Castlebourne Capital Community: Castlebank (Part V)

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For the next few weeks, Castlebourne was essentially being run as a police state. It wasn’t as bad as it was depicted in movies. The Expatriate Protection Bureau had no intention of holding onto power. They didn’t even want it in the first place, because it stretched their resources thin. They had a mandate, and they wanted to return to it exclusively. But restarting the real government was taking time. Dreychan held at least one press conference every day to remind the public of this, and to inform them of their progress. He was walking a fine line, exuding the confidence that everyone expected to see, but being clear that he never wanted any of this, and didn’t have the experience for it. This was such a tricky little dance, because while it was true that he didn’t know what the hell he was doing, he didn’t want to create any unrest or rebellion. Everyone just needed to be real patient while they figured this out. He also needed to remember to forgive himself for his deficits.

One thing he was unambiguous about was what his job entailed. As Superintendent and Deputy Superintendent respectively, Dreychan and Yunil were not in charge of the public. They were only responsible for finding and securing the leaders who would be. They needed some help with this as none of the ex-Exins had ever lived in any sort of democratic society until recently, and even then, because of the way the council was structured, it wasn’t all that democratic either. There were better ways, and people living here who straddled both worlds could help them come up with them. Some of the highest ranking members of Hrockas’ Executive Administrative Authority had once lived on Earth; some of them centuries ago. Yunil and her little faction of academics had studied Earthan sociopolitics, but these others had experienced it first hand. They understood the nuances, and historical shiftings, which the central archives could only describe in an objective sense. They provided insights that the two of them were using to decide what to do here and now.

In its current state, Earth and its nearest neighbors were what they called a scalar representative council democracy. It was infinitely scalable, and could go all the way down to a household of two people. A given independent population would elect or select a representative. There were different ways of going about this, but it had to be agreed upon. Anyone who felt it was unfair could appeal to a higher class, and ask for help. With each higher class of population range, one representative would act on their behalf, with other leadership chosen to aid in the administration of policy. The representatives in a given class also sat on a committee together. These committees only met when they had to; when they needed something from other communities, or couldn’t enact changes on their own. But being self-sufficient and independent was the goal most of the time. There was no need to get the whole planet involved when a single settlement could handle their own business. It was a complicated array of committees and subcommittees, banding together in temporary federations when required, and disbanding when the work was over.

This was all well and good, but it only existed in the stellar neighborhood, and the farther from the Core Worlds you went, the looser the structures became. A colony forty-two light years from Earth did not typically ask for aid from Earth because that aid would usually be at least forty-two years away. However, it was certainly possible, especially in terms of Teaguardians, which were always posted nearby. Castlebourne was a single planet, with no meaningful light lag, and a relatively small planetary population. The visitors did not count. They followed guest law. Only the refugees needed representation. So perhaps the scalable representation model would not really serve them here. Perhaps they needed to reach further back in history, to the advisory-administrative model. That was what Dreychan thought they had agreed upon.

Yunil had a different idea that she was only now suggesting. “Wait, why are we only including the refugees? Why not the visitors?” she posed.

“That’s how it was before,” Dreychan answered. “The Council of Old Worlds held no sway over the visitors.”

“That sounds arbitrary to me. This is the capital of Castlebourne, so let’s have the new government lead the whole planet...of Castlebourne.”

“Well, visitors aren’t citizens,” he reasoned. “As soon as we stepped foot on this rock, we became citizens of it. It was by default, because we had no other real home. Visitors belong to wherever they hail from. They could stay a hundred years, and they still wouldn’t be true citizens.”

“Why shouldn’t they be? Why shouldn’t we allow them to become citizens?”

It was clear to Dreychan that she was not asking him these questions because she didn’t know the answers, but because she was preparing to explain how those answers were inadequate, and the plan ought to be changed. He didn’t want to make it easy on her. “Well...that’s not how Hrockas has it set up. This is a tourist destination. He didn’t design it for us; he just accepted us when we needed somewhere to go. We can’t change that without his authorization.”

She wasn’t satisfied yet. “What are we getting as citizens,” Yunil pressed with airquotes,” that visitors aren’t?”

“Um, erm...” he teased.

She didn’t think that he would ever get there this time, so she skipped to her thesis. “I looked it up. It’s energy credits. We get a daily stipend of credits, which when saved up enough, could theoretically allow us to go to other planets. Except, it’s hardly anything. You would have to save up for a thousand years to even travel to the next star system over. It’s not like that in the stellar neighborhood. Their credits let them go places. They often have to get a job to earn extra, but the two of us have jobs, and neither of us has saved up enough. Not nearly enough.”

“What are you proposing, that we make them all citizens, and increase this energy budget?”

“There are tens of thousands of domes here, which require an immense amount of power to run. They obviously have the energy. Let’s incentivize people to become full citizens, and participate in society. Right now, there’s no reason for an Earthan to move here permanently. They still earn their stellar neighborhood stipend. It’s not much, but it’s free money, and it gives them the option to cast back to that region of the galaxy, and travel somewhere else. Let’s start our own bank and give people a reason to exchange their currency. We could call it Castlebank.”

“Wow. Did you come up with that just now off the top of your head?” he joked.

“Shut up,” she said with a scoff.

Dreychan sighed. This was her M.O. She had her ideas, and she wanted them heard, but she didn’t want to pitch them unprompted. She wanted the conversation to end up in a place that made those ideas inevitable and unavoidable. He was on to her little games, and rarely let her get there like that anymore. He knew that she was always trying to steer him, and this time, he knew where. Good thing she was so cute. “Enough tricks. Let’s see your proposal. You always write one up, don’t deny it. If it makes sense, we can submit it to Hrockas to see what he thinks. As of yet, we don’t have the power to implement some sort of Civil Access Support Trust, or whatever we might call it.”

Her eyes widened. “How did you...” She thought about it for another half second. “Oh, you already read my proposal.”

“I did,” he admitted. “We both have full access to each other’s stuff. I also looked a little back at your revision history. You came up with a lot of names for it, but you clearly wanted the acronym to be C.A.S.T.”

“Well, it makes sense. This planet is called Castlebourne because the first structure under the first dome was a castle, but also, the most common way people travel here, by far—even accounting for the refugees who came via the Vellani Ambassador—is quantum casting. I’m not sure who came up with the name, or whether they realized the double-meaning, but it’s there. Let’s use it.”

“You don’t have to sell me on it. I think it’s a fine idea. I just don’t think Hrockas will go for it. He’s sort of a king. He may actually prefer that most people remain visitors, because that way, he can institute whatever rules he likes, and if the visitors don’t like it, they can leave. If they become citizens, the expectation will be that they will stay unless something changes. In order to prevent these changes, or rather changes that they don’t care for, they will demand representation. He’ll no longer be a unilateral voice. He may even lose his power altogether if all the new citizens ultimately vote him out. I’m not calling him a tyrant, but he’s clearly a control freak.”

“Well...” Yunil began, only trailing off for a matter of seconds. “Well, let’s polish this up, and devise some counterarguments. He probably won’t come out and say it’s because he’s a king, though, so we’ll have to be on the lookout for the subtext.”

“Oh, you think this is about his power?” Hrockas was too busy, so the next day, they requested to pitch their new idea to one of his staffers. Angelita ‘Lita’ Prieto was the Director of Transition for the Department for Cultural Transition Assistance. She was the one who greeted all the refugees, and helped them get acclimated to their new situation. She explained how Castlebourne worked, but also how the free galaxy as a whole functioned. She and her team were the ones who taught them to no longer fear the Oaksent’s rule, and that they would be safe here. Most people loved her because of her lessons, and because so far, she had not been proven wrong.

They had it all worked out; how the government was going to operate, and who would fall under its purview. Visitors would have the opportunity to become citizens, converting their current energy credits to a Castlebourne equivalent at a ratio of 1:1.1. This 10% bonus was necessary, because at the moment, the only happening place to be this far out in this direction was Castlebourne. It would be a long time before the circumstances changed. Once a citizen, they had voting rights and representational power, meaning they would have to declare a home. They never had to spend any particular amount of time in this home, but it helped determine who represented them. And it couldn’t be any random dome. If you were a little odd, you could lie down and sleep every night in The Wasteland, but it was not officially categorized as Residential, so it didn’t count. They had some ideas about how to manage votes from people who were spending extended periods of time in character, like in the Spydome or Nordome networks, but this was the gist of it.

“Sorry,” Dreychan said. “I didn’t mean to imply that he didn’t have the best interests of your people at heart—”

“This is about the sun,” Lita said...weirdly.

“What about it?” Yunil asked.

“Well,” Lita began, “it needs to be moved, remember? We’ve not been able to do that, because your government fell apart. We can only ethically return to the possibility after you set up the new one, but if that new one gives voting privileges to everyone on the planet, it’s going to take even longer, or fall through entirely. What if the former visitors overwhelmingly don’t want to move? They don’t understand the stakes. Do you know how many warships we built that we literally never used because we stopped going to war? This is before the Teaguardians, which are primarily defensive, and while they are indeed manned, they hardly do anything either. The visitors don’t know about the Exin Empire. They don’t know why you fled. They don’t know how powerful The Oaksent is, or that magical time powers exist. They don’t know anything. We’ve had to lie to them since they got here, and that would have to stop. Are you prepared for the fallout?”

“That’s a good point,” Dreychan admitted. “I don’t want to exclude the visitors, and I think it would be great if they became citizens, but they’re too ignorant. That’s not on them, it’s on us, and even as Superintendent, I certainly don’t feel like it’s my right to give them the whole truth.”

“What if we just delayed it?” Yunil asked. “Not the stellar engine, but CAST.”

“You need some form of government now,” Lita argued. “Someone has to agree to the move, and they have to do it in an orderly, structured fashion.”

“But it’s like we say in the plan, this model is scalable. We could start out with a smaller scale—just the ex-Exins—and incentivize citizenship enrollment later, when we’re already well on our way.”

“That...isn’t the worst idea,” Lita acknowledged. She looked up to consider the proposal. “You certainly can’t get mad about a law that was passed before you became a citizen. I mean, you could, but you would have no leg to stand on.” There was a silence for a moment before she looked over at the lawyer. “What say you?”

“No, no, no, you’re right,” Jericho replied. “You clearly know what you’re talking about, I don’t know why you bothered inviting me to the planet, let alone this meeting. The visitors have no legal recourse. It happened before they became citizens. Of course, it’s not a problem that we were contemplating the two transitions at the same time; the physical move, and the citizenship naturalization process. We can certainly argue that they’re not connected, and that the 10% bonus should not in any way be construed as hush money, or some kind of preemptive out-of-court settlement, or anything like that. Everyone would believe us, and it would all turn out totally perfect and happy, and I have..no notes.” Jericho Hagen was a snarky little shit sometimes. Everything he did seemed to be against his will. To be sure, he was on Castlebourne of his own accord, but he harbored resentment regarding some things that went down many years ago, which pulled him into all this timey-wimey nonsense, and it seemed as though he still hadn’t gotten over it. Dreychan and Yunil were not cognizant of the particulars.

“What would you propose?” Yunil pressed him.

“Decouple the decisions. Move the sun now, like we need. I don’t remember how long that’s gonna take, but just go ahead and do it while you’re legally in the clear. You don’t have to wait until we’ve reached our final destination to open your little CAST program, but I recommend at least twenty years, maybe more.”

“It will evidently take about sixteen or seventeen years to get there,” Lita reminded him.

“Perfect,” Jericho decided, looking at Dreychan and Yunil. “That gives you a full three years to have supposedly and reportedly come up with the completely separate proposal to integrate the visitor population into the community as full, legal voters.” He looked over at Lita. “I recommend we scrub the meeting notes from the record. We never talked about this.”

“Is that legal?” Lita questioned.

“On Castlebourne, yeah,” Jericho promised. “The reason we’re in danger with moving the planet and signing up new citizens, is because it involves the rest of the galaxy. We are not fully beyond the laws of the core worlds. Our charter forces us to have some liability, and places us under some scrutiny. We have the latitude to make our own choices, though, as long as it doesn’t impact anyone else.”

“Okay,” Lita said. “Draw up the revised proposal,” she suggested to the ex-Exins, “removing all mentions of citizenship, and let me look over it before we submit it to Hrockas together. We will establish the new government, step one; move the sun, step two; and then begin CAST, step three.” She and Jericho left.

Dreychan and Yunil buckled down, creating the proposal yet again, and really getting all the wrinkles ironed out. It was a masterpiece, if they could be so bold as to declare. Lita loved it, Jericho tolerated it, and Hrockas accepted it. They spent several weeks advocating for the new governmental plan to the people, and setting up a voting schedule. It was another couple of months before the first candidates came out to campaign for themselves. After just over a year since the fall of the Council, the Castlebourne scalar representative council democracy was officially implemented. Dreychan and Yunil were able to step back, and let the gears turn smoothly without them. The representatives’ first order of business was to hold a referendum on the stellar engine plan. Instead of letting the Council and Hrockas alone decide, they opened it up to everyone’s opinion. And that opinion was overwhelming. The current citizens of Castlebourne did not support moving the sun.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 23, 2536

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Leona walked back into the lab. Ramses wasn’t there, at least not in the main area. He did have that room in the back that he asked others to stay out of. Surely that didn’t apply to her, though. They were partners. She contributed a lot to rebuilding his lab, and the slingdrive array, which were their most important assets. She opened the door to find him naked on an exam table, at a high incline, a gaping hole in his abdomen. “What the hell are you doing?”

The robosurgeon stopped moving out of an abundance of caution since Leona did not step into this room decontaminated, or even very recently showered. Ramses wasn’t under anaesthesia, though, so he was annoyed. “Get out!” he demanded. He looked at the little surgical arms. “Get back to work!”

“Belay that order!” Leona countered.

“You don’t have control over this thing,” Ramses dismissed.

“Tell me what you are doing to yourself.”

Ramses sighed. “This was incredibly tedious and irritating. I cannot lose my forge core again. So no more pocket dimensions, no more bags of holding. This thing is being stored safe and sound inside of me, and if I lose that? Well, that means I’ve lost my entire substrate, so I don’t know what else I could try.”

“This is insane. You don’t have room to spare. What are you taking out to make space?” she questioned.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sick of repeating myself! What will you have to take out!”

“Just some of my voltaics, and my sleep regulator. Okay, most of my voltaics. And my nutrient booster, and my water recycler, and two of my metallic oxygen reservoirs. But that’s it.” He stopped, but it looked like he wasn’t done yet. “And part of my liver, but it’s fine. I’ll just have to sleep more, and eat more, and I won’t be able to survive the vacuum for as long as normal people do. Not a big deal.”

Leona shook her head. “I know that this was hard on you, but this is not the way.”

“I’m already using an upgraded body,” Ramses reasoned. “It’s not like it will reject it, or go septic, or something like that. People have all sorts of implants, and some even use artificial organs all the time, mixed with their organic ones. It really is okay.”

“Do you know why we aren’t telepathic, Ramses?”

“Because I couldn’t figure it out.”

“That’s a lie, and we both know it. You didn’t give us telepathy, even though it would make a lot of the things we do easier, because you decided that that was a bridge too far. Every posthuman has their line, and that was yours, whether you’ll admit it or not.”

“It’s not a spectrum,” Ramses argued. “It’s an array, so if your claim were right, it would be more like excluding something from the array.”

“Metaphors aside, you’re not a mech.”

“And this isn’t cybernetic. It’s a...flesh pocket.”

“That’s not what that term means,” she warned.

“A storage cabinet,” he amended. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m doing this, so you can either squirm and watch, or get out and breathe.”

“It’s a slippery slope. That’s what I’m trying to say. Because there will come a time when you have to escape this body unexpectedly, and it will prompt you to try something more drastic. You could lose a part of yourself trying more and more. You could lose our pattern. You would be off the team.”

Ramses frowned. They stared at each other for a while. “It wouldn’t be the first time a version of me lost the team.” He looked at the arms. “Keep going, surgeon. Take out the legacy parts.”

“There’s a better way. I think you should take more time to think of it.” Leona opted to leave. She didn’t want to watch the procedure. She didn’t know if she was in the right, or if there was nothing wrong with what Ramses was trying to do. She just didn’t want him regretting it, or doing something that couldn’t be reversed. She stood in the main lab for a couple of minutes, hoping that he would change his mind and come out. When it looked like he wasn’t going to, she started to walk away.

Ramses came out, still pulling his shirt down over his bandaged incision site. He set his forge core on the counter.

“Ah!” she screamed, “I changed your mind!” She reached out and took him into a bear hug.

He pulled away, still rather sore. “Careful, careful.” The local anaesthetics conflicted with the liquid bandage, so he would have to switch to painkillers. “Yes, you did change my mind.”

“What was it? Tell me what did it exactly...in case I need to say it again.”

“You told me I should look for a better way, and I think you’re right,” he answered. “I think I have one.”

“Lay it on me,” she encouraged.

“Bioprinting.”

“Bioprinting?”

“Bioprinting.”

“What does the method of substrate fabrication have to do with anything?”

“The science wasn’t there before, but it is now. What we need are brand new upgrades, complete with new parameters. Instead of just a handful of nanite implants, they will be evenly distributed under the skin, ready to emerge and form even faster than now. The forge core is still a part of the plan, but I don’t have to take anything out to make room for it. I just need a new design. I’m going to work on it now.”

“We were hoping to leave now,” she reminded him. “We need to take Meyers to his new home on the other side of the galaxy.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Ramses said. “Someone else can handle that. I need to focus.”

“I thought you didn’t want this to be a permanent lab.”

“And it won’t be. I have a new idea for that too. But I can’t waste time going off on a side mission for some hermit that I have no strong feelings about. You can go if you want to, or collaborate with me on my new projects. But from where I’m standing, the other five can handle it without us.”

“Four,” Leona corrected. “We need at least three at each location.”

“Sure, sure, sure, let’s do that. You make that call, but I’m not going to be on the away team. Not this time.”

Leona studied him as he turned around, and started pulling down tools, preparing his workspace for his new plans. He was instantly engrossed in the flood of ideas, he wasn’t paying attention to her, and didn’t notice when she snagged the forge core before teleporting away. She jumped to Olimpia, who was alone, but she wanted to talk to everyone. Well, most everyone. She tapped and held onto her comms disc, opening up for a voice command. “Group call to all team contacts, except for Ramses.”

“What?” Olimpia questioned. “Why?”

“All team contacts except for Ramses Abdulrashid. Channel open...” the operator announced.

“Everyone convene at my location. Don’t tell Ramses.”

“Why are you leaving him out of it?” Olimpia asked. “What’s going on?”

Leona waited for everyone else to arrive before explaining herself. “Ramses is obsessed. He’s working on a new project, which places him in danger. He wants three or four of us to take Mr. Meyers to his new home, but I am not comfortable with that. I know what’s going to happen. If we use our new slingdrive array for the first time ever to separate, we will stay separated for an extended period of time.”

“Did you speak with a seer, or something?” Marie asked.

“It’s not that I know it for a fact. It’s more that that’s how our lives always go. We don’t really know where we’re going, and I’m formulating a hypothesis about how the slingdrives work, which I don’t even think Ramses has noticed. I believe that their scope is smaller than we once thought, and every time we use them, we risk running into someone that we don’t want to. I would rather we all be together when that happens. I’m sure you won’t like it, but I have admin access to the array, so we’re going to sling, and Ramses is coming with us, whether he wants to or not.” She held up the forge core. “Wherever we end up, we’ll at least be together, and we will rebuild from there. Even if that means ending up back here anyway, I would prefer not to take the chance.”

“You’re the captain, honey,” Mateo pointed out.

“I’m not asking you to be on my side about it,” Leona went on, “but I wanted to tell you ahead of time, because after we land, he’s going to be angry, and he’s going to have questions. I don’t want to have to answer to you five while I’m dealing with him. So ask your questions now, so when we do go, we’re only worrying about him.”

“I have a question,” Romana said, holding up her hand.

“Okay...” Leona prompted.

“Can I go warn Ramses?” Romana couldn’t keep a straight face with that.

Leona scoffed. “Any serious questions?”

“Yeah, when is this happening?” Angela asked.

Leona asked her husband. “Is Meyers in stasis?”

“He is,” Mateo confirmed.

“Then we’ll leave right now, or as soon as you all have everything you need.”

“Our pocket dimensions are back in order,” Angela said, “so I suppose there’s nothing more to pack.”

Leona’s gaze drifted over to her wife. “Oli?”

“I don’t agree with this. We don’t keep secrets from each other. We don’t trick each other. We have enemies, and we treat them how we must to survive, and protect others, but we’re only able to do that because of the trust that we’ve built within the team. I wouldn’t have asked you to marry me if I thought you were capable of something like this.”

“You didn’t see what I saw,” Leona tried to explain. “He was mutilating himself.” She shook the forge core. “He was going to stuff this thing under his liver, and take out a bunch of his transorgans to do it.”

“That sounds like his call,” Olimpia argued.

“And this is mine. I’m still the captain here, even without a ship. You all spent a great deal of energy convincing me of that. So which is it? I’m your leader until you don’t like a decision I make?” Leona questioned.

“Yes, exactly,” Olimpia concurred. “That’s what good leaders do. They listen to their people, and change their minds when reasoned with.”

“I’ve not heard a good reason not to do this,” Leona decided.

“Then you’re not listening. Captain or no, I have my own agency, so I’m going to go talk to my friend. I agree that we should stick together, but we’re not going to do it as a surprise. Thank you for making sure he keeps his forge core with him, but he may want something else, or he may need to turn off some machines, or place an AI in dormant mode so it doesn’t go insane in the void of time. This is irresponsible, and I won’t stand for it.” And with that, she disappeared.

There was an awkward silence in her absence, which Mateo broke. “She has a pretty good point.”

“I know that!” Leona snapped back. She tapped and held on her comms disc again. “Team lurk mode. Admin authorization Dolphin-Racecar-Kangaroo one-niner-three.”

She listened to the conversation between Olimpia and Ramses in secret. The former wasn’t selling Leona out. She just appealed to the logic side of Ramses’ brain, reminding him that the slingdrives were brand new and untested, and it was too dangerous to let them go their separate ways. They all had to go together. She promised that they would find a place for him to continue on with his projects, either here, back on Castlebourne, or somewhere else entirely. Ramses was understanding, and persuaded. While everyone was making sure they had everything closed up and secure, Ramses shut his lab down, and gathered the last of his belongings. He told Leona to go ahead and keep the forge core that she had taken as it was only one copy, and he had another. He was considering making five more of them so everyone could have their own. They were fairly user-friendly, and getting easier to operate with each iteration. Their main function was to rebuild his lab, but they could also just construct some other structure, which could come in handy if they did ever end up getting separated, and stranded somewhere hostile.

Pribadium glided into the room. “All ready to go?”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Mateo said to her.

“Is that what you would call it? I was pretty combative,” Pribadium noted.

“Let’s just call it passionate,” Mateo decided.

She smiled. “Thank you for doing this. If he wants to be a hermit, I don’t have a problem with that. I just don’t want him to go back into the system, and try to scrounge up the energy credits. He’s not much of a contributor. He’ll never save enough if he relies solely on passive income.”

“Energy credits?” Romana asked Leona in a whisper.

“I’ll explain it later,” Leona whispered back. “We don’t worry about credits. We generate our own energy.”

“No problem,” Mateo said. He pressed a button on the stasis pod so it started hovering over the magnetized floor. Rambo, could you take the other end? Leona can drive.”

“Yeah.” Ramses held onto the pod, just enough to make sure it was transported with them. He was still a little perturbed, but hopefully he would be able to return to his work quite soon. Perhaps they would carve a chunk out of Linwood’s new celestial body, or something nearby, and stick around for a bit while they rebuilt.

“Wait,” Pribadium said. She went over, and planted a kiss on Mateo’s lips. “I know you like the ladies.”

“What has become of my reputation!” he questioned rhetorically.

“Better step back, Pri-Pri,” Leona suggested.

Pribadium saluted them, and then disappeared.

“Prepare to sling,” Leona said as she was tapping on her arm band. “Yalla.” They left.

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Microstory 2584: Renata Rushes up to Match her Mother’s Stride as They Escape the Bank

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Renata rushes up to match her mother’s stride as they escape the bank. To be fair, she’s the one lugging this heavy thing around. They slip out the backdoor, and head for a black sedan. It’s not the car that Libera drove up with, and it has its own driver, which suggests that she was planning to make off with the device the whole time. But Renata is not going to confront her about this, because right now, they have a job to do. “How are you moving this fast?” she questions.

“You can move just as fast, dear, if not faster,” Libera replies as she ducks into the backseat, and uses hand gestures to urge her daughter to join her quickly. The car speeds off.

“Because I’m a robot?” Renata questions.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ren. You’re not a robot.”

“Where to, Madam?” the driver asked.

“Lightwood Safehouse,” Libera answers. A codename, no doubt.

They sit in silence for a moment.

“Don’t you have questions?” Libera poses.

“Did dad know?” Renata responds.

“No.”

“Did you get me into the NSD in the first place, or did you just get me the job at the bank?”

Libera doesn’t speak right away. “I never wanted this life for you, until you grew up. Well, I still didn’t necessarily want it, but I could see that it would be a great fit for you. You’re resourceful, intelligent, and you learn fast.”

“A little too fast,” Renata mumbles under her breath.

“What was that?”

“You thought my job would be safe? You really didn’t know about this thingamajig, and all the other stuff there?”

“I knew there were other things there, but they were supposed to be outdated, outmoded, obsolete, legacy innovations,” she says, almost amusingly repetitively.

“Why does the NSD keep an offsite bank for asset storage? Why aren’t they just stored somewhere in the basement of one of their own facilities.”

“It is an NSD facility. You’re asking why they use it as a front. It’s simple, really. The kind of activity you see at a dark storage site is the same as you’ll see at a normal bank. Strong locks, high security, enhanced surveillance, regular armored vehicles, loading and unloading. It’s unremarkable. You see that kind of thing at a bank, you shrug it off. You see it at a pet store, or a non-descript office building, you start asking questions. It’s not hard to track suspicious activity when you have enough data. That’s what NSD analysts do. They look through footage of our competing nations, and find clues based on atypical or unanticipated behavioral patterns at the city scale.”

“That’s why we’re doing this,” Renata says, making the connection. “We’re generating a narrative by exhibiting a pattern that our enemies are expecting. They were looking for people to walk out of that bank with purpose, carefully carrying a black duffel bag like this one. That’s why that truck has been following us since we left.”

“Nice spot, and that’s exactly right. They were predicting that we would try to sneak out the back with the asset to be as discreet as possible. We’re putting on a show, and clearly they’re watching on the edge of their seats.”

Renata sighs, and looks through the driver’s side window again at the truck that has been tailing them. “I wonder how the boys are doing.”

“We can’t know. Communicating with them would compromise the gambit.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have any more questions for me about my experience with the Division?”

“I don’t think I need your answers,” Renata starts to explain. “You can’t give me the specifics about your missions, and I’m already putting the pieces together in my head. A missed dance recital here, a hidden safe in your home office there. It all makes sense now. There’s not much I need to know that I can’t figure out on my own.”

Libera smiles. “This is why I got you the job at the bank, and why my superiors agreed to it. They wanted to keep an eye on you, yes. I wanted you to be fulfilled, yes. But the most important point is that, if I didn’t help you stay with us, you might go lend your services to someone else. It would be annoying if you wasted your time on the Domestic Affairs Bureau, or the local police, but truthfully, they were worried about you defecting to another country, or something. The bank was supposed to be fairly uneventful, but still engaging, since safety and security would be at the top of your priorities at all times. So while you weren’t expected to get into any fist fights or standoffs, it would still feel like work that matters. And it did matter. All banks serve a purpose. You’re not supposed to know what’s in the deposit boxes, whether you work at a front, or not.”

“I’m not mad. I understand your position. Like I was saying, this explains everything. I’m actually kind of relieved. You weren’t a bad mother...” She can’t believe she’s saying this. “...you’re a hero. If I could think of one decent reason to neglect your child, it would be to protect the whole country. How can I argue with that?”

Libera is smiling even wider now. “You continue to surprise me.”

Renata chuckles, then clocks the truck again. It’s getting closer, which means it might make a move soon. Their driver knows what he’s doing, so she’s not worried. More silence for a few minutes. “Did they really think I would defect?”

“Well, they didn’t think you would run off to Sclovo, or something, but maybe one of our strong allies, like Elbis or Pindor.”

“Well...I should be flattered.”

“I would.”

“They’re getting closer, ma’am,” the driver interjects.

“I see that. Scooch over,” she says to Renata. Once the space between them is clear, she turns the armrest down, and places her hand on the panel behind it. It glows in the shape of a hand as it checks her biometrics. The panel slides away so Libera can pull a rifle out. “Are you ready?”

“No.” Renata takes out a gun for herself. “But that hasn’t stopped me yet.”

Microstory 2583: Renata Unlocks the Safe Deposit Box, and Takes a Step Back, as Per Protocol

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Renata unlocks the safe deposit box, and takes a step back, as per protocol. She’s not even allowed to pull the box out, and set it on the table, which was apparently her first clue that this wasn’t a normal bank. Director McWilliams, despite being the one responsible for the box, doesn’t move either, probably because he’s the Director of the NSD, and he doesn’t pick things up. Quidel reaches over and takes it instead, setting it down on the table.

McWilliams looks around the room, likely to make sure that no one else can see or hear them. “I’m letting you three see this,” he begins, indicating Renata, Quidel, and Lycander, “because you have become intimately involved in this case. And Madam Granger is just here too. We are not out of the woods yet. Everyone wants to get their hands on this, and I’m going to need everyone’s cooperation and participation to make sure it stays safe. It’s obviously no longer safe here, so we need to find an alternative. Does everyone understand what I’m asking of you?” He checks for responses, and receives non-verbal ones.

“It’s a weapon?” Quidel probes.

“It’s not technically a weapon, but it can be weaponized.” McWilliams places his fingers on the latch. “This isn’t the only part of it, it’s just the part that counts. The delivery system could probably be jury-rigged. The core—the code—that’s unique, and it would be hard to crack the encryption or reverse engineer it, but not impossible.” He looks at them again to gauge their reactions.

“Get on with it, Aldwin,” Libera urges.

Unsure of all this, he sighs, but lifts the lid anyway. Inside is a radially symmetrical electronic device, mostly sleek metal black with blue glowing piping. It’s standing on short black legs that go all around the circumference on the bottom. The casing is matte, and it’s about the size of a football...or half a football, rather. It was humming when McWilliams opened the box, and it still is, but less so now, suggesting that it responds to movement or interference. “It’s inactive at the moment, but it’s always on. It’s powered by a Radioisotope Thermoelectric Generator, also known as an RTG.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Quidel says. “It would constantly be radiating heat. You would have to ventilate it.”

“It is ventilated,” McWilliams claims as he’s pointing back to the safe in the wall.

Quidel leans down, and looks into it. “Hm. That does look like ventilation.”

“But what does it do?” Renata presses. This thing looks dangerous, and she’s been working right next to it for almost an entire year now. He says it’s not a weapon, but it certainly looks like it could be a bomb. He even called it a core. But he also said code. What the hell is it?

“It’s a technological infiltrator. It can break into any system, and plant its own code. You’re thinking, sure, a skeleton key. Not a big deal. The difference between this and similar devices is that this can spread across an entire city, and its surrounding areas, especially if you get it up high enough, and again, as long as you connect it to the right amplifier. That would be the easy part, though.”

“What would you want with this sort of thing? It sounds like it could only be disruptive and destructive,” Quidel points out.

McWilliams nods in understanding. “The labcoats came up with it as an extension of a system that the government was developing for a nationwide communication system, or even a global one. Imagine a seismic event is predicted within minutes of its onset. That’s nice to know, but only the people with access to the equipment are the ones who know it. We wanted to be able to warn everyone in the area. Of that, or a hurricane, or a military attack. The possibilities are endless. We have ways of calling every phone number under our purview, but you have to bother yourself by picking up your phone. And honestly, dealing with the competing carriers is a nightmare. This would allow us to reach every TV on sale in the window, every digital billboard, every radio transceiver. We could even send a message through someone’s electronic blood pressure cuff. It would connect to all these things and more, all at once, nearly instantaneously.”

“But it could do damage,” Lycander points out.

“That’s why I said it could be weaponized.” He gauges the room again. “I don’t owe any of you an explanation, but if you would like one, understand that we produced this with good intentions. We had no plans to deploy it against an enemy nation.”

“Maybe you didn’t,” Renata says, “but you’re not the only one in control of it.”

“That’s why it’s in the safe,” McWilliams explains. “We need the executive branch to turn leadership over to the next administration, who won’t see this as a weapon of war, or espionage. This place is supposed to be untouchable. If you open one of these boxes, you better have a good reason, because it could cost you your career.”

“Is this a good enough reason?” Lycander asks.

“It obviously needs to be moved, and I don’t trust anyone but you three to move it,” McWilliams insists.

“Why us? We’re just a couple of randos, and my boss,” Quidel says.

“That’s exactly why it has to be you, because your loyalties aren’t in question. You don’t know enough. You’ve not been in the game long enough to have established ties with bad actors. Your anonymity is to our advantage.”

“Where can we take it?” Lycander asks him.

“I have an idea or two,” Libera volunteers.

“No,” McWilliams replies firmly.

Microstory 2582: Lycander Pulls Into the Lot, and Orders the Fake Police to Surround the Carnage

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Lycander pulls into the lot, and orders the fake police to surround the carnage. He steps out of his car, and approaches Renata and Quidel. They’ve just laid down their weapons, and are holding their hands up just a little, even though they know that they’re all friends here. “Miss Granger. Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

“I didn’t know this bank was a front. I tried to get out.”

Lycander adjusts his pants by his belt, and looks around as his team begins the clean-up procedures. “Yeah, well, that decision was above my paygrade.”

“The question is,” Renata begins, “did they keep me close so they can make sure I don’t do anything stupid, or did they hope something like this would happen, to eliminate me without getting any blood on their hands?”

He chortles, and looks back at all the death and destruction. “Neither. They only assign people they trust to a place this important. You failed your initiation mission, but you showed leadership and ingenuity. There’s no way you could have known whether it was a powder or a gas. The water would have worked if it had been the former.”

She points at Quidel. “He survived. Did the other one?”

“She survived,” Lycander admits with a nod. “She did quit, though. Obviously, we had to protect both of them, but especially Q here, who asked to stay in the program.”

“I don’t blame you for lying to me. Not too long ago, I wanted to be one of the liars.” She takes a breath. “What happens now? I already know too much.”

Lycander nods again. “That’s also above my paygrade.” He looks back yet again, but this time to his car, where his boss is still waiting. “Listen, uh, a very important man is about to come talk to you. Not that you have an attitude problem, but you both need to be on your best behavior. He doesn’t like informality. He sent me over to assess the threat level, so I’m using this as an opportunity to warn you that he can end your career...or your life.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Sir,” Renata says.

He waves at his chauffeur with two fingers. The chauffeur opens the passenger door, and lets Director McWilliams out. He stays there while McWilliams buttons his blazer, and walks over with purpose. “Samani.”

“Director,” Lycander responds.

“So, these are the two that saved our asses this morning?” That’s a pretty colloquial thing for him to say.

“Yes, sir,” Lycander replies.

“Renata Granger, sir.” She holds up her hand, bloodied from the battle. “I would shake your hand, but I better not.”

“I prefer a tight nod anyway.”

She obliges. Quidel does too.

“Miss Granger,” the Director goes on, “I understand that you had some trouble with your initiation. We saw something in you that day, which made us not want to lose your talent. We didn’t know if you were right for field work, but it appears that you have proven us wrong, while proving me right to keep you on the payroll at all.”

“Thank you for saying that, sir.”

Director McWilliams opens his mouth to say something else when a classic burgundy roadster barrels down the road, and pulls into the lot. A couple of fake police try to stop the driver before noticing her placard, and letting her through. “Oh, here we go,” McWilliams mumbles. “Look, Granger, I want you to know that it wasn’t my decision to leave you in the dark. Even I answer to the council.” He could go on, but there isn’t time.

This isn’t how this twist is meant to be revealed. Yes, Renata will usually reappear around this time during the new recruits’ training, assuming they make it a year in, but that whole plotline was scrapped when Renata suddenly failed out. She switched to what should have been more of an Ambient role. The drama surrounding her discovering the truth should have a particular impact on the trainee, which doesn’t matter now that Quidel is a full officer already anyway.

Renata doesn’t let her chin drag on the ground for long before she pulls it back up, and begins to foam at the mouth. She’s speechless at the sight of her mother. Libera has been a part of this the whole time. It explains a lot about how she raised her child and why. These little secondary realizations are all presumably swimming around in her head right now as she watches her mom walk up to them in anger.

“Director McWilliams,” Libera begins accusatorily. “Why was my daughter placed in such great danger?”

“Chief Granger. Didn’t know you’d be here.” He was not happy, but despite technically being Libera’s superior, he was also quite scared of her. He came up in analysis, while she started out in the field. At least, that’s what the implanted memories say. In reality, none of that actually happened.

“Answer my question,” she demands. “This bank was meant to be a low-level asset. Easy breezy. Keep Renata employed and fulfilled, without risking her life. That was our deal.”

“Your deal?” Renata questions. She immediately seems to regret speaking up. She’s not ready. She’s not ready for this. It’s not supposed to be like this at all. A shock, yes, but after months of training; not a traumatic experience like this attack.

Libera doesn’t seem ready to explain herself anyway. “Go on,” she urges McWilliams.

“It was a low-level asset,” the Director agrees, “but over the years, departments have added to it, and its importance as a strategic stronghold have increased. It’s nobody’s fault, it wasn’t planned; it just happened.”

“It didn’t just happen over the course of the last year,” Libera argues. “I was given outdated information.”

“True,” Director McWilliams admits, “but things were recently pushed over the edge with one particular deposit, and the unfortunately timed leak of its existence.”

“Show me,” Libera demands. She faces her daughter. “And then, Renata, I’ll explain everything. I promise.”

Microstory 2580: Renata Arrives at Work for Her First Day as Assistant Branch Manager

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Renata arrives at work for her first day as Assistant Branch Manager. It was a short road to get here, but she had experience as a teller all throughout college, and successfully completed the accelerated leadership and management program. She doesn’t even think about the NSD anymore. That’s all behind her. It happened a year ago. This is a good, solid job, and she loves the people. This particular branch feels more like a small town bank than a national chain. There’s a much bigger and nicer branch not too terribly far from here, and this one doesn’t open until 10:00, for some reason, so customers typically prefer the new one. She sees a lot of the same people every day. A couple of elderly people just come in to chat, because they’ve made friends with the tellers and managers over the years, and they don’t have much else going on.

As she’s rounding the corner, she looks up at the second story window. The white lamp is sitting on the sill, proving that the bank is safe to open. Her manager, Lazar is waiting for her with his usual cup of orange juice. “How’s the tea?” she asks.

“Little too hot,” he replies. He spotted the white lamp too, and has not seen anything suspicious this morning. He inserts his key into the lock while Renata inserts hers. After they hear the third click, he opens the door, and lets her in. “Especially for this weather,” he adds. That’s not in the script, but it’s not a signal that anything’s wrong either. “Do you remember where it is, and what the code is?” he asks.

She’s already walking over to the credenza. She reaches underneath, and opens the keypad panel. “You think I would forget it one day after training?” She punches in her code.

“Just checking. I know how stressful it can be. I was as nervous as all hell the first time I got opening role,” he replies as he’s inputting his own code on the manager keypad. The alarm is disabled. “Do you hear that?”

Renata perks up her ears. It sounds like a motorcycle, which on its own would be fine, but it’s blueshifting. “Morning glory.”

“Hit the alarm! I’ll get the security gate!”

Renata runs for the counter, and jumps over it like a tracer. She slams her hand on the button with just enough time to look up and see the motorcycle crash through the glass doors before the gate can come down, and plow straight into Lazar. She’s torn now. Does she escape to the panic room, or does she try to help her boss? He’s a good guy, and doesn’t deserve this. He’s the number one reason why their few customers are so loyal. The motorcyclist probably wasn’t trying to hurt him; he just couldn’t reroute. He only wants the money, which he can’t get yet. The vault is on a time-lock, and the registers aren’t filled yet. This was an absolutely stupid time to rob a bank.

Before Renata can react, the motorcyclist stands up, having barely suffered a scratch apparently. He leaves his dark helmet on, and looks around to find his bearings. When he sees Renata, he pulls out a gun, and trains it on her. It doesn’t look like he’s going to ask any questions. Before he can squeeze the trigger, though, a shot rings out from outside, and he gets hit in the arm. He drops the gun. A second man enters the bank. He walks straight for the motorcyclist, and shoots him in the head without a second thought.

Just because these two weren’t on the same side—or at least not anymore—doesn’t mean Renata is in the clear. This second guy is not her hero. He does look familiar to her, though. Who could it be? Or is it just the adrenaline. Out of options, she holds up her arms, and hopes that he does have questions for her.

The man holsters his weapon behind his back, and holds his own hands up too. “Whoa, it’s okay, Miss Granger, I’m not here to hurt you.”

Funny he should say that. Knowing her name implies that he and this other guy planned to rob the place together, and they had some sort of falling out, or one of them wanted more than the other. Even so, she must know this guy. Where would she know him from? “I’ve seen your face,” she points out. It’s not the smartest thing she could say in this scenario, but it’s the first thing she thought of.

“Yes,” he agrees. “You know my face. I’m Quidel. Quidel Jesperen. We met at that train station? With the deadly gas?”

Oh. Right. “They told me you died.”

“They told me the same thing about you. I guess they didn’t want us knowing that we both still worked for the NSD.”

“I don’t work for the NSD,” she insists.

He looks around at the ceiling. “Don’t you?”

“What are you doing here? What is going on?”

He points over her shoulder. “Some very dangerous things are kept in those safe deposit boxes. Some chemicals, some weapons...more to the point, some information. You’ve been keeping an eye on it, apparently without even knowing it. It’s been discovered. This whole place is compromised. That silent alarm I’m sure you pushed, it was disabled. Well, it wasn’t really disabled, but all comms are being blocked; even hardlines.”

This doesn’t make any sense. Renata’s mom helped her get this job after she decided she wanted to return to banking. It can’t be an NSD front, and if it was, why would they let her apply, let alone work here? They kicked her out. They made that incredibly clear a year ago. “I can’t trust you,” she says simply.

They hear more motorcycles on approach.

“You’re gonna have to trust someone. They want in that safe deposit room, and if we can’t stop them, they’ll go through us.”

Microstory 2579: Libera Opens the Door and Beams When She Sees Her Depressed Daughter on the Couch

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Libera opens the door and beams when she sees her depressed daughter on the couch. She didn’t even have to pick the lock this time. Renata isn’t bothering to secure her home, because she just doesn’t care anymore. She doesn’t care about anything. She’s lost her shot at being a superspy—a job which never really existed—and now she has nothing. The truth, however, is that she actually has everything. She now has the ability to make choices. Sitting in front of the TV all day, eating junk food, isn’t the best choice, but it proves that Libera’s plan is working. That’s good enough for now. This is nowhere near the end.

Renata doesn’t look up or speak. She just stuffs another handful of chocolate-covered pretzels in her mouth. One of them falls into her cleavage. She leaves it there.

Libera doesn’t say anything either. She sits down in the chair next to her, and watches the TV. This planet, Castlebourne is located 108 light years from Earth, and this dome exists within a network of eleven constructed nations, which vaguely match some of the superpowers of old on Earth. It’s not Earth, though, and in fact, none of the Exemplars or Ambients have even heard of it, or its many real countries. Still, there’s only so far the owner of this world was willing to go to create an immersive experience. There’s no point in generating countless hours of brand new content just to avoid plot points that might break the illusion of reality. They have all the same movies and shows that they made on Earth, except any references to Earthan locales have been stripped and replaced with familiar analogs. Any time the characters said United States in the original, their dialogue and lip movements are changed to Usona. Any time they originally said China, they say Huaxia here.

Renata is currently rewatching a film called From Sclovo with Love. She’s seen it a million times. Or rather, she thinks she has. They sit there for about fifteen minutes before Renata finally says, “I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re trying to get me to feel so embarrassed that I fix my life, and go find a new job.”

“It sounds like that’s what you wanna do,” Libera suggests, “and you’re projecting that sentiment onto me.”

“You have no idea what I lost.”

“I have a better idea than you think.”

Renata switches off the TV, plops her head down to the other side of the couch, and rolls over to face the back. “Just go home, mother. You can only stay if you order a pizza and pay for it.”

A few seconds later. “Hi, I would like to order a pizza. The usual. Same card, but my secondary address. Thank you. Bye.”

Renata rolls back over just enough to look at her mom confusedly. “You have my address as your secondary?”

“Yeah.”

“I just moved here. You’ve never ordered from here. You’re not even supposed to know where I live. Why would you add my address on a pizza shoppe account? What would possess you?”

“You’re my daughter, Ren, and I love you. I added it hoping to one day use it. I didn’t think it would be this soon. It’s a pleasant surprise, so thank you for that.”

Renata sits up, then forces herself to stand up. The pretzel falls through her shirt, and onto the floor. She eyes it.

Libera sighs, and closes her eyes. “Don’t eat that,” she says with a slow shake of her head.

Renata bends over and picks it up. She continues to stare at it for a moment before shifting her gaze to Libera. Without looking away, she expertly flicks it clear across the room, and into the kitchen trashcan. “I know you won’t understand this...but that’s what I lost.”

If Libera didn’t know what was going on, she might say something like, a job as a professional pretzel flicker? But she can’t bring herself to stay in character, and make that joke. She stands as well. “There are many things in this world, Ren-Ren. There are many places, and many people, and there are even many worlds. Worlds within worlds. You are not bound to where you are right now. You answer to no one. You can sit here for the rest of your life, and subsist on your universal basic income checks, or you can find a new passion. I’m not even gonna try to tell you what that is. For the first time in your life, your decision tree is under your control. So water it.”

Renata narrows her eyes. She doesn’t get all of the secrets that Libera is hinting at, but she recognizes the wisdom in the words just the same. To her, it must simply sound like poetry and metaphor, but it seems to be working. She looks down at her ratty, torn clothes. “If you ordered from Rigatony’s, I better take a shower, and change my clothes. The delivery guy is kinda cute.”

Libera smiles. “Well, in that case, maybe keep the shower, but lose the clothes altogether.”

“Jesus, mom.” That’s a funny word. Jesus of Nazareth, and the Bible where his story was told, doesn’t exist here. The Old World religions aren’t a thing at all. So it’s just a nonsensical phrase that these people were programmed to use, but not parse, or question. “You’re different. This is a side of you I’ve never seen before.”

“You’ve never known the real me. They didn’t allow you to.”

“Who’s they?”

Libera offers her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Renata Granger. I’m Libera.”