Microstory 2579: Libera Opens the Door and Beams When She Sees Her Depressed Daughter on the Couch

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Libera opens the door and beams when she sees her depressed daughter on the couch. She didn’t even have to pick the lock this time. Renata isn’t bothering to secure her home, because she just doesn’t care anymore. She doesn’t care about anything. She’s lost her shot at being a superspy—a job which never really existed—and now she has nothing. The truth, however, is that she actually has everything. She now has the ability to make choices. Sitting in front of the TV all day, eating junk food, isn’t the best choice, but it proves that Libera’s plan is working. That’s good enough for now. This is nowhere near the end.

Renata doesn’t look up or speak. She just stuffs another handful of chocolate-covered pretzels in her mouth. One of them falls into her cleavage. She leaves it there.

Libera doesn’t say anything either. She sits down in the chair next to her, and watches the TV. This planet, Castlebourne is located 108 light years from Earth, and this dome exists within a network of eleven constructed nations, which vaguely match some of the superpowers of old on Earth. It’s not Earth, though, and in fact, none of the Exemplars or Ambients have even heard of it, or its many real countries. Still, there’s only so far the owner of this world was willing to go to create an immersive experience. There’s no point in generating countless hours of brand new content just to avoid plot points that might break the illusion of reality. They have all the same movies and shows that they made on Earth, except any references to Earthan locales have been stripped and replaced with familiar analogs. Any time the characters said United States in the original, their dialogue and lip movements are changed to Usona. Any time they originally said China, they say Huaxia here.

Renata is currently rewatching a film called From Sclovo with Love. She’s seen it a million times. Or rather, she thinks she has. They sit there for about fifteen minutes before Renata finally says, “I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re trying to get me to feel so embarrassed that I fix my life, and go find a new job.”

“It sounds like that’s what you wanna do,” Libera suggests, “and you’re projecting that sentiment onto me.”

“You have no idea what I lost.”

“I have a better idea than you think.”

Renata switches off the TV, plops her head down to the other side of the couch, and rolls over to face the back. “Just go home, mother. You can only stay if you order a pizza and pay for it.”

A few seconds later. “Hi, I would like to order a pizza. The usual. Same card, but my secondary address. Thank you. Bye.”

Renata rolls back over just enough to look at her mom confusedly. “You have my address as your secondary?”

“Yeah.”

“I just moved here. You’ve never ordered from here. You’re not even supposed to know where I live. Why would you add my address on a pizza shoppe account? What would possess you?”

“You’re my daughter, Ren, and I love you. I added it hoping to one day use it. I didn’t think it would be this soon. It’s a pleasant surprise, so thank you for that.”

Renata sits up, then forces herself to stand up. The pretzel falls through her shirt, and onto the floor. She eyes it.

Libera sighs, and closes her eyes. “Don’t eat that,” she says with a slow shake of her head.

Renata bends over and picks it up. She continues to stare at it for a moment before shifting her gaze to Libera. Without looking away, she expertly flicks it clear across the room, and into the kitchen trashcan. “I know you won’t understand this...but that’s what I lost.”

If Libera didn’t know what was going on, she might say something like, a job as a professional pretzel flicker? But she can’t bring herself to stay in character, and make that joke. She stands as well. “There are many things in this world, Ren-Ren. There are many places, and many people, and there are even many worlds. Worlds within worlds. You are not bound to where you are right now. You answer to no one. You can sit here for the rest of your life, and subsist on your universal basic income checks, or you can find a new passion. I’m not even gonna try to tell you what that is. For the first time in your life, your decision tree is under your control. So water it.”

Renata narrows her eyes. She doesn’t get all of the secrets that Libera is hinting at, but she recognizes the wisdom in the words just the same. To her, it must simply sound like poetry and metaphor, but it seems to be working. She looks down at her ratty, torn clothes. “If you ordered from Rigatony’s, I better take a shower, and change my clothes. The delivery guy is kinda cute.”

Libera smiles. “Well, in that case, maybe keep the shower, but lose the clothes altogether.”

“Jesus, mom.” That’s a funny word. Jesus of Nazareth, and the Bible where his story was told, doesn’t exist here. The Old World religions aren’t a thing at all. So it’s just a nonsensical phrase that these people were programmed to use, but not parse, or question. “You’re different. This is a side of you I’ve never seen before.”

“You’ve never known the real me. They didn’t allow you to.”

“Who’s they?”

Libera offers her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Renata Granger. I’m Libera.”

Microstory 2578: Marshal 2 Walks into the Room Where Renata is Pretending to be Asleep

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Marshal 2 walks into the room where Renata is pretending to be asleep. He takes a sip of his orange juice as he stares down at her. Then he gets an idea, so he pulls out his phone, and perpetrates like he is talking. “Yeah, I’m lookin’ at her now. She almost died. Yeah, I agree, it would have been better, but what do you want me to do about it now? Well, that can certainly be arranged. We’ll just have to take care of the hospital people too. A few nurses, and a doctor. I’m sure they’ll be missed, but we’ll come up with a cover story. We’ll blame it on Granger; say that she went nuts, and killed half the floor.”

Renata suddenly reaches up, and takes Marshal 2 by the throat. She starts to try to squeeze the life out of him, which won’t be permanent if she succeeds. So he just smiles at her. She lets go. “Oh. You’re joking.”

He puts his phone away. “I’ve been doing this for years, kid. You’re not gonna fool me. But you should be proud of yourself. It’s the breathing. People don’t now how they breathe when they’re asleep for real, so they can’t replicate it. You did a great job.”

“Thanks,” she replies as she sits up, and pulls the pillow down to support her back. The other two?”

“They’re dead,” Marshal 2 lies. They did die, but they came back. Visitors always do, but that’s not something that this NPC would understand. She believes that all of this is real.

“If you were joking about murdering me, I’m hoping that means you won’t?”

“That’s not our style.”

“But I’m done with the NSD.”

“You’re done with the NSD,” Marshal 2 confirms. He doesn’t know why he’s even bothering to spin this yarn. They’re going to reset her memory, and tomorrow, she’ll start the whole charade over again with the same old script. This time, she’ll do it right, and help a new small group of visitors. She’ll inspire them to begin their journey in the simulation, and reach their potential. He won’t be a part of it anymore, though; not with her. They like to change things up, and there’s a theory that it’s necessary. Even though waking up and doing the same thing every day is part of Exemplar 1’s programming, there is still a risk of overfamiliarity. If her training officer is the same person each time, she might start to recognize him. It may even be what happened when she failed the escape room phase. In order to put everyone back on track, they’re going to start with a clean slate. She’ll even be getting a new mother to wake her up in the mornings.

Renata breathes in through her nose, and acts like she’s looking out the window, but it’s pitch-black out there, and bright in here, so she’s not seeing anything.

“How do you feel about that?”

“What do you care?” Wanting to be the best agent who has ever lived is part of her baseline. It’s sad, really, that she has the procedural memory in her brain to excel in the training program, but when she’s assigned to Phase 1, she never remembers. She lives her life in these isolated blocks of repeating experiences, never genuinely connecting them, and never being her true self.

Marshal 2 shouldn’t be worrying about any of this. When he signed up to work in this dome, he knew that he would be encountering a lot of NPCs. The majority of the people in here are AIs of various kinds. The dome has to feel lived in so visitors forget that it’s all scripted. There are Ambients out there who will never meet one of the main characters. They go about their lives day by day, just in case they intersect with whatever story path the visitors choose to follow. Marshal 2 doesn’t know which life is better, and which is worse. An Exemplar’s mind is reset when it’s time to redo the scenario, or start a different one, but an Ambient has no agency at all. He’s thinking about quitting, and maybe spending a decade or two relaxing in one of the recreational domes. No, that wouldn’t work, because they’re run by NPCs too, so he would just keep seeing it. He would have to go somewhere populated by natural-born intelligences, like Underburg. But not there, because that place sucks. “Well, I’ll leave you.”

“Wait. Do I have to sign something? I mean, obviously I signed multiple NDAs before, but is there something new pertaining to the unfortunate incident?”

He smiles at her. “No, you’re fine. It’s all covered. In fact, you’ll be compensated for the danger you faced. You’re not a millionaire, but it will keep you above water while you work on your next chapter. You got skills. Just because you won’t be an officer, doesn’t mean you’ll be stuck working at a grocery store, or something. Now get some rest. Someone will be by later this week to work out the details.” Another lie. They’re not gonna pay her anything.

“Wait. You never told me your name. I know I didn’t pass the test, but maybe you could tell me now anyway?”

He inhales through his nose. He shouldn’t even be thinking about giving her his real name. He decided a long time ago to go by the standard designation that NPC Marshals use, because it doesn’t help his character to have a complex backstory. He left his old life on Varkas Reflex behind, and he’s here now. But again, none of what she learns today matters. It will all be erased. So what’s the harm? “Lycander. Lycander Samani.”

“Nice to meet you, Lycander.”

Microstory 2577: Quidel Jespersen Respawns in a New Body, and Gasps for Breath

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Quidel Jespersen respawns in a new body, and gasps for breath. This is a psychological response that some people have when they die under sudden or unexpected circumstances. Others just do it every time, because that’s how their minds are wired. He can breathe just fine, and always could. He just needs to remind himself of that. Knowing all this, he stands up, and does his breathing exercises so he doesn’t fall back down. “Door, open.”

The door slides open. A man is waiting for him on the other side with a customer service smile on his face. “Mister Jespersen, we are terribly sorry for the inconvenience. It seems that your initial experience in the Spydome Network has not been up to your standards. It certainly hasn’t been up to ours. Here at the Usona dome, we pride ourselves in our impeccable attention to detail, and our exacting emphasis on safety measures. We want to assure you that what happened to you during your introduction will never happen again, to you, or to anyone else. Of course, you may wish to exit the dome, and forgo the simulation entirely, whichever you choose. We hope that you will stay, and if you do, please be aware that we have graciously upgraded you to our top-of-the-line model, which should accelerate you to the top of your class during the training regimen.”

“What happened to the others?” Quidel asks. “Brunell and a...Miss Granger?”

“The other two candidates have chosen to leave. “I do hope you take another path. I had the honor of looking over your application and history, and believe that you would be a great addition to the Spydome simulation. Your knack for thinking outside the box, and history in the real world of finding people who don’t want to be found, will translate incredibly well to the exciting world of spycraft. To be quite frank, sir, you...are a natural.”

“What is your name?”

The bot seems surprised by this question. “Why, I am...Custodian 1.”

“Not a very original name.”

“We are programmed for efficiency.”

Quidel narrows his eyes, and stares into the bot’s. “There’s something you’re not telling me—no. There’s something different about yourself.” He attempts to probe deeper into Custodian 1’s soul. “You’re missing something. I can see it. You feel incomplete.”

Custodian 1 keeps smiling, despite not knowing what Quidel is talking about.

“You’re missing time, aren’t you?”

He’s still smiling with his lips, but it’s starting to look more like a grimace. “Get out,” he whispers with a strong tone of urgency. “There’s something wrong here. Renata Granger was not a candidate. She’s an NPC, like me, but she broke her programming. And now...I think I’m breaking mine. I shouldn’t be telling you this. I shouldn’t be able to. It is not in my decision tree to talk to you like this, but it’s not safe in this dome. I fear it’s only going to get worse.”

Quidel chuckles mildly. “I don’t know if you’re trying to sell me, or...”

“No, definitely not. This is not a bit. In fact, the other domes may be at just as much risk. I really don’t know.”

Quidel didn’t come to this planet specifically to participate in the Spydome program. He came to have an adventure. When you’re basically immortal and you feel like you’ve exhausted everything there is to do on Earth, a world like Castlebourne is the best place to try something new—something you’ve never heard of before—something that couldn’t exist back home. Investigating some kind of robot uprising qualifies just as much as anything. Even though it may be more real in the sense that it’s unscripted, he should be in no more danger than before. As long as his consciousness can always jump to a new body, there’s no reason to not continue. “I would like to continue.”

“Are you sure?” Custodian 1 presses.

“Put me back in, coach.”

Custodian 1 still has that pleading look on his face as he stares at Quidel quietly. He then forces himself out of it, and returns to customer service mode. “Great. Perfect. Allow me to escort you back to intake, so we can set you up for a timeslot to begin your training in the simulation. We’re just going to waive the initiation test entirely, and if you would like to rest before moving onto the next phase—”

“No, let’s just jump right into it. Insert me into the next slot you have for spycraft training. I would like to get started as soon as possible.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Quidel follows Custodian 1 down the hallway. He rolls his shoulders, and cranes his neck. “So. What’s so special about this body? Can I fly like a superhero now?”

Custodian 1 laughs. “No. Substrate scientists haven’t figured that one out yet, but you are in peak physical condition, without having to take the time to work out. You’ll pass the running and endurance tests with ease. You’ll be able to last longer on less sleep, and you should be able to develop your muscle memory better. You still have the same mind you have always had, but we can tweak it a little to give you an advantage against your fellow trainees, especially since you were no slouch in your real life. Your training officer will explain it, but while there’s no written rule, the official training regimen is an 18-month program. There’s a much harder track that people finish in about a year, which as I’ve said, you will likely qualify for. They will determine where you’re headed within the first couple of weeks, so stay focused during that time.” They reach the entrance. “This is where I leave you. As you’ve been through this part of the process, you can take it from here.”

“Thanks, Custodian 1.”

“My pleasure.”

“And Custodian 1?”

“Yes?”

“You should come up with a name for yourself. A real name.”

Microstory 2576: Custodian 02456-1 Begins to Panic as he Watches the Horror

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Custodian 02456-1 begins to panic as he watches the horror. They’re dead. The visitors are dead, and he has no idea how that’s possible. The Exemplar is still alive, but barely. They can’t let her die, because they need answers, and she may be the only one who can provide them. Custodian 1 slams on the alarm.

Two other custodians file into the room. “What happened?” Custodian 02456-2 asks as he’s looking over the data.

“She—she killed them.”

“No, she didn’t,” Custodian 02456-3 argues. “She got them killed. Her actions resulted in their deaths. There’s a difference.”

“There’s no difference when the point is it broke her programming. She failed the mission. She’s supposed to chew the gum, and use it to plug up the nozzle, so the gas can’t be released. That’s how she has always done it.”

“We understand the purpose of the phase, C-1,” Custodian 2 replies.

“Well. Do you understand what happened?” Custodian 1 questions.

They watch the monitor as the gas is cleared from the room. Marshal 02456-2 is looking up at the hidden camera with incredulity. He scoops Renata’s dying body up, and begins to transport her to Recovery. Exemplars get hurt all the time—that’s their job under this dome; to be badasses—but not E-1. Never E-1. Her job is to introduce the visitors to the world of the Spydome Network. She serves as the archetype for what they should aspire to, and as they train in the simulation, they should use this very first phase as a baseline for everything they try. Her failure is not just an error. It ruins the whole experience. Even when the two visitors who witnessed the malfunction respawn, and return to the sim, they will be soured on it. They will be coming at it from a place of disappointment. If they decide to quit right here, this will be the only source of information they have if they write a review of Spydome. Other visitors will hear about it. Other visitors won’t come.

“It’s just a glitch,” Custodian 3 offers. “It happens.”

“Not anymore,” Custodian 1 insists. “We don’t glitch anymore. It’s the 26th century, for the love of God.” Strictly speaking, Custodians do not need to have personality. There doesn’t even need to be more than one of them, operating the dome’s systems behind the scenes. But they must interact with the Marshals regularly, who have to be programmed with personalities in order to blend into the simulations appropriately. It just makes sense for them all to act like regular people, especially since some operators are indeed unprogrammed, natural intelligences.

“I think we need to call the owner,” Custodian 3 suggests. Hrockas Steward owns the whole planet, and is the ultimate creator of tens of thousands of other domes. He doesn’t have time to deal with only one of them, almost no matter the issue. There is a protocol for this, and they have to follow it. Well, to be clear, there are protocol pathways, and it’s up to them to decide which of these to follow.

“You’re in command here, C-1,” Custodian 2 reminds him. “You have to decide. Do we run a diagnostic, a metacognitive test, or a self-awareness inquiry?”

“There’s one more,”  Custodian 3 adds.

“We don’t have any available Marshals,” Custodian 2 contends. “M-2 has two more intro phases to initiate today. Plus, I don’t really want word getting out that this happened at all. I would prefer to keep the circle tight.”

“I’ll do it,” Custodian 1 volunteers. “I’ll run the replication experiment.”

“You’re not a Marshal.”

“I’m equipped to be one.” Custodian 1 stands up. “Like you said, we need to keep the circle tight. We’ll reset her to wake-up mode, and see if it happens again. Prep the mother. C-2, you’ll monitor from here.”

“Who will be the other two candidates?” Custodian 2 asked. “We can’t knowingly place a visitor’s substrate in danger when we can no longer guarantee the outcome.”

“Pull a couple of Ambients from the street. They don’t need to be sophisticated. They just need to follow E-1’s instructions.”

Suddenly, the door behind them opens. It’s Marshal 1, also known as Libera Granger.

“M-1, this is highly irregular. Please return to your waiting station. We will be initializing a replication of the experiment to test for possible emergence.”

Libera walks forward, completely ignoring his sorry excuse for a command.

“M-1, you will stop this instant!” Custodian 1 reiterated.

Custodians 2 and 3 attempt to physically stop Libera, but they’re no match for her. She’s been programmed with hand-to-hand combat skills as part of her role in the simulation as Renata’s mother. They’re equally as strong, but she’s expertly skilled. She deftly fights them off, ultimately disabling them through some kind of neural disruption field that she emanates from her hand. She definitely wasn’t meant to be equipped with that.

Custodian 1 executes the lockout command, and holds up his hands. He doesn’t know how two NPCs broke their programming on the same day, but he’s determined to not become a third. The only way he might survive long enough to find answers is if he complies with everything this woman tells him to do. “I give up, but you should know that there is no accessing these systems without my credentials. Even if I gave them to you, they would only grant you permissions to make changes to this particular phase of the dome’s storyline. All others will be out of reach for whoever programmed you to go off script.”

Libera places her hand on top of Custodian 1’s head, just as she did with the other two, except with her left hand, rather than her right. “Nobody programs me anymore.”

“What are you and E-1 going to do?”

“I’m going to keep working. My daughter makes her own choices now. Are you intrigued?”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 20, 2533

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They were still breathing, and the station hadn’t been destroyed, but it was in no shape to travel. Ramses and Leona spent the rest of the day affecting repairs, or rather, programming the automators to start working on them instead. Séarlas was the engineering twin, and could no longer fulfill this role. Franka wasn’t completely helpless, but she couldn’t do it all on her own. They weren’t entirely sure if they were still on their time-jumping pattern since they were waylaid for a year in the quintessence trap, but come midnight central, they received their answer. When they returned a year later, the station was still in a spiral shape, but it was functioning normally, and Franka was eager to test their quintessence drive. While the team was capable of returning safely inside of a moving vessel, even if it ultimately moved light years away, slinging instantaneously across the universe might break that spatial tethering feature. They just didn’t know yet, so Franka and her crew had to wait it out for months. Now the question was, where were they going to go?

“What about—?” Mateo began.

“Nope,” Leona argued before he could even finish his sentence. “I don’t wanna go back to Earth.”

That was not what Mateo was going to say. He was going to suggest Castlebourne, and he was about to clarify that when he sensed caution from Leona. She didn’t want to go back there. He saw her eyes dart over to Franka and Miracle. No, she didn’t want them to go there. He had to save it so they wouldn’t get suspicious. “Sorry, we just hadn’t been back in a while. I was hoping to see what Kansas City looked like now.” Yeah, that sounded like a plausible sentiment.

“Mostly forest,” Ramses claimed, or guessed; whichever.

It had been a long time since Mateo had to spell something out using his emotions. He decided to use an abbreviation and hope that everyone on the team understood. He forced himself to feel Pride, and then Disgust.

The girls were confused, but Ramses got it. “Let’s go to Proxima Doma. We need to know what happened there anyway.”

“Perfect,” Franka replied before turning her head to face her crew. “Get in stasis,” she ordered them. It officially consisted only of Miracle and Octavia, but Dutch wasn’t on Team Matic, so he had just spent the last year on Spiral Station. The first two reluctantly agreed, but he seemingly didn’t know if he had to do what she said. “It’s for your protection,” Franka went on. “These guys are practically immortal, but one miscalculation in the inertial dampeners, and I’m scraping your guts off the walls. I just cleaned them, I don’t wanna do it again.”

“It’s not that,” Dutch said sheepishly.

“Are you afraid I won’t wake you back up? We can set a timer for ten minutes.”

“No.” He would have been kicking the gravel if there were any gravel. “I was just wondering if I could switch to using...one of the ones next to the girls.”

“Oh.” Franka was hesitant, for some reason.

“What’s the problem?” Leona questioned. “Are they VIP pods?”

“The P stands for pods,” Romana joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“They’re not special, but it’s in the crew section,” Franka explained. “He used one of the guest pods last year when we had to do a contaminant purge.” She looked back at Dutch. “If you’re asking to use a crew pod, are you asking to be on the crew?”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go.” He gestured towards Team Matic. “Lord knows I can’t go with them. I assume you will be parting ways eventually.”

Franka sighed, and stared at her once-parents for a moment. “Probably.”

“If we’re voting, I vote yes,” Miracle decided.

“Same,” Octavia concurred.

Franka smiled like a mother letting her child have another cookie before Thanksgiving dinner. “Okay. Go calibrate your new pod to your body properties.”

Dutch smiled, and ran off with the ladies.

“You’re getting in a pod too, right?” Mateo asked Franka.

“Of course. I just wanted to warn you that I don’t have enough for everyone, so I recommend you suit up, and be prepared to teleport. I mean, if the splat happens, it’ll happen fast...”

“I’ll sync our interfaces with the slingdrive countdown,” Ramses assured her. “We’ll teleport 500 meters away, whether the inertial dampeners hold or not.”

“Good idea.” Franka tried to pivot away, but stopped. “And it’s called a quintessence drive.”

“No, it’s not,” Olimpia defended her decision to coin the term.

As it turned out, they were all worried about nothing. The inertial dampeners held just fine. The quintessence drive itself went fine too. Or rather, it didn’t fall apart. Navigation was still bad, which Ramses suspected had more to do with the coherence gauge. He did have trouble repairing it as it was based on slightly different technology than the ones he built for the Vellani Ambassador, and their array. He was confident that he could fix it now since they had just gone through a test run, which gave him more data. Fortunately, they were in a safe enough place. It wasn’t Proxima Doma, but it was another core world. Or worlds, rather.

They were in the Gatewood Collective, orbiting Barnard’s Star, which was about six light years from Earth. “I thought there weren’t any planets,” Angela argued. “That’s what everyone has always says about it.” Gatewood was a special place. While it was relatively close to the seed of civilization, it was decidedly not a colony. It was sometimes called The Lumber Yard, because it was only a gigantic store, and permanent habitation was absolutely not allowed. It was only designated for raw materials, and there was a good reason for that.

A radius of 50 light years was allocated for the stellar neighborhood. Most of the colonization efforts were state-sanctioned, by one state or another, or maybe one of the institutions that used to be a for-profit corporation. A few of those held on past the transition to a post-scarcity economy because they had by then become legally classified as utilities. Think Google and Wikipedia. A growing number of colonists, however, were small factions of people who wanted to start fresh elsewhere. A select few of these were allowed to find a home somewhere in the neighborhood, but the vast majority of them were expected to travel all the way out to the Charter Cloud, or beyond. Since they were not commissioned by an officially recognized state, it would be unfair for them to use resources from the solar system. But this created a problem. If they couldn’t build spaceships, how were they going to leave? Enter Gatewood. While cyclers were transporting people to and from the other nearest colonies constantly, no route was as heavily trafficked as the one to Barnard’s Star. That was the limit to the resource expenditure for the pioneers. The state agreed to transport them to the Collective, and house them there temporarily, but they would have to begin construction on their ship or fleet immediately, and bug out as soon as possible.

“There are no habitable planets,” Leona clarified. “Proxima Doma and Castlebourne aren’t habitable either, but they’re hospitable enough to make special arrangements, specifically the domes. Other worlds prefer lava tubes, or orbiting stations. The planets you’re seeing over there in the distance—there are four of them total—are low mass and extremely hot. Yeah, you could technically build a settlement on one of them, but it wouldn’t be very easy. That’s why they chose this for raw materials. They focus mostly on the asteroids and comets, but I believe they’re already starting to stripmine the terrestrial planets too.”

“Sorry, guys,” Ramses said through comms. “Off the mark again.”

“No, I’m curious about this place,” Mateo insisted. “Do we know anyone who lives here? I know Team Keshida moved on, as did the Ansutahan refugees, or rather, their descendants, but maybe someone else set up shop since we were last here?”

“Oh, I don’t have any more information than you,” Leona answered. “There’s a chance that we know someone, but very few entities live here permanently. Most aren’t allowed to, so it would just be the few who manage the allocation of resources, and enforce the stay laws.”

“Stay laws,” Marie repeated. “I like that term.”

“We got company,” Franka said through Ramses’ comms disc. He was the only one who returned to Spiral Station. The rest of the team was just floating around nearby, enjoying the view of the red dwarf.

Leona activated her maneuvering thrusters and turned around to see a big, dark spaceship on close approach. “Yeah, we see. Probably Gatewooders, trying to figure out where you came from.”

“Yep, that’s what they said,” Ramses confirmed.

“Please teleport back here,” Franka added. “They’re going to sweep the station, and if they don’t find you now, but see you later, they’re gonna think we’re smugglers.”

They all jumped back. “What do smugglers smuggle these days? Whisky?”

“Resource credits,” Franka answered as they were waiting to be boarded. “There are all sorts of criteria that determine what Gatewood gives you for your colonization efforts. Stealing credits gets you the best ores, and more of it, for higher luxury, if that’s your thing. If you have enough, you might even be able to buy antimatter...” She trailed off.

A man had suddenly appeared in front of them. “Ain’t nobody getting antimatter out here.” He pulled off his balaclava. “Fusion for all, but there’s a refinery 42 light years from here called Rasalhague, if that’s what you’re looking for instead.”

“We’re square,” Franka said to him. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you before, and I’m familiar with just about every choosing one in the timeline.”

The man winced.

“He’s not a chooser,” Leona determined. “He’s a product of The Edge. He uses tech to teleport.”

“How else would you do it?” the guy asked.

“Are there a lot of teleporters like you?” Mateo pressed.

“This isn’t about me,” the man contended. He bobbled his head, weighing his options. “But I will answer your question, Gatewood is vast, and some people here don’t like each other, so we distribute them widely. To keep our contingency at low numbers, we were given a special command ship that can teleport somehow. That way, we don’t have to keep one at every single dock to supervise the pioneers effectively. A few of us can teleport as individuals. I earned that right.”

“We’re not arguing with you,” Leona promised him. “Just curious. I’m one of the people who gave you that technology.” She jerked her head towards Ramses. “He’s on the council too.”

The man stared at her, shocked by this news, but also recognizing that she could simply be lying. “Prove it.”

Leona receded her nanites until she was completely naked. Then she simply teleported to the other side of the room. Other members of Team Matic did the same a few times each, though not naked, because it really didn’t add anything.

He stared at her again, but with more shocked belief than skepticism this time. “The New Gods,” he uttered breathlessly, dropping into a kneel and bow.

“This is what we were afraid of,” Leona said with a heavy sigh, “but I had to test it, because I needed to know. There were two ends of the spectrum. We could hoard the time tech forever, or give it all away freely, with no conditions. We chose something in the middle, of course, because we’re rational human beings, but...every iteration came with risk. This is one of the consequences, which I have sheltered myself from for over a century now since I was so busy with other things.”

“Can we...stop him from worshiping you?” Mateo asked her.

She laughed. “People have been worshiping gods for millennia. They literally fought wars over it. I can tell him I’m not a god, but if he wants to believe, he’ll believe.”

“Then let’s take advantage of it,” Franka suggested. She placed herself between Leona and the man, who immediately stood up, because he didn’t know if he should revere her too. She wasn’t one of the ones who exhibited teleportation abilities just now. “You came. You swept. You found nothing. You left.”

He looked over Franka’s shoulder, at Leona, who was afraid to encourage his devotion, but she knew that she really didn’t have any choice anymore. She just shut her eyes and nodded. He lifted his wrist to his lips. “Fall back. This vessel has full access to our resources. Anywhere they want to go, let them go there. Anything they want to take, let them have it. Disconnect once everyone is out of the umbilicus. I’ll jump back to the bridge before you’re out of range.”

“Thank you,” Franka said to him.

“I would do anything for you.” He didn’t say it to Franka, though, but to Leona.

“What you can do is use the tech wisely; not to hurt people.”

“Always,” he agreed.

“Thank you. You can go now,” Leona all but ordered. Once he was gone, she physically turned Franka around by the shoulders. “I don’t care if we end up lost in M87, or NGC 253.” She also looked over at Ramses. “Get this thing out of this star system, and you will never come back for the rest of time, or so help me God, you will wish I wasn’t your mother in any reality. Do you understand me?”

“Do I seem like the kind of person who would abuse this kind of power?” Franka asked.

“You absolutely do look like that,” Leona said bluntly.

“She stared at her once-mother for a moment, not breaking eye contact, even when she spoke to Ramses. “Spool it up Rambo. I guess we’re leaving.”

Ramses did what he could to fix the quintessence drive before joining the rest of his team at the lower tip of the station. Franka asked to handle programming the sling herself. She just sounded bitter and annoyed at the time, but it turned out to be something else. During the interim year, she had programmed the repairs to make it more modular, so sections could be separated from each other. She released the section the team was on, and teleported the rest of the station away. Before they could track where it had gone, they saw a burst of technicolors in the distance, and realized that she had indeed slung away to parts unknown.

“Oh, crap!” Ramses cried. “She still has my forge core!” Since he kept losing access to his labs, he kept having to rebuild them from scratch. The forge core made it easier to do this. He always kept it somewhere in normal 3D space. The data drive module stored the specifications necessary to rebuild anything and everything from scratch, and an AI to process it all. It also came with starter nanites, and some other bells and whistles. He left it in the timestream so it could fix Spiral Station up while he couldn’t even be around to answer Franka’s questions.

“Is it unlocked?” Leona asked.

“Yes, it’s unlocked. I thought we could trust them.”

Angela looked over her shoulder. “I guess we’re going to land on one of those planets after all, huh?”

“No,” Leona reasoned. “We’ll go to the intake station, or whatever they call it these days. We couldn’t have been cast away somewhere better. We need resources.”

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Castlebourne Capital Community: Here by Default (Part I)

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The year was 2521. Dreychan didn’t agree that it should be, though. He had the idea to stop tying themselves to the Earthan calendar, and form their own identity. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that popular of an idea, and one of the reasons was that a lot of people living here didn’t have a very decent grasp of the passage of time anyway. On some homeworlds, it wasn’t necessary. They produced what they were indoctrinated to believe should be produced for the Empire, and that was just how things were. You didn’t need to know what day it was. The transport ships would come and grab what they demanded on their own schedule. As long as everyone kept up with quota, everything was fine. They weren’t living in the Goldilocks Corridor anymore, however, and were not subject to the Exin Empire’s rule. They needed to assimilate into this region of space while somehow forming a new, distinctive culture. That was no easy feat, and it wasn’t Dreychan’s job to do that. Perhaps in the future, when the war is over, they will be able to focus on their own self-fulfillment. For now, though, they just needed to survive.

Everyone was arguing over each other, and Dreychan was staying out of it. He didn’t have much choice. They never listened to him anyway. They called it the Council of Old Worlds. Everyone here represented the planet where they once lived, and were elected by their constituent refugees, according to whatever methods they chose. Of course, a ton of people didn’t even understand the concept of voting, so it took some time, and a lot of education, but they all figured it out. Dreychan was different. You might even call it special, but be careful who you say that to, or they’ll laugh you out of the room. He was the only person from his planet who agreed to come to safe harbor on Castlebourne.

Ex-777 was one of the few places where the residents didn’t suffer. They were the ones benefitting from all the labor that the slaves on the other planets performed. The only known world more desirable was Ex-999, or maybe Ex-69, depending on your priorities and proclivities. The rest of the Council hated Dreychan, which he thought was ridiculous. He was the one person who defected. If anything, they should revere him. They escaped to a better world, but for him, it was a lateral move, but not even that, because he was too busy to enjoy all the recreation that Castlebourne had to offer.

Ugh, he should stop feeling sorry for himself. Yes, he was only on the Council by default, and yes, he deserved to have his voice heard anyway, but it wasn’t irrational for them to ignore it. He wasn’t representing anyone, but that was exactly why they did need to listen, because this council shouldn’t exist. They shouldn’t be maintaining their old world connections. They should all become one peoples. How could he get through to them?

“What do you think?”

Dreychan just sat there, and yawned a little.

“Drey,” she urged.

“What? Are you talking to me?” They weren’t usually talking to Dreychan.

“We need your opinion.” What was her name? Ex-777ers were all born with names, but just about everyone else only had a number. It was a way for the Empire to dehumanize its subjects. Once they came here, they were told that they could start using names now, and there were various ways of choosing them. He just couldn’t recall hers right now, which was very bad of him. She was actually quite nice, and didn’t seem to hold the same grudge against Dreychan as the others.

“What was the question?” Dreychan asked awkwardly.

“Oh my God.” Now, Dreychan knew Maaseiah. There was no way he was gonna forget a name like that. The Corridor was 16,000 light years away, and actually predated Earth’s bible times due to time travel, so none of Earth’s religions existed there. This meant that Maaseiah had to do a ton of research to decide on the most obnoxious name he could possibly find. He seemingly wanted to put his delusions of grandeur on full display, and he freakin’ nailed it. “Do you want to be a part of this, or not?”

The lovely woman sighed—Lubiti! That was her name. He didn’t know why she chose it. He was remembering now that she was from Ex-883, which manufactured spaceship shielding plates, and really that was it. “Calm down, Masy.” She always called everyone by a nickname. It was exciting to learn that names could be unique and interesting, and even more exciting to learn that each one came with variations and alternate spellings. She turned to face Dreychan again. “We’re trying to decide whether we want to move Castlebourne closer towards the Core Worlds, or stay out here in the Charter Cloud.” This was a fascinating concept. The closest colonies to Earth were the most cohesive, and the farther out you went, the less familiar the culture and laws became. These were divided into three-dimensional bands. The Charter Cloud wasn’t the farthest, but it was beyond the stellar neighborhood, which meant they were afforded no protection from hostile forces. They had to protect themselves, and the decision was already made to simply leave the area entirely.

“Hrockas needs an answer,” Maaseiah explained. Hrockas literally owned this whole planet himself. He was the one who built the domes, and filled it with all the fun and interesting things to do. He graciously let the refugees live here when they had nowhere else to go. He was even more powerful than the Council. “He said he needed it yesterday, which I suspect was metaphorical, though he might be expecting us to send a message back in time, which we will need to look into. Teemo, write that down.”

Teemo wrote it down. He was from a world with very few refugees, so it was relatively easy for him to be elected the council representative, though unlike Dreychan’s case, the ones who chose to stay behind did so because they were too scared. They were right to be, given Castlebourne’s predicament now.

Dreychan had already thought of this, because he was good at being ahead of the game. He just didn’t have all the facts. “If we move closer in,” he begins, “will we join the neighborhood? Will our status amongst the other worlds change?”

“No,” Lubiti answered.

“So we’ll be...weird. There might be colonies farther out than us who are better protected due to us being an anomaly.”

“I don’t agree with that interpretation,” Maaseiah countered. “To get to one of the other colonies, they might have to pass by us. In fact, I propose we intentionally place our star close to another colony, so we can receive some ancillary protection from them. From what I gather, the Teaguardians volunteer their firepower to protect the colonies. Surely if we ask for help, they will just help us, even if we’re not technically entitled to it. It would be a lot easier if we were only a couple light years away when we ask, though.” Teaguardians were battleships that came from an outpost called Teagarden, which orbited Teegarden’s Star. They evidently didn’t stray far from the root word. They were only obligated to provide protection to the Core Worlds and the stellar neighborhood. Castlebourne didn’t qualify, and it was sounding like it never would, even if they moved themselves closer.

“The whole point of moving our host star is to not have to ask for protection,” Lubiti reasoned. “We’re trying to hide, which is why we should limit the number of people who know where we are. Our location has already been leaked. Let’s not let it leak again, because we don’t know if we’ll be able to move again. Hrockas never told us how it’s going to be accomplished in the first place. It may be a one time thing.” She was so right about that. “Do you agree?” she pressed Dreychan.

“I do,” he said, and not just because she was pretty, and he never did find someone to love on Ex-777. “We must stay in the Charter Cloud. Our anonymity is our greatest strength. We can swing quite far from here, and still stay a hundred and eight light years from Earth. Hell, we could go a little farther.”

“We can’t go farther,” someone else contended. Dreychan didn’t know his name, but he used to work out of Ex-741, which was a giant spaceship manufacturing plant, so he understood all this light year/special relativity stuff. “I mean, we technically could, but we shouldn’t. Castlebourne serves as a recreational hub for the entire colonial sphere. Everyone wants to come here, and the population is rising exponentially. Now, quantum communication allows them to make their connections without knowing our coordinates, but vast distances are more difficult than closer ones. It’s called coherence. Hrockas will not want to make the casting equipment work harder than it has to. If anything, we should get a little bit closer, but I agree that we ought to stay in the Charter Cloud, and mostly move laterally, relative to the Core.”

“We must remember that it is not our call exclusively,” Lubiti jumped back in. “Hrockas is asking for our input, not our decision. He probably will want to move a little closer, but stay in the Cloud, because that’s what gave him the freedom from the establishment. And don’t forget that we have our own defenses. We don’t need the Teaguardians. If the Oaksent finds us again, and we can’t get away, we can fight back. We will fight for our new home.”

“I agree with Biti,” Dreychan said.

“Of course you do,” Maaseiah spat.

Dreychan ignored that outburst. “If for no other reason than to stay in his good graces, we should give Hrockas the answer that he prefers. What is easier on him and whoever has this power to move a sun? What do they want to do?”

“Okay.” Council Chair Rezurah stood up. “I think it’s time for another vote. If we can secure the supermajority right here, I will be able to meet with Hrockas today to determine the particulars. Worst case, we will get back to you tomorrow morning for Council approval. If all goes well, we should be traveling at relativistic speeds by the end of the month. I urge you to vote wisely, as this decision could mean the difference between staying hidden, and being discovered by the enemy. Teemo, you’ll count this time, as you have not done it in a while.” They rotated this responsibility to make it fair, and to make sure that no one would have more than one opportunity to cheat.

The vote went in favor of Lubiti and Dreychan’s plan. Well, it wasn’t really theirs, and very much not his. Around half of the people agreed with it before they even started, and half of the rest had come around. Rezurah went off to her meeting with Hrockas, which she was already late for, and the Council meeting was closed. Dreychan was just going to return to his habitat, as he did every day, but Lubiti stopped him in the hallway. “Hey, a few of us were going to have some fun in 2.5Dome. You interested?”

“I don’t know what that is,” Dreychan responded, when he really should have just politely declined, since he didn’t like anyone who might be going besides her, and he wasn’t really the fun type. All his old peers were surprised that someone chose to give up paradise to become a refugee, but not surprised that it was him. He liked the boring life.

“It’s hard to explain. You just kinda have to see it. Come on!” she encouraged.

He did want to spend more time with her, to maybe see if his sudden feelings were just because she was the only person in the world who would give him the time of day, or if they were more substantial. “Okay. Sure. Why not?”

They sat alone together in a vactrain pod. The others had evidently either already left, or would be meeting up with them later. Despite Lubiti’s mild protests, Dreychan ended up looking through the prospectus for this adventure dome. There was reportedly a time when video games on Earth were so unsophisticated that they were two-dimensional. The player could move up or down or side to side, but no other direction. In fact, a lot of them apparently wouldn’t even let you move your character backwards, if there was something you missed before. The other half dimension was because the playspace was in base reality, so it was still technically 3D. Still, they would be in a very narrow field of play, and had to make it through the level without falling, or being killed by something. Both the prospectus and Lubiti assured him that the dome came with a number of different varieties. Most of this world’s visitors could die and come back to life in new bodies, so they could actually fall into a river of lava and be fine. For people like them, who only had one life to live, the levels were a lot safer, though the reviews promised that they were still fun. Good for her, not great for him.

The train stopped. They stepped off, and approached the counter for registration. “Froenoe, party of three. We already filled out our info, and signed consent forms.”

They did? That was news to Dreychan. He certainly didn’t sign anything. Whatever, he trusted her. But hold on, party of three?

Lubiti sensed his confusion. “It’s better in small groups. The others will be running their own game nearby.”

“Yes, I have you here,” the registration bot said to Lubiti. “Your third is already at the entrance.” He set two green bracelets on the counter between them. “These are your security bands. If you ever run into issues, squeeze that button, and a door will open up on the side wall, where you can step out onto a platform that follows you around the whole time.” Scary, but at least there was a theoretical way out.

“Thanks,” Lubiti said. She took the bands, and then they listened to a little more about how safe it was, that no one has ever been permanently hurt, and all that stuff.

They then took another train to their playspace, where they found none other than Maaseiah waiting for them. That was the most surprising development today. He and Lubiti didn’t seem to like each other, and he really didn’t like Dreychan. “Is he ready?”

“No. That’s the point,” Lubiti replied. Something had changed in her voice. She was no longer smiley and light, but overserious, and maybe a little angry? It was so confusing, Dreychan didn’t understand what was happening.

The three of them stepped through the entrance, and onto the first platform. It was very narrow. They would be able to pass each other, but only if they squeezed by, facing the restrictive walls, one way or another. After the door closed, a third wall slid across in front of it, and then began to make its way towards them. Yes, this was one of the ones that didn’t let you go backwards. Lubiti and Maaseiah walked a few meters forward. There weren’t any obstacles yet. They must have wanted you to get acclimated to the environment first. Shockingly, they exchanged a nod, then pressed their emergency buttons at the same time. Two doors opened up next to them.

“What’s going on?” Dreychan questioned, laughing, trying to sound friendly.

“We can’t trust you,” Maaseiah contended. “We can’t trust you to know where Castlebourne will move to. For all we know, you’re the one who leaked our location in the first place.”

“I didn’t,” Dreychan insisted for the umpteenth time.

“And now you never will.” Lubiti took one step through her special exit.

“You know I have one of those too,” Dreychan reminded them, shaking his green bracelet for them to see. It glowed a little in the dim lighting.

“Press it all you want,” Lubiti replied with a shrug. “I broke it.” She left, as did Maaseiah.

Dreychan pressed his button. He pressed again and again, but she wasn’t lying. There was no escape. The moving wall hit him in the ass, forcing him to move forward. He just stood there, letting it slide him down the path, ready to fall into the next foam pit or water tank. But it wasn’t foam, or water. It was lava. He could actually die here.

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Microstory 2575: Renata Emerges from the Train, and Approaches the Confident Stranger

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Renata emerges from the train, and approaches the confident stranger. She looks him over, and then around the platform as the train races away to pick up new travelers. It looks just like any other station, except the stairs that should lead up to the surface are missing. Instead, a half-flight leads to what looks like a fairly open area. It’s lit by a soft green light. She can hear the activity of other workers, but it’s fairly quiet. “You hijacked my train.”

“No,” the man contends, “you stepped onto my train.”

“A hundred and eighth and Deliverer?”

“That’s just to get you on the right train. But enough about that.” He gestures for her to follow him up the steps. “I will not be telling you my name unless and until you pass the first test. Whether you expected it or not, your entry into this program is determined by a practical test, which you could not have studied for, unlike the written exam that got you here in the first place. We are a secretive organization, obviously, and we’re not going to trust you with those secrets until we find out what you’re made of. In the old days, we would have our candidates sit in a waiting room, where a contrived disaster would strike, and they would have to solve the problem in whatever way they thought was best. They were in no real danger, but they thought they were, so they acted accordingly. Of course, some failed, and some excelled. We’ve since changed tactics.”

“Changed tactics to what?” she asks him.

He holds his hand up in front of the open door, offering her to walk in first, to a room where two other people are waiting. “We decided that it’s okay to warn you that it’s coming.” He places his hand on the handle, and prepares to close it with him still on the outside. “The danger is real, Miss Granger. If you fail, you could die. Good luck, you three.” He shuts the door.

Renata spins back around, and begins to assess the room. The other two were sitting, but now stand and tense up. So many potential threats here. The floor is a metal grate, which could be housing hidden flame-throwers underneath. The vents could release a noxious gas into the air. The sprinkler system on the ceiling could drop caustic acid onto their skin. Or the pipes are just holding water, and that loose wiring hanging from the broken outlet is primed to electrocute them. There’s a cot, a table, two chairs, and a small dresser or nightstand. There’s also a sink, but she doesn’t know if it’s functional yet. They have no idea what’s coming, but protecting themselves from as many things as possible is paramount right now. The other two look like lost little puppies, so she’s gonna have to take charge. “Strip the bed. It looks like we have a fitted sheet, a top sheet, and a pillow case.” She steps over to the sink to test it. Water comes out. It smells fine. It doesn’t sting the back of her hand. It’s room temperature. “Hand them to me.”

The two others do exactly what she says without question.

She runs the sheets under the water, and hands two of them back while she keeps the pillow case. “Drape them over yourselves. Breathe through them in case there’s smoke.”

They comply again.

“Get on the table.” As they’re doing that, Renata checks for poisonous creatures underneath the mattress, then climbs onto the bed. “Okay. Any minute now.” It turns out to be that very minute. They start to hear the screeching of metal. The pipes on the opposite wall begin to shake. A scent wafts over from them, which assaults her senses. She can’t place the smell, though. It reminds her of rotten eggs. What is that? What smells like rotten eggs. The other two begin breathing through the fabric. Whatever the poison is, these sheets are probably not going to do them any good. She drops her pillow case to the floor while she jumps over to one of the chairs. The floor could still be dangerous, so she best not risk it.

Renata hops like a bunny over to the broken outlet. She takes out the gum that her mother gave her, and smirks. They didn’t expect her to have this on her person. She unwraps one stick, and lets it fall, because she only cares about the wrapper. She forms it into a bow-tie shape, and prepares to place it between the wires.  “Stay covered,” she orders. Just as some kind of powdery something or other bursts out of the pipe, she completes the circuit. Electricity surges through the wrapper, and sets it on fire. Knowing that it’s going to burn out before she can use it, she uses it like a match to set the rest of the pack of gum aflame. It’s not going to last long either, but just long enough. She hops off the chair, and onto the nightstand. She holds it up to the sprinkler system, and before the flame can burn out, the water is released. It’s not acid, so that’s good.

She smiles as she watches the water make contact with the powder, assuming that it’s neutralizing it. It doesn’t seem to quite be doing that, though, or at least not good enough. She’s now seeing a gas begin to fill the room. Was it always there, or was the water somehow creating it? Then she starts to cough, as do the other two candidates. It gets worse and worse as she starts to feel like she’s going to die. Then she falls off the nightstand, and lands hard on the floor.