Extremus: Year 19

« < » > Table of Contents

It’s been a week since the new administration took over governing responsibilities within the passenger population. Ovan has not been doing too well with it. He was extremely excited when he first decided to switch over to the crew, and become the first Second Lieutenant. This excitement waned soon after they announced his choice, and revealed to all that he would no longer be Passenger First Chair. Many were happy for him, but others saw it as a betrayal. He wasn’t open about how much he hated the crew, but his most loyal followers were well aware of his position. He now looked like a traitor, so they immediately turned their backs on him. He figured he would be able to hold onto them no matter what cause he fought for, but that was a gross miscalculation. As far as he’s aware, his former loyalists all lost interest in the movement, and have forgotten all about it. It’s hard to tell what they’re thinking, or what they’re doing, because the passengers don’t talk to him as much as they used to.

Still, Ovan tried to remain positive, and was hopeful that his new position would grant him the power he would need to execute real change on this vessel. The induction ceremony they threw for him was well-planned, but not very many people showed up, so it was a disappointment. Those who came didn’t seem to show that they felt the same way about it, but he expected gobs of fans, all cheering him on. Perhaps he never really had any fans at all. Perhaps they only voted for him in the first place because he was different, and not because they agreed with his political positions. Perhaps he’s been wholly delusional regarding his status amongst the people.

Still, Ovan tried to remain positive. He read up on the bylaws, and figured out what his duties were. They didn’t say much about what a second lieutenant was responsible for, but he assumed that would be a good thing. If they didn’t specifically spell out what he was allowed to do, then they also couldn’t preclude him from deciding what his own limitations were. If he was clever, maybe he didn’t have to stop being the ad hoc passenger chair. It’s not like the crew are really this completely separate group that doesn’t interact with the passengers at all. They can make decisions too, and if he could ingratiate himself with the new administration, he might be able to be the power behind the throne, so to speak. Unfortunately, his former Second Chair, who took over for him as First Chair, would have nothing to do with him. They weren’t friends, but they had grown accustomed to each other. According to election procedures, the runner up in any major election automatically secures the leadership role immediately below the one they were going for. Then, if their superior can—and chooses to—run again as an incumbent, the subordinate maintains their job as a running mate, instead of being replaced by whoever loses. Harper seemed content in this role, but he has turned out to just be another power-hungry asshole who was more than happy to fill his seat.

Still, Ovan tried to remain positive. He wouldn’t necessarily have to suck up to Harper for too long, because the election was coming up, and someone else could be elected. Yes, Kondo Harper swiftly announced that he would run for election, but that didn’t mean he was going to win. After all, he lost his first attempt at the election six years ago, so hopefully the electorate would remember that. Once a loser, always a loser, Ovan always says. Unfortunately, that is not what happened. Mother-effing Kondo Harper won his second official campaign, and became the third passenger chair of Extremus. This jerk could actually lead the passengers for the next twelve years, and due to Ovan’s premature abdication of the throne, he could potentially be the longest-lasting passenger chair ever. That would be unbearable, knowing that Kondo-Freaking-Harper might outlast Ovan ‘Rockstar’ Teleres. The history books would not be suitable as toilet paper if that’s what they ended up saying.

Still, Ovan must remain positive.

Right now, he’s sitting in the Consigliere Irenaeus Corten’s office. He’s an advisor to the government—more often than not, the higher executives—and was largely responsible for making this entire mission happen, and for advocating for passenger rights. The captain has the Admiralty, and the first chair has the Consigliere program. At some point, Corten will retire, and personally appoint a replacement. The assumption is that he’ll choose from the pool of still-living former chairs, but there are no laws regarding this. Technically, he could select a nonverbal baby to succeed him, and no one would be able to stop him. Word is he’s going to be retiring in the next couple of years. That’s why it’s so important for Ovan to meet with him. He’s already made the decision to get his chair back, but if that doesn’t work, he’s still planning to quit the crew, and he needs something to look forward to.

Irenaeus walks in from his cabin. “Mr. Teleres, I will say that this meeting is highly irregular. Or should I say, Lieutenant Teleres.”

“No, please, call me mister. Actually, I would rather you call me...Chair.”

Irenaeus laughs. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“I’m stepping down,” Ovan claims. “And I’m running for reëlection.”

“You’re trying to get back into civil service? After eight months? Is that even legal?”

“You tell me, you wrote the laws.”

He was clearly just being ornery. He leans back a little, and sighs. “It is.”

Ovan smiles like a politician. “Can I count on your vote?” This is something that the consigliere can’t do. This is exclusively an advisory position, and he sacrificed his official voice when he took the job. He’s the only person on the entire ship who can’t vote under any circumstances, in fact. Even Admiral Thatch can vote on crew matters.

“I imagine you mean my support?”

“It would go a long way.”

“I dunno anymore. Harper doesn’t listen to me, not like you did.”

“All the more reason to get him out. Work with me here, Irena.”

“Same old Ovan, always plotting.”

“I’m a shark, I can’t stop. I took this job because I thought it would give me more power.”

“If you had asked me before you accepted it, I would have told you not to do it. I can’t believe those two morons managed to trick you into it. I thought I taught you better.”

“They didn’t trick me! I just...didn’t know what a second lieutenant was.”

“That’s exactly what tricking means!”

“Well, I have time to get out, and I’m asking for your help. I’m not gonna go through with it if I have nowhere to go. At least second lieutenant is a title.”

“Ovan, I can’t guarantee you the first chair position. Harper has a lot of clout now. I probably couldn’t even get you a mailman job.”

“There is something you can guarantee me.”

The Consigliere knows what Ovan means by that, and he’s quite plainly not happy about it. Again, it’s not a real law, but there’s an unwritten rule that you do not ask to be considered for his replacement. It’s considered bad form, but Ovan’s desperate. The conversation has been rather light until now, but Irenaeus’ face changes dramatically.

Ovan quickly jumps back in, “before you say anything, remember that I didn’t actually ask anything of you.”

“I know what you want. Just speak freely.”

This feels like another trick, but he has to do something. Everything he’s tried has failed. He shouldn’t have been so focused on destroying the crew. It has proven to be his downfall. But the thing about falling is that you can always get back up. Ovan has to get back up, and keep fighting. “I am the best man for the job. No, I didn’t serve as long as Ebner, and I may not be as popular right now as Harper, but since when does any of that matter? I didn’t have any experience when I ran in the first place, but I think I proved more than capable of being a strong and powerful leader. And the consigliere job has never been about popularity.”

“No, it’s about respect, and you don’t have much left.”

“Well, just because you lose respect, doesn’t mean you can’t get it back. Let me show you I can get it back.”

“How would you do it? I can’t appoint you if you’re on the crew, so you would have to quit now without having one foot on the dock. You’re probably gonna get wet before you reach land again. You said you were a shark, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you swim.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sort of lost in this metaphor.”

Irenaeus rephrases, “how will you fare with no official power? How much can you control the population if you’re one of them; if you’re just another idiot passenger, with a tiny cabin, and no teleportation privileges. Your boy, Yavo managed to steal the mess hall from the crew, and gave it to the civilians. He was nobody, but he still took what he wanted.”

“He did that on my orders.”

He responds quickly, “but the people didn’t know that! They respect him, because he told them to, not because you did! I need to see you do something like that yourself. If you want the seat from under my ass, you have to show me you can take it...by taking something else first. We’ll call it an audition.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“It’s your job to figure that out...and it’s your job to get it done. Quit the crew, go back to the passenger section, and then climb out of your hole with your bare hands. Then—and only then—will I entertain the idea of selecting you to backfill my job after I retire.” He holds up an index finger. “Or...stay where you are, and take what you want from that side of the ship. I honestly don’t care which. Just between you and me, I haven’t so much as started writing a short list of potential replacements. I don’t even know when I’m gonna step down, if ever. There’s no law that says I can’t die in this office.”

Ovan leads a moment of silence, soaking in the Consigliere’s words of wisdom, and thinking about what he wants to do. They just sit in their chairs, staring at each other. After five minutes, without speaking, Ovan stands up and leaves. Irenaeus doesn’t say anything either.

He heads to the bridge, where both Captain Halan Yenant, and First Lieutenant Mercer happen to be. There are no viewports here, because if you tried to look outside, all you would see is the blinding doppler glow of maximum sublight reframe speeds. Instead, most of the screens before them are relaying ship critical information, like power levels, heat dispersion, and life support systems. The center screen is different, though. It’s presently showing the Second Lieutenant’s avatar in a video game called Quantum Colony. He’s been trying to get the Captain into it, but the latter remains disinterested. Ovan must admit that the two of them have been cordial with him. Despite the trick that put him in this position in the first place, he hasn’t felt rejected or excluded by any of the crew. They appear to be professional and welcoming. Perhaps he misjudged all of these back in the day. He’ll have to remember that when he’s Captain.

“Lieutenant Teleres,” Halan begins. “You’re here just in time to watch Mercer show me yet another thing in the Delta Tri system that I don’t give a shit about.”

“Interesting,” Ovan lies. He too doesn’t give a shit about any of this. He steps over to the security guard presently assigned to the bridge, who’s as engrossed in the game as anyone else. Quickly, but carefully, Ovan removes the guard’s sidearm, and before anyone can do anything about it, shoots both Mercer and Halan in the head. Then, to protect himself, he holds the gun against Admiral Thatch’s head. He’s been assigned to run the stupid lights, so Ovan doesn’t feel threatened by him, but everyone else would be really butthurt if he died, so he’s a good hostage. “Everyone get the hell out of here right now. I feel like I don’t have to tell you the consequences of not complying. Am I wrong?”

« < » > Table of Contents

Microstory 1760: Ouruana

< > Table of Contents

Depending on who you ask, Orion and his accessories are composed of eighteen major star systems. These are the ones that make up the shape of the constellation, and aren’t just in the vicinity somewhere. His belt is the most famous component, but he also has a sword, a shield, and a club. As my ancestors were looking up at the stars, they saw these images, and used them to help navigate the world; in particular, the oceans. Their movements were predictable, and reliable. Way back then, they believed that the stars in any given constellation were close to one another, but of course, we now know that they aren’t. Some of  them are a couple hundred light years from our point of origin, which is Earth, and some are well over a thousand. Still, my peoples were reportedly mesmerized by Orion, and saw no reason to not create a relationship amongst the individual stars that are not there naturally. When the Earthans began to spread out to the stars, a special group of colonists decided to focus exclusively on the stars in this one constellation. Now, centuries later, every one of the major systems has been settled, and falls under the rule of the Ouruanan Empire. Not all systems came with terrestrial planets, so in those cases, we built them ourselves. That has been my job for my entire adult life, to help construct an entirely artificial world orbiting π6 Orionis. As a planetscaper—as we’re called—my reward will be my own home on the colony, free of charge, and a steady income for the rest of my life. It won’t be glamorous, but I can find a new job if I want to, and upgrade later. I’m not sure about that yet. I’m a simple man, so I don’t need much, and just the excitement of knowing that I’m partially responsible for the land beneath my feet may be enough for me.

I’m in a stadium of thousands. Our leaders are about to announce if we’re considered done yet. Of course, we’ll continue to build as our population grows, but at some point, they have to decide that we’re officially on a real planet, and not still in the main phase of the process. “Thank you all for coming,” the Foreman begins. “I know you have all been eagerly awaiting the results of our assessment. Can we call this a finished planet, or is there more work to be done? Obviously, the work is never over, so what you’re really asking is, can you retire? I’m pleased to announce that your efforts have not been in vain, and that the main phase is indeed complete.” The crowd cheers, grateful to finally live their lives on a fully constructed world. Most of us probably won’t set one more foot on a spacecraft or space station. We’re ready to breathe an atmosphere held in place by gravity, and swim in the lakes. The Foreman holds up his hand, instructing us to quiet down. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure you’ll want to live here anymore. You can, if you want—it’s your choice—but it’s not going to last you very long. As you know, we are at war with the Taurans. The Emperor is interested in testing a new weapon that his top researchers have devised that is capable of destroying an entire planet in a matter of minutes. Due to the interstellar rules of engagement, we are only allowed to test weapons in our own territory, lest we want to incur the wrath of the Constellation Alliance. They’ve chosen our humble planet as their target. Destruction is scheduled for two years from now. We apologize for the inconvenience.” Two years, huh? That’s more than enough time for me to perfect my orbital defense satellites. If they want to test that weapon, they’ll have to go against me. The Ouranans may be going to war with itself.

Microstory 1759: Snake Handler

< > Table of Contents

When I was back home from college one summer, I had the most profound experience of my life. I was out in the jungle, just trying to get a little exercise, when I came across a sea serpent. Like she was at least somewhat intelligent, she followed me back to the ocean, where she was able to swim freely and safely. As if that wasn’t enough, I slept there that night, and woke up hungry. On my way back to civilization, I found another snake. He was apparently fit for freshwater, and this time, he led me to where I needed to go, which was a diner out in the middle of nowhere. Until this point, I was studying environmental chemistry, but that all changed. I quickly dropped all of the courses I was planning to take that next semester, and switched tracks to herpetology. I wanted to study amphibians and reptiles, particularly snakes, and I got pretty lucky. I was surprised to find that my university offered a herpetology degree, which is rather unusual for it to be so specific. It was hard to change focus, and I did have to stay there for a whole extra year to complete all my courses, but I don’t regret it. Did you know that birds and mammals are technically reptiles? Well, it’s a lot more complicated than it sounds, but it just shows that classifying our world is constantly evolving, and we don’t have everything figured out. I don’t even know all there is to know about snakes, and I know quite a bit. What I’ve realized is that I can commune with them on a level no one else has ever seen. They don’t talk, like they do in those fantasy books, but I can form a bond with them, and gain their trust. I can handle any of the planet’s deadliest snakes, and they will not harm me, because they know that I won’t harm them. I don’t know if I was born with this gift, or developed it later, but it has made me extremely valuable and sought after in my field. My colleagues affectionately call me the snake handler.

Snake venom has the potential to treat numerous diseases, which could save thousands—or maybe even millions—of lives. I’m not the person who comes up with these treatments and cures. The first step in such research is procuring the venom in the first place, and that’s where I come in. Not only can I handle the snake in the lab, but I can find who I’m looking for in their natural habitat with ease. Over time, I’ve honed my hunting skills, which are just as supernatural as my communal bonds. You need a blue Malayan coral snake? I got you covered. What about a South American bushmaster? You know I got you. Anything, anywhere, anytime, I’m your girl. You can’t call it dangerous when I’m around. I have not met a snake that I cannot handle. I travel all over the world, collecting specimens that my clients requested, and delivering them to the labs. I don’t do business with unethical organizations, and I don’t wipe my hands clean after I’m done. I return periodically to check on my snakes, and again, they can’t talk, but I know if they’ve been mistreated. It’s happened a handful of times. I take the snake back, charge them a mishandling fee, and blacklist them in the industry. Most of the time, one or two researchers have been the problem, but I have been known to shut down entire companies for not adhering to my strict rules. If I say they’re bad news, they lose funding. Right now I’m in the Star Mountains, on the trail of a Papuan taipan, when I sense something I’ve never felt before. It’s forcing me on a detour, where I quickly come face to face with a purple snake that I’ve never seen, even in pictures. I think I just discovered a new species. The problem is...I can’t seem to form a bond with it.

Microstory 1758: Octant Rule

< > Table of Contents

Growing up, I had seven friends. We all moved to the brand new neighborhood at around the same time, but we were of all different ages. We decided to call ourselves the Octant, and didn’t realize until we were older that the word octet made much more sense. By then, the name was established, and changing it would have felt strange. Besides, it’s unique to us, so I think it’s for the best. You think you’ve heard this story before. You think we’ll have some dark secret about something bad we found one summer, or that time we killed a drifter. Nothing like that happened when we were kids. We had our ups, and our downs, but for the most part, our lives were unremarkable. I will say that, while I wouldn’t call any of us nerds, we did have a shared interest in understanding. Or perhaps it was more about the younger ones wanting to maintain relationships with the older ones. They would teach us the things they learned in school, so that when we got to that point in our respective educations, we already knew a lot. It wasn’t enough for any of us to skip a grade—well, one of us did, but she probably would have done that anyway—but it did help make school a little easier. It did not come without its downsides. We learned about George Washington chopping down the cherry tree in elementary school, but our eldest explained that this was a lie, and our teachers did not like being contradicted. In the end, growing up together isn’t even the most interesting part about us, though. How our relationships managed to hold together like welded metal is what’s really interesting here. We still have each other’s backs. I would never call us evil, but we don’t always use our positions for good either. I’m the worst.

We each developed our own interests, and these led us down our career paths. We’ve helped each other along the way, and not just the elders for the younger ones. When I say we, however, I should really be saying they. They all have their lives together, and I’ve always been the odd man out. Two are in law enforcement; one being a cop, and the other a federal agent. Two joined the military; one stayed in, and the other leveraged his experience and clout to go into politics. The last three are a corporate executive, a lawyer, and a doctor. They’re all in positions of power, and I’m just an underemployed nobody that the others should have started to ignore years ago. Underemployed may be the wrong word to use too, because I’m actually not qualified for anything better than the odd jobs I’ve found. They’ve had to help me out of so many jams, I can’t count. I’ve been driven to crime on numerous occasions, but have rarely suffered consequences. I’m reckless and stupid, but I’ve always had the best medical care in the world, and I get it for free. The CEO keeps trying to give me a job in her IT department, but I don’t want to disappoint her, so it’s easier for her to just give me money whenever I desperately need it. I’ve done so many dumb things, even as an adult, yet I remain inside of the Octant. I’ve never even heard whispers of them kicking me out, or simply ghosting me. I really wish I could just find some way to pay them back, and contribute to the group. I mean, I’ll never be President of the United States, but maybe I can infiltrate a street gang or cult, or...I dunno, carry extra ammo for a secret elite antiterrorist strike team? That’s a bit of a stretch, but there has to be something I can do to show them that their efforts haven’t been wasted, and that I appreciate all they’ve done for me. I suppose I have enough time to think before my lawyer returns from vacation to get me out of jail again.

Microstory 1757: Norma’s Kitchen in a Box

< > Table of Contents

Marjorie Norma did not invent 3D printing, but she was instrumental in standardizing it. And when her competitors came for blood, she ended up on top, because she still had the best product, and brand loyalty. The science of additive manufacturing was still in its infancy when she started working on it as a pet project. She knew that speed and sophistication were going to progress on their own, and that all she had to do was keep up with it. She was focused on how people would begin using such things in their home. This meant that industrial synthesizers, and biomedical synthesizers would be less useful to most customers than food synthesizers. For the most part, she found that the current machines were either very large, or very small. Many of them were designed with a specific result in mind, or had unfortunate limitations. If people were going to place these things in their homes, they needed to be versatile, and be capable of making more than just a single pastry at a time. It was never going to transition from a novelty item for people with a disposable income to a ubiquitous household appliance, unless anyone could download any program, and print anything. She got her idea when she walked into her kitchen one day, and looked around. By the entrance was the refrigerator. It took up the most space, and it wasn’t always full. She also had a stove/oven combo, above which her husband had installed a microwave oven. Then there was a sink, and a dishwasher. She owned a fairly small kitchen, and she made pretty good use of the space, but she wasn’t much of a cook, and neither was anyone else in the house. What if she could put everything together, or almost everything? She kept looking back at that fridge. Yes, it was the largest, but it was also the most important. A lot of foods don’t require any cooking, but they all require storage, unless you want to go to the store every day. Some people do that, but it’s not very efficient, and that lifestyle isn’t marketable. There was a solution, and she could find it.

She used that refrigerator as the basis for her new design, knowing that most living spaces were capable of accommodating it. Some units were only large enough for a mini-fridge, but people who lived in such places already knew how to make sacrifices. The top of her design was a water tank. It didn’t necessarily fit in every space, but it would be optional, and customers could connect a waterline either way, just like they would for that refrigerator. Under that would be where the cartridges went. Here she took inspiration from the toner bottles in the copy room down the hall from her office. For the synthesization cavity, she found herself limited by the dimensions of everything else, but it was still larger than the capacity of any standard oven, so that was more than enough. Since the cavity is where her users would be retrieving their food, they couldn’t put this on the floor, but at a reasonable height, which meant everything below it could be dedicated to storage. She chose to include a utensil drawer, and then an extra cartridge cabinet. All told, she figured that a fully stocked synthesizer could feed one person for about six months. Her original model did not include a dishwasher, but later ones did, allowing customers to keep almost an entire kitchen in the space of a refrigerator. It could be programmed to make just about anything, cool food, heat food, and supply water. What more could a normal person need? Well, they needed tools, and they needed organ and tissue replacements. She started to work on those machines next.

Microstory 1756: Bee of Paradise

< > Table of Contents

I’ve moved past the most traumatic experience of my life, and I’ve been able to reach some semblance of normalcy. I can’t say that it no longer affects me, but it at least no longer consumes me. I have prosthetic feet now, and while I can’t feel sensations down there anymore, I can walk just fine. I don’t even tell people my situation anymore, because it’s not relevant, and they can’t tell. I’m happy now. I have a better job than before, with better benefits. My boss calls me her busy bee, so she forced me to take a vacation, which is why I’ve agreed to this island getaway. I still find it rather difficult to trust others, which is one reason I’ve come alone, but I decided that I’m okay with that. This is about recharging my batteries, and remembering what I want out of life. It goes well at first, but then I start to get a bad feeling as I’m walking around the resort, and my excursions. I can’t point to an actual reason for my spidey senses sounding sirens, but I don’t think I’m imagining it. There is an evolutionary advantage to detecting the presence of a potential threat even when you can’t pin it down. Something or someone is out there who doesn’t want to be seen.  They’re watching me, and making me nervous. I keep telling myself that I might just be paranoid, but the sirens don’t go away. I really don’t think I’m making this up. I can’t ask for help, of course, because what is who going to do? The staff isn’t qualified to suss out a hypothetical stalker, and the police never help. I have no proof, just my instincts. I try to shrug it off, but the feeling grows worse, and I catch a glimpse of a shadow every once in a while. Finally, I cancel all of the activities I had planned for one day, and lock myself in the room. It’s not enough.

Presumably having decided he’s ready to show himself, my stalker breaks down the door, and enters my room. I didn’t come with pepper spray, or anything, so I’m helpless to fight him off. I head for the balcony, but I’m on the eleventh floor, so I don’t know where I thought I was going with that. It’s him. It’s the one who abducted me from my own home, and burned my feet so badly that they had to amputate both of them. They said they caught him, and he committed suicide by cop. How could they have been so wrong? Did they not look for evidence after the incident? Did they just assume they shot the right guy, and let it go? Who did they actually shoot? Obviously I shouldn’t be worrying about any of this right now; I just need to get away from him. I don’t know how he found me. I don’t even know what he wants with me, or how he knows me. But I know it’s the same man, and I know I can’t just run away. I won’t let him hurt me again, though. I’m going to fight back. I’m going to fight back hard. Not doing that before has been my greatest regret, and while I can’t go back in time and change it, I can do better this time. First, I scream. No one comes running before he manages to cover my mouth with his gloved hand, but that doesn’t mean they never will. It’s the off-season, but there are plenty of other guests here, and hopefully they’re not all at the bonfire. My attacker is stronger, so it’s not hard for him to overpower me, gag me, and start dragging me down the emergency stairs. My right foot gets caught on the edge of a step, and falls off, which gives me an idea. When we’re on a landing, I swing my left leg up, and take hold of my remaining foot. Hitting him once in the face is enough to get him to let go. Then I start bashing him over and over again until he stops moving. Only then does someone come to my rescue, but it’s too late. This time, I’m here to make sure he’s dead.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 10, 2368

« < » > Table of Contents

Hrockas and the Quantum Colony moderator, whose name was Sjualotl, were able to hang out in the quantum terminal in the Pluoraia system for a year without anyone getting suspicious, since disappearing for as long was not uncommon in this time period. They didn’t like it, but to them, it was less of a violation of their rights, and more of a medium-level inconvenience. Now, try to hold them for another year, and things could get dicey. Fortunately for them, the situation should be resolved by then. When the team returned to the timestream after their interim year, they immediately prepared to cast themselves to their next destination, which would hopefully give them answers as to what this whole rat maze immersion game was all about, and whether it was ends-justify-the-means understandable, or totally nefarious.

Teagarden was a terrestrial planet of comparable surface gravity to Earth. It orbited its red dwarf host star in a matter of days. Teegarden’s Star was named after one of its discoverers, and this obviously inspired the planet’s name too, like many other colony worlds in the stellar neighborhood. There was technically a second terrestrial planet in the same system, but it was far less hospitable than Teagarden, so it was reserved primarily for resource mining. Make no mistake, like nearly every other damn exoplanet in the neighborhood, Teagarden was not naturally habitable either; its Terrestrial Habitability Similarity Index rating being far below something that people called open sky standards, which was exactly as it sounded. If you couldn’t stand on the surface without a vacuum suit and breathe on your own, it didn’t have an open sky. Teagarden was a particularly poor candidate for geoengineering, which meant it would probably never have an open sky. As far as the neighborhood radius went, only Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida fell into the first class, though with enormous caveats, while Bungula was the only one in the second. Planets like Pluoraia were far, few between, and coveted.

Teagarden’s population was complicated. It was not open for colonization, but limited to those selected, or approved, for very specific purposes. Colony was probably a strong word for it, and perhaps should have always been called an outpost. Notably, it was designated predominantly for military personnel. This military was unlike anything Earth had in previous eras. There were no more nation states, paramilitary operations, separatist radicals, or corporate security firms. There was the greater good, and there was the individual, and the only time any sort of authority was called to action was if one threatened the other, or themselves internally. As of yet, no two planets harbored any hostile sentiments towards each other, but that was not outside the realm of possibility. The Teagarden Fleet was created in order to be ready to quell any such eventuality, should it ever come to pass. That was why they built it on another planet; so that it did not appear to have any preference over any one world. Technically, soldiers were being trained to fight against some kind of alien threat as well, but a few of the higher ups had relationships with time travelers, who assured them that true aliens did not exist.

“Is that all?” Olimpia asked once the presentation was over.

“I hope not, this is fascinating,” Angela said.

“I think that’s all you need to know to get your answers,” Sjualotl said. She was being a cooperative hostage, and God willing, not lying.

“Well, we need to know how they’re going to react when we show up,” Leona said.

“I can help with that,” Ramses said.

“Something that Team Keshida told you in one of your secret correspondences, no doubt,” Mateo sort of joked.

“They weren’t secret, I just didn’t mention them,” Ramses defended himself. “I figured you weren’t telling me about your conversations either; not just that you weren’t having them. And no, not with Keshida. Hokusai and Loa, they also had relationships with Teagarden, and the Earthan government. There’s a protocol for making contact, which will allow us to jump the line, and speak directly to someone who knows what we are, and what we do.” He didn’t say anything else.

“Okay,” Leona urged. “What’s the protocol?”

“Oh, these three don’t need to know it.” Ramses gestured towards Sasha, Hrockas, and Sjualotl.

“Oh, honey, I was in charge of your communications, I know everything already,” Sasha said.

“Fine, those two.”

“Agreed,” Mateo said, defending Ramses too. “You’ll take point on this one.”

Angela took a half step towards Sjualotl. “This is all great..as long as she’s being honest with us, and people with guns don’t kill us as soon as we wake up in the pods on the other side.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Kivi revealed. “I’ve been there. Well...one of me has.”

“Anything to elaborate on?” Leona asked.

“Nah, I wasn’t there long,” Kivi answered.

“Anyway,” Ramses began, “if they do shoot us, our minds will just revert to our real bodies. There’s a difference between an avatar cast, and a full cast.”

“That’s, um—uhh,” Sjualotl said before regretting even making a peep.

“What?” Leona demanded. “Tell us.”

“A long time ago there was this movie called Surrogates,” Sjualotl continued, knowing that backpedaling now would just make things worse for her.

“I just watched that,” Olimpia said in excitement. “This will be the first time my consciousness has ever occupied another body, so it seemed fitting.”

Mateo looked over at Ramses, unsure whether he had ever done it either.

His friend picked up on his psychic message, and nodded his head. He was from what Mateo would call the future, but not this far down the timeline. He must have done it for some reason other than visiting another planet.

“Well, there’s a plot point in that movie where someone has a weapon that can kill casters. It doesn’t just kill the surrogate body, but the mind of the person who is occupying it at the time. Teagarden has that, and no one else knows, and I probably shouldn’t be telling you.”

Angela shook her head to dismiss the concern. “So, if we’re killed in the Matrix, we die in real life. How is that any worse than the risks we take every single day?”

“She has a good point,” Mateo said.

Sjualotl shrugged it off. “Okay.”

“All right, on that note, Sasha...?” She clapped her hands once. “Load the program.”

The six of them cast their consciousnesses to avatar substrates in one of Teagarden’s many quantum terminals. They normally wouldn’t be able to get past the access restrictions, but Ramses knew how to break through as part of that protocol Hokuloa taught him. When they woke up in the pods, just as Angela warned, people with guns had those guns trained on each one of their heads. They instinctively held up their hands to show themselves as a non-threat.

Ramses was coolest of all. “Dougnanimous Brintantalus,” he uttered with feeling. Mateo wasn’t sure why he could tell that it was Ramses, since they were all now wearing the exact same base model, but when he looked at him, he just knew that it couldn’t be anyone else.

“Oh my God,” Leona whispered to herself. Her influence upon the timeline stretched further than she ever considered possible.

Some of the soldiers twitched, and some of them didn’t, but they all fell down like they were dead.

“What did you do to them?” Olimpia asked. She knelt down and checked one’s pulse. “She’s dead.”

“The body is empty,” Ramses clarified. “She’s not dead. She’s just in her own body, and asleep.”

“I didn’t come up with that trust password with the intention of it being used as a weapon,” Leona argued.

“And it’s not a weapon,” Ramses retorted. “Did you notice some of them twitched? Those people were cast back to their bodies, and placed under a deep sleep, while the others were already in their own bodies, so they fell asleep right here. But everybody’s fine, and we’re not gonna get caught.”

“Why didn’t anything happen to us?” Olimpia questioned.

“Because I helped load the transfer program,” Ramses replied. “The six of us are immune.”

“Seven.” A seventh base model crawled out of a pod, and like everyone else, Mateo could just tell that it was Hrockas.

“What are you doing here?” Leona asked.

“I want answers too,” Hrockas claimed. “I’m not like Sjualotl, I didn’t know what was going on. If I had, I wouldn’t have played the game. Please, just let me help you figure this out.”

Leona was about to argue, but Mateo felt compelled to speak first. “We have a shorthand, and we trust each other, so just stay out of our way, and do everything we say. If any one of the six of us gives you an order, you just do it, okay?”

“I can do that,” Hrockas said.

“Now,” Mateo went on, “how long does it take for our DNA to change our new bodies to reflect what we actually look like?”

“If we had uploaded our genetic information to the program,” Ramses began, “a few days.”

“Okay, well...fine. Where to next?”

“I know who we should reach out to,” Kivi said. “Follow me, but allow me to get my bearings first as I was here physically before, and never had to visit the casting room.”

Kivi and Ramses consulted each other, and looked for the right path. They led the team in the wrong direction a few times, but eventually found the right place. It was the office of a nonbinary coordinator named Kennedy Avantan. Kivi knocked, and then whispered that she ought to do the talking. Kennedy opened it, and displayed no reaction to their arrival, because they looked like a set of identical septuplets. “I’m Kivi Bristol.”

“Wait here,” Kennedy said. They closed the door for a moment before returning with what looked strikingly like a noninvasive thermometer. They scanned Kivi’s eye with it, and assessed the results. “Okay, come on in.”

Their main office was not large enough for all of them, so Kennedy led them to another door, where a conference room sat empty. Everyone took their place around the table.

“What are you doing here in a base model?” Kennedy asked. “Where are you?”

“Pluoraia.”

Kennedy took a moment to think about it, but wasn’t sure they were familiar. They took out a tablet and searched for it. “Is one of you Hrockas Elindir?”

Hrockas raised his hand.

“So you’ve become aware of the program,” Kennedy rightly assumed.

“Kennedy,” Kivi started, “I came to you for help, because I thought you would be a good point of contact. I didn’t believe you would have anything to do with this Quantum Colony game that toys with people’s lives.”

“That was not my idea,” Kennedy insisted. “Only a handful of us are involved in the program. Only we know what the game really is. Many in the braintrust—I suppose you could call it—wanted QC to be limited to uninhabited planets. But there was this whole debate about what inhabited even means. If we find microbes, is that okay? What about vegetation? Where’s the line? I mean, most people understand that there’s a pretty big line between a planet with life on it, and a planet with intelligent and evolved life on it, but those were nuances that some of us were not willing to entertain. In the end, the other side won, and we decided to let players visit worlds that are part of Operation Starseed. They did agree to draw the line at truly alien populations, but...” They sort of stared into space with disappointment. “...we’ve not found any of those, as I’m sure you’re all aware. I imagine the rest of you are time travelers, like Kivi?”

“We are,” Leona replied. “Does everyone in this braintrust know about us?”

“No, just me and one other person,” Kennedy replied. “It’s rather a coincidence that the two secrets intersect in this office. There’s probably another time travel-aware person on this planet who also happens to be privy to military secrets that I know nothing about.”

“Okay,” Leona said. “Let’s get back to what matters. What’s the point of the program? Artificial intelligences were sent to all of the colonies to build quantum terminals, and other structures. Why do you need anyone to cast their consciousnesses to these worlds, be they aware of the truth, or not?”

“Why do we need any crew on colony ships? Why am I in the position I’m in? Why does any human, or descendant of humans, do anything ever? We don’t have to work anymore. AIs and robots could handle literally everything for us. But if we were to take that route, we wouldn’t be anything but children. We sent people to the colonies, because that’s what the colonies are for.”

“I thought they weren’t colonies,” Leona contended, “but outposts.”

“Again, what’s the point of an outpost if no one goes there. Look, let me try to explain it another way.” They considered their argument. “Every AI that we sent on a seed plate for Project Stargate had a singular directive. Land on an orbital, build certain structures, synthesize data, and then just go dormant. None of them is creative, none of them has an explorer’s spirit. They do the work they’re programmed to do, and can only overcome obstacles that get in the way of their goals. They don’t try new things, and come up with interesting ideas. The people in Quantum Colony have picked up where the AIs leave off. One player is constructing a Dyson swarm with a design that none of us would have thought of.” She indicated herself, plus all of her colleagues. “Another is altering the orbit of a super-terrestrial to both shed mass, and lower its surface gravity, and put it within its host star’s habitable zone. The game is a way to attract people to whom it never would have occurred to work in these fields. They’re figuring it out, because—aside from the Starseed worlds—there aren’t many consequences for their actions. If we had told them it was real, they would hold back, and not take risks.”

“Someone took a big risk, and it got people killed,” Leona said accusingly.

“What are you talking about?” Kennedy probably didn’t know what happened to Pluoraia. They only read the surface information about it on their tablet.

Before anyone could answer them, more people with guns burst into the conference room, and surrounded them. “I didn’t think they would catch us this quickly,” Ramses lamented.

« < » > Table of Contents

Extremus: Year 18

« < » > Table of Contents

It’s getting to be that time when the civilian government is preparing to elect the next administration of their civil servants. If tradition holds, Ovan Teleres will announce his intentions to run a third time for Passenger First Chair in about a week. Halan and Mercer decided to blitz him during this period, to give him enough time to not make such an announcement, but not so much time that others can talk him back into running. Here’s the deal. If Ovan joins the crew of the Extremus, he won’t be able to run for reëlection, because it would be a conflict of interest. He’ll technically be free to run for a civilian position after his shift ends, but only after a waiting period of five years, and by then, the electorate will have moved on. Now, Halan can’t guarantee that the following administrative changes will be any better than they are now, but his mother always told him, fight the monsters you can see before worrying about the ones you can’t.

The strategy for making this happen is simple, but it’s going to take both Halan and Mercer, and they’re going to have to be the best actors this ship has ever seen. They actually reached out to the Theatre Department Director for help. Yes, Extremus has a theatre department, so people have a little bit of entertainment while they’re waiting to die in a tin can in the middle of interstellar space. He was quite helpful, and while he doesn’t know everything about what’s going on, he’s politically unaligned with Ovan and his cronies, so he agreed to keep it hush-hush.

Right now, the two of them are waiting in Ovan’s antechamber. His assistant is on her computer, acting like she’s working on something important. In all probability, Halan is willing to bet she’s just playing Quantum Colony. The whole population is addicted. He’s considering starting a support group for the few who don’t play, but have to overhear the conversations about it all the fuckin’ time. They booked this meeting a month ago without telling Ovan completely what it’s about. All he knows is that they want to discuss crew-passenger relations, and based on the way they framed it, he’s probably expecting them to walk in there with hats in hands. Thinking he has the home team advantage, and the higher ground, he’s chosen to make them wait for it. That’s fine, there isn’t anything else to do today. Each of them gets time off from their responsibilities, and their vacation days don’t usually coincide, but it’s allowed to happen once per year in case the captain and lieutenant want to do something together. This bylaw wasn’t written thinking that anyone would use it for subterfuge, but it didn’t exclude it either.

Finally, he opens his door electronically, and the assistant knows to wave them on in. “Captain, Lieutenant! What can I do for you on this, the day of my daughter’s wedding?”

“Pardon me?” Halan questions.

“It’s a reference, sir,” Mercer explains. He’s playing his part well already, ashamed of needing to ask for help, and scared that his superior officer will forever look down on him for it.

“I see.”

“Please, have a seat,” Ovan says. There’s a difference between politeness and niceness, and they’re both wildly different from kindness. He’s very good at the first one, but he has no ability to conceptualize the last one. The second one is reserved for his so-called friends, unless they’re very good friends, in which case he’s meaner to them than anybody, because he believes their behavior reflects on him too much to let them be themselves. “Seriously, how can I help you?”

Halan hopes he can act as well as Mercer, but the theatre department director didn’t give him as much praise. He nods, and directs his attention to Mercer. “This is your show.”

Mercer looks back with puppy dog eyes, then clears his throat. “I need help.”

“With what?” Ovan asks.

“My job.”

“Just, in general, your whole job?”

“Yes.”

“It’s too hard for ya?”

“Yes.”

Ovan nods, desperately trying to hide his great pleasure at hearing this. “I’m sorry to hear that, but as you know, I’m obligated to the passengers. If you’re asking me to take on some of your duties, I’m afraid I can’t.”

Now Halan needs to take over. “Look, everyone knows you’ve been doing a great job here. Not to speak ill of the retired, but I would say you’re at least twice the Chair Satyria was.”

He can’t hide his glee this time. “I’m happy to hear you say that. I’ve never thought of you as...a fan.”

“It’s not something that has been easy for me to admit. I must..confess that, while I don’t hate the civilians, I certainly have always considered you...other. We’re not better than you, but I’ve probably run this ship with a little more...divide than there should be.” Using slightly improper grammar, and stammering, indicates that you’re not confident in your own words. You believe them, they’re true, but you don’t feel comfortable expressing them, and you’re worried about how you’ll be received, and perceived. Ovan has to feel the power here, so Halan has to fake submission.

“That’s very big of you to say. I’m sad to tell you that I agree. We are far more separate than is healthy, or prosperous.” He’s lying. He loves it.

Halan looks down towards the desk, and compresses the air above it with his hands, pretending to be searching for the words he practiced well, and has perfectly memorized. “My Lieutenant needs help. The crew needs a firm hand, besides myself. The civilians need a leader who understands both them, and that crew. I can’t make you my new lieutenant—I can’t decommission him—that would look awful. Fortunately, there’s a loophole. The bylaws included a special rank known as Second Lieutenant.” Special rank, that was Mercer’s idea. “If we institute it, it will greatly unburden Eckhart’s shoulders, and help us better communicate with the passengers. We already know you can do that. You’ve been proving it for the last six years. If you agree to this, the ship will run even smoother than it was before now, because you still hold power over those passengers, but you also have rank within the crew.” Within the crew, not over the crew.

He seems open to this idea, and his body language suggests that he wants to hear more.

Halan goes on, “you see, I’ve always wanted to command both.” This implies—but doesn’t verify—his own narcissism, which doesn’t exist, but Ovan thinks it does. “I’ve not been able to, because that’s not how we’re structured. It’s obviously a way to protect us from falling under a single authority, which could be quite dangerous with the wrong leadership. Like I said, you’re the loophole, because as a member of the crew, you don’t technically have control over what the passengers do, but as former Chair, people can’t help but listen to you.” He’s deliberately using the present tense in order to subliminally make Ovan feel like he has already accepted the position, and that the choice only exists in the future as a formality. This should still help things, even if he ends up not taking the job, because he’s just been told that he doesn’t have control, but it was framed in a nice, noncombative way, so Ovan isn’t compelled to argue, allowing this idea to germinate in his mind regardless.

Here’s the moment. Ovan’s first reaction can make or break this plan. If he so much as suspects that this is all just a way to get him out of power, it’s over. At that point, he could take the job, or leave it, but the ship would still end up pear-shaped. If he ever realizes what they’re doing, they’ll fail. He has to go on thinking that he’s won. They especially have to make it past the one-year mark, because if not, the government he leaves behind would likely allow him to forgo the five-year waiting period, and return to civil service. The bylaws are sketchy when it comes to who counts as a crewmember, and what happens if they quit before too long. He’s making them wait again.

Halan reaches down to the side of his knee on the sly, and gives Mercer a predetermined signal with his fingers, like a catcher at a baseball game.

Mercer knows what it means, and he begins to recite the contingent speech, “I can’t do this on my own anymore, and I don’t trust anybody else. I won’t lie to you, it’s a tough job, but you’re so much better with them. I thought I could learn, because I don’t have the natural talent. I can survive if you don’t want to do this, but...I would rather not.” This applauds Ovan for his skill as a leader without being obvious and brown-nosey. If it works, it will allow him to interpret Mercer’s perception of him just enough to push him off that fence.

Ovan sighs. “I won’t lie either, I’m leaning towards not doing this. I love my job, and I’m doing great things here.” What a douchebag. “I have seven more years in me no matter what. I imagine my shift would end when yours does.”

“That’s the thing,” Halan says, happy to have reached this part of the conversation. It’s a good sign. “It’s a standard 24-year shift, but it’s not attached to my rank, like his is. We didn’t start together, because Rita was with me first, but he’ll still have to retire when I do. You can just keep going under the new captain. To me, that’s even better than only having two more terms left.” This is actually the worst part about the whole thing, but if it doesn’t convince him to accept, probably nothing will.

“Wow, that’s pretty enticing; the chance to serve this ship longer than I ever thought possible.” That’s a step in the right direction, but it’s also sickening.

“This is good for everyone.” There’s that present tense again.

“Yes, Ovan agrees. He stares down into space, surely imagining what he’ll do with all his imaginary new power. “Okay,” he decides. Okay, what? “Okay,” he says louder.

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll do it.” Holy shit, it worked.

“Thank you,” Halan says. “Lieutenant?”

“Thank you,” Mercer echoes.

“Thank you, what?” Halan urges.

He smiles with feigned admiration. “Thank you...Second Lieutenant Teleres.”

This is the most excited Ovan has ever been in his life. “So, that’s it?” he asks. “No ceremony?”

“Oh, there’s a ceremony,” Halan says. There’s not supposed to be, but there can be. Hopefully it doesn’t set a precedent. Holding a celebration for every commission or promotion would become tedious.

“I would say more like a parade,” Mercer half jokes, half wants to blow his own brains out.

Ovan nods and grins, showing only the top row of his teeth. “Cool.”

“We don’t need to wait for the ceremony, though,” Halan promises. “You’re already Second Lieutenant, and can already start working. Your Second Chair takes over for you immediately. This gives us time to plan something special.” Gross.

“Cool,” he repeats.

« < » > Table of Contents