Microstory 797: Cowgirl

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Despite her codename, Deborah ‘Debbie’ Mynatt, a.k.a Cowgirl did not grow up on a farm, or a ranch. In fact, she grew up in the densest part of Manhattan, and had no interest in the outdoors. She even refused to go with her parents whenever they wanted to spend some time in Central Park. After the incident, though, she sought help from a man who couldn’t care less what his followers wanted, or what their personalities were like. He had this idea of the future—of the people he wanted to rule over it—and instead of adapting his plans to the people he was able to recruit, he forced his people to conform. Still, she felt she owed him her life, and did as she was told. She trained every single day, honing the skills he wanted her to have, and learning to effectively demonstrate her persona’s gimmick. She learned how to ride a horse, how to fight dirty, like a southerner, and how to handle a rope. Every villain and hero had their own special accessories that were tailored to them, and as unoriginal as it was, hers was the lasso, though she referred to it as her lariat. The lariat was a technological marvel, capable of loosening and tightening itself according to sensors attached to her hat that could read her brainwaves. She also carried with her sheath knives, and revolvers, making her one of the few members even of Forager’s crew who utilized deadly weaponry. Debbie was Forager’s most loyal servant, carrying out his every order to the smallest detail without question. She was not evil, but she was damaged, and the only way she would be able to get out from his thumb would be if someone else came along to control her instead. What she really needed was for someone to help her learn to be independent; to reject her abuser’s manipulation. Fortunately for her, the team she was up against wanted what was best for her. The only thing now was for her to decide to take the first step towards goodness.

Microstory 796: Bower

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A c-brane, which is a particular class of universe, is only as large as it needs to be in order to accommodate its inhabitants. This is the cause of so much strife in the Maramon’s brane, for they were never meant to travel beyond their solar system, but something went wrong. Capitalizing on this idea, however, of an extremely limited scope universe, a group of some very powerful people decided to build their own universe. Now, normally, natural universes have near unlimited scope. They’re created by some kind of cosmological expansion event, like a big bang, and grow larger from there, as time progresses. C-branes, on the other hand, are created by the force of creativity. They manifest through imagination or dreams, and more often than not collapse upon their own instability. If no one continues believing in them, then they won’t exist. In the history of the bulkverse, which is the collective dimensional substructure all universes, no one has gotten together to make one from scratch, but these people managed to figure it out. Deemed The Bower House, it was designed to confine the most notoriously dangerous people from all over the multiverse. Most universes, including standard natural ones, have incredibly spectacular physical laws, which can be exploited to accomplish fantastical goals. In some, death can be subverted through transference to new substrates. In some, objects can be moved from great distances, through telekinesis. Some have slower aging, or faster-than-light travel, or even demons. The Bower House has none of these things. An individual transferred to this prison universe from their own will find themselves completely without whatever special abilities, or technologies, they were able to use before. There is no electricity, and no superpowers, and death is final. The idea here was to have a place to incarcerate the worst criminals in the bulkverse, who have used some unfair advantage against others. It is the smallest c-brane ever, with its sky being a low-hanging firmament, rather than light waving through empty space. It is impossible to escape from the Bower House, because there is nowhere to go, and no technology capable of creating a way out. Yet somehow, one woman found a way, and then all hell broke loose.

The Advancement of Leona Matic: August 24, 2170

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Things were really intense when Leona and Serif woke up on the day of arrival. Brooke and Paige were stationed in the cockpit, working and reworking calculations, formulating contingencies, and running diagnostics. Missy was zipping around the whole ship, checking all other systems, over and over again. Dar’cy was just hanging out in the lounge. She could sense what kind of danger they were in, but didn’t have the education to really understand what they were in for. Serif joined her, wanting to stay out of the way of the rest of the crew. Before Leona could go help, she first had to go back to the room, and throw up. This wasn’t the first time she was on a spaceship. Hell, they were probably in the best shape than the others, since everything was so far going according to plan, but that didn’t make her any less anxious. When she entered the cockpit, everyone looked at her like she was the leader. They weren’t expecting her to give them orders, but she was chosen for this mission for a reason, because as advanced as the transhumans were, they couldn’t hope to match her skills at systems thinking. She knew everything that could go wrong, and knew how to fix it. Computers were really good at solving problems individually, but the human mind was better at understanding the problem as a whole.

She sat down at her interface terminal, and got to work checking everyone else’s math, including The Warren’s. A couple hours later, the alarm went off. Nothing was wrong, it was just alerting them that they were approaching Durus, and thusly their point of no return. “Please secure your belongings, and prepare for arrival,” The Warren commanded.

The other three crew members came in, two of them freaked out. “What’s going on?” Dar’cy asked.

“It’s fine,” Leona explained. “This is meant to happen.”

“I tried to tell them,” Missy apologized. “We need to find a seat.”

“There are jumpseats back there.” Paige jerked her head towards the corner, but kept her eyes on on the screen.

“Why can’t we see out the windows?” Serif asked.

“It’s not worth it,” Brooke said. “We’re still dealing with debris, so it’s better to protect the hull than to watch the approach. You can already see the planet, though. That screen rotates away from that wall.”

Missy pulled the viewing screen away from the wall, so the three of them could watch.

“Shouldn’t you be doing something?” Serif asked. “In the movies, they’re always frantically pushing buttons, and flipping switches.

“The aerocapture maneuver is automated,” Paige answered instead of Brooke, “just like everything else on this ship. They’ve done all they can to prepare of it, but The Warren should be able to take it from here.”

Dar’cy happened to be sitting at the communications console when it blooped. “Uhh, we’re receiving a message. Text only.”

“The González must be telling us good luck,” Paige assumed.

“It’s not from the González,” Dar’cy said. “It’s from the surface.”

“What does it say?”

Dar’cy read from the screen, “Brooke, put on your necklace.”

Leona and Brooke just gave each other this look.

“Who knows about your necklace?” Missy wondered.

“You should do it,” Leona recommended.

“I already have it,” Brooke replied. “Of course I have it on. I’ll need to be able to survive in an emergency atterberry bubble if the ship breaks apart.”

“Why would the ship break apart!” Serif shouted, louder than she probably wanted.

“Murphy’s Law,” Paige said simply.

“Not helpful.” Leona looked to her love. “Serif, everything’s going great. I’m not just saying that. We’re right on course.”

The ship lurched and shuttered.

“What’s that?” Missy asked. “It’s too early for atmosphere.”

“We’re off course!” Brooke called out. Now she was frantically pushing buttons, and flipping switches.

“Oh, God!” Serif prayed.

The Warren continued to violently shake around. Leona tried to figure out what was wrong with it, but the readings didn’t make any sense, and sensors fluctuated erratically. One thing she could tell was that the planet was coming up at them at a really bad angle, not unlike the one Nerakali thought they would use when she put Leona in one of her virtual constructs. She, Brooke, Missy, and Paige shared information, but no one knew what was happening, or what they were going to do about it.

“Missy! Make a bubble!” Paige ordered.

“I’ve been trying!” Missy complained. The gravity well is screwing with my powers! I think I could make us go faster, but not slower!”

“Wait, what is that?” Brooke asked the aether, but received no answer. The entire computer system shut off. Primary lights snapped off, and were replaced by emergency yellows. The gravdisk immediately stopped spinning, which likely meant that it had broken off the ship. Serif and Dar’cy were still crying and screaming when the shuttering stopped, and everyone else realized they weren’t moving anymore.

“Nobody ask if we’re dead, we’re not dead.” Paige must have hated that trope.

“So...that’s not an angel?” Dar’cy asked.

Everybody turned in their seats to see a woman standing in the doorway. “I’ve been called worse.”

“Who are you?” Paige stood up, and stepped forward to protect her crew.

“My name is Hokusai Gimura. Let me be the first to welcome you to Durus.”

“Are we on the surface already?” Brooke asked.

“You’re floating in the middle of a cylicone.”

“Where have I heard that before?” Serif asked.

“Anisim’s boat,” Leona remembered. “That’s what got us to the mainlands of Dardius from Tribulation Island so fast. It’s some kind of temporal amplifier.”

“That’s right,” Hokusai said. “I built this as a landing pad, in case anyone else needed to come to Durus. Then last month, I get word from a seer that that’s exactly what’s going to happen. I’m glad I did, too. It needed some repairs. I kind of forgot about it.”

“We had a way of landing,” ever-suspicious Paige said to her.

“I realize that, but this was safer.”

Missy had been looking through some things on her terminal. “Are you sure about that? The gravity disk broke off.”

“What?” Hokusai was shocked. “No, my calculations were perfect. You should be completely intact.”

Leona checked on her terminal. “Well, we’re not. It’s gone.”

“Shit,” Hokusai said. “I should have warned you what I was going to do. You could have decelerated the disk beforehand, and it wouldn’t have been a problem. I’m so sorry. I’ll help you fix it.”

“We have all year,” Paige said. “Leona and Serif can’t leave until then anyway. In the meantime, perhaps you can help us find our friend?”

“Who are you looking for?” She asked with a customer service-worthy smile.

“Her name is Saga Einarsson.”

Hokusai went right back into a frown. “That might be rather difficult.”

“How so?” Paige asked. “Do you know her?”

“I knew her, but I haven’t seen her in a year. Ever since her wife died, and her partner...” she trailed off. Then she continued, “I’ll help you look, but she really doesn’t want to be found.”

“Again. We have a whole year.”

“We can leave your ship in suspension,” Hokusai said, turning around. “If you don’t have the kind of lockout protocols I did with my ship, we don’t want it sitting on the surface, where any curious cat can get to it.”

“We’ll have to clear out,” Brooke said. “Another ship is coming in seventeen days.

Hokusai looked confused. “It shouldn’t be. No, the seer was very clear. One ship. Only one. The next one won’t arrive for another few decades.”

Paige turned to Missy. “Send a message to The González. Tell them to run a full diagnostic on their systems, and rerun their simulations. They might be in trouble.”

“Will that get to them in time?” Dar’cy asked.

“Maybe,” Paige said. “I don’t know what goes wrong.”

Hokusai spoke into a communication device. “Loa. Do you have a teleporter on your hands?”

“I have a telekinetic,” came the reply.

“That’ll work. Can you have them pull the ship out of the cylicone lander.”

“Aye-aye.”

Brooke disengaged the window shields so they could see themselves being pulled out of the cylicone, over the edge, and gently down to the ground.

“Telekinesis is real?” Leona asked. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“It’s more like extremely precise and rapid teleportation. My wife will set you up with some nice quarters. I need to go meet with that seer again to find out what’s going on with your companion vessel.” She took something out of her pocket.

“Thanks,” Paige said, almost out of character. “For saving us. We don’t know whether the aerocapture would have worked.

She frowned a third time. “It didn’t in the other timeline.” She pushed a button on her device, and disappeared.

In her place appeared another woman. “I’m Loa. Let me be the second to welcome you to Durus.” She took a hockey puck-looking thing out of her bag, and tried to place it on the wall.

“What is that?”

“This world is dangerous for visitors. Everyone is going to want something from you. Some might want whatever technology is in here. Some will want your weapons.”

“We have no weapons,” Dar’cy said defensively.

“Some Earthans will want to go home.” Loa glanced around. “You do not have the space for them.”

“That doesn’t explain what that thing is.”

“I’m going to be giving each of you an emergency evac clip. Push it, and it’ll teleport you right back here. This thing here is just the beacon. It’s harmless. I’ll give you one to tinker with, if you want.”

“That would be great,” Missy said excitedly.

There was silence for a bit.

“I hear you have somewhere we can stay,” Paige put forth.

“I do,” Loa confirmed. “They’re quite nice.”

Paige turned to the crew. “Missy and Brooke, I need you to stay here and make sure no one but us can get into The Warren. Serif and Loa, we’ll be leaving you at the hotel, or whatever it is. Dar’cy, you and I will be doing some recon.”

Everyone nodded with formality.

“Are we just going to be sitting in the room? Leona asked.

Paige addressed Loa, “do you have some sort of...historical database, or something?”

“We have the metanetwork. It’s like your Earthan internet. There’s a terminal in your room.”

Paige went back to Leona, “research this planet. I wanna know what I’m dealing with here.”

“Understood.”

“Then get some rest. I don’t know what you two will be waking up to next year.”

“Next year?” Loa asked, confused.

“Don’t worry about it.”

They left the ship for the first time in days/years, which meant it was less of a relief for Leona and Serif than it was for the others. At first she thought she was hallucinating when she walked onto the surface of a rogue planet, but no, it was apparently real. There was a sky, with a discernible sun, and a raging stream a few meters away. She had heard they had some kind of an atmosphere, but this was crazy. She was glad to be assigned the task of figuring out what this place was.

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Void: One Who Dies (Part X)

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Since Camden was unable to attend his sister’s funeral, he and his closest friends held a small memorial service on Durus. Saga and Camden spoke in honor of her, believing themselves to be the only two people on the planet who actually knew her. One elderly woman, however, stood before the crowd, and revealed that Xearea had saved her life when she was but a little girl. That was the beauty of the Savior, that her legacy would never die, for how much she had done for the world. Few can say they touched so many people’s lives in their short lifespan. Xearea lived longer than most Saviors, according to salmon history, which provided some level of solace. But it did little to outweigh how little time the two siblings were ultimately able to spend together. Like their predecessors, Mario and Daria Matic, Camden and Xearea Voss were destined to live their lives separately.

Only a few months into the pregnancy, Andromeda was not feeling well. She was sweaty, and running a fever, so they decided they needed to go see a doctor. They thought about contacting Dr. Hammer, but they probably needed to reserve those calls for emergencies. It was probably just the flu, and a Durune medical professional could help with that. The world was using advanced electrical machinery on a global scale by now. This was a blending of technology and paramount powers. Instead of using telephone lines and radio signals, researchers were developing a metadimensional network to connect people using adapted time powers. They were still working out the logistics of supplying people with reliable interface apparatus. Though medicine was far beyond the singularity on Earth by now, Durune health now rivaled that of what Saga grew up being familiar with.

Dr. Pereira came back into the room after being gone for as long as doctors are usually gone for, likely having been drinking coffee in the breakroom. She had a concerned and sympathetic face on her face. She sat down behind her desk and slide over some papers, so she could rest her arms.

“We’re waiting,” Saga said.

Andromeda breathed heavily next to her, mouth covered by a barrier mask. “Remember your anger management classes.”

Saga never went to any real classes. Andromeda just scheduled time for them to talk with each other, and sometimes a few friends, once a week.

“I’m sorry,” Pereira said. “You are suffering from a viral attack that we’ve not seen before.”

“What about the Earthan database?”

“I do have limited access to that,” Pereira explained. “But I’ve not been able to find anything with its structure. Not that it would help. The virus originates from Durus, so Earth has never seen it.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” Saga said. The Deathspring caused a lot of cross-contamination, not just with people and animals.”

She shook her head slightly, and spoke in that calm but mildly condescending tone. “There’s been no proof of that. There’s a lot about this world we still don’t know. During the Mage Protectorate times, they would have simply teleported the disease out of her body. They never studied infection, so we don’t have a lot of records.”

“Then...why don’t you teleport it out?” Saga suggested. “Surely there’s a paramount here somewhere that can do that.”

Pereira blinked, but didn’t answer.

“Tell me there’s someone who can do that.”

“I’ve not been granted access to the paramount directory. We definitely don’t have anyone like that on staff.”

“Well, find someone who does have access.”

This would be another time for Andromeda to scold her for how rude she was being, but Saga could tell that she was scared for her life, and had no time for niceties either.

“It doesn’t work like that. I can’t just ask someone to access it for me. That would defeat the whole purpose of it being regulated and confidential.”

“Then defeat it,” Saga argued.

Pereira took out her notepad, and scribbled on it. “This is my contact in the paramount branch of government. You can request temporary access yourself. I obviously can’t make any promises about success, though.”

“This is a medical emergency, Doctor. She’s pregnant.”

“We can treat the symptoms,” Pereira said. “And I have people researching it conventionally, but there is no cure.”

“Does it have anything to do with the baby?” Saga asked.

She sighed and leaned back, but kept her back straight. “Baby is actually healthier than mom. It would seem that it’s...safeguarded against infection. If you’re asking whether the pregnancy itself is what’s causing Andromeda’s issues, that’s impossible.”

“I want her under close observation.”

“We can do that,” Pereira nodded.

“Hospital bed, 24-hour care, whatever she wants to eat. Everything. She literally built this world. Hell...” Saga looked around, “I’m pretty sure she even built this hospital.”

Pereira shook her head so Saga wouldn’t have to keep going. “She’ll receive the best care possible. We’re gonna do everything we can. You should go.”

Saga tried to stand up, but Andromeda reached over and took her hand, frightened.

“I have to go to the government. There must be a paramount out there who can help you, and if I can’t find one, I’ll find someone who can find someone living at some other point in time, or in some other world, or even in some other universe. We’re going to fix this if I have to speak with The Emissary myself, and seek help from the powers that be.”

Saga contacted Camden as she was leaving the building, who activated his teleporter magnet, and jumped to her location immediately. “Morick works there now,” he said.

“He does?”

“Yeah, pretty low level, but he def has access to the directory.”

Though they were still on friendly terms with Morick, they didn’t talk all that often, and neither of them had his telemagnet code. So they had to find the nearest transportation pad in the city, and travel all the way to the capital. The paramount branch capitol was the most magnificent structure in the world. Its frame was built manually by human labor. Even if they thought they could have convinced Andromeda to build it for them, they wouldn’t have asked. They wanted it to be part of their history that they constructed it like people did way back in the old days on Earth. But of course, they didn’t want to be stuck with this plain facade with only one form. Like the background on a computer desktop, the capitol alters its own shape periodically, and randomly. It could look like Burj Khalifa, or Willis Tower, or Gherkin. At the moment, though, it resembled the One World Trade Center. It really didn’t matter what it looked like on the outside, for most floors were actually just in different pocket dimensions. Few people operated there in only three dimensions. Saga wasn’t sure why they bothered with a building at all.

They entered through the lobby, presented their credentials, and took the Instalift to the seventeenth pocket dimension, where Camden believed Morick was working. He greeted them at the entrance, having been alerted to their future arrival by a seer. “How can I help you?” he asked of them.

“We need the paramount directory,” Camden requested.

“You’ll need to file a formal request. They’ll monitor your activity, but it shouldn’t take long for them to approve your application.”

“How long is not long?”

“Three days,” Morick replied. “It doesn’t actually take that long to process the form. It’s a waiting period, to prevent exploitation. That’s the minimum, for people with your clout. Other people wait weeks.”

“We don’t have three days,” Saga said.

“Then you don’t have access.”

“Morick, please. Andromeda is sick.”

“Go to the doctor.”

“We did. She sent us here. To see this man.” Saga handed him Pereira’s note.

He kind of laughed at it. “This guy can expedite your application. For a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“The kind you don’t want to give. And it’ll still take at least one day.”

“Well, what kind of favor do you need?”

“The kind that you can’t give.”

“Try us,” Camden said.

“It wouldn’t be you,” Morick said. I don’t need to go as far back as 2069.”

“You want to time travel?” Camden asked.

“He wants to go home,” Saga understood.

“I’m done here, but the government won’t approve my time travel application. I was hoping working here would give me an edge, but I still keep hitting walls.”

“You want me to open a door?” Saga asked, but it wasn’t really a question.

“I believe that my time wants me back,” Morick claimed. “That’s when your powers work. They answer to the timestream, not the government.”

“I can’t give you something I don’t have,” Saga said to him. “I’ll be glad to send you anywhen you want to go, but that’s out of my control. You know that.”

“Just try,” Morick pleaded.

“You won’t help if we don’t help you?” Camden criticized. “Andromeda’s your friend too.”

“I want to help her,” Morick said truthfully. “This is not me having leverage over you. But if I don’t get out of here, I’ll be in big trouble for helping you with this. The door isn’t payment...it’s part of the plan.”

“Cross your fingers,” Saga said. She walked over to the nearest door and opened it. It seemed to have worked, but without crossing over, there was no real way of finding out whether this was the right moment in time. She told him as much.

“Anywhen is better than now,” Morick said, walking towards the doorway. He took a datadrive out of his pocket, and handed it to her as he was leaving.

As soon as she closed the door, she received an emergency alert for Andromeda’s telemagnet code. She took Camden by the shoulder and let them both be drawn back to Andromeda’s location. She was lying on a hospital bed, shaking and bleeding. Blood was seeping out of her pores like sweat.

“What the hell is this?” Saga cried.

“Hematohidrosis,” Pereira answered while she was trying to save Andromeda’s life. “New symptom of the virus.”

“Then fix it!” she continued to scream.

“I don’t think that I can. I might be able to save the child, but we would have to take it out now.”

“It’s been, like, sixteen weeks!”

Pereira stopped for a second. “I know. It’s not likely to survive either, even after a caesarean. If we don’t try, we lose them both.”

“Camden, you need to—” She was going to ask him to interface with the datadrive, but he was gone. She didn’t have time to look for him, though, because then she heard that dreadful constant beep. Andromeda had flatlined. “Bring her back,” Saga ordered.

“I can’t, she’s gone. The baby won’t live much longer.”

“Bring! Her! Back!”

Pereira reluctantly tried to resuscitate her, but it was obviously not doing any good.

Camden returned with something Saga didn’t recognize, and asked the doctor to stop. “Install this.”

She looked at him like he was crazy. “I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can.”

“What is it?” Saga asked.

“It would be unethical. You can’t just jam this into your skull and expect it to start working.” Pereira was having none of it.

Saga pushed the doctor against some equipment. “I don’t know what that thing is, but if you don’t do exactly what he says, I’m going to murder you. I have done it before.”

Scared for her life, Pereira asked Camden to get on the table face down. Then she drilled a hole into the back of his head, and inserted the object he had returned with. Saga just stood there, stunned. “You’re supposed to have a week to acclimate. We don’t know where this technology comes from.”

“What technology?” Saga asked, still unable to move.

Camden took the datadrive out of his pocket, and placed it into the device that was now theoretically attached to his brain. “I don’t have that kind of time.”

His body jolted, and he snapped his eyes shut. After a few beats, he reached his arm towards Saga, but kept his eyes closed. “Telemagnet code Umbrella-Racecar-Husband-one-zero-eight,” he said at first. After another beat, he continued, but it looked like he was in some pain. “Resistance override authorization Temple-Algae-Volunteer-two-one-six.”

Saga hastily input the code, and forced a woman about Andromeda’s age to teleport to their location. Normally, they would request an appearance, but the override—which was very illegal to have—took care of that for them.

“I was told this day would come. What year is this?”

“Do what you do,” Camden ordered her.

“What does she do?” Pereira asked.

“My baby is dying. Do what you do,” Camden begged.

The woman placed her fingers on the stomach of Andromeda’s dead body. A reddish-orange light emanated from the womb. She then removed one hand, and pointed it towards the middle of the room. The same light began to form and grow. As it did, a figure inside of it also began to take shape. In only a few minutes, they could see that it was a fetus. It stayed floating above the floor, this suspended gestational bubble. Pereira pointed some instrument at it. “It’s alive. The baby is alive, kept in this...magic womb.”

The woman activated her teleporter to return home. Camden gasped for air, then fell down. And Andromeda. She was still dead.

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Microstory 795: Honor Spotter

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The Bicker Institute formed in the 19th century out of fear that some great cataclysm could fall upon the Earth, and destroy civilization. Wanting to insulate the human species from complete annihilation, they start monitoring genetically diverse individuals in secret. Should the need arise, they were to be taken to hidden bunkers to protect them from whatever would happen to the rest of the world. They would not be alone in these bunkers, because who knows what they would do if left to their own devices? So certain peoples are recruited before the theoretical end, according to their education and experience. They need a leader, someone who is a true believer in the cause, and understands exactly what it is they’re fighting for. Of course, they need a doctor to tend to residents’ medical issues; an engineer, a mechanic, and an electrician, to maintain the facility itself; a gardner to care for the microponics equipment; and a logistician to keep track of their inventory. But the genetically select inheritors, and the management team are not the only two groups to be protected. They want the people to be able to choose for themselves; to developed policies and procedures that they feel are best. But inheritors are chosen when they’re children, long before they know what they want to do with their lives. Theoretically, every one of them could grow up to be a clown, for all anyone knows. And so seven people extra people from each of the three qualifying generations are chosen as supplementary bunker residents. These are known as...the wild cards, but are sometimes referred to as the honor residents.

Wild cards are destined to be breeders, and represent a fraction of their population that the Institute knows little about, medically speaking. This is done to better simulate the real world, which is based on more natural genetic inheritance. No algorithm can effectively control for every possible scionic outcome, nor should they strive for one. The fourteen wild cards are there to make it as random as possible. They are chosen, however, based on their education and experience, much like the management staff. Not all bunkers are alike, but the roughly have the same variety of backgrounds. There will likely be two military veterans; one of high ranking, and one of low ranking. There will be four law enforcement officers; one in a command position, one rookie, one experienced detective, and one new detective. There might be one registered nurse, a licensed practical nurse, a paramedic, an EMT, a midwife, and a doula. Lastly, it might be nice to have someone with culinary chops, and someone who is a natural born leader; perhaps an uncorrupted politician (if you can find one) or a company executive. Youngest generation wild cards are chosen by proximity to a bunker. While inheritors are closely protected by sentinels, wild card honor residents are only loosely kept track of by a group of headhunters known as the Honor Spotters. They keep a list of everyone they deem worthy of being taken to the bunkers, but add or remove honors, as new information suggests adjustment. Some in the Institute oppose these tactic, thinking that they would just be asking for something to go wrong when there are so many people they don’t know much about. Their worst resident, though, turned out to not be a wild card at all, but one of their most promising inheritors. And it would be up to the honor residents, and their honor spotter, to deal with him.

Microstory 794: Racetrack

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To say that the Amadesins are despicable people would be the understatement of the aeon. After the Old Worlds fell, the survivors of the religion—which had been increasingly losing followers for centuries—realized that their time was running out. They had one, maybe two, generations to go before their numbers were so thin, they would be considered a true alternative cult. In order to protect their traditions, they decided to hide themselves away in a higher dimension. They were obsessed with growing their army, and had had enough of trying to convince preexisting people of what they believed to be holy truths. They would just make their own people, and brainwash them right from the beginning of their short lives. Armed with technology they stole from others, they figured out how to grow humans, rather than gestate them in living mothers, which could only be done one or two at a time. Their human fields were vast, and had to be separated across new dimensions in their domain, which were collectively known as Thuriama. You could stand on a tall mountain and not see the end of it. In decades, their population rivaled some smaller galactic civilizations. Decades later, they were the largest in the universe. This had the side effect, however, of causing their lives to be incredibly dull. The old ways required a lot of work to go out and proselytize to the people. Without these jobs, they had nothing to do with their lives. They ended up concocting all sorts of untoward means of entertainment, often involving forcing their minions to humiliate themselves. But this grew boring as well, because there was no resistance. The people they had harvested felt no humiliation, for they knew no better than the cards life had dealt them. So the Thuriamen elite grew bold, and started seeking amusement beyond their dimensional home. One particular pastime involved kidnapping people, and coercing their loved ones to participate in a great transdimensional race. It was dangerous and deadly on its own, but racers who failed to win would be killed anyway, and their families would remain as slaves. Winners would also be killed, because they had zero leverage against their oppressors, and needed to  be silenced. Unfortunately for Thuriama, they made a big mistake when they abducted members of Zoey Attar and Amber Fossward’s team. This would be the last race in history, and marked a major milestone in the ultimate and final destruction of the twisted Amedesin megacult.

Microstory 793: Argine

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Argine Agliana was one of the hardest working people that anyone who knew her knew. When she was but a child, she started babysitting for families in her neighborhood. She was often not much older than the children she was charged with taking care of. As she got older, she started doing even more things for people; mowing, raking leaves, walking pets. As soon as she turned fourteen, she was old enough to find something more regular and formal, so she started out as a violin teacher at a small shop on Pebble Road. When she turned fifteen, she became a certified lifeguard. Her parents thought she would quit her first job, but she ended up doing both. Somehow, she managed to work at least two jobs throughout her entire school career. One summer, she even had four at the same time, and though she felt she was handling it, her parents forbade her from continuing like this, and made her taper that back down. By the time she graduated from college, her résumé was two pages long. Movie theatres, libraries, delivery sorting facilities, and warehouses. Sadly, though, even with all this experience, she had an incredibly difficult time finding a more mature position. She was an adult now, and had completed her studies, so it was time for a yearly salary. She had the right education to be a copyeditor, but no one would hire her. It seemed like they were all looking for experience in the industry, which she was unable to accumulate, because...well, no one would hire her without it! All those other jobs were all but pointless now. Still, she had saved up so much money from them, that she was able to stay afloat without much.

At this point in her life, she was only holding one job as a maintenance contractor, working at the best rate of pay she’d ever had, but limited to minimal shifts. This was meant to give her the extra time to dedicate to her job search, but that didn’t appear to be helping much. She was doubting her whole life’s choices, and thinking she had wasted all that time she could have spent gathering interesting and memorable experiences with friends. And then the contractor she was working for started having some legal troubles, which pushed her out of the workforce for the first time since she was seven. Worried this gap in her résumé might reflect poorly on her, Argine’s father suggested she start volunteering. “Pick a cause, and support it,” he would say. This was the best advice she could have received, especially since she had saved up so much money that she could spend an extended period of time with no revenue. She went back to her roots, and started working with underprivileged children at a nonprofit organization. Many had learning disabilities, but came from families who could not afford formal care. Her supervisor was so impressed with her that he recommended her for a paid position, of which there were very few. And this was what she did for years, until she had accrued enough contacts to start her own nonprofit, which worked to build homes for these families. She died at the age of 107 as an unsung hero, but was soon thereafter recognized by the committee responsible for granting individuals the Carina Olguin Industry Award. She kept the award on the mantel in her home in Heaven, and it was the only thing she took with her when the War came.

Microstory 792: Sharp Top

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The sharptop prairie bear is one of the rarest animals in the world. To most people’s knowledge, the prairie bear is not a bear at all, but a subspecies of the rhinoceros family. And like other rhinoceroses, it has been hunted vehemently for its horn. Unlike other rhinos, however, it is distinguished by a thick coat of fur, reminiscent of the prehistoric woolly rhino. While other conservationists are championing the protection of the other types of rhinos, few are concerned with the sharptop’s plight, and with not illogical reason. Sharptops are powerful and violent beasts, known for raiding nonthreatening camps, and rampaging against safari vehicles. They are a relative outlier in the animal kingdom in that they will attack totally unprovoked. Evolutionary biologists believe that this actually serves a purpose for survival. Though now apex predators, they were believed to have once been hunted by the giant firetigers that once roamed their lands. In order to survive, sharptops adapted their digestive system so they could consume both plants, and other animals. At some point in their development, they decided to stop eating plants, and are the only carnivorous rhino alive today. Still, the giant firetiger was spry and cunning, and continued to stalk their prey relentlessly, so the sharptop had to change again by maintaining a constant state of acute stress response. Basically, they are hyperaware of their environment, and can be set off by the slightest movement. Though their horns are relatively small, they are unique, and prized amongst poachers for how dangerous and difficult it is to procure one. And so they are an endangered species, but one that is left largely unaided by the nonprofit community. Seeing this as wrong, Algerian conservationist and veterinary pathologist, Narimane Kateb has devoted her life to curing the sharptop prairie bear’s perpetual tension. Her goal is to sway public opinion on the animal, and gather funding to improve the species’ population. And she’s almost done it.