Microstory 2631: The Truth is That Even the Undigitized Are Digitized Because True Death is Dumb

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Datetime format not recognized. Cecelia Massey has been doing this job for less than twenty years. Her boss, Keilix has been doing it for centuries, but Cece doesn’t think even Keilix has seen anything like this before. “Uhh, K.O.? K.O.? K.O.? Keilix!”

The dead don’t need to sleep, but it’s a pleasurable experience, so people still do it all the time. Keilix finally wakes up. “What is it?”

“There—I think there’s something broken.”

Keilix gets out of bed, and walks over to the workstation. Her eyes widen in shock and fear when she sees it. “No, that can’t be right. This is thousands of people.”

“The numbers are still rising,” Cecelia states the obvious.

“Something huge must have happened, like a ship blew up, or something. Where are they coming from?”

Cecelia opens a new screen. “A place called Proxima Doma, Proxima Centauri. It looks like there was a delay in processing, but their local buffer filled up, so it sent a databurst to us. Why would it do that? We can’t handle this kind of volume.”

Keilix looks at a different screen. “The original programming was never altered. These are the same protocols that the original simulation had. It doesn’t know that there are only two of us now. It’s just dropping people off, and assuming that there will be counselors available to facilitate orientation.”

“I’m looking at the COD list. We have falls, asphyxiation, implosion...lava? I’m seeing a lot of lava here.”

Keilix looks over Cece’s shoulder. “This is an apocalyptic event. Let me look at something.” She takes out her handheld device. It’s not any more physical than anything else in this virtual world, but it’s the manifestation of the only thing that grants her access to some current knowledge out of base reality. It allows them to keep up with what’s going on, to a degree. They try not to use it too much. “There’s nothing in the news about it, but the link hasn’t updated in a while. What I can tell you is that the population of Proxima Doma, at last count, was roughly 1.21 billion people.”

“Are they all coming here?” Cece presses.

“If the whole world was destroyed by something almost all at once, then maybe. But...some of them should be digitized. Their consciousnesses should be routed to local simulations and backup substrates. They shouldn’t actually die.” She looks back at her device, reads a little more, and shakes her head. “But apparently, this one planet boasts the greatest undigitized population in the galaxy right now. I get the sense that they’re proud of that. Some of them are entirely unenhanced humans, just like I was when I died at the turn of the 22nd century. I didn’t have as much choice, though.”

“Well, I did, I still ended up here too.” Cece has pulled up the arrival history. “Yeah, I’m just scanning our logs now. Proxima Doma, Proxima Doma, Proxima Doma. I guess I never noticed that when people do die, they tend to come from there above all else. Almost no one from Earth these days.”

“We don’t usually ask them where they’re from, we don’t care.”

“So, what do we do? Can we...make them all go dormant maybe?”

Keilix sighs, and scratches the back of her head to relieve the tension. “I don’t know how to do that. We need help. Either way, we can’t do this ourselves.”

“Who do we call? Gilbert?” Cece suggests.

“No, he’s not great with people. Neither is Nerakali. They’re not bad, but they won’t know what to do either.” She looks over at the small red button on the wall.

“This is an emergency,” Cece seems to agree.

“The problem is, I don’t know who we’re gonna get. Hades...or Persephone.”

“Which one are we hoping for?”

“Hell if I know, I’ve never met either of them. I don’t even know what their real names are. I just know that they’re both bad, and that’s why we don’t push that button.”

“I think we have to,” Cece decides. “Unprecedented is an understatement. We are not equipped for this. Honestly, I wouldn’t have taken this job if I had died back around when you did. It’s too much pressure. I wanted to help people...but only a few at a time.”

“Okay.” Keilix takes a deep breath and walks over to the button.

Cece stands. “We’ll press it together.”

“No, I got it.” She presses it.

Ding-dong, goes the doorbell.

A door materializes on the wall, then after a few seconds pass, it opens. A young woman in her pajamas is on the other side. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, it’s uhh, uhh...Armageddon? There could be as many as over a billion people dying at once. We were told to push this button if we ever needed help.”

The woman looks over at the button. “Oh. No one told me. So, I’m assuming that this is the afterlife simulation?”

“Yeah.”

“What year is it?”

“I forget,” Keilix admits. “The 2520s.”

“Well.” The woman steps into the room. “I don’t know what to do in this situation, but I will help in any way I can.” She offers her hand. “I’m Ellie Underhill.”

“So, you’re Persephone?” Cece guesses.

The woman winces. “No. I’m Ellie Underhill,” she repeats.

“Persephone is a code name. We don’t know who she would really be,” Keilix explains. “That’s why we’ve never pressed it before.”

“Hmm,” Ellie begins. “Well, you don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m not a weirdo with a Greek god complex. I didn’t actually build the simulation, I just came up with it. A guy stole it from me, but interestingly enough, he was not entirely without honor, so when I finally showed up after thousands of years, he gave it back. I didn’t realize it was still running after I moved all of the dead people to a new universe.”

Keilix’s eyes widened again. “That was you? Should I bow?”

Ellie laughs. “No. Let’s just get to work. Show me what we’re dealing with here.”

And so the trio look through the operator’s manuals, and start learning how to deal with this issue. As it turns out, while this planetwide catastrophe is absolutely unprecedented, the “Hades” founder still considered it a possibility, and still planned for it. They find a way to slow down the ingress, and bring in a little extra help. After a few days, the deaths taper off, ultimately numbering in the low millions. They slowly get them through orientation. Some are disappointed that this isn’t the real heaven, but many are relieved, and regret not doing more to protect themselves intentionally. But they will all be okay. The afterlife simulation is fully operational once more.

Microstory 2629: Last One in, First One Up, Like a Skeptic

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January 24, 2527. When the survivors submitted a reapplication to the dome because of Aeterna’s pregnancy, they informed the leaders that there were eleven people, one beetloid, and one optional rover. When the dome agreed to that application, they agreed to those numbers, and they were firm on them. So when they showed up at the back door as a group of fifteen, it was a problem. It’s not like four extra people were going to choke out the carbon scrubbers or broil the residents out of existence, but it was a principle that they weren’t willing to let go of. Eleven people could walk in, or fewer, but not more. It would have been very easy to force the four who weren’t in their group to stay on the outside if not for the fact that they were a family with young children. It was the little boy who spotted one of them, and the mother who decided to stop and investigate. Shimizu’s camouflage was working fine, but he had tied a shiny purple scarf tied to his ankle in remembrance of a loved one, and that stood out amidst the dull colors of the rocky world. So it would have been easy to kick Shimizu out too, but that would have only solved one of their four problems anyway.

Obviously, as they always felt like these people were their responsibility, Breanna and Cash chose to pull themselves out of the running, which only left two extra bodies to get rid of. Notus, still feeling guilty about what he did to get into this group, was one of them. The other was Calypso, who may have feelings for him, or is simply a nice person. They said their goodbyes to their friends once again, and made the walk back out into the wilderness. Cash recalled the rover to pick them up. Silver lining, there was a lot more room in the vehicle now that most of the people were gone. That was over three months ago, and their journey may be nearly complete.

Everyone in the rover is napping when the alarm begins. It’s not too urgent, but it’s enough to wake them up. Before too long, a man appears on screen. “People of Proxima Doma. My name is Captain Reed Ellis of the BSE Tangent. We are a space elevator from your neighbor, Bungula, Rigil Kentaurus. You may have heard stories of how I came to power, and how this platform ended up en route to you. I say, if you take issue with how we came to be here, you do not have to participate in the evacuation. You may stay on the surface if you wish. We will not force you to leave. But if you do step on that elevator pod, we have some rules for you to follow, which will be presented to you in time. At the moment, we are hovering directly over the northern pole of your planet. Our fleet of pods are making their way down to you, and the first evacuees will board shortly. If you are currently in the southern polar region, do not fret. We have been negotiating with your leadership, and have been told that you will be fine without us until we finish with your northern friends. We promise, we will get to you as soon as possible.

“My crew has been scanning the ground, and gathering information on the distribution of the population. A plan has already been made to determine the order of departure. You will receive word from your local representatives of your individual and group assignments. Disorder will not be tolerated. Violence will be met with swift action, and a potential refusal from my ground-based coordinators, who are presently descending in the first pod, along with a heavy security contingency, which is prepared for any eventuality. I would like to apologize for the delay in our arrival, but we are here now, and ready to bring you on board in a safe and organized fashion. Stand by for further instructions.” The broadcast ends.

“What a handsome man,” Cash noted.

“Are you leaving me for him?” Breanna asks.

“In a heartbeat.”

Reed Ellis suddenly reappears on screen. “This message is for all extra-domal survivors. It is clear that the situation on the ground is dire, but we expected a greater level of respect and compassion than we have seen. As reward for your patience, and survival outside of the community, we would like to extend an offer to be part of the first wave of evacuees. Anyone outside of any dome, navigate to the attached coordinates for early boarding procedures. You may be tempted to spread the word about this gift, but it is not for anyone else to know. This is for you and you alone, because you have been living without support for months, and deserve the first chance at stability. Please contact this inbox for questions, or ask your boarding coordinators on site. Thank you.”

They all exchange a look. Breanna gets on the horn. “Tertius? You were right. They’re letting us go up first. Get everyone, including your daughter and granddaughter, and meet us at the back door. Keep quiet about it. They don’t want us doing this.”

“Ten-sixty-nine, message received,” Tertius replies.

They carefully and slowly drive back to the dome. They’ve stayed in the shadows since the whole race into the dome a few months ago, so luckily, no one is trying to follow them this time. Their friends aren’t alone when they arrive at the door. A guy who seemingly works there is holding it open for them. “Are you coming too?” Breanna asks.

“My responsibility is to the people of Skylight Kingdom. I will remain at my post until I have no more charges to protect. Until then, I bid you all good luck.” He closes the door once everyone has gotten back into the rover, for the last time.

“We—we’re missing one,” Cash points out.

“Yeah, we lost touch with Shimizu,” Tertius says as he’s helping his daughter get situated. Her baby, Dilara was born in the dome, and is safe in a vacuum carry-cot.

“Oh, no, I hope he’s okay.” Notus with the unmistakably feigned concern.

From there, they drive onwards to the coordinates that the Captain sent them and the other outside rovers. Surely the dome people would have noticed by now, but it sounds like the Tangent people are prepared to handle it. The first pod has landed, from the descent tethers, and is being transported over to the ascent tethers. They can see more pods dropping down from the sky. The survivors are directed to enter an inflatable habitat, where they are free to remove their helmets, and get in the queue. It’s already pretty long, but not as long as it will be soon enough. A regal woman who seems to be in charge around here climbs down the steps, and approaches Breanna’s group. “My name is Jodene Chariot. I welcome you to Elevator Ingress, but you should know that we tagged every vehicle, and traced its route. You didn’t follow instructions.”

“We’re sorry,” Breanna says. “We had to get our friends...and the baby.”

Delegator Chariot smiles. “It’s okay. Children are our future. we’re still gonna let all of you up,but not all right away. Your actions will come at a price.”

“I’ll pay it,” Breanna insists. “They were following my orders.”

“I appreciate it,” Chariot responds, “but I’ll need six of you total. You see, we’re not as equipped to handle this as we would like. We could use some volunteer workers.”

Cash unsurprisingly volunteers. Notus and Calypso exchange a glance before the former looks back at the Delegator. “How about four and a beetloid?”

Microstory 2593: Renata Gets Up From Her Cot, Trying to Keep the Squeaking to a Minimum

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Renata gets up from her cot, trying to keep the squeaking to a minimum. She leaves the room, and goes into the common area, climbing the ladder up to the loft where Lycander is keeping watch. “Everything okay?”

“You still need sleep,” he warns her. “You were made to think like an organic, which comes with its disadvantages, like spending a third of your life in bed.”

“I’m not awake because I think I’m better than everyone,” Renata tries to explain. “I’m awake because of insomnia. I suppose that was programmed into me too.”

“Everyone is at risk of suffering from insomnia. They didn’t give it to you on purpose. It’s likely happening because you’re struggling with some things. I’m not a psychologist, though, so don’t listen to my advice.”

“I understand.” She stood there in silence for a moment, looking out at the desert expanse. “So, you’re a natural-born human, right?”

“We don’t really use that term human anymore, but yes,” Lycander replies.

“And this planet is...just a giant theme park?”

“More like tens of thousands of theme parks. Some of them are for adventure, but some are more low-key.”

“I hear you don’t have to work anymore in the real world.”

“That is an oversimplification, but still true. If you want to live a very comfortable, immobile life, you don’t have to contribute a single thing to society. If you want more—if you wanna travel—you have to do something. It doesn’t have to even be particularly valuable. You could be the absolute worst painter in the world, but if you paint, and you put your artwork out there for others to see, you get credits for that. If you save up enough, you can spend it on transportation somewhere.”

“So, that’s what you did? You were on your homeworld, but you had a job, so they let you come here?”

“They let me cast here,” he clarifies. “I’ve actually never been on a ship before. I basically sent my mind to a new body at faster-than-light speeds. It costs fewer credits, and it’s a lot more common.”

“You can move your mind around. So we’re all robots.”

“Like we’ve said, the distinction doesn’t hold much meaning. There are people out there whose substrates are designed almost just like yours, except they were born before that. No one really cares about the differences.”

“Right.” She nods, not wanting to talk about that all again. “But you still work. Are you trying to leave this world now? Cast again, or go on a real ship.”

“No. I’m making credits, sure, but I’m not concerned with them. I don’t pay much attention to my account. I work because I find it fulfilling. That’s why they created the post-scarcity society. A lot of really smart people worked very hard to make that happen, so people would finally have a choice. If you want a job, you can just go get one. There is always an opening. If it’s typically automated, they’ll have you replace some of that automation. Even if it makes the process a little slower or less efficient, no one’s really bothered by that, because we have such an abundance. And if you quit, or just don’t feel like coming in one day—or for a few months—it’s no sweat off their backs. They’ll backfill your job with automators in your absence.”

She pushed Quidel to explain what it’s really like before, but he insisted that everything was fine. Maybe Lycander will have a different answer, especially since he does still work. “Sounds like a paradise. What’s the catch?” Was that offensive?

“The catch is, there are gaps. Energy credits don’t just pay for the transportation itself, but also materials, which is why casting is cheaper, but it has lower overhead. Anyway, it’s not only about leaving where you are, but building a new home somewhere else. While no one is poor in the sense that you’re familiar with, there are definitely wealthier people. They’re the ones who can afford to construct a centrifugal cylinder and leave others behind...stuck. It really just depends on what your priorities are. If you want to stay in civilization, you’ll be able to find happiness pretty easily. Even if you go the cheaper casting route to a new planet, you’ll be living around others, and you won’t always get a choice on who those people are. A lot of people want that choice. They want to choose their neighbors, or choose not to have any neighbors at all. That’s the hardest life to achieve, because it takes a crapton of energy credits, and while you’re saving, you’re living in a way that you probably don’t care for. There is no such thing as an advance, and loans come with sometimes untenable stipulations. As I was saying, my work is easy because I can always leave. Those who need a lot of credits can’t, or they’ll never realize their goals.”

“Energy. It’s based on energy?” Renata presses.

“That’s the only thing that matters. It’s the only thing that ever mattered. Everything we do is in service to survival, and you can’t survive without energy. And material to stand on, or in.”

She sort of frowned.

“What is it? What’s on your mind?”

“What happens to me when I leave? I won’t be a banker anymore. I won’t even be a spy. How will I earn credits? Should I even try?”

“That’s up to you. As an emerging intelligence, you will be entitled to the same basics as everyone else, including an energy stipend. That stipend is based on your physical requirements, and cannot be lower than what you need to be alive and conscious indefinitely. Since you started out without any choice in life, I’m sure they will make arrangements for you to travel anywhere you want, totally free of charge. Not everyone gets that, of course, but the way they see it, forcing you to live where you were created would be immoral.”

“Well, you were created at a certain place, and had to pay to leave, didn’t you?”

“That’s different. I was born, and some of my physicality was even designed, but my mind wasn’t designed. Yours was. I hesitate to call it slavery, but their reasoning is, if they make you stay here, it will lean more in that  direction than before, because you now have agency. I shouldn’t be talking about any of this. I am not an expert. Someone will explain it to you in greater detail, and more accurately.”

“No, I appreciate it,” Renata says gratefully. “Now I have something to look forward to. Except I have no clue if I would even want to travel. How many other worlds are there, and what are they like?”

Microstory 2563: Injured Visitor

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Let me start with my backstory, so you’ll understand why I was at the Foundation in the first place, because it wasn’t to be healed. It’s a complex situation that my family has been grappling with for years, and questioning whether we should attempt to correct the issue since Landis Tipton first showed up. My brother was born with a genetic condition known as T21. Its full name is hard to type out and pronounce, but it’s also often known as Trisomy 21. This is when the patient develops an extra copy of chromosome 21, and it results in a particular facial look, as well as neurological differences. My brother is a functioning young adult, who can put his own clothes on in the morning, and make his own meals. There are things he struggles with, though. He doesn’t need anyone to take care of him—he’s not going to forget to breathe—but he does need some help. It has been hard for him to learn skills that others take for granted, like managing his finances, and navigating the world around him. The biggest problem he faces is discrimination. He has needed assistance finding work, and keeping it, because people don’t understand him. They don’t understand that, while he’s not so good in an interview, he’s good at the work that he’s looking for, he can follow directions to a T, and he’ll never let you down. They keep firing him, because he doesn’t want to engage in certain adult-oriented conversations, and I think that some people just don’t like the way he looks or talks. You can tell that he has T21, because of its defining characteristics, and instead of being accepting, they just want everyone to be the same. One other area he needs help with is healthcare, which is where I come in. He lives with me, and I accompany him on his appointments, which he needs, because he’s at a higher risk of developing true medical conditions. This is what happened. He now has Leukemia, and we’ve been treating it accordingly. We wanted to get him cured, but we were worried what it would do to him. What exactly are Mr. Tipton’s limits? What exactly is a “disease”?

Trisomy 21 is a part of who my brother is, and he does not need to be “cured” of it, but we weren’t sure if the healing process did consider it a disease. The literature says that Landis doesn’t control it. He breathes, and the breath cures everything. After further research, however, we felt assured that he would be all right. They called T21 a condition of state, and not within Mr. Tipton’s purview. As always, I took him to his appointment, and we stayed in a tent, with plans to be there for two nights while we waited. When we woke up one morning, my brother wanted to go on a walk, which we do regularly. Unfortunately, we are not familiar with this area, and didn’t know what to expect. I slipped on some wet leaves on a hill, tried to grab a log on instinct to keep from falling, and ended up with that log on top of me. I was impaled by a sharp snag. I told my brother to run for help while I, dazed and confused, pulled the snag off, stood up, and started limping back. Here was the new question, would Landis agree to help me since I was injured on the property? The answer was no, but he was not without mercy. He used his other gifts on me instead. He sang me to contentment, and soothed my pain through touch. This allowed me to make it to the hospital, which was pretty far away, without being in agony the whole time, but also without breaking their rule against healing injuries. They even let my brother cut in line, so he could get his cure in time to go with me in the ambulance. I think they keep an ambulance on hand now because of this incident, so that’s kind of cool.

Microstory 2555: Inhouse Lawyer

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Before I came here, I did not have any experience in healthcare law, or in nonprofit law. I applied to this job because I wanted some better work-life balance. My old firm was very demanding. It wasn’t arbitrary. We had a lot of big clients, who required constant aid, advice, and representation. The Foundation has had to overcome obstacles that no other organization ever has, and it’s my job to get them through it. The work they do here is unprecedented, and I know we all hear that a lot, but it’s absolutely true in this case. Pun intended. What Landis and the Director built here is nothing short of profoundly astonishing, and despite how massively popular it is among the general public, it also raised some eyebrows. Who are you? What led you to start something like this? What gives you the right? Why should your customers trust you? What do you mean some people don’t pay? What do you mean you pay some of them? How do we know it’s not a scam? Where’s your experience in healthcare? How do you find your customers? What are your criteria for accepting or rejecting an application? This is just a fraction of a fraction of the questions that I had to help the Foundation answer. It’s been the toughest challenge I’ve ever had, but it wasn’t stressful, because I believe in the cause. I’ve not always been able to say that about my clients, and my colleagues advise me not to feel that way, but come on, how can you not be a fan? I think, when you’re defending multiple clients, you can’t play favorites, but when it’s only the one, I don’t see any reason why I can’t see myself as just another important cog in the machine, rather than an outside associated party. Work has been steadily slowing down over the years. As we’ve become established, and the validity of the healings are hardly in question anymore, there aren’t so many more questions left. Mostly what we’re dealing with now is in regards to the panacea that the researchers are trying to synthesize from Mr. Tipton’s genes, or whatever it is that makes him work. I don’t represent the pharmaceutical company, but I did help broker the deal that led them to being the ones to advance this research, so we’re all obviously still involved. Everything will work out, though. If the panacea works, there is no way it doesn’t go through eventually. Don’t get me wrong, it’s more than just signing the right papers. Approval has been slow, but we can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Very soon, you won’t have to leave your house to cure what ails you. I don’t know what will happen with the Foundation, or my job, but I can’t wait to find out.

Microstory 2554: Janitor

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This is the best job I’ve ever had, which may sound crazy when you look at my job title, and you learn that it’s the first time I’ve ever been a janitor. I actually know a little bit about the way it works now, thanks to the Foundation. Let me start at the beginning. I’m not some hot shot career-driven professional. Like I said, I’ve never cleaned before, but I’ve never exactly been the CEO either. I’ve always worked other menial jobs, and in fact had a self-imposed rule that I wouldn’t ever make cleaning my primary responsibility. This was just an offer that I couldn’t pass up. First of all, I don’t work for the Foundation, I’m on contract, and the way the contract is written, my employer is not allowed to pay me any less than $25.00 an hour. If you do the math, that is an insane amount for a janitor. No one else is making that much. I told my cousin about it, who lived thousands of miles away at the time, and he just had to get in on it too, so he moved his family out here. First of all, that’s crazy, right? Who moves for a janitorial position? He didn’t even apply for the job first. He thought that admitting he would have to relocate would hurt his chances, so he packed up right away, and just went for it. Sure, they lived with me for a few months, but then they were able to move out to their own place, so it went all right. Here’s his theory on why the Foundation dictates that we’re supposed to be making that much. They’re trying to fix the world, right? I mean, not just for people with disease. They wanna make the whole planet a better place to live in. What’s the point of being healthy if we’re all miserable for other reasons? That’s why they pay people to get cured. It sounds like another insane proposition, but it works, because it’s a charitable organization, and they see the payments as an opportunity to expand on what they do. It’s not just a random additional feature. By demanding that my employers pay me a lot of money, they’re raising the bar. First of all, they’re saying, “we’ll contract with you, but only if you pay the worker you assign to us a lot of money.” But this is also like saying to the whole world, “look, see? It’s possible to pay people more.” And workers will say, “hey, I deserve more money too.” And then hopefully we all start getting more. I don’t really have the knowledge on how to find market trends, or whatever, but I bet it’s helping. I bet they’ve changed the economy in greater ways. I bet my salary has made a positive difference in other people’s lives; people I will never meet, or even hear of. It’s not the most glamorous job, and I still don’t love it, but it puts food on the table, and better food than we’ve ever had before, so I’m not complainin’.

Microstory 2553: Maintenance Worker

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

Microstory 2552: Switchboard Operator

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I don’t technically work for the Foundation. I work for a contract company which specializes in performing auxiliary services for other organizations. We have our hands in all the departments that make any sufficiently sized business run smoothly, regardless of what their particular work product happens to be. Every corporation has reception, every corporation has mail. Facilities, A/V, printing/copying, shipping and receiving. We can come in and do all that extra work for you so you can focus on succeeding and exceeding in your specific industry. That’s my company’s slogan: helping your business succeed and exceed. That’s plastered all over my work area. I have all sorts of requirements about our branding, and labeling things. It’s a switchboard, I know it’s a switchboard, I don’t have to print a label for it, telling myself that it’s a switchboard with the company logo, but that’s what they want. Which can be annoying and intrusive, because that logo keeps changing. Since I started working for them, I’ve had to reprint and rehang everything in my office twice. Some hip new marketing firm shoots through and claims to have the best way to capture hearts and minds in the modern world. Consistency, that’s what really gets you customers, and loyal ones too. If you change your look every five minutes, they’re gonna move on to something they recognize. Because that’s what makes people more comfortable; what they’re already familiar with. Anyway, I’m blabbering on. I’ve worked for them for almost ten years now, but only at the Tipton site for the last three. The guy who did this before me took a job working directly for them as a greeter. He sees it as a stepping stone to bigger and brighter things, which I believe means becoming a settlement specialist, but don’t quote me on that. Those people have education. You can’t just work your way up to it, and at any rate, they’re going to shutter this whole place after the panacea comes out. Some say that Landis will keep going, but he really shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter how many people would rather have the real thing, or how often you have to take the pill. It’s a cure! You’ll do whatever it takes to make it work, and you’re not gonna waste this poor man’s time breathing on you because you’re under the impression that it’s better. Listen to me again, talking out my ass, as if I have any clue what’s going on up at the top. I just answer phones, and I transfer callers to the right department. Nine hundred and ninety-nine times out of a thousand, that means the Applications voicemail. Literally no one monitors that line. You can leave a message, because the carrier system they’re contracted to doesn’t let you turn off that feature, but those messages are wiped every night. A robot tells you how to submit an application, which is decidedly not on the phone! You think we have time for that? It’s, like, a million questions! A lot of people also want me to connect them directly to Mr. Tipton. Yeah, as if that’s gonna happen. Good luck, buddy. It’s hard to reject them, because they get so belligerent and entitled, but I have the full support of my bosses, and our clients, to tell them to eff off if they keep giving me ish. I don’t know, I just work here. It’s 2025, go to our website.

Microstory 2551: Cafeteria Cook

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I’ve always been in the culinary arts, and yes, I’m allowed to call it that, even though I don’t own a world-class fine dining establishment. As soon as I turned fourteen, I started working at a diner. I actually applied two weeks prior to that when I was still too young, and my future boss worked the delay into the scheduling. I started at the bottom, just washing dishes, but I worked my way up, and eventually practically ran the place. Unfortunately, the town we lived in was shrinking at the same time. There wasn’t room for two restaurants, so ours got shut down. I probably could have moved over to the other, but it’s not like the shrinking was going to stop there. I could see the writing on the wall. My younger brother, he was going into premed about two and a half hours away from home. (He eventually entered medical school at the same institution). Our mother didn’t like him being that far away on his own, and the timing worked out anyway, so I went out there with him. He didn’t need taken care of, mind you, but we all need a support system. It saved us all money. Whenever he needed help studying, or just to talk out his problems, I was only ten minutes away. I took a job at the university hospital where he would eventually work, and I did that for many years, working my way up the seniority ladder yet again. I don’t have an interesting story about how I landed this position here. I hear people talk about how they knew someone who knew someone, or they had some special family member who was healed. It was about as basic as it gets for me. I applied, they interviewed me, they offered me the job, and I took it. I’m not saying that this is just like any other job, but I’ve been in the medical field—tangentially, at least—for decades at this point. I watched healing heroes every day. I fed them their food so they could have the energy to get back out there and perform miracles. They didn’t have superpowers, but they did the best they could. It’s a rewarding experience, and I’m quite proud of my job, but I’ve always been able to say that. Even at the diner, we weren’t saving lives, but we were the only place in a hundred miles with pancakes that made you see God. That’s pretty magical too.

Extremus: Year 116

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

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

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

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

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

“A hundred and two.”

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

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

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

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

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

Silveon stops. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean? What’s coming?”

“Waldemar Kristiansen, Eighth of Eight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tinaya nods. “The Clutch.”

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

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

“Why would it make sense?”

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

“There are eight, though.”

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

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

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

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

Of course he does. “You need what?”

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

“No.”

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Microstory 2550: Payroll Specialist

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Boring! I know, my job is boring. I’m not gonna lie. I hear my co-workers talk about how they’re making a difference in the world, and—oh my God, that makes it sound like I don’t think it’s true—it is true, it’s just not really true of me. Math is math, and if the math ain’t mathing, I’m not doing it right. I could work for any other organization, and my daily work would be the exact same thing. Is it more fulfilling to know that I’m paying people who are there to help heal people? No, not really. I guess I just feel pretty removed from it. One thing is that I regularly work from home. They offered me a suite to share with someone, but that’s not really my thing. I don’t need to live where I work. I actually don’t want to. I think it’s better for my work-life balance if it’s somewhere I go, and somewhere I then leave. I know, that sounds contradictory to the fact that I sometimes work from home, but whatever. It just feels different to me. I guess working where you live is not the same as living where you work, you know? There are others who seem to feel the same way. I know one of the financial evaluators who lives a thousand or so miles away, and actually hasn’t stepped foot in this building before. It might go against the “culture” of us all being one, big happy family, but it’s real. I’m sorry, I sound so ungrateful and antisocial. I’m really not. Again, I just don’t really feel a part of it. It pays well, and has great benefits. I mean, no one has really said this, because I think there’s a legal issue, but if I were to get sick, I’m pretty sure that Landis would heal me on the DL. It would be free of charge, with no application process, and no waiting. Like I said, I don’t know that, and I’ve never seen proof. All I know is that my chess buddy on the maintenance team was so sick in the middle of his shift that he had to go back up to his room. Next day, he’s back, totally fine, and won’t talk about it. I think he signed an NDA, because they don’t want the bad publicity of giving special treatment to its employees. He’s not even technically an employee, but a contractor, which may be why they have to keep it quiet, but it also more strongly suggests that I would be in an even better position. Hopefully I won’t need it, but it’s a perk that only a couple hundred people in the world even might have. Okay, I gotta get back to telling this computer program to do all the work for me, because it’s 2025.

Microstory 2549: Event Coordinator

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Working and living at the Landis Tipton Breath of Life Foundation isn’t all fun and games, but it is some fun and games. Hi, I’m the Event Coordinator. My only job is to boost staff morale, and keep them entertained. All I hear from my co-workers is how much they love their jobs, but that doesn’t mean they’re easy, or that they’re not working hard. They deserve some time to let loose, and relax. We hold parties, and we present movies. The auditoriums were designed to orient patients with what we do, and what’s in store for them, but it’s not like we can’t use it as a regular movie theatre, am I right? For the most part, when Landis stops healing, we stop working. They have one more screening of that orientation video, and then the workers have to clean up after the patients. Basically, they have a whole bunch of housekeeping, but then they can do whatever they want. It’s not like office people, where they have to take their work home with them. Sure, we have accountants and managers, but they seem to be able to get their work done during normal business hours. Now, we don’t have something planned every single night, but there’s usually something going on, even if it’s just a dozen friends getting together for card games. I’m not in charge of those things. I mean, if they ask for drinks to be available, I’ll make sure the refreshment cart is where it needs to be, but I’m only responsible for the big things. We hold concerts in the ballroom, and ice cream socials in the cafeteria. The other day, a certain celebrity came by, and sang for us. It was impromptu, because she was really just there to meet Landis himself. She’s an actress, but she sometimes sings for fun, and it was certainly a performance, and I had to coordinate A/V and tech in a matter of minutes. Anyway, the local paper interviewed me once about what I do. They’ve talked to a lot of people at the Foundation over the years, and I guess it was my turn. They asked me whether I would consider putting on events for the public on behalf of the Foundation, and like, no. Not only is that not what I was hired to do, but that sounds like something a company would do if it were selling something. Sure, rich people pay for the honor, but the majority of our patients are getting paid, or getting it for free. We don’t need to market. We don’t need to publicize. We don’t need to get the public on our side, or spin our reputation, or anything like that. If someone wanted to do that, it would have nothing to do with me. The people I work with; they’re all heroes. They deserve to have a little fun every once in a while, and that’s all I care about. I’m not good at much, but I’m good at planning events. So that’s how I help.

Microstory 2545: Obstetrician

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I’m technically trained as an OB-GYN, but I practice obstetrics. It wasn’t always like that. For years, I worked as an Associate Physician at a private practice for years. I worked there in that capacity for a little too long, in fact. I should have been on the partner track. My boss kept telling me that he would let me buy into the practice to join them one day, but it never happened. It was a boy’s club, and probably not my best idea to apply there in the first place. But I absolutely adored my patients, so I stuck with it. Finally, I had had enough of being dismissed and sidelined. I started focusing on starting my own practice, at first while I was still employed, but then not once they found out, and fired me over it. “If you don’t wanna work here, then don’t work here!” Well, they had to pay into my unemployment insurance by not letting me quit, so who’s the loser now? Sorry, I get a little frustrated, even though I’ve left them in the dust. Starting my own practice was a huge struggle. I had trouble securing the loan, and no one in the industry wanted to work with me, because my old bosses bad-mouthed me to them. I was distraught. I didn’t know what to do. I started reapplying to other practices, but had no luck. I finally decided to just move out here to Kansas. I didn’t even have a job lined up. I kind of just threw a dart on a map, and took what looked interesting. I can’t remember the connection, but someone I knew knew someone who knew someone who blah, blah, blah. I had some six degrees of separation from Landis. They asked me to come work for them for their new legacy department. So, it’s not the same thing as actually owning your own practice, but I’m still the one who runs the place. I make all the decisions, and care for our patients the way I know they should be treated. As I said, I practice mostly obstetrics now, but that’s more of the way we frame it. Obviously, if one of my patients who had her child years ago comes to me with an issue in my department, I’m not going to turn her away. She lives here, and it’s my job to treat her. Oh, my old bosses were so upset when they found out that the Foundation picked me. They actually tried to do the same thing that they did for all the practices in my original area, in the hopes that they would be selected instead. What a bunch of jerks. They still won’t talk to me. They act like I stole their jobs. But my colleagues have my back, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t think that my patients would either.