Microstory 2601: Renata Breaks Through Her Chrysalis and Emerges Anew

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

“Lights to eleven percent,” Hrockas commands.

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

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

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

“Mirror?” she requests.

“Mirror,” Hrockas echoes.

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

“I don’t understand,” Quidel admits.

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

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

“I appreciate it,” Renata says to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shower, clothes,” Hrockas commanded.

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

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

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

Microstory 2600: Quidel Teleports Into Lycander’s Office

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lycander shrugs. “I like antiques.”

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

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

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

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

“Does that mean you’re going back?”

“Not a chance.”

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

“I suppose.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I remember it, yes,” Lycander confirms.

“Yeah,” Quidel replies at the same time.

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

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

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

“Uh, same here,” Quidel agrees.

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

They do as they’re asked.

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

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

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

“I’m glad to hear it, Telman.”

“Room Two, Telman,” Hrockas instructs.

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

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

“Five more minutes,” a muffled voice complains.

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

She groans again.

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

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

Microstory 2590: Quidel Tears Through the Sac and Crawls Out Like a Monotreme

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Quidel tears through the sac and crawls out like a monotreme. He’s all alone, but he’s been through this many times before, and will be able to acclimate to his new body just fine. Of course, in most of those instances, he has had an institution to fall back on if he needed it, but it’s better than the alternative. A few months ago, he saved the “world” from a terrorist attack, almost single-handedly. As reward for his heroism, he was given an egg-shaped crystal trophy. In-universe, this was only symbolic; something to place upon his mantel, and lie about when in the presence of someone who didn’t know that he was a spy. In reality, it was an extra life. Spydome has a bunch of these little rewards scattered throughout the environment. You can’t just find them, though. You have to earn them, and most of the people operating inside of the storyline don’t understand their value. It just looks like a tchotchke.

After solving the secret puzzle by refracting light through the trophy in just the right way, a holographic message appeared on the base, telling him what he now had in his arsenal. It also gave him instructions for how to use it. He emptied the organic starter nanites into a sterile pee sample cup, and mixed it with the other ingredients, which included his own blood. What formed was an actual egg. A human egg. Of course, as a spy, he had safehouses and storage lockers all over the dome, so he chose a remote one to store his egg in a freezer, where it grew on its own from there. It has been sitting here ever since, preserved in its own self-contained stasis field, and kept cool by the freezer, which gathered dust in his absence.

Quidel flicks the interior safety mechanism, and climbs out. “Ugh, gross. I should have stored a shower in here too. This is basically amniotic fluid.” This locker isn’t heated, because that would just make it easier to find, and it wouldn’t help preserve the clone sac. It’s freezing outside, and probably windy. The device. The device is giving off waste heat as the RTG transmits power. He punches in the code to the cabinet, takes out the case, and starts hugging it. It would be better if he had the code unlock the case as well, but that’s probably not super safe anyway. Okay, he’s gathered a little bit of warmth. He only has two sets of clothes here. One of them is a tuxedo, and the other is jeans and a t-shirt. It’s unfortunate, but he’s got to clean himself off, so he uses the tux like a rag. Then he puts on the regular clothes, and hugs the case for a little bit longer.

Okay, he has to leave now. He didn’t store a phone, not because it wasn’t safe, but because he didn’t think he could trust anyone with this location, especially not given its rare contents. And when he came here to stash the device yesterday, he just didn’t think about it. He went into this experience with plans to be a lone wolf, and so far, that has played out as expected. He opens the door, and sticks his head through. The coast is clear. The storage lot is closed right now, because consciousness transference takes so long due to all the safeguards, so they’re not expecting anyone to be in here right now. He didn’t check in, with his alias, or anything. He’s going to have to sneak out, avoiding the cameras, and any guards who might be lurking about. This is what he trained for, though. This kind of thing is precisely why he signed up for Spydome in the first place. It was only his second choice.

He came here in the year 2500, which was when the planet opened up for non-beta exploration. Before this, he spent nearly twenty years in Empty Planet, and then another few months just relaxing in Polar Tropica. He likes adventure, and he likes to relax. After this is done, he still isn’t sure if he wants to switch to Underbelly or the Nordome Network. Maybe Baumrealm. That’s so many years away, though, unless this latest mission ends up cutting his spy life short. Not only does he have no more extra lives, but all of this has become super meta, which the Custodians may not like. This little ragtag team might be making huge problems for the entire system. They might shut them down at any moment.

Holding out hope, he calls upon his lessons, and sneaks over the fence, sticking to the shadows, and making no sound. He’s clutching the device case, still for the warmth, but also because it’s clearly quite valuable. While Quidel didn’t have the foresight to store a burner phone in his locker, he is aware of his surroundings, which means he knows that there is a no-tell motel just down this hill. He walks inside and slaps a hundred dollar bill on the counter. “I need your phone...and your discretion.”

The night manager lifts up the receiver of the corded phone, and punches in a code; one that Quidel recognizes from his training. “Carrier call log has been switched off, but you only have five minutes.”

“I only need one,” Quidel says back in a gravelly voice. God, that’s so cheesy, but back in the 1990s, that’s exactly the kind of thing the hero would say in a spy movie. As the manager is putting on his noise-cancelling headphones, Quidel dials, using his own code to prevent any local tapping. It adds an extremely annoying background screech to the call, but the voice will come through well enough, and it’s better than risking an eavesdropper. When the human Marshal answers, Quidel says, “I’m alive. Meet me at the northern border.” The country in this dome is called Usona, but it’s an analog of more than just the 21st century United States. There are four distinct regions, which also include a series of dome layers that are more like Canada, one series like Australia, and one like New Zealand, which is a bunch of islands. To get to one of these other regions, it doesn’t matter if you take a plane, train, or automobile. You’re gonna end up in an elevator. He really is standing by a border. He doesn’t actually need to get to the Canada-analog, though. Right next to the elevator is a maintenance tunnel that will lead them to Osman, which is this mythology’s analog for Pakistan.

Microstory 1801: Jellyfish Cycle

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I have been around for centuries, but I’ve not been young the entire time, or even most of the time. A few species of jellyfish are capable of something similar, through by different means. They use their genetics to be immortal. I use my soul. Before they can die, they will revert to an earlier stage of development, and begin anew. These creatures have evolved to do this, but the same can’t be said for me, because humans are not like that. The majority of us aren’t, anyway. I belong to a subspecies of humans called voldisil. We did not technically evolve out of the other either, though. You see, there are three genders. Normal people are only conceived by two, but a third can get involved, often without their knowledge. They’ll inject something else into the process. It’s a spiritual experience, which those like me would consider a gift. Back in the early second century, I was created, and unfortunately, I never had the pleasure of meeting my third parent. My mother and father died shortly after I came into the world, when you think about it, because it was only a few decades. I felt like I was able to spend a lot of time with my family back then, but I now realize how precious those moments were, and how I should not have taken them for granted. When I was 36, I contracted malaria, and I assumed that was it for me. There was no cure, no vaccine. It was pretty much a death sentence in my region in that time period. One night, I felt myself drifting away, and had to make peace with the end. I was surprised to find myself waking up the next morning as a toddler. All of my memories were intact, and I was cured. I couldn’t explain it. A new couple adopted me, thinking I was the child of a victim, and not even considering the possibility that I was the patient. They just thought of me as their little miracle.

I continued to go through this cycle lifetime after lifetime. Though, I probably shouldn’t call them lifetimes. I would be older when the transition happened every time, but I was also coming back older. The second time it happened, for instance, I looked more like an eight-year-old. By the fifth cycle, I no longer had to worry about someone trying to take care of me. I appeared to be old enough to handle myself. Each time, I would have to pack up, and move to a new land, so no one would become suspicious. I felt like I was in my early forties the last time I cycled, but that was only sixteen years ago. I’ve not known what it was like to die of age-related causes in a very long time. If I keep this up, I’ll probably only have days to live at a time, and I don’t want that. My soul’s ability to rejuvenate my body was never destined to last forever, and I always knew this about myself. What I needed to do was find some way to make my legacy last. I, of all people, understood what it looked like when someone just faded away. That’s what happens to most, in the end. Barring great fame, perhaps someone’s great great grandchildren will recall stories of their ancestors, but they won’t likely pass these on to their own descendants. I didn’t have any myself, because I didn’t know what their lives would have been like. It wasn’t worth the risk. As I lie here on my bed, prepared to go through this once more, and come back as another middle aged woman, I see now. I see that my third parent must have been in my same position all those years ago. This must be how it works; we pass the torch. I may simply be the latest in a line going back to the dawn of man. My final thoughts are of a newborn baby crying with the others two floors down, who receives my spirit ability, and has no choice but to accept the burden.