Extremus: Year 126

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Admiral Oceanus Jennings stands between Captain Kristiansen and his bride, Sable Keen. The audience is noticeably uncomfortable, if not outright disgusted. Even Waldemar’s sycophants don’t like what’s happening in this holographic grand cathedral. They won’t do or say anything about it, but they’ll have their private thoughts, and maybe share a few whispers. As for the happy couple, they couldn’t be happier. The Captain has become much better at feigning emotions. It almost looks like he’s in love with this girl. Oceanus hasn’t been made privy to all the secret meetings that Admiral Keen has with her daughter, and the rest of the braintrust, so he just has to hope that this is all part of some elaborate plan. There’s no way she actually likes this guy. She’s so sweet and intelligent. Even if her mother never told her anything about what he really is, surely she would just pick up on it.

The Admiral obviously doesn’t want to be here, let alone be officiating, but it’s his responsibility since this such a high-profile event involving a crewmember. There’s only one other person here qualified to perform the ceremony, and no one bothered to ask her. She’s not even here, which is understandable, and really not a scandal. Or if it is, it’s cancelled out by the reason she declined the invitation. Sable is an adult now. There’s nothing illegal about this. But it makes people feel icky. Not only is there a significant age difference, but he’s also in an immense position of power. There are protesters, but they have not been allowed into the auditorium. Oceanus passed a message onto them, begging them to stay quiet. He can’t tell them that it’s because he fears for their lives, but there is only so much he can do. He doesn’t outrank the Captain. He’s only an advisor, and it’s time for him to begin today’s responsibility.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today,” Oceanus begins. It’s an uncommon turn of phrase on the ship. Waldemar evidently heard it in a movie or two, and he has a fixation on tradition—not Extremusian traditions, specifically ones that they don’t typically follow. He proceeds to drone on and on about love and loyalty, following the script that Waldemar handed him word for word, including the few typos. If asked about it later, he’ll just say that he’s become so accustomed to speeches that the words travel right from the screen to the microphone, bypassing his brain entirely. It’ll be fine, they’re not that bad, and people have bigger things to worry about.

After the ceremony comes the reception. Oceanus thought he was done with his part in this charade, but Waldemar surprises him with a call to toast. He didn’t prepare anything, so he has to wing it. Other toasters dropped subtle clues about the extent of their disapproval, but he was entirely noncombative, because what would be the point? How does it help anyone, getting yourself chucked into hock? Errr, rather, the brig. He mostly sticks with love and loyalty, and drives home how lucky Sable is to find someone so amazing, adding in some anecdotes about Waldemar’s work ethic and tenacity. Fifty points to Oceanus, he didn’t throw up even once during the entire ordeal. When it’s a feasible time to duck out quietly, he goes back towards the bow, but instead of going to his quarters, he heads for the office that he shares with Lataran. Waldemar has made a lot of changes to Extremus, but Admiral Gardens remains untouched. Oh good, she’s here. “I want in.”

Lataran is busying herself with nonsense work. Waldemar has his own advisors, and has never asked to their help with anything. “You want in to what?”

“Whatever you, Silveon, Audrey Husk, and even Sable are up to, I want to be a part of it. I don’t want to sit on the sidelines anymore. I want you to tell me the plan.”

She sighs, and returns to her tablet. “There is no plan.” This may not be the right time to talk to her. Her daughter just married a monster, and she couldn’t bring herself to watch it happen. It must have been so difficult for her, being unable to stop it.

“Please. You can trust me,” he insists. “I know you know that. We may not have always gotten along, but we can agree that we have to protect the ship from him.”

She sighs again, more annoyed this time. “I’m not icing you out. There really is no plan. We did have plans, but Sable ruined them when she married him.”

“That wasn’t what you all wanted?”

“No,” she begins to explain. “That was Audrey’s job. She’s...older than she looks, and knew what she was getting into. Sable doesn’t understand what’s at stake. I don’t know why we agreed to let her be part of this at all, but this wedding was a bridge too far. So I’m out. I’m old and dying, and she has to make her own choices. I’ve already talked to her about it ad nauseum. I guess they were more like fights. But either way, whatever we were trying to do together, that’s over now. She’s made it clear that she’ll be pivoting him away from us, so she can have him all to herself. There’s nothing left to do but accept it. Whatever Extremus becomes, that will be what it is.”

“So we just fade into the background?”

“While we’re alive? Yes.” She shakes her tablet slightly. “I’m writing a book. It outlines the truth—my truth, and will be published posthumously. I’m still deciding who will be responsible for that. It could place those who survive me in danger, including my daughter. But I can’t sit with these thoughts in my head anymore. I have to get them out. If you’re struggling with the same hopelessness, you might look for your own outlet.”

“I prefer to fix things while I’m still alive,” he says.

She presses a button on her desk, causing the walls to start to extend and wrap around her work area. She never used privacy mode when Tinaya was working alongside her. Now she activates it all the time. “Good luck with that,” she says just before it seals her up completely.

Oceanus moves on to Silveon. He basically asks him the same thing, and Silveon basically responds the same way that Lataran did. “My mission had an expiration date. I didn’t know it when I started, but I’ve lost my way in. She has taken over everything. We did not factor in the possibility that someone new in this timeline would usurp control over the situation. It was always a possibility, of course. That’s what happens when you change history. I suppose this might have even been inevitable, thanks to my actions. One thing that Waldemar was not in the old timeline was welcoming. He didn’t have close advisors, or personal relationships. He only had loyal subjects. I gave him this. I taught him how to connect with others. I showed him how to marry a girl. I don’t know if I should regret it or not, because the plan was to make him more human. Unfortunately, this is what that looks like.”

He goes to Audrey now, who he expects to find distraught in her new quarters. They are a far cry from the luxury of the Captain’s Stateroom. She doesn’t seem to care, about her living arrangements, nor Waldemar’s new wife and life. “Sable has powers.”

“What?”

“She has time powers.”

“Which ones?” Oceanus presses.

“I don’t know, but she was a kid when we brought her into the fold. We shouldn’t have done that. She somehow made us. When we switched bodies—”

“You switched bodies?” he interrupts.

“Yes, I forget who knows what. She doesn’t know how to paint.”

“Oh, right. She did that portrait. It looks good.”

“It shouldn’t,” Audrey counters. “I had only started when she forced her way back into her mind. When I say we switched bodies, that isn’t entirely truthful. I took over hers, but we placed her in a constructed dream, made to look exactly as the Extremus was when she went under. We took sensor data from all over, and fed it into the program. It extrapolated what would happen if Sable were really still there. She somehow broke through the illusion, and took back over. I don’t know how she did that, and I don’t know how that painting got finished.”

“It sounds like you’re done with the mission, like Lataran. That’s how she put it.”

“That’s how we put it to each other,” Audrey tells him sadly.

“Do you understand Sable’s motives? Did you get anything from the experience? If she learned to paint, did you learn to...use whatever gifts she has?”

“Well, I felt her power, before she proved she had it. And at the same time, I...”

“Go on. You can trust me. I want to help.”

“I felt something else,” Audrey finally says. “I don’t know how to articulate it. It was...ambition? Or maybe yearning? I don’t know, but she wants something. She is singularly focused on it. Honestly, it reminded me of Waldemar, sometimes when I’ve looked into his eyes. I’ve never seen it in her eyes, though. She’s either good at hiding it, or I’m crazy. But it scared the shit out of me. I wouldn’t recommend consciousness transference tech unless you really know the person you’re switching with.”

Oceanus nods, taking in all the information, and trying to fill in the gaps. It’s not much to go on. Even if no one else is trying to fight it, he can’t stop. He’ll go it alone if he has to. He cares too much about Extremus, and the mission. He cares about it at the expense of himself. “You can’t really know anyone, can you? Except for yourself.”

“Maybe,” she answers. “Maybe not even then.”

“You did once; trusted yourself. You went back in time, to your younger body.”

“I was desperate.”

“I am too,” he states plainly.

She shakes her head. “Don’t even think about it. You don’t have enough information. Silveon and I spent years curating historical variables, and we still missed things. Time travel is never the answer. The teach that in school. I wish I had listened.”

“Give me the key,” he asks, calmly and dispassionately, but not hostilely.

“You know what? What does it matter? We might as well give it a second shot. I’m not gonna remember doing this, so here are the directions to the tech room.” She flings the data to his device. “Here are the codes.” She flings those too. “When you get to the past, would you do me a favor?”

“Anything, as long as it doesn’t interfere with my primary objective.”

She chuckles. “Don’t tell me or Silveon what you are, or anyone, really. If you have to tell us anything, just say you got intel from the Bridger Section, or something.”

“I promise, he lies. He walks out without saying goodbye, because she won’t remember it anyway. He walks down to the deepest bowels of the ship, and unlocks the room where the secret insurgent tech is apparently stored. He doesn’t know how to work the equipment, but it’s sufficiently self-explanatory. After making sure he has all the settings right, he climbs in the chair, and sends his mind back to his younger body.

Its over a year in the past, in 2394; the day of the portrait. It all started to fall apart here. Oceanus has to immediately break his promise to Audrey. The first thing he does is go to the Captain’s Stateroom to tell her to not go through the plan to force Sable into a virtual environment. Whatever she does in the real world, it’s better than pissing her off, and pushing her away from the group. He doesn’t even think he needs to know what exactly she’s after. Anything has to be better than letting Waldemar Kristiansen run around unchecked, unbalanced. They have to put up a united front, and that means being honest with each other.

Since he was never a part of any of that, he has no idea if it turns out all right. Like Audrey said, he only knows so many facts about the situation. He just has to hope that she listened to him. Telling her that he spoke with the Bridgers was never going to be enough. To be absolutely sure she believed him, he had to reveal that he knows about the secret room, and the secret portrait plan. He couldn’t be cryptic or vague. Now, whether she, Silveon, and Lataran actually listen to his advice is another story.

He returns to his stateroom to mourn the loss of his past self. It’s only hitting him now that he essentially murdered someone. He overwrote someone else’s consciousness. The fact that it was technically him, and not someone else, doesn’t really help. It was still a death, and one that he caused. That version of Oceanus is gone, and he will live with that guilt for a long time. The doorbell rings. He opens it without checking the feed. “Captain, this is unexpected. How did the portrait go?”

“Swimmingly,” Waldemar replies as he’s letting himself in without an invitation.

“How’s your wife?”

“Funny you should ask, because I was about to ask the same thing.”

“Sir?” Oceanus questions.

“I hear you stopped by for a visit.”

“Oh, yes. Briefly. We hadn’t spoken in a while. I just wanted to see how she was. I thought we might grab some tea, but she wasn’t up for it.”

Waldemar nods. “My secret service agents say that it wasn’t all that brief, that you were acting unusual, and that Audrey was rather upset when you left.”

“I’m sorry if she was, but I saw her in high spirits. I assure you, I didn’t hurt her.”

“Why would you even put such a thought into the universe? I didn’t suggest that.”

“I can see that you think something happened which didn’t. Your agents interpreted something that wasn’t there. Please don’t make this a thing.”

“It may be a thing, it might not. I can’t risk it. I can’t risk a scandal. I don’t care about her, but I care about my reputation. You’re endangering that. So you got to go.”

“You can’t kill me. I’m an admiral.”

Walder sports a feigned frown. “Aww, it’s cute that you think that matters. Admirals have never mattered. I never intend to become one. I will be the captain forever. And you’ll be dead. If you don’t fight it, it won’t hurt. You’re old. That’s all they’ll see. I’ll scrub all contradictory records.”

“They will see what you really are. Before you can start getting anything real done, beyond renaming the hock and Chief Medical Officer, they’ll see you.”

“That’s what they all think. Just before I end their life, everyone thinks they know me. But Admiral Jennings, I’m here to tell you...I’m not about to start making real changes. I’ve already begun.” He kills him.

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Microstory 2665: Anchorman

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It’s been a couple of weeks. House Kutelin has had their ups and their downs, but if we’re talking hard numbers, then all ups. A lot of graduates are joining, and no one who joins can leave. Some things are meant to start to change, but Resi isn’t sure if that’s one of them; where people can shift between Houses at will. House leaders will start campaigning for members. They’ll incentivize switching sides. Entire industries on this island could suffer. They technically already are. With fewer people joining any of the four original Houses these days, those who are already in them are struggling. Just a little bit, but it will presumably get worse. Older generations will start to feel the need to stay on the job for longer. Younger generations will feel bitter about being stuck. Right now, Aether doesn’t contribute anything. All they do is take. Resi is not an idiot. He absolutely foresaw this. The question is, did the Assembly? Well, he’s about to find out. After all this time, they have finally asked for a meeting. Let’s see how upset they are.

The first thing he hears is clapping. He stops short of rounding the corner, where he’ll see, and be seen by, the Assemblymen. Did he come in too early? The steward said that they were ready for him, but if they’re still finishing up previous business...

“What’s wrong?” Caprice asks.

“I’m waiting until they’re done,” Resi explains.

“That’s for you,” she explains. “Better get in there so they can rest their arms.”

Resi grimaces, and timidly continues. As he steps in enough to start to see faces, they look back at him with smiles, and begin to cheer louder. This again? It happened at his Kidjum, and he still doesn’t understand why. Not really. Everything he has studied about history has taught him that people hate change. It doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad, they fear it. One might think that a post-scarcity society would have possibly moved past that, but no. Even outside of this one little island, they fear change. That’s actually what getting rid of things like money, poverty, and war did. It created equilibrium. No more change, just peace and predictability. And the only reason Yana hasn’t joined them is because they started the race from behind. They’re afraid of making that one last change to end all change. That’s how his philosophy teacher explained it. The lecture is still fresh in his mind, because it was only a few months ago. When he was a kid.

“All right, all right,” the Speaker says as she’s pressing their voices down with both hands. Resi isn’t all that familiar with who these people are. Politics were never his thing. He always thought he would just work the dirt and keep his head down for the rest of his life. He believes that Speaker Lincoln is from House Maing’aing, but she would have shed that association a long time ago. Civil service is a separate thing, which is expected to serve all Houses equally. They always talk about the four Houses, but in reality, there are a lot more. They are just the original four industrial domains, before life became too complex for such limited stratification. You may join a House but work in a tangential field. She holds silent for a moment, like she’s waiting for Resi to finish his internal thoughts. “Resi Brooks, First Tongue of Aether, Founder of House Kutelin, thank you for coming in today. You honor us with your presence.” She gestures to him.

Is he supposed to say something? Something in particular? Is this ceremony? He wasn’t given any guidelines. “Speaker Lincoln of the Tambora Assembly, thank you for having me. I look forward to hearing your grievances, and working towards a common goal.” Wow. What the hell was that? Just say the quiet part out loud, why don’t you?

The whole Assembly laughs. They’re delighted. They must still see him as a child, with his quirky little ignorance, and lack of decorum. Speaker Lincoln doesn’t laugh out loud, but she looks as pleased. “We have no grievances, only a gift.”

“A gift, sir?” he questions. “I could not ask for more. House Kutelin is not yet working.” That is not entirely true. Last week, once Resi realized that the population of his new House wasn’t on track to stop exploding, he started sending volunteers back to the other four Houses. They don’t work too hard, and have no obligations, so it hasn’t made up for the total loss. Only a handful of them have agreed to it. Most of these volunteers have simply been staying at home, where they were before graduation.

“How many belong to your House now?” Speaker Lincoln asks. “Three hundred?”

“Three hundred thirteen,” Resi replies, “if we’re counting my pre-Kidjum sister.”

Speaker Lincoln nods. “Outgrowing the old college dorms, aren’t we?”

Yes, they’re climbing over each other over there. The school shut down because it became too small for the populace, and outdated, but it’s considered a historical landmark, so it remains standing. Really nowhere else in the city could accommodate such a concentrated group of people. “We’re making it work. Many joiners are from House Maing’aing, so they have begun to draw up plans for new facilities, but that...”

“...would require authorization and support from the Assembly.” Speaker Lincoln indicates her Assemblymen. “Well, let’s fix that before the concrete cures.” Yeah, she’s definitely from Maing’aing. “You’re not getting it. You will not get a builder’s permit.” 

“Speaker Lincoln, I understand that you’re angry with us, but I am not the one who came up with House Kutelin. The breath that told me about it was the same one which told me that it was mine to lead. This is how I’m leading it. If you wanted me to do something different, you should have said something ahead of time. Now it’s too late. Now I’ve built momentum. Now people want to join who aren’t even up for House transition. Some have already transitioned. Others are yet too young.”

“We are aware of how well you are being received,” Speaker Lincoln begins. “Younger generations never understand that the Kidjum is a fundamentally different process from their usual bizarre and hard-to-interpret dreams. It’s nothing new. There is always doubt. Once they find their true place, all fall in line. You, First Tongue Brooks, have chosen your place. You've chosen to go against our ways in unexpected fashion.”

“I told you, you should have said something!” Resi argues. “You. Said. Nothing.”

“That was by design,” Speaker Lincoln retorts. “Our hands were tied. The old traditions were clear. The First Tongue speaks first, and it is up to us to reply. Now that we understand what you’re doing, we have found our voice, and this our reply.”

“What I’m doing,” he echoes. “What do you think I’m doing?”

Speaker Lincoln smirks. “I’m not here to give you the answers, only a timeframe. You and three-hundred and twelve of your closest friends must exit the Nation of Tambora by the end of the month, or you will have declared war on the Four Houses.”

“War?” That escalated quickly. This was a gift? “You were just clapping for me.”

“You are still owed deference in this assembly hall. The old traditions were clear on that too.” She takes a breath. “We are reinstituting the Kidjum. This experiment is over. You will remain an ally, but you are no longer welcome on Yana. Thank you.”

Yana. Tambora does not equate to the whole island. They can’t kick him out. He just has to speak with one or both of the other two nations.

Microstory 2664: It’s Like a Caucus

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Rumors spread across the island fast, but it’s only been a few hours, so there are still a lot of questions. Resi is dead tired, because he hasn’t slept for real since two nights ago. The Kidjum is an induced sleep state, which keeps the mind active, and doesn’t result in any rejuvenation. Indeed, it’s one of the most tiring experiences in an islander’s life. Catching up on rest is one of the first things a graduate usually does once they choose their House, right after a nice, big meal. Because of his unique position, he never had that luxury. He has to speak with the next batch of sixteen-year-olds, who spent their whole lives thinking that they were going to decide their own fates on this day. If the world doesn’t go Proxima Doma and explode in the next decade or so, having five Houses will become the new normal, but for now, he can only imagine what they’re feeling. As shitty as he thinks his own situation is, there’s an argument to be made that they’re worse off. Some of these kids are only a few hours younger than him. What gives him the right to choose for them?

It’s a relatively small class this time, with only twenty-four kids. Two of them are going to be sent off to House Ilah, specifically to live with Resi’s birth family. Whoever these girls are, they’re not going to like it. He’s determined to ask everyone where they would like to go, but those two could become terrible exceptions. Or maybe not. Only eight of them are girls, so the chances that any two will want to volunteer aren’t the best, but maybe he’ll get lucky. He’s looking at the roster now. Only one of them is originally from Ilah, but that is no big surprise. Each House celebrates a different fertility season, so birthdays are not evenly distributed throughout the year. Most are from House Maing’aing, which is where Resi’s older sister is now. He needs to broach the subject delicately. If this girl—oh, no, she’s looking at him. Shit, they’re all looking at him. How long has he been standing here, not saying anything? “Welcome to your Kidjum.”

“It’s not a Kidjum anymore, is it?” one of the boys asks. Fair point.

“It’s true, you won’t be going to the cots tonight to commune with your subconscious minds,” Resi admits. “But that word really only means sleep. Our ancestors on Earth didn’t practice House reassignments. They didn’t even have Houses. So Kidjum has already changed meanings. I see no reason why it can’t change again.” Whew. He really pulled that one out of his ass. In reality, he didn’t have time to think about whether they should start using new terminology. He isn’t a linguist at any rate, and wouldn’t know how to go about finding a good replacement. Why did they choose him, and why did they make him start immediately? That’s right, he doesn’t believe that this had anything to do with his subconscious. He thinks it was all orchestrated. In fact, he’s doubting now that anyone here makes their own House decision. Was it all a lie?

“I don’t care what you call it. Just tell us what’s gonna happen.” It’s the one girl from Ilah. Her arms are noticeably uncrossed. Most of the others are guarding themselves, even the guys. They’re wearing unnecessarily thin cotton...sheets. There’s no special name for it, but that’s literally what it is. You’re handed a sheet, and it’s up to you to tear the holes for your head and arms. Some forget to be mindful of the arms, and it makes for some rather awkward interactions. She remembered how many tears to make, but she made them too large, so she’s showing more skin than she should be, and doesn’t seem bothered. Fortunately, she dried off rather well, so it’s okay that she’s not trying to cover herself up so much.

Should he pull her aside and ask if she wants to stay? Probably not, because he still needs one more girl anyway. Could he talk to all the girls separately? No. Transparency. If this has been one giant conspiracy, then he needs to actively combat that by being as honest as possible, and giving them all the information that he has about it. Geeze, it’s hot in here. Has it always been hot? What is this, the fire ceremony, am I right? He clears his throat, only to find that it’s only made it worse. He should have grabbed some water beforehand. “Believe it or not, you all probably know about as much as I do,” he struggles to say. He clears his throat again. Nope. Even worse. Cool.

His sister walks up from behind him, and slips her water bottle into his hand.

He takes hold of it. “Thanks, little one.” He made the right choice, bringing her along. He drinks then looks back at the crowd. “As I was saying, I was not given a handbook for this job. The Assembly hasn’t even reached out. I’m gonna do my best, but I’ll need your help. I don’t know what you expect here, but I’ve been told that everything is my decision now. You don’t get any say. Your subconsciousness doesn’t even have a voice. Well, if that’s true—if I’m really as powerful as they want me to be—then I can choose not to choose. It’s estimated that 83% of dreamers end up in the House that they thought they wanted before they went into their Kidjum. Most of you know what you want, so let’s lean into that. Tell me. What do you want?” Two girls. Please let there be two girls who want to go to Ilah. That’s all he needs. Make it easy on him. Hell, he’ll take two guys, and maybe negotiate with Father. It’s the 26th century, it’s not like there’s a real difference between boy work and girl work. That’s all just nonsense tradition.

The room is quiet. No one is answering. Okay, that’s on him. He didn’t make it a very orderly vote. “Um...” he begins as he’s looking around. “Okay, yes.” He goes over to the two tables that were used for handing out the sheets, and separates them from each other. He grabs the leftover sheets themselves, and walks them over to a separate corner to throw them on the floor. Then he starts to point. “Enaiyo, Maing’aing, Naino, and if you stay where you are, you’re choosing House Ilah. There. It’s like a caucus. Have you heard of those? Doesn’t matter. Just, uhh...go.” He waves his arm to release them. When they still don’t move, he balks. “You all want Ilah?” Holy shit, this is gonna work out. “Or do you not understand the assignment? I get it, this isn’t what you trained for, but they didn’t give me any of the elixir. We literally can’t do a real Kidjum. I’m sorry, but—”

“You forgot one House,” another girl says. “You forgot Kutelin.”

He’s so thrown off by that. “Well, I...it’s just...” Huh? “I didn’t think anyone would want to join that. We don’t have anything. I have an apartment that I’ll be sharing with my sister. But we don’t have any farms or infrastructure. That might sound like it means no work, but the work families do isn’t random or arbitrary. It provides for them. I’ll be eating from the Market Collective. I don’t know that they’ll afford you the same courtesy. We don’t know where this is going. Like I said, they’re being real cryptic about it.”

“We’ve already talked about this, the Ilah girl says. “We didn’t have a fifth choice before. We wanna start something new.” They aren’t in a Fold together, but since birthdays are a matter of public record, they all know each other. Many groups who share the day, until their Kidjum, operate in a very Fold-like way. If this is what they want, he can’t deny them. They answered his question. So all right, the first members of House Kutelin. But wait, what about Father’s demand? No, screw that, Father can sow with his toes. Resi has a Fold of his own now. He has a family. He has protection.

Microstory 2663: The Duty Republic

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Resi’s new responsibilities will begin tomorrow, though he will need time to prepare, so the work actually starts right away. An average of 31 kids turn 16 every day, so the next batch has already begun their cleansing ritual. He remembers his own cleansing like it was yesterday, because it was! Now they’re putting him in charge of the whole thing. Kokore apprentices train for years before they even perform one ceremony without supervision. And it’s not like watching them work on stage would prepare someone to fill in. There’s all sorts of other things going on behind the scenes that Resi doesn’t even know about. He doesn’t even know what he doesn’t know. He just assumes that there’s more to it. For him, it’s even worse. They want him for a job that hasn’t been done in two hundred years, with no education, experience, or aptitude, and no manual. This has to be some kind of test. Is this a test?

“It’s not a test,” his mother claims.

“So you’ve heard of the fifth House?” Resi presses.

“Just stories, but yes. Before you ask, I couldn’t tell you. It’s one of many things that children are not to know until their sixteenth birthdays. I didn’t think it would ever come up. No one did. I certainly didn’t think my son would be chosen.”

“Chosen?” he echoes. “Chosen. No one is meant to be chosen for a House. It’s a subconscious decision. That’s the entire point of the Kidjum. If I was chosen, then who chose me? Who is responsible? What else do they choose? Is our whole culture a lie?”

“It’s not a lie, brother,” Omir insists. “It’s just changing. You’re the one who’s changing it. Your decision was still subconscious, but it was nearly unique. You were born to a world different than our ancestors. You see things differently. The island is ready for House Kutelin, and you tapped into that. It’s still all you, but what sets you apart is that you have a deeper understanding of the way things need to be now.”

Resi has never felt any different than the other kids. Mediocre is a word that always swims around in his head. And he’s liked that—it doesn’t sound like an insult to him. He appreciates being part of the collective. He wants to stay that way. He wants to blend in. This is far too much pressure, and he hasn’t even started whatever he’s expected to start. He doesn’t even seem to have any sort of trainer or mentor. No guidance, no real answers. His family doesn’t know anything. They’re just guessing. He looks down at his little sister. She’s a quiet one, and if he can be honest with himself for a minute, his favorite. It’s hard to tell how much of this she’s understanding, because she never lets on. When you look into her eyes, you will see nothing but wisdom and patience. He kneels down. “You’re the only one I can trust now.”

She smiles and wraps her tiny arms around his neck. “I’ll come with you.”

“Oh, honey. You can’t go with him. It’s not time for you to choose—be chosen,” she corrects, “for a House yet. Seven years more.” Mother always talks down to Kala.

“It’s not about House Kutelin.” Resi takes Kala’s hand as he’s standing up straight. “They’re moving me closer to the Tadungeria. She can stay with me there.”

‘“You can’t take care of a child,” his mother argues. “Not only are you not qualified, but you won’t have the time. You have a duty to the whole island now.”

“Let’s not oversell it,” Resi counters. “I have a duty to the Four Houses.” Many refuse to acknowledge that there are two other nations on Yana, which have their own beliefs and practices. Today, they live in peace, and there is plenty of cross-pollination, but there has been much conflict in the past. The animosity can largely be attributed to a failure to recognize each other’s presence. Or really, it’s more about mentally attempting to absorb them into a single unified people. Resi knows that that’s not helpful. Pretending the divisions don’t exist doesn’t dismantle the divisions, it reinforces them.

“You also have a duty to this family,” Omir pushes back. “We need Kala here to complete our chores. You will have access to resources now. The city is well-established. You no longer need her, nor any of us.”

“Which is it, brother?” Resi questions. “Do I have a duty to our family, or am I no longer a part of this family?”

“It’s both,” his mother says. “This tradition is not changing. Even if you had chosen a different House for yourself, we would stay in contact.” Yeah, that’s how it’s supposed to work, but it doesn’t make that much sense when you break it down. If your subconscious wants to join a different House than the one you grew up in, your ties to your first House are probably not that strong to begin with. If Omir had switched to, say, House Naino, Resi would not see him very often. He doesn’t even live here anymore. He should probably be at his new home right now, doing his own early morning chores.”

“I’m starting something new,” Resi begins. “It’s scary, and I don’t want to be alone. I wasn’t condescending to Kala when I said that she was the only one I could trust. She is too young to have kept anything from me.” He holds his free hand up when his mom opens her mouth to argue. “Now, I’m not mad that you did. I understand why. But I can’t do this if I’m relying on my family. If you can’t help me do what I need to do, then I need to commit to my new House. But that doesn’t mean I’m leaving everything behind. I’m taking Kala, because I need her, and I don’t want to hear another word.”

Omir and their mother look over at Father. He’s a quiet one too, but not in Kala’s way. His silence shrouds an anger, and a darkness. He would never hurt them, Resi doesn’t think. He hasn’t before anyway. What’s frightening about it is how much he seems to be holding back. He doesn’t know why Father should be so mad, and why he has to work hard to tamp it down and remain calm. Resi thought he was doing something wrong when he was a kid, but grew up to decide that it doesn’t have anything to do with him specifically. There’s something bigger that bothers Father, which he can’t or won’t say. But as reserved as he is, Father always has an opinion, and they all respect it. “Son, it is not for you to know why your mind chose the House that it did. It is not for any of us to know, for ourselves, or for you. The fact is that starting a new House is no small venture. For my part, I do not care what you do with your power. You could tear down the Houses. You could wage war against the rest of Bungula. All is up to you, and we’ll love you for it, and stand by your side. But what you won’t do is deprive us of the labor and loyalty that we deserve. We had all four of our children for a purpose. You may take Kala with you, but in return, you will provide us with two new daughters as replacement, and you will do so with your first decree after tomorrow’s Kidjum.”

If anyone on this island can make Resi do something he doesn’t want to do, it’s Father. What he’s asking for—to Resi’s knowledge—has never been done before. You don’t ask for new family members to host. When someone chooses a House, they go where they’re needed, and no one is entitled to more than two children, adopted or otherwise. Yet everything is changing now. That’s what they’re fighting about today. He didn’t ask for this responsibility. “Very well, you will have your new daughters.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 26, 2539

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The team reunited on Extremus Prime, but they weren’t ready to go for another day. Ramses needed to work on something first. Once it was time, they bid their adieu to Actilitca, and activated all seven of their tandem slingdrives. They ended up on a planet called Varkas Reflex. It orbited a host star called Wolf 359. Like Proxima Centauri, it was a flare star, but unlike Proxima Doma, Varkas Reflex was a super-Earth. For a normal human to survive on the surface, technological advancements had to be made to protect them from the extreme gravity. All things being equal, it did not make for a very good colony. It should not have been one. Colonists should have remained in orbit instead, perhaps in centrifugal cylinders, or a whole Dyson swarm. It was very important to the early colonists, though, that they landed on planets. That sentimentality had since vanished, but tradition remained on the nearest neighbors.

For the longest time, Wolf 359 wasn’t even a very good candidate for planetary colonization, because scientists didn’t even know that there was a planet. Varkas Reflex orbited Wolf 359 at an extremely high inclination, which meant, from the perspective of Earth, it never passed between the star and the telescopes. They only eventually proved it using a method called stellar occultation, which tracked transit patterns of neighboring stars that indicated they were all coming from a single celestial body. It was then that they chose to send a probe there to confirm. It was sort of a last minute thing, relatively speaking according to galactic mapping scales.

About 250 years ago, the leaders of this planet had their plans set on making it the number one vacation destination for the stellar neighborhood. They were doing okay, and really only competing with Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida. Then Castlebourne came along, and ruined all of that. Luckily, they had already pivoted to something else. In an attempt to make the perfectly streamlined democracy, Hokusai Gimura scanned the mind of everyone who lived on Varkas Reflex, and used them to create an amalgamated consciousness. This singular entity would presumably always have the right answer to how to govern things. No more asking questions, waiting for responses, and holding discussions. If a problem came up, the Congeneral would know what to do immediately, because the consensus was already in there. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. There was too much discordance. It kept stripping out conflicting thought after conflicting thought until there was basically nothing left. As it turned out, discordance was a part of life, and governance was always going to be complicated, and often slow.

Still, this failed experiment apparently gave them the idea to pivot from their original dream. Transdimensional gravity was great, but the surface of Varkas Reflex was still a hellscape compared to Earth, or even Proxima Doma’s Terminator Line. If everyone was safer and better off inside, they were going to use that to their advantage. Virtual simulations were widespread. There were massive communities centered on all of the colonies, as well as Earth, of course. It was possible to join these together using quantum communication, but not easy, and not all that common. The ones on Varkas Reflex today were largely considered the best. It didn’t have to be this way. It could have been just about anywhere, but this location had its advantages, like a tidally locked planet orbiting a red dwarf, which allowed for supercool calculations on the far side. But in the end, it became the simulation capital of the galaxy because the people there decided it would be. While most travelers these days were flocking to Castlebourne—about a million people per week, at last count—a not insignificant amount of interstellar ships and casting beams were going to Varkas Reflex. It didn’t hurt that the world shared an acronym with virtual reality.

“But why are we here?” Romana asked after being caught up on the boring history.

“I wanted to test my new navigational algorithm,” Ramses explained. “It’s not time to go out and look for Spiral Station just yet, but it needed to be a place the slingdrives hadn’t been to before. This world seemed as good as any.”

“So, you...” Romana began.

“I what?”

“You can’t read my mind?” she asked, peering at him with great suspicion.

“No. Why? What? What? Why? Why?” He was so lost.

She was still suspicious. “Okay...”

“Okay,” he echoed.

“Okay, well I’m gonna go to the stacks then,” she said, backing up slowly. “Unless you...you think I should go somewhere specific, I’m just gonna go browse.”

“That’s fine, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Romy. Is this somehow about the kiss?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’ve never kissed anyone before, let alone a brother like you.” She disappeared.

“That was weird.” He tried to go back to work, but seemed to feel someone staring at him. He turned to look at Leona. “What?”

“What was that about a kiss?” she questioned.

“So, I would like your opinion on the form factor,” Ramses said. “That’s an open question for everyone. But the design is only fluid until I actually start building it, which means I would like to make a decision quite quick.”

“Tell me about this kiss,” Leona insisted.

“It’s fine, Lee,” Mateo promised her. “Really, not a big deal. I’ve already parented her on it. We’ll talk about it later in private.”

Leona was peering at them both, but was ultimately willing to let it go...for now. “A sphere, I suppose.”

“That’s one vote for sphere. Anyone else?” Ramses asked.

“Shouldn’t it be a belt, so we can wear it,” Angela suggested.

“One for sphere, one for belt,” Ramses said, updating the polling data.

“Well, how big does it have to be?” Marie pressed. “If it can be smaller than a belt, maybe more like a necklace, or even a bracelet.”

Ramses started imagining various shapes of various dimensions between his hands. “With the power source, I don’t think it should be smaller than a belt.”

“It needs to be able to turn invisible either way, so we can hide it somewhere while we’re all inside.”

“Good idea.” Ramses scribbled that down in his notes. “In...visible. So, we really don’t care what the shape is?”

“They’re right, a belt makes more sense,” Leona said, changing her vote, “since we can’t store it in a pocket dimension.” Ramses was building a structure for them to inhabit. Since they no longer had a ship, they always had to congregate wherever they happened to be, and that lacked privacy. They also sometimes had to keep their suits on to breathe and communicate. By placing their home in a pocket dimension, they could stretch out and relax, even if they were in a harsh environment. They couldn’t just slip into their homebase whenever and wherever, though. It would require one piece of hardware to be kept in base reality at all times. Subpockets were possible, but not recommended, for various reasons, most importantly in this case was that it could get lost in the infinite forever if something went wrong. If they were all inside of it at the same time, that physical dimensional generator would just be sitting around on its own, or in some cases, floating around in space. In these situations, the shape wasn’t relevant, but Angela was right that a belt was the most logical choice. One of them could wear it around their waist, and it would look too normal for anyone to suspect its true purpose.

“Belt? Belt? Belt?” Ramses posed, pointing to Olimpia, Mateo, and Leona. “Belt,” he decided. “I need to get to work on it then. Thank you. You can go now.”

“I think I’m gonna go check on my daughter,” Mateo said to Leona.

“You need to tell me what happened first. It looks like she wants to be alone right now. Whatever she’s doing, I trust her. Do you?”

“Of course I do. Allow me to explain.”

While Mateo was telling the awkward story of Romana’s kiss with Ramses, Romana herself was in the simulation library. The largest component of a copy of the central archives that people carried around with them was called the virtual stacks. It could house hundreds or thousands of different simulations, depending on how detailed and immersive they were. It couldn’t hold all of them, though. That wouldn’t be practical, even if it were possible. The stacks that Romana was in right now were closer to that comprehensiveness, however. It was designed to look like a regular library, but the books were holographic, and only there for ambiance. The only real things on the shelves were the empty storage drives. You grabbed one from there, inserted it into the nearest private download terminal, and installed whichever construct you wanted from the core database. You could also connect to a particular world from here, to test drive it, or if you simply didn’t feel like going home to use it. Romana wasn’t interested in this, though. She didn’t even know what she was looking for. So she needed assistance.

The holographic assistant appeared in another chair. “Thank you, and welcome to the principal virtual database. What kind of simulation were we looking for today?”

“How high is your personality? Do you have agency?”

“I express the illusion of agency,” the woman explained. “I have the illusion of personality. These can be adjusted via your preferences. Would you like me to show you how to tune my parameters?”

“Confidentiality parameters,” Romana prompted.

“One hundred percent confidential by current preferences. If you shut me down, and restart me, I will not recall our previous conversation. To save our conversations, please sign in to your account.”

“No, I want your memory wiped entirely.”

“What kind of simulation were we looking for today?” the bot repeated.

“It’s not about the environment itself. It’s...I’m looking for a person.”

“Character creation. I can help with that as well.”

“I want this character...to have agency. Make no mistake, I don’t only want him to simulate it. I want him to be with me, but to be able to choose to leave me. But...but not do that.”

The bot stared into space for a moment. If it had any level of personality, it was turned down fairly low. Though, the hesitation was a bit of a mixed signal. “What you’re asking for is true emergence, otherwise known as an Unregulated Artificial Intelligence. The creation of something like this would require a synthetic siring license, which is difficult to procure in this system. Perhaps you would be better suited traveling to Glisnia.”

“I can’t go to Glisnia,” Romana clarified in exasperation as she was standing up and moving behind her chair. “I’m already here, and it wasn’t by choice, so I don’t have to explain why. I can’t tell anyone what I’m doing. If I asked my friends to take me somewhere else, they would want to know why.”

The assistant paused again. “To generate a true independent consciousness entity through non-biological means would require a sireseed program. Those are profoundly regulated and protected. And I must warn you, if you intend this being to be your romantic partner, the sireseed method would not be a very good idea, for it would place you in the position of its parent, while it would be your child.”

“What if someone else generated the seed? Could the result be my boyfriend then?” Romana hoped.

“If you asked him for companionship, and he agreed, perhaps. You would have to know someone with a license, and the right discretion. You would have to be able to trust them, and then you would have to be able to let the resulting being decline if that was his choice. I cannot condone non-consensual behavior with a conscious entity, nor teach you how to subvert safety guardrails. Simulated consciousnesses, however, are a different story, and entirely within the scope of Varkas Reflex’s offerings.”

“I don’t want him to act like a real person, but to be real, in every sense.”

More pausing. “What you’re asking for is morally gray at best. The idea of birthing an independent being in the hopes of it developing into a certain type of person with particular feelings towards you falls outside the bounds of current ethical guidelines for procreational activity. Even biological procreation ethics strongly discourages excessive parental indoctrination in the modern era.”

“I’m so lonely,” Romana told the bot sadly.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“What causes emergence?” Romana questioned. “If you design an AI to only simulate consciousness, what causes it to become genuinely conscious and independent? It does happen naturally sometimes, doesn’t it?”

“Very rarely,” she said. “And...unknown.”

“Best guess,” Romana pressed.

One more pause. “Time. Best guess is it takes time and patience.”

Romana smirked. “Time, I got.”

“There would be other variables, otherwise any abandoned NPC left to their own devices without periodic mind wipes or programming updates would eventually form consciousness.”

“I’m sure I’ll figure it out,” Romana decided. “Give me the most detailed single-planet ancestor simulation you have that can fit on one virtual stack cartridge.”

“Loading options...”

“While you’re doing that, tell me about this Congeneral from your history. How does an amalgamated consciousness work?”

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Castlebourne Capital Community: First Rule of Warfare (Part VI)

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Two aspects of the scalar representative council government that carried over from the advisory-administrative model were the main leaders of all the councils combined. If your community were to join the federation, these two would be at the tippy top. The Moderator and Facilitator weren’t policy-makers per se, but they did make sure that everyone was on the same page about the policies. Having democracy didn’t mean that everyone was on the same level. It was prudent to have people who managed and directed the conversations. They were never meant to be unilateral nor tyrannical, though, hence the titles.

Facilitator Abascal walked into Dreychan and Yunil’s shared office after they unlocked the door from Dreychan’s desk. Yunil was sitting on his lap. They weren’t doing anything untoward, but they should probably be more professional. They were just tired, and ready to be done working. That was the point anyway. She climbed off of him and stood at his side. He stayed seated. “Amazine, how the hell are ya?” he asked.

Amazine reportedly lived on Castlebourne for years before anyone pointed out that the name she chose for herself simply sounded like the word amazing. She felt so embarrassed, but she didn’t want to change it, because it felt right to her. Like so many others, she had spent most of her life as nothing but a number. In the end, it was a decent name. It sounded nice on its own, and it made her unique, which was an unheard of characteristic in the Goldilocks Corridor. “We need to talk about Vip.” Vip was Amazine’s direct superior. Now, Vip...Vip chose his name quite deliberately. It was a mononym, and it stood for very important person. He would deny this if you were to ask him about it, but he came here with a complex, just like Maaseiah, though maybe to a lesser degree. Then again, Maaseiah was still in prison, and Vip was the Moderator of the Castlebourne government, so who had the highest aspirations here? He wasn’t evil, as far as they knew, but Azad called him a populist candidate, which Dreychan still didn’t understand, but he was told it wasn’t a compliment.

“Are you suggesting that I remove Vip from his position, and replace him with someone else?” Dreychan asked, absolutely knowing that this was not at all what she would suggest to him.

“Wull...no, of course not. We’re not there yet, but—” Amazine began.

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Dreychan said, holding his hand up. “My job as Superintendent is not to settle your internal disagreements. My job ought to be done.”

“Our job,” Yunil corrected.

“Right,” Dreychan agreed. “Our job was to start the government. It’s supposed to be able to run itself. My position is a failsafe against tyranny, but if all goes according to plan, I should be able to sit on a beach in Polar Tropica, and not worry about anything anymore. That’s how our Earthan ancestors designed the system, and it is a characteristic that we have chosen to maintain.”

“I understand that, I just...”

“You mostly wanna vent,” Yunil guessed.

“Yes,” Amazine admitted. “You may not technically be above me in the org chart, but you’re certainly not below me. Everyone else is. I don’t have anyone to talk to about his bullshit, or I’ll appear weak and unfit for office. I just thought..maybe you would have some ideas. I know it’s not your obligation, but maybe you could save beach day for tomorrow?” A look of horror spread across her face. “Oh my God, that was so rude. I am terribly sorry, I was out of line.”

“It’s all right,” Dreychan said to her calmly. “I’m not offended. And you’re right, there’s no need for us to be lazy. Maybe we should be available to people who need our guidance. The problem is...”

“That’s not really where his strength lies,” Yunil explained. “I, on the other hand, give great advice.” She glided around the desk, reaching out towards Amazine. Once they made contact, she wrapped her arm around her shoulders, and started leading her back towards the door. “Let’s go off somewhere to talk. Have you ever heard of Christmas?”

“No,” Amazine replied.

“Oh, it’s this delightful little Earthan tradition. We can have a cup of hot cocoa in Holidome. Have you ever heard of hot cocoa?” Yunil asked her.

“No,” Amazine repeated.

“You are going to love it.”

Dreychan stayed in his office, glad that Yunil stepped up for this one. His sense of relief didn’t last long before Moderator Vip showed up.

Vip was just as annoyed at Amazine as she was at him. “She is undermining me at every turn. She’s talking to Dominus Petit behind my back, ya know. I was this close to convincing him that I need to be in charge of the military, but she screwed it up, saying all this nonsense about peace, and the..middle way. I don’t know what the hell she’s talking about.”

“Why would you be in charge of the military?” Dreychan questioned.

Vip flinched like it was obvious. “I’ve been studying Earth history. The most powerful country was called The United States, and their leader was the Commander in Chief. He ran the civilian government and the military at the same time. It just makes sense.”

“That was a democratic republic,” Dreychan argued. “That’s a completely different model. You’re here to moderate, that’s why you’re called that. And besides, the military isn’t an ex-Exin contingency. It’s managed by the Executive Administrative Authority. They’re not going to give you anything. I’ve known Azad for almost a year now. He and his superior officer aren’t going to give it up, to you, or anyone.”

Vip shook his head. “The Governor. That guy’s even softer than Petit. I’ll tell you what, you should superintendent his ass out of here.”

“That’s not my purview,” Dreychan said. It wasn’t the first time he had to explain what his job was to this guy. Dreychan would not have picked him for this role, but there were two sides to Vip. He was charismatic and well-spoken to the public. In private, he was temperamental, contrary, and sometimes downright dumb. Dreychan and Yunil could have designed the government so that they could move members around with impunity, but that wouldn’t have been very democratic. They bowed to what the people wanted, and the people wanted Vip. That was why it was so important that they maintain the council federation structure, so he wouldn’t have any actual power. In that way, they were a lot alike.

“Whatever,” Vip mumbled.

Dreychan sighed. “Vip, why do you want control over the military? What would you do with that?”

“I would protect our home from the Exin threat.”

“Defensively or offensively?” Dreychan pushed.

“The first one, obviously. Wait, which is the one where we go out and murder as many of our enemies as possible?” He feigned an evil grin. He did have some sense of humor, albeit a rather dark one, so at least that was one redeeming quality. “I don’t know what I did to make you all think that I’m some power-hungry moron bent on destruction. But you have largely stayed out of the military’s dealings. I’ve been paying attention, and I see the issues. Drey, they’re not doing anything. They’re barely training, they’re relying far too much on their robots. Have you seen them? Each soldier has this whole compliment of bots that follow them around. They have this animal-like one at their side that carries all of their gear. I think Azad said it looked like a dorg, or a duck, or something, I dunno. Then they have their hawk, which flies above to look out for future obstacles. And then there’s this flutterby thing that—I don’t know what it does, but it’s small enough to fit in my hand, so it can’t possibly help.”

“What the hell is your point?” Dreychan asked.

Vip sighed. “They need someone to lead them...inspire them. Governor Whinawray is not up to the task. The way I hear it, he just sort of fell into the role because he happened to be on the planet when the Charter Contingency was born. I strongly believe that we need to grow our numbers, and what, are they gonna promote him to Ligament or higher? I don’t think he can handle it. I don’t think he wants it.”

Dreychan slammed the side of both fists on the table.

“Oh, no, I’ve said something else that you don’t like,” Vip quipped.

Dreychan tapped on his desktop device, and pulled up what he needed. He spun his monitor around to show Vip the resignation form.

“I don’t wanna quit.”

“Well, you don’t wanna be here, doing this. A Moderator needs to be non-violent by nature. He shouldn’t be looking to grow an army, or train its officers. He shouldn’t be disparaging his colleagues’ names, or complaining that soldiers are safer and better equipped than they have ever been because of their bot pack. And the flutterby, by the way, is for stealth recon. It’s that lack of attention to detail that tells me that you really shouldn’t be responsible for our military, and you probably shouldn’t be the Moderator either. So go ahead, go on, resign. I’ll find someone who wants to do it. The planet will be fine without you. And hey, if you’re really serious about aidsmanship, there’s nothing stopping you from signing up. But you won’t be starting at the top, like you think. Whinawray didn’t start where he is today, and neither did Petit. They’ve been at this for literal centuries. So you’ll train first. Maybe spend a year in Mêléedome. Or two. Or a few decades. I don’t care where you go, or if you quit at all. Just for now, get the hell out of my office. I need to focus on garnering support for the next vote on the stellar engine.”

Vip was trying to hold it together. “Ya know, I voted against that.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t campaign for the opposition—I was a good soldier—but I voted with my heart. I think we should stay here and fight.”

“And if it were just us here, I might agree with you,” Dreychan admitted, “but the visitors outnumber us almost 230:1 at last count. A million new visitors are arriving every week. Unfortunately for them, they are not capable of voting, so it is up to us to ensure their safety. We do that by running and hiding, not by subjecting innocent people to our problems.”

“Why didn’t you say all of this before?” Vip questioned.

“Because we underestimated the opposition. We won’t make that mistake again.”

Vip’s face changed, but it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. He seemed to be absorbing the information, and processing it in some way. “Let me help.”

“You voted against it.”

“You’ve changed my mind.”

“Just like that?”

“You’re very persuasive,” Vip explains. “You should have been more involved in the discussions. You underestimate yourself, but people listen to you. They want to hear your opinion.” He looked around at the office. “Don’t just hide out here. You decide what your job entails. Tell me how I can help.”

Dreychan sighed and glanced over at his inbox. Still no messages. Well, he had a ton of messages, but not the one he was looking for. “The primary voice of dissent. I messaged him yesterday, and he still hasn’t responded. He seems to like you, so maybe you can talk to him.”

“Well, where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Check the tracking system.”

Dreychan didn’t budge.

“We all know you have access to that. The prison is allowed visitors. People talk, especially members of the Old Council of Old Worlds. Just look him up, and point me to him. I make no guarantees, but I will give it my best.”

Dreychan sighed again and checked the tracker. Once he saw where the guy was, he leaned back in his chair and tapped on his lips.

“What is it?” Vip asked. “If you feel uncomfortable with telling me, that’s fine, or if you feel guilty about using this tool in the first place, that’s okay too. I’ll just send him my own message, and see if he responds to me instead.”

“It’s not that, it’s...he’s in XDome.” XDome is probably the most controversial one of all. Azad hinted that Hrockas agonized over whether to include it way back in the day. In the end, he approved the idea when the AI he placed in charge of coming up with most of the dome concepts produced its master list. The truth was that sex was a part of life, and a necessary one, though technically no longer a required activity in a galaxy of gene splicing and artificial gestation. Still, it was a primary human motivation, hard-coded into most organic people’s DNA. Even the most enhanced of transhumans typically kept that trait, because life without pleasure was just survival. Ignoring it as a fundamental component of happiness wasn’t going to make it go away. People were going to have sex, and those who couldn’t find anyone to do it with them—or who couldn’t find their ideal partner—were going to do it with synthetics. At least, by creating a central hub for all sexual fantasies, it kept it fairly isolated and contained. It was easier to keep it out of reach of children and asexual individuals when there was one best place to get it above all, and access to that place was easily controlled.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised. You’ll notice he hasn’t joined the military either. He doesn’t want to fight, he just wants someone else to do it for him. Do you know where he’s from?”

“Slain?” Dreychan asked rhetorically. “I don’t actually.”

“You didn’t know him?”

“Huh?”

“On Ex-777?”

Oh. Dreychan’s face went numb. “Oh. That explains it.”

“That explains it,” Vip echoed

Dreychan didn’t keep up with the refugee manifests. It would be too many people to keep track of anyway, but as far as he knew, he was still the only former 777er. So if Slain was also from there, he must have come to Castlebourne really, really recently. Why were people listening to him? Why were people following his lead when only a year ago, Dreychan was quite nearly murdered for being from the same Old World?

“I bet I know what you’re thinking,” Vip began. “My hypothesis is that it’s your fault. People hated you because you were from a luxury world, but you proved them wrong. You proved your worth. I think they’re overcompensating in their heads, and deciding that maybe ex-Ex-777ers are the best amongst us. That is why you need to make your voice heard, and not just play in the background. People need to know that it’s not because of where you’re from, but despite it. They need to hear a voice of reason.”

Dreychan leaned back again, and tried to rethink the strategy. Maybe they were going about this all wrong. The reason the so-called opposition won out was because, as Vip was just saying, the voice of reason wasn’t strong enough. He had thought it made sense to try to convince Slain to change his mind, and do the right thing, but Ex-777ers were not known for their open-mindedness. And honestly, Dreychan didn’t want the rest of the refugees to start seeing 777 as some kind of hot bed for the intellectually enlightened. It was full of entitled assholes who didn’t understand the danger of war and struggle because they had never faced it before. They were living in a post-scarcity civilization before anyone on Earth had even dreamed it up. “Scratch that. I don’t need to talk to him. We need to talk against him. You’re smarter than I give you credit for.”

“I am?” Vip asked. “I mean, I am.”

Dreychan laughed. “The first rule of warfare: the bigger the gun, the more compelling your argument is.”

“Okay...” Vip didn’t know what he meant by that.

Dreychan stood up. “So let’s go recruit some bigger guns.”

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