Castlebourne Capital Community: Council Criminal Conspiracy (Part II)

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If this wasn’t the most difficult game in 2.5Dome, Dreychan absolutely did not want to see whatever was. What Lubiti and Maaseiah didn’t—couldn’t—understand was that this wasn’t anywhere near the first game he had ever played. His homeworld of Ex-777 didn’t have work. People played around all day. It was basically Castlebourne, but without the domes. They were lazy and hedonistic, and while he preferred a more quiet life, it wasn’t like he spent every waking moment curled up with a book. He had never played a game quite like this, but he did have some experience. Even his muscle memory had some idea what to do, because virtual reality was ubiquitous on 777. So he survived. He ran through the level, avoiding every obstacle, jumping over every gap. It wasn’t easy, and he was exhausted throughout the whole thing, but he did make it. And once he finished that first level, he went on to the next. And the next, and the next. He kept trying to escape, either by taking small moments to try to repair his emergency bracelet, or by just looking for a weak point in the walls. He also screamed for help, but no one responded.

He never found respite, except for a few minutes between the levels. If he managed to get significantly ahead of the moving wall, it wouldn’t have to catch up to him. A new wall would simply slide in place, and start coming for him instead. Sometimes, he had to figure out how to open a door, but it was never too complex, and he was a pretty smart guy. They had underestimated him, and that was their first mistake. He was at the final level now, and about to finish the whole thing. The one thing left to do was to defeat the final boss. How hard could it be?

Oh my God, so hard. It was this giant sort of skeleton creature that could spin its whole torso around on an axis, which it used to try to slap Dreychan away. There had been a sword in the eighth level, which he failed to retrieve. He knew that would come back to bite him in the ass, but there was no fixing it. A normal player could have let themselves die to try again, but he didn’t have that luxury. Any death would mean the true death, so he kept having to cut his losses, and press forward. That one mistake could not be what ended him here. He could do this. He had no choice. It wasn’t only because he obviously wanted to live in general, but seeing the looks of horror on Lubiti and Maaseiah’s faces when he confronted them—he couldn’t lose that opportunity.

He was on the ground, though, on his back. The skeleton creature towered over him. It usually moved fast and violently, but it was slow now, confident that it had Dreychan beat. It didn’t have that much in the way of a recognizable face, but it might have even looked like it was smiling? It reached back with its giant lanky arm, and prepared to smash Dreychan into the floor when something stopped him. It was the hammer from level seven. Dreychan had noticed it on the wall, but it had been receded into a pit, and looked more like decoration. After he spotted the sword, he figured that the hammer was just a distraction. Maybe not, though. Dreychan looked up to see Teemo wielding it. Teemo?

Teemo screamed through gritted teeth as he reangled his weapon so he could press against the bottom of the handle, and push the skeleton’s fist back. The skeleton was confused, and surprised at finally encountering an enemy who might actually defeat him. Teemo made one more push to knock the skeleton off balance for a second, which was enough for him to regrip the hammer, and smash the skeleton’s toes. The skeleton began to hop on one foot as it massaged its metatarsals and phalanges. Teemo didn’t stop there. He hopped over to the other foot, and swung to the side to smash into its ankle. That was enough to tip the monster over to his back. Teemo took a breath, and looked over at Dreychan, who was only now getting back up to his feet. Teemo expertly threw the hammer upwards, letting it slide between his fingers and thumb, catching it once his hand had reached the metal. He pointed the bottom of the handle towards Dreychan. “Care to do the honors?”

Dreychan stepped forward. “How are you here? Why?”

“Do you want to ask questions, or do ya maybe wanna kill the monster first?”

Good point. Dreychan accepted the weapon, found his own grip on it, and smashed the giant skull into a dozen pieces. After all this time, the doors finally opened.

A few days later, Dreychan was all rested up, and ready for the next Council meeting. According to Teemo, the plot to have Dreychan killed wasn’t limited to Lubiti and Maaseiah. More people were involved, but unfortunately, he didn’t know who, or how many. The only reason Teemo knew about it was because Maaseiah underestimated him too. Teemo didn’t explain why he helped Dreychan, but that obviously wasn’t the concern right now. They needed to identify the other conspirators. They had one chance to curate that list, or maybe not even that. If Dreychan had actually died in the game as he was supposed to, they probably would have heard about it, so their surprise might have faded by now. Or, they deliberately shielded themselves from the potential of hearing such news in order to extend their plausible deniability for as long as possible. He was about to find out. Teemo was already in there, recording the Council in secret. Dreychan was waiting in the ancillary hallway so no one would spot him.

They had been waiting for one straggler, but she was here now. Dreychan took a deep breath, walked back over to the main hallway, and stepped into the Council chambers. A hush fell over the room, which was weird, but he just kept walking, not looking. Teemo was recording, he had to trust that. He really wanted to see how Lubiti and Maaseiah were reacting, but he would be able to watch the footage later. Teemo would run it through a special program that was specifically designed to detect surprise, even if someone was trying to hide it. Dreychan casually strode over to his seat, and sat down as he always did. He looked up at Council Chair Rezurah because she was about to call them to order.

“Uh, uh...um.” She was so flustered. Why was she flustered? Was she looking at him? Holy crap, she was looking at him. She was part of this too? She shook her head quickly, trying to loosen up and get back on track. “Thank you all for coming. Um, I—I was able meet—to meet with Mr. Hrockas, I mean Stewart—Steward! Mr. Hrockas Steward. Hrockas. And we came up with the specifics of a plan. We’re gonna move our star 83 light years away, a little bit closer to Earth. We will end up 83 light years from Earth. Now, I know that might be confusing for some, but you have to remember that space is three-dimensional—”

“Sometimes it’s two-point-five!” Teemo interrupted. He stood up, and started walking towards the dais, holding his tablet down by his hip.

“Mister Teemo, you will wait your turn!” Rezurah demanded.

“I’m afraid I don’t have to wait for shit!” Teemo fired back. “You are all under arrest!” He looked over at Dreychan. “Except you, Drey.”

“But all of them?” Dreychan questioned. “Every single one of them?”

“Every goddamn one,” Teemo confirmed as he looked back up at Rezurah.

“You do not have the authority to arrest anyone, and you don’t have any proof whatsoever,” Rezurah argued. “You’re just a scribe.” She looked down at Maaseiah. “I thought you said he was one of us.”

“He was,” Maaseiah replied before standing up himself, and looking Teemo in the eye. “You helped us scrub the security footage.”

“No, I didn’t,” Teemo explained. “Because I am not Teemo.” He lifted his tablet, and started tapping on it. His face began to flicker before disappearing entirely, revealing his true face underneath. “My name is Dominus Azad Petit of the Castlebourne Charter Contingency. Teemo has already been placed in holding, you will all be joining him shortly.” Azad made another tap on his device. A bunch of masked soldiers suddenly appeared. They began to secure the perimeter, and place cuffs on people. “No, not him,” Azad ordered the one who cuffs Dreychan. “He’s not guilty.”

“We’re not either!” Rezurah shouted. “We had an obligation to protect our people, and the planet! We did it for you!”

Castlebourne Owner, Hrockas Steward appeared next to Azad. The man escorting Rezurah met him halfway in the middle of the floor. “I brought you here. I gave you a home when you had none. You didn’t even know what a home was. I gave you everything you needed to live happily and safely.”

“And we’re grateful for that,” Rezurah insisted. “Nothing has to change.” She scowled at Dreychan. “Except him. He’s a danger to us all. You have this whole thing backwards.”

Hrockas shook his head. “My team investigated Mr. Glarieda for months, and found no evidence of him leaking information. You, on the other hand; we have evidence of your crimes.” He jerked his head at her escort, who began to shuffle her away.

“You impersonated a Council leader, and infiltrated our private meetings! You have no right to do this! The people will rise up! There are more of us than you!” She trailed off as she was being pulled out of the room. The rest of the detainees were taken out behind her.

“Sir,” Azad began, “why didn’t you just teleport them all into holding?”

“I want people to see,” Hrockas answered coldly as he watched the last of them go. “I want them to see what happened here today.” He spun around. “Mr. Glarieda, on behalf of Castlebourne, and its executive leadership, I would like to extend my deepest apologies to what you have endured. Your experience has illuminated a number of security flaws in our system, particularly in 2.5Dome. You never should have been able to step through that first door with a broken emergency beacon. I want to assure you that the entire dome has been shut down, and will not be reopening until we have secured a more robust set of guardrails. Furthermore, I have called in a third party to audit our system overall to identify any flaws or room for improvement. As everything on this planet is free, I can offer you no compensation for your suffering, but...” He looked around at the now empty chambers. “The Council is yours for now. I try to stay out of politics. I only stepped in because it was a conspiracy to commit murder. That’s rare these days, and I cannot allow a permanent death to overshadow what we’re trying to build here. Not to sound callous.”

“I understand,” Dreychan responded sincerely. “I’m grateful for the assist. Particularly to you, Dominus Petit.”

“It’s my job,” Azad said. “You almost had that skeleton. I would have been there sooner, though, but we could not get the emergency exits open. I know that sounds bad, but it’s what we’re gonna use to nail these guys. They hacked our system, which means they left a trail for us to follow.”

“Yeah,” Dreychan agreed with the silver lining.

“Well, we’ll leave you to it,” Hrockas said. “I have to get back to work.”

“Wait,” Dreychan said before they could disappear on him. “I don’t know what I’m doing. You can’t have a council with one person. We need to fix this, and I’m not qualified to do that alone. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I will need to maintain a line of communication with my...murder conspirators. They may have tried to kill me, but I recognize that they were doing it to protect Ex-Exins. They will help me.”

Hrockas nodded. “Azad can make arrangements for visitation. They will be monitored, however, so the expectation of privacy that this council enjoyed before has been undone. You’ll get it back once you backfill the positions, and I’m satisfied that there will be no repeat of this incident.”

“I appreciate that, sir,” Dreychan said.

Hrockas disappeared.

“What the hell just happened?” Dreychan asked rhetorically. This was crazy. He couldn’t run the Council, even to find all of its replacements. Even with help, he was not the man for the job. He didn’t even ask to be on it in the first place. He simply didn’t have any choice. When they first arrived, and started establishing their rules, Hrockas insisted that every old world had representation. It made sense at the time, and Dreychan agreed because the Council was so big, he could disappear into it. Now it all fell on him, and he wasn’t prepared for it. Goddammit, why wasn’t there just one other person who didn’t try to kill him the other day?

Azad started to breathe deliberately. “Just breathe, Drey. Like this. In. Out. Slowly. You can do this. You’re not alone, even if it might feel like that. You can reach out to the Expatriate Protection Bureau. As far as we know, they weren’t involved in this. The EPB was the internal police force that the former refugees created. It too was separate from Hrockas and the other planetary executives, but also operated independently of the Council. They were there to check and balance each other. Yeah, they could help. Perhaps they would be able to simply take over.

Dreychan breathed. “Thanks. I’ll be okay. Things are getting easier. The Vellani Ambassador returns every day with fewer and fewer refugees. There are fewer decisions to make than ever.”

“That’s a very positive way to look at things,” Azad said. “He tapped on his tablet a few times, and then tapped the corner of it against Dreychan’s watch. Contact me whenever you need. A Dominus commands hundreds of thousands of troops, but we are presently technically in peacetime, since the Exin Empire threat is only that; a threat. And it will be my job to lead them, not train them now. So I have a lot of time on my hands.”

Dreychan glanced at his watch to make sure his contact card came through. “This has your quantum signature. You planning on leaving this region of space?”

Azad smiled. “Light lag is still a problem even if you’re not light years away. I’m helping develop a new adventure that’s not actually under one of the domes. It’s on the edge of the solar system.”

“Oh, interesting. Well, I’ll let you get to it. I appreciate your support.”

“Any time. It was nice meeting you.” Azad disappeared.

Dreychan was all alone, in the literal sense anyway. He was in charge here now...of the chairs, and the tables. They better get in line, or suffer the consequences. That was his first order of business. He walked around the tables, and straightened the chairs out so they would look nice. Some of them had been knocked over in the kerfuffle. As trivial as it was, it made him feel a tiny bit useful. It was unreasonable to begin any real work today. The only item on the agenda was to approve the plan for the stellar engine, and there was no longer anyone here with the right to make that call. There was certainly no need for a vote. Once people were found to backfill all of these many positions, at least the room would be clean and tidy. Hell, the other original council members might even ultimately be totally acquitted, and return. He didn’t know. So to prevent any kind of future conflict, he just took the day off, and went back home. He would come to regret it.

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Extremus: Year 117

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It’s over. After some long conversations with Arqut, Silveon, and Audrey, she has decided to divorce herself from the ship’s drama. Her promotion to Admiral Emirta wasn’t just to get her to stop having to work. It was an encouragement to just live the rest of her life in peace. Silveon is not going to update her on his progress with Waldemar, if there is any, or if it backslides. She’s going to be a mother, a wife, and a person from now on. The clone that Sevara supposedly has, and the ones that Regulus claims he can find for her, are just going to have to be a problem for future generations. Back in the stellar neighborhood, the majority of people are set to live until the heat death of the universe. Whether that will actually happen for them or not doesn’t matter. It’s certainly the plan. If they commit to something open-ended or indefinite, they may have to continue on with those responsibilities over the course of many, many lifetimes. It doesn’t work like that on Extremus. Barring The Question—which is really only about being alive to see the new home world, not about living forever—people here are supposed to be able to die. They should do this without any stress or regrets. Tinaya doesn’t know how much time she has left, but she has an idea of how long now, and she wants to spend the rest of her time with her family. Waldemar isn’t a part of that. Most people aren’t.

Today is Silveon’s birthday. He has the day off from both of his jobs. Waldemar has pretended that he wishes that he could be here with him, but he has to work. He isn’t simply allowing Audrey to go, but actively encouraging it, again as a way to purport himself to be a nice guy who wants his friends to be happy. Of course, they celebrate the day every year, but Silveon says that this one is special. He won’t say why, because 29 is not a universal milestone in aging, but Audrey agrees that it’s significant. It clearly has something to do with the old timeline, which they’re not allowed to talk about. Tinaya has told them it’s okay to talk about that specifically—she doesn’t want to just stop hearing about their lives altogether—but they insist on staying silent. And that’s just going to have to be okay.

They’re all wearing conical part hats, and being really cheesy with it. He even asked that they give him gifts. That isn’t a traditional practice in this culture, but they wanna have some fun. They all did research to find out what people used to give their kids on their birthdays on Earth. Audrey gave him a coffee table book that’s just unremarkably photographed images of various landmarks; some manmade, some natural. She put a lot of effort into it, drawing from the central archives, and crafting the layout herself, instead of just having the AI render it. Arqut synthesized a car key, and a box of something called condoms, which is evidently what people used to use to protect themselves from pregnancy or disease when they had sex. According to Arqut’s research, these are the kinds of things dads usually gave their sons, but typically at younger ages, as parts of their rites of passage. Tinaya is about to retrieve her gift when Arqut stops her. “No, it’s not over. You think that key is just a symbol?”

“Are you telling me that you gave me a car?” Silveon asks.

Tinaya glares at her husband.

Arqut smirks. “Join hands.” They hold hands and teleport to an assembly bay. It’s relatively narrow, and very long, with smaller assembly rooms branching off of it. While every part, and every machine, and every piece of equipment they need can be synthesized, someone still has to put all the disparate parts together. These are not engineers, mechanics, or technicians, but they study all of those disciplines. They’re the ones who build everything, instead of just each department performing the assemblies for themselves. The room is mostly empty, except for a large tarp that is obviously draped over a land vehicle of some kind. There is either nothing to assemble at the moment, or he requested the synthwrights to clear out for the occasion.

“Arqut!” Tinaya scolds.

“What, it’s no big deal. I found the model in the archives, and thought it looked cool. I wanted to see it in real life, and I wanted to experience this moment. Every father does this for their kid. Or did, anyway.”

“The synthwrights have jobs to do!” Tinaya argues.

“I didn’t use any current synthwrights for this,” Arqut defends. “They’re all my buddies, and retired. We play cards together.” He does love his old Earthan customs.

“You used resources,” Tinaya presses.

“Oh, stop worrying so much. We’re living on a ship of abundance! Don’t you people wanna see it?” Arqut approaches the vehicle, and takes one corner of the tarp.

Tinaya sighs. “Silvy?”

Silveon laughs. “It’s too much, but yeah, of course I wanna see it.”

“Help me with the other corner, Aud.” Arqut and Audrey take their corners, and pull the tarp up and over. No one knows how to describe what’s underneath. They literally don’t have the vocabulary to differentiate it from any of the other dozens of models that must have existed on ancient Earth. “The archive called it a 2001 Pontiac Aztek.” He smiles proudly.

“Forgive me, but...what’s he supposed to do with this?” Audrey asks.

“Well, he’s supposed to sit in it,” Arqut reasons. “That’s what you did with cars. No one could teleport, and they didn’t have spaceships back then. I mean, some people could teleport in secret, and I think some rich people had a few spaceships, but for most people, this was the only way to get around. Come on!” he says excitedly. “Aud, you sit in the back. Can you figure out how to open the door?”

She rolls her eyes, and opens that hatch in the rear.

“You’re next to me, Silvo,” Arqut says, getting in on the left side, in the front.

Tinaya reluctantly takes the seat right behind Arqut.

“Um...am I supposed to have a seat?” Audrey asks, curled up in the trunk.

Arqut struggles to look over his shoulder. “I meant, the back next to Tinaya, Aud. Jesus.”

“Well, you didn’t say that,” Audrey argues before coming around, and climbing back inside the right way. “This isn’t the back, it’s the middle,” she mutters.

“Okay.” Arqut breathes deeply. “Comfortable, right?” He reaches over Silveon’s knees, and opens a small compartment. “Look at this. Funny mechanism. This tiny little mirror here?” He adjusts it a little. “Notice these other mirrors on the outside. And get this...there’s no display. That’s not a screen. It’s just a window.”

“We studied this in school, dad, I know what these things are,” Silveon explains. “We’re not archaeologists. But anyway, if this is a gift for me, why am I not the one sitting behind what are obviously the controls.”

“You don’t know how to drive yet,” Arqut contends.

“And you do?” Tinaya questions.

Arqut releases an evil smirk as he’s looking at his wife in the small mirror between him and his son. “I’ve been taking VR lessons.” He looks over at Silveon. “The key, my good lad.” He takes it, and sticks it into the slot on the side of the wheel thing. He pauses for dramatic effect before twisting it. The engine roars. Did it have to be that loud, or did people back then like it?

“Okay, that’s enough,” Tinaya warns.

“We haven’t gotten to the best part. You can’t see, but there are big buttons on the floor. You push one to go, and one to stop.”

“Well, we’re not going to go anywhere, so that’s irrelevant,” Tinaya says.

“Ah, we won’t go far, and I won’t go fast. It’s fine.” Arqut depresses the pedal and the car lurches. “Whoops, okay. It’s just a little different when it’s real.” It lurches again, but not quite as much. “Give me a moment to get into a good rhythm.”

Tinaya is really worried now. “We need to stop, this is dangerous.”

“It’s all right, Tiny” Arqut promises. “I know what I’m doing.” The car starts moving forward. It’s not going particularly fast, but it’s smoother than the first two attempts. They’re moving down the bay. Lights flip on in response to them.

“Oh, this is interesting, you can really feel it,” Audrey muses.

“You should feel the bumps on the road in the simulation,” Arqut boasts. “I bet it was a hell of a ride in real life.” He speeds up, probably thinking that Tinaya won’t notice.

She notices. “Slow down. There’s nowhere to go.”

“We have plenty of room.” The bay almost runs the full length of the ship on its level. It’s not infinite, however.

“At least turn on autopilot,” Tinaya demands.

Arqut bursts out laughing. “They didn’t have that back then!” He speeds up. Faster, and faster still. It really is reckless at this point, inarguably so. He had some room to play around before, but now, he could get them all killed.

“Arqut!” Tinaya cries.

“Just relax, I know what I’m doing,” he assures her.

“That’s it. I’m teleporting us all out of here.”

“Suppresed,” Arqut volleys. “You think I don’t know you?”

“We’re about to hit the bulkhead!” Audrey tries to alert him.

The wall is indeed getting closer.

“She’s right, we’re gonna crash!” Silveon shouts.

They all start screaming now, even Arqut, though for different reasons. Just before they collide with the wall, he reaches up, and flips a switch next to the little mirror.

There was a lot of debate when Project Extremus was first being conceived. The design of the vessel was the first—and arguably most important—detail that they had to nail down. One idea proposed was to make it relatively small, and expand the spaces they needed using parallel dimensions. History has forgotten why they decided against this. It wouldn’t have really contradicted their mandate to be a generation ship, or to reach the most extreme region of the galaxy. They just chose not too. Parallel and pocket dimensions are still used here, though at far smaller scales. These prove, however, that they’re possible, and it’s a simple enough task to adapt one such of these generators to something larger.

The world around them has shifted slightly. They’re still on the ship, but everything is a little fuzzy and discolored. They pass right through the bulkhead, and into the corridor on the other side. Arqut continues to drive them around this level, which is so far unoccupied by anyone else. They don’t know whether that means it’s more like a lifeless facsimile, or just everyone is at lunch right now. They get their answer when Arqut lifts a lever, and raises them across the z-axis to the deck above. There are a ton of people here, going about their day, and not paying them any mind. He drives right through this as if they’re not even there, just like the walls.

“Okay, now this really is dangerous,” Tinaya admonishes her husband. “We could slip back into realspace at any moment. One brief disruption in power, or the frequency generator, and you could end up killing several people.”

“Multiple redundancies,” Arqut clarifies. “It’s not gonna happen.” He continues to drive around aimlessly, though with less enthusiasm than before. The moment has passed for them to get into it. As he’s driving, he looks around. No one is having all that much fun. Audrey is nervous, but trying not to show it. Tinaya is irritated, and not hiding it at all. Silveon looks rather bored, and maybe distracted? Arqut stops the car, but doesn’t phase them back. “I just thought that this would be an exciting thing to do before...”

“Before what?” Silveon asks him.

Arqut takes a deep breath and prepares himself. He doesn’t face anyone, though. He’s just staring through the front window. “I’m dying. Cancer. They think my weird shapeshifting power is eating me up from the inside.”

“I thought you weren’t using that,” Audrey says.

“It apparently doesn’t matter,” Arqut replies. “In one...maybe two years, Tinaya and I are going to die. It’s okay. It’s time. We’re both old. But Silvy, we missed out on your childhood. I guess I was just trying to recapture that magic. I’m feeling fear and stress about the future, and I suppose I took my nostalgia for those first couple of years when we just had a growing boy a little too far; back to a time when none of us was even born yet.”

Silvy nods reverently. “I understand the impulse. I miss my childhood too, and I wish I could have given you that. I wish, at the worst, I could have jumped into my younger self’s body when he was nineteen or twenty. But Waldemar couldn’t wait. That’s what I thought anyway. I don’t think I’ve been helping. So all this was a waste of time. You lost your kid, and I lost my chance to die fighting alongside my brothers and sisters in the resistance.”

“You did the right thing coming back here, son,” Tinaya tells him sincerely. She looks over at Audrey. “You both did. You’re our children now, and we love you. When your father and I finally leave, as he said, in a couple years still, I know that you will be all right. I’ll know that...you’ll keep working towards a better future. Just don’t forget to find some happiness for yourself. It’s not all about the mission. I’ve recently learned that. Don’t wait as long as me.”

The four of them start to hold and pat each other’s shoulders, and hug, and kiss, awkwardly in this vehicle. Then Arqut drives them back to the bay, where they schedule it for disassembly and material reclamation. Silveon keeps the key, though.

“Oh, wait. Mom, you had a gift too?”

“Right.” Tinaya reaches behind the couch cushion, and pulls out an envelope. “These are the master codes. I’ve been collecting them over the years, and finally secured the last ones I needed a couple of months ago. They will grant a user control of every system, and override any command. No single person on Extremus has ever had them.” She hands him the envelope. “Until now.”

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Microstory 2553: Maintenance Worker

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I didn’t even realize where I would be working when I applied for this job. I didn’t even apply to the Foundation people. I went through a temp agency, which told me that a number of businesses in the area could use my maintenance skills. They sent my résumé out to a bunch of different places, and this was the first one to respond. I have a little trouble talking to people, so I’ve always been grateful for the help. I didn’t even have to interview, which is good, because I’m not so good at them. I think I still work for the agency. They’re the ones who ask me to put in my hours, and my paychecks come from them. Whenever I run into an issue, though, I don’t talk to anybody there. I go to one of the Foundation people. There isn’t usually any issue. They have a computer system where they send my job requests, and I go do them. Unless someone else claimed them first. It just depends on who’s on the shift. I was here pretty early after the company started, and things were a lot harder back then. You see, someone built this hotel, and then they had to sell it to Mr. Tipton and his people. I think they wanted to get started healing people right away, so they kind of rushed making repairs. It wasn’t too bad, but with a building this size, there are bound to be issues. I kept getting requests to fix things back then. We had a larger team back then. We’ve cut back, because now things are okay. They put a lot of money into new parts. I tell you, I’ve never seen anything like it. Usually, whoever has to approve of a purchase will look at the amount to pay for it, and get mad if it seems too high to them. So they’ll go with the cheapest one. Not this place, they seem to always want the higher number, because they assume it means it will be better. A lot of the times, that’s true, but vendors will also try to sell you the more expensive version, when the difference doesn’t matter. I mean, think about this. What if you needed to order a new doorknob, and there were two in the catalog. One of them was made out of brass, and the other out of diamonds. Which one is cheaper? Obviously, the brass one, but the diamond one is dumb. It isn’t better because it costs more, and no one should ever buy that. If I ever go to a building with diamond doorknobs, I’m walking out, because those people can’t be trusted. So I do have to sometimes say, look, this one will get you just fine. This part has to be replaced every five years to keep up with regulations anyway, so you’re not better off with the one that lasts for ten years. They’re just trying to get you to spend more to spend more. I do try to save these people money, because they’re doing good work here. I’m glad I work here, but if it ends, I’ll be okay. I’m sure I’ll find something else. The agency has always been real good to me too.

Microstory 2537: Bodyguard

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My job is pretty straightforward. Everyone knows what a bodyguard is. Landis Tipton is my one and only charge, and to clarify what that means, I will not protect anyone else at his risk. Wherever he goes, I go, and if he goes somewhere with other people, there’s likely to be another member of the security team there. That guard, and anyone else of sufficient proximity, would be responsible for handling a physical threat to those other people in the room. Landis is the only one I’m ever concerned for. I don’t wanna say that his life is worth more than anyone else’s, but...it is. Let’s be real, I’m not here to protect the highest bidder. I’ve answered a calling to serve this planet’s greatest asset, and that is not an exaggeration. I firmly believe that, and I don’t know if I could successfully do my job if I didn’t. I stand off at his flank, keeping one eye on him, and the other eye scanning for threats. Every minute, three or four people come into the healing room who have never been here before. They’re mostly grateful for the opportunity. At worst, perhaps they are anxious or scared. He does heal children, and children often fear medical environments. They are obviously not the threats I’m worried about, however, I also can’t discount them, especially since every minor has to be accompanied by a caregiver. Anyone—anyone—who walks into this room could have ulterior motives. Just because they have a disease that qualifies for healing, doesn’t mean they don’t also have some nefarious agenda. Or maybe it’s not nefarious, per se, but obsessive or destructive. A lot of people are in love with this man, or think they are, and they want more than they are entitled to. Kisses are the biggest thing. They either try to sneak one for its intrinsic value, or because they think it might somehow be a more powerful cure than his breath alone. I don’t know. I don’t care. I put a stop to it. They’re given the rules, and we have signage posted at strategic locations. They’re all fully aware of what they’re there to do, and why those rules are in place. They only spend a fraction of the time under Landis’ breath. Most of it is learning about the Foundation. So really, I don’t tolerate the missteps. I’m gentle and careful, but firm and strict. His safety comes down to more than just whether someone has a weapon or not, and I am the last line of defense against all hazards, great and small.

Microstory 2530: Community Liaison

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What is a Community Liaison? Why, it’s someone who liaises with the community, of course! I kid, but that really is what I do. You have to understand just how unusual the Foundation is. No organization in the world does anything close to what we do. A few make similar claims, and always have, but we’re unique. Part of my job is helping investigate these “competitors” who claim to have their own Landis Tipton. It’s never true, but I have to help spread the facts, and halt the misinformation, so people are aware that true healing only happens here. Another part of my job is staying in contact with the rest of the local community. We’ve built an interesting economy here, and everyone needs to maintain transparency and clarity, again, so there’s no misinformation. Neighboring hotels put up our clients while dealing with potential customers who wish they were patients, but have not been accepted into the program. We want the hotels to regulate these issues, but it’s not like we can tell them what to do, so the conversation continues. There are other businesses who have their complaints that we have to address. People camp in unauthorized places, and it’s hard to get them to leave. They make messes at dining establishments too. When you offer something that nearly everyone in the world wants to get their hands on—and getting those hands on it later is so not the same thing as getting them on it now—you’re gonna run into all kinds. People are disrespectful and thoughtless, and the community treats us as responsible for their behavior. That’s okay, that’s what my job is, and I’m happy to do it. If I’m not reading or crafting an email, I’m answering or making a phone call. If I’m not doing that, I’m responding to questions at a town hall, or speaking with the press, or even making statements to the authorities. This is a complicated situation, and I could sure use some help, but it’s an oft-overlooked role, and I don’t always get what I need. Still, I hold my head up high, and do my best. That’s all I have to say at this time. Thank you.

Microstory 2523: Health Coach

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Currently, everyone whose application is accepted by the Landis Tipton Breath of Life Foundation is entitled to a single healing session. No plans have been made to heal the same person more than once. Research is pretty minimal in this area. It’s not that they’re not running the studies, but they’ve been hush-hush about it. I want to be absolutely clear that we have no reason to believe that Landis’ healings are anything but permanent. If you’re suffering from anything when he gets his breath on you—even if it’s multiple things—they should be healed permanently. We have never heard of anything coming back. That said, what is unclear is how comprehensive the healing is to a person’s future health. I mean, you can get a terminal infection that he cures, only to later be diagnosed with cancer. I’ve never heard of any specific case, but that doesn’t tell me anything. The Foundation does not keep track of its past clients beyond making sure they do not attempt to apply a second time. We don’t check in on them, or send out periodic surveys. Any research done into how past patients are faring are being done by unrelated third parties, and are unendorsed by Landis Tipton, or the Foundation. Really, it has nothing to do with us. We don’t have the resources to track all of that data, and this decision was made long ago. That’s why I have a job, because while Landis can heal just about anything, it’s up to you to maintain your health from now on. We understand that healthy living is not easy. Fresh produce is more expensive. Not everyone can afford an exercise machine, a gym membership, or the time to care for themselves. What I do is teach patients to do what they can. They’re starting from scratch here, which is positively unprecedented in history. Medical science knows so much more about how to stay healthy than it used to, and one area of research that has always struggled with is reaching that great starting point. Landis has given people that, and I urge every one of my patients to not take that for granted. My services are not required. My classes take place after your healing sessions, and are entirely optional. Once you get through that line, and you’re checked out, you can leave. But if you want to make sure that your healing doesn’t go to waste, come to me, and I’ll do everything I can to educate you on how to live a healthy life, so you don’t even have to worry about the fact that there are as of yet no third chances. I have been a doctor for thirty years, and have always kept up with advancements in my field. My colleagues in the same position have similar résumés. We know what we’re talking about, and we can help you. All you gotta do...is turn left before you leave.

Microstory 2521: Queuer

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Guides and Queuers are two sides of the same coin. My co-workers are there to answer questions because they are a lot more knowledgeable about how all of this works. My primary responsibility is to literally keep the line moving. We maintain constant contact with each other, and coordinate to make sure the process is physically smooth while patients transition from one place to another. To do this job, you need to have great spatial reasoning, and the ability to count a group of people extremely quickly. Has a job interviewer ever asked you that before? Did you ever study that in school? It’s not as easy as it sounds. Counting heads is just something you have to practice, but it’s vital to our job of making sure everyone is in the right place at the right time. We simultaneously don’t want too many people, or too few. It wastes everybody’s time, including both patients and staff. Landis can only heal one person at a time, so it’s up to the rest of us to make sure each next person is ready to go once he’s done with the last one. It’s stressful and chaotic, but I find it quite invigorating. The line never ends until the end of the day, but man, once we get there, it’s so satisfying. You don’t even know. One by one, the last of the patients step through that door, and you feel like you’ve completed a puzzle. And this happens every single day. Well, I mean, I don’t always have the post-lunch shift, so I don’t always see the end, but then I saw the beginning, and either way, it’s rewarding to keep people moving through that queue. Since you have to be good at counting people, and at recognizing them—so you don’t start giving people the same instructions they already heard, or asking them duplicate questions—you really see the progress you’re making. One after another; Bob, then Sue, then Sally, then Manuel. They walk up, go in, and disappear, never to be seen again. If you notice the same person too many times, you’re probably not coordinating them correctly. If you don’t ever notice the same person more than once, you’re probably not fit for the job. It’s all about balance. That’s what I tell people. I’m a balance worker. Moving lines, adjusting stanchions, filling waiting rooms as soon as they’re emptied of the group before. It’s a delicate dance that would probably make for a good show if you could see it from a God’s eye view. And I get to be one of the choreographers.

Microstory 2518: Daily Coordinator

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I am in charge of patient experience. The Appointment Coordinator is technically my superior, but she doesn’t have time to manage our department’s staff, so that falls to me. While the automated system is great for setting up appointment windows, what it can’t do is make sure that people actually show up for their appointment, or more importantly, don’t show up outside of their window. When your application is approved, you’re assigned a two-hour window on a particular day. If you can’t make it, you need to pull your application, and try again. It may sound like it helps us for people to show less urgency, but it overcomplicates the process. Just come when it’s your time. If you fail to show up, your name will be flagged, and your reapplication will be a lot more complicated. Don’t. Be. Late. That’s why we have the campground, and why nearby landowners literally built new hotels to help mitigate visitorship. I have to keep track of 2,000 people every day. The greeters will check you in, and tell you where to go, which sometimes means going right back out that door if you come before your window. I have it all set up real nice. Part of the first floor is dedicated to waiting rooms, where you wait with your group of 40 to 45 other people. Yeah, that’s right, we know how to break it down. Forty-five people per room with a total of eight rooms equals a maximum of 360 people in each two-hour window. While you’re sitting there, we may call you up individually to confirm some information, such as your financial situation. We got to keep things moving, so when your room is called, you’ll all proceed to the auditorium, where you’ll watch the orientation video. Don’t ask the host any questions. That’s what my guides and queuers are for. When the video is over, depending on the timeline, you’ll either go back to your waiting room, or go ahead and get in line. People have asked why the line is so long, and why they can’t just wait in the rooms. Well, it’s because Landis averages three patients per minute, but that doesn’t mean we record exactly three every time. Some people have mobility issues, and we experience other delays. If there’s a problem with your candidate profile, you may be bumped down to another group. That all takes time, and we don’t want to waste any of it. We don’t want Landis to be sitting there with no one to heal for an extended period of time. It’s gonna be hard, waiting through all of this, but it is absolutely worth it, because when you’re done, you’ll probably feel better than you ever have in your whole life. If everything goes smoothly, we might get the full 2,160 patients, but we usually don’t, and for that, we apologize. You will not miss out on your healing, though, so don’t fret. Any remainders at the end of the day will end up in Group One for the next day, and we might ask you to come in earlier than normal operating hours to make up for it. I know, I sound really blunt, and maybe a little aggressive, but this job is not easy, and if I take the time to be too polite and nice, we get behind schedule, and I can’t allow that.

Microstory 2514: Staff Supervisor

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I was one of the first people who Landis and the Director hired after all the contract work retrofitting the hotel was finished. He figured, if you’re going to start hiring people, you better find someone with experience doing that, so they can handle it for you. Prior to this job, I had eight years under my belt working in Staff Services at various organizations. I wouldn’t have called myself the best of the best, and that’s what Landis was looking for, I think. He was working with a tight budget, so he couldn’t waste all his seed money on someone who would demand mid-six figures. Don’t get me wrong, I knew what I was doing. He gave me a list of positions he thought that we would need to work the Foundation, I added to it, we collaborated, and I worked to fill out the staff. Unlike a lot of other startups, we kind of needed a full staff right away. We couldn’t just start with a few people, and grow our business gradually. As soon as the public even caught a wisp of a hint that there might be someone in Kansas who could possibly even plausibly come anywhere close to alleviating their conditions even just a little bit, we knew that they would arrive here in droves for help. We needed people to coordinate all the visitors, to manage all the finances, to care for the patients, to support Landis directly, to maintain the facilities, and to reach out to the community. We’ve added a few brand new positions since then, like the Research Liaison, and everyone in the Legacy Department, but for the most part, we had a solid idea of what today would look like. Yeah, I’m just looking at our old notes, and we were pretty spot on. We did the math, and determined how many people Landis could heal in one day, which gave us the number of workers we needed to keep track of them, and we’ve not had to go too far beyond that. This is the best job I’ve ever had, because I actually feel like I’m making a difference in the world. I count myself lucky to be on board, and I think pretty much everyone here would say the same thing. It’s my job to know these things. If someone were having a problem, I would know about it.

Microstory 2507: Pain Feeler

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I can feel your pain, and kindle your ecstasy. Isn’t that such an interesting way to put it? You know, these gifts we had; they didn’t come with instruction manuals. We had to figure out how they worked, and develop ways to explain them. Other people’s gifts might be a little vague and profound, but mine was simple. If you were in physical and/or emotional pain, I could feel that. Fortunately, I could choose not to feel it. Not everyone on the team could exercise so much control, and switch it off when they didn’t want it. I don’t know if I could have lived with myself if I couldn’t so I’m grateful for that, and I’m sure Landis is too. Basically, what I did was make people feel better. It was only a temporary solution, and a very complicated and delicate process to navigate. Sure, I could have run around the world alone, essentially as a walking-talking recreational drug, but that’s not going to help anyone in the long-term. And honestly, if they wanted to feel better in the way that I could help them, they could just do it themselves. What I did was only one step of the program. When it was the right time, I eased their suffering, so they could think clearly, and figure out how they were going to improve their lives. It wouldn’t work if I did it too early, because then they would have kind of forgotten what was so upsetting to them in the first place. They would basically treat my gift as the only useful solution, and not worry about what would happen when it wore off. I couldn’t do it too late either, or they would get frustrated that they did all this work, and I could have just solved their problems right away. I had to find a balance, which was the hardest part of the job. These days, I’m pretty happy. I loved what I used to do, and I think about it sometimes, but it’s kind of nice to just have a regular job, and live a regular life. Things were so complex, and I was always having to think about how I was going to kindle someone’s ecstasy. Now I move boxes from a truck to a shelf, or a shelf to a truck. There’s an answer for everything, and you know when you’ve done it wrong. And the burden of responsibility was a weight on my shoulders that I didn’t know I was carrying until it was gone. Basically, all I’m trying to say is that I’m glad that it happened, and I’m happy with what I have now. I don’t think I could say the same if my life were just one or the other. Landis is going to cure everyone one day, and while it won’t necessarily alleviate pain, I know that it will help, and it’s more than I could have ever done on my own.

Microstory 2429: Capital

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This is the Capital City of Castlebourne. It doesn’t have any other name besides that, which is unusual, since they seem to have an appreciation for word puns in their other names. I suppose they just wanted to be real serious here, which is probably a good thing. Where I’m from in the Goldilocks Corridor, our planet didn’t have a capital. It was just a village where we made soap. That’s really it. Several years back, we were visited by the resistance to the Exin Empire. They wanted to know if any of us were willing to join the movement, and fight alongside them. We didn’t understand why we would even consider that, because for the most part, the empire left us alone. They asked us for soap, we gave them the soap, and they left. They never abused us, or attacked us, or anything. The resistance started educating us, though. They taught us about the other worlds, which were being forced to do other things to serve the Emperor. They showed us images of these other places, involving big machines that could produce their own wares in a fraction of the time. We were stunned. Some of us didn’t believe it. Some of us still don’t, and presumably still live on our home planet. We were making soap by hand. It was hard work, and the only reason we didn’t complain before was because we literally didn’t know that there was any better way. We were intentionally kept in the dark. Well, anyway, no, none of us joined the resistance. We were soap makers, we didn’t know how to fight! But then a few years later, another new ship showed up, and promised to take us somewhere where we wouldn’t have to make soap anymore. We asked them what work we would be doing, and they kind of laughed. No work, they said; we wouldn’t have to work at all. This was another concept that we didn’t have any frame of reference for. You work, it’s what you do. Not even the war-fighting people said anything about a life where we wouldn’t have to work. After some further education, most of us agreed to go with these other people. We flew away, and landed on Castlebourne. They didn’t lie to us, we don’t have to work. It’s taken some adjusting, but we’ve gotten used to just being alive and happy. I still wanna work, though. It still feels like the right thing to do. So I came to Capital to see how I could contribute to the governing body of our new society. I don’t have much experience, but they were all so welcoming to me. I’ve not been assigned anything yet, but they’re working on finding a place. I’m sure it’s difficult since I don’t have any skills. As for the dome itself, it’s gorgeous. Our village was dull and lifeless. I didn’t realize how much of a struggle it was for us just to survive. In contrast, this place has trees and other plant life. Tall buildings with hundreds of people work to make the world a better place for us refugees. For whatever reason, we were allowed to know how to read, but not everyone here had that luxury, yet the government is helping, and they’re doing it in style. I can’t wait to get my new job, and get to come to this beautiful dome every single day for the rest of my life.

Microstory 2389: Vacuus, December 12, 2179

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Dear Condor,

I can be pretty intense too, which is why I think we’re perfect together. Of course, we have to define together a little differently than most people, but we’re not the only ones in this situation. A number of other couples around the solar system are basically going through the same thing. There’s this whole subculture of spacefarers who have met their significant others on the network without ever meeting each other. To be fair, we’re still clearly unique, because no pair is as separated as we are—Titan and Europa only get about 9 AU apart—but I think they still have some advice that we could follow. Funnily enough, you’ve already implemented some of these with your sister (though hopefully not all of them). For one, they suggest sending sexy pictures. Check that one off the list for us. Corinthia and I got in a fight about it, but we worked it out. If you would like some more, I would be willing to do that, but I don’t want our entire relationship to only be about sex. I don’t think that would be fulfilling in any meaningful way for either of us. Videos are better, but a little tough for us. My quota is different than Corinthia’s, and the image ends up very compressed, so it’s probably more annoying than anything. I will try it, though. The first photo I sent you was actually a still from a video I did where I introduced myself, and my role on the base. As far as the nonsexual tips, the stories I read about suggested something that they called asynchronous shared experiences. That’s like how you had a shared birthday party, and pretended to be in the same room together by wearing the same clothes, and looking at the same stars. Reading the same books, and watching the same show, are also good examples of this. I don’t want to do The Winfield Files, since that’s something special just between the two of you, but maybe there’s something else? Since we’re so worried about the Valkyries returning, it should probably be something on the shorter side, especially since I know you have a ton of other responsibilities, it’s not all about me. So maybe just a movie? I like to read, like you, but they take so long, and I get particularly invested in epic novels. One thing that has helped some couples is building a fictional environment to occupy together. They imagine what their lives would be like if they could live them in realtime. Fair warning, this doesn’t work for everyone. The lie can be...maddening. I’ll tell you what, since I have more free time than you do, I’ll attach a list of movies that I’ve been meaning to see. I’ll watch them all. They’re all different genres, so you watch whichever one you want, and send me your thoughts. That will be our first shared experience.

Patiently yours,

Velia

Extremus: Year 91

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It has not been easy, but Tinaya and Arqut have gotten through the loss of their son, and the sudden introduction of an alternate version of him. What he did cannot be undone, so the only choice is to move forward. They held a little funeral for their lost child, and then that night, they shed their last tear for him. A new tear might form itself later, but for now, they’re okay. Though Silveon may now be older than them, for all they know, it’s still their job to protect him. Even if he’s smart enough to navigate the complexities of adulthood, he’s still just a little guy, so if nothing else, he needs them to open cabinet doors, and stuff. Plus, he has to act like a baby around most people.

Tinaya has the day off today, so she’s the one taking him to his playdate. Niobe would normally do it, but she has the day off too as far as her designated guardian duties go. The door opens. “Hello. Calla, I presume?”

A woman in her fifties is standing on the other side of the door in a pink floral robe that’s insufficiently covering up a nightie that is far too revealing. She’s holding something in her hand that Tinaya doesn’t recognize. It’s a small tube that’s glowing orange on one end. She smirks at Tinaya and lifts the tube up to place it between her lips. “It’s called a cigarette. People used to smoke ‘em on Earth. Like this.” She inhales, inducing the glow to brighten just a bit. She then contorts her mouth as she removes the cigarette, and blows the smoke out away from Tinaya and Silveon’s faces.

“I don’t smell it. If it’s smoke...”

“It’s not real.” Calla takes another puff, but covers the tip of the cigarette with her hand, which blocks the holographic light from spreading throughout the area.

“What’s the point?”

“It’s real on the other end,” Calla responds. “Still fucks up my lungs.”

That’s stupid, Tinaya thinks to herself.

“Yeah, it is stupid. But at least there’s no such thing as secondhand smoke on this ship, so you should be grateful. And by the way,” she goes on as she’s stepping aside for them to come in. “I’m not in my fifties.”

Tinaya takes a deep, epiphanic breath. “You’re a psychic.”

“Born and bred,” Calla agrees with a tight voice, which leads to a short coughing fit. “Can’t turn it off. Holo-smoking helps a little. The drinking...helps a lot.” She reaches for a glass of some kind of gross brownish liquid, and downs the rest of it.

“How are you getting away with these things? They’re illegal.”

Calla chuckles as she’s pouring another. “People got secrets. I know they’re secrets.” She offers the drink to Tinaya, then shrugs and downs that one too when Tinaya declines. She pours a third. “I can get away with pretty much anything.” She walks over, and points an accusing finger at Silveon. “As long as this little shit doesn’t fight me.”

“Excuse me?” Tinaya questions as she’s pulling her son away protectively.

“I can’t read his mind,” Calla explains as she’s shuffling away from the two of them. “He must be psychic too, and the best one I’ve ever heard of if he’s already mastered his barriers at his age.”

“What about your son?” Tinaya asks. “What’s he?”

Calla freezes up, and stays there for several seconds before dropping her glass down on the table. She then waits another several seconds. “A bigger shit. Come on. He’s taking a nap, but I can wake him up.”

Tinaya follows her down the hallway after Silveon shuts his eyes, and nods. This is apparently what he wants. But he must be crazy, because not only is this woman the biggest mess she’s ever seen, but the situation with her son is even crazier. “Is this a joke? This is Waldemar? Why, he must be at least eight years old!” The boy is sleeping on his side while a toy soldier operates on its own on his pillow right in front of his face, loudly shooting imaginary enemies.

“He’s ten,” Calla corrects.

“I assumed he was a baby, like Silvy.”

“You think this was my idea? Your niece, or whatever, is the one who brought him.” Niobe knows the truth about Silveon. If she did this, it’s because he asked her to.

Silveon suddenly giggles, and gently slaps Tinaya in her temple. It doesn’t hurt, but she does feel something surge throughout her head. It quickly dissipates.

Calla narrows her eyes, and peers at her. Then she shifts her gaze to Silveon, and back again. “He just put a psychic barrier in your mind.” She once more points at him accusingly, barely holding onto the glass with her remaining fingers. “What are you?”

“He’s my son,” Tinaya declares defiantly. “He’s my baby,” she adds in a softer tone. She adjusts her hold on him against her hip. “I don’t think this is going to work out. I’m sure Waldemar is a very lovely boy—”

“He’s not.”

“Then all the more reason...”

Silveon places his hands against her collarbone, and pushes his face away from her. Even though they’ve not come up with a code for how he can communicate with her while they’re in mixed company, she is absolutely sure that he’s trying to tell her that they need to stay.

“I think he wants to stay.” Calla is interpreting the move the same way apparently.

Tinaya looks at her child with concern on her face. This is obviously part of his mission, and if she holds him back from that, she’ll have lost the younger version of him for nothing. All three of them have sacrificed so much to make this work; four, if they’re counting Niobe. They can’t give up now. She may not know Silveon very well, but no son of hers would have sent his own consciousness back in time just for funsies. It has to be incredibly important that he make the changes to the timeline that he’s surely painstakingly planned out. She switches him to her other hip. “Okay. Well, we’ll be back in twenty minutes. I forgot his favorite stuffie.”

“Whatever.” Calla closes the door. “We’ll be here.”

Tinaya leaves the unit with Silveon, but then teleports back to their stateroom from the hallway. She carefully sets him down on the couch. “Why didn’t you tell me this before? Why didn’t you warn me?” She paces the room impatiently.

“I wanted you to see it for yourself,” Silveon replies. It’s still weird, hearing this little toddler articulate so well. “If Auntie Ni and I had tried to explain it, you would have just shaken your head, and forbade us from going. I need you to understand what we’re dealing with, so you’ll see why there’s no other choice.”

“I don’t know that. I didn’t see that. Nothing about that situation tells me why the hell—!” She stops herself. She shouldn’t be cursing in front of her son.

“It’s okay, mom. I’ve heard worse. I’m an adult.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that.” She takes one beat. “Are you psychic too? Have you been reading our minds this whole time?”

“No, I can’t read your mind,” he assures her. “Anyone can learn to put up a psychic barrier, and I learned from the best. I had to.”

“Who is Valdemar Kristiansen? Or rather, who does he become?”

“Hopefully nothing,” Silveon says.

“You’re here to assassinate him? Is this you trying to subvert the Hitler's Time Travel Exemption Act?”

Silveon laughs. “No. I’m not here to hurt anybody, mother.”

She keeps pacing for a little while in silence. “Why you? He’s eight years older, and no one can take you seriously yet. Why did they choose you to do this?”

Silveon smiles kindly. “No one chose me. I didn’t even volunteer. I’m the one who realized what needed to be done. I came up with the idea, I made the plan, and I’m following it through. I had help, but this isn’t a large operation. I might have chosen someone else if I had thought that I could trust them. But if there’s one thing this ship has taught me, it’s that...you can only rely on yourself.”

“I hate that lesson,” Tinaya laments.

“Me too,” he says comfortingly. “Which is why I’m trying to change it.”

“What’s wrong with that woman?” she asks.

“Just what you would think. She hears all the despicable things that people would prefer to keep to themselves. She tries to suffocate and drown them out, but they still leak through, and...”

Tinaya can guess where he’s going with this. “And she can hear her own son’s thoughts. That’s the real problem. He’s the real problem.”

“He doesn’t have to be. I can teach him.”

She has stopped pacing, but she’s looking away now, deep in thought. “Teach me first. Tell me what I need to know about him, and the future, and I will fix him for you. I’m an adult. I’m the Captain! This is no job for a baby.”

“It is, though,” he contends. “It’s not just about knowing what will happen if I don’t help him. It’s about who he’ll listen to. And I’m sorry, but the Captain? You are the last person he’ll listen to. Not everyone respects the chair. Some hate it. Some hate you. He’s the embodiment of all that hate. He absorbs it.” He pauses for a great deal of time. “Literally.”

“So, he is a psychic too?”

“Not in the way that you’re thinking. Look, I’ve already said too much. You really shouldn’t know all this. It’s not your problem. Just pretend to change my diapers, and sign me up for school when I’m older. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Did you have kids?”

“What?”

“Of your own. Did you grow up to have kids? Can you tell me that much?”

“No, I didn’t. I was too busy. I don’t think I could have done this if I had.”

“Then you couldn’t have known that what you’ve asked me to do is impossible. I can’t just let you handle it, no matter how old you are. I will always be your mother, and I will always need you to need me.”

He processes her words, then acknowledges them with a respectful nod.

Tinaya sighs, and looks over at the nursery door. “What’s your favorite stuffie? Or, what do you want it to be? We’ve come up with a cover story, so let’s make it real.”

Silveon smiles. “The fennec.”

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