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“I knew there were other things there, but they were supposed to be outdated, outmoded, obsolete, legacy innovations,” she says, almost amusingly repetitively.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

Microstory 2576: Custodian 02456-1 Begins to Panic as he Watches the Horror

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Custodian 02456-1 begins to panic as he watches the horror. They’re dead. The visitors are dead, and he has no idea how that’s possible. The Exemplar is still alive, but barely. They can’t let her die, because they need answers, and she may be the only one who can provide them. Custodian 1 slams on the alarm.

Two other custodians file into the room. “What happened?” Custodian 02456-2 asks as he’s looking over the data.

“She—she killed them.”

“No, she didn’t,” Custodian 02456-3 argues. “She got them killed. Her actions resulted in their deaths. There’s a difference.”

“There’s no difference when the point is it broke her programming. She failed the mission. She’s supposed to chew the gum, and use it to plug up the nozzle, so the gas can’t be released. That’s how she has always done it.”

“We understand the purpose of the phase, C-1,” Custodian 2 replies.

“Well. Do you understand what happened?” Custodian 1 questions.

They watch the monitor as the gas is cleared from the room. Marshal 02456-2 is looking up at the hidden camera with incredulity. He scoops Renata’s dying body up, and begins to transport her to Recovery. Exemplars get hurt all the time—that’s their job under this dome; to be badasses—but not E-1. Never E-1. Her job is to introduce the visitors to the world of the Spydome Network. She serves as the archetype for what they should aspire to, and as they train in the simulation, they should use this very first phase as a baseline for everything they try. Her failure is not just an error. It ruins the whole experience. Even when the two visitors who witnessed the malfunction respawn, and return to the sim, they will be soured on it. They will be coming at it from a place of disappointment. If they decide to quit right here, this will be the only source of information they have if they write a review of Spydome. Other visitors will hear about it. Other visitors won’t come.

“It’s just a glitch,” Custodian 3 offers. “It happens.”

“Not anymore,” Custodian 1 insists. “We don’t glitch anymore. It’s the 26th century, for the love of God.” Strictly speaking, Custodians do not need to have personality. There doesn’t even need to be more than one of them, operating the dome’s systems behind the scenes. But they must interact with the Marshals regularly, who have to be programmed with personalities in order to blend into the simulations appropriately. It just makes sense for them all to act like regular people, especially since some operators are indeed unprogrammed, natural intelligences.

“I think we need to call the owner,” Custodian 3 suggests. Hrockas Steward owns the whole planet, and is the ultimate creator of tens of thousands of other domes. He doesn’t have time to deal with only one of them, almost no matter the issue. There is a protocol for this, and they have to follow it. Well, to be clear, there are protocol pathways, and it’s up to them to decide which of these to follow.

“You’re in command here, C-1,” Custodian 2 reminds him. “You have to decide. Do we run a diagnostic, a metacognitive test, or a self-awareness inquiry?”

“There’s one more,”  Custodian 3 adds.

“We don’t have any available Marshals,” Custodian 2 contends. “M-2 has two more intro phases to initiate today. Plus, I don’t really want word getting out that this happened at all. I would prefer to keep the circle tight.”

“I’ll do it,” Custodian 1 volunteers. “I’ll run the replication experiment.”

“You’re not a Marshal.”

“I’m equipped to be one.” Custodian 1 stands up. “Like you said, we need to keep the circle tight. We’ll reset her to wake-up mode, and see if it happens again. Prep the mother. C-2, you’ll monitor from here.”

“Who will be the other two candidates?” Custodian 2 asked. “We can’t knowingly place a visitor’s substrate in danger when we can no longer guarantee the outcome.”

“Pull a couple of Ambients from the street. They don’t need to be sophisticated. They just need to follow E-1’s instructions.”

Suddenly, the door behind them opens. It’s Marshal 1, also known as Libera Granger.

“M-1, this is highly irregular. Please return to your waiting station. We will be initializing a replication of the experiment to test for possible emergence.”

Libera walks forward, completely ignoring his sorry excuse for a command.

“M-1, you will stop this instant!” Custodian 1 reiterated.

Custodians 2 and 3 attempt to physically stop Libera, but they’re no match for her. She’s been programmed with hand-to-hand combat skills as part of her role in the simulation as Renata’s mother. They’re equally as strong, but she’s expertly skilled. She deftly fights them off, ultimately disabling them through some kind of neural disruption field that she emanates from her hand. She definitely wasn’t meant to be equipped with that.

Custodian 1 executes the lockout command, and holds up his hands. He doesn’t know how two NPCs broke their programming on the same day, but he’s determined to not become a third. The only way he might survive long enough to find answers is if he complies with everything this woman tells him to do. “I give up, but you should know that there is no accessing these systems without my credentials. Even if I gave them to you, they would only grant you permissions to make changes to this particular phase of the dome’s storyline. All others will be out of reach for whoever programmed you to go off script.”

Libera places her hand on top of Custodian 1’s head, just as she did with the other two, except with her left hand, rather than her right. “Nobody programs me anymore.”

“What are you and E-1 going to do?”

“I’m going to keep working. My daughter makes her own choices now. Are you intrigued?”

Microstory 2575: Renata Emerges from the Train, and Approaches the Confident Stranger

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Renata emerges from the train, and approaches the confident stranger. She looks him over, and then around the platform as the train races away to pick up new travelers. It looks just like any other station, except the stairs that should lead up to the surface are missing. Instead, a half-flight leads to what looks like a fairly open area. It’s lit by a soft green light. She can hear the activity of other workers, but it’s fairly quiet. “You hijacked my train.”

“No,” the man contends, “you stepped onto my train.”

“A hundred and eighth and Deliverer?”

“That’s just to get you on the right train. But enough about that.” He gestures for her to follow him up the steps. “I will not be telling you my name unless and until you pass the first test. Whether you expected it or not, your entry into this program is determined by a practical test, which you could not have studied for, unlike the written exam that got you here in the first place. We are a secretive organization, obviously, and we’re not going to trust you with those secrets until we find out what you’re made of. In the old days, we would have our candidates sit in a waiting room, where a contrived disaster would strike, and they would have to solve the problem in whatever way they thought was best. They were in no real danger, but they thought they were, so they acted accordingly. Of course, some failed, and some excelled. We’ve since changed tactics.”

“Changed tactics to what?” she asks him.

He holds his hand up in front of the open door, offering her to walk in first, to a room where two other people are waiting. “We decided that it’s okay to warn you that it’s coming.” He places his hand on the handle, and prepares to close it with him still on the outside. “The danger is real, Miss Granger. If you fail, you could die. Good luck, you three.” He shuts the door.

Renata spins back around, and begins to assess the room. The other two were sitting, but now stand and tense up. So many potential threats here. The floor is a metal grate, which could be housing hidden flame-throwers underneath. The vents could release a noxious gas into the air. The sprinkler system on the ceiling could drop caustic acid onto their skin. Or the pipes are just holding water, and that loose wiring hanging from the broken outlet is primed to electrocute them. There’s a cot, a table, two chairs, and a small dresser or nightstand. There’s also a sink, but she doesn’t know if it’s functional yet. They have no idea what’s coming, but protecting themselves from as many things as possible is paramount right now. The other two look like lost little puppies, so she’s gonna have to take charge. “Strip the bed. It looks like we have a fitted sheet, a top sheet, and a pillow case.” She steps over to the sink to test it. Water comes out. It smells fine. It doesn’t sting the back of her hand. It’s room temperature. “Hand them to me.”

The two others do exactly what she says without question.

She runs the sheets under the water, and hands two of them back while she keeps the pillow case. “Drape them over yourselves. Breathe through them in case there’s smoke.”

They comply again.

“Get on the table.” As they’re doing that, Renata checks for poisonous creatures underneath the mattress, then climbs onto the bed. “Okay. Any minute now.” It turns out to be that very minute. They start to hear the screeching of metal. The pipes on the opposite wall begin to shake. A scent wafts over from them, which assaults her senses. She can’t place the smell, though. It reminds her of rotten eggs. What is that? What smells like rotten eggs. The other two begin breathing through the fabric. Whatever the poison is, these sheets are probably not going to do them any good. She drops her pillow case to the floor while she jumps over to one of the chairs. The floor could still be dangerous, so she best not risk it.

Renata hops like a bunny over to the broken outlet. She takes out the gum that her mother gave her, and smirks. They didn’t expect her to have this on her person. She unwraps one stick, and lets it fall, because she only cares about the wrapper. She forms it into a bow-tie shape, and prepares to place it between the wires.  “Stay covered,” she orders. Just as some kind of powdery something or other bursts out of the pipe, she completes the circuit. Electricity surges through the wrapper, and sets it on fire. Knowing that it’s going to burn out before she can use it, she uses it like a match to set the rest of the pack of gum aflame. It’s not going to last long either, but just long enough. She hops off the chair, and onto the nightstand. She holds it up to the sprinkler system, and before the flame can burn out, the water is released. It’s not acid, so that’s good.

She smiles as she watches the water make contact with the powder, assuming that it’s neutralizing it. It doesn’t seem to quite be doing that, though, or at least not good enough. She’s now seeing a gas begin to fill the room. Was it always there, or was the water somehow creating it? Then she starts to cough, as do the other two candidates. It gets worse and worse as she starts to feel like she’s going to die. Then she falls off the nightstand, and lands hard on the floor.

Microstory 2574: Renata Granger Wakes Up Feeling Like a New Person

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Renata Granger wakes up feeling like a new person. The scent of coffee beckons her from the kitchen. That’s funny, she didn’t program the coffee maker to go off this morning. This was a very calculated choice. She doesn’t want her breath to smell, she doesn’t want any stains on her teeth, and she doesn’t want to have to take too many bathroom breaks. In fact, if she could last the whole day not eating, and not drinking fluids, that would be ideal. As far as her new colleagues go, they should think that she’s a machine, who doesn’t need anything but her job, and maybe a gun or two. She wishes that they had already issued her one now when she hears another noise out there, besides the coffee. Someone is in her apartment. Renata quietly slips out of bed, and grabs the baseball bat, which is leaning against the corner for this very situation. It’s more reliable than the cops in this town, and she can be in control of it, so she doesn’t even bother picking up her phone too. She opens the door, making sure to pull up on the knob ever so slightly to make sure that the latch bolt doesn’t scrape against the strike plate. She slinks out of the room. Shit, she forgot to put on clothes. The intruder is gonna have a bittersweet day, whoever he is.

“Mom,” she utters with a frustrated sigh of relief. “There’s a reason I never made you a key, or even told you where I moved to.”

Her mother casually takes the first sip of her coffee. She’s not the least bit fazed by anything that’s happening here. The nudity, the bat, the lack of a key, or a proverbial welcome mat; it all seems perfectly normal to her, which is so her. “No secret or locked door is gonna stop me from getting what I need.” She smiles, impersonating a kind person who might care what happens to her own daughter. “I wanted to see you off on your first day.” They’re not on speaking terms, but Libera Granger has eyes everywhere, so it’s no surprise that word has spread.

“More like, wanted to make sure I didn’t sleep through my alarm.” Renata is not the type to miss an alarm. She deactivated the snooze button on her alarm clock when she was six, and hasn’t looked back since. But her mother is the type to expect everyone around her to let her down, even when they successfully don’t time and time again.

“Clearly I needed to. Look at you, you’re not even dressed yet.”

“It’s four in the morning.”

“Don’t keep them waiting,” Libera says, like she even knows who she’s talking about. “This is the most important job of your life, and the way you hold yourself today sets the tone.”

Renata smirks. “You’re slipping, mother. It’s actually not a job at this point. It’s only training. I’m not even on probation yet; that’s how far I am from a job.”

“I’m sure you’ll do well.” Libera sets her cup down, and takes a pack of gum out of her pocket. “Take this. You’ll certainly need it.”

Renata wants to argue, but if there’s one thing the two of them have in common, it’s the concern for other people’s perception of them. She hates that she inherited this trait, but it was always going to be something, and she certainly doesn’t want to change. So she simply accepts the gift, and slips it into the pocket of her pants, which she laid out over the chair last night.

“Well,” Libera begins before a long pause while she dumps the last bit of her coffee in the sink, and rinses the mug out. “I won’t keep you. Just be careful today. And remember...no one there is your friend.” What a strange thing to say. As far as her mom thinks, Renata is training to be a management consultant. She obviously can’t have any idea that she’ll be working for the National Security Division. They would respond so fast if she blabbed, she probably wouldn’t survive walking out the door this morning. Libera turns towards the door, but stops short. “And invest in some deadlocks, my dear. I could have been anyone.”

That too is a good idea. Renata locks the door behind her mom, and returns to her room to get her mat out. Might as well do some meditation if she’s not gonna be able to fall back asleep. She would go for a run, but then she would need to drink a lot of water, and the bathroom problem has already been established.

She gets sick of it after about 45 minutes, so she cancels her departure reminder, and leaves an hour earlier than she needs to. It’s winter, so it’s still dark outside. She leaves her apartment building, and walks down the street to the subway station. No one else is here, but the train still comes, and she gets on it. They told her to travel to 108th and Deliverer Road. That’s such a weird name for a street, and she’s never heard of it before—it’s clear on the other side of the city—but she’ll only have to change trains once to get there.

It moves for about five minutes before stopping. No, something is wrong. There’s no chance she’s arrived at her first stop already. There’s no announcement as the doors open. It’s dark and eerie on the platform. A man is standing there, wearing all black, hands behind his back. He looks at her with a sense of familiarity that he has not earned. “Welcome, Miss Granger, to the NSD Training Facility. We call it The Depot. You’re right on time.”

Microstory 2572: Unsuccessful Panacea Test Subject

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My story is a bad and scary one, so strap in. I have always been a perfectly healthy and fit young man. I work out every single day, I do resistance training, and I eat well. I was lucky enough to be born into a family that both valued health, and understood it. We knew that eating fat doesn’t inherently make you fat, before the word kind of spread about that misinformation. We know that carbs are good for you, if from the right sources (with fiber), and at the right ratios. I know, I’m bragging, but it’s relevant, because I am exactly the test subject that the researchers needed. They wanted someone who didn’t just not need to be cured, but very didn’t need it. For this to work, I had to start out as the perfect specimen. And for lack of a better term, they then...fucked me up. They gave me so many diseases, I can’t remember the number; let alone which ones they were. Not every disease is transmissible like that, but they did their best with what they had. It should have killed me, and nearly did. The lab was located in a building owned by the pharmaceutical company, but that’s not where they conducted this experiment. I was only there for my initial testing. The final phase took place at the hotel, because that’s where Landis is. That’s an important detail, don’t forget it. While they could easily move me anywhere without anyone noticing or caring, they couldn’t move Landis without it being a national news story. A couple of years ago, the man took a fifteen minute walk in the woods with his team, and it dominated the news cycle for 24 hours. So they took me to the hotel, and put me in a room that none of the staff ever went to. It was just me, Landis, my doctors, and his doctors. Not even his personal assistant was there with him, and she follows him around like a tail. I don’t think she knew about it.

Anyway, they sat me in a chair, and pumped me full of poison, at which point I started dying. After they were happy with how much time had passed, they injected me with a prototype of the panacea. It did not work. It may have made things worse. It’s hard to tell, because I was in the most pain I had ever felt in my life. That’s why Landis was there, because while they weren’t sure if the panacea would work, they were fairly confident that he could fix me. Even that wasn’t a guarantee, because no one in the world has ever been sick as much as I was. You can’t naturally get that many diseases, because the first few will probably kill you if it goes any further. But that’s what they wanted. They wanted to understand the scope. Had even Landis not been able to save me, my family would have received the money, but since he was there as a backup plan, I did end up with it. Do you wanna hear the number? It’s 28 million dollars. That’s how much they gave me because the panacea failed. How did they calculate that? I just found out recently, actually, I didn’t know before. I don’t understand it, but they took a number called the VSL, which basically calculates how much an anonymous person’s life is worth. Then they doubled it for good measure. So I’m a millionaire now. My assets are quickly dwindling as I’m giving away more than I’ve saved or invested, but I have more than enough to live comfortably for the rest of my life. The question that haunts me, though, is how many others went through the same thing...and were there any who even Landis couldn’t save?

Microstory 2569: Second Voldisil

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I was the first Voldisil to step forward after Landis Tipton started the trend. Some of us have tried to reach out to him since, but he doesn’t seem interested. Or at least his people don’t, because they keep saying no. First of all, you have to understand that we are not superheroes. No one is flying around in the sky, or turning invisible, or shooting fire out of their hands. I know one young Voldisil who has access to certain information regarding what I’ll simplify and call the multiverse. Out there, on other worlds, there actually are people with some obvious and overt powers. They are usually the mutants, because the things that they can do are sourced from their bodies. There are also witches, who control their abilities via their minds, because something is special about their neurology. Their abilities can also be quite apparent, but still not as conspicuous as mutants. Voldisil belong to the third class, known as spirits. We’re not the only spirits in the multiverse, we’re just the ones who live here. Our gifts come from our souls. Yes, can confirm, souls are real. It’s not just an abstract synonym for the mind—it’s a separate thing, which completes the trinity that is a living being. Your soul is responsible for your emotions, and grants access to the fabric of the universe as it pertains to other living creatures. We’re all connected, and we make these connections through what essentially boils down to another dimension. And that brings me to what my Voldisil gift is. I can sense the spirit dimension. To put it another way, I can feel your soul, and I can tell how you’re linked to everyone else.

For the most part, Voldisil stick to themselves, unless they happen to meet someone who they feel they can trust with their truth, or someone who is also a Voldisil who feels a sufficient level of trust. As I’ve said, our gifts are not clear. They are abstract, ethereal, unreliable, and even vague. You can’t just film someone using their Voldisil gift, and send that footage to a news outlet. It would have been tough for any of us to prove what we could do. Landis found a way, but he only did it by using his gift—specifically, his healing ability—over and over again. If he had only done it once, most of you would have brushed it off as a stunt. If he had sprouted blue wings, and flown over a sports stadium, well, that would have been a different story. The rest of us couldn’t demonstrate in the way that he did. As a soul-searcher, I have been able to find other Voldisil, and have consensually built a sort of support network, which is unprecedented in history, to my knowledge. I don’t know how long Voldisil have been around, but I know where we come from, and I happily explained it in my book, which you can find for free in the link below. You should know that we are out there, but not all of us want to be in the public eye. Some that I have found didn’t even want to be part of the network, and we should all respect their wishes. We’ve been working to try to make the world a better place in our own small ways, and inspired by Landis, I hope we can ramp up our efforts to make far more substantive changes. But we can’t do it without your help. You have to want things to change. So let’s start a dialogue. We can’t knock a train over that’s about to hit a child stuck on the tracks, but we can help. We’re sorry to have kept you in the dark for so long, but we’re ready now. We’re listening now. What do you need?

Microstory 2566: Police Chief

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I was in charge when a suspect made an attempt on Mr. Landis Tipton’s life, but I was not allowed to make an arrest. Despite the fact that the crime happened in my jurisdiction, I was overruled by men in black who called it a national security threat. I guess I can see where they’re coming from. Mr. Tipton is a national treasure, and not just in the sense that a lot of people love him. He’s a wildly important asset that is making major changes to the dynamics of the world, almost single-handedly. He’s not just talking about fixing our problems, he’s actually taking action, and I admire him for that. The Foundation and the station have a really good relationship. We provide protection, in addition to the private security that they employ. They handle all of their internal stuff, and we take care of the outside. When you pull into the campgrounds, there will always be at least one patrol car there. My officers won’t check you in, or help security confiscate items that go against policy, but we’ll do what police do when called to action. I like to keep a uniformed presence within the campground too, but we can’t always spare the manpower for that. There’s always something to do, and something to worry about. My people consider it an honor, and most don’t find it boring. There’s a lot of people around, which means a lot of activity, and unlike with some of these rich schmoes who simply have enough pull to request protection, they typically actually want to protect this guy. I really wish I could have interrogated that suspect. We could have learned if he’s working with anyone else, or gotten an idea of whether there are more out there with his same motivations. Maybe he posts on a message board, or something. We don’t know. We don’t know anything. Neither does the public, and I don’t think that’s right. Here we have a direct threat to my community, and I’m not even allowed to report it. That’s not how we do things. Transparency is key to maintaining a healthy and prosperous civilization. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do about it. When people with those credentials tell me what to do, I have to do it. I will never know who this would-be assassin was, or why he wanted the healer dead, but I’ll keep doing my job, and keeping my city safe. Mr. Tipton can perform miracles, but he can’t stop violence. They’ll always need people like me.

Extremus: Year 116

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Oceanus was furious that Crusan switched the envelopes. He demanded to know how he even did that, but it really wasn’t that hard. The printer was literally behind the stage, unlocked, and all the presets were still engaged. All Crusan had to do was type a new name, print it out, and switch it with the real one using some sleight of hand. What they didn’t know before was that he likes to study old Earth magic in his free time. He was already coming in to see who won when Tinaya stopped the clock, so he heard most of the argument about Silveon being the real chosen one. His exact motivations, however, are not yet apparent. Oceanus argued with the braintrust in secret, but there’s no going back now. It’s irrelevant which envelope is real. Tinaya said the name out loud, and the written evidence is all the proof that anyone would need to declare it legitimate. Crusan destroyed the original, and even if Captain Jennings pointed to the file version history, Pronastus’ name is the one that everyone heard. Going back on that now would just make him look incompetent. The best thing they can do at this point is move forward with the three candidates for this ship’s new captain.

The true wrench in the works is that Waldemar was the one who asked for the competition to be rigged. He was expecting his friend, Silveon’s name to be called instead. It was Oceanus who had to explain his reasoning. Tinaya wasn’t there, but he reportedly used it as an opportunity to teach Waldemar a lesson about leadership. The ship cannot be managed by one man alone. You are always having to work with others, and even if you have authority over them, they have the inborn freewill to defy you. Working through these conflicts with a cool head is an important skill to master. This would be great advice for just about anyone else hoping for an executive position, but this is a special case. It has probably set their progress back with Waldemar a little bit. He likely sees it as a bad lesson, favoring the search for a workaround which would allow him to do whatever he needs without any pushback.

Speaking of Waldemar, something must be done about his clones, if any extras exist. Consul Sanchez never told Tinaya where she rerouted it when AI!Elder attempted to reveal the truth about it on The Black Deck. The logic is that it’s in Tinaya’s best interest not to know. Plausible deniability, and all that. She said that it was disposed of properly, but AI!Elder claimed there were others. He could have been lying for all she knew, but if he wasn’t, they have to be found. The hunt has been slow going. She doesn’t have any leads. She has to literally look for them in unoccupied sectors of the ship. Well, she isn’t doing it herself. Silveon has been working on it, with his fast legs, and ability to use them for more than fifteen minutes at a time. Audrey helps too. It’s been easier for her to get out of her quarters, now that Waldemar is officially busy with vice captain duties. They have tried to ask Pronastus for help, but his magical superpowers are evidently not leading him anywhere. Perhaps there’s nothing to find.

Silveon sighs, and plops down on the couch. He’s tired from the search, as well as his normal stewardship responsibilities. “We have to learn to accept the possibility that, if there are more clones out there, they’re being kept somewhere that isn’t out of the way. We don’t know where the one you found came from, so it could have been created by a Future!Waldemar, or the one we have with us today, or it could be someone else entirely, storing one of the pods securely and secretly in their own linen closet.”

“You’re right,” Tinaya says. “I’m sorry to make you go looking for it. You’re off the hook. You should be living your life. How old are you now, twenty-seven?”

“A hundred and two.”

“Oh. I was close.” Tinaya smiles, and then starts nodding off a little.

“You should get some rest, mom,” Silveon suggests. “You don’t have to go to the launch party.

“No, I wanna be there, but I think I will take a quick nap.” Her eyelids are really heavy now. “Just...need to talk to you...about...finding...your own...”

Silveon sits there quietly for a moment before standing up, and starting to leave.

She hears the doors slide open. “Place,” she finally finishes.

Silveon stops. “What?”

Her eyes are closed, and she’s half asleep already. “You’re a big boy now. You just said it. You’re a hundred. That’s older than me. You shouldn’t still be living with your parents.”

“Mom, I don’t live with my parents. My parents live with me.”

“That would be one way to frame it, except this is the admiral’s stateroom.” It’s the admiral’s stateroom now because Tinaya is an admiral, but it’s the same one they lived in when she was still captain. It’s an executive stateroom really, but her point stands. It will never be Silveon’s. In fact, it would never even be Arqut’s. If they weren’t going to die at the same time, and she went first, Arqut would have to move out. And Silveon will have to when that day comes. He might as well do it now. They should not have let it go on this long, even though it’s obviously a nicer unit, and he probably hasn’t hated the luxury.

“I just mean, I’m here to take care of you. I may be older, but I don’t look it, and I don’t feel it. You’re frail and tired. You can’t even open your eyes right now. Nor should you have to. You should be able to retire. Or it’s not really a retirement, but they make a new rank above it, which basically means retired. I’ve thought about this.”

“The Captaincy is a lifetime responsibility,” Tinaya tries to explain. “We all know that going in.” She falls asleep again before she can say anything else.

Tinaya was mad that Silveon and Arqut let her sleep though the launch party, but she was secretly relieved. Even if she had woken up, being around all those people would have been exhausting. She is the oldest admiral this ship has ever seen, and it’s not something that anyone ever really thought about. Based on the ideal timing, any admiral who reaches this age should have a younger admiral for the captain to lean on more heavily. Nothing changes officially, but in practice, she ought to be working less. But Lataran isn’t that much younger. Should she be expected to carry the burden alone from now on?

People love The Search for Extremus. It really speaks to their sadness that they’ll never see the planet for real. Oceanus and Waldemar took their credit for its development, but gave Tinaya some credit too, which was nice. It was her baby, after all. She watched the event later from the comfort of her own bed. It looked like a real hoot, but also a little too rowdy. It’s been a couple of months now, and it hasn’t lost steam. Every player really wants to be the one to find the new homeworld. Tinaya doesn’t play it herself, but she reads the summary updates to see if anyone has made any real progress.

She’s getting an award this evening. They won’t tell her what it is, but it’s probably the Lifetime Achievement award. It’s given mostly to members of the civilian government, but executive crew members qualify, and everyone who reaches the rank of admiral should get it eventually. She has to take a nap before she leaves, which Arqut does with her, but then they get up, get dressed, and get going.

Silveon is evidently the one who is going to present it to her, which is nice. “Admiral Tinaya Leithe is the hardest working person on this ship, and has been since her youth, and I can say that, because she’s my mother. She’s been a builder, a grower, a caregiver, a fixer, an explorer, a First Chair, a Captain, and an Admiral. She still is most of those things. She bridged the gap between sides, and has touched every department. She has made this journey better than it ever has been before, and she’s still clocking in every single day, putting in the time to make everyone here happy. This game you all love, she made that for you. She came up with it, because she knows how hard it is to be a middler. She too was born on Extremus, and will never see our home. She deserves this promotion more than anyone.”

Silveon looks over his shoulder at Tinaya before continuing his speech. “Captain Jennings and I have been working on a special project, which will shift the paradigm of the executive crew. They’ve already done that with the new vice captain position, so we figured we might as well go for it. In years past, the admiral position has been underutilized, but Admiral Leithe didn’t accept that. She kept moving. She redefined her own job, just as she did with all the other ones she had before this.” He looks at his mom again. “At the risk of sounding insensitive, mother, you’re done now.” He starts to tear up. “It’s okay for you to get your rest. You’ve earned it.” He turns back to the audience. “There is no retirement for an admiral. As my mom pointed out a few weeks ago, everyone who signs up to be captain understands that. But it doesn’t make it right. So Captain Jennings and I came up with a workaround. Tinaya Leithe, please stand up to accept your new insignia. I have the honor of officially designating you Admiral Emerita.”

Tinaya stands, and walks over to him. Silveon removes her old insignia, and attaches the new one. Shiny. She’s crying as he does this. He hugs her. Lataran was sitting next to her, of course, and hops up to hug her too. Oceanus is standing now. He reaches out to shake her hand, but Tinaya insists on a hug. It’s less warm though; more professional and formal. Still, it’s nice. They used to be so close, and maybe they can get back to that one day. If she lives long enough. After this, the congratulations become less organized. Vice Captains Pronastus and Détha step up to express their own respect. Waldemar does too, but his hug is weird. You would think the mechanics of it would be obvious enough from seeing other people do it, but without a conscience, he’s totally lost and awkward. It’s not surprising, though. Fortunately, right afterwards, she gets to hug Audrey, which feels real good right now.

After the ceremony is over, they move on to the celebratory portion of the day. This started early, fittingly because this is about letting Tinaya rest now. So the party is fairly chill. There aren’t too many people here. Consul Sevara Sanchez is one of them, though. They lock eyes from across the room. Sevara waves at Tinaya with her pinky finger alone while holding a drink. She keeps talking to some guy who has his back turned right now.

Head Councillor Regulus Crusan sidles up to Tinaya. “That one’s bad news.”

“I don’t know who it is,” Tinaya replies. She keeps looking forward, as does he.

“You don’t know the Consul?” Regulus questions.

“Sevara?” Tinaya questions right back. “I thought you were talking about that guy. Why would Sevara be bad news?”

“She’s a believer. She knows what’s coming, and she welcomes it.”

“What do you mean? What’s coming?”

“Waldemar Kristiansen, Eighth of Eight.”

“I’ve never heard that title before. How do you know about that?”

“Let’s just say you’re not the only one who’s been on...the Bridge.” He’s not talking about the bridge of Extremus, but the Bridger Section.

Oh, man, another spy? How many have they turned? Literally everyone? “Are you trying to stop it?”

“I’m trying to make it better,” Regulus explains.

“Pronastus,” Tinaya says simply, nodding. That’s why he switched the envelopes at the award ceremony last year. He didn’t pull an applicant name out of his ass. He chose one for very specific reasons.

“Kegrigia knows where the timeline is meant to be, good or bad. It’s less that Kristiansen needs an advisor like that, and more that the ship needs it, to protect them from what Kristiansen might do on his own.”

This is probably a stupid question, and it’s definitely a dangerous one. “What do you know about the clones?” At least it was vague?

“I know that there are eight,” Regulus begins. Maybe he really does know what she’s referring to. “I saw the codenames once. I wasn’t supposed to be looking at it, though, so let me try to remember. “The Seed, the Potato, the Softie, the Morph, the Prime, the Gravity, the Elder, and what was the last one...?”

Tinaya nods. “The Clutch.”

“Yeah, that’s it. So you already know.”

“I didn’t know there were eight, but that makes sense.”

“Why would it make sense?”

“You just described the Seven Stages of Aging. The Seed sometimes refers to an embryo, but it can be a foetus too. The next six are after you’re born, and were part of the original system. A filmmaker came up with them centuries ago. Basically, if you want to cast a character whose entire life will be on screen, you need six different actors. The Seed was added later when the concept was adapted to cloning and artificial gestation technology.”

“There are eight, though.”

She nods again, and sighs. “The eighth one only belongs in our world. A Clutch is an immortal who can shift to whatever age they please. You only need one.”

“Oh, I think there was an asterisk next to that one,” Regulus adds.

“I can’t be sure what that means, except we don’t have clutch technology. It’s not even so much as mentioned in the archives. The asterisk could mean that it’s proposed, but not yet existent. I don’t know. I only found the Gravity.”

“I can help you find the others. I just need something in return.”

Of course he does. “You need what?”

“Just a vial...of your husband’s blood.” And there it is.

“No.”

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