mixed feelings about the current state of affairs. He just wants this to be over. He wants to return to his family in Danmörk, and put this all behind him. He is only stuck with Talus because Mayumi abandoned them both first. So now he can’t abandon Talus too, or he’ll look like a massive jerk.

Mayumi showed up because she is technically the boy Talus’ mother and had an obligation to attest, but she hasn’t been the one to raise him. Like the changes to the legal system overall, parentage is now determined more by nurture than nature. Leaving your offspring behind doesn’t automatically cause you to forfeit your rights, but the more deliberate it was, and the longer it lasts, the less likely it is that the court will see you as a rightful custodian. Obviously, this cuts both ways. If someone were to abduct a kid, and hold them for years, they wouldn’t likely maintain their parental status. It’s all about intent and action now; not blood. They don’t care about blood. Which is what makes this so difficult, because Ronan is genetically not young Talus’ father. But he is by circumstance, which is precisely how Mayumi wanted it. The older Talus is probably the real father, and this is just a regular kid who grew in Mayumi’s womb. It was perfectly timed to the Nordome trip. Had she long-conned him into that timetable? How long has she been trying to escape? No. Remember, none of that matters anymore. It’s time.

It’s time for the sentencing.

Microstory 2632: Pet Project

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Mandica Kolar is a perfectly normal human, which is rare in her time. The transhumanism movement might have begun in the middle of the 20th century, but it did not gain any real traction for many decades, when the science started to catch up with the ideas. Over the next few centuries, the population of undigitized organic humans (UDOs) gradually diminished. They weren’t being killed or replaced. It was just that fewer and fewer people were deciding to tolerate natural aging limitations, aches and pains, and kind of being sidelined. They have become a silent minority. Posthumans hold most of the power now, not out of some nefarious plan, but because that is how the math works out. Whether consciously or subconsciously, some undigitized people feel that they’re being treated as pets, or maybe children. They are so fragile, and people just wanted to protect that. This mindset can be problematic because it often leads to the UDOs being patronized, but honestly, most mean no disrespect. One little plane crash or massive explosion, and a UDO would die...forever. Most everyone else is constantly backing up their consciousness to a remote server somewhere, and don’t worry about such things. In fact, their virtual immortality often makes their lives pretty boring, especially since these adaptations come with other technological improvements, leading to higher quality of life in a post-scarcity society. They have turned to entertainment, and the most popular of these involve some level of simulated danger. They can’t die for real, but they can make believe, and the best systems do better at making them forget that the stakes are genuinely quite low.

Someone is paraterraforming an entire planet for these reasons. Instead of virtual simulations, they will be physical. Some might even alter a visitor’s memories to forget who they are, making them feel like life is still precious and fleeting. Tens of thousands of domes, each with its own theme, are being constructed on the surface of Castlebourne. Mandica isn’t necessarily interested in the simulations, but she does want to leave Earth, and she happens to know of a ship that is heading in that direction. There are too many restrictions here. She doesn’t want to feel like a pet anymore. She wants to live somewhere that will let her be herself. To accomplish this, she needs to move to a Charter Planet. Lying between 50 and 200 light years from Earth, Charter Worlds are not subject to the same laws that the Core Worlds and Stellar Neighborhood systems are. They have to protect themselves, but they often do so by chartering resources from other systems. Castlebourne is set to receive a shipment of lower lifeforms from Earth. They have already been sent one arkship, so this is a second wave with additional specimens, many of which are live. It will probably be Mandica’s last chance to get to where she wants to be. Arkships are rare, and Castlebourne is lucky to get two. They may not receive anything else ever again as most other resources can be found and processed in situ. The problem is, this ship is not for her. There was no chance that they were ever going to let her on it, so she has decided to stow away.

Mandica is a nomad, but she’s still a citizen of the state, and is entitled to certain amenities. Most people in this post-scarcity society get what they need from their local Resource Allocation Committees, which they voted for. As she has no local rights or responsibilities, an At-Large Allocation Board (ALAB) decides what she gets, and what she doesn’t. The people who sit on the board are reportedly mostly former RAC members, but she has never even met even one of them. All of her dealings have been fully automated, which she prefers. She accepts the bureaucracy, but that doesn’t mean she has to participate in government. Since life is so dangerous for nomads, she never goes anywhere truly alone. She possesses a bot pack of drones to aid her in her travels, and protect her. They practically force the pack on her, but she likes animals, and they’re quite convincing, so she doesn’t mind. Others in her situation have outright refused, or disabled them permanently.

There is something else that is different when it comes to Mandica. In addition to the horse, dog, hawk, and flutterby, she’s also accompanied by an android. This is fairly rare for nomads. It’s more of a hermit thing, and of course, there is overlap, but there is a clear distinction. Hermits live alone, and reject the state’s authority, which is why most of them have gone off-world by now. Nomads, on the other hand, frequently get involved in community affairs, they just like to shift between communities at will. They don’t typically need an android for human companionship, because they’re getting plenty of socialization through more conventional—albeit ephemeral—relationships. Mandica visits populated regions as well, but she spends a lot more time in the wilderness, exploring, hiking, and just enjoying the solitude. So why bother with an android? Well, Mordred provides something she might be able to get from others, but with a lot fewer complications. He gives her the sexual satisfaction she needs without all the emotional baggage. Well...there might be a little bit of emotion involved.

“But I don’t understand why I cannot go with you.” Mordred was programmed to adore Mandica, perhaps a little too much.

“Because I need you to stay behind to fake my death,” she explains once again.

He was also programmed to be able to forget things, act a little dumb, and be generally confused. “But I love you, my love. We said we would stay together forever.”

“It was only a fantasy. I must away to start my new life. If you truly love me, you’ll set me free, erase the animals’ memories, and protect me from being discovered.”

Mordred looks down at Mandica’s bioprinted facsimile. It’s state of the art, and looks just like her, down to the scars. A dedicated medical examiner could plausibly tell the difference, but they will hopefully not even bother with a post mortem. It will be a simple fall from an extremely high cliff, which is perfectly believable, given her lifestyle, and nomads aren’t exactly top priority. “This golem of yours...does she feel as you do? Does she love me as well?”

“She feels nothing. She is not a she at all, but only a husk. Her sole job is to pretend to be me...in her death.”

“Will we ever see each other again?” he presses. “One day?”

“I told you that I would never lie to you, Mordred, and I shan’t. I’m afraid you will never see me again. As the brightest candle burns the fastest, our love must end.”

“How can I go on without you? I shall end my own life.”

“You can do that, but only after you show others that I am dead. Please, this is of the utmost importance. I cannot have them looking for me.”

“I will, my beautiful flower,” Mordred promises. “Now turn away. If I see your face for one second more, I will not be able to say goodbye. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye!” he shouts melodramatically.

“Goodbye, dear Mordred. I’ll think of you always.” Mandica walks down the trail, and heads for the launch site. Castlebourne calls to her from the distant sky.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 30, 2543

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When the team first came out of the woods on Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida, they found a lone homestead. There were several bags of produce sitting on the grass several meters away from the entrance. A young woman was begrudgingly starting to carry them inside. They offered to help, which she accepted, explaining that the delivery drone kept using the wrong precise coordinates, but she couldn’t get it changed so that it always dropped them off right on her porch instead. After they were finished, Romana declared that she had officially become the team’s navigator, having won the bet with her mother. When Leona questioned it, Romana pointed out that they never specified the threshold for being at the right place at the right time, or helping the right person. That could have meant anything, from saving the world, to carrying groceries. She decided that it meant the latter, and since Leona never argued about it before their little tiny baby mission, she didn’t have any room to argue now. Romana was the navigator, and probably deserved it for successfully executing her foxy trick.

“Well, then, where are we going?” Ramses asked. They had spent all day at the homestead, completing chores, and enjoying the beauty of nature. Now it was a year later, and they were back in the timestream.

“Oh, uh...” Romana acted like she hadn’t even thought about it yet. She knew that she wanted the job, but now she was the dog that caught the car. She stood there awkwardly for so long that everyone just sort of faded away and moved on to other things for a while.

Mateo approached her later when everyone else was out of the room. “I thought you were doing this for your mother. I thought the whole reason you made yourself navigator was to get us back to her.”

“Ramses isn’t ready,” Romana replied. “I’m not ready,” she added in admission. She sat down on one end of the couch.

“I get it. That was a very mature choice.” He sat down on the other end, but more in the corner, so he was facing her.

“Yeah, but I still should have made some choice today,” she argued. “That wasn’t very mature of me. I looked like an idiot.”

“This is a beautiful planet,” Mateo pointed out. “There’s no reason why we can’t stay here for a bit. In fact, I think I’ll go for a swim in that lake.”

“After what happened to Proxima Doma as soon as we left, I’m not so sure that that will be true for much longer. Castlebourne practically went to war too. Maybe we’re cursed.”

“Those two problems were inevitable, and far beyond our control. Proxima Centauri is more unstable than anyone thought, and if you hadn’t helped all those refugees find safety on Castlebourne, maybe they wouldn’t be at war, but they would be oppressed. They carried their problems with them. That’s not on any of us.”

“I just don’t want something to happen here, that’s all,” Romana said.

“Is that why you couldn’t come up with an answer?” Leona asked as she was coming back into the common area.

“We left Doma just as things were falling apart,” Romana pointed out. “Had we stayed, we could have helped.”

Leona shook her head. “Centauri’s poles flipped, sending a massive coronal mass ejection towards the planet. The cataclysm was over in a matter of days. Everyone who died did so within that period. If we had returned a year later, there would have been nothing for us to do.”

“I don’t have to wait a year,” Romana contended.

“You still couldn’t have fixed it,” her father tried to explain. “The fact is, we’re on the other side of The Edge. We don’t have much information on what happens in this time period. We’re kind of flying blind here, and I think we’re all feeling that. It’s perfectly reasonable to see this as the calm before the storm. It’s unsettling. But I say, let’s just enjoy it. Let’s not leave Bida until we come across a reason to. That’s how it’s always been.”

“That’s not why I asked to be the navigator,” Romana said. “I was trying to put us in the driver’s seat for once.”

He chuckled. “I don’t think it works like that. Even without the powers that be forcing our hands, I don’t think it works like that.”

“I’m not sure I’m worried about the storm. I might be worried that there is no storm. I’m worried about purposelessness. I guess I’m not suggesting we caused all those issues on Doma and Castlebourne, and wherever. But I’ve read about your past exploits. You used to be busy every single day. You didn’t have breaks. You didn’t have vacations. Doesn’t it feel like things have slowed down? And don’t you think that’s weird?”

“It’s not weird, it’s by design.” Now Marie had come back. She walked over and turned on her fireplace, presumably for ambiance. It wasn’t like they got cold anymore. She sat down in an armchair. “When our ancestors were banging rocks together to make fire, every day was interesting for them too. Everything they saw was new, and they had to constantly solve problems. Sometimes, their solutions led to more problems. For millions of years, this didn’t stop. Those ancestors didn’t concern themselves with yearly taxes. They wouldn’t even understand the concept. Taxes were a solution to the problem of regulating the exchange of goods and services. The exchange of goods and services was the solution to the problem of high population and limited individual skill. The human race kept progressing, adding complexity, increasing the complications. In some ways, advancement made life easier, but it certainly didn’t make it simpler. We think of the Edge as some division between the common time traveler era, and the unknown ever after, but the truth is this has been in the works for a while. What the Edge really did was become the final move in a fundamental shift in how we advance.”

“What are you saying?” Not even Leona seemed to understand.

“I have been looking into it,” Marie went on. “That is what I’ve been spending my time on. The reason we’re no longer so busy is because almost no one is. Even new colonists don’t have to work hard. They send their automators ahead of time, they usually arrive via quantum terminals, they don’t start with low tech. We’re not advancing into complexity anymore, but for the first time in history, we’re advancing into simplicity. We’re trimming all the fat, and thriving with fewer things. An IMS unit has everything you need to survive except for gravity. A centrifugal cylinder or coin can get you that, or even just a hammer hab. Even the seven of us stopped needing a ship. So you have that, a synthesizer for replacement parts, maybe a virtual environment or two, and some means of generating power. That’s it. That gets you everything you need. You don’t even need a community anymore, as we see here on Bida.”

“How  do you explain Castlebourne then?” Ah, it was Angela’s turn now.

“Castlebourne is contrived complexity,” her sister argued. “No one has to live the way they do there, under those domes, having those adventures. That’s actually why they’re doing it, because real life has become too boring. There’s no struggle anymore. I admit, I can’t explain why they prefer those simulations to virtual constructs, but they still serve the same purpose. They’re there to keep you occupied, and from going insane. And the best part about them is that they’re relatively safe. Since they are designed, they’re controlled. No one in Zombiedome is in any real existential danger. The largest remaining population of undigitized humans was on Doma, and now that’s done with, either via death, or the holdouts giving in and finally digitizing their minds.

“We solved death, we solved boredom, and the only reason we are bored right now is because we don’t think we’re worthy of the free time. Mateo, you’re the first of us to have this pattern, and while you didn’t always know why, it was clear to you that there had to be some kind of reason. You don’t know any other way to live, because you’re still holding on to that higher calling. But it doesn’t exist anymore. Things do change, but they happen over longer time scales now. The days of the one day mission are simply over. The most interesting thing happening right now are the Ex Wars, and the reason we regretfully bowed out was because we all realized how useless we were. We can’t do anything, and that might be scary, but we need to stop trying.”

“So, this is it?” Olimpia asked from the doorway to her unit. “We have reached the end? There is just nothing left for us to do? We’ll just hole up in these belts, and have fun in simulations?”

“No, no, this can’t be true,” Mateo reasoned. “There are still some things we know about the future. That Everest Conway guy. We met him out of order. We haven’t met him for the first time yet,” he said with airquotes. “And we went on that unremembered mission with that guy named Amal. What was that? When was that?”

“Maybe that will never happen,” Marie offered. “Maybe we undid the futures they came from by meeting them out of order, and stepping on a butterfly together.”

“Or maybe we’re just in a lull,” Mateo decided. “Let’s go with that instead. I don’t really want bad things to happen, but I don’t want to be aimless either. If we were to be like that, why are we bothering to skip time anymore? I’m sure Ramses could find a way to suppress our patterns permanently.”

They all looked over at Ramses’ door, half expecting him to waltz back in too, but he was likely working on something important. When he didn’t show, the rest of the team seemed to agree that they didn’t want to talk about this anymore. It was pretty depressing, and while Marie’s thesis was interesting, they fittingly wished that it was more complicated than that. As Mateo said, they didn’t want bad things to happen so they could swoop in and fix them, but it would be weird if they just did what the general population was doing, and just had fun all day. They were decidedly different than the masses. They were special. There weren’t many time travelers around here, so it kind of fell on them to represent. They did decide on one thing, though. If by the end of the day, nothing happened that specifically kept them on this planet, they would leave, even if Romana couldn’t think of anywhere better to go.

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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?”