Microstory 2762: Emergency Exit

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Once the deed is done, Miracle flies back over to the boat and lands on the deck. She sways her head side to side as her angel wings tuck back into her body like they presumably would for a real angel. She smiles at the group, particularly Laise.

“You upgraded,” Laise points out. “The wings are organic now.”

“They’re carbon-based, but they’re not organic,” Miracle explains. “They’re not from Daedalus, I don’t know why I was ever limiting myself to his antiquated work in the first place. I’m still getting used to the nanites. What did I miss?”

“How did you get here?” Rage asks. “You said we were in another dimension.”

“We are,” Miracle confirms. “Did you think Hrockas was the only one with the ability to traverse dimensional barriers? There’s really no way to lock the door on a parallel. That’s what pocket dimensions are for. Now, of course, he could always show up and kick me out, which I’m guessing he’ll do here in the next few minutes.”

A scary man wearing battle armor magically appears behind Miracle.

“He’s right behind me, isn’t it?” Miracle jokes. She smirks, and doesn’t turn around. “It’s nice to see you again, Dominus. Are you here to kill me?”

“Not yet,” the man replies. He brushes past Miracle and approaches the rest of the group. “Good morrow, folks. My name is Azad Petit of the Castlebourne Charter Contingency. As we are in peacetime, I currently operate under Mr. Steward directly.”

“Yeah, as his lackey,” Miracle points out, rolling her eyes.

Azad smirks much in the same way she did, but still doesn’t face her. He continues facing the group. “You have all survived a great deal, and I commend you on the current state of your success. Your friend is right, she will not be allowed to continue on this journey. She didn’t earn it. She failed one of the obstacles, and should not even have any memory of this, let alone the means of reëntering the program. So I will be pulling her out.

“I’m giving you this one opportunity to join her. If you leave as well, your respective mind streams will be reactivated, and you will move on with your lives at least with the memories of what has happened thus far. Of course, it will disqualify you from attaining whatever prize does or does not exist at the end of this hunt, but at least you won’t risk consciousness discontinuity.”

“She obviously didn’t suffer from discontinuity,” Elise points out.

Azad nods. “Miss Brighton does not store her consciousness, or her backups, in base reality, but in another dimension, much like this one. That will not work for you.”

“Thanks for speaking for me,” Miracle lambasts. “I’m just a girl in the world.”

Azad smirks again, and finally turns his head to face her. “Go wait in the car.”

Miracle rolls her eyes again.

Azad sighs. “We fought the Ochivari together. I respect the hell out of you. But these people deserve to win or lose on their own, not to have you cheat for them.”

“I won’t cheat,” Miracle insists.

“What’s behind your back?” Azad asks.

“Oh, these ol’ things? If you want, I’ll keep them tucked away the whole time.”

“Not good enough,” Azad reasons. “You can’t be trusted.”

“You just said you respected me,” Miracle argues. “It’s not exactly a contradiction, but it doesn’t make much sense either. I made one mistake, I’m back, deal with it.”

Azad tilts his head for a moment. He then steps back so he can address the whole group. “All right, Hrockas says you can stay, but you have to transfer into a substrate of his choosing. Before you ask, you won’t look like this anymore. He believes you have been coasting on Romana Nieman’s good will, walking around with her face. It’s time you look like someone unique, and you don’t get any input on what it looks like.”

Miracle contemplates the offer, then tries to respond, but gets cut off.

“Oh, and someone has to exit the hunt,” Azad adds. “A life for a life.”

“I’ll do it,” Laise says, so quickly that Elise wonders if she could see the future.

“You don’t have to do that for me.” It sounds like Miracle is being sincere.

“I want to quit,” Laise decides. “I suspected you might say something like that, Dominus, so I waited to speak up. I’ve been thinking a lot about my continuity. I don’t want a version of me to move on not knowing what I know. I did things I never thought I would, even in a simulation. Sure, I’ll be missing out on whatever comes next, and this fabled prize, but now I know what I’m capable of. Now maybe I’ll stop spending all of my time in historical domes, and actually have an adventure or two.”

Miracle notices Azad frowning. “You thought no one would take you up on the offer. You thought I wouldn’t have a shot, so you wouldn’t have to break any rules.”

“I admit that,” Azad acknowledges, “but we are following rules. We’re just changing them a little.” He turns to Laise. “Hrockas accepts the deal. Take my hand.”

“Wait!” Colley reaches out in an obvious request for a hug from Laise, which Laise gladly takes. Elise thinks that she’s the only one close enough to hear him whisper, “if I die, find me and tell me that my shoes in Elizabeth Victoria were anachronistic. I’ll know what it means.” He then kisses her on the check, right by her ear.

Laise kisses back, then lets go. She takes Azad’s hand, as Miracle takes the other.

Azad looks at the remaining six hunters. “I don’t think it’s cheating to tell you that you’re clearly expected to sail somewhere. I won’t tell you where, but I will say that the south is beautiful this time of year. It’s so relaxing. In a couple of hours, a stranger will appear. That will be Miracle in a new body. I’ll let her explain why.”

They disappear. Elise would very much love to know how they do that.

After a reverent moment, Rage claps her hands. “Okay, let’s figure out how to point this thing south and sail so we can search for our next clue.”

“No,” Minotaur counters. “We need to head north.”

“That’s not what the man said,” Rage contends. “You think he was lying?”

“He didn’t tell us to go south,” Minotaur reasons. “He told us that south was relaxing. We don’t want relaxing; we’re on an adventure. We want danger.”

“They have a point,” Zelda agrees. “Mentioning the wrong direction allows him to nudge us towards the right one without technically giving anything away.”

“Trust me on this,” Minotaur says to Rage. “I have experience with misdirection.”

“We vote,” Rage decides. “Raise your hands for Minotaur’s plan to go north.”

Everyone raises their hand, including Rage herself.

A few hours later, Miracle does return with a new face. The boat has not yet moved. Still none of them knows how to sail, so they need to study the vessel first. They would love a manual to read, but it’s safer to remain stationary until they have a better understanding of what they’re dealing with. At a certain point, however, they need practice, so they raise anchor, and head off. It certainly isn’t relaxing.

Microstory 2609: No One Can Agree When the World is Divided by Design

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August 20, 2526. Premier Xaovi Rue can’t stand sitting anymore. There’s something about its new substrate that makes it feel uncomfortable to bend its legs, and distribute its weight upon its buttocks. Still, it doesn’t have the luxury of being comfortable in this situation, because it makes others uncomfortable instead. This is the most important meeting of its life, likely surpassed only by every meeting it ends up being involved in from now until its latest term as North Premier ends in three years. The people aren’t going to reëlect it again, if there’s even a colony to inhabit at all at that point. In fact, they may vote it out of office entirely, depending on how it handles the current crisis. “Report!” it demanded.

“The thixotropic liquefaction,” Environmental Administrator Gerver began. “It started at the equator, but is spreading rapidly.” EvAm Gerver did not technically answer to Premier Rue, but both Delegator teams are currently missing, so Xaovi has stepped up to deal with all this.

Xaovi was elected as a representative of hundreds of millions of people, who all live in the Northern Pole domes. It needs to know if the cataclysm that is killing people near the equator is going to kill them eventually too. “Are we safe?”

Gerver hesitates.

“Are we safe!” Xaovi cried. It didn’t like to repeat itself.

“From the liquefaction, yes,” Gerver confirmed. The poles are the safest place to be right now, which brings me to the real problem. Residents of the more central domes are on their way here. Some have already arrived in the first wave, having simply come in as visitors. But soon, those vactrains are going to pile up as they become refugees. We need to know what to do with them, and as neither Delegator can be reached—”

“I will make the decision on that, and the decision is that we let them in. We let them all in. If they’re dying out there, bring them all to safety. If I have to, I’ll send emissaries to the intentionally unadvanced domes if they’re afraid to use technology to come here.”

“That hasn’t so far been the problem,” Gerver goes on. “Some of the tunnels are warped or cracked, but most of them have been able to take alternate routes.”

The Foreign Policy Administrator clears his throat. “According to our Science Admin, who was too busy to join us, the issue is life support. Our carbon scrubbers were not designed to keep this many people alive. Our waste heat ventilation system would not be able to handle the influx. Quite frankly, each polar dome is currently at capacity. We always build new ones to accommodate population growth.”

“Please do not refer to the polar domes as ours,” Xaovi warns. “In your role, you represent the entire planet, not just the dome where you chose to live. We are not elites, people,” it says to the whole room. “The pioneers at the equator are just as valuable. In fact, we must place greater emphasis on their well-being, as they are less equipped to defend themselves against these threats.” It refocused its attention to the Foreign Policy Admin. “And FpAm Pletcher, do not forget that your job is to facilitate communication with other worlds, such as Bungula and even Earth. The equatorials are not a foreign peoples. Please stop othering your countrymen.” It takes another pause. “There is no question of whether we will open the doors. There is no question of whether we will upgrade our carbon scrubbers, and ramp up food production. The only questions are about how we do such things. Please raise your hand if you disagree.”

A lot of people raise their hands. The Transportation Administrator is a deer, and does not have a hand to raise, so he hops up to rest his forelegs on the conference table.

Xaovi smiles, but not kindly. It nests its fingers together upon the table. “Now. What if I told you that I will have any dissenters escorted out of the capitol building. Who would keep their hand raised?”

Nearly everyone who needs to lowers their hand. The Transport Admin gets back down on four legs. Only Pletcher keeps his up. He looks around, disgusted. “Cowards.” He stands. “You do not have the power or the right to remove any of us from office! We were duly elected, and obligated to serve the best interests of our people!”

“The best interests of all our people,” Xaovi corrects, annoyed that he still isn’t grasping the concept. This has bothered Xaovi for so long. The domes on Proxima Doma are probably the most unregulated and fragmented of any colony. It makes sense. Some of the first colonists left Earth because they wanted to separate themselves from the establishment, and that sentimentality has held. The first settlers of Doma didn’t just want to leave, they felt like they had to, and back then, every light year was exponentially more difficult to cover than the last, so they naturally targeted the closest exoplanet. They agreed to be governed by an advisory-administrative model, but to many, it’s more of a formality. Multiple domes reject what they consider outside governance, and for the most part, that’s been okay. The domes inherently keep them isolated, and insulated from each other. But in this case, the disconnectedness is unacceptable. It’s going to get people killed.

Xaovi believes that they are all Domanians, and this is no time to preach or practice the nuance in that. They just have to save lives. It was one of those first settlers 300 years ago. It only stayed hoping that Proxima Doma would reach the level of unity that made it possible for humanity to even achieve interstellar migration in the first place. It took a long time for it to realize that one reason there was so much interest in such unprecedented migration was because it allowed people to break from the unity. Getting back to it has been a long road. They have definitely made progress, but not nearly enough, especially considering what’s happening now.

“I will have my voice heard!” Pletcher goes on. “I will not let you take over this government! Together, we’re stronger!”

“Security Administrator Matterhorn,” Xaovi says, “I will not order you to escort Pletcher out, but I would ask.”

“I will take care of it,” the Military Admin volunteers.

“Thank you, Chu,” Xaovi says. It never wanted it to come to this, but there is honestly no time for bureaucracy. There just isn’t. “Two more major things. Domestic Affairs Administrator Moffett, with Pletcher gone, I would say it falls on you to ask for help. If consolidating the population is going to cause problems, we may need to evacuate some people. As all of our launch infrastructure has been destroyed, please reach out to Bungula for potential rescue options. I don’t know who else we could turn to” It turns its head and sighs. “Adjudicator Okeke, I have just relieved a rightfully elected administrator of duty. Please explain the consequences of that, and also...the procedures for officially declaring martial law.”

Castlebourne Capital Community: The Man Who Finally Died (Part VII)

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It was done. They proposed a new referendum, which was basically just like the old one, but tweaked enough to be considered original. Thanks to the tireless efforts of Dreychan Glarieda, Yunil Tereth, and all of their friends, including even Vip, they were able to sway people’s votes. Slain kind of became a pariah on Castlebourne. He was so well-liked, but they eviscerated him in the media, so to speak, and he was not happy about it. He didn’t speak out in public, though. He aired his grievances to Dreychan and Yunil in private, but he didn’t poke his head out of his hole. He was too embarrassed. He shouldn’t have been. People had short-term memories. Many were glad to be done with the political decisions for a while.

When the refugees first came to this world, they were super hesitant to enjoy themselves, because there weren’t as many opportunities to do so in the Corridor. They had pretty much gotten over that, though and loved their recreation now. To them, the government was there to do their job, and stay out of their hair. No more voting, no more referendums, just do whatever you need. So they were all out of the spotlight by the time the sun actually started moving across the galaxy. None of them was allowed to know any details about it, or how it was being done. The sun-mover evidently wanted to maintain their anonymity, and that was fine. Perhaps Dreychan and Yunil could do the same, and finally rest. Or maybe not.

Someone yanked the dark hood off of Dreychan’s head, and pulled the bandana out of his mouth. He looked to his right to find Vip and Amazine. Yunil was to his left. They were all on their knees, with their wrists tied behind their backs, and still gagged. Amazine was scared, but the other two weren’t. He realized why. Like him, she was undigitized. If she died here today, that would be it. Yunil and Vip would be fine, so why were they here? What were these assholes trying to prove? He looked up, and didn’t recognize the scowling thugs, but he did know the smirking thug boss sauntering over behind them. “Slain. You do understand that that’s a dumb name, right? It means that you’ve died, not that you kill. Perhaps you meant to call yourself Slayer?”

“My name is my name,” Slain contended. It really wasn’t. After discovering that Slain was also from Ex-777, Dreychan did a little research. Like Dreychan, he was born with a regular name, instead of a number, but it certainly wasn’t Slain. So he made it up too. He must have thought it sounded cool.”

Slain crouched down so he was at eye-level with Dreychan. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“Judging by the design and decor, I’m guessing you’re putting us on trial?”

“A tribunal, actually.” Dreychan didn’t know the difference. Slain probably didn’t either, it just sounded cooler. He stood up, and started pacing around with his own hands behind his back, mocking them, but also giving off the impression of levity and ease. “Do you recognize where you are? We’re not in the Capital anymore.” Dreychan didn’t, but wouldn’t have had the chance to answer anyway. “Of course not. This is the three-dimensional Winner’s Hall of 2.5Dome. It’s where you would have gone had you played your game fairly, and won without cheating.”

Dreychan didn’t say anything. Even claiming to not care about that would imply that he actually did have some strong feelings on the matter, when in reality, he was totally over that, and absolutely never cared about the inherent value of winning. He had just been trying to survive.

Dreychan’s indifference angered Slain, so he had to work hard to keep it together. He pointed to one of the camera operators who was presently at rest. “The tribunal will be broadcast, but if you think that means someone’s gonna come rescue you, you got another thing coming.”

“Another think coming,” Dreychan corrected.

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry about it, little dum-dum.”

Slain was fuming. “You will show me respect. By the end of these proceedings, you will be begging me for your life, I guarantee you that!”

Dreychan was silent again. He just made himself look calm and disinterested.

Slain didn’t want to point it out, so he just moved on. “You are here to answer for your crimes against the Castlebourners. I’m not talking about the visitors, by the way, I couldn’t give a flailing fuck about those people. I’m talking ‘bout us; the real Castlebourners. You manipulated the people, and you rigged the referendum, and I have the proof. You will answer to the people of this great new nation, and more importantly, you will answer to me!”

One of his thugs batted an eye at his last claim. Perfect. This wasn’t one big happy family. There was a way to exploit that, he just needed that thing out of Yunil’s mouth, so she could use her silvertongue to do that. He gave her a look, and she winked back, still unfazed.

Slain notices this. “Oh. Oh, I see. You think you’re safe? I assure you, you’re not. No one knows where we are. The cameras won’t show any distinguishing characteristics, the signal will be bounced around different quantum servers, or scrubbed of its metadata, or whatever my expert did to hide us. When it’s your turn to speak, you can see 2.5Dome all you want, but my other expert will be censoring all that shit during the built-in delay, so it’ll just make it look like you’re cussing a lot on one of those old Earthan TV shows where they weren’t allowed to say certain words to the public.” He gestured at the walls in a general sense. “Even if they do find us, they’re not getting in. No teleporting in or out. You see, that’s why you don’t get. We are from all over. One of us worked on the teleportation field research labs. One of us is a carpenter. One a computer scientist. You just sat around and played games all day. My people know how to work.”

“I must have been misinformed. I thought you were also from Ex-777.”

Slain shook his head. “Not everyone who lived there was wealthy like you. Some of us worked for people like you.”

Dreychan scoffed. “Not true, they were bots. Our planet was specifically designed to keep all human workers out, so they weren’t even close to the luxury.” He looked around at the people with guns. “If he told you he was a workin’ man, he lied. They simply didn’t exist.”

Slain bolted back over, and backhanded Dreychan across the chin, causing his head to fall into Vip’s lap. “I told you to show me respect!”

“You gotta earn that,” Dreychan replied. “But I don’t like your chances. I don’t have much respect for the dirt on the bottom of my shoe, or even my own fingernail clippings.”

Yunil giggled.

Slain turned his head to her. “You think that’s funny? You’re only so calm because you think your safe. But my carpenter, teleportation expert, and signal technician aren’t the only geniuses I have on my side. We can also suppress quantum consciousness transference. Your last backup stream was just before you crossed the threshold into this dome. Even if you’re not one of those people who philosophically rely on continuity of thought, your backup substrate is in no safe place either. While we’re talking, my people are out there, destroying any extra bodies you got lying around.” He leaned in closer to her. “We’re tuned in, sweetheart. We didn’t do this on a whim.” He forced a kiss upon her lips, and then booped her in the nose. “Boop!”

“You should not have done that,” Yunil said firmly. “Sexual assault is no joke.”

Slain led into a laugh from a scoff. “Relax. We’re all friends here, aren’t we? Or aren’t we?” he posed, as if that was some justification for this kangaroo court.

Slain wasn’t worried. He straightened his knees out, and went back to pacing around menacingly. “Now. Before you get all up in arms about me being judge, jury, and executioner, let it be known that I am only the first one. The panel of your peers will be composed of people who know firsthand what it’s like to be slighted by the great Dreychan Glarieda of Ex-777. Come on in, folks!”

And they did. Dreychan recognized every single one of them. They were former members of the Old Council of Old Worlds. Teemo, Rezurah, Maaseiah, and Yunil’s sister, Lubiti were all there, as well as everyone else who had gone to jail for the conspiracy to kill Dreychan. They didn’t look happy, though. They weren’t smirking, or even smiling. They look kind of perturbed. Which was weird. They had all somehow been freed from prison, yet they could not be more annoyed. “This is why we’re here?” Lubiti questioned. “You want us to judge this man?”

“I figured you would want to take your shot at some justice, since you’ve been waiting for it for a year now.”

“We have not been waiting for that,” Maaseiah argued. “We have been doing our time. We have been repenting for our sins.”

“What are you talking about?” Slain was so utterly baffled. “He’s right there! The guy who put you all away—the man who you hate with such profound disgust—this is your chance to exact revenge. Take it!”

“So this was never going to be fair?” Yunil asked. “You weren’t even gonna pretend to be impartial?”

“I said it’s a tribunal, not a trial!” Slain argued. He looked back over at the councilors. “Come on! What’s your problem? He ruined your lives!”

“No, we did that ourselves,” Rezurah said. “We tried to kill him, and regardless of our reasons, that was wrong, and we all recognize that now. We have said this on the record. We have done interviews. Did you not watch them?”

“I thought you were playing for the camera,” Slain explained. “I don’t understand, you forgave him for real?”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Lubiti reasoned. “He didn’t do anything to us. He didn’t even call the authorities. They conducted their investigation without his knowledge. Like Rezurah was just saying, we are the architects of our own demise.”

Slain shook his head. He could not wrap his mind around this. He expected to win today, and he was losing steam by the minute. His thugs weren’t outwardly going against him, but they didn’t seem ready to start a firefight either. It was looking like no one was going to get hurt today. Enraged, he let out a primal scream. “Argh! You dumbasses aren’t going to take this from me!” He pulled out a knife as he was coming around to the other side of Dreychan. He held it against his neck, letting it dig in enough to make it bleed.

“Now, hold on,” Lubiti said, trying to keep him calm. “This isn’t going to get you anything. Right now, it looks like you’ll be done for kidnapping, trespassing, and maybe some hacking, or whatever. That’s not great, but it’s not murder. You can still get out of this. The laws are rigid, but the punishments are fluid. There’s not much crime anymore. No one really knows how to handle it all the way out here. You might just get exiled. They may send you to Outcast Island. You would probably prefer it there anyway. Dreychan’s a good guy, I’m sure he would advocate for you. Right, Drey?”

“Yeah, I don’t care,” Dreychan confirmed. “I don’t hold grudges, and I’m not the vengeful type.”

“You know who else isn’t the vengeful type?” Slain asked. “Dead people!” He tensed up, and cut into Dreychan’s neck deeper. Okay, this was really starting to hurt.

“Don’t. Do it,” Maaseiah urged. “I regret my actions here last year. Don’t make the same mistake we did.”

“It’s not the same,” Slain argued. “You failed. I’ll succeed.”

Lubiti breathed deliberately, presumably hoping to get him to mirror her subconsciously. “The fact that you’ve not done it yet tells me that you don’t want to. If you go through with it, no one here is gonna hurt you. So if you’re not on the fence, what have you been waiting for?”

“Good point.” And with that,” Slain dug into Dreychan’s neck deeper. He didn’t just pull it clean across his throat. He sawed at it like a cellist. It was bloody, and messy, and gruesome. He didn’t just want to kill Dreychan. He wanted to make it hurt, and it wanted to put on a show. His fun didn’t last forever, though. When he could no longer bear Dreychan’s weight. He dropped him to the floor, and let his victim succumb to the black.

Dreychan broke through his chrysalis and emerged anew. It felt weird. He didn’t know what was happening, or where he was. He just had the urge to escape. He had the impulse to move upwards. So he jumped up, and started to fly. He didn’t know how he was flying, but he certainly wasn’t very good at it. He was bumping into all sorts of things. The walls were soft and mushy, so it wasn’t really painful, only disorienting. It was pitch black except for a pinprick of light, which Dreyhan thought might have been an illusion. Still, he went towards it. He focused his thoughts on flying towards it. He kept scraping against the gooey walls, but never stopped. The pinprick grew larger and larger until he finally reached the exit. The light was blinding, so he started flying more erratically now. He was so confused and lost, but he didn’t know whether there was anywhere safe to land, so he didn’t.

He tried to blink, but he didn’t seem capable of it. So weird, having wings, but no eyelids. Was this heaven, or just a simulation? Whatever the answer was, the real question, was why? His vision adjusted, and he was finally able to see where he was. As it turned out, he hadn’t moved. This was still the kangaroo court. Everyone was staring at him, equally confused, but there was something else different. Oh right, they were giants. They watched as he fluttered about, small enough to fit in one of their hands. There was Yunil, standing up now and rubbing her wrists, no longer bound. She was smiling at him, not in shock, but in triumph. She did this. She turned him into a flutterby. But still, why...and also how? He was growing a little tired, so he landed on her shoulder.

Yunil gently petted Dreychan’s wings and giggled. She turned to face Slain, whose arms were now being held behind his back by two of his own people. They never wanted any of this. No one was on Slain’s side anymore. “I didn’t know that you were going to suppress consciousness transference, but still, this is a handy backup plan. It’s not always prudent to transfer your mind across vast distances. Some people just store their own backup, sometimes in the form of a fairy, and sometimes, a flutterby like this. I’m told holly blue is the most popular model. He’s quite pretty now, don’t you think?”

Dreychan wanted to say something to her, but he couldn’t speak. Insects didn’t have vocal cords. So he sat there patiently on her shoulder, more in love with her now than ever, even though he had always been afraid of transhumanistic upgrades.

She peered at her new little pet. “I’m sorry I did this to you without your consent. I just couldn’t bear to lose you. For the record, I fed you a sort of seed, which grew into this in the lining of your stomach. It didn’t require any surgery, or anything.”

Dreychan still couldn’t say anything to her, so he launched, and playfully fluttered around her. He then flew over, and started fluttering around the former council members. They seemed to get the idea, because they were smiling, and reaching up with the palms down, hoping that he would land on their fingers. He chose to land on Lubiti, who let him flitter back and forth between her hands. It wasn’t for another few days when they were able to have a real conversation again. That was when she and the others apologized to him directly.

Slain was taken right to jail for murder. The prosecutor wasn’t going after him for reckless substrate destruction, or consciousness back-up endangerment, but full-on murder. He had no idea that Dreychan was backed up by any method, and in fact, had strong reason to believe that the destruction of the substrate equated to true death. Time would tell what became of him. The same could be said for the former councilors. As it turned out, Slain’s movement had run deep enough to reach the prison. He had them released under the guise of a legitimate criminal forgiveness program. He kept them isolated from each other until the day of the tribunal that never was. They willingly went back to their cells immediately. The terms of their respective parole schedules were currently being revised to account for their swift voluntary return, evidence of their remorse and self-improvement, and overall good behavior. Meanwhile, the new government was holding strong. Vip and Amazine continued in their positions, and the representatives under them were representing their people admirably.

And Dreychan and Yunil? They finally got their break. The former was provided with a new human body, but he didn’t always use it. He let her teach him to switch as appropriate, when he needed something different for a certain dome, or just on a whim. The superintendent protocol was suspended since it was no longer needed. The two of them left the Capital, but could come back later, if their services were ever required again, or they could pass their power onto someone else. Meanwhile, the host star and all of its celestial bodies were on their way to a new region of the Milky Way. As for the war...well, Castlebourne wasn’t out of the woods yet.

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Microstory 2603: They Divide Themselves Into Clamoring Crowds

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August 17, 2526. Tertius Valerius and Aeterna Valeria are in a dome called Breckenridge. It’s the closest one to where they live, Leviss. Well, Aeterna lives there. Tertius left a while back when he and his daughter had a falling out, and only recently returned. Things have, quite frankly, turned to shit. Leviss has been experiencing intensifying seismic activity. It turns out that Breckenridge has too, but not quite as bad. Their infrastructure is worse, which in some ways, is a good thing. One significant tremor, and a skyscraper can come tumbling down. But sparse handmade houses that are already low to the ground? Not great, but easier to survive. Back in the day, Leviss was the absolute least advanced dome on Proxima Doma, but they intentionally had their memories wiped of their technological origins. They’ve never heard of Earth. They didn’t know they came here in a ship. This is just where they have always been, as far as they know. Breckenridge also opted for a low-tech society, but their memories were left intact, so they knew why they did it, and were able to instill their values into their children. Without this legacy, the Levins have kept advancing until now, when their level of technology resembles that of their ancestors before the split. Unfortunately, it’s all falling apart. And they need somewhere to go.

“Merchant Prince Rinaldi, please,” Tertius begs. “We need to talk about this.”

“Uh-uh-uh, call me by my current title.”

“Uh, Incumbent Rinaldi, please,” Tertius begs further.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” Rinaldi contends. “Not until after the vote, and only if I win.”

“This isn’t a vote,” Tertius argues. “This is a caucus, and a bloody mess one at that. It looks like you’re going to win anyway.” Most of the candidates are yelling out their future plans for the dome, trying to entice voters to support them. As incumbent, Rinaldi has evidently found that he doesn’t need to risk his voice. He has the largest crowd at his platform right now.

“There’s no guarantee,” Rinaldi says. “Just look at Bull’s crowd.” He’s right, it’s pretty big too. He stands up, and adjusts his giant ridiculous hat. “Hey!” he shouts across the room. “Get away from that platform! Have you seen his tractor during harvest? Spotless! Guy wastes time cleaning when he should be picking!”

Tertius rolls his eyes, and looks over at his daughter. “We’re not getting anywhere with this guy.”

“It’s like you said, he’s gonna win,” Aeterna replies. “We need him.”

Tertius sighs. “Rinaldi, this is quite time-sensitive. The Levins need to evacuate, but since humans can’t breathe on this planet, they need a dome to go to, and you have more than enough space.”

Rinaldi sits down, but is still staring at his rival with disgust. “Yeah, I’d love to help, but it’s not my place. You should have come last week when I was still in power, or next week when I’m back in power.”

“The quakes weren’t bad enough last week for us to know that they’re not gonna stop,” Tertius explains.

“Yeah, whatever. We’re dealing with them just fine.” Rinaldi stands up again. “Hodge, you get the hell away from those hats! You think you stand a chance? Don’t humiliate yourself, you son of a bitch!” The voting system is even more outrageous than a regular caucus. They decided a while back that, even with these platforms, it can be confusing who here is running for office, and who here is only a constituent. Any candidate can make a declaration on the day of, even hours into the caucus, so people need a way to get the news that someone new wants the job. Someone came up with the idea of having each candidate wear a big hat so they’re easily spotted in the throng. Over time, these hats have evidently just gotten bigger and crazier. Most candidates are expending energy holding them on their heads. They won’t stop, though. It doesn’t look silly to them. Taking the hat means you’re brave and confident, even if it’s unearned. To be fair, it’s what’s allowing Tertius and Aeterna to stand up here on the platform, and have a conversation without worrying about it looking like they’re declaring themselves candidates too.

“The Levins need you,” Aeterna says to Rinaldi, hoping that her words might sway him. “They helped you out with your crops a few seasons ago, did they not?”

“Oh, you mean the superpoop?” Rinaldi asks.

“The...probiotic nanofertilizer, yes. It’s revolutionary.” Of course, when you build a dome—on an inhospital world like Proxima Doma, or anywhere—controlling the weather is as easy as adjusting the thermostat in a regular house. They chose not to do that here. Actually, the Valerii suspect that the weather is indeed controlled, but is deliberately programmed to be erratic to simulate natural chaos. The crops don’t always yield, and despite their unwillingness to advance their technology past a certain threshold, they have been known to accept outside help so they don’t starve to death. That might be key to this whole thing.

“Eh.” Rinaldi waves it away. “We paid for that. We owe them nothing.”

Tertius sighs. “We don’t have time for this.” He and Aeterna switch to Bull’s platform. “I can get you the win, but you have to guarantee taking in the Levins as refugees, and you have to enforce the process before you technically take office. I know you can do that. Your whole system of government is too disorganized for that to be illegal.”

Bull has been screaming his message into a bullhorn that he probably made by hand out of wood. He moves it away from his mouth, and leans in towards Tertius. “You snag me the win, I’ll open the tunnel gates by the end of the night.”

“Grab that scythe for me, hon,” Tertius says to his daughter as they’re walking towards the stage. He’s not really supposed to talk, but no one is gonna stop him. “People, people! Listen to me!” he demands. “If you stand by Bull, I promise an end to your drought! I know where there’s water!” The megaengineers who colonized this world designed it so that liquid water is pumped into underground aquifers by use for people who reject the kind of technology required to do that. It allows them to pretend that it’s not artificial. But there’s a backup system. There are also just tanks, and every dome—even the primitive ones—can access them if they know how.

“How can you guarantee that?” a random citizen questions.

“Hit the floor, then hit me,” he requests of Aeterna.

She does so. She breaks into the floorboards to prove that it’s a real scythe, and not simply a prop. Then she slams the blade against her father’s back. He doesn’t budge, and the metal buckles. “Because we’re gods!” she lies.

Microstory 2602: Hrockas Steward Stops at the Door and Waits

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Hrockas Steward stops at the door and waits. Renata just spent nine months in her chrysalis, but she wasn’t sleeping. It was a taxing and tiring ordeal, so she has had to sleep for nearly a day. She agreed to let Telman monitor her vitals constantly for the time being, and it is showing that she is awake again. He’s not sure if he should knock, though. Quidel’s tracker is showing at this location too, so they’re probably together. According to Telman, nothing is indicating that she’s undergoing strenuous activity the likes of which two people might do together in private, but it’s only been a day, so they’re still trying to establish her baseline.

Renata opens the door. “You know I can see you on my doorcam, right?”

“Sorry, I just didn’t wanna disturb you.” He can see inside her room, where Quidel is stretching, in a way that makes it look like they were only sleeping.

“It’s fine, I’m feeling much better now. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to give you a gift,” Hrockas explains.

She looks down at herself. “Isn’t my new substrate the gift?”

“Uh, no, that was ethically compulsory on our part. We destroyed your old one, and even if we hadn’t, they’re free.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t need a gift. I just wanna figure out what my life looks like now.”

“That’s what this gift is for.” As Renata steps off to the side, Hrockas looks over at Quidel. “Mister Jesperson, you’re welcome to tag along. It might affect you too.”

Quidel sits up with a yawn, then sticks his tongue out like he’s just tasted something unpalatable, but he’s really just still tired. He shuts his eyes, and falls back on the bed.

“I have a bit too much, uh...stamina for him,” Renata discloses.

“I see,” Hrockas says awkwardly.

She throws on a shirt and some pants. “Let’s go.”

Hrockas teleports them both to a hangar, about fifty meters from her gift, which is covered in a tarp. They start walking towards it. “Some friends of mine are upgrading their shuttles. There’s nothing wrong with the old ones, but the technology doesn’t quite fit their intergalactic missions. Instead of trying to cast yourself to another world, or spend extensive periods of time on cyclers, I thought maybe you would like a way to take shortcuts.” He snaps his fingers. The pulley system engages, and moves the tarp to reveal the purple beauty. “Renata Granger, may I introduce you to...The Aerie.”

Renata admires it. “This is for me?”

“I have no use for it myself. I’ll be on Castlebourne ‘til the stars burn out.”

“You said something about shortcuts?”

He nods. “Mm-hmm. You could reach Earth in about two months.”

A hatch opens, and a woman climbs out. “It’s called a reframe engine,” she says. She approaches the two of them. “Hi, I’m Brooke Prieto.” She shakes Renata’s hand, and then looks over at Hrockas. “Unfortunately, due to its small size, it can’t go at full reframe speeds. If you try to get back to Earth, it’s gonna take you about five years. It’s still better than a hundred and eight, though, right?” She grimaces a little.

“It’s fine with me.” Renata looks at Hrockas too. “I’m apparently immortal now.”

“That you are,” Hrockas agrees. “Anyway, I’ll let you two get acquainted. I have some other business to take care of, but don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

“Thank you, Steward Steward.”

He smiles. “No. Thank you.” He teleports away.

“Did you get everything squared away with Ren and the boy?” Azad asks.

“She’s got her ship. I think she’ll leave to explore the real world for a change. Castlebourne is a symbol of her entrapment, even if she isn’t conscious of that. I can’t imagine he won’t go with her.”

“That just leaves the Marshal,” Azad points out.

“Samani is a soldier,” Hrockas reasons. “He’ll fall in line. I don’t think he’ll be a problem. I don’t trust him enough to read him in, but if we ever have to use the thing, I doubt he’ll cause us problems.”

Azad nods. They’re silent for a moment.

“Did you figure out where the next component is?”

“Not for a fact, but all signs are pointing to Underbelly.”

“If we can’t get the people to vote to move the sun to a new location, we may need it, but we still have time before the Exin armada arrives.”

“Ya know, there would be a benefit to us keeping the Granger girl around. If she can shut down entire simulations with nothing but a thought, she could be of use to us. Not even you have that power.”

Hrockas shakes his head. “I don’t have that power by design. It raises too many questions. I’m still fending off reporters who want to know what the hell happened in the Spydome Network.” He shakes his head more aggressively. “No. These domes stay as they are. We follow their rules, and we let the stories play out naturally. As I said, we have time.”

“We don’t have infinite time, though,” Azad reminds him.

“Yeah, I know. Just keep looking for the other components, and do it quietly.”

“Okay.” Azad’s watch beeps. “Superintendent Glarieda needs something again.”

“Go ahead,” Hrockas encourages. “Assure him that we’ll make sure the votes go our way, one way or another.”

“You want me to say it like that?”

“Obviously not.”

“What should I do with this thing?” Azad asks.

They both look down at the device sitting on the table. “Granger still has access to the lab, and might need to return there for check-ups while she’s still on-world. She can’t know that we didn’t destroy it. She went through a lot to prevent her own mother from using it. She won’t approve of us using it either. Take it to Delta Outpost. But that can wait. See what Dreychan needs first.”

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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