Extremus: Year 18

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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.

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Microstory 1755: A Man Named Monoceros

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Yes, Monoceros is my real name. Yes, it’s—more or less—the same as a unicorn, which is why that’s my twin sister’s name. No, my parents were not on drugs when they had us. No, I’ve never thought about changing it, and neither has my sister. It’s not even the most interesting thing about us, but it is related. Something went wrong while we were developing in the womb, which made both of us come out with slight protrusions on our heads, reminiscent of a one-horned animal. This protrusion lessened in my sister over time, which is kind of a ripoff, because hers is already a pretty name that people don’t make fun of very much. Mine is still here. In fact, I would say it’s larger, but my parents disagree, and say that my whole head is obviously just larger than it was when I was a baby. I’ve tried to wear an afro to cover it up, but that doesn’t look great on me, and kids would just make fun of that instead. The teasing and bullying got to be so bad that we left the area completely. The same people who gave us these unusual names actually packed everything up, and moved us across state lines just so I could start over with a new strategy. I can’t figure them out either. Perhaps they secretly regret giving us such insensitive names, and have since tried to become better people. This time, they spoke with the principal before the start of my sophomore year, and told her what my situation was. Not only did she have the advantage of being able to get ahead of the bullying before it ever happened, she proved herself to be kinder, and better equipped to handle someone like me. My sister was a little in love with her because of how good she was to me, but don’t worry. This isn’t a sad or disturbing story. I might even call it uplifting.

So what did I do to keep anyone from finding out what my head looked like? I wore a hat, and I claimed it was for religious purposes. My sister wore a variation of the same design to sell the lie. All of the faculty and staff were told this as well so that only the principal knew the whole truth. People get really skittish about religion, so they didn’t question me. Occasionally, a substitute teacher would take their opportunity to yell at me for it, but there was always at least one student in the class who defended me, and called them a bigot. That usually shut them down right quick. Even with those heroes, the kids at my new high school were generally about as mean to each other as they are anywhere. Some of them teased me anyway, because my name was still Monoceros, but a lot of them thought it sounded badass, so it evened out. One girl in particular said she liked it. On my first day, before everyone had learned about my fake religious hat, she called out a group of boys who were mocking me. She didn’t know anything about me, but she instantly showed compassion, and I think I fell in love in that very moment. She was so popular, but for all the right reasons, because she was nice, so people left me alone if they were worried about displeasing her. I know, this story sounds familiar. The awkward kid falls for the hottest girl in school, and they end up together, because they end up having a lot in common. Well, that’s not what happened. We went out on what turned out to be a platonic date, and I professed my feelings. She let me down easy, and told me that she just wanted to be friends. As you can see, we’ve stayed close all these years, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s married now, and so am I. She was the one who convinced me to take off my hat forever, and be confident in myself—to be confident as myself. So what about you? How do you two know each other?

Microstory 1754: Under the Microscope

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I slam the microscope down against his head. He doesn’t even apologize now, but smiles at me, and tells me that she belongs to him, and he’ll never let her go. I hold it over him, waiting for him to give me a reason to set it back down carefully. I pick it up. I look around the room for anything to use as a weapon, but only find a microscope. Now that I have the upperhand, I take my opportunity to place my heel against his, and force him to the ground by the chest. He gets one more good shot in, but it seems to wear him out, at least for a moment. We struggle with each other, neither one strong enough to gain some kind of advantage. He thinks that will be the end of it, but he just sent me into fight or flight mode, and I always choose fight. Deciding that he would rather make the first move, he punches me in the stomach with both fists, knocking the wind out of me. Both of us realize that this argument is going nowhere, and that it’s about to get violent. We continue to argue. He doesn’t care. He won’t even admit that what he did was wrong. He won’t apologize for what he’s done. We begin to argue. I accuse him of sexual assault, and he doesn’t seem concerned. I approach him with obvious aggression, but he just sits there calmly, confident that all will turn out okay. I walk up to his lab, and open the door without asking, glad that it’s Saturday and the place is empty except for him. I step out, and try to remember why I’m here, what I’m hoping to accomplish, and how I can avoid this all getting out of hand. I stay in the car for a few minutes, afraid to actually go up there, but knowing that it’s unavoidable. I arrive at the science building.

I know that if I don’t, no one else will. I take the scenic route back, because I’m still not sure that I want to do this. Not really, but it feels like I could. I almost tear the car door off its hinges, I’m so mad. I walk out of the police station, having just been proven that justice isn’t simply blind, but actively hides from the truth. That would be ironic. I turn away in a huff, worried that I’ll be the one behind bars if I say what I really want to say to them. They say that can’t compel her. They keep their voices low, explaining that she’s old enough to answer for herself. I’m nearly at a scream now, begging them to see that she’s too young to make her own decisions. They tell me they’ll look into it if anything changes, but until then, this is how it has to be. They ignore the conjecture, and tell me that there’s nothing they can do. I tell them it shouldn’t matter; that she’s obviously just too scared of him. They tell me she’s changed her statement, and that she had every right to do so. I relay what she said to me, but they’ve already heard it. I walk in and ask to speak to someone important. I walk out of the dorm, and drive to the police station, feeling useless to do anything else. I respect her wishes, and leave her room. She asks me to leave, and I realize it’s because I’m a man, and she doesn’t need that kind of energy right now. I assure her it is, and she did the right thing. She says she wasn’t even going to tell anybody, because she isn’t certain it’s illegal. She says he didn’t touch her once. She says it was over quickly. She says she didn’t feel safe trying to get away. She says he made her watch. She says he touched himself. She says her much older ex-boyfriend came by yesterday, and locked the door behind him. She breaks down crying, not wanting to tell me, but needing to unburden herself. She doesn’t seem okay. She says she’s okay. I ask her if she’s okay. Something seems off. I drive out to visit my seventeen-year-old cousin, who is at a weeklong music camp at the college.

Microstory 1753: Mountain Table

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I have to stop and take another break. I know that I only have a few more steps to go, but I’ll topple over if I don’t take a few seconds to catch my breath. I don’t hear my master up on the mountaintop. He’s probably on the far side of it, peeing over the edge, or laughing to himself about his accomplishments, of which there are many. Technically, everything he ever did was actually done by someone else; someone like me. Don’t tell him I’m complaining, though. A single word of slight displeasure with work conditions, and he’s sending me back down this mountain the quick route, if you know what I mean. It’s what he does. He’ll take any reason he can find to kill his servant, and move on to the next one. There always is another candidate waiting, so it’s not like he has to worry about doing any actual work on his own. I wish I could thank the ones who came before me, who learned his quirks and pet peeves, so the rest of us know what to expect. I just hope the guy just before me was the last to ever make a mistake. My sister tells me it doesn’t matter, that it’s not worth it. She thinks he’ll always find a reason, but I know that he has in mind the perfect life, and if I can give that to him, he’ll reward me. He’ll reward my entire family if I go above and beyond above and beyond, and that’s why there is always someone ready to take his servant’s place. If I get this right, he won’t need another servant until I’m dead. Then maybe my grandson will take over for me. That would be a dream come true. Okay, I can keep going now. Then I’ll assemble the pieces, and be finished with this once and for all. I’m grateful he didn’t demand that I bring the whole thing up here at once. That would have been impossible, and I would have become the first in an infinite series of servants to die on our respective first days.

I keep walking, and make it all the way to the top. Then I approach the pile of parts, and carefully set the last one down next to it. It’s the largest and heaviest one. When it’s finished, this will be the largest table in all the lands. Kings, warriors, and sorcerers from all over will one day hold meetings here. Dozens of sections will fit together on top of four times as many legs. Those were the easiest to do in the grand scheme of things. He let me take as much, or as little, as I wanted, and as much time as I needed. Unfortunately, the central leg structure was custom made by a follower of his, and it was constructed as a single piece, so I couldn’t take it apart, but that’s done now, and I’m ready to move on to the next phase. I begin to fit legs under leaves, and connect them all together. It goes quite fast, and I don’t need any more breaks. I suppose what I went through to get here has made me so strong that I feel invincible. Perhaps it’s a taste of my ultimate reward. I’m so proud of myself once it’s completely complete. I didn’t make any mistakes, or have to redo anything. It’s perfect, if I do say so myself. As if he knows it’s ready, my master appears from the other side of the ridge. He takes a long time to inspect my work, making me nervous, probably on purpose. He smiles and places a warm hand on my shoulder. “You have done well. It is a magnificent table.” I smile back and thank him for the praise. He continues, “now drag it over to that side, and flip it over the edge. Follow it down, as carefully as you would like, but be at the bottom by the end of the day. If you survive, commission the carpenter to make another one just like it, and then do it all over again.” He begins the trek down the steps, and I do as I’m told. After the fourth table, I don’t make it down the mountain in time, and he kills me for it.

Microstory 1752: Lyre

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I have no idea where I am. I suppose it doesn’t matter much, as long as I can find my way back to the place with the animals and the other things. There isn’t any stuff you eat here. At least I haven’t found anything yet. I just can’t help but try. I keep thinking that there’s a chance of coming across a stockpile in the next place you go into. My wandering partner used to call that the bingpot, and then he’d laugh, but he would never explain the reference. I’m old enough to remember the world as it was before, but I must have missed that joke, wherever it was. I would ask him again, but I don’t know where he is now either. We got separated a week ago when he decided to hunt on his own. I don’t think he abandoned me, I’m sure he just got lost too. Or maybe I did. Some people lost all of their memories when it happened, but not me. According to my friend, there are different types of memory. I can’t remember what they’re called, but one of them makes it harder to recall the stuff in the world. Instead of events, we’re talking cars and plates, and whatever this thing is in the corner. See? I couldn’t even tell you, but bring someone else in here who can’t remember how to walk, and I’m sure they know exactly what it’s for. They wouldn’t be able to operate it, if it’s even something that can be operated, but they could tell you all about it. Okay, I’ll open one more brown woody thing, and then that’s it; I’m getting out of here. Something is inside. It’s a harp, I think, or some other kind of musical instrument anyway. I suppose I shouldn’t guess, since I’m not a doctor. Of course, I impulsively strum it. It sounds beautiful, even though I have no idea how to play. I can’t mess up on this thing. It must be designed for beginners.

I keep playing for a little while, and before I know it, my friend walks into the room. He’s confused, like he doesn’t even know how he got here. I ask him where he’s been all this time, but he doesn’t know, which is weird. I know what you’re thinking, how can that be weird? This whole whatever is full of whatevers who can’t remember stuff, but this guy’s different. He does get disoriented a bit sometimes, but for the most part, his head insides are intact. He could say what that thing in the corner is, he could use it, and he could recount the first time he learned. He tells me that he was in a cave when he heard music, and when he followed it, he suddenly appeared here. No way there are any caves around here, so that doesn’t make any sense. He must have lost time. Some people lose time. They didn’t forget who they were before the attack, but they suddenly wake up every once in a while and can’t remember how they got to wherever it is they are. I think people have died because they don’t remember climbing up on one of those metal hanging things they put over water. Anyway, my companion and I catch up with each other. There is not much to tell, since life is so monotonous these days, and by the end of the night, we’re singing things of strawberries and that meat that looks like something else that you wrap in that flaky golden thing. I strum on the string instrument as well, and at first we think the music has attracted other travelers, but some are from the other side of the whatever. We realize that the instrument is magic, and can conjure anything we want, presumably as long as it’s something that exists somewhere. The other people covet it, so I have to conjure tall whatevers, and spiky you-know-what-I’m-thinking-ofs to protect us. Then we run for our lives.

Microstory 1751: Spirit of the Lynx

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When I was a boy, I had no identity. All of my classmates had some kind of online persona, which represented who they were, and what they enjoyed. Their usernames reflected these attributes, be it a love for football, or all things Star Wars. I didn’t care about anything in particular, or have any special way of setting myself apart from others. I suppose that’s what it really comes down to, that I was not special. Ya know, I liked watching the news, and not because I wanted to become a reporter when I was older, but I’ve always been more interested in the goingson of real life than fiction, or other forms of entertainment. But NewsBoy1994 seemed like a dumb and boring name that I didn’t want to use. One day, I was flipping through my favorite news and documentary channels, hoping to learn something new, when I came across a nature show about the lynx, and it gave me an idea. Maybe I am a lynx. And not because of the animal’s particular behavior, or the way that they look. Maybe it’s just arbitrary. I could call it my spirit animal, and claim to others that I just really like lynxes. I felt like a fraud, but no one else appeared to have any problem with it. He likes lynxes. Whatever, doesn’t matter to me. I didn’t get ridiculed or questioned, and everything went well. Over time, these creative online identities faded away. Social media allowed you to connect directly to your friends and contacts, but also just say things for the world to absorb at will. Real life has become trendy. People can read your posts if they want to, and on their own time. Many are using real identities now, because for most, it’s the closest we’ll get to fame, and we don’t want to hide ourselves under a layer of anonymity. Our friends can’t find us if they don’t know enough about us. Even then, is PermaLynx94 the guy you’re looking for, or some random stranger who also happens to like lynxes?

I shed my lynx identity, and moved on with my life. It was a lot easier for me than for others, I imagine. Some still probably weren’t too butthurt about it, since they were no longer so obsessed with the pastimes of their youth, and were glad to grow up. I didn’t care at all, because I never really cared about lynxes. It’s probably better now that people have to look deeper than my name if they want to know who I am. I got into hiking, which is something I never thought I would do. I probably would have tried to figure out some kind of clever walking pun back in the day if I had realized who I was at a younger age. I still like the news, and don’t care for fiction. I don’t have a problem with it on principle, but I watch Star Wars, and just don’t feel a damn thing for those people. This week, I’m backpacking alone in the woods, in the freezing cold of Canada. This is where I find my zen, away from people, and all of their noises. Things are going fine until I slip on a wet rock, and over the edge of the cliff. I hang onto a root, just hoping it doesn’t give. The drop is bout about six meters down, so I’ll live, but I’ll break bones, and not be able to leave. I have to find a way to lift myself up. Now I wish I had once identified as PullupDude69. As I’m hanging there, mere moments from a slow death, a lynx trots up and stares down at me. We study each other’s eyes, and don’t move a muscle. Suddenly, I’m no longer on the brink, but in some kind of tranquil and balanced serenityscape. We watch each other for an eternity, and then my spirit animal graciously provides me with the strength I need to pull myself up, and survive.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 9, 2367

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When they returned to the timestream, all the locals were confused about where they had been for the last nine and a half months, but they were also preoccupied with a second shocking development. Shortly after their departure, another alien came down to their world from the quantum terminal. He claimed to be from a planet called Teagarden, and during the interim year, Sasha had been trying to explain to him that this was all real, instead of a video game of some kind. She thought that maybe the humans would have better luck with the clarification, though it would be best if it took place back up on the outpost. The Pluoraians didn’t need to have anything to do with this. Fortunately, she had fixed the teleporter. They escaped the hellish winterscape, hoping never to return.

“What’s your name?” Mateo asked, deciding to take lead on this interrogation.

“Hrockas. Yours?”

“Mateo and Leona Matic, Ramses Abdulrashid, Angela Walton, Olimpia Sangster. And...Sasha.”

“Sasha, I’ve met.”

“What are you doing on this planet?” Mateo went on.

“This is my planet,” Hrockas said. “I laid claim to it thirty years ago. I don’t know how you broke through my quantum restrictions, but I want you gone.”

“You didn’t tell him?” Mateo asked Sasha.

“It wasn’t my place,” Sasha replied. “I didn’t want him to commandeer it. Besides, he wasn’t listening to reason. As soon as he found out I was an android, I stuck his fingers in his ears.”

That was probably the right call on Sasha’s part. Even now, Mateo didn’t know if he should explain how it was they arrived without casting their consciousnesses using the quantum terminal. “We came in a ship.”

“That’s impossible. No one has access to lightspeed ships in the game,” Hrockas insisted.

“What game are we talking about here?” Mateo pressed. They were going to have to clear this up by starting at the beginning.

Hrockas looked at him like he was a total moron. “Umm...Quantum Colony; the game we’re literally playing right now? Ever heard of it?”

“No, I haven’t. I’m more of an RPS-101 Plus guy.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, idiot! You’re in it! That’s how we’re even talking! I want answers to a few questions. Who are you? How did you get here? What did you do to the power a few years ago? Why did you bring it back? And when the hell are you gonna get the hell out of my star system? I found it; it’s mine. If you want it, you’ll have to start a war. I don’t like your chances. I have a pretty good army down there, and they’re all loyal to me!”

“The people down there never once mentioned a Hrockas,” Leona pointed out.

“Well, they don’t know me by name. The creators will kick me out of the game if I break First Contact protocols.”

“Why do they care if it’s just a game?” Mateo asked.

Hrockas shrugged. “I dunno, they have their reasons. Any player who finds an inhabited world has to follow more strict rules. Everybody knows this.”

This reminded Mateo of the time they had to convince a couple of scientists that The Parallel was a fully real reality, and not just an incredibly elaborate simulation. Something told him that Hrockas wasn’t going to be swayed by the same evidence. They needed help figuring that out, and to do that, they needed more information. “Sasha, could you please find out what this Quantum Colony thing is?”

“Accessing,” Sasha said.

“Anyone else heard of it?” No one had. “Leona?” He singled out specifically. “Ramses? No?”

They shook their heads again in confirmation.

Sasha began to regurgitate the information, “Quantum Colony is a stellar neighborhood-wide role-playing immersion game that takes place as far into the galaxy from Gatewood as any interstellar ship has been capable of reaching since the launch of Project Stargate in the year 2250. Players are expected to solve math equations to seek out new worlds that have been settled upon by quantum outposts. Once they cast their avatars to these systems, they are free to establish territory, build new structures, conduct research, initiate relations with other players and their worlds, and in a select few cases, carefully foster a native population of humans, aliens, or source variants.

“Leona?” he asked again simply.

“Well, I knew they were still trying to figure out what the hell they were going to do with all the data that Project Stargate and Project Topdown sent back, but we never found out the answer. There are hundreds of billions of star systems out there. I suppose one way to synthesize that data would be to...crowdsource it.”

“But they’re lying to the players,” Olimpia noted with airquotes. “They don’t think it’s real. That’s so unethical. I mean, what if a player starts a war, or something, thinking there are no consequences?”

They looked to Leona again, who still wasn’t sure what the solution would be. “I mean, I didn’t know anyone on Teagarden knew about Project Stargate, let alone had access to it. I can’t imagine that Team Keshida would have authorized something like this. They’re kind of all about secrecy. Ramses, you didn’t hear any whispers about the game?”

“They never said a word,” he answered honestly.

Leona looked at Hrockas. “Why do you think you’re in a simulation? How can you possibly not be able to tell that your consciousness is being actually cast to a base reality location?”

“They said it was designed to feel authentic,” Hrockas said, starting to get worried. “Are you being serious? We’re on a real planet?”

“Well, we’re on an asteroid,” Mateo said, “but yeah, it’s real. We came here in a real ship, and we’ve never heard of the game until now.”

Hrockas averted his gaze from the group, seeking guidance maybe from his god of choice. “I had sex with those people.”

“Excuse me?”

“I thought it was a simulation! Everybody does it. I flew down there in secret, blended in, and interacted with some of the people. Like my real one, this substrate is partially organic, so I still have needs. I mean, it was consensual, though, I didn’t claim to have any power over them. It was just two people, sometimes three or four—”

“Okay, we don’t need the details, thank you.”

Hrockas shook his head in utter despair. “Why would they do this? I guess it would be fine if they locked out all populated worlds, but...some of the others have life; they just don’t have evolved and intelligent life. That can’t be right either.”

“Far be it for any of us to successfully debate such nuanced ethical considerations,” Leona said.

“Who’s them that did this?” Olimpia questioned. “Who on Teagarden would we need to speak to? Is there, like, a company?”

“We don’t have companies anymore, but there is a governing organization,” Hrockas disclosed. “If not all of the members know the truth, at least a portion of them do. If I screw up, a moderator knows, and threatens my account. I bet my moderator is aware.”

“How do we contact them?” Mateo asked.

“Pretty easy,” Hrockas said as he was walking over to one of the base model pods. He reached behind it, and they could hear beeping noises. Then he physically separated the pod from its place, which revealed a second pod in a recess in the wall. It wasn’t a base model, but a unique individual. He flipped a switch from red to green.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, the body woke up, and opened the glass hatch. The apparent moderator climbed out, and oriented herself. She studied the crowd watching her intently. “Hrockas, what did you do?”

“They say this isn’t a game,” he said to her in an accusing tone. “They say this is a real planet, with real people on it.”

She took a beat before responding, surely trying to decide if there was some way for her to maintain the lie, even after all this. There wasn’t. The proverbial cat was out of the bag. She looked up at the clock in the corner of the room. “Time of veil removal, zero-sixteen on March 9, 2367 Earthan Standard. I’ll have to return to Teagarden to give them the news: Phase I is officially over.”

“Screw your return,” Mateo raised his voice a little. “We want answers. What ever gave you the right to treat these people like NPCs?”

The mod breathed in deeply, and fluttered her lips as she exhaled. “Are you kidding me right now? The whole purpose of Project Stargate and Operation Starseed is to run one giant interstellar social experiment. The fact that we’re observing our subjects should come as no surprise to anyone. We always knew the double blind study would end, and transition to a blind study, and then later end completely. We just didn’t know when. Your arrival in apparent physical form has made that day today. Now I have to go back to Teagarden to tell my superiors about this.”

“No, you’re not doing that at all,” Leona argued. “I know how this goes. Your bosses will decide that the experiment hasn’t actually ended, as long as no one here tells anybody else.”

“We’re not murderers,” the mod argued.

“Perhaps you would not see is as murder. Perhaps you wouldn’t have to kill, but exile us to an expendable planet, and destroy the terminal behind us.”

“Don’t give them any ideas, love,” Mateo warned.

“True.”

“Just so I’m understanding you right,” the mod began, “you’re refusing to allow me to return to Teagarden, and are instead holding me hostage.”

“You’re not a hostage,” Leona contended. “No, we can’t let you go, but we’re not going to use you as a bargaining chip. We don’t even know if they care about you. It’s entirely possible that they’ll scrub the entire solar system, including you, to cover this up. We just don’t have enough information about who you people are. We are close friends with the two individuals who oversaw the automated construction of the seeder ships. We know they did it for the Earthan government at the time, but also that not everyone was privy to the truth. Until we speak to them, no one is going anywhere.”

“I can’t imagine that they’re involved in this,” Mateo noted.

“I don’t understand how they could possibly not know,” Ramses negated.

“Sasha?” Leona asked. “Figure out how to get me into one of those pods, and cast my mind to Gatewood. I’m going to speak with them directly.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Ramses, I’m going to need you to stay here, so you can monitor systems from this end. Sasha, it’s not that I don’t trust you, but...”

“But you don’t trust me,” Sasha finished. “I understand. You can’t offend me, Aunt Leona.”

“I’m going too,” Mateo decided. “I think I know the two of them better than you.”

“Indeed,” Leona admitted. “Sasha?”

“Two pods, coming right up.”

It was a lot more difficult than Sasha presumed. The pods themselves were easy, but locating the quantum signature for their target was a bit more involved. A ship traveling at relativistic speeds made the calculations exponentially more complex. Even a reframe engine would throw them off. The first step was figuring out that that was what was happening in the first place. Apparently, the centrifugal cylinders were no longer orbiting Barnard’s Star at all, but on the move to a new destination. In the end, however, she figured it out, and got it working. Leona and Mateo entered the pods, and cast their consciousnesses to Cylinder One, which was evidently somewhere in the middle of interstellar space.

A technician greeted them on the other side, and helped them acclimate to their new environment. This wasn’t the first time they switched substrates, but it was still a little jarring, since they were using a different technique, which maintained their connection to their real bodies. The time difference made it even weirder. Once they were ready, they demanded to see Team Keshida, but the tech shook her head. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. We’ve not seen either of them in almost ninety years.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Leona said. “Ramses spoke with them a couple of years ago.”

“Perhaps they were communicating across time,” the tech suggested.

“No, they made reference to something that occurred a couple of years prior.”

“Did they say they were still in the Collective? Because...we weren’t. We left Gatewood almost as long ago.”

“Where are you going?” Mateo asked.

“Torosia,” he answered.

“Never heard of it.”

“I have,” Mateo said. “They used to call it Durus.”

The tech nodded. “We’ve chosen to join forces, and develop a new society of human outcasts.”

“Have you ever heard of something called Quantum Colony?” Leona asked her.

“Is that a band, errr...?”

“All right. Well, thank you for your hospitality, but we’re going to have to cut this short.” She looked to her husband. “We’ll strategize with the team, but I’m pretty sure our next stop will have to be Teagarden.”

They only spent a few minutes on the cylinder, but almost the whole day passed for their team on the outpost, because the Gatewooders were traveling at relativistic speeds. Teagarden would have to wait until next year. It would be up to Sasha to make sure Hrockas or the moderator didn’t try any funny business in the meantime.

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Extremus: Year 17

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The ship has been running smoothly for the last two years, though they remain short one Omega, and one Valencia. One thing that Ovan never counted on was the fact that Halan would be onto his plans, and thwart him at every turn. What Ovan wants is to create a divide between the passengers and the crew, and not really because of any particular hatred he has for people who are in service of others, but because those are the two most obvious camps on the vessel. Had he grown up on Earth, he likely would have done the same thing between organic humans and mechs, and on Ansutah, he would have incited premature war against the Maramon. He wants to create a stir—but not chaos—inside of a complex dynamic that puts him at the center of everything. No matter what happens; no matter who wins this conflict, he’ll be recorded in the ship’s logs as the primary historical figure. He knows he won’t live long enough to reach the Extremus planet, but if students one day learn about him, it’ll be like he survived. That’s what he really wants out of life, to be remembered, and if Halan is going to come out on top, he has to find a way to make Ovan think he’s achieved that without actually giving anything up.

He’s back in Perran’s office. This is their pattern, apparently, where the Captain seeks guidance from the Admiral only every several years. In the meantime, he’s supposedly just been rotting down here. There’s no rule against him mingling with the rest of the crew, or the guests, but he rarely does. The now pretty old man is tapping on the rim of his glass. He doesn’t act like an alcoholic. He gives Halan the impression that he pours one glass in the morning, and sips on it throughout the entire day. “I do have an idea, but you’re not gonna like it.”

“I...would not expect to,” Halan replies.

“A long time ago, on Earth there was a politician. I don’t remember his name, I’m sure the history warped his story anyway. No one took books to Ansutah, so everything was word of mouth until our ancestors could write things down again. So forgive me if you’ve heard this one, and know more about it than I do. But here’s how it was told to me. There was a politician,” he repeats. “He didn’t care about other people. He helped pass laws that supported the rich people who gave money to his campaign.  He had a weirdly open philosophical stance. He, for whatever reason, hated people with disabilities. People in wheelchairs, seeing-eye dogs, and the like. He didn’t simply not worry about making sure they were okay. He actively worked against their best interests, always trying to take money from programs that would help them, and reallocating it to those rich friends. I don’t know how he kept getting elected since he was such a clearly repulsive person. I suppose it was all that money.

“Anyway, one day, this unnamed politician gets into a land vehicle accident. He’s paralyzed from the waist down; has to sit in a wheelchair. Oh, suddenly these public welfare programs don’t seem so ridiculous. He does a complete one-eighty, and starts trying to make his life easier by requiring ramps be installed at certain facilities, and demanding car companies do more research on accessible operating technologies. He didn’t become a saint overnight, mind you. His priorities changed, because his own circumstances changed. He remained the kind of politician whose only concern was himself. Still, even though the only reason he switched platforms was to help himself, the results were the same. Businesses had to install ramps to accommodate all of their customers, and hand-operated cars were better than they were before. Everyone benefited because this asshole became one of them. So, Captain, that’s what you’ll have to do if you want to stop Ovan Teleres from turning the passengers against you. To stop him from taking the ship from you, you have to give it to him.”

“I have to make him one of the crew?” Halan asks, knowing the answer.

“You don’t have to do anything, but his platform will disappear from under him if he becomes one of the people he hates so much. He can’t convince others to rise up if he too lives on the top of the hill.”

Halan sighs, and can’t believe he’s actually considering this. “A member of the passenger government can’t be part of the crew.”

“Bonus,” Thatch says. “He can’t campaign for a third shift.”

“What role would I give him?” Halan presses. “I can’t give him power, because he’ll still do bad things with it, but if I make him a janitor, then he won’t really feel like he’s won.”

“What are your Lieutenant’s responsibilities?”

“I’m not making him my Lieutenant, that would be absurd. Mercer has been great, and Ovan certainly doesn’t deserve that. I just said he can’t have power.”

“I never said you should give him Mercer’s job. What are his responsibilities?”

“Well, he’s first line of defense for me. He responds to conflicts, and brings me in when they can’t resolve themselves.”

“He has power, right?”

“Yes, he can put people on suspension, or even in hock. He can alter work schedules, change a passenger’s living conditions, and give orders, to a certain degree.”

Thatch nods, pretending that this is all news to him. “Sounds like a busy man.”

“It’s the hardest job on the ship. Mine is considered more difficult because of the pressure of being in charge, but as far as day-to-day work goes, he definitely has more to do.”

Thatch nods again. “You know that I was on the committee that formed the structure of the ship’s crew, right?”

“Obviously. That’s why they selected you for this job.”

“What you may not know is that the original plan was to give you two people; one on your right, one on your left. The idea was to have a coordinator who responded to issues without being able to do anything about them themselves. If necessary, they would run it up the chain, and let the real Lieutenant make decisions. You were never meant to even be this involved, but in the end, we decided that this was unnecessary. It made the captain’s seat far too cushy, and kind of pointless. Still, we didn’t just make the lieutenant the captain, and the second lieutenant the only lieutenant. All of the second lieutenant’s duties were absorbed into the one lieutenant position, and the captain became more accessible to the crew, which is what has made your job busier.”

“Okay...” Halan says. “So you’re suggesting we vote to make a new second lieutenant rank?”

Thatch smiles and shakes his head. “You don’t have to vote. The framework for the second lieutenant is written into the bylaws. You can institute it whenever you want, unilaterally. You can give Ovan that rank without asking anybody for permission, and that rank will look like power, but not actually come with any power. Mercer would still have to be called in if the situation demanded disciplinary action, or some other decision.”

“How long is the second lieutenant shift?”

Thatch leans back, and acknowledges a problem. “Well, see, that’s the thing. It’s a sixteen year stint, designed to promote a little bit of continuity when the captain and first lieutenant both retire at the same time. That’s in the bylaws too, and you would not be able to change it without a crew vote. I wouldn’t recommend doing that, though, because then Ovan would sniff out your deceptive plan.”

“I just don’t know if I can bring myself to force Ovan Teleres upon the next captain.”

“You would still be there, to help them, like I’m helping you right now.”

“Well, if Second of Nine comes to me with their problems as infrequently as I come to you, then that probably won’t be good enough.”

Thatch takes the first sip he’s had since Halan came in. “Believe me, I know it, brother. There is a possible way to social engineer that problem away too, but you’re not gonna like it any more than my last idea.”

Halan chuckles and shakes his head. “What would that be?”

“Bring me into the light.”

“What does that mean?”

“An admiral can’t do anything without the captain’s invitation. If you put me on the bridge, and give me a fake job, it will set a precedent. Second of Nine will be more likely to do the same for you. Maybe even more so, since you have actual experience with their job.”

“Is this what you’ve been vying for, a job?”

“Yes it’s all part of my evil plan to assume control of the lights. You know that’s there, right? There’s a person on the bridge whose entire job is to make sure the internal lighting system doesn’t waste energy. That could all be automated with simple infrared sensors, but we chose to use a human. And do you know why we did that?”

“No, Perran, why?”

“So that you could assign that role to the dumbest person on the crew, which gives you one opportunity per shift to avoid firing someone without giving them any chance to fuck up anything important.”

“So you wanna be the lights guy?”

“It’s not for me, it’s for you.”

“Sure, yeah, sure.”

“The second captain won’t make you the lights guy. They’ll give you something meaningful, which keeps you in their ear, which is what you’re looking for. I know you don’t need much help from me, but your successor will quite likely need help from you. Isn’t giving me the lights worth the confidence you’ll have that you did everything you could to make yourself a real admiral?”

“Just to recap, you want to be the Lighting Technician, and you want one of the greatest threats to the prosperity of this ship to be Second Lieutenant of the crew?”

“Well, when you say it in that voice, it makes me sound like an ass.”

“It’s not the voice.”

“Ha-ha.”

“I’m gonna talk to Mercer about this.”

“I would hope so.”

“I’ll also be consulting with the Consul to make sure everything is legal.”

“Seems reasonable.”

“If this is some trick...”

Thatch looks genuinely offended by the accusation. “One day, Captain.” He stands up, and downs the rest of his drink. “One day you’ll see that you can trust me. And that will be the day that I died.” He then walks out of the office, and into his cabin.

Halan isn’t going to do anything if his real lieutenant, Eckhart Mercer isn’t okay with it. Like he was saying, his is the hardest job, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like it, or doesn’t want to keep it the way it is. He won’t force anything upon him, but he will still try to convince him that this is the right call. They’ve been dealing with Ovan for the last five years, and haven’t come up with any better ideas in that time. He sits his best friend down, and lays out the plan.

Mercer widens his eyes, and breathes in deeply, but it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking. “Oh my God, yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes! Why didn’t we think of this before? He can’t turn people against us if he’s one of us, of course! Plus, it will give me more time to play Quantum Colony.”

“Is that a band, errr?”

“It’s a role-playing video game that’s based on the whole galaxy. You start out on Teagarden, where your avatar has been given access to a quantum terminal, which will allow you to cast your consciousness to any world that has a Project Stargate outpost on it already. At this point in history, that’s only thirty-six light years from Gatewood, but it’s always expanding. Everyone on the ship is playing it, you’ve never heard of it?”

“What do you do when you get to these planets?”

“You explore, and you build structures, and sometimes you even have a population to take care of. But that’s pretty rare, and players who find those worlds are pretty protective of them. It operates in realtime, so not much has happened yet, but you can communicate with other planets, and establish diplomatic relations. Theoretically, you could also start a war, but I’ve never heard of any interstellar wars.”

“Hm. I don’t think that’s my kind of thing.”

“Well, I’m obsessed with it. Don’t worry, it doesn’t eat into my responsibilities, but honestly, I could do with a little more downtime. I think the second lieutenant rank is a great idea, whether we give it to our enemy, or not.”

“If you’re cool, then I’m gonna talk to Legal.”

“Definitely. Do you want me to come with you?”

Halan squints at him with suspicion. “I feel like you really just want to play Quantum Colony instead?”

“Not gonna lie, Captain.”

“Very well. At ease.”

Now they have a goal, but they don’t have a real plan. In order to pull this off, they’re going to have to strategize. That will take time.

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