Author: Damien Hanson; Joseph Phelps
Date: 2025-08-12 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction
Description: Tyson Dawes is back from the dead! Broke, lost, and more pissed off than ever. Once the legendary leader of Silken Sands, Tyson's name echoed across the multiverse as the Windowpuncher, the man who tore down the Church of BuyMort and carved out an affiliate that stood for more than just profit margins. But that was a century ago. Betrayed, left to rot in the void, and stripped of everything, Tyson wakes to find his empire gone, his legacy twisted, and the people he cared about most lost to time. But Tyson isn't one to stay down for long. Armed with little more than grit, charisma, and his star
Publisher: Podium Audio

BuyMort: Singularity

A BuyMort Novel

Joseph Phelps

Damien Hanson

A Sconnie Books Production

Copyright © 2025 Joseph Phelps, Damien Hanson

All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

For more information, address: https://damienleehanson.substack.com

FIRST EDITION

All rights reserved

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A very special thanks to all of you over on Royal Road and Patreon. You’ve all helped us so much in our journey to make these books. And thank you, readers, for following the tales of the Windowpuncher. These last couple of years have been amazing!

And a shout out to ArDee for your tremendous support!

The series couldn’t be what it is without you!

“To succeed, planning alone is insufficient. One must improvise as well.”

- Isaac Asimov

Table of Contents

Era of the Windowpuncher: A Summary of the Church War

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Everything Must Go

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Era of the Windowpuncher: A Summary of the Church War

In the Era of the Windowpuncher, circa 920,323 Knowle Reckoning, the BuyMort system was everything. It provided, and it took, its metrics and markets dictating who thrived, who starved, who ruled, and who was broken down into its constituent parts to become part of some new device or product for the privileged few.

This was, of course, in the days before the War of the Church. Precipitated by the collapse of the Sleem, once one of the most powerful affiliates in the multiverse and a real consumptive threat to all organics therein, their total extinction at the hands of CEO Tyson Dawes sent shockwaves through the affiliate levels, shattering the system completely and sending it all into tumultuous freefall.

Affiliates fell and economies crumbled, a new order rising from the old. One that placed Tyson Dawes and his Silken Sands near the top of the pile.

It was here, in these hectic times, that the Nu Order, as it is now called, came to be. Under the auspices of Tyson Dawes, it began as a system consisting of unparalleled levels of equality and prosperity for those who lived and worked within his affiliate. Silken Sands and its allies came to be known as the employers to work for, and for their part, they gladly hired them, creating a desperate labor shortage that further destroyed the multiverse at a wide level.

Such working conditions, so good for the common sapient, precipitated high levels of resentment and anger among the system elites, the ruling class. This, in turn, led to the War of the Church.

The Church of BuyMort had long maintained its grip over the multiversal economy, claiming divine authority over commerce itself. The system was there for a divine reason, guided by an invisible hand. Prices and wages were not the result of market manipulations; indeed, they were information, divine words sent by the great BuyMort itself.

Tyson’s meteoric rise was not met with distaste. But his changes to the system itself, and the traditions that defined it, were met with war.

It began as an undeclared war, a series of attempted assassinations and proxy engagements. The Church played innocent as they attacked and plundered; Silken Sands, for its part, made clear that the fight was against cultists and monsters, not the divine Church affiliate itself. A war of words and media accompanied the battle cries and echoes of worlds and complexes, the screaming pieces of broken ships falling into planetary atmospheres and burning brightly through their skies.

It was a cold war, a war for the hearts and minds of the universe and for the blood of all who dared oppose the other. One that Tyson rose above, increasingly putting the church in a bad light and methodically destroying their military resources piecemeal.

But there are benefits to being the top affiliate for so long. The Church of BuyMort came with its own assortment of relic weapons and extra dimensional beings with which to wage war on the most desperate threat it had ever faced. It raised up the beholders, bringing them into the conflict on their side against Silken Sands and waging war to destroy Nu-Earth itself.

They, alongside the revelation that the Church had relic craft of their own, brought a new level of desperate danger to the fights that unfolded.

But through the meticulous planning of Tyson and his team, traps were laid, battles were fought, and, using the consumptive power of his pet Cube, the beholders were defeated.

With their authority slipping, the Church brought out the last of their forces, staging a desperate fight to make or break their hold over the entire BuyMort multiverse.

It was a battle they couldn't win.

Throughout the war Tyson had shown himself to simply be greater. Not just in personal combat, or on the screen, but in preparation, and military strategy. He outmaneuvered the Church’s forces and when it came to the final confrontation, Tyson took the Church's final relic weapon, a barely contained cosmic string. Vanishing with the craft, he saved Nu-Earth but was lost in the process. His final resting place is a closely guarded military secret, lest anyone try to recapture the dangerous cosmic string.

The war was over. The Church, and the Windowpuncher, behemoths of the multiverse, had fallen together, and the Age of the Darkened Markets was about to begin.

Interestingly some local legends espouse the idea that he will return someday when he is most needed. It seems to be a standard condition of sapients that heroes be eternal.

- Dernuk Knars, A Summary of The Church War

Prologue

A shock and a gasp, and then there was light. It wasn't a spectacularly bright light, but it was enough for me to see that the air was pixelated, all crackling bunched up squares that vaguely resembled a lobby. The scene clarified slowly, going through stages that a voice in the back of my mind suggested started at Atari and ran through 8, 16, and 32 bit before shakily amping through the rest of the stages to something that resembled reality.

Whatever that was. Everything was so scrambled and confused. Who the hell even was I?

I sighed. Didn't seem to matter. It'd come to me. I surveyed my surroundings, finding myself standing in an unfamiliar office lobby. The glassy sheen of the floor reflected my bewildered expression as I took it all in. There was something familiar about it all, despite everything feeling so alien. Above the sleek reception desk, in letters bold and unyielding, hung an orange and yellow sign that read 'BuyMort'.

A woman stood behind the desk, waves of perfume radiating off her fit lithe body to sock me in my senses. The smell was extremely alluring, and I felt my heart pound hard and fast in my chest, harder still when she smiled. Shimmering platinum white hair fell in soft waves just past her shoulders, framing her strikingly beautiful face with a luminous glow. Her electric blue eyes locked onto me and she raised a hand to me, waving.

“Hello there, user Tyson Dawes,” she purred, biting her lip suggestively. “We've missed you at BuyMort! I hope this message finds you well. It’s been some time since we last collaborated, and you have missed a large number of deals since your last visit to our service.”

“What?” I asked. The world glitched and shook briefly.

“As - as - as,” the woman stuttered before the world calmed down again. The woman cleared her throat and started again. “As the universe continues to evolve, so does our suite of services and technologies. We believe that our new and constantly improving offerings could align well with your future endeavors and assist in achieving any and all of your goals in life.”

The lights above flickered and sparked, burning orange embers streaking down from above.

“Thank you for rejoining our services, user Tyson Dawes. Enjoy a 10% discount on your next purchase, terms and conditions apply. Welcome back to the market of the multiverse. Welcome back to BuyMort.”

She smiled and twisted sideways, stretching her arms out to frame a gleaming neon sign that read 10% Off! Her silky blouse seemed to crease and stretch as she moved, hugging her slender frame more tightly and letting the simple silver BuyMort pin stuck just above her right breast twinkle in the sparking and dimming light.

“BuyMort,” I muttered, shakily.

“Yes, user Tyson, it’s been a while,” she said, her voice all melody and charm. “BuyMort has missed you. Won’t you come back and start using our services again?”

The lights blinked off and I could feel myself sliding out of 3D Sales Space, back into the real world. Everything was still quite jumbled inside my head, but one thing I was certain of was BuyMort.

“Yeah. I expect I will be,” I answered. “Thanks for the discount, BuyMort. We'll be in touch.”

Chapter 1

When I first awakened to a jolt of electricity in my chest, I tried to gasp for air and was confronted with the vacuum of space.

I summoned the armor of my starfish suit with a mere though, expecting full coverage, but to my surprise only my head was encased. It took me a few seconds of groggy awareness to realize that the rest of my armor was already there, already deployed.

With the helmet in place, my suit began feeding me breathable air from its own storage capacity. It would pluck the odd occasional nitrogen and oxygen atoms from open space, before condensing them into molecules to replenish my supply. But that supply was low, my armor warned, feeding small but insistent alarms into my minimal HUD.

I pulled up my BuyMort menu and tried to order an oxygen grenade. It was just an instinct, after all the times I’d used them in the past, to counter low or no-oxygen environments. BuyMort responded, rustily, flickering before me in faded and glitched lettering.

“Running low on air?” a voice asked, crackling full of static. A hexagonal logo of gold and silver appeared in my view, the lettering within suggesting it was from an affiliate named Edmango Mil. Behind it, a serene space station appeared, its chambers lush with oxygen gardens.

The voice continued, soothing yet sharp, “Don’t let open vacuum hold your breath hostage! Get OxyDrink today!”

The image shifted, a silver squeeze bag appearing to float just within my grasp. I shook my head, and it was instantly replaced by the image of a grenade. This one was hanging static beside the warped figure of a fellow traveler, stranded in space, his face exposed to space.  Next to him floated an OxyBoost Grenade, or so the label said.

The ads corked sideways, and the voice was replaced with vivid golden text.

With Edmango Mil’s new OxyBoost Grenade, you're never out of options. Affordably priced, easily accessible, and instant activation for those critical moments.

The stranded astronaut activated the grenade, released it to spin a few feet in front of himself, and a bubble of breathable air enveloped him instantly.

Breathe easy, even in the void. Available now, 5 stars, 45,000 morties

Yes, my mind cried. Yes! Accept. Buy! Get it.

Transaction Failed: Insufficient Morties Available

Beneath the chilling announcement, a smaller text line flickered: Your current balance is below the required amount for this purchase. Immediate action required.

To the side of the text, a flashing icon of a depleted coin purse underscored the urgency.

Given your current lack of credit level or affiliate ownership, the following are a list of suggested actions you may take to complete the transaction:

Earn More Morties

Emergency Credit - ERROR RENEWAL ACTIVATION STILL PROCESSING

Sell Personal Items - ERROR, MORTBLOCKS AND ITEM CLAIMS NOT FOUND

A synthesized voice cut through the tension, calm yet commanding, “Attention: Your balance is too low for this essential purchase. Please consider immediate measures to secure your financial security.”

A screen appeared before me, my user account, and its content registered with a dull shock.

Find and sell unclaimed items for morties! One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Recycle, Regift, Remanufacture!

I scowled in confusion. This was all wrong. My personal account had trillions of morties in it, and personal accounts were secured by BuyMort itself. There was no way to steal my morties, so I floated in space and wondered how my account got emptied.

My mind racing, I opened my BuyMort app menu to access MortMobile. But it, along with a number of other apps, was simply not there. Frantic, I ran a search for it through the store, and found it, though its descriptor was much different from what I remembered.

MortMobile, premium comms for premium people. Experience the joy of spy-free, tap-free on the spot communication with MortMobile. Powerfully enhanced video, audio, scent, and more, all run through the MortMobile network. Sign on and receive all the latest news, entertainment, and informational updates of the multiverse as well!

Just 500,000 morties if you sign up now. This offer ends in 5 minutes.

No morties. No phone service. It had to be a mistake.

“Connect me to Molls please,” I croaked. “Collect, she’ll pay for it.”

Nothing responded to my pleas, and I waited, my dizzy and confused thoughts weaving together in my head.

It took me nearly thirty seconds to realize my predicament. I was floating in empty space, in the completely abandoned Sleem universe, with no morties for gate travel.

Memories rushed back into my head, and I clenched a fist. Omen. My betrayal. The sand star frigate and the transdimensional pulse ion cannon shot.

He had killed me!

And afterwards he must have found some way to empty my account too, in order to strand me if I ever woke up.

“Shit, fairy fire right now!” I yelled, wasting precious oxygen.

My nanite helmet spun up, having long since recharged itself on ambient radiation from the only landmark anywhere nearby, Sleem’s star. It formed over my face and provided me with a comforting magic-themed HUD. Then it sent a pulse across the solar system and picked up the wreckage I had smashed through only a moment before.

The chunk of Church relic ship was hurtling away from me in the opposite direction and gaining speed, falling inward toward the star because of its collision with me. I tried to zoom in my eyes to see it, but my advanced senses were non-functional. I didn’t realize it at the time, but my advanced cognitive functions were down as well, or I would have remembered about the free portals to Storage. But decades of floating around in space with no brain aside from the stem had consequences beyond the migraine I was experiencing at the time.

And I simply couldn’t remember Storage, so I pushed my suit and flew toward the wreckage. As soon as I was in range of the giant chunk of shattered metal, I sold it to BuyMort.

Then I floated, waiting and thinking about what had happened while the pod traveled from wherever the BuyMort gate orbited the primary star. After a few minutes, the wreckage in front of me warped away in a flash of rainbow light and I checked my sales page.

Purchase: Spacecraft hull segment. Condition, poor. Rarity, unique. 403,687 morties dispensed.

Four hundred thousand morties was a decent starting place, but in order to preserve my meager pool of morties, I followed the pod back to the gate instead of ordering a personal portal from it.

We flew at a high rate of speed, my suit’s charge dropping fast as I followed the pod. It looked different. The usual black coloration was marred by red and white stripes, and it had a slightly elongated front end, with small fins at the rear.

I scowled in confusion at the custom pod, but it led me to the gate I needed. As soon as it passed through the ring a minute flash of rainbow light indicated its departure, but the ring itself was also different. Dark, where it had once been lit up around the edges.

A message popped up on my BuyMort HUD when I tried to buy a portal home, to the Sol system.

This gate is decommissioned. BuyMort use only. Would you like to recommission this gate for sapient travel?

When I selected yes, it drained my account of morties, and another message popped up.

Gate eleven percent recommissioned. Would you like to continue recommissioning this gate for a single-use sapient travel?

My fogged and still-aching brain twitched at the message. With all my morties gone, I would have to use what was left of my suit’s charge trying to find more things to break and sell. At that rate, I would end up in Storage before I ever got home.

I blinked, shaking my head in a futile attempt to clear the fog. Storage! Portals were free to get there. I mentally kicked myself for wasting the morties on the gate and started pulling up a free portal when the gate suddenly lit up on its own.

Blue light cycled through its many cracks and crevices, shining as it filled the entire ring.

Gate recommissioned for spacecraft and sapient travel, BuyMort informed me, as massive swaths of light began peeking out from beneath the gate’s many metallic folds.

My suit helped me drift away from the giant metal ring as a massive bolt of sparkling light announced the arrival of a large spacecraft.

It was red and white striped with a black base layer of paint, like the BuyMort pod had been. The ship was considerably larger than a BuyMort pod, however, and bristling with overt weaponry. It held a basic cigar shape but had many bulges and spires rising from its bow and central core. The aft housed a series of engine ports, which lit up with low, blue fusion fires as the ship slowly turned to face me.

I waved.

A beam of light shot out from one of the ship’s conical spires and gripped my body. When I pulled against it, my suit’s charge simply drained. With a grunt of effort, I pushed the suit into a gravity haul and was sorely disappointed when it failed to engage. Another spire shot a familiar black blob of pulsed ions at me, and my suit went dead once more.

I sighed and gave up, allowing the ship’s gravity beam to drag me through space to one of the bubbled canopies along its underbelly. Metal shielding covering a shuttle bay slid open silently and I was deposited ungently inside the ship’s glowing blue force field.

As soon as I passed through, the gravity beam cut out and I dropped like a stone to the deck. My body hit with a loud, echoing clang, and I groaned in pain. My headache, already annoying, stepped up to mood-altering.

The stomp of booted, armored feet heading my way caused me to raise my head, and to my surprise I saw a squad of hobbs. The armor they wore was familiar, but not exactly as I had remembered it. The same red, white, and black paint design was present, and each hobb wore an oversized helmet that completely covered their faces.

I could only really tell they were hobbs because of the long limbs and thin, wiry bodies.

They pointed weapons at me, so I sat up onto my butt and raised my hands.

“Hey,” I said casually, in perfect hobb. “I’m Tyson. Nice to meet you. What affiliate are you all with?”

A few of the squad looked at each other, but none of them replied. They simply formed up a semi-circle around me, weapons drawn and pointed my way.

From behind the hobbs, a tall woman stalked through the group, wearing high-heeled boots. She approached me and leaned forward, hands on her hips. I didn’t recognize her, but she had long blonde hair and nearly ice-blue eyes.

“Who are you?” she demanded in American English.

“Uhh,” I started, blinking a few times at the bright lights behind her. “My name is Tyson Dawes, nice to meet you.”

Her eyes narrowed, and her nostrils flared as she stood up straight again. “Take him,” she ordered. The hobbs converged on me, with yellow-edged weapons held at the ready. When I squinted to see past my helmet and headache, I could see that they carried linear rifles, to a hobb. Clearly prepared for me.

“Seems like you already know who I am,” I said, as two hobbs lifted me off the floor by my elbows. I didn’t resist. Something about them felt familiar, I had to wonder if they were a part of my affiliate. An associate that I simply wasn’t aware of perhaps.

I walked as my two hobb guards led me through the hangar, toward an oversized exit door. As we walked, I saw a single shuttle in the center of the bay, with wings for atmospheric flight folded up along its sides. Across the back wall were suits of power armor, and more weapon lockers. In one of them I saw my hobbs classic war pick, painted black, red, and white in the same motif as the ship, and the BuyMort pod I had seen earlier.

“Who are you guys?” I asked. “You’re not BlueCleave, are you?”

My only response was an angry glare from my captors, so I stopped asking questions. They seemed a little on-edge, and with my brains as fuzzy as they were I didn’t feel like getting aggressive.

Nothing I had seen so far was beyond my ability to destroy, especially still locked in my armor as I was, but something illusive in my mind made me hesitate and shy away from violence.

The tall woman watched as I was hauled through her ship’s corridors and into a holding cell. Bright beams of energy comprised my cell bars, but the floor felt soft. Almost like a gel. I knelt and pressed at it and was surprised at how gelatinous it really was. It even wobbled.

“If you attempt to activate your breaker gauntlets,” the tall blonde woman said. “You will be hurt.”

I nodded with a frown. “Why am I a prisoner?” I asked. Hobb guards with linear rifles took up positions around my holding cell, surrounding me. One of them held a familiar-looking cannon, its barrel wide and blackened by ion scorching. A transdimensional pulse ion cannon, somehow miniaturized.

“If you attempt escape,” she answered. “You will be killed. Is that in any way unclear?”

I shook my head and sat down cross legged on the squishy floor. “Crystal clear,” I said with a small, polite nod. The woman turned on a heel and left the room, which I felt sure was the ship’s brig.

Their cage was certainly better constructed to hold me than most others I had encountered, but I felt confident that I could tear through the squishy floor with my breaker gauntlets if I needed to. The lack of charge was a problem, but that would only last until I broke something.

If need-be, I could break my own bones to charge the suit. But for the moment, I was content to watch and learn. The longer I was conscious, the more memories started to flood back into my brain matter.

Admiral Omen had betrayed me. Supposedly killed me, though that wasn’t as easy as most tended to think it was. I’d survived. He had shot me with a pulsed ion cannon, though, so my suit had been drained. Unable to rebuild me.

I realized with a sigh that I had no way of knowing how long I had been ‘dead.’

Glancing around, I took in more about the hobbs. They were stiff backed and serious, all either pointing weapons at me or cradling them in an easy, ready position. None of them chatted or leaned against the bulkheads, instead they all stared at me as though waiting for an attack.

After a few minutes of staring at each other, I decided to pull up MortMobile and make a call home. I needed to check on Molls. An immediate error message informed me that the service was actively blocked on board the entire ship. I sighed and looked around.

“Hey. Can you guys tell me about Nu-Earth at all?” I asked the hobb guards. “How long have I been gone?”

None of them responded.

I trailed a finger against the energy bars and drew my hand back, scalded. The guards all tensed and those with cradled weapons raised them. My eyes narrowed and I reached for the bars again, my armored glove still glowing with heat. It wasn’t much, but it charged the suit from its own armor layers and the heat energy interacting.

The hobb guard with the transdimensional pulse ion cannon lifted it and fired through the energy bars directly into my chest. I flopped over backwards and sighed. The bars barely gave me any charge and scalded my hand through the armor anyway.

With another, heavier sigh, I lifted both arms and slammed them down into the soft flooring. It jiggled and wobbled like a water mattress, and I chuckled as my guards raised their weapons again.

“Better talk to me, or I’m probably gonna make you kill me,” I said, glancing on either side of the bars. “Starting to get pretty sick of the silent treatment.”

Finally, a female hobb stepped forward from a console near the back of the room and raised her hands at me. She removed her helmet and long, black hair in tight braids cascaded down around her shoulders.

“Stop, or they will kill you,” she hissed at me.

I stared at her through the holes in my helmet. “Can you at least give me enough charge to retract my armor? I’m starting to have to pee.”

The hobb woman shook her head, then backed off and replaced her helmet quickly as the brigs primary door slid open again. A familiar tall blonde woman stalked in.

“Give him a small PRD,” she barked. “I want to see his face.”

One of the guards hurried over to a cubby in the nearby bulkhead and retrieved a storage crate. He hauled it over in both arms and set it down in front of the energy cage, before popping it open with a hiss.

Inside were five full sized Prince Rupert’s Drops, and three miniature ones. The small ones were barely the size of a tadpole.

“Listen carefully prisoner,” she growled at me. “I am going to provide you with enough charge to retract your armor, and then you will be hit with another pulse ion shot. If you resist or attempt escape in any way, you will be killed immediately. Is that clear?”

I nodded, my armor grating against itself. “Yeah, I get you. It’s in my best interest to behave, so behave I shall, tall mean lady. What’s your name, anyway?”

“You may refer to me as Admiral!” she barked back.

The hobb guard carefully approached and tossed the tiny PRD through the bars. I reached over slowly, watching as the many guards hefted their weapons and prepared to follow their captain’s orders, then pinched the tail on the little glass droplet. It shattered, tiny fragments sizzling against the energy bars of my cell as the rest of it scattered across the floor.

A tiny, disk-shaped robot immediately deployed from a slot in the wall nearby and began vacuuming up the glass shards around my cell.

I shook my head and retracted my armor. One of the nearby hobbs gasped beneath his helmet.

The admiral stormed over to berate him. “Get out of my brig, soldier! You’re on sanitation duty for the next twelve shifts! if you don’t like it, you can hop a portal to Storage and get off my ship for good!” she screamed.

“You guys seem tense, why all this fuss over little old me?” I asked, sitting up and crossing my legs.

“Shut up, prisoner!” she barked back.

I stood slowly and stretched out my back.

“My name,” I started, “is Tyson Dawes, the Warlord of BuyMort, and I’m getting more than a little tired of your shit, lady.”

“You are not Tyson Dawes,” she hissed. “And if you were, you would be wise to keep it to yourself around my crew.”

More than one of the nearby hobbs looked shaky. They were glancing between each other while the Captain’s back was turned, and overly stiff when she faced them.

“Captain,” the hobb woman who had spoken to me before started hesitantly. “May I-”

“You may not, corporal! Hold your station and keep your silence until ordered otherwise!” the Admiral shouted. “I will not have insubordination on my ship!”

“Ohh, you just might,” I growled. “I’m getting more than a little tired of this routine. You’d better send these troopers away if you don’t want them to find out anything more about me . . . Phyllis.”

The tall blonde woman jerked her head back to face me and snarled. “I said shut your mouth!” she shouted.

“And you don’t order me around, Phyllis!” I yelled back. “Or have you forgotten that I run this entire affiliate?!”

Phyllis glared at me. I gauged her age to be roughly mid-twenties. She was blonde, gorgeous, and angry as hell.

“Guards!” she yelled. “Get out!”

The hobbs began filing out, and I decided to try my luck.

“Any hobbs loyal to BlueCleave, stand your ground,” I growled.

The hobb woman at the console hesitated on her way to the door, and Phyllis pointed an arm at her. A mechanical cannon formed around her forearm, and she fired on the woman, turning her to an ash streak against the wall in an instant.

My eyes shot wide at the sudden violence, and I slowly turned back to face the ancient, young-looking woman in front of me. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” I hissed.

The rest of the guards clustered in the doorway, fighting each other to get out as quickly as they could.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Phyllis replied. “Whoever you are, you’re not Tyson Dawes, and you just got one of my best officers killed because she believed you might be.”

“Well, jokes on you murderer. I actually am Tyson Dawes. The Windowpuncher? Warlord of Arizona, you remember all that? Or how about Nahgah Prime? We fought together on that planet, what the hell happened to you?” I argued.

“A century has passed since Tyson Dawes went missing, and your little stunt in the Sleem system does nothing to change his absence,” she replied, shaking her head at me. “That hobb died because she disobeyed a direct order for you. Do not make me kill any more of my crew.”

I rocked back on the squishy floor at that, exhaling hard, like I’d just been hit in the gut.

“Then let me out of this cage and talk to me like a person, Phyll. We used to be friends, for Pasta’s sake,” I insisted. “What happened to Molls?”

She turned and picked up the transdimensional pulse ion cannon, then aimed it at me and fired. I soaked the shot and grunted in discomfort. Those blasts caused my crystalline colonies to become agitated, and their movement literally made my skin crawl.

Then she turned and stormed toward the door.

“Why are you so afraid of me?” I shouted after her.

“Because you are a force for chaos!” Phyllis turned back and shouted at me. “You dragged me into this hell, and everything I’ve become is because you wouldn’t just let me die a confused old woman!”

“So you do recognize me,” I breathed. “Please, Phyll, just tell me what happened to Molls. Tell me she’s okay, still alive somewhere and happy. Tell me a hundred years hasn’t really passed while I floated out there.”

The tall blonde woman stared at me from the doorway, then turned and stalked away.

Chapter 2

As I sat down, my headache returned with a vengeance. The floor of my cell was soft, squishy, and surprisingly comfortable. Within moments, I discovered it wicked away moisture too, as I began silently crying.

A hundred years. My family, my friends, all taken from me. The man who did it was likely dead too. He wasn’t wearing any relic suits that would keep him alive through the centuries like Phyllis, Molls, or myself were. Phyllis was so different. So hostile! I wanted to break something, take the ship by force, and head straight for Nu-Earth, but her presence on board stopped me.

With Phyllis alive and on board with me, I couldn’t bring myself to violence. Even after what she’d become. When the scant tears I was able to cry stopped after a few minutes, I started trying to think, in defiance of my headache.

A century had passed, and the affiliate had become something else entirely. A hobb had died simply because she hesitated when I asked her to. That didn’t bode well for my own future, if my very presence was enough to send Phyllis into a murderous panic.

I wondered about Doofus, and what might have become of him in all this mess. He had been a good boy. The chance he was still alive was slim, but I knew he wouldn’t be part of what BlueCleave had apparently become. All I could hope was that he’d run off to somewhere safe and lived out his days in what happiness a dog could find in BuyMort.

Hours passed while I sat in my cell. I couldn’t feel any movement from the ship, but I had to assume we were traveling somewhere. Phyllis didn’t seem likely to deal with me on her own. I figured she must have been acting on orders from somewhere.

She’d been part of our BlueCleave structure before so whatever that military had turned into in my absence would still have her as part of it. I just had to reassert control, somehow, without getting anyone else killed.

But Phyllis seemed unlikely to let that happen, based on what I had seen so far. That hobb woman had been kind to me too. I decided I had to be careful and simply laid flat on my back until the brig door whooshed open again.

Phyllis returned, again. This time she entered with a squad of power armored hobbs. Each carried a melee weapon and linear rifle, and all of them had the same paint scheme as the ship.

“Get up,” she said.

“Bite me,” I replied. “You’re not my boss, Phyllis. Nobody is. I’m a dead man.”

“Get up!” Phyllis yelled. “You wanted to talk, so let’s talk.”

“Against your better judgment?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Clearly,” she replied.

I sighed and stood, nodding as the energy bars blinked out.

“Behave, or else,” Phyllis warned me.

“Yeah, yeah,” I answered, stretching and stepping down from the squishy pedestal. “Just don’t kill anyone else, you psychopath.”

She bristled at the comment but held her tongue. Her guards separated to let me pass, and I walked slowly behind Phyllis out into the ship’s hallway.

Bright lights were embedded in the ceiling, and we followed them through the corridors to a large meeting room with a long table, surrounded by hard-backed chairs. The guards left us at the door, which whooshed shut behind me like the brig door had.

I glanced back and then to Phyllis. “You’re not going to kill any of ‘em? You sure? They saw my face.”

“Sit down, asshole,” she replied. “You have some questions to answer.”

“You know,” I started, leaning on one of the chairs. “I’m not feeling inclined to answer any questions until I get some of my own answered. That seems fair to me.” When she merely stared at me, I continued. “What happened to my friends? My family: Doofus, Axle, Morbin. What happened to Molls?” I forcefully asked.

“That’s classified. You’ll have to ask Nu-Earth command when I deliver you. Maybe they’ll take pity on you, dead man,” Phyllis answered. She sat down in a chair at the far end of the long desk.

I looked out the viewscreen behind her. Stars moved at a slow crawl.

“You’re taking me to Nu-Earth?” I asked, walking slowly down the desk toward the screen.

“I have my orders,” she answered.

I nodded. “Yeah, you always were a good soldier, huh?”

“Sit down, asshole!” Phyllis suddenly barked.

“No!” I replied. “I don’t feel like it! I’ve been dead for a century. I want to stand, and I’m going to stand! You don’t like it, kill me.”

“I might,” she growled, crossing her arms. “Can you really be him?”

“Yes, Phyllis, I’m really me. You weren’t sent out here to find an elaborate prank. I suspect my attempt to activate the Sleem gate set your orders into motion. Where’d they come from anyway?” I asked. “Who bosses you around now, after all these years?”

“I’m not here to answer your questions, you’re here to answer mine,” Phyllis growled.

I moved back around in front of her and leaned over a chair back, staring at her face. She looked so young. I sighed and shook my aching head. “Fine, ask me your questions.”

“Why did you name the affiliate Silken Sands?” Phyllis asked, glaring up at me. “Why the initials SS?”

I scowled at her. “Shit, I don’t know Phyll. That was mostly Clippy and Mr. Sada. We all named it together.” I frowned and tried to remember through my foggy memories. “I think it was something to do with business optimization. Alliteration helps people remember the name, and it had geographic and product relevance at the time. Pretty sure we were only selling spider silk back then.”

She stared at me while I talked, then blinked a few times and looked down. “So you weren’t making reference to world war two?”

“Cheeze on Pasta Phyllis, you see nazis everywhere! No, I wasn’t making a secret reference to the SS,” I sighed. “Tell me, did I ever execute a member of my military for insubordination? If anyone’s the nazi here, it’s you.”

She breathed heavily through her nose and scowled down at the table in front of her. “I know,” she finally said.

I raised an eyebrow at that. “Then what are you doin’ here?” I asked.

Phyllis’ scowl deepened, and she pushed back from the conference table. “My job. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”

“Well, you’ve always been a complicated lady,” I replied.

“I barely even remember you, you know,” she said. “It was a lifetime ago. My second life.”

“Yeah, I know. I was there at the start of that second life. Do you even remember the kid with the shotgun, Phyll?” I carefully asked.

She blinked a few times, then cradled her head in her hands. “I do. I mean, I didn’t but you bringing it up . . . yeah now I do.”

“So you know, I didn’t do this to you.” I stared at her while she worked through her memories. “BuyMort did this to us both. We were friends, Phyll.”

She snorted a laugh and shook her head. “I remember a burned out, washed up loser who helped me get my groceries, when I was too old to do it myself. But we were not friends.”

“Yeah, there she is. Grouchy old bag,” I laughed back.

“Well at least you’re right about that,” Phyllis replied, her smile cold and tight. “I’m almost two-hundred years old.”

“And you only actually knew me for roughly a year,” I muttered, more to myself than to her. “No wonder you don’t remember me.”

“No, I remember you,” she corrected. “Worst damned year of my life.”

I frowned but nodded. “Yeah, me too, I think. Are you really not going to tell me what happened to Molls? I thought she was your friend.”

“Until she started dating you, anyway,” Phyllis replied. “After that, I was swept into your military industrial complex and ordered around the multiverse fighting your enemies.”

“Yeah, about that,” I said. “I need you to tell me about Admiral Omen. What happened after I disappeared?”

She shook her head. “Classified. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”

“Don’t give me that shit, Phyllis. This entire affiliate belongs to me. I don’t give a shit if it's been a century. You know I’m going to take it back,” I growled.

Phyllis looked at me with narrowed eyes, then slowly shook her head. “No,” she said. “You won’t.”

She stood and walked to the door. “Guards. Take him back to his cell. We arrive in Nu-Earth orbit in two hours, prepare for prisoner transfer.”

“That’s it, Phyll?” I said, raising my voice in anger. “You’re sure you want this road?”

The young woman turned back and glared at me. “There are fourteen hundred souls on board this vessel, including families. You want to tear through all that to get free, be my guest. Prove me right about who you really are.”

I snarled, and for a moment, I was genuinely tempted. But when the power armored guards arrived, I relaxed and submitted to their man-handling. Within minutes, I was back in my cell, with glowing energy bars flickering all around me.

At least it was spacious. I flopped back on the soft gel and stared up through the glowing bars at the bulkhead above me. My head throbbed, and I struggled to think about anything but Molls. Admiral Omen’s betrayal flitted through my mind occasionally too, but the implications were too big for me to handle at that point.

My rebuilt brains just didn’t work the way they used to.

Chapter 3

By the time my guards got back to escort me off Phyllis’ ship, I was asleep. The hum and crackle of the energy bars had lulled me into unconsciousness, accompanied by the throbbing in my head.

Fortunately, when I awoke, the pain and pressure had reduced somewhat. The lights above my cell were no longer so blinding.

“Up, prisoner,” grunted a nearby hobb in broken English.

“I’m moving, calm down,” I groaned back in perfect hobb. At least my language center was still working. I guess having your head blown off has some lasting effects, even while wearing a starfish suit.

The hobbs deactivated my cell once I was on my feet, and I stretched as I stepped down from the gel pad. “That is surprisingly comfortable. Where can I get one?” I asked the confused hobb guard.

Gentle, inviting music filled my mind.

The display before my eyes transformed, showing a luxurious, modern bedroom with expansive windows looking out over a starlit sky. The same gel pad lay invitingly in the center, bathed in a warm, welcoming glow.

Experience the pinnacle of comfort with the all-new LuxoGel Pad from ExiledHero Innovations. Why settle for less when you can have the best in relaxation technology?

Designed with adaptive gel technology, the LuxoGel Pad molds to your body's unique shape, providing unparalleled support and comfort, whether you're at home or in need of enhanced security comfort.

Built to last, the LuxoGel Pad comes with ExiledHero’s guarantee of durability and safety, ensuring top performance in any situation.

So what are you waiting for? Join the revolution in comfort! 195,000 morties, 4.7 stars.

I snorted and waved away the ad. The hobb stared at me, then shook his head, his helmet bobbing as he did. “No talk,” he finally said. “Move.”

“Yeah yeah,” I groaned. “I’m moving. Where we goin’?”

“No questions!” my guard replied.

“Ooo, no questions,” I mocked, arms raised. “No questions says the big bad hobb, everyone!”

“Stop talking!” he yelled.

“No!” I yelled back. “I don’t shut up, ever. What are you gonna do about it?” I teased, moving toward the door.

The hobb rammed his linear rifle butt into my stomach and I simply absorbed the blow. I glanced down at my stomach, and then up to the guard’s helmet.

“Well that was rude. Ineffective, but rude. Wanna try again? I’m not gonna shut up because you give me a little love tap,” I jabbered, still moving toward the door.

He whacked me in the small of my back with his rifle that time, and it was as effective as the first blow.

“Careful,” I chided. “Felt like something might have come loose in that gun. You keep hitting me with it, you’re gonna get in trouble for breaking it. They can’t be cheap.”

The guard growled but refrained from hitting me again. I followed the rest of the guard troop back down the hallways to the shuttle bay I had entered the ship from. The shuttle was waiting and ready, with Phyllis standing beside it, holding a large metal harness.

“Nope,” I said. “I’m behaving, but I’m not putting that on.”

Her face hardened. “Orders,” she growled.

“Well, go ahead and try,” I warned her, arms out at my sides.

Behind the shuttle the shielded hangar bay opening displayed a beautiful sight. Nu-Earth floated massive, filling the bay door. I could see Africa below us.

Phyllis’ face hardened, and she took a step toward me with the harness.

“Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll just take the easy way down. Nice to see you Phyll. Hope you lose the stick up your ass before we meet again.”

I bent down and slammed a fist into the deck, smashing the metal bulkhead and gaining a healthy amount of charge for my suit. I grinned at Phyllis, then hurtled out of the force field and toward the planet.

The ship’s gravity beam latched onto me, and I turned to glare at the weapon spire, snarling. It held me back from heading toward the planet and my suit’s charge plummeted. I decided to go on the offense and flew at the spire instead of away from it. The weapon system wasn’t prepared for that, and I blasted through the thick needle, regaining the charge it had stolen from me and utterly destroying it.

On my way back past the hangar bay, I waved cheerfully. They were scrambling to arm up and board the shuttle, and as I flew past the other bulges on the ship, they started cracking open. Further down the ship’s bulk, small, needle-nosed fighters began launching in my path.

I dipped low to avoid them, then activated a short-range gravity haul. The far end of Nu-Earth’s gravity well caught me and I started falling over what used to be South America.

Once the reentry plasma cleared, I could see the continent below me. It was filled with life. Cities lit up the night sky with thousands of points of light, even from deep within the lush, overgrown Amazon forest. They’d built a city right into the forest, allowing it to grow and thrive in and around the many tall buildings.

Sandcaster fire distracted me as it splattered against my armor and broke pieces off, knocking me lower in the sky. Phyllis’ fighter ships had caught up to me. I dipped, changed direction, and increased my speed, activating another small gravity haul.

In-atmosphere, that was a bad move. The plasma my flight generated burned a streak through the sky, letting everyone know exactly where I was going while it made my armor glow with heat.

I retracted it into my dimensional gateways and flew even lower, summoning my anti-magic helmet so that I could see. Australia spread out beneath me, its desert full of structures and artificial farmland. When I flew over the ocean spreading between it and the Solomon Islands, I saw the Great Barrier Reef, returned to full, flourishing life.

Gentle orchestral music filled my mind, a symphony of strings and woodwinds weaving an uplifting melody.

“Witness the revival of a wonder. The Great Barrier Reef, reborn,” a voiceover declared. It made me smile, knowing that things had turned out alright for the planet. A side window opened in my vision, a section of my eyes somehow zooming down through the crystal waves and plunging underwater, navigating through an intricate labyrinth of coral. Fish of every imaginable color darted between the branches, their scales glittering like jewels. A turtle glided past, its flippers brushing against the gentle currents, and the shadow of a whale shark loomed in the distance, majestic and dominating.

“Come! Explore the heart of the ocean, rejuvenated and flourishing like never before,” the voice continued.

The side window shifted to show families equipped with snorkels and fins, laughing as they swam amongst the corals. Nearby, researchers in sleek suits monitored the health of the reef, their equipment humming softly, while the tour boats skimmed the surface, their passengers leaning over the sides in awe.

“Join us in the depths of Nu-Earth. Join us in the adventure of a lifetime!”

The fighters returned then, their arrival announced by a massive sonic boom and wave of plasmic heat. I sighed and looked over my shoulder as the sharp, angular fighter-craft converged on me.

I flew up, fast, breaking free of Nu-Earth’s atmosphere before I engaged another short gravity haul. My armor clanked back into place to protect me, thankfully cooled by its time in dimensional storage. This time I slowed my entry to avoid a streak of brilliant red plasma announcing my location to the entire planet and swung in over Eurasia.

The entire continent was slathered in civilization. From coast to coast it was structures and buildings, even in snowcapped Siberia massive city domes hunkered in the snow and their people thrived. My suit’s charge was low, so I flew in to land in a massive, hollowed out quarry in what was left of the Gobi desert. Its mountains had been strip-mined and replaced with yet more civilization.

After I broke enough rocks to recharge my suit fully, I redeployed my armor, took off into the air again, shifted direction, and flew further south. My path took me over a thriving Korean peninsula and Japan island chain before approaching the planet’s gravity sling. It was a giant belt that Kraken had installed on Nu-Earth’s equator, used to throw cargo into space. All alongside it were docked oversized cargo vessels, and spacecraft of various origin.

Some were waiting for their turn on the belt, using it to save fuel by being thrown into space instead of lifting off themselves. Escaping Nu-Earth’s gravity well was easy when the relic sling was involved.

While I stared at a busy port city built out onto the water using giant floating platforms, one of Phyllis’ fighters sneaked up on me and hit me in the back with a blast of pulsed ions. My suit emptied of charge and I plummeted down onto the gravity sling’s primary belt.

I bounced once, hard, and then was swept into rapid motion alongside several small spacecraft and cargo crates. The seaborn city flashed by, and I glared up at the small swarm of fighter craft following along above me.

Then I smashed through a building-sized box of alloyed girders, scattering them across the belt and instantly recharging my suit. The girders were swept along with me, accelerating at a rapid pace and I kicked one off the gravity sling an instant before it bashed into a small pleasure craft’s engines.

Dozens of girders bounced on the gravity sling’s belt, threatening several small craft in the immediate area. The sling didn’t differentiate between bodies on its belt, it just accelerated any mass present. I swerved and wove through the beams, throwing, kicking, and hurling as many as I could free.

When a fighter craft dipped low, I spun and whipped a girder up at their ship, causing them to divert and fall away. The rest scattered when an alloy beam slammed into a small passenger ship and blew out its back end in a series of small explosions. The ship’s back end dragged against the gravity sling, throwing up a cloud of sparks as it started to wobble dramatically.

I lunged forward and caught the ship by its smoldering, ruined engines. Once it was under my control, I pushed it off to the side, toward the seaward lip of the gravity sling where the ship could set down. As it skidded to a stop, I dove back into the sling’s acceleration and chased down another girder, slapping it into the ocean before it could wreck another ship.

My escort of fighter craft reengaged, peppering the gravity sling with pulsed ion cannon shots. Segments began to disengage, causing cargo crates to slam into the belt and skid to agonizing, dangerous stops. More ships, hurtling toward us, swerved and slammed into each other. I dove backward, pressing between two ships and preventing a collision.

I hurtled upward, through the rear end of one of the fighters. Its engines blew, and it started spiraling to the ocean below, as I punched toward another. They peppered me with Sandcaster fire as I flew, and chips of my armor blew free. The suit worked fast, repairing entire segments as I flew in a chaotic zigzag between the ships.

I blew out the engines on another three craft before they pulled back and let me return to the gravity sling, where I went to work cleaning up the chaos and crashes the attacks had caused. Once I had saved another three floundering ships and cleaned up the last of the girders, I cracked a sonic boom and flew off toward North America.

To avoid the pursuit craft that remained, I dove beneath the waves and continued my journey. The gravity sling escapade had taken me past the coast of Africa, so I cut through the Atlantic Ocean on my way to the Americas.

As I slid through the deep water, I tracked my own progress on my anti-magic helmet. It automatically cast fairy fire on any life forms in my path, and I was surprised at how often I was forced to divert course to avoid pods of whales.

Humpbacks and sperm whales were common again, and when I scanned the water with an identify ‘spell,’ I was shocked at how clean it was. My world had seemingly recovered from the mass pollution that had occurred before BuyMort. Even my own terraforming efforts hadn’t been projected to accomplish that task in a single century.

When I entered the Gulf of Mexico by slipping past Cuba on the south end of the islands, I discovered another shock. A massive city existed beneath the waves, filling nearly the entire gulf. Towers and spires, filled with light, rose from the depths and shared space with clinging seaweed vine forests.

The city was busy, if not thriving. Some areas were dark, with leaking bubbles and overt cracks in the seals. But most of it was alive with movement and commerce. I saw dozens of BuyMort aqua-pods racing to and fro, entering airlocks and moon pools.

While I was tempted to take a closer look, my pursuers gave me pause. The kind of damage that could be caused in such a city was too great to risk until things with Phyllis had calmed down.

I rose above the surf near shore, remembering the last time I had spent time on the coast. Admiral Omen had taken Molls, using hellfire missiles with blade deployment to stop me from responding. Even then, he had known how to deal with me.

How to stop me.

As I flew over first Texas, then New Mexico, I saw exactly how effectively he had stopped me. Massive swathes of ranchland filled the states, accompanied by small supporting cities. The many BuyMort bugs they ranched were butchered, shipped to transport hubs, and then carted off on rail or ship to all points of the planet.

Great fields of alfalfa, oat, and fescue grass complimented the ranchlands, and spread across the southwest up to the Arizona border. Farmers shielded their eyes to watch me fly overhead, my armor glinting in the sunlight.

When I saw the Arizona border coming, I raised my elevation and found some cloud cover to hide in. It was militarized. Heavily.

Tall, thick fencing covered the border, and heavily armed hobbs manned weaponized checkpoints at every road. Tucson and Phoenix were both fully militarized cities, built up around oversized spaceports, hobb military bases, and the space elevator. Everywhere I saw needle-nosed fighter craft on tarmacs, ready to launch.

As I flew slowly, I was picked up by ground based tracking systems and nearly encountered one of those fighters up close and personally. I managed to duck behind a thick cloud bank before dropping out of the sky into the Skull Valley desert.

Immediately before landing, I pulled my speed back and avoided creating a crater in the ground, stomping down only hard enough to raise a swirl of silty soil at my feet. Looking around, I felt shock roll through my body. Silken Sands, the original location, was a completely changed place.

Chapter 4

Axle’s library towered, hulking over the area and casting shade from its many spires and towers. Its grounds had spread across the desert, and the former campground attached to it seemed paltry by comparison. Many separate buildings formed the body of the library, all surrounded by a high mudcrete wall.

It too, had militarized checkpoints at any point of entrance. Armed hobbs, some wearing obvious power armor, stood stalwart at the heavy metal gates. The library was no longer a welcoming location; it was as closely guarded as a BlueCleave armory.

Silken Sands, however, was open. A theme park, by the gates and admission tickets they handed out. There was no charge to enter, but tickets would be required for any guests who wanted entrance to the park's many historic sites.

The mudcrete barn was still in place, I saw as I entered. The place had been repurposed into a gift shop, and I quickly shoplifted a Hawaiian shirt with my old friend Morbin’s face adorning the front. My armored boots and pants stood out a little less with the garish shirt on. It showed the diminutive bat-alien holding out a strangely shaped bottle of vibrant blue tequila, shouting his catchphrase into a speech bubble.

An idle, bored looking clerk seated at the front register watched me steal my new shirt. When I winked at the young hobb woman, she snorted and shook her head before returning to the book she was reading.

Mr. Sada’s crappy office building, once destroyed by a rampaging storm beetle, had been replaced by a two-story lodge advertising themed rooms for rent. The oversized apartment buildings that sat on the former campground lots were gone, replaced by themed observation areas.

Hobbs, delves, and humans all toiled in spider silk fields, separated from the walkways by tall glass viewing screens. As I walked down the path, I took notice of scratched graffiti in the glass screen. Much of it was in hobb and decried the place as a betrayal. No details, just the word ‘betrayed’ over and over, scratched into the thick, clear plastic.

One smaller bit of graffiti near the end of the tour displayed a tiny, flying man with oversized fists. It read “this machine kills fascists,” and puzzled me with its potential meaning. At the same time, it helped me feel like I was home for the first time since I had entered the planet’s atmosphere.

The sun set while I wandered the grounds, taking in the purely commercial environment it had become.

Morbin Time was at the end of the theme park, out near the old waterworks. It was no longer a saloon, but a modernized gastropub. When I entered the doors, a recording screeched “MORBIN TIME!” at me, and I flinched away from it.

Tables full of families ate from a cartoon-filled menu, displaying highly stylized versions of Morbin and myself having small adventures. The coloring section had us in the Sleem cavern underground, both fighting off living blobs with flame-throwers. Something that had absolutely never happened, but I saw small hobb children eagerly reading the menu over and over with wide, marveling eyes.

After putting the paper menu back in its slot by the door, I walked up to the bar and pulled out a seat. A hobb bartender in a suit and black tie slid over to me and nodded once.

“What can I get you?” he asked in clear English, as he slid a laminated bar menu to me.

It was filled with pictures of the drinks, each colorful or fancily garnished. I shook my head and pushed it away, before pointing to a bottle of blue tequila on the bar behind him. The bartender poured out a shot and slid it over to me with a smile.

“Fifty-eight morties, friend,” he said.

I scowled and shook my head. “Sorry, forgot I’m broke.”

The hobb scowled and frowned. “Well, then I’m sorry, but I can’t serve you.”

“What if I told you I knew the actual Morbin? Could you comp me a drink then?” I asked, eyebrows raised in hope.

The hobb chuckled, shook his head, and took the shot himself. “No sir, I couldn’t,” he answered.

“That’s alright. I mostly came for information anyway. And to see the old place. It’s been a while,” I told him.

“Oh?” he asked. “When were you last in? This is the original Morbin Time, you know. Historic landmark.”

“Oh, I know,” I replied. “I was here when it was built.”

The hobb scowled but looked me up and down. “Stat shots? How are you broke if you could afford those?”

I chuckled and stared at the bottle still in his hand. “Oh, morties come and go. I’ll have more soon, I don’t doubt.”

The bartender’s scowl deepened. “You a merc? Better not say that too loud around here.”

“No, not a merc. Just a man who makes his own fortunes.” I sighed. “You sure you won’t comp me a drink?”

The hobb looked at the bottle in his hand, then shook his head and poured out a measure into a tumbler, setting it in front of me. “Tell me how you were here when the place was built,” he asked.

I gulped the liquid and stood up. “Sure, when I’m done. Is there a way to Prescott from here? Tram or tour bus or something?”

The bartender laughed and put the bottle away on the shelf. “Sure. Courtesy shuttle from in front of the lodge, every hour. Should be one on the way now.”

I pushed the glass forward and he refilled it. “I was here when we first built the place,” I said, before standing up to leave. “Even helped Morbin to name it. Don’t tell anyone.”

The bartender scowled at me, but nodded and capped the bottle.

With a gulp, I downed the second glass of tequila and grinned at him. The bartender had a confused look on his face, which stayed until I was gone. After a quick walk down the silk farming lane, I was back in front of the lodge. I only had to wait a few minutes for the courtesy shuttle before it swept in overhead for a landing.

There was a small group of people waiting for it, so I moved with them. I didn’t quite blend in. Most of the people and aliens in the crowd wore casual outing gear. Polos and cargo shorts. Socks and sandals.

And they had children with them.

The more I looked around, the more certain I became that I was surrounded by upper middle class tourists. Only one of them paid me much mind, aside from to distance themselves and family once on board the small ship. A small hobb girl clutched at a gift shop book, one with real photos of me, Morbin, Lee, Axle, and even Jada.

I narrowed my eyes and held up a single finger to my lips. The girl gasped as her eyes widened even further. Then she realized my request and quickly stifled herself, before raising a thin gray finger to her own lips in reply. With a giggle, she buried her face in her mother’s skirts and I paid her no further attention.

The trip was short, as the bus-shaped shuttle lifted off on gravitic drive power and hauled us on a prepared route over the mountain. I stared out the windows and sighed as I saw Prescott approaching.

It looked like Las Vegas, with gaudy reflective towers, heavily specialized buildings, and giant beams of light shooting into the sky. One of the larger buildings looked like a replica of the Crown of Thorns. Another was a miniaturized version of Axle’s library across the valley.

And above it all hung the space elevator, now festooned in giant eyesore advertisements up to the cloud line. Elevator cars ran along the inside, lights visible from the darkened mountainside. My shuttle banked in low over the mountain range, giving us a good view of the Kitchen Sink dishes. They were decorated too, with welcome signs.

‘Welcome to Nu-Earth,’ said one dish while the other said ‘Welcome to Prescott.’

Welcome signs in weapon dishes. I frowned as our shuttle began its final landing approach, to another lodge building almost exactly the same as the one we’d left. A ‘Morbin Time’ banner hung over the landing zone, colorfully directing guests to the nearest version of the bar chain.

I disembarked with the rest of the passengers, then started walking down the row of tourist traps leading out to the main city. Morbin Time was everywhere. On postcards, articles of clothing, billboards, and building fronts.

All of it advertised a larger version of the bar, with multiple stories sitting right in the center of the city. The entire block was a tourism trade center. Khaki-clad aliens wandered, taking pictures and choosing which shop or eatery to enter next.

A pair of guards wearing the same kind of armor I had encountered on Phyllis’ ship idly walked the area, scanning each of the faces that passed them with casual interest. I placed a small crowd of hobbs between myself and them as I exited the area.

Once out in Prescott proper, the guard patrols increased. I slipped down alleyways and into businesses in order to avoid them as I moved through Prescott toward my old tower. It still stood, black and looming near the spaceport, one of the few buildings not covered in advertising.

My path meandered, which I didn’t mind. I wanted to see the city I had founded, learn what had become of it.

The streets were shockingly clean. Under BuyMort, where any bit of trash was a sale for the desperate, the streets were always clean. But Prescott’s cleanliness spoke to intent. I watched from the shadows as the armored guards, with their obscuring helmets, walked behind the tourists and wealthy residents selling any items they left behind.

I was happy to see that yarsp carts were still a thing, but I quickly noticed they were all a chain. The hobbs who ran them wore facsimiles of the actual yarsp cart owners from my time, with the addition of white paper hats. Greasy leather aprons and hand-made cleavers had been replaced with shiny plastic versions though, and the wax paper had been replaced by brand-name plastic cartons.

None of the vendors would give me a free wrap, no matter how charming or friendly I was. One of them finally told me they had to pay for any missing product at the end of their shift, and that giving away food almost always ended in disciplinary action from the affiliate.

He was an older human man, and between legitimate customers I struck up a friendly conversation with him.

“Thanks for letting me know. Most of the others just said no and told me to get lost,” I said. “I’m Tyson, by the way, what’s your name?”

“Henry,” he said in near-perfect hobb without looking up, squirting watery looking sauce from a deeply stained plastic bottle. The customer he was serving practically drooled at the smell of searing yarsp.

“Nice to meet you, Henry,” I said, leaning against the far end of his broad cart. “What, uh . . . what brings you to slinging yarsp on the harsh streets of Prescott?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “A long, sad story neither of us really wants to go over. But your assessment of Prescott is a bit off. Safest city in the multiverse.”

“Oh?” I asked, crossing my arms and watching as Henry’s customer flicked morties over for the wrap, then walked away eating it.

“A-yep, going on five decades now. Course, the old days were a little wild, I’m told,” Henry answered.

“Yeah, I haven’t been here in a while. Things have really changed,” I said.

Henry started cutting thin slices off his hanging chunk of yarsp. It looked like a full abdomen but was smaller than what I was used to. He nodded and glanced my way, carefully pausing his plastic knife work so as not to lose his place. “When were you last here?”

I gave a single, harsh laugh and frowned. “Oh, hundred years, give or take,” I said.

He scowled. “You wear a suit? Or just rich enough to afford stat shots?”

I paused at that. “What do you mean, ‘suit?’” I asked him.

Henry shrugged. “Starfish Suit, what else? I get plenty of customers from the base. Couple of ‘em never turned off their suits from the war.”

“Which war?” I asked.

Henry chuckled. “Ain't that the damn truth. Seems to never really end. But this was the big one, the Church war.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I fought in that.”

The old man cocked his head at me. “Really? Never met a human from that time. What’d you say your name was?”

I smiled at him coldly. “Tyson. Tyson Dawes.”

“Huh. Well you ain't him, whatever your name is. He died saving Nu-Earth from the Thread,” Henry said, turning back to his yarsp carving. “Not exactly kind to play pretend with that figure, though, I should tell you. Local military wouldn’t take kindly to some off-worlder on a bender going around saying he’s Tyson Dawes. Like I said, handful of ‘em still around from those days.”

“That is honestly encouraging to hear,” I told him. “I’m probably going to need some help from them pretty soon here.”

I glanced at the small heap of yarsp slices and ignored the twisting hunger pain in my stomach.

“Hey,” I said suddenly, before he could also tell me to get lost. “Where would I go if I wanted to learn more about that war?”

Henry looked at me over his glasses, again setting aside his plastic knife to engage with me. “Well,” he said. “I would point you to Central Plaza, probably. The statues all have plaques, good to read. Might learn some manners from ‘em, who knows.”

I chuckled and shook my head. “Henry, you gotta think about the big ‘what if’ question here, don’t you?” I asked him.

He frowned and narrowed his eyes.

“’What if he’s actually the guy?’” I said, my smile warmer. “If I know anything about that particular historic figure, he was insanely hard to kill.”

Henry didn’t say anything, instead staring at me over his glasses with both eyes narrowed and mouth slightly agape.

“How do I find Central Plaza, Henry? I’m going to go read every single plaque on every single statue, just because you told me to,” I said, still smiling.

“Well,” Henry started. He paused and swallowed once before shrugging. “Follow the signs then, we’re near a historic route.” He pointed behind me to a small bronze plaque on a nearby plasticrete brick building.

It showed the route with a blocky arrow, with a small message beneath it. ‘Historic route 1, old Prescott Northeast, spaceport and elevator Southwest.’

I turned and waved at the scowling yarsp vendor, then set off in the direction of the space elevator.

Chapter 5

The space elevator loomed in the distance, advertisements occasionally flickering as a car traveled by them. The streets of Prescott flowed by, with only occasional diversions to avoid patrolling guards, and I made my way toward the city’s Central Plaza.

It was a giant roundabout, with a sheltered garden at its center, filled with towering bronze statues.

I waited for the light traffic to clear and crossed in a crosswalk. Flying would have been easier, but I wanted to avoid attracting any attention from the city’s many guard patrols.

The first statue I encountered was of Tollya. I stopped and stared at the likeness, then raised a hand to my mouth when I saw the date of her death. She had died less than a year after I had vanished. Her statue showed her wearing classic BlueCleave armor with a chem-rail rifle in her hands, and her typical cocky smile on her face.

Its plaque read; ‘Tollya, second general of BlueCleave armed forces. Fallen in battle, protecting Silken Sands people. Gone, but never forgotten.’

I scowled and frowned at the vague plaque. It told me nothing about how she had died, aside from ‘in battle.’ Having known the hobb woman, that was an easy assumption. But I wanted more than that.

Moving through the small garden, I avoided the notice of a guard patrol by stepping around to the backside of a hedge and allowing them to pass. Their heavy, armored footfalls were getting familiar, I could hear them coming before I could see them.

The next statue in the row was for Rayna, and my clenched chest eased a bit while I read its plaque. She looked so old, her long braids and wrinkled smile still familiar, but far removed from the woman I had known.

‘First general of BlueCleave forces. An honorable foundation was laid by her hand.’

Again, infuriatingly vague praise. Nothing substantive to tell me what had happened to her.

At least Rayna was old, the date of death on her plaque was nearly seventy years after we had fought together against the Church.

The next statue I didn’t recognize at all. It was a Knowle, but not one I had been familiar with. Their dates of service were after my time, they had been somehow instrumental once I was gone. The vague platitude on their plaque made mention of clever accounting ability, and again a simple ‘lost in battle.’

Admiral Omen stared down at me as I rounded the next hedge, his crisp uniform evident even in bronze. ‘Focus, determination, wisdom,’ was all his plaque read, aside from his name and final rank of high admiral. After glancing around to ensure I was alone, I summoned a breaker gauntlet and scratched the word ‘betrayal’ into the blank stone pedestal.

No alarms went off, and no guards rushed toward me when I was finished, so in spite of the creeping feeling that I was being watched I moved on to the center of the garden. The pathway opened into a rounded area with benches and an extra tall statue.

It was me. The statue featured my reflective helmet, bare chest, and heavily armored pants. Silver ran through the bronze to represent the starfish suit on my chest and arms. My gleaming hands were clenched into fists at my sides, breaker gauntlets covering them as my statue faced down a non-existent foe.

After staring at the obscene representation for a long moment, I swallowed hard and read the plaque.

‘Freedom for Nu-Earth, freedom from the oppression of the Church, freedom for all of BuyMort. Tyson Dawes, founder of Silken Sands, gave his life saving Nu-Earth and all of BuyMort from the Thread of Fate.’

The date that followed coincided with my betrayal and ‘death’ in the Sleem system.

Without thought, my hands clenched and the breaker gauntlets sprang into place from their dimensional gates. I rose into the air, ignoring the shout of a nearby guard before I slammed both hands into the statute. A flash of blue light erupted from my fists and the statue shattered, blowing backward through the empty garden and shredding several expensive topiaries and hedges.

The guard shouted again, this time much more intense. “Stop!” he yelled, first in hobb, then again in near-perfect English.

I ignored it. My suit, full of charge from the statue, helped me skim along just above ground level, and I darted through the garden and out of Central Plaza. Once across the street I returned to the ground and started jogging away from the scene of my crime.

If these guards were anything like the soldiers on Phyllis’ ship, I figured I was in trouble. But I also didn’t want to be seen flying above the city streets. So I hovered and jogged. I did what I could to dodge the patrols, but they kept finding me and raising the alarm.

After a frustrating chase that led me to fly much higher and faster than I wanted to, I summoned my anti-magic helmet and told it to cast fairy fire on any surveillance equipment in my area. The city beneath me came alive with small glittering outlines. Cameras were hidden in the buildings, street signs, even the yarsp vendor carts.

I sighed and veered out over the city toward the north, into the desert where Molls' family had lived. It was built up with roads and residences, and a smattering of businesses. Mostly spider ranches. But the surveillance was lessened out there. Not missing entirely; I still had to avoid intersections and any building over two stories.

Beneath a bridge spanning a dry creek bed, I found a nice broad, flat area to hide out. I also felt certain no one had seen me land and enter the area beneath the bridge. But I stopped dead when I saw the mural painted onto its underside.

It was huge, painted across the entire underside of the concrete structure, and featured multiple vibrant colors. The mural also clearly featured my mate, Molls.

She was depicted bare of her armor but holding her hard light bow, posing sternly with the starfish suit lines running between her scales. Most of them were blue, emanating from the base of purple I had established with her in our earliest days together. Toward the top of her scales, the color changed to red and stayed that way until they were all complete with permanent color. In her tail she gripped a BlueCleave hobb, their power armor being crushed by her raw strength.

In the background of the mural a war raged. BlueCleave hobbs were depicted crushing a ragtag force of Nah’gh, delf, and gobb fighters. Only Molls was successfully fighting back, eyes narrowed and fangs fully bared.

I slumped against the wall, and slid down into a sitting position, staring at the mural. For the next few hours, I simply stared up at the hidden work of art. At first, I just wallowed in my feelings, seeing her again. I struggled to imagine she was still alive, if she was being immortalized in a secret mural underneath a bridge on the outskirts of the city.

Then I started analyzing the details of the mural and thinking about what it meant. Molls, fighting against BlueCleave. The implications made my stomach turn, and I started wondering what on Nu-Earth had become of my affiliate.

While I sat and thought, my cognitive ability began to return, along with some minor enhanced vision. I was better able to zoom in on areas of the mural than I had been when I first awakened, but my abilities were still a far cry from what they had been before Omen had done his work and blown my head off.

The man was effective, I had to admit that much. While the rest of the multiverse worried and fretted trying to find a way to kill me, he simply did it.

The BlueCleave forces on the mural looked homogenous, all wearing heavy power armor and carrying Highwater Blasters. They advanced as a unit, armored masks expressionless as they gunned down the renegade forces.

Conversely, those forces were depicted as poorly equipped peasant fighters. Most were equipped with farming tools for weapons, and all of them but Molls seemed to be trying to escape the onslaught they were subject to. In the background was a simple agricultural community, featuring rickety, hand-crafted mush-bug pens, and rice paddies.

After three hours, I finally saw the tiny “m” scratched in a corner of the painting. Mel, the teenage artist I had known back in the earliest days of BuyMort, was still around. I silently hoped to find her, even as I knew it would be impossible.

Mel had always had an eye for the truth at the core of each of us. She would have been invaluable in that moment, explaining the century of history I was trying to piece together. But once I’d lost track of her in those first early days, I had never seen her in person again.

After a century of my absence, and the likely stat shot improvements needed for her to survive that long, I doubted she was the same person at all. But I didn’t doubt her eye for the truth.

While I stared at the mural, exhaustion from my long, hunger-filled day began to set in. Eventually, I nodded off.

I awoke to the sound of a heavy metal harness clapping itself over my chest, coupled with the now-familiar feeling of a pulsed ion shot hitting me and draining my suit. When I sat forward in surprise, the harness automatically wrapped itself around my back and folded both of my arms into my opposing armpits, effectively neutralizing my breaker gauntlets. I couldn’t activate them without blasting away most of my own torso.

A glance around told me my situation. While I had slept, dawn crept over the horizon and the city’s guard patrols had caught me. There were four hover tanks floating silently nearby, two on either side of the bridge, accompanied by dozens of heavily armed guards.

They carried linear rifles and monowire weapons, reminiscent of the Church’s final troops. All that was different was the paint job, marking them as part of the city guard.

I flexed against the harness and felt it begin to give. Then I stopped, looking around me at the gathered hobbs. Descendants of my people, all holding lives that I valued.

The odds were good that I could break free and escape without hurting any of them, but then none of my questions would get answered. Their method of restraint told me they were prepared for a stat shot enhanced target, but that they likely didn’t know about my crystalline colonies.

If I spent some time in their custody, I would learn a lot more than I could by simply running from them, so I held still and allowed them to approach. My new harness was on a length of stiff, thick wire attached to one of the hover tanks. Its silver armor had a darkened gap at the front where the cable protruded, showing a recess clearly designed to hold a prisoner of my caliber.

As I glared at it, the tank’s winch started winding me in. I lurched up, off the ground, and snorted a laugh when the guards all raised their weapons at me. The tank hauled me in, and I turned around in time to sit down in a reinforced cubby before the plating slid shut in front of me.

While I watched, I saw another contingent of guards armed with spray cans and paint rollers. They attacked the mural, seemingly angry at it. Their fervor and experience with the paint suggest to me that these murals were becoming a common nuisance in Prescott. I narrowed my eyes. That act told me something important, but I didn’t have enough context to put the whole picture together yet.

A short, smooth ride later the armor plating slid open again and I was looking at the garage of the Prescott tower. The same building we had taken away from Dearth at the beginning of the BuyMort wars. The garage was primarily unchanged. It was full of hover tanks and APCs for the city guard.

Hobbs wearing full body coverage armor hauled me ungently from the tank, and I fell out in a heap. While I groaned on the ground, a pair of them used my cable to lift me onto my feet and started me marching through the structure.

As I went, I saw a single Knowle near the double-wide doors leading out to the street. Her dark eyes glared at me, and she wore a tight-fitting suit with the same color scheme I’d been seeing since I arrived: red and white stripes over a black base.

“To the elevator!” she barked.

The hobbs responded only with movement, dragging me along behind as they marched toward a familiar elevator. Inside, it was filled with aged, but still decadent décor. Ivory and gold adorned the interior, with mirrored surfaces on each marble wall.

The doors slid shut with an ominous clank, and I could feel the elevator begin its ascent.

Chapter 6

Both of my guards remained silent on the way up, and so did I. There didn’t seem to be much point, and they seemed to be taking me to someone important anyway. For once, I didn’t feel the need to antagonize my captors.

The elevator doors slid open with a light ‘ding’ sound, and I entered my own former penthouse. It had been significantly renovated in my absence.

I stepped out into an office area, with an oversized oak desk at the far wall and a reception area with seating near the elevator. My guards led me to the large desk, and I recognized it as the wall that led to my former living area. It was one of the homes I had shared with Molls.

A sense of sorrow rolled through me, echoes of laughter and love over shared meals and movie flicks.

The times had been hard, but she'd always made it worthwhile.

Now things were a bit different. A single door near the window was the only indication that the penthouse extended further, but I knew it wrapped around the top two-thirds of the building. It used to have a panic room too, but I couldn’t tell much from my seat in front of the desk.

The desk itself told me something, covered with tools and knick-knacks. The tiny model of Axle’s library told me I was likely to be meeting a Knowle, which made a sort of sense. They had mostly run the affiliate even in my day. Whatever kind of government the affiliate now functioned as, a system of leadership reliant on Knowle ingenuity and pure thinking power was definitely a smart way to go.

The door clicked open and an absolutely ancient Knowle stepped through. He walked with a cane, but his eyes flashed with mechanical light as he took me in and sighed heavily.

“Axle?!” I exclaimed, trying to stand. My guard pushed me back into my chair with heavy hands, and then brought a monowire ax near my head to hum in my ears.

The old Knowle nodded once, heavily, and moved to sit down across from me. His knees popped and he sighed again as he sat in the high-backed chair on the other side of the desk.

“I had hoped, despite all of the reports, despite what Phyllis had said, I hoped it was not you,” he said slowly. His face was covered in gray fur, and all of his many stripes had faded in color. His head was also hunched down, and twisted to one side, as though he had a neck injury that forced it into an unnatural position.

“Great to see you too, old buddy. Really though, how are you still alive?” I asked, leaning back in the chair and relaxing as much as the restraint harness would allow me to.

Axle scowled and put his paws on the desk. “Knowles range in lifespan, but we can live to roughly one-hundred and fifty years, if conditions are good.”

“And your conditions are clearly good,” I replied, looking around.

Axle’s scowl turned into a full blown glare. “Would you hold that against me?”

I shrugged. “Well, I’m in restraints, and your desk appears to have gold filigree. Your desk which is sitting in my penthouse. So I don’t really know how to feel just yet.”

“The penthouse was always affiliate property,” Axle grunted. “Nothing improper about my use of it.”

“Oh no, nothing improper at all,” I agreed, nodding amicably. “Tell me, what the hell happened to Molls?”

Axle winced. It was a small change in his expression, but I noticed it. “She hasn’t used the penthouse for many decades. I didn’t take it away from her, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

“I think I’m pretty direct,” I said, meeting his eyes. “And I asked you what happened to her. Not if you took the penthouse away from her.”

Axle frowned and looked down at his hands. After a lengthy pause, he cleared his throat and spoke. “She’s been dead for years. Left the affiliate, turned off her starfish suit, had a family, grew old, and died.”

I blinked a few times and nodded, numb. Of course she was gone. My hopes of being reunited were always a dull fantasy, a product of having my head blown off and regrown. Certainly not a realistic desire.

But I’d had that hope, right up until Axle told me otherwise.

“Natural causes?” I asked in a small voice.

Axle exhaled hard, nodded his head, and shrugged. “So I’m told, yes.”

“And her family? Where are they?” I asked, still numb.

“Why?” Axle scoffed. “You want to go kill them?”

I frowned. “You have a grim perception of me, old friend.”

The ancient Knowle nodded slowly. “I do. The time you were with us was . . . well, it was nothing but war and chaos. Death and destruction on a cosmic scale, and every time it looked like we might finally come to a place of peace, you always pushed us into another war.”

“Yeah, that’s a fair recollection, but it does feel a bit incomplete,” I replied, looking at my secured hands. “Can you let me out of this please?” I jigged the harness.

“No,” Axle said immediately. “You’re not safe to be around.”

I scowled and nodded. “You’re right. I’m not. Which is why you should let me out of these restraints.”

The hobb at my side tensed, and his weapon came in a bit closer. I could hear the hum of its containment field.

“Was that a threat?” Axle slowly asked.

“I don’t make threats, Axle. You should remember that even a century on. But I do speak plainly. Especially with my friends,” I replied, staring up at his hobb.

The helmeted alien glanced between me and Axle, then took a step back when the Knowle shook his head.

“When I break free from these,” I explained. “I worry you might get hurt. It would therefore be much easier and safer for us all if you were to simply let me out. I promise to behave, so long as you and your guards do.”

Axle frowned at me, lip twitching as he stared. “No, I don’t think I’ll be trusting you as quickly as I once did.”

“Fair,” I replied. “But it doesn’t take much trust to speak with me as an equal, and we get no further while I’m in chains.”

“Very well, we get no further,” he said back. “You’re wanted on several crimes, including destruction of capital city property and the defacing of a planetary monument.”

I snorted. “Oh that, come on. Can’t blame me for breaking that garbage statue. You never should have put it up.”

“Wasn’t my choice,” Axle immediately replied. “Contrary to your apparent belief, I didn’t commission or request any statues from that war.”

“And yet, there they all are,” I said. “Well, were. I never agreed to be canonized for your little fascist utopia.”

Axle’s lip twitched again, and I saw a few of his teeth bared for an instant before he regained control. “What is it with you humans and that word?” he muttered.

“Oh we love it,” I said with a wide smile. “There’s this thing about elements of ourselves that we love to hate. Gotta have a bad guy, and when they’re real on a large scale they almost always come with that label.” I wriggled in my harness, again feeling the give at the hinges, and better learning where it was weak.

“I see,” he replied dismissively.

“Did you know?” I started, getting Axle’s attention again. “Before BuyMort, on my world we had these video games; they were super popular. Shooters, we called ‘em. Typically they featured the ability to shoot and kill one of a small handful of enemy archetypes, for the sake of mass appeal. Stuff like zombies and robots were common enough. You know, soulless stuff. But the most popular enemy to kill by far was Nazis. Fascists were culturally acceptable to kill for fun. Think about that for a minute.”

The Knowle glared at me from across the desk. “I have not missed this,” he finally replied. “Your endless bloviating, the nonsense you present as wisdom, the thinly veiled violence in your every word.” Axle raised a claw and pointed it at me. “Nu-Earth is structurally better for your absence. You started as a powerfully innovative and hands-on CEO, but rapidly turned ruinous and self-destructive. The aftermath of the Church war killed many more than the war itself, and some say it was a miracle any survived the economic depression that followed.”

I puffed out my cheeks and scoffed. “Oh c’mon, I wasn’t the one who messed up Kraken’s gravity sling. Though, I do have to admit that I like what you’ve done with the place, old friend.”

“Are we though?” Axle asked, before clearing his throat against one paw. “Are we friends? Were we? I remember a cage, being surrounded by guards at all times. I remember a prisoner’s life, with only my work to distract me.”

I sighed and nodded. “Yes, Axle, we were friends. Maybe not for the whole time I was in charge, but at first, we were definitely friends.”

“Why?” he asked, claws on the table. “I cannot remember this friendship. Tell me what it was based on.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Well,” I started. “When we first met, I saved you and Jada from the yarsps. And from a life of servitude under Dearth. You were homeless on a hostile planet. I gave you important positions and operational freedom within my affiliate. We built all of this together, Axle.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” he replied. “I remember trading one yoke for another.”

“If that’s what you remember, I don’t feel like this conversation is going to help our relationship very much,” I said, staring into his eyes.

“No, I suppose it won’t,” Axle replied. “But I needed to see you. To be sure it was you.”

“Before what, Axle?” I asked. “You needed to be sure it was actually me before you what?”

Axle stared at me for a long moment, his mechanical eyes whirring as they focused. “Your return has been destructive, disruptive, and unwelcome. You’ve broken several of our laws, caused massive amounts of property damage in a record-breaking time, and don’t seem to have any remorse for it. I’m sending you to a cell. Perhaps in six months or so you’ll be more amicable to a new, peaceful life in Silken Sands.”

“Woah,” I started, moving to sit forward in my chair. The hobb guard came back to attention, gripping his monowire ax in both hands. “You’re going to throw me in jail?”

“Prison, and only temporarily. I need to work out what to do with you, and I need to keep you from destroying any more of my affiliate while I do so,” Axle explained in calm tones.

“And you think I’ll submit to this imprisonment?” I asked.

“There’s that threat again,” he said.

“Well, your goons captured me by force when I would have happily come to meet you willingly. I’m feeling a little oppressed, and more than a little confused. Hard not to when your friends all seemingly turn on you. Makes me edgy,” I explained.

“Oh really?” Axle asked, raising a lip in annoyance. “Destruction of affiliate property, assault on affiliate security forces, defacement of a public monument. Hell, even shoplifting. We have you on camera at the Silken Sands gift shop, stealing that very shirt. You seem to think of yourself as above our laws, and that is something a civilized society cannot tolerate.”

I sighed and nodded. “Your mind seems made up. You really gonna throw me in a hole for half a year?”

“Possibly more. Guard,” Axle said, his voice harsh and stern.

I flexed, pressing out against the harness with both arms. It popped, as reinforced joints gave way and the metal restraints began to bend. Axle’s eyes shot wide, and the guard stepped in to swing his mono wire ax at my neck. I ducked and he lopped off the back of my chair, before I stood and rammed the top of my head into the chin of his helmet.

The hobb dropped with a grunt, and I straightened my back as I tore the metal of my restraint harness apart. Its heavy bolts blasted free and peppered the room, causing Axle to duck in alarm. The elevator at my back pinged, notifying me that more guards were on the way, so I threw the remnants of my harness into its doors, bending them permanently shut.

With another heavy sigh, I stepped over to Axle’s floor-to-ceiling windows and shook my head. “Axle, you should know better than this. You should know me better.”

The old Knowle cowered behind his ornate desk. “Please don’t hurt me!” he cried.

“You should know better!” I yelled, before slamming my fist into the bay window. It shattered and wind swept through the office. “BuyMort! I’d like to sell all of this!”

A pod approached from the city as I heard boot-steps on the stairs from the roof behind me. Hobbs burst through the door as my pod warped away anything broken or altered enough by my escape to no longer be covered by Axle’s MortBlock. They brandished mono wire weapons but hesitated at the sight of Axle hunkered down behind his desk.

It vanished in a twinkle of rainbow light, leaving Axle crouched behind nothing. With a thought, I ordered a portal and the pod opened a beam in front of me, just off the ledge where the window once was.

“Cleaned up my mess. You’re welcome,” I said. I paused on the precipice and glared at him. “I’ll be back, once I figure out what to do with you, old friend.”

Then I stepped through the portal and vanished.

Chapter 7

I stepped out onto Storage, in an arrival platform dome.

Immediately I noticed it was overgrown, a thick jungle of vines and grasses covering the translucent metal dome. In open patches I could see the gas giant that Storage encompassed, and a handful of other spires in the distance. I had chosen an arrival platform at random, hoping to miss any remaining BlueCleave fortresses.

They’d only been built on a handful of platforms, but I had no way of knowing if they had expanded in the century I’d been missing. Fortunately, the platform I landed in was empty of sapient life. All I saw was a handful of oversized leaf bugs fluttering from vine to vine.

The central elevator platform was overgrown, but I noticed a place where the leaf bugs pushed in and out, so I hovered down toward it and brushed aside some vines. Leaf bugs the size of large dogs scurried away from me, and the area behind the vines revealed a darkened elevator shaft.

With a thought, I activated my armor, including my nanite anti-magic helmet. It offered dark vision, which equated to low-light or thermal depending on the scenario. The tunnel lit up with insect life, all moving to avoid me as I floated down the center of the shaft.

The vines quickly turned into roots in the elevator shaft, gripping the sides and absorbing moisture dripping down from above. Light shined in from above and below, and more plant life grew in the next level from all four open doors.

I floated into the center of the overgrown area and stopped to look around. Each of the tunnels spread out in four directions, and each rounded tube filled with dark soil. It ramped up from the doorways, and vibrant foliage crawled up the walls.

Only one of the segments of Storage featured sapient life. I watched as hundreds of gobbs fled toward me from the far end, chittering and screaming. Chasing them was a series of off road vehicles, filled with humans, hobbs, and orcs. They used nets launched from mounted cannons, and darts shot from rifles to capture the gobbs en masse.

As I watched, hovering in the center of the massive cargo elevator shaft, little green men began scrambling down the root clusters and vines. They swarmed, heedless of the oversized insects in their way, eager to escape the all-terrain vehicles.

The gobbs pursuers slowed as they neared the lip of the elevator shaft, seemingly content with the captures they had already made. Nearly a dozen of the open-cockpit vehicles ground to a stop near the lip and clustered up. The operators disembarked once the vehicles were parked and began jovially shouting to one another while rounding up the gobbs they had in nets.

The men, hobbs, and orcs were all armed beyond the dart rifles they had used on the hapless gobbs. My enhanced vision showed me laser sidearms, machetes, and even Highwater Blaster shotguns. They didn’t use them though, instead rounding up the gobbs they had captured and shoving them into an oversized cage on the back of a particularly large truck.

I hovered in the shadow of the elevator shaft and watched, staying still to avoid being noticed, but my fists clenched at the sight of the helpless gobbs being rounded up. Some of them were limp, unconscious from the darts. Others were in a sheer panic, trying to escape their nets or climbing the bars of the prison truck.

From below me in the elevator shaft, a large, gangly shadow moved against the wall. The escaping gobbs parted around it and a series of cheers arose as an oversized Storage spider galloped up from the shadows and charged over the lip of the elevator shaft, heading directly for the gobb poachers.

A larger than average gobb was on its thorax, in a specialized saddle. I looked closer and saw several mechanical enhancements to the spider itself, which the gobb quickly put into good use. A thick shot of webbing splattered across the biggest group of poachers, and the spider lunged forward to impale two of them on metal-tipped legs.

The jovial shouts turned to roars of anger and weapons fire filled the large tunnel. Both gobb and spider proved quick, as the gobb picked off poachers with a long rifle that appeared to fire simple slugs. Laser fire chased the spider through the foliage as it darted from cover to cover, lunging forward to ravage a poacher when opportunity presented itself.

I scowled and moved to join the melee. I’d seen enough, and the single brave gobb was massively outnumbered. A dozen poachers circled up around the main truck, guarding their catch as the spider wreaked havoc on their outer lines and killed stragglers.

One of them turned on a flamethrower and began sweeping the jungle around them, clearing out the spider’s cover. I plunged forward and slammed into the man, sending him flying into the burning jungle. The spider moved, nearly too fast to properly see, and spat something at him. A glob of green acid struck the man’s tank as he flew, and he landed in a giant fireball, destroying two of the poacher’s vehicles.

Sudden angry shouts filled the air around me as I turned and deployed my armor. Small arms fire ricocheted from my chest and limbs, the laser beams and shotgun slugs having no effect. I pulled my punches and started knocking the poachers off their feet, stopping short of breaking their fragile bodies with my enhanced strength.

I needn’t have bothered, as the spider charged into the clearing at the back of the truck, one portion of its legs on fire. It speared the poachers and spit acid at them, whirling around as the gobb on its back took snap shots and killed sapients with uncanny accuracy.

He reloaded between each shot, slipping oversized shells into the breach of his rifle while clinging to the saddle with only his short, green legs. I slammed into poacher after poacher, breaking bones and sending them sprawling for the spider to stab. Soon it was whirling around with dead poachers on several of its legs.

The spider dropped and rolled to put out its flames, as the diminutive goblin warrior leapt from its back, firing and head-shotting a poacher while in midair. He came up reloading his rifle and took another down as the orc charged his position. I flew through a hobb as the alien aimed a Highwater Blaster at the little green man, then stooped to pick up his shotgun for myself.

It was loaded with flechettes, which I discovered by firing a round through a nearby human’s chest. My attempts at non-lethal combat were abandoned. The faces of the captured gobbs crammed up against bars as they desperately tried to escape drove me into a fury.

Poachers died as the gobb and I covered each other. I took weapons fire for him, and he shot assailants charging me with sparking nets. His spider returned, still smoking, and impaled the last of the poachers in a fit of stomping. It turned to look down at me, half of its eyes flashing at me with the glint of mechanized replacements.

The little gobb raised a hand and barked a guttural word at the spider, and it froze. The creature looked between us, then started walking among the dead poachers.

“You,” the gobb said to me, in passable English. “Who are you?”

I retracted my armor and turned to the locked cage behind us. “Tyson,” I said, before ripping the bars apart and freeing the captured gobbs inside. “Nice to meet you.”

“There’s no meat. You have meat?” the gobb fighter chattered.

The gobbs that escaped the truck carried their drugged compatriots with them, before all filing past the warrior gob and touching his arm or shoulder. He nodded to them, and accepted a small gift one offered him. It was an oily block of paper tied with string.

“Oh, meat,” he said. The gobb unwrapped the block of greasy meat and tore into it. At our backs, his spider picked among the dead poachers, before finding a particularly large orc to dig into.

The gobb chewed noisily as he looked me up and down. He shouldered his rifle and popped the last of the meat chunk into his sharp-toothed mouth. “Why help us?” he finally asked.

I shrugged. “Seemed wrong that they were rounding you guys up like that. Once I saw you fighting back, and how outnumbered you were, I just felt like I had to help. Why are they after you guys anyway?”

“Humans hunt gobbs. Always hunt gobbs. Catch us, take us away from Storage, make us work,” he said, wiping his face.

“Slavers,” I said.

The gobb nodded.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

He picked at a chunk of gristle caught between his pointy teeth, then flicked it into the tall grass. “Nozzle,” he said. Then he gestured vaguely toward his spider, who was still happily eating the orc. It had made shocking progress, the orc’s torso was almost entirely skeletonized, and the spider was gnawing on his breastplate. “That’s Babyeater.”

I nodded. “He looks like a Babyeater.”

Nozzle shrugged. “He not really eat babies. I just call him that, scare slaver raiders.”

Babyeater lifted the orc corpse and tossed it into the tall grass. I frowned and nodded.

“What you doing in Storage?” Nozzle asked, eyes narrowed. “Not part of Silken Sands, but you have starfish suit.”

I chuckled and nodded. “I’m hiding from Silken Sands, as a matter of fact. You know a lot about them?” I asked.

The gobb shrugged. “Some. They hunt us sometimes, use suits like yours. Fly, hard to kill.”

“Silken Sands hunts gobbs?” I asked.

“Only if we make too many problems. Some tribes raid cities. That always cause trouble,” Nozzle explained. “My people stay away, only have to deal with raiders. Sometimes bugs.”

His people filed away toward the elevator shaft, climbing down the vines and abandoning the upper levels.

“Need to find new site for village,” grunted Nozzle. “You come with? Help me protect?”

I shrugged and lifted off, hovering over the fleet of trucks.

As we passed by, Nozzle pointed at each and sold them to BuyMort, along with the remaining corpses in the grass. He sighed, reading his BuyMort readout after the pods had come. “Never enough. Raiders use cheap shit!” he exclaimed.

“What do you use the morties for?” I asked.

Nozzle mounted his spider and followed his people toward the elevator shaft. “Life,” he scoffed. “What you use them for?”

I chuckled and nodded, hovering alongside Babyeater. “Yeah, life. Me too. Even here in Storage, I guess I need some. Speaking of, do you guys have anything else to eat? I’m starting to get pretty hungry.”

Nozzle nodded. “We stop in storage bays, steal something to eat. Had to leave last place fast, left most of village’s supplies behind.”

“What are you guys doing so far up the superstructure? Isn’t it safer down below?” I asked.

Babyeater started climbing down the vines, Nozzle rocking and swaying in his saddle.

“Hiding from raiders, what else? All we do, move and hide from raiders. Lose some gobbs every time they find us, upper tunnels safer. More to hide in,” the gobb explained.

“You have to leave your homes behind?” I asked. “Every time you run?”

“Sell some, but yeah. That why we go to storage bays,” Nozzle explained, as his spider turned and painstakingly climbed down his own vine. I followed closely behind.

Chapter 8

The gobbs all climbed down the vines, using the elevator shaft’s ladders too. We descended into darkness, and I pulled up my anti-magic helmet again to help me see. Nozzle’s eyes glinted in the dark, and I saw his tribe members’ eyes do the same. It made sense they could see in the dark, the gobbs had called Storage home for thousands of years. The next level was darkened, but the gobbs swarmed into it regardless.

The tunnel was covered in racks of storage containers and had no external lighting. The roots of the vines extended down into the storage racks, and I watched as the gobbs with free hands began gnawing through the hard wood structures. They broke off lengths of the roots and started spreading out between the racks.

BuyMort pods floated in and out of the tunnel, in the dozens. Anytime they approached a container, the door would automatically slide open for the pod, then close behind it once the pod was finished warping away whatever item it had been sent for.

Each storage container was the size of a small building, and the section was filled with thousands of them. Tiny indicator lamps twinkled from between racks of them, providing just enough light for my helmet to enhance and show me the entire scene.

Gobbs waited patiently for BuyMort pods to arrive, jumping and clambering to the containers they opened, and then jamming the roots into the open doors. Once a door was wedged open, they swarmed inside. When the gobbs returned from the recesses, they carried various materials and items with them.

Reams of heavy tarpaulin cloth, lengths of wood, tent poles, rebar, even simple sheet metal. Anything they could carry by hand. They also hauled out boxes and bags of food. One tossed a small bag up to Nozzle on their way past, and he opened it to reveal a series of instant noodle soups.

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1990 morties, 3.2 stars.

Nozzle tossed one to me and tore open a package to crunch on himself. I chuckled and did the same. The noodles were bland 3.2 star fare, flavorless without their packet, and excessively crunchy. But it put something in my stomach, so I didn’t complain.

I simply moved to help the gobbs with their load. A trio of them were struggling to carry a long metal flagpole, so I swooped in and took it for them. The gobbs chattered happily and scattered to find other materials and goods to carry instead.

By the time the small horde of them was clambering down the roots and ladders again, they were fully loaded. The last gobbs out of the storage racks knocked the root wedges free and the doors slid shut behind them. Each of them kicked or hauled the severed chunks of root off the edges of their platforms and tossed them into the clustered growth at the bottom of the tunnel. Covering their presence in the storage racks, making it harder for slavers to track their movements.

A small handful of the gobbs carried other gobbs, but most of them had materials and food. The industrious little green men hauled their loads with one arm and climbed with the other, their wiry muscles popping from the effort.

Nozzle had his spider web up a particularly large batch of wooden beams, and the cyborg beast carefully clambered down the elevator shaft with its load dangling below. The next level was abandoned, its long tunnels open and free of structures. The foliage grew tall, reaching up to the windows at the top where murky light flowed in.

My troop of gobbs marched through the tunnel, moving in the opposite direction they had come from. Nozzle and Babyeater marched behind them, guarding the rear and dragging the spider’s load of building materials along behind. Anytime it got snagged on something, the cyber-spider would simply lift the webbed bundle and carry it under its many limbs.

They marched for hours. I hovered along at the rear with Nozzle, and though we didn’t speak, I gained further insight into his people during the long march. The gobbs passed through dozens of tunnel intersections, walking through the rest of the day with their burdens.

We eventually dropped down to the bottom habitable level of Storage, into a swampy tunnel filled with overgrown ferns and murky sunlight. The star’s light reached the bottom of Storage’s levels, but it was dimmed by the thick atmosphere of the gas giant itself.

“Why down here?” I asked Nozzle, as his people began setting up rudimentary shelters.

He looked over at me and narrowed his eyes momentarily. Then he shrugged. “We alternate. Sometimes, if we live up high, the raiders miss us. They lazy, don’t check every tunnel every time. But . . .” he looked around and kicked his spider into movement. “Down here is usually safer. More bugs to hunt too.”

I followed him as he moved away from his tribe, patrolling the tunnel length as they spread out to populate the area. Small fires were started and food was cooked, while structures started to rise from the murky undergrowth.

Some gobbs worked to cut vines and grasses, quickly twisting them to form rudimentary rope. Tents rose quickly, as the industrious gobbs strung tarps and layered oversized fronds across their structural supports.

Nozzle ranged. We covered the four tunnels that joined his tribe’s new home, and then did the same on the level above before he declared it safe. I followed and watched, leaving the gobb to his work. He checked insect warrens and overgrown patches, having his spider pick through the growth to ensure there were no dangerous BuyMort bugs lurking.

Once he was finished, he turned to look at me again. I hovered by his side, anti-magic helmet in place to help me see more clearly. I had marked a handful of the large insects that roamed Storage with fairy fire and watched them closely. All of the creatures gave Babyeater a wide berth.

“What you do now?” Nozzle asked me.

I took a deep breath and shrugged. “I’m not sure. I need to figure out what to do with my affiliate. Though, I guess it's not actually mine anymore.”

“What happened?” Nozzle asked idly. His attention was on his spider’s claw, which had punched through a moose-thick millipede hiding in the loam. Babyeater was hunting. The millipede curled up around the impaling limb and struggled briefly before stilling. Nozzle’s giant spider rapidly webbed it up for transport.

After watching the macabre event, I shook my head and addressed Nozzle. “I, uh . . . left for a while. An old employee betrayed me, and I got stuck in a distant system for a long time.”

“How long?” Nozzle asked, focused on the millipede. “Sometimes I have to leave my tribe for a while. Always come back though.”

“And I bet they welcome you back when you do, huh?” I asked, staring at the mounted gobb.

He nodded, hefting his rifle. “Always. Tribe is family.”

“Yeah, I used to think that about my affiliate,” I replied. “Now though, I’m not so sure. It’s changed. I was gone a long time.”

“Tribe changes all the time,” Nozzle said. “They still tribe.”

I looked at the gobb to see him staring back at me. “What is your role in this tribe, exactly?” I asked. “I haven’t met many gobb warriors like you.”

“Not warrior,” Nozzle corrected. “Ranger. Babyeater and I keep the tribe safe, much as we can.”

“And they equip you with the spoils of what they can steal from BuyMort,” I added.

The gobb nodded. “Babyeater gets hurt, they help fix him. Give me weapons when I lose them. We help feed them too, this bug make a good meal. Feed many of my tribe. You can have some too.”

I smiled from the corner of my mouth. “Thank you, Nozzle. May I stay with your tribe for a little while?”

The gobb ranger nodded, eagerly. “You help us fight, hunt?”

“Of course. I can fly, so I’ll check the tunnels and make sure your tribe is safe from raiders,” I told him.

“Then you stay as long as you like,” he replied.

Chapter 9

The millipede bonfire was bigger than I expected. They dug a lengthy trench in a circle, then laid out the creature’s body in the pit. By the time they were finished, the body was curled three times around the fire. The bonfire itself was composed of dry wood and plant fibers from the immediate area, reinforced with scrap from their scavenging run.

Anything they didn’t immediately need went into feeding the tribe, and soon a towering pillar of flames roasted the millipede from the inside out. Black smoke pooled at the top of the tunnel as the sun passed beyond the range of our windows, and the light faded in a spectacular purple and orange sunset. Great fans kicked on and sucked the smoke out of the area.

Within an hour, a loud crackling noise drew my attention back to the bonfire. The millipede’s exoskeleton ruptured in segments as the meat within swelled from the heat. Many gobbs cheered raucously as they descended on the cooking arthropod with long-bladed scrap knives and began carving it up. Some dug in directly, biting great hunks off the insect and consuming it eagerly, grease running down their green chins.

Others carved off sections and returned to their shelters with heaping loads of meat to feed their families. As segments of the great arthropod were excavated, the gobbs carted away its armor plating and legs, before moving the rest of its body closer to the flames.

By the time the bonfire was coals, the gobbs had stripped the entire thing. Nothing would be wasted. Armor plates became roof tiles and bowls alike, and the legs went into their shelters for structural support, as well as defensive spike arrangements. I even saw a gobb woman wrapping a fire-blackened leg tip in reeds to make a simple knife. When she was done, she tucked it into her waistband and wandered off munching on a segment of the millipede’s flesh.

Near the end of the feast, Nozzle barked a few words in gobb to his tribe members and I was hastily served a portion of millipede on an armor plate. I thanked the gobbs who served it, but they fled from me chittering and went back to their bonfire.

The meat was grainy, and greasy, but tasted like roasted lobster. I ate the entire portion they gave me, quickly realizing how ravenous I really was. By the time I was finished eating, so was the rest of the tribe. They retreated to their structures, making adjustments and reinforcements to them. Some went to sleep, around smaller fires in their huts and tents.

Nozzle stretched and yawned in his saddle.

“You going to sleep?” I asked him.

The gobb shook his head. “No, I want to watch that lake,” he said, pointing to the nearby elevator shaft.

Its bottom was covered in murky water, some of which extended into the nearby tunnels, forming a swamp at the bottom of that particular portion of Storage. The liquid didn’t fluctuate or surge, which told me that the section's baffle was non-functional. With too many millennia of use, even simple machines like it could break down.

“You want to know what’s in it,” I stated.

Nozzle nodded. “Sometimes danger. Sometimes food. Either way, tribe must know, if they are to live on its edge.”

“How did all this come to be?” I asked suddenly, glancing up at Nozzle in his saddle. Babyeater twitched a leg at my attention, and the gobb patted the spider soothingly. “So much water, so much soil.”

Nozzle scoffed and began picking his teeth with a claw. “Hobbs,” he said. “Some gobbs too. Bring dirt back from jobs. Sometimes a pocketful, sometimes a bag. Gobbs smarter. We break into storage pods and steal it. BuyMort stupid, replaces dirt we steal. We steal it again.”

“Of course. BuyMort passes untold tons of soil and earth through Storage. How long have the gobbs been here?” I asked.

“Always,” Nozzle replied immediately. It didn’t tell me much, but it likely meant thousands of years at the least.

The root structures drank from the lake, and flora spread out across dozens of sections. Other stilled baffles were likewise filled with water, creating more pockets of life all across Storage.

“I’ll check the lake for you,” I offered. “I can go deep, see underwater.”

“Your armor?” Nozzle asked.

I nodded.

He laughed and gestured toward the lake. “Good! Yes, go!”

I floated upward and summoned my armor, drawing a few gasps and shrieks from the gobbs still awake. Ignoring them, I hovered over the murky lake and descended into its center. The water was impenetrable to light, but I began casting fairy fire to find my way.

It glowed softly against the walls around me, outlined the roots that dipped low in the water, and showed me the various creatures that called the lake home. Thousands of tiny shrimp skittered from root to root, feeding on the plant life even as they fed wall-mounted catfish-grubs, which gulped the shrimp by the dozen in sudden, lunging motions.

I descended lower. The walls of the baffle were as I expected, locked closed, the machinery seized and corroded. Forever dead.

From the depths of the baffle rose a familiar horror, something that would definitely threaten the gobbs. A lobtis, using its claws to idly pick catfish-grubs from the walls and consume them, gripping the smooth metal sides with its many small limbs. I frowned and pushed my suit, streaking through the water toward the sparkling outline.

It felt me coming and pushed off from the wall, both scythes reaching back in preparation to strike. I never gave it the chance, punching straight through its carapace and out the other side as it feebly swung its scythe claws.

With a grunt of effort, I caught the dead lobtis’ body as it started to sink and flew upward. Once I cleared the waterline with my burden, I flew over to the gobbs encampment and dropped the dead lobtis off on the shore of the lake nearby.

Nozzle stared at me with wide eyes, then peered down at the giant dead creature. He shrugged and motioned toward the lake again. I chuckled and went diving again.

My efforts only found one more lobtis, which I killed and delivered to the shoreline again. But the rest of the deep lake was filled with less dangerous life, and would be perfect for the gobbs to fish in. Both the catfish grubs and the swarms of tiny shrimp would provide life-sustaining meals for the tribe, and without the threat of the lobtis monsters, the gobbs could even swim in the water if they wanted.

Once I retracted my armor, the awake gobbs all clustered around to gape at the bounty of my hunt. Some of them began carving into the lobtis, finding cracks in the armor to exploit and hauling away chunks of the meat to start cooking. It was a very small scale effort compared to the bonfire they had thrown earlier in the night, but it was clear to me that the tribe was not used to having more food than they needed.

Nozzle approached on Babyeater. “Thank you, Tyson. You not bad for a human. Sure you’re not going to enslave my tribe though?”

I chuckled. “No, that’s not how I do things.”

“You know,” the gobb said carefully. “I know of a Tyson. Big deal human a long time ago, before my time. Heard he enslaved all the hobbs, used them to take over the multiverse, and Storage. My people still dealing with their cities.”

I nodded as he spoke. “Well, I didn’t enslave them, but the rest of that sounds right.”

“You’re that Tyson??” Nozzle asked, eyes wide. “How? Humans not live that long.”

“Yeah, I’m wearing a suit that makes it really hard for me to die,” I told him.

The gobb stared at me for a long moment, then shook his head and looked away. “Wow. You’ve been gone a long time.”

“Yeah, I really have.” I replied. “Not my choice.”

“Well,” Nozzle started, grabbing something from his saddle and dismounting his spider with a graceful leap. He carried the square, flat item under one arm and pointed to a nearby hut. “I’m going to sleep, old human. Thanks for clearing the lake. Tomorrow, we range. Come, room for you here.”

He walked into the hut and vanished behind its fern frond door. I followed, pushing aside the frond to peer inside. Aside from being smaller than I would like, the interior was already quite comfortable. Oversized fronds had been layered across the floor, creating a soft rug floor. The walls were composed of classic blue tarp wrapped around small wooden beams driven into the soft loam.

Nozzle’s item turned out to be a folding cot, complete with a silver foil blanket. He set it up on one side of the hut and turned to look at me. “No bed? Might want to sleep in your armor then. Lots of bugs on the ground here.”

“Thanks for the advice, Nozzle,” I said. Then I deployed my armor and laid down on the ground by the door. Within minutes I heard the light snores of my host. The ranger was clearly exhausted; he sank into a deep sleep immediately and did not stir when I shifted around to look at him. He was draped peacefully across the cot, one arm and leg dangling out from beneath his silver blanket.

I smiled inside my helmet and rolled back toward the door, using one metal clad arm as a pillow. Then I sank into thoughts of Molls. The mural I had seen in Prescott weighed on my mind. I had to find out why she had been fighting against BlueCleave. Then I realized that I had to find out what BlueCleave had become in my absence to understand why she had been fighting them.

What could have driven my gentle, fear-filled mate to become a warrior at all? Let alone someone who would fight against the empire I had built.

My mind spun with thoughts of what Axle had turned Silken Sands into. I didn’t know anywhere near enough about it to make any judgments. While I laid on the fern frond rug and worried, sleep crept up on me and I blacked out.

Chapter 10

After an unknown period of time, Nozzle nudged me awake with a foot. He had his cot under one arm and pointed to the door when I stirred.

“Time to patrol,” he grunted. “Come, let’s eat something first.”

I stood and shook a few small millipedes from my armor, then retracted it. Nozzle raised an eyebrow at my vibrant blue shirt, then reached out and rubbed its fabric between two fingers. “I like it. Is that you?” He pointed to one of the cartoon figures.

With a sigh, I nodded. “Not my choice, but yeah that’s supposed to be me.”

“Not wearing a shirt,” Nozzle grunted, then chuckled. “You strange, old human.”

“Yeah yeah, where’s breakfast?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. My camping trip was at least more peaceful than home, but I was getting sick of eating gamey bug meat.

Unfortunately, that was all there was available for breakfast. The gobbs had created another bonfire from the coals of the last one, and had stones resting at an angle against it, cooking slabs of the lobtis meat. I was handed a millipede armor segment with fresh, hot, greasy lobtis.

It, too, tasted like lobster. The gobbs seemed to be loving it, all of them either happily eating or carving at the corpses by the lake with equal gusto. While I ate my breakfast, I watched the tribe. Those who were not eating or working the lobtis bodies were improving their homes or crafting rudimentary tools. They had materials from the storage pods up above, and expertly mixed them with naturally occurring flora and BuyMort bug parts.

I even saw a fishing net being woven out of reeds from the lake shore. Without doubt they would be fishing for shrimp by the end of the day.

Nozzle got my attention with a light shove. He pointed to his spider, and I nodded, before finishing my chunk of lobtis meat and standing up. I wiped my greasy fingers on my armored pants, then rose into the air to follow the gobb ranger.

“I want to check the upper tunnels today,” he told me, before guiding his spider toward the elevator shaft. While they climbed up, I hovered alongside. The segments of Storage above his tribe’s tunnel were drier, but still covered with plant life. Small willow trees grew in the loam, buttressed by thick shrubs and heavy grasses.

Nozzle began marching his spider through the brush, peering carefully over its long legs at what lay below, and what it unearthed by disturbing the biome. I looked over the broad elevator shaft to the tunnel beyond.

“Hey, Nozzle,” I said, getting the gob rangers attention before he had moved too far away. “I’m going to patrol this way. Cover more ground if we split up.”

He nodded and shot me a thumbs up. “Meet you back home!”

I chuckled, then turned and floated over the overgrown shaft. The other side was much the same, with tall grasses obscuring most of the area I hovered over. My anti-magic helmet and its fairy fire ability came in handy again as I used it to scout out fauna in the tunnel.

There were more millipedes, plenty of wild mushbugs, and a handful of tentacled cockroaches. Only the last were of any danger to the tribe if they wandered down a couple of levels, so I made a mental note to tell Nozzle about them when we rejoined. Further down the tunnel the grass and soil began to thin, until it truncated completely near the connecting elevator shaft.

The shaft was open from baffle to arrival platform, just like the others I had passed through. Only this shaft had clearly used to house a small city. Ruins of the structures were still plastered to the sides and encircling floor of the elevator shaft. Someone had opened the door and dropped the entire town down into the baffle below.

I flew down to inspect the baffle and found exactly what I was expecting. A cluster of steel, concrete, mudcrete, and plasti-steel material jammed into the baffle, wedging it open and non-functional. As I scanned the area, I saw skeletons and mummified corpses. The tentacle roaches scurried about, picking the corpses clean.

“BuyMort, I’d like to sell all the rubble and bodies in this shaft,” I whispered. Within a minute, a pod zipped in from above me and began flashing its rainbow light across the shaft. Sales began coming in.

Purchase: Construction Material; Steel. Condition, poor. Rarity, common. 3,876 morties dispensed.

Purchase: Bones; human. Condition, poor. Rarity, common. 87 morties dispensed.

Purchase: Construction Material; Concrete, miscellaneous. Condition, poor. Rarity, common. 16,893 morties dispensed.

I sighed at the low amounts, but the rubble was time worn and the bodies were all chewed on. All told, I made just over a hundred thousand morties by the time the shaft was empty. With a screeching metallic sound, the baffle began moving again. The planet exerted its pressure and got the ancient machinery moving once more.

Dim lights began to turn on in the shaft around me and the hum of flowing electricity filled the air. The baffle vibrated as it moved in and out with the surges of the planet’s thick atmosphere. Then it began screaming, the sound of tearing metal filling the shaft as something caught. The next push of the baffle shattered an internal part and the baffle screeched to a halt once more. Lights dimmed and went out, and the hum of electricity in the walls faded.

“Well, shit. Can’t fix that,” I murmured, and flew up out of the hole.

I continued my patrol and found more evidence of civilization. Some of it was nothing but tall huts, clearly constructed by tribal hobbs, but all long abandoned. Some of it was full sized abandoned cities, filling entire tunnels.

In one distant section, I found a completely webbed off tunnel and decided not to venture into it. The webbing stretched from floor to ceiling and plucked with echoed movement from deeper inside.

Eventually the day grew darker, and I started making my way back to the gobb village. I had mapped out several tunnels using my anti-magic helmet’s map and made notes of any potential dangers or good hunting grounds for the gobbs. When I returned, Nozzle was nowhere to be seen.

I ate more lobtis meat, and then went to sleep in the ranger’s hut with my armor on. The next day Nozzle did not return, and I became concerned. My own cognitive function had been returning day by day, and I was able to imagine all kinds of gruesome deaths for the gobb ranger in the many halls of Storage. I spent part of the day out looking for him but returned before nightfall out of concern for the tribe.

So many gobbs, so helpless to attack or capture. I felt like I was their only defense. All they had was grass clothing, rags, and basic weapons made from insect parts. I watched as they fished, some spearing catfish-grubs with long poles, tipped with lobtis or millipede legs. Others put their new nets to good use, scooping up tiny shrimps by the hundred, and eating them raw.

The two lobtis I had killed went surprisingly fast, and I realized again that the gobbs saved nothing. They feasted when feasting was an option, and fasted when it was not. The gobbs also strained water from the lake, using hollowed out fern stems filled with sand. Then they boiled it for drinking. It still looked brackish and murky to me, but they guzzled without care, once it was cleaned to their liking.

I ordered water for myself from BuyMort, paying a premium for clean, fresh water from Nu-Earth. The bottles featured cartoon hobbs raising bottles of their own to one another, wearing full military regalia.

On the third morning, Nozzle returned. His spider raced through the tunnel toward the village, and he whooped an alarm as he came. The gobbs all started running, grabbing whatever food or tools they could carry and scrambling for the elevator shaft.

Behind Nozzle was an army of slavers, with vehicles portaling in as I watched.

Chapter 11

I took off into the sky, flying over Nozzle’s head. The army formed against us was small, but formidable. With a sigh, I realized it had been my work on the broken baffle that drew them to our location. It was only a single tunnel over, and I must have missed their scouts coming to investigate.

The front wave of raider vehicles were technicals, equipped with oversized netguns in the back of some, and coilguns in the backs of others. They raced ahead while the other vehicles grouped together and protected the mass of their force. Based on the weapons they had bought, they were ready for Nozzle, and ready for me.

It was still just raiders, so I had to assume they didn’t know who I was exactly. Just a starfish suit user. They had brought several transdimensional pulse ion cannons, in their miniaturized form. Men, hobbs, and orcs carried them like heavy machine guns, braced against their belts.

By my count, and my fairy fire readout, just over a hundred raiders portaled in to assault the gobb village.

Nozzle turned Babyeater around once he saw his tribe mobilized, and he charged at the incoming raiders without fear. I flew in behind him, rising above the spider before plunging down into the hood of an incoming technical. It crumpled and drove down into the loam, stopping instantly and throwing the gunner free. He crumpled against an oversized fern’s trunk and stayed still.

They intended to kill me, and to kill my only friend in the multiverse. I wasn’t going to bother trying to play it non-lethal with them.

Nozzle’s spider launched acid across the windshield of another technical, and the driver swerved in an attempt to avoid it. He bashed into his neighbor technical and splashed the acid from his windshield directly into the other truck’s cabin. High pitched screaming followed, from both of the passengers inside.

I slammed into the side of their trucks, sending both pinwheeling into the wall of the tunnel, where they crushed like aluminum cans. Nozzle cheered at me and then sniped the final technical’s gunner. The gobb never took more than a half second to aim, and he planted every shot regardless of the spider’s lurching movement.

His grip on the saddle never wavered either. The incoming raiders opened fire, and Babyeater crouched low. The spider then scuttled rapidly sideways through the foliage, and they were firing on empty space where he had been a moment prior.

My own armor pinged a few times as bullets hit me, but the high intensity gatling laser that fired up next caused me some concern. It shredded the jungle, burning through any plant life in its way. It also pulsed against my armor, heating me inside it while it shattered the metal through rapid heating and cooling.

I dodged low and increased my speed, aiming at the vehicle's treads. With a roar of anger amplified by my helmet, I blasted through the raider’s front line and slammed into the offending vehicle, knocking it onto its side.

A pulsed ion shot hit me and my suit gave out, sending me skidding along the ground as I landed. I was up and running, my advanced strength moving my armor, and I slammed a fist into the downed vehicle’s weapon, smashing the gatling laser and recharging my suit. It came back online immediately, and I flew up out of the way of the next pulsed ion shot.

Nozzle sniped the gunner, appearing momentarily above the plant life on the rounded wall of the tunnel. Then he and the spider were gone again, as the near-constant weapons fire turned their way again.

With a growl, I flew into the crowd of raiders. I tore one apart with my armored gloves, then reached for another. A pulsed ion shot hit me from the front, near point-blank range. I ignored it and crushed the next man’s skull, immediately recharging the suit a small amount. Babyeater scuttled up the wall, using my rampage as a distraction.

Nozzle continued shooting, taking down a raider with each shot, even as the spider went onto the ceiling of the tunnel. He hung upside down from his saddle, holding the rifle at an awkward angle. From his spider’s abdomen, I noticed sudden movement. The hairs on the beast’s back end all stiffened suddenly, and instant before they fired into the crowd of us below.

What I had mistaken for hairs were thin razors of steel, lodged in small electromagnetic ports in the beast’s abdomen. They rained down on us, embedding themselves in flesh and bone alike. I was spared thanks to my armor, but the raiders were not so well protected. Many of them died immediately, as razors sunk into the tops of their skulls.

Then the beast twitched again, and the razors all dove upward, out of the wounds they had caused and back into the spider’s ass. I focused and saw the tiny, nearly invisible wires connecting them. A brutally efficient weapon which left only a handful of raiders still capable of a fight.

Nozzle and I quickly dispatched them. He with a couple of well-placed shots from his rifle, and me by flying through them with both armored fists extended. I looked around the area, taking in crushed vehicles and bodies alike, ringed by flames.

Babyeater dropped from above on a thin line of webbing, legs wiggling in anticipation of solid ground again, and once the spider was down, Nozzle leapt from his saddle.

“How are you so good with that rifle?” I asked him, dripping gore.

“Implants. Expensive ones,” he replied. “Tribe buys them for me, so I can help defend them.”

The gobb began picking through the bodies, taking a food bar from one of them and biting through its wrapper to eat it. BuyMort pods began arriving from the elevator shaft behind him, warping away vehicles and sapient remains alike.

“Bah!” he exclaimed after reading his results. “Never enough.”

“What do you need? I have some morties I can help with,” I told him.

“Food for tonight. Bedding too; we probably sleep cold. Away from the grasslands, up higher again,” he explained. “Keep your morties, my people are strong after three days of feasting. We will be okay.”

I shook my head and retracted my armor. “I’m sorry Nozzle, I think I lead them to your tribe,” I said, head hung low.

The gobb scowled. “How?” he asked.

“I was patrolling and opened a baffle below. I sold the rubble blocking it, thoughtless to the consequences. My suspicion is that they tracked the electricity surge, then sent scouts that I missed while you were away,” I explained. “I didn’t mean to bring this down on your people, but I think I should leave your tribe. I’m not smart the way you are.”

Nozzle laughed and shrugged. “You’re not dumb though, that much I have seen. And you fight the way your legend tells. My people are saved today because of you. None dead or captured, all enemies of the tribe dead.”

“Thank you, but I feel like a liability,” I replied.

“Tonight my people stay in the ruins tunnel you found. Scavenge bodies, hunt roaches. We’ll move on soon though. You’re welcome if you want to stay. But I understand the shame you say you feel. Leave as a friend, if you feel you have to leave,” the gobb said.

I smiled from one corner of my mouth. “I’ve recently been told that I’m a danger to those I love,” I said. “I think I’ll take that criticism seriously. My affiliate really didn’t turn out the way I thought it would.”

Nozzle shrugged again and turned to mount his spider. Once he was up and the beast raised itself up on its legs, he looked down at me and said “big difference between being dangerous, and being dangerous to those you love.”

I nodded up at him, and the spider started walking. Nozzle went after his tribe, who would no doubt be hunted their entire lives. Unless I could do something about it. Before Nozzle had sold all of the vehicles, I had noticed a Silken Sands graphic on one of them.

It could just mean that my former affiliate was careless in who they sold vehicles to, but I had a feeling there was a darker explanation for it. Axle had seemed surprisingly void of empathy when I had spoken to him. Something told me that void extended to his operation of the affiliate.

Besides, he’d never expressed a problem with gobb slave labor when we had started out. Several of the contracts we got in reputational hot water over had come directly from his suggestion.

I watched the gobbs leave, with only Nozzle turning to wave at me. My time in Storage didn’t have to end, but with my cognitive function returning, I knew what I had to do next. I had to make allies, and I knew exactly where to start.

Terna’s World.

Chapter 12

My morties gathered from the wreckage in Axle’s office and the rubble I had sold paid for a portal to the world ship, if only just. I had to float up to one of the arrival platforms and use a departure kiosk, which was just a BuyMort pod on a stand, but that act lowered my fee enough to afford it. After the pod warped me away in a blast of rainbow light, I was left with a mere three-thousand morties in my personal account.

I arrived on the surface of the world ship, on a road between oversized greenhouses. That came as a surprise, I had expected to be dropped off in space behind the world ship. I’d even deployed my armor in preparation.

The alarm that sounded upon my arrival was less of a surprise. I sighed, retracted my armor, and sat down to await whatever police force was going to take me into custody. My cavalier attitude toward being arrested aside, it was the best way for me to get to speak to someone in authority. The world ship had been a haven from BuyMort when I knew it, but the traffic of pods in the air above told me that things had changed for the worse during my absence.

Just like everywhere else, as far as I could tell.

When a small squad of armed hobbs arrived, converging on me from each intersection, I raised my hands and stayed seated. They wore clean linen uniforms and carried oversized pistols.

The first hobb to arrive pointed a gun at me. “This will only stun you, human, but it will hurt when that happens. Do not make us use our weapons on you.”

I nodded. “Understood,” I replied in perfect hobb.

His accent was a little different from what I had remembered, but it was still a clear, understandable language to me. The hobb raised his eyebrows when I spoke in his language, but quickly moved to zip-tie my hands behind my back.

He helped me to my feet and directed me toward a police hover-car, painted in the same white and beige colors of his uniform. As he pushed my head down to sit in the back of the vehicle, he turned stony eyes to my own. “What are you doing here? Don’t you know unannounced arrivals are against the law?”

“I did not know that but thank you for informing me. As to what I’m doing here, would you believe I was hoping to speak with the world-ship’s leader?” I asked him.

The police hobb hung his arm on the open door and stared in at me. He adjusted his hat and shook his head. “Nope.”

Then he turned to speak with the other hobbs. What I could hear of the conversation sounded like they were bored with the arrest, and that my hobb would drive me in while the others returned to their patrols.

My captor sat down in the driver's seat and wrote a few lines on a pad of paper, before turning back to look at me with narrowed eyes. “You look familiar. Have I arrested you before?” he asked.

“No, but you’re going to be surprised when you find out who I am,” I told him.

“Who are you?” the hobb asked.

“Tyson Dawes, Warlord of BuyMort, back from the dead,” I told him, straight-faced.

The hobb officer scowled, then snorted a laugh and put the vehicle in gear. The hover-car jerked into movement and we began flying down the streets between greenhouses. The zip ties were absurdly easy to break; I had to be careful not to accidentally snap them.

We cruised past various structures, most of them farming greenhouses. Interspersed between them were what I considered odd new additions. Convenience stores, for one thing. It indicated that a significant population stayed on the surface for extended periods of time. Perhaps even lived up there.

Part of the reason Terna had made homes for her people beneath the surface of the world ship was its relatively thin atmosphere. It was filled with enough vital gasses to breathe, but the radiation exposure was quite harsh. The world ship’s people would be made sick from so much exposure, over time. Cancers and genetic defects in births would be common.

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I began to chuckle, thinking about how useless such ads and products would be on a planet that didn’t use BuyMort when a familiar, and frightening, image caught my eye.

The planet had those same yarsp vendor carts that I’d encountered on Nu-Earth!

They were being manned by the old or young, humans and hobbs mostly, all looking miserable as the hover-car passed. The same associate markings identified them as part of the chain I had seen on Nu-Earth, and I finally cared enough to look at the name within.

McYarspies.

I wouldn’t have laughed if it all didn’t spike my heart with fear. This development meant something unfortunate about Terna’s World. It had become part of BuyMort in a much bigger way than she had ever wanted it to.

“How long have the yarsp carts been here?” I asked my captor.

He shrugged in the front seat, visible through a chain link divider. “About a decade now, I think,” he said. “After the war was finished.”

The next building we passed by looked a lot more like a fort than a building. It had reinforced walls and heavy, secured doors. The building also featured weapons scarring and several burnt patches, with emplaced weapons of its own on small towers atop the walls.

“Are you sure that war is finished?” I asked, staring out the window.

“That’s a BlueCleave fortress, always a target for insurgents and terrorists. Of which we have plenty. Thankfully us peacekeepers aren’t asked to deal with that; the military always responds,” he answered. “Although, they do typically only target military structures and forces. BlueCleave says otherwise, of course, but those of us who live on the world ship can see for ourselves.”

“You sound almost sympathetic,” I said, still staring out the window.

The hobb looked up sharply at me, narrowed his eyes, and shook his head. “Not me. I’m loyal to Axle’s Knowle leadership faction. And to the world ship. I’m just not blind.”

“Fair enough, didn’t mean to hit a nerve,” I replied. “This place is just really different from what I remember. Back when it was still called Terna’s World.”

He exhaled through pursed lips, hard. “That’s been a long time now. You’re not old enough to remember those days. Are you stat shot upgraded?”

I nodded, and he immediately pulled the car over.

“While I’m pleased that you’re cooperating, I have orders to follow. Please exit the vehicle, sir. I need to replace your restraints,” he explained.

I did as he asked and he snipped the zip ties, before replacing them with heavy handcuffs. They would still be nowhere near enough to actually stop me from breaking free, but I was realizing more and more that my crystalline colonies were likely still a secret from the governing body of BuyMort.

My instincts to hide their existence from Axle had been well-founded, it turned out. Not just paranoia, but some kind of predictive reasoning in my subconscious mind. Part of me had known I couldn’t fully trust my former partner.

“Hey, who’s in charge on this world ship now?” I asked as I sat back down in the car, manacled hands behind my back.

“Lady Terna, still. She’s had to walk a fine line with the war, but part of the surrender conditions was that she remained the head of the associate. The war would never have ended otherwise,” he answered. “But she’s a different woman now. Has to give Silken Sands what they want, or punishment hits us on the street.”

“What kind of punishments?” I asked idly, feigning boredom.

“Sanctions mostly. Silken Sands refuses to provide us the necessary fuel to run our grow operations. Hurts Nu-Earth when they do it, but I guess the power is more important,” he said. “Occasionally BlueCleave will do a crackdown, go hunting insurgents and kill more civilians than enemy combatants. They say they use the utmost caution during those raids, but the death tolls say otherwise.”

“Again, you seem to have taken a side, friend. I’m not here to judge you or turn you in as a sympathizer or anything, I just appreciate your candor,” I told him.

He narrowed his eyes at me again and was silent for a few moments.

Our route took us past more grow houses, giant swaths of the ship covered in glass, with greenery evident beyond the window panes. I saw workers sitting outside, smoking or eating without much gusto. Most of them were hobbs, but humans were heavily represented as well.

The drive approached a tunnel entrance, and everything went dark as we began descending. The peacekeeper turned on the hover-car’s headlights and the tunnel ahead was illuminated. It sloped gently downward, until it suddenly opened up on a habitation unit. The scars of war were even more evident down below.

Houses were scorched to rubble, and dead-eyed children picked through their remnants. Equally morose adults stood around drinking from paper bags, watching the hover-car with open hostility. At one intersection, BlueCleave hobbs in their black, red, and white uniforms cordoned off the street while part of their unit arrested a group of humans wearing ragged clothing.

I saw weapons on the sidewalk behind them, and each human was lined up on their knees with their hands behind their heads. Our car stopped, and as I watched, one of the hobbs began executing the prisoners one by one.

He pressed a small laser handgun to the back of their heads and burned a tiny hole through each, letting them fall forward as they died. My mouth gaped in shock and horror. The world ship had really changed.

“Yeah, things are much harsher below the surface. Out of sight of the orbital camera drones, BlueCleave cracks down however they like,” the peacekeeper said, noting my expression.

“And you work with these guys,” I asked in a flat tone.

“I work for the world ship, not any particular faction,” he replied. “And my work keeps things like that from happening.”

“Evidence to the contrary,” I quipped.

The hobb sighed. “Yes, that is unfortunate. There’s only so much I can do.”

“Just following orders?” I asked.

My captor glared at me through the rearview mirror. He didn’t speak again.

We passed through what was left of the residential block at a crawl, to avoid the many troops and residents that clogged the streets. BlueCleave was trying to institute a curfew, and it looked like they might face a riot in response to the killings. The further in we went, the more angry crowds we saw.

Against the distant screen-wall, a giant message told residents to return to their homes and obey all orders from BlueCleave soldiers, for their own safety.

The hobb peacekeeper driving our hover-car started turning down back streets to avoid the growing crowds, who held signs decrying their oppressors, as well as chunks of masonry, and Molotov cocktails. Most wore masks. None had weapons beyond the make-shift.

“Well that looks ominous,” I commented.

“Of course it does. More’ll die before the night is through, no doubt about that,” my driver replied.

“And again, I can’t help but notice you’re part of the system they seem to want to fight against. Hence why we can’t drive on the normal streets,” I said.

A brick smashed into the front windshield, and the peacekeeper sped up significantly. The warning on the wall changed and declared that those in violation of the new curfew would be arrested on sight, with those who resisted being killed.

“You’re not the only one to notice that,” the driver replied. He drove me further into the residential block, which looked more and more like a slum the further we went. At roughly mid-way through the habitation pod we passed through a BlueCleave blockade and entered the police precinct parking lot.

A large garage door rolled up to accommodate us, and the hover-car floated in. After a short trip down a ramp, my captor parked the vehicle and got out. He opened my door and helped me out by the elbow, before walking me through a heavy metal door into processing.

I was seated on a thin, plastic bench while my arresting officer went to fill out paperwork. Another hobb approached, wearing a similar uniform. They ordered me to strip, after taking off my manacles and leaving a folded black and red jumpsuit on the bench beside me. I shrugged and obeyed, shrugging out of my new shirt and then pulling down my pants. I didn’t wear underwear, and the hobb scowled at me.

“Provide your name and any aliases you might be known as,” the new officer demanded, holding a clipboard.

“Tyson Dawes,” I said. “Warlord of BuyMort, and the Windowpuncher.”

The hobb scowled at me, then lowered her clipboard. “Name and aliases, prisoner!” she barked.

“I already told you. Write it down. Those are the only names you’re getting out of me. They also happen to be true,” I snapped back, slipping into my new jumpsuit.

“That’s all he told me too,” my arresting officer said over his shoulder. “Just write it down. We’ll figure him out under interrogation.”

“Idiot,” the hobb woman commented at me. “Would be smarter to give me your real name.”

“That is my real name!” I yelled, causing her to back up a step. “And I’m getting more than a little sick of everyone doubting me when I say it!”

Both officers drew their stunners, so I sighed and sat back down.

“Relax. I’m not being violent,” I told them.

The hobb woman stepped up behind me and grabbed an arm. I didn’t resist as she pulled it back, then took the other and manacled me again.

I let them have their comforting fantasy of restraining me, then walked through the rest of their processing cooperatively. Once I was secured in a cell with metal bars and unlocked from my manacles again, I sat down on a bunk and waited.

Within an hour, they were back. My cell door opened and weapons were pointed at me.

“Up,” one of them said. I obeyed, calmly standing and walking toward the door with my hands outstretched and held together.

I was escorted at gunpoint back to the processing area, where my handcuffs were removed once more and I was pushed through the door into the garage. Neither officer followed me. From the recessed shadows behind a hover-car, a silhouette approached.

When she stepped into the overhead lights, I recognized the figure.

Terna.

Chapter 13

She had aged somewhat, but nowhere near enough for the time that had passed. As she approached, she stared at my face, and recognition slowly dawned.

“It really is you,” she whispered. “Where have you been all this time?”

I shrugged and rubbed my wrists. “Well, Sleem, but I wasn’t there by choice. Really glad to see you’re still around.”

Terna shook her head and turned away, motioning for me to follow her. “We cannot stay, the cameras will only be down for minutes. Come, I will take you somewhere safe.”

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It was honestly tempting. I had to give the monopoly that — they definitely picked the right advertisement for the occasion. The problem was, I knew how these systems worked and I had no doubt that no matter what protection I bought, Axel would buy one more expensive and counter it.

I couldn’t compete with him mortie-to-mortie, so I’d have to do it Terna’s way instead.

“Sure,” I said, and followed her through the garage. We approached a fuel pump at the back, rusty and non-functional. It had an aged sign on it that said it was out of order, but Terna pushed it out of the way with ease. Behind the hidden door was an ancient-looking maintenance tunnel.

The pipes were rusted, the grates covering the walkway were pitted and decayed, and the walls themselves leaked with greasy moisture. Terna guided me through a maze of ruined tunnels, turning back on itself and winding around seemingly aimlessly before we arrived at a terrifyingly old elevator car.

It was narrow inside, and with the two of us it felt quite cramped. Terna pushed against me and flipped a lever, before crossing her arms and staring at me. “You haven’t aged a day,” she finally said. The car clanked and screamed as it went into motion, taking us down at a rapid pace.

“You’re one to talk,” I replied. “I was frozen with my head blown off, floating around Sleem’s star. What’s your excuse?”

She chuckled. “Regular stat shots. The fortitude line with some regularity. It keeps you young and healthy. Says so right on the packaging. Also the intellect shot, very occasionally, to keep my brain from aging out.”

I nodded. “Heard those things can do that. But I have to wonder why you took ‘em,” I said, leaning against the small elevator’s rear wall.

Terna sighed. “My people insisted, at first. Then it became necessary to fight the war, and finally the occupation. We make most ourselves. But some come from the BuyMort.” She said this last part sheepishly, her eyes flickering downwards.

“Yeah, I’ve been seeing some of that. So I guess the cops that arrested me were on your side after all?” I asked.

The hobb woman shrugged. “Loyal to the world ship. Not everyone in the precinct is, of course, but a key few were. My resistance has people everywhere. It helps; particularly at times like this.”

“Hang on, they told me you’re still in charge of the world ship. How are you running a resistance and working for Axle?” I asked, eyes narrowed.

Terna snorted a laugh. “Very carefully, I probably shouldn’t have come to get you myself. You could be a plant, for all I know.”

“Well, I’m not,” I replied. “I don’t work for anybody but myself.”

“That’s not encouraging. What about Silken Sands?” she asked. “What about our deal?”

I raised my eyebrows and exhaled hard, nodding my head. “I’m surprised you remember that deal,” I said.

“Like it was yesterday,” she replied at once. “Never before have I had hope that the BuyMort could be defeated, and I’ve clung to that hope ever since. Now that you have returned, it burns fresh, and bright”

“Well,” I said. “I think we have a long road ahead of us in order to get there, but I’m still on board if you are.”

Terna nearly grinned. “I am. Of course I am. Who cares about the road? I’m already living forever until my people let me die, so I may as well make use of my time here wisely.”

“First thing we need to do is get me back my affiliate, somehow,” I said, as the elevator clunked to a stop.

Terna grunted as she raised the door. Then she gestured over her shoulder for me to follow. “Come,” she said. “I’m taking you somewhere safe, where we can talk. Talk, plan, and scheme.”

I pushed off the elevator wall and stepped out to follow her. “I do love a good scheme,” I said.

She led me down maintenance tunnels that were in pristine shape. Everything was shiny, new, and thrumming with energy. Terna was quiet as we walked, and the walk took over an hour. We arced around another habitation unit, this one considerably smaller.

Grimms seemed to be the primary residents, the mole-men were in great numbers below us as we walked. The dome was darkened, only lit by the reddish glow of magma channels. Their screen wall featured an underground volcano, with rivulets of magma continually running down the slopes and toward the village.

The screen wall connected with the magma channels in the hab block, which ran through their dome shaped homes. The houses were buried in hillocks spread throughout the habitation unit. Bridges of shaped earth tiled with obsidian were scattered around the area as well, providing a means for the Grimms to walk around easily.

Terna noticed me staring into the dome, mostly because I had fallen behind, and she returned to my side. “The Grimms use the magma to heat their homes,” she said. “As well as cooking food and getting rid of any waste.”

“They really do come from a strange planet, huh?” I asked idly, still looking down into the dome.

Terna smiled gently. “Yes, to us.”

“So, tell me how you’re walking the fine line of being enslaved to Axle’s whims, and running a resistance against his affiliate,” I said, still watching the Grimms.

“It’s a poorly concealed secret, buttressed by leverage that Axle cannot overcome without significant damages,” she said. “Everyone who matters knows I’m both but can’t really do anything about it. If I was killed, I would become a martyr overnight, and I actually do control the resistance. I primarily just keep the attacks off critical infrastructure.”

“You still feed the solar system, huh?” I asked, leaning on the window.

Terna chuckled and shook her head. “I feed the multiverse. You’ve missed so much.”

“How can one moon-sized world ship feed the entire multiverse?” I asked.

She raised her knobbed eyebrows and sighed. “The multiverse is . . . significantly smaller than you remember.”

I frowned. “How small?” I asked.

“Fourteen worlds, across ten universes. Terna’s World is the only one dedicated to food exports. We overproduce by a huge magnitude, if our growing operations were significantly disrupted the entire multiverse would feel the effects,” Terna explained. “Part of why Axle levies sanctions against us, to remind everyone how powerful he can truly be if he feels threatened.”

“So you run the world as Axle’s proxy, but fight against his control over it,” I said.

“Not precisely. I just rein in the resistance from exacting their worst impulses,” she said.

“I saw people executed on my way in,” I told her. “It looked like the entire hab unit was getting ready to riot.”

Terna nodded. “That happens now. I’m not happy about it, obviously, but I cannot control BlueCleave. Axle cracks down on us regularly. I think he sees it as some kind of balance.”

“Keeping your resistance in check?” I asked.

“I believe that is how he views it, yes,” she replied. “I have heard the BlueCleave soldiers referring to their offensive actions against us as ‘mowing the lawn.’ Of course, the resistance grows with every crackdown.  It honestly makes my job much harder. I’ve been trying to restrain my people for over a decade at this point, and things just keep getting worse for them.”

“Well, maybe I can help,” I offered.

“Not right away, you’re a secret right now and I want to keep it that way as long as I can,” Terna replied.

“What about your police?” I asked. “I did tell at least two of them who I was.”

“Their precinct was destroyed in the riot you saw forming,” she said. “No survivors.”

My eyes went wide. “Shit, Terna. Remind me not to cross you.”

She looked down and shook her head. “I just did. Know that I do not relish these acts. The times we live in simply require them. I will ensure their sacrifice has meaning, as will you.”

I nodded somberly.

After a moment of staring at the hab block below, she gestured for me to follow her and we started walking again.

“Hey,” I said. “How did the multiverse get so small? I mean, I think I know the answer, but I need to know for sure.”

“War,” Terna said. “War never changes. It does come in waves though, and after you vanished, the machine you had created rolled over us all. The fighting hasn’t stopped, just endless war across the multiverse. Eventually the worst hit planets became so damaged they were determined to be not viable by the BuyMort and their gates were shut down. Septillions of lives were lost, cut off from the rest of the network and left to languish in their own universes.”

“Wait, so BuyMort just abandoned them?” I asked.

“The BuyMort only cares about profit,” she answered. “Never lives. Once it shuts off, the people are left to certain doom, having grown reliant on a multiversal trade system.”

“Still,” I started. “I think that tells us something important.”

“Your key to removing the BuyMort from us all?” Terna asked with a slight snort. “It would destroy us as we are now. Utter ruin would be the result.”

I nodded and kept walking.

The next section of the world ship we entered was full of grow-houses. I saw them from above, as we walked across a catwalk in the ceiling. Water pipes and electrical cabling jutted from the walls, weaving through the entire cavernous area, providing necessary infrastructure to the grow-houses.

Glass walls and ceilings soaked in light from a false sun embedded in the ceiling. A multi-species army of workers filed in and out of various structures, and boarded railcars that took them out of the area, presumably to habitation blocks.

Terna directed me through the network of catwalks in the ceiling toward the central artificial sun. We passed several smaller orbs embedded in the roof, glowing down on the grow-houses below.

“How many growing blocks like this do you have?” I asked.

“One hundred thousand thirty-seven on the surface. Another eight hundred thousand and some below. The world ship creates water from its core, the reactor produces it as a side effect. We gather hydrogen atoms from Sol, and import oxygen, as well as gathering it from the very breath of our people. Grimms produce oxygen naturally, the way your people produce carbon dioxide,” she explained. “And much of the world ship is populated by Grimms.”

“Quite the operation,” I commented.

“It keeps us alive,” she replied. “We do not normally operate so many grow-blocks, especially while moving from one permanent location to the next, but Axle has made it impossible for us to leave.”

“Using my military,” I added.

Terna nodded. “The safehouse I want you to stay in is right up ahead,” she said, handing me a pair of dark goggles. “You will need these to approach. Put them on now.”

I did as she said, and we continued walking directly toward the main artificial sun. When we were near enough to feel its heat, we diverted up a staircase into the ceiling, where heavy electrical cables ran. She took me through a few more maintenance tunnel turns, until we stopped before an oversized metal door. It slid up, into the ceiling, and revealed a comfortable-looking room behind it.

The safehouse was furnished, and spacious enough to hold several people. It was even heated from below, combatting the chill of the world-ship’s depths. There was a kitchen, a cushioned couch, dining table, and king-sized bed. It even had a bar.

“You are not my prisoner, Tyson Dawes,” Terna said.

“But?” I asked.

“But I would respectfully ask that you remain here, out of sight, until I return,” she said.

“Where ya’ going?” I asked.

“I must meet with certain key members of my staff. Inform them of your return, and presence here on the world-ship, and then return once a plan has been formed,” Terna explained. “You must have questions. I would also help you find answers to those questions, if you will accept my help.”

“Oh, very much yes, thank you,” I started. “I need to know what happened to my mate, Molls. Her full story, please.”

Terna nodded. “I know some of this story, but will find an expert to relay the rest, as best we can.”

“Can you also find out what happened to my dog, Doofus?” I asked.

Terna nodded curtly. “I will try, though I am not familiar with that name.”

“Thank you, I’ll sit tight,” I told her.

“I will return as soon as I am able, but it will likely be some time. Please, rest and eat. I am sure you have been through much on your road to my world-ship,” she told me.

I nodded as I walked into the kitchen and looked at the bar. “Yeah, I’ll do that. Ha! You even have Morbin’s blue tequila.”

Terna scowled but nodded. Then she turned and left.

Chapter 14

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I swiped it away and the world came back to its normal self. The TV blared, tinny and whiny compared to what I’d just been shown. But I felt like I probably had more important things to deal with.

News of the riot on sub level one dominated the airwaves, from various perspectives.

The local BlueCleave-friendly station was calling it a horrible tragedy in the wake of necessary law enforcement action and had commentators speculating on the nature of the rioters, saying they were fighting against the very concept of civilization. Barbarians at the gates.

Meanwhile, on a resistance-friendly network that self-styled as a pirate broadcast, they called the rioters heroes, and proclaimed their actions justified. They focused on the extrajudicial killings that had sparked the riot and bloviated at length about the brutality and lawless behavior of the BlueCleave soldiers that had sparked it. Barbarous actions from barbarous oppressors.

One thing both networks could agree upon was the fact that the resistance was showing no signs of halting its violence.

After browsing for a bit longer, I found a channel that broadcast an aerial view of the grow-houses in a subterranean level. The flow of workers, deliveries, and product being hauled around was soothing, so I left it on that channel and went to the bar.

A yarsp and jellyfish burrito was the only thing in the refrigerator that didn’t require much cooking, and while I hesitated at the jellyfish, it turned out to be delicious. The jellyfish was not from Nu-Earth, and melted amongst the yarsp, rice, beans, and salsa to act as a kind of salty cheese-like binder for the entire thing.

I devoured it and had a few drinks from the bar, idly watching the tv and wondering when they would come back for me. The thought crossed my mind that in spite of Terna’s kind words, I was indeed her prisoner. But restrained only by my reluctance to cause violence or destruction on her world ship.

While thinking about my situation, I was tempted to run instead of getting caught up in her resistance against BlueCleave, but the fact was that I would demolish any kind of partnership with her if I did. The chance to take down BuyMort, however remote, kept me still and in hiding.

After a couple of hours, I fell asleep and had fitful dreams. The loyal hobb police officer died in a sea of angry aliens, ripped apart while I watched and did nothing to help, paralyzed into inactivity.

Sometime later the door slid open and I woke up with a jolt of panic. It quickly dissipated when I saw Terna walk in with a Knowle. The Knowle had to duck to make it in the doorway and looked cramped once she was inside.

“Tyson, this is Mirdanna, our local historian. You can trust her,” Terna said.

I stood and nodded, before reaching a hand out to the Knowle woman. With a shaking paw and wide eyes, she reached out and lightly shook my hand.

“It really is him,” she breathed. “I’m sorry, I trusted you Terna, it’s just . . .”

“It’s a lot, I know,” Terna replied.

“Hi,” I said. “It’s nice to meet a Knowle who isn’t enraptured by Axle.”

Her lip curled and she shook her head. “That Knowle is a perversion of all that we are meant to be. He withholds information that should be disseminated freely and oppresses those who speak up against him.”

“I’m sorry, Mirdanna. I feel like at least some of that is my fault,” I said.

Her eyes widened again and both ears perked up to full attention. “What do you mean?” she asked, while drawing a notebook and pen from her shoulder bag.

I shrugged. “He wasn’t like that when we first met. But . . . I don’t know, our time together changed him pretty drastically. Our situation, maybe, or just my leadership. It’s honestly hard to say. I wasn’t exactly kind toward him during the Church war.”

Mirdanna’s eyes glistened and she rapidly took notes. “Tell me everything,” she breathed. “I’m writing an unauthorized biography on him. He’s the most important Knowle figure since the fall of Second Knowledge.”

“Oh, he helped me kill the beholder responsible for that fall,” I said. “The Blackguard, we called him. Or Inky, the news liked that name better.”

When she didn’t take any notes, I sighed and smiled wanly. “I had him under constant security after an attempt on his life made me paranoid. There was no way I could run the affiliate without him. I had no mind for numbers. Still don’t, really. But the security kept getting tighter, and he became more and more isolated. Nothing but his work for any comfort or distraction, he recently told me.”

The rapid scribbling resumed.

“Eventually, the security I felt necessary had him traveling with a heavy guard, several warships, and he was constantly hopping universes to keep his location secret. He was stuck like that for months, and by the end of it, he had become someone else,” I told her. “I also cost him his mate, in a couple of ways.”

“His mate?” Mirdanna asked. “There is no record of him being mated during the Church war.”

“She was a pilot, named Jada,” I said with a small nod. “One of my best.” I moved around to the bar and poured myself a fresh drink of mid-shelf tequila, avoiding Morbin’s blue stuff intentionally. It tasted like corn syrup.

“At first, they fought over her use of a starfish suit,” I explained. “I think that drove her away from him, and she became much more invested in my military.

“Then,” I said, hesitating before continuing. “Then she died when the vortex spider destroyed her ship.” I gulped my tequila and poured another, bigger tumbler full.

“I’m sorry. This must be hard to relive, even as long ago as it was,” Mirdanna said. Her eyes glinted with sincerity, but her continued scribbling in her notebook made me doubt her words.

“Actually, it wasn’t all that long ago for me,” I said. “I was frozen in Sleem for the last century. The last thing I remember doing back then was depositing the Thread of Fate in Sleem.”

She nearly gasped but got her reaction under control. “Of course!” she exclaimed. “Sleem is the perfect place for it! Thank you so much. That is one of the bigger pieces of information Axle has kept hidden from us.”

“Mirdanna,” Terna interrupted with a small smile. “You are here to provide him with information. I’m sure Tyson would be happy to do more interviews with you at another time.”

The Knowle woman nodded rapidly and closed her notebook. “You are right, of course. I lost myself in my excitement. A living piece of history has surfaced, and his story will mean so much to so many.”

“I know,” Terna said, still smiling. “But he has been without word of his own mate for too long already.”

“Right,” Mirdanna said. “Of course. I am so sorry.”

I sipped my glass of tequila and smiled at her gently.

“Oh, well, I’m afraid the news is not pleasant. She has passed, I am sorry to report,” she said. “But she had a long life and bore children who are still alive today.”

“I saw a mural,” I told her. “In Prescott, under a bridge on the outskirts. It showed her fighting against BlueCleave soldiers.”

Mirdanna nodded. “Yes, so many have had to. Molls, from all the records available, could not accept Silken Sand’s official statements about your death. She became insistent toward leadership at the time, especially Axle, and eventually that formed into hostility.”

A small smile touched my lips as I looked down into my glass. “That’s my girl,” I whispered to myself, though the ring of sorrow sounded through me, and light wetness came to my eyes.

“After she was declared an enemy of Silken Sands, the fighting became much more intense. She tried to hide off-world, but kept running into patrols and bringing down soldiers and starfish troopers on those who would shelter her,” Mirdanna explained. “After a few instances of small colonies suffering for her presence, she became significantly more violent. At that point, she started attacking military outposts across the multiverse, which helped her fund and equip a small resistance cell that Silken Sands named terrorists.”

“The basis of our own resistance today,” Terna interjected.

“Indeed, we owe a great deal to Molls, and her refusal to accept Silken Sands lies,” Mirdanna continued. “With her own starfish suit, and apparent access to stat shots, she was a formidable opponent. Besting even other enhanced agents in the field with regularity, her rebel army became a true threat to Silken Sands growing hegemony.”

“How did she come to live in peace at the end?” I asked.

“One of her dearest companions, a Nu-Earth canine with enhancements of his own, was killed in the fighting. After that, it is said that her spirit broke. She is documented as often referring to the dog as her last remaining link to you,” Mirdanna said. “His identity is lost, unfortunately. We have no record of the dog’s actual name. He is only referred to as the Battle Hound.”

“Doofus,” I said, thicker tears threatening as my throat constricted. “His name was Doofus. He was a good, handsome, smart boy.”

“Oh my,” the Knowle woman said, as she opened her notebook again. “Again, I thank you for filling in the gaps in our collective knowledge.”

I took a shaky breath and then nodded. “Please, continue.”

“Of course. After the death of Doofus, during a particularly damaging fight against a BlueCleave installation in the Nahgah Prime system, where many of her fighters were lost, she negotiated a deal with Silken Sands,” Mirdanna explained. “The installation she had captured was of tremendous military value, and she used it to negotiate a full pardon for herself and those of her cell who still lived. Once issued, her remaining team quickly publicized the event and that forced Silken Sands to honor the pardon.”

“It helped that the entire multiverse sided with her during the fighting. She was an incredibly popular figure, and still is, as you’ve seen in Prescott,” Terna added. She leaned on the bar with her arms crossed, listening to the recounting of Molls’ story.

“Indeed,” said Mirdanna. “Her attacks were terribly public, once she rose to ‘terrorist’ status, and public support for her grew with each news cycle. It also fell for Axle and Silken Sands. The fact that she killed BlueCleave’ highest ranking admiral at the time helped her negotiations. The fleet was immediately crippled without Omen’s leadership. He was the only person who could stand to her resistance fighters.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Well now, that is interesting,” I said. “Admiral Omen was the one who betrayed me to my ‘death.’”

“He did?” Mirdanna exclaimed, quickly making a note in her book again. “That brings a whole new context to Molls’ rebellion, and her final victory against the affiliate. If she knew, that would change history as we all know it.”

I nodded and bit my lip for a long moment. Then I said, “I think she found out. The Molls I knew wasn’t a fighter. She would fight if the need arose, but she abhorred violence. Often tried to talk me out of it during the war. But if she had found out that Omen betrayed and killed me, I think that may have been enough to drive her to a war against the affiliate.”

“So it may not have been the death of her companions,” Mirdanna said. “She may have gotten her revenge and stopped at that.”

I nodded. “No way to really know for sure, but that would be my guess.”

“I came to enlighten you, but you have provided me with a world-changing perspective. Thank you so much, Warlord,” Mirdanna said.

I shook my head at that. “I’m not a warlord anymore. Just Tyson. I never really wanted to be a warlord. Feels good to be free of it.”

Terna nodded and pushed off from the counter. “That brings me to my thoughts about what to do next,” she said.

“I’m all ears,” I replied.

“Well, you may not like what I have to say,” she started. “I would like to put you on trial.”

Chapter 15

My mouth dropped a little, and I narrowed my eyes at her.

“Please, allow me to explain,” Terna said. “The trial would be for your supposed crimes upon returning to Nu-Earth. The legal risk would be limited by holding the trial here and publicizing it to the entire multiverse.”

I scowled and took a drink. “I thought you wanted to keep me hidden.”

“Only to control the moment of your return. We can use your name, your image, your reputation. And a trial seems to me to be the best way to undermine Silken Sands ability to smear you in public,” Terna said. “We use a BlueCleave judge, but keep the trial hidden, moving its location each day. We would have to allow the press in, but we can control their foreknowledge of the location to prevent sabotage.”

“What would my charges look like?” I asked. “How much risk would I be in, surrendering myself to the Silken Sands legal system in this way?”

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I sighed. It was a sure thing that I was already going to have my own legal representation, but having to deal with lawyers so soon after coming back from the dead was just hellish.

“I’m not aware of all your actions since your return, but news out of Nu-Earth has a small handful of items I suspect you are responsible for. Namely, the destruction of the statue in Central Plaza, Prescott, and the attack on the gravity sling. I believe, if the right pressure is applied, that we can get access to footage of both attacks,” Terna explained.

“Well, I’m guilty as charged on the statue. I smashed it to bits very intentionally. No getting out of that one. There’s also some stuff Axle said when I met with him, attacking BlueCleave personnel. I also may have caused some considerable damage to one of their ships, and a handful of fighters,” I said. “But the gravity sling was all their fault. I tried to save people on that one. They caused the entire mess there.”

“Did you kill anyone?” Terna asked.

I shook my head. “I went out of my way not to.”

“Were your attacks on BlueCleave ships to defend your own life or others?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yes to both. In orbit, I punched the deck of their hangar bay to get some charge so I could escape, and then I smashed their gravity-hook thing so I could escape.”

“We can spin that as defense of self,” she said. “What about the gravity sling?”

“They were pursuing me, and started shooting pulsed ion blasts at the sling, which caused massive damage and put a bunch of ships at risk. I destroyed a couple of their fighters to try and stop them from causing more harm. Not sure if their pilots made it out okay, but neither ship was damaged to the point of putting them at real risk, in my opinion,” I said.

Terna nodded again. “This sounds workable. Even if the pilots died, we could easily pitch that as defense of others. The gravity sling debacle is being sold to the public as an accident, but there has already been civilian footage making its way out. It should be easy enough for my contacts to get us some of that to aid our case.”

“I have to admit,” I started, finishing off my second glass of tequila. “I’m getting on board with this plan.”

“It will be risky,” Terna said. “And I have much to do to arrange this before we can get started, but I do think it is our best option. If I can keep Axle from extraditing you to Nu-Earth, we can ensure a fair trial.”

“No way out of the destruction of public property thing though. What do we do about that?” I asked.

“A light sentence with a guilty plea would likely mean community service. Another avenue for good publicity,” she said. “The goal here is to enter you into the mainstream consciousness as a figure for good. To dredge up the old days of the Church War and remind everyone that you freed our system from oppression.”

“Which will highlight the oppression they all now live under,” I added, nodding. “I’m starting to see your plan here.”

Terna smiled and nodded. “Axle holds ‘elections’ every two years, which he never loses. If we play this correctly, you should be free of your legal entanglements and well-placed to challenge him this coming election. Even if you lose, the act will galvanize the multiverse. Change the dynamics of power forever.”

“A good first step, then,” I said. “He really holds elections for his own position?”

Terna nodded again. “He does. Part of his public image is adherence to planetary democracy. His popularity ratings are never high, but he always wins because no one of note ever challenges him.”

“And people stick with what they know,” I added, nodding along. “But everybody knows me.”

Terna’s smile returned. “Exactly. And once we are done with your image, they should all love you again too. I remember the days of your rise to power. The presence and following you commanded could be the catalyst for change we all need.”

“I cannot fault you for creativity, Terna. This is not at all how I expected to contribute to your resistance,” I told her.

“A little-known secret is that I actually hate my resistance,” she replied. “Violence was never something I wanted on the world ship again, and it breaks my heart to see the way my people have responded to BlueCleave’s oppression. So much wasteful death, so much suffering at the hands of those I love. My people have become something they never should have, and I have long searched for a way to reverse that change.”

“Wow,” I replied with a small laugh. “Way to make this a pressure-free situation.”

“We have large dreams, my friend. Always have,” Terna said, with a wan smile of her own. “It is well past time to get back to those dreams. But first, we have much to repair.”

“Yeah, I’ve been getting that impression,” I said.

Our Knowle historian was happily scratching in her notebook, documenting this meeting between leaders. She raised a claw. “Excuse me, but what dreams specifically?”

Terna laughed aloud and shook her head. “You would call us insane, it is not the time. There are years ahead of us before our long term goals will become possible, let alone realistic.”

“Oh don’t be shy,” I said. “I’ll tell her if you won’t. My greatest dream is to kill BuyMort.”

Mirdanna gaped and dropped her pen.

“See, she thinks you’re insane now,” Terna said.

“Yeah, well. Everybody always does. And yet,” I replied, a small smile on my lips.

“And yet,” repeated Terna. “Mirdanna, please keep that to yourself for the time being. It is a pipe-dream, something we both share a wild fantasy about. Nothing more.”

Mirdanna glanced between us both, then nodded. “I understand.” She made a series of notes on her pad, and then tucked it away in her bag. “Thank you both for allowing me to be present during this historic meeting. It has been extraordinarily illuminating.”

“I hope your book is a best seller,” I told her.

She smiled, and her ears perked up even further. “With the insights I have gained today, there is no doubt it will be. May I meet with you again to speak about Axle and your history together?”

I nodded. “Of course. When I’m not on trial, anyway.”

Terna laughed. “That will not be soon, and you will need something to fill your days until I can make the necessary arrangements.”

“Hey, yeah, what am I supposed to do while you make arrangements?” I asked. “Aside from interviews with your resident historian?”

“I am sorry, but I have to ask you to stay here, out of sight,” Terna said.

I scowled and thought for a few seconds. “What if I went somewhere else, but still stayed out of sight?” I asked.

It was Terna’s turn to scowl. “Where are you thinking?” she asked.

“Storage,” I said. “There’s a tribe of gobbs I’ve become invested in. I would like to bring them some supplies, check in on them. They’ve been on the run from slavers.”

Mirdanna pulled out her notepad and started writing furiously again.

Terna nodded with a frown. “Yes, that seems safe enough, assuming you stay clear of civilization centers. What kind of supplies do you want to bring them?”

I shrugged. “Food, tools, maybe weapons.”

“You want to arm wild gobbs,” Terna said. It wasn’t a question.

I nodded. “They’re fighting for their lives, and the slavers are a constant problem.”

“Food and tools I can provide. I cannot have Terna’s World associated with an effort to arm gobbs in Storage, however,” she told me.

“Well, I’ll take what I can get, thank you,” I replied.

Mirdanna raised a claw, and I was momentarily reminded of my days doing interviews and broadcasts. “What is your connection to the gobb tribe in question?”

I shrugged. “When Axle arrested me and was going to throw me in some hole for six months or so, I skipped town and went to Storage. It’s unspeakably massive, so I was impossible to find. The gobbs took me in, no questions asked. I spent a few days with them but brought down the slavers on them by being careless. I want to make it up to them.”

“Alright, we’ll set something up. Can you stay here for the night at least?” Terna asked.

I nodded and stood to get another drink. “Hey, Mirdanna, looks like I have time for an interview after all. You want to stick around?”

“Lady Terna, may I?” the historian asked.

Terna snorted. “Please don’t call me that, and yes you may. Just be discreet on your way out, you know the route. Goodnight Tyson. I’ll be back in the morning with your supplies.”

She stopped at the doorway and stared at us for a long moment, then shut the heavy metal door behind herself and left us alone. I poured myself a drink and made one for Mirdanna too. Then we sat down on the couch and I spent the next few hours answering her questions. She had what felt like an unending well of them.

By the time she was finished with me for the night, I had re-lived almost the entire year I spent as CEO of Silken Sands, and I was solidly drunk. Mirdanna thanked me for the evening and left me to my own devices.

I had another yarsp and jellyfish burrito and slumped on the couch to watch tv. Again the news was depressing and violent, and there was nothing else of note on the local network. After eating and drinking, I stared mindlessly at the farming network, where they offered tips on working at the grow-houses and managing your own garden.

It was educational, but my drunken mind kept wandering back to Molls. She had been with Doofus at the end, and that meant a lot to me. Eventually I slumped over and fell asleep on the couch again, only to dream of my lost love and best friend dying together in horrible ways.

Chapter 16

I awoke to Terna’s entrance and the metal doors clunked heavily as they closed behind her. Rubbing my eyes, I sat up and took a deep breath. “Hi Terna,” I croaked.

“Good morning,” she replied. “Are you ready for your trip to Storage?”

I nodded groggily and stood to go into the kitchen. There was a bottle of blue juice in the fridge I really wanted after a night of drinking. My starfish suit would have fixed me up if I requested it, but that process was more brutal and traumatic than I wanted to deal with, and the hangover wasn’t that bad anyway.

Some breakfast and fluids would set me right.

The box of yarsp and jellyfish burritos was getting low, and I was bored with them anyway, so I pulled out some bread and other sandwich fixings. A bottle of Terna’s World mustard, some congealed mushbug squeezings that worked very much like mayonnaise, and a package of sliced yarsp.

The insect was even more popular since my time, which told me that Axle had taken my system and expanded upon it greatly, turning the yarsps into a staple meat supply for the solar system at least, if not further.

While I made my sandwich, Terna laid a garment bag across the couch's arm and turned back to sit at the bar. When I looked up at her, she slid across two small tags with covered buttons.

“These are your food and tools. Simply open the hatch and press the button, and a pre-paid pod will be dispatched to deliver the supplies. Fair warning, the crates are sizable, and the gobbs will likely need to break them up to move any of the supplies, so be careful about where you summon them,” Terna explained.

I nodded and picked up one of the tabs. It was roughly the size of a car fob from Earth in pre-BuyMort times. The single button on the tab was covered by a thin plastic shield that protected the button from being pressed accidentally.

“I also brought you some new clothing,” Terna said. “Figured you were sick of wearing prison fatigues.”

I plucked at the jumpsuit top and shrugged. “You know me. I don’t really care what I wear.”

“Yes, I do know that,” she replied. “Which is why I chose your outfit for you.” Terna pointed back at the couch and the garment bag. “These should help you remain unrecognized, if you do encounter civilization during your time on Storage.”

“Hey, thanks for all this,” I said, after I had finished my sandwich. “I’ll owe you a lot of morties when I get back.”

Terna shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t see it that way. Your aim is to help the less fortunate, and I still have access to sizable wealth, thanks to my position under Axle. Part of how he aims to control me, I suppose.”

“Yeah, less fortunate alright,” I repeated, before taking a large bite of my sandwich. The congealed mushbug squeezings were my favorite part, the flavor was so rich and delicious, especially when paired with the honey-baked yarsp slices. “What can you tell me about Storage these days?” I asked, mouth still full.

Terna’s eyes widened a bit and she sat back with a sigh. “Well, Storage has never been a particularly pleasant place, but since the shrinking of our universes, things have become more desperate than ever. Food and water are in shorter supply, so free rations have been cut to once a week instead of once a day, and this has driven organized crime surrounding the food shipments they receive in the supposedly civilized parts of Storage.”

I nodded and took another bite.

“Axle’s Knowle Leadership division does not seem to care much for how things are done on Storage, so the regular food shipments they pay for tend to go straight into the hands of local warlords, who keep the lion's share for themselves and use the rest to control the population,” Terna said with a shrug.

“What it was before then, but worse,” I said. “More desperate. What’s the population level like?”

Terna shook her head and blew out her cheeks. “Not great. Low, much lower than during your time.”

I paused and munched on my sandwich, thinking. “You know what? I actually don’t think so,” I said. “I don’t doubt that the human, hobb, orc, and Nah’gh populations have shrunk, but I’m guessing the gobb numbers have been experiencing a major rise.”

Terna scowled and cocked her head. “What do you base this on?”

I finished my last bite of sandwich and started looking for a coffee-maker in the kitchen shelves. “Well, think about it. Without the Sleem taking up so much of Storage, there’s plenty of real estate. I’m sure some gobbs are warlike and continue to harass cities, but from what I’ve seen, and what Mel always tried to tell us, I think most of them just want to live in peace.”

In the last cabinet I opened, I found a modified French press coffee-maker, and ground coffee beans, as well as mushbug tea packets. There was a simple electric kettle on the counter, so I filled it with water from the sink and set about making coffee.

“I think,” I started. “I think that most of them have gone deep. Hiding in the tunnels, hunting and scavenging to survive, and avoiding the bigger sapients in Storage. Who wants to be friends with the people hunting you, after all? And of course, nobody tracks gobb populations, cause nobody cares about them, aside from using them for slave labor and fearing them, of course.”

Terna continued scowling but nodded. “Would you seek to find evidence of this theory?” she asked.

“Well, not this trip. I have court in a little while here, and that kind of expedition would likely take months,” I replied, pouring the boiling water onto the coffee grinds. As I pushed the stem on the French press down, I nodded. “But yeah, I would like to go check that out. I should have listened to Mel a long time ago, but now is a good time to start making that right.”

“When you say ‘Mel,’” Terna said. “Are you referring to the artist?”

I nodded. “Sure am. I knew her back at the original Silken Sands, the old campground. She was one of the refugees I took in, always used to be drawing our plights and struggles, but adding in gobbs at our sides as equals.”

“Cryptic,” Terna said.

While I poured two cups of coffee, I nodded. “Artists often are,” I said. “Coffee?”

Terna nodded. “Thank you, yes.”

I fished around in the cabinet again and found some drumu moth dust flavor packets, happily snatching two for myself, and another two to share. When I offered them to Terna, she shook her head and waved a hand to refuse.

“Black for me,” she said.

I shrugged and tossed the packets back on the counter, before ripping my own open and adding the dust to my cup of coffee. As I stirred it with a spoon, I asked, “so what’s the plan for this trial?”

Terna took a sip of her coffee and nodded. “I’ve spoken to a Terna’s World lawyer, one faithful to our true cause of freedom from Silken Sands, and she says the case sounds doable. She also warned of treachery from Axle’s team, it is unlikely that he will simply accept this case being held here and may institute sanctions to have you extradited. We shall need the right judge.”

“Stupid question,” I said, raising one hand. “How does your legal system work here? It sounds pretty similar to what I had back home on Earth, before BuyMort.”

“On the surface,” she answered. “But beneath that, it favors those with wealth and power heavily.”

“Oh, so just like my planet’s system then,” I scoffed.

The drumu dust was incredible, but my throat tightened as memories of Molls rushed through me at the flavor.

“Unfortunately, this means that the courts tend to operate based on affiliate legal structures, there is no other form of governance within BuyMort,” Terna said, shaking me out of my painful memories. “Essentially, we will have to satisfy Silken Sands' own rules around conduct and property damage, to Silken Sands.”

I scowled into my coffee before taking another sip. “What’s that mean?” I asked.

“Essentially, we must first prove that your initial incarceration was unfounded, and then that each of your destructive actions were actually caused by Silken Sands, following that unfounded incarceration,” Terna said.

“Huh,” I grunted. “I don’t really get us having a good chance here, sounds like I’m walking myself into prison.”

“You may be,” Terna answered. “You very well may be, but that is also part of the plan. We wish to introduce you to the multiverse, first and foremost. To remind them of who you were, and how you were instrumental in the founding of Silken Sands. To insinuate a debt of loyalty back into the people, and especially BlueCleave.”

“Oh, speaking of that,” I said. “Someone in Prescott recently told me that there are some hobbs from my time still around; BlueCleave that served under my command. They could be helpful to our cause here, if your people can find ‘em.”

“That is good to know,” Terna replied. “I’ll put some of my investigators on that once your presence here goes public.”

I nodded and took another gulp of my coffee. “I may have already announced my presence a couple times in Prescott,” I told her. “Just so you’re aware.”

“If you were as forthright as you were with the peacekeeping officer here,” she said with a sigh. “Then yes, I think word of your presence is likely already spreading.”

“Well, I hinted with a bartender, and flat out told a yarsp cart vendor. Then, I took his directions to the statues in Central Plaza,” I said.

“At which point you destroyed one of them,” Terna said. “Yes, I believe those encounters will spread. We must move quickly.”

“Yeah, that’ll spread like a disease,” I replied. “Slowly at first, but the more who hear of it, the more people who will talk about it.”

“If we come out with something soon, that will help our cause,” Terna added. “I’ll work harder on finding a publicist.”

“Yolara Brinks isn’t still around, is she?” I asked.

Terna shook her head. “She died under mysterious circumstances shortly after your disappearance. A spacecraft crashed on landing, though a popular conspiracy theory is that her ship was shot down just before landing. She was working on an expose on your death, actually, and her media partners all dropped the project immediately after hers.”

I sighed. Another of my followers who had met an untimely end because of me. “Yeah, that particular conspiracy theory may have something to it,” I said.

“Well, either way, it's long in the past now,” Terna replied. “But I have a few candidates in mind, I’ll reach out and see which of them we can trust with an announcement of this size and potential danger.”

“Thank you Terna,” I said. “For everything. I was worried you would be unhappy with me, after what my affiliate has become, and done to your world ship.”

She shook her head and took another swig of her coffee. “Not your doing. You were dead. Besides, this is all a temporary setback on our path to defeating the BuyMort. Things were always going to get worse before they got better.”

“And you’re sure this will make them better?” I asked. “The trial and publicity, starting up a PR war again?”

Terna nodded. “We have long needed something to shake up the status quo. Your return will shake the very foundations of Axle’s machine. Make it vulnerable to takeover, finally.”

I took a deep breath and pushed away from the counter, gulping my last swallow of coffee. “If you say so. I’ll go along with it, I owe you at least that much. But for now, I’m off to feed some gobbs.”

Terna smiled and nodded, lifting the door. A few seconds later a pod arrived. I hurriedly got changed, into the sleek black slacks and boating shoes she had brought me, as well as a button down shirt and suit jacket. All in Silken Sands colors.

Chapter 17

I told the pod which arrival platform I wanted to go to, pulling its numbers out of my recently repaired memory, and stepped through the portal into a familiar, overgrown dome on Storage.

Immediately finding the gap in vines that lead to the main elevator shaft, I began floating down through it. The walls on all sides were far from me, but still felt claustrophobic due to the overgrowth. Any patches of metal were visibly wet, full of condensation from failed air conditioning units in the shaft. Whatever had shut the air system down in that particular part of Storage, it had led to an overgrowth of life.

Nozzle’s tribe would likely be near the ruins I had found on my last visit, given that only about a day and a half had passed, so I headed there first. I found signs of the gobbs, but the ruins were vacant. Part of them had been sold, but it seemed that Nozzle had decided to keep the rest intact. Perhaps as breeding grounds for the many tentacled cockroaches that nested in the area.

The dog-sized beasts scuttled to and fro, nuzzling through the dust with their extended proboscis. After my first encounter with the beast years prior, I had learned a bit about them. They were incredibly hardy creatures, capable of deriving nutrients from nothing but minerals and water if food was short. Otherwise they consumed literally everything they came across.

A green stain surrounded by tentacle-roaches confirmed this, as they snuffled the remaining gobb blood. One of Nozzle’s tribe had lost their life to the ravening bugs.

There were several shells still left from what I presumed to be a minor battle, or slaughter of the cockroaches. The remains were all being eaten by the other bugs.

I flew on, leaving the ruins behind and entering the shaft of the next elevator section. It housed some scattered plant life as well, and I started heading back up through the thickest portions of it. Nozzle had said he planned to take his tribe upwards, to avoid the slavers that constantly hounded them. In the next section I entered, great storage containers filled the entire multiple-kilometers long tunnel.

At the base of some I saw heavy wooden chunks of root, a sure sign the gobbs had passed through the area. Several of them had heavy notches, indicating they were recently used to hold open storage bay doors for gobb raiding.

That meant they were nowhere near the storage bays. They knew their methods could be used to track them and removed themselves from the area before resting or attempting to set up a settlement. Using a concentrated area for their salvaging meant slavers would only know of the general area of Storage they were in. Nozzle had said he was going to keep them higher up the superstructure of Storage, so I stuck to the upper levels. My flight pattern alternated between the second level and the first, nearest the cloud-tops.

After only traversing another ten of the oversized tunnel interiors, I found them. The tribe was huddled in another set of ruins, this one primarily composed of scorched bamboo structures. There were the standard converted storage containers commonly used for shelter in Storage, but they were few, and scattered throughout the long tunnel amidst the many tons of burnt bamboo structures.

Nozzle and his tribe were huddled around a series of fires, most of them in front of said storage containers. Babyeater was even tucked away in one, huddling under a massive torn tarp the spider used as a blanket. The tunnel they had chosen was on the first level and as such was the coldest region of storage aside from the landing platforms. They did appear to have life support and air control running, as I saw a sheltered fan near the top of the tunnel sipping the smoke from their fires, but it was still cold. The affiliate in charge of the structure looked at what temperature range was required for survival for the sapient species within Storage, and then kept it as cold as possible to save on energy costs.

I had to assume it was Silken Sands, or an associate they operated.

There was frost rimming the oversized windows up above, and it trickled into icy streams as it melted from the rising sun. Many gobbs were engaged in acquiring water by holding canisters and bottles up to the wall under the many streams of cold water.

One of the chunks of frost wiggled loose and plummeted toward the gobb below, a razor of ice the size of a person. I flew in fast and knocked it apart, shattering the thin pane of frost before it could impact the gobb below.

Nozzle jumped up and sighted at me through his long rifle’s small scope. Then he shouldered it on its sling and raised both arms as he shouted a cheery greeting.

“Tyson! Welcome back tribe-friend! Glad to see you again so soon!” Nozzle called. I hovered over and touched down in front of his cargo container. Babyeater was busy being creepy, tucked away in the back of it, a tangle of limbs and mandibles visible as it fed on an oversized tentacle roach. I noticed a large, ratty tarp hung on the inside of the container, probably to offer some insulation for the beast.

“Hi Nozzle,” I said. “Glad to be back.”

“What happened, I thought you were sad sack of crap, worried about putting us in danger and being in love with us. Or something like that,” Nozzle laughed. “Gotta say, some of the ladies here would take you up on that. But those perverts like the tall-people.”

I snorted a laugh and nodded. “I am worried about putting you in danger, and I didn’t fall in love with your tribe you goon. It’s more of a generic kind of love, the kinship I feel for all people under this horrid system.”

“What system?” he asked, cocking his head.

“BuyMort,” I replied with a shrug.

“Ahhh, yes of course. BuyMort rules us all. Did you know, there are still some gobbs who worship it?” he asked, shaking his head. “Sometimes gobbs can be kind of stupid.”

I nodded. “I know a lot of people who used to worship it. It was one of my biggest hopes to change that, before.”

“Oh yes, your Warlord of BuyMort days, I know them well,” Nozzle exclaimed. “Got a book.” The gobb held up a hardcover biography of me.

“I didn’t know gobbs were big readers,” I commented thoughtlessly.

“Ha!” Nozzle barked. “Only some of us are stupid. My tribe does not read, but I got an implant. Helps me install upgrades on Babyeater.”

I nodded. “That makes sense. No way to learn to read if that opportunity is kept from you.”

Nozzle laughed again. “Yeah, you tall people really suck sometimes, you know that?”

“You’re not wrong there. I’m about to go on some kind of trial for breaking a statue of myself,” I replied.

The gobb scowled. “Why?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Because us tall people really suck sometimes.”

Nozzle burst out laughing and slapped my knee. “Good! You know it; you can change it. Help make things better for everyone, maybe.”

“That is exactly my plan,” I told him.

Nozzle nodded, his expression suddenly serious. He reached up and firmly shook my hand. “I’ll hold you to that, Windowpuncher.”

There wasn’t a lot of time left in the day, so after our talk Nozzle and I went out to talk with the rest of the tribe, and to make preparations for the supplies I planned to order. These gobbs were survivors, and something about them felt both utilitarian and admirable. They already had a considerable stockpile of goods, and Nozzle suggested we help them go through some of them before bringing in more.

He explained that pod deliveries could be dangerous in Storage. If the tunnel’s external pod airlock no longer functioned, or the stations above were paying close attention, their location would be compromised.

I couldn’t help but think of Nozzle as a hero to his people who, behind the strangeness of his ways, was just as noble and stalwart as Rayna.

So I went along with it. In a shrunken multiverse gone to shit, I’d take any friends and allies I could get a hold of.

Chapter 18

We drank through the night, a sort of brackish homemade cocktail that they all called Jabaliya, and it helped solidify our friendship, before putting me into a healthy sleep until the swirling, multi-colored brightness of Storage morning. The sun rose over the gas giant’s horizon, catching its clouds and the structure’s towers alike, causing a glittering, rosy sunrise.

I yawned, slipping myself from out between this gobb and that. They’d evidently decided I was warm enough to make a good bed because several of them had been resting with their heads on my stomach and chest.

Getting free of the tangle, I scratched the back of my head and yawned, looking around at the tangle of sleep-drunk little green men.

It was strange to think over the gobbs of here versus the ones that turned on me so long ago. These ones were friendly, smart, and decent. The ones who’d build up Silken Sands had been gutter-creatures with no sense of pride or purpose. Just a need for d’jhz.

Something icy grasped my heart as I looked over them. The slavery had been there all along. These gobbs, this is what they started as. They’d get hunted and kidnapped, addicted to drugs, then put to work for those drugs.

And I’d been complicit.

The thought stung. I looked back over my shoulder, staring at the slowly rising pile of gobbs who would soon be aiding me on our short journey.

Fucking BuyMort.

It didn’t just take over everything, it hid the reality of everything as well. A part of me wanted to go over there, to shake them awake and apologize. Tell them that I shouldn’t have used them like that; should have tried to help them. I realized it wouldn’t have mattered, though. It wasn’t them that I did it to.

Best thing I could do was go get that phone, have some intel, and start working on fixing things around here. I saw a couple of heads pop out, crooked smiles on their faces, all of them slowly starting to jabber about breakfast and I walked over their way. I had some ideas in that department if they had the right stuff laying around for me to prepare.

Nozzle stood up, bleary-eyed, and cocked his head at his companions. “Tribe-friend is here. Breakfast is his choice today.”

“Yeah?” I asked, giving a half-grin and wondering if he wasn’t somehow reading my mind. I cast around the place, trying to get a look at what they had to work with.

Nozzle just shook his head, sputtering. “Humans, worst of the tall-people. Gobbs do not leave food out on the ground like animals! Come! I’ll show you our raid finds; we got a decent amount the day before you came back.”

I followed him and a gaggle of his tribe across the ruined bamboo city of the tunnel, my feet occasionally finding a crack or pothole in the more and more naturalized artificial structure. Nozzle lead us towards what looked to be an old security facility, a long garage door built into the curve of the tunnel wall. He booted it once as he got close, and the door shuddered and groaned before slowly rising to reveal its contents.

Nozzle stood nearby, panting, a proud grin on his face as held out his arms in a way reminiscent of those girls on the Nu-Earth TV shows, clapping with their arms out and palms facing the ceiling.

It took a bit, but when I finally could see what was inside the gobbs’ new pantry, I understood. The front shelves and racks held a variety of roots, dried yarsp meat, a few wrinkled vegetables, and something that looked like oversized, vein-covered eggs.

But, more importantly, they had something I’d never thought I’d ever see again in my life. A shiny and fully preserved slip of Nu-Earth bacon. Its packaging bragged about ‘temporally assured freshness.’

“What?” I asked, my mouth hanging open. “How?”

As I asked the words, I could feel the strange dizziness of one of the cheaper ads soaring into my mind. No, not just cheaper. There was a strange raspiness to it, almost as if the edges of the ad were giving my mind paper cuts.

Meat, for war. Bacon, Sliced, an exotic find from foreign Nu-Earth lands.

I raised an eyebrow at this, as well as at the glitchy way it tumbled through my mind. It was a text advertisement, but in the background, I could see my world as it had been in the first days of BuyMort. The film started and stopped like a corrupted YouTube video, crackling in places and simply just black screen in others. But where it showed, I saw orcs fighting with the Canadian military, as judged by the golden maple leaves I saw on the cap of the screaming older officer who appeared in the top-right corner.

They were battling over some sort of facility, and my mind flew back to those first few days of total apocalypse. It was the battle of the Maple Syrup Reserve! Apparently, the orcs who’d fought the Canadian General and his new affiliate over it had made a bunch of ads using the footage. Ads that, for whatever reason, were no longer in great shape.

We die to give you a delicious breakfast. Bacon, syrup, pancakes, poutine, ‘Tim Hortons’.

Go to our affiliate page for details — SAVVY ORC WAAAAGH! BREAKFAST GOODS.

They put the crunch in the total defeat of your enemies.

The whole ad was absurd, but behind it now steamed a plate of crispy bacon. The affiliate hadn’t paid for smell, but I found myself huffing the air anyways to get a wisp of the deliciousness sitting just an arm’s length before me.

Error error - file not found. This item is out of stock. Please contact affiliate for details.

My jaw dropped as the advertisement faded.

Nozzle beamed.

“Tribe-friend sounds happy,” Nozzle shouted to the gobbs around him. “This is rare Nu-Earth food, yeah? We were going to sell it for tribe, like finding a gem, but . . . my gift to you, Tyson,” Nozzle said, giving a little bow.

I couldn’t believe it. Yarsp was great but there was something about pork bacon that was simply divine. And so damn missing in the multiverse since BuyMort came around. All of the pigs had been hunted to extinction, very few of them could use the system to their advantage. Something about the way their minds worked. They were plenty smart but couldn’t wrap their heads around the concept of personal ownership.

I took the package and stuffed it into a pocket. “That is going to get cooked, later, when I don’t have to share it with anybody,” I said.

Nozzle laughed and clapped, delighted, as did his fellow tribe members.

“Now, let’s dig into the rest of this and make a breakfast no one will ever forget,” I said, rubbing my hands together.

Nozzle clapped his hands. “Yes! What should we make?”

I picked up a large, purple root and sniffed it. “This smells kinda like a parsnip. We can roast it. Can you get a cook-fire going?”

Nozzle nodded vigorously. “Fire, we are good at.” He scampered off, shouting orders at a few nearby gobbs who quickly set to work building a cooking fire.

I turned to the rest of the ingredients. “Alright, we’ve got roots, dried meat, veggies… and these big eggs. Let’s see what we can do.” I cracked one of the eggs into a bowl, and the yolk was a vivid shade of green. “Well, that’s different. Guess we’ll make a scramble.”

A gobb named Flick approached, holding a jar of something slimy and wiggly. “This good for food, yes?”

I peered into the jar. “Uh, what is it?”

“Wiggle-worms. Very tasty,” Flick said, popping one into his mouth and chewing with a satisfied grin.

I chuckled. “Alright, wiggle-worms it is. Let’s fry them up.” I took the jar and started heating a pan over the cook-fire, adding the wiggle-worms with a sizzle.

Nozzle returned with a handful of herbs. “These make food taste better. Trust me, tasty stuff.”

I took a whiff. The herbs smelled fresh and potent. “Great, these will go into the scramble.” I chopped the herbs finely and mixed them into the bowl of green eggs, adding some chopped roots and the dried meat for good measure.

A small gobb named Snipe tugged at my sleeve, holding out a lumpy, misshapen fruit. “Found this in tunnel. Is sweet.”

I took the fruit and sliced it open, revealing bright pink flesh inside. I tasted a piece. “Wow, this is good! It’s like a mix between a mango and a peach.” I sliced the rest and set it aside.

“Okay, we’ve got roasted roots, a wiggle-worm fry, and a green egg scramble with herbs and meat,” I said, surveying our work. “What else?”

Nozzle’s eyes lit up. “We make special gobb bread! Is tradition.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Gobb bread? How do we make it?”

Nozzle gestured to a flat stone slab. “We crush roots, mix with water, and cook on hot stone. You help?”

“Absolutely,” I said. I mashed the roots into a paste, mixing in water until it formed a doughy consistency. Nozzle spread the dough onto the hot stone, patting it flat with practiced hands.

As the bread cooked, I scrambled the green eggs, stirring them gently to keep them fluffy. The wiggle-worms had turned crispy and golden brown, and the roasted roots were just starting to caramelize around the edges.

The aroma wafted through the tunnel, drawing more gobbs to the makeshift kitchen. They watched with wide eyes and eager expressions, whispering excitedly among themselves.

“Tyson, try this,” called another gobb named Grint, holding out a peculiar-looking leaf. “Good for wrapping food. Make taste better.”

I took the leaf, sniffed it, and gave it a taste. It had a slightly bitter, peppery flavor. “Perfect. We’ll use it to wrap the scramble.” I quickly assembled the wraps, adding a dollop of the sweet fruit for a burst of flavor.

As I finished, another gobb named Pock approached with a container of something white and crumbly. “Found mushbug cheese!”

“Cheese? Now we’re talking!” I said, grinning. I crumbled the cheese over the wraps and the roasted roots, adding a rich, savory note to the meal.

Breakfast was coming together beautifully. I looked around at the eager faces of the gobbs, all of them buzzing with anticipation. “Alright, everyone. Breakfast is served!” I announced, plating up the various dishes. The gobbs cheered, rushing forward to grab their portions.

I handed a plate to Nozzle. “Here’s to a great meal and even better friends.”

Nozzle grinned, his sharp teeth flashing. “To tribe-friends and food magic!” We clinked our plates together and dug in, laughter and chatter filling the tunnel as we shared our feast. “Soon, we find Tyson’s phone, and get more foods!”

Chapter 19

The breakfast feast was an exceptional amount of fun, especially given all of the chaos I’d faced before then. The gobbs were a tremendously likable lot; I was growing to appreciate them more and more as I learned their ways and culture.

Afterwards, the gobbs lay back and relaxed, their stomachs comically distended in a manner that suggested it was both natural and satisfying to their particular race. Nozzle pulled out a wad of wrapped tobacco and a sophisticated-looking pipe, its surface glowing with a polished sheen in the light of the day. He gleefully fished an ember out of the remains of the cooking fire using the claws of his fingers, setting his pipe and others alight before tossing it back to its place.

He lay back, puffing contentedly and staring at the sky. “You know, Tyson, it is days like this that really put the go back into gobb,” he said, shifting his eyes over to me and giving a mischievous half-smile.

I snorted. “I bet. Hey that reminds me, I have a gift for your tribe,” I said.

“Oh?” Nozzle grunted, peering up at me. “What gift?”

I pulled the fobs Terna had given me out of my pocket and showed it to Nozzle. “This will summon a good amount of food, and I have another that will summon tools.”

Nozzle nodded. “Well, don’t use it here. Too easy to track. If we use arrival platform, nobody knows, so long as we do it while stations are not overhead.”

“How can we tell that?” I asked.

He pulled out a small plastic phone and glanced at it. “No coverage.” His toothy grin explained the rest.

I lifted off and hovered up the nearby elevator shaft, watching as a couple hundred gobbs began climbing after me.

A few minutes later, Nozzle and I stood in front of a BuyMort pod-stand in the abandoned arrival platform. I opened the cover and pressed the button, which caused an outline of green light to appear before a massive pallet of goods appeared, stacked as high as me. All of it was food too.

Boxes of canned goods, boxes of MREs, boxes of fresh vegetables and plenty of raw meat. I saw a few varieties, including lobtis and the ever-present yarsp, but then the arriving gobb transport crew rushed in and began rapidly unpacking it.

Nozzle nodded appreciatively. “Hard on morale, the last few days since we left the lake. Many gobbs want to go back, even with the danger. This should help a lot, thank you.”

I watched as gobbs ate raw vegetables while still perched on the rapidly deconstructing pile. Others grabbed as much meat as they could carry and rushed off back to the elevator shaft, makeshift bags full of white paper packages.

“You must have many morties, Tyson friend,” Nozzle commented, happily accepting a pack of meat thrown to him from the top of the pile.

I shook my head. “Nope, just a really good friend. She’s paying for all of this.”

His eyebrows raised and Nozzle shook his head. “Well, then you have rich friends,” he said.

I smiled. “Just the one, but yes, she owns her own world, kind of.”

Nozzle stared at me. “You really are one of ‘BuyMort’s most influential citizens,’ huh?”

“You got that from your book,” I said with a chuckle. “C’mon, there’s more.”

I walked with Nozzle over to another pod on a beam and pressed the button on the next fob. When the package arrived in a flash of rainbow light, it was shorter than the food pallet had been, but far more interesting. More gobbs arrived from the elevator shaft and began picking through the contents, pulling out reams of fabric with interest, or tool belts with confusion.

One large area on the pallet was filled with thick coats. Lined with wool-moth fur and crafted from bladder-beetle leather, each coat was child-sized, which fit the gobbs pretty perfectly. There were pictogram instruction cards for each set of complex tools, but there weren’t many of those in the pallet. Most of it was building material, insulation, ropes, and of course, the coats.

Before they left the pallet for Nozzle to pick through, each of the gobbs was wearing one of the winter coats and looking pleased with themselves.

“This is good,” Nozzle said, watching his tribe file in and out of the shaft. “Great, I mean. Now we can stay up here longer, keep away from the people. Plenty of helpful things for when we leave too. Look at all the food left!”

He waved away a fat gobb who was still leaned over the pallet top, munching away on a nutrient cookie. The gobb hissed, clutched his prize, and skittered away with a thick ream of tarpaulin tucked under one arm.

“Will you stay with us for a while?” Nozzle asked. “We have plenty of food to offer.”

“You’re funny,” I replied, smiling wryly. “But no. You mentioned people nearby?” I asked.

Nozzle nodded. “Down three levels from our current camp. Risky to stay so close, but they don’t come up anymore. Not since the burning.”

“Yeah, what happened there anyway?” I asked.

“Gobbs,” he said. “Not my tribe, but larger, much more aggressive tribe. They range in this part of Storage, attack humans. I keep trying to lead my tribe out of their area. They take some of our people with them anytime they find us. Some of them even want to go, many are angry at the tall-people, want to hurt them.”

“Storage is all the gobbs have ever known,” I replied carefully. “It does not surprise me that you are taken advantage of here.”

“It's not easy being green,” Nozzle said with a sharp-toothed grin.

“No,” I agreed. “But it should be. As easy as being a tall-person anyway.”

Nozzle shrugged. “But it’s not,” he said, more forcefully. “Never will be.”

I clapped my gobb friend on his shoulder. “I have to go, Nozzle. I only came to pay your tribe back for your kindness to me. Consider this a down payment.”

He scowled. “You owe us nothing, Windowpuncher. You helped us escape the slavers, I couldn’t ask for more.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll be back. How can I find you again?” I asked.

“Cicada Wireless,” Nozzle immediately replied. “I use it to coordinate with other friendly tribes, I can give you my number. Works for shit, though.” He spit on the arrival platform.

I narrowed my eyes. “Cicada Wireless? Is that like MortMobile?”

Nozzle began laughing hard, his eyes shining. Then he stopped, his face twisting incredulous as he realized I hadn’t been joking. “MortMobile? MortMobile! Windowpuncher, you see any XR-hover limos around here? Any of the upper crust of BuyMort society?”

I shook my head. So much had changed. “Wasn’t like that when I was around. MortMobile was the app everyone used. Don’t even know what competition might have existed; no one used anything else, aside from internal affiliate communications.” A funny thought crossed my mind, and I realized that Terna probably had her own service running way back then. Hell, she probably had a whole lot of little secret industries running that I knew nothing about.

“Well, Tyson, here we use Cicada. Small mortie hook up; need to get a phone or digital device to hook up too. Or an implant, but those are more expensive. Oh, and it only works in Storage. I use one, but the rest of the tribe doesn’t. Most gobbs don’t care.”

Nozzle touched his own forehead, then flicked a finger my way. “Here. Adspace.”

“Woah, hey, what the hell!” I exclaimed, falling backwards and into the jankiest ad I’d ever seen.

A pixelated screen flickered to life before me, filled with loud, garish colors and an obnoxiously catchy jingle. A gravelly voice boomed out:

“CICADA WIRELESS MOBILE!”

“Tired of being off the grid and out of touch? Welcome to Cicada Wireless Mobile, where dropped calls and shoddy service are just part of the charm! Need to reach someone in the vast, untamed expanses of Storage? You might get through... if you're lucky!”

The screen cut to a rugged-looking man holding a blocky, outdated cellphone. He was standing in the middle of a post-apocalyptic level, collapsed structures and broken-down machinery everywhere.

“Here at Cicada Wireless, we offer the best (and only) mobile service in Storage! Sure, our coverage is spotty, our calls drop constantly, and our data is slower than a slug in molasses, but hey, what do you expect? It's Storage!”

The screen switched to a flashy animation of a cell phone signal bar going up and down erratically. A gobb appeared next to it, looked at me, and shrugged.

“Get our BASIC PLAN for just 999 morties a month! Includes 100 minutes of talk time, 50 texts, 1 app, and a whopping 100KB of data. Perfect for those who love a challenge!”

The screen flashed to a heavily pixelated map of Storage, with small dots representing the limited coverage areas.

“Need more? Upgrade to our PREMIUM PLAN for 4,999 morties a month! Enjoy 500 minutes of talk time, 200 texts, 4 apps, and a luxurious 500KB of data. Because sometimes, you just need to send that extra-long text or load a picture... eventually.”

The rugged man reappeared, now joined by a cheerful gobb holding a similarly outdated phone. They gave each other a thumbs up as the screen zoomed in on their devices, showing a connection that flickered between one and two bars. They appeared to be sexting each other.

“And for the truly adventurous, our ULTIMATE PLAN offers unlimited talk, text, and a whole megabyte of data for 9,999 morties a month! Now you can call, text, and maybe even stream a low-res video... if you're in the right spot!”

The screen cut to the rugged man shouting into his phone. “CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?!” he asked, his voice clearly straining under the burden. From somewhere out of sight, a gobb came in holding up his own cracked phone, the reception turned to speaker mode. I could hear the call being received, its signal clearly breaking up and distorting his words.

“Cicada Wireless Mobile! Because in Storage, you get what you get. Take it or leave it!”

The ad ended with the rugged man and the gobb both laughing as their calls dropped simultaneously, turning to flip me off before fading away. My vision went completely black, then there was a pixelated flash, and I saw the logo of a giant Cicada giving me those same middle fingers. From its mouth extended a speech bubble.

“Cicada Wireless Mobile – Keeping you connected... sometimes.”

I blinked, the colors and sounds fading away as I found myself back in Nozzle’s company. He was staring at me, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Yeah, I’ll sign up for that. Heck, I can even afford it. Only works when the stations are overhead though, huh?” I asked.

Nozzle nodded. “Yep. Run from up there. Best to limit use though. You don’t want to run over your program,” he said with a chuckle. “The overage fees are harsh.”

“Yeah, I bet,” I told him, signing up for the basic level of Cicada Wireless. For a small add-on, it included a phone. Once I had Nozzle’s number programmed into it, I nodded, shook the gobbs hand, and floated away. “See you around, Nozzle!”

“Yeah-yeah,” he said with a grin. “Tall-people promises.”

I smiled, nodded, and left the tribe.

Chapter 20

I flew down the nearby elevator shaft past the porters carrying their goods and followed Nozzle’s directions to the tall-people. The settlement was right where he said it would be, three tunnels down, in the warmer sections of Storage.

Down below, the ladders were clear of overgrowth, and the tunnel had been cultivated. A bamboo forest grew, fed on trickles of condensation from the warmer climes, but the forest had a clear main path through it. I diverted to the wall before reaching the tunnel and climbed the rest of the way down on the ladder.

My clothing was new, which I quickly realized would give me away as I encountered the first people working in the bamboo thickets. They wore rags, mere scraps of cloth covering their most delicate parts as well as their hands and feet. Human peasants chopped bamboo with machetes made of scrap.

Others loaded it onto sleds, which thick, muscled orcs hauled down the main road of the tunnel. I followed, walking behind a full sled as it was dragged through the layer of flattened earth that made up the main road into town.

The orc stopped and slid off his yoke as he reached a towering bamboo gate, embedded in a long wall that traveled up the tunnel’s sides. He turned and stared at me for a long moment before shrugging and turning back to the gate. His heavy fist thudded against it three times before he walked back to his sled and shouldered back into the straps he used to drag it.

With a creak of shifting bamboo, the gate opened outward, and a small squad of armed hobbs tromped out to greet the orc. Several of them noticed me at once, and within seconds I was surrounded, with weapons pointed at me.

The orc ahead shrugged when questioned by a hobb that was clearly in charge. His helmet bore a long black moth wing sticking up from the back of his head. It bobbed as he whipped his head around to look at me again.

Another short exchange with the orc, and he impatiently waved over his shoulder. The orc grunted and got his sled moving, quickly vanishing past the gate.

I raised my hands and smiled gently as the officer trod heavily toward me. His squad all bore simple-looking rifles. Wire stocks and make-shift bamboo foregrips accented the basic AK-47 design I was so familiar with as the guns were shoved in my face.

“Who are you?” the officer grunted at me. He looked me up and down, taking in my clothing.

“Ty . . . ler,” I hesitantly replied. “Yeah, I’m Tyler. New here. I just arrived in Storage.”

“Where you from?” the officer said, in a more bored tone of voice.

I had figured pretending to be new to Storage would be the right move. “Nu-Earth,” I replied. “Lost my job, got into debt.”

The hobbs relaxed, and one of them made a nasty joke under his breath to his companion. I heard it all, of course, with my advanced senses back in place. “Those clothes won't be new for long,” he muttered, and the other hobb laughed.

While chuckling darkly at me, the officer gestured for me to go through the gate. As I did, I heard him provide a description of me to someone on his radio.

Beyond the gate spread out a hovel city. Every structure was crafted using bamboo, with only a few metal containers left. Most of those were stationed near the front, in a tower buttressed by many bamboo supports, staircases, and bridges. Atop them stood several armed hobbs, all wearing Silken Sands colors and staring down at me with predatory smiles.

I nodded at them and gave a small wave which was not returned. They watched me until I had moved beyond their base, eyes cold and uncaring.

Beyond the small bamboo and storage container fortress, the city opened up. Bamboo huts were common, as were people languishing in the streets between them. Only one section of the city showed much livelihood, and that was the single BuyMort pod stand, where denizens gathered to receive their meager rations.

When I had been Warlord of BuyMort, the rations were limited to three per person per day and consisted of a greenish stew with chunks of gristly meat and limp vegetable matter. It had been primarily composed of rendered Sleem, with bits of meat from bodies sold to BuyMort itself.

Now it looked almost like water, a meager broth of corpses and whatever plant life was randomly sold to BuyMort and determined to be of little value. It was also only available once per day, a significant reduction.

The people reflected this reduction, many of them in the late stages of obvious starvation. There was a squad of the armed and uniformed hobbs in the square as well, ignoring the destitute and keeping a wary eye on the active. They guarded a simple bamboo shack that handed out food.

As I watched, I saw that only those who bore the signs of labor were given food, with very few exceptions. When an old man approached hesitantly from the line he was chased off with a raised weapon, and the shout I heard filled in the rest.

“Only the useful, old man! Go and die!” the hobb soldier barked. “No work pass, no food!”

I walked up and stood in line myself, gathering several stares from the surrounding people. Ignoring them, I waited my turn. When I was first in line, I walked up to the shack’s counter and took a good look around.

Most of what they offered was basic MRE fare. There were a couple of bug parts hung up for meat, but those were surrounded by small flies and had mottled coloration. Nobody was eating well in that village.

The guard hobb was more hesitant with me. He raised a hand and shook his head. “No work pass, no food.”

“I’m new here,” I explained. “How do I get a work pass?”

“Fort, near entrance,” the hobb grunted.

I nodded slowly and looked around the food shack a bit more. “Alright. Give me food now, though. I’ll come back and show you my work pass when I get one.”

The hobb scowled and shook his head. He stepped forward and grabbed my arm. “No, get out of line!” he barked. “Come back when you have work pass!”

I held my ground, and the hobb frowned in concern when he couldn’t even budge my arm. His fingers dug in harder and he pulled with a grunt, but I didn’t move at all. I just stared at him.

“Give me food now,” I repeated. “And I’ll get out of your way.”

He stepped back and cocked his rifle, before pointing it at me. “Go, now!” he shouted.

I shook my head, then leaned up to his rifle and pressed the barrel against my forehead. “Go ahead,” I told him.

The hobb scowled incredulously, but stepped back and fired his rifle at me once. The bullet ricocheted off from my hardened skin and smacked into the hobb behind the food counter, who went down with a surprised grunt.

“What tribe are you with?” I asked, stepping toward the armed hobb again.

He blinked rapidly and took another step backward. “B-BlueCleave, who else?” he grunted.

“Then you should feel deep shame. Withholding food from those who need it? Shooting those who challenge your rules? Injuring your own tribe with your foolish violence? The BlueCleave hobbs I knew would kill you for far less,” I scolded, my voice increasing in anger. “Now give me food!” I demanded.

A thought crossed my mind, and I opened up my mind’s ad space. Thinking my way to my personal BuyMort tab, I asked to see the previous ads that I had experienced in my life, then narrowed the search to that of BlueCleave. It was shorter than I’d remembered, lacking the glitz and glam of the wealthier affiliates, but it had all of the appropriate points, and I sent it to him, just so he could really feel what it once meant to be one of them

TRIBE BLUECLEAVE – Deadly with a conscience. The HobGobs of this unit have a long history of honorable combat. Dangerous, smart and to the point. Shop tough, Shop Tribe BlueCleave, where the customer is number one.

“I don’t know what the hell you all are now, but you’re certainly not BlueCleave,” I spat.

The hobb dully nodded, his face a mask of shock and fear. He reached carefully over the counter, still holding his rifle on me, and grabbed an MRE package. He tossed it to me before hurrying around the side of the shack to the entrance door and tending to his wounded partner.

Behind me the food line had dispersed as soon as the gunshot sounded, but the frail old man laid where he had fallen, breathing heavily and staring up at me.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” he asked. His voice quavered, but it was full of an odd sense of awe and even hope. “I heard stories.”

Lost for words, flames still tearing through my brain over all that I was witnessing, I tossed him the MRE and walked away.

The rest of the small city in the tunnel was the same. A few pockets of activity surrounding food distribution points, and mass suffering all around them. BlueCleave hobbs stalked the area, some looking at me with open malice. I ignored them and finished exploring the tunnel city.

At the back of it I found a wall constructed of bamboo, keeping out a thick forest of the stuff that filled the rest of the tunnel. There was nothing else to see, so I slowly made my way back to the fortress at the front of the city. As I travelled, I noticed that those who could walk were moving toward the hobb’s base as well.

I joined the streams of people and followed along with the crowd.

The hobbs were all ensconced in their fort, including one wearing a sling, with a gray bloodstain on the bicep. They were setting up a large projector.

The crowd of people gathered in front of the base and stared up, as the projector cast a square of light against the tunnel wall above us. The Silken Sands logo appeared, surrounded by their new color scheme, and a special broadcast began with a cascade of swelling music.

My picture suddenly lit up the tunnel, as the introductory music faded. “The Warlord of BuyMort has returned!” A broadcaster suddenly said.

“After one hundred years of unexplained absence, the former CEO of Silken Sands, and war hero against the Church has returned, with explosive effects,” the announcer said. My picture stayed up on the wall while he spoke.

“Accusations from the BlueCleave military wing of the affiliate claim that the Windowpuncher is responsible for the devastation that was afflicted upon Nu-Earth’s gravity sling just days prior. Tyson Dawes is currently in custody on Terna’s World, an important Silken Sands outpost. He is awaiting a Knowle Institute trial to determine the nature of his activities since his return, and if he is indeed a threat to Silken Sands,” the announcer dictated.

Footage of the debacle on the gravity sling played over his words, showing cargo and ships throwing up showers of sparks as they slid and collided, with me in the middle of it all. The video itself was real, but it had obviously been cut in a way to portray me in the worst possible light.

The scene cut to Central Plaza and my destruction of the statue. In the foreground a family huddled in fear as I slammed into the statue and destroyed it. “The former CEO of Silken Sands seems to have a vendetta against the affiliate, or its artwork and people at the least,” the announcer said.

The next video capture was from my arrest. When I had been sleeping beneath the bridge. The camera-hobb was breathing heavily and shaking the camera as he recorded me being hauled into the hovertank. While I hadn’t resisted at all, the camera work made the entire situation feel far more intense than it had been. “Seen here being captured by the brave soldiers of BlueCleave, Tyson Dawes is to be brought to justice for his destructive acts. A Knowle Institute fact-finding trial has been agreed to by the Windowpuncher.”

The newscaster’s voice sounded over the final image, which was a Silken Sands flag, blowing in the wind. “We here at SS News will keep all members of the greater affiliate informed. As we receive information, so too shall our viewers. SS News, fair and balanced information, always.”

I sighed as the video finished. In too many ways it reminded me of my war with the Church. I sighed. News. News never changes.

Chapter 21

Looking around the gathered people, I saw several faces turned my way. The old man had outed me, and rumor spread fast in the small community. It was time for me to leave, before the troopers got wind of who I was. I shook my head and walked away, back to the village’s food distribution square. The bamboo hut was closed up tightly, and only a small smear of gray blood was left to tell of what had happened.

I pulled up my BuyMort menus and ordered a portal back to Terna’s World. When the pod-on-a-stand painted the ground with my portal, I stepped through its light and emerged back in my safe house on the world ship.

Terna was there, seated on the couch, apparently waiting for me. Her gray brow was furrowed and she stood as soon as I arrived.

“Good, you’re back. The announcement went out, have you seen it?” Terna asked.

I nodded and moved past her to sit down on the couch.

“Okay, that’s good too. We need to prepare you for the trial. It won’t be like the justice system you knew before BuyMort,” she said.

“I understand that, yeah,” I added. “Seems like it's more of an academic exercise?”

“Yes, combined with the court of public opinion,” Terna explained. “There will be a council of Knowle academics, from the Knowle Institute of History. They will each treat the trial as a fact-finding mission.”

“Okay, well that works in our favor, right?” I asked.

“It should. You are guilty of some of the proposed crimes, but the majority of them can be excused away as defense of self or defense of others, as we planned. I also managed to secure a guarantee, through the Knowle academics council, that we will be given all unedited footage. This is to ensure propaganda or lies are not the core of the defense or the prosecution,” Terna said.

“So not just to help us, then,” I said.

“No,” Terna replied. “The academic council is operating on its own rules, independent of affiliate leadership. They favor neither side in this dispute and seek only facts to enter into the historic record. You will be interviewed extensively, as will any witnesses that can be found.”

“Still, the court of public opinion aspect should turn in our favor rapidly, once the truth starts getting out,” I added.

“That is very likely, yes. The public will react to each statement of fact that the council provides, once each matter is decided upon. It is unlikely you will be imprisoned by this trial, whatever its outcome. We fully intend to use it for your upcoming campaign,” she replied.

“You didn’t see Axle’s face, Terna,” I said. “He really seemed to want me in a deep hole so he could forget about me again.”

The hobb woman sighed at that and walked to the bar. She started pouring a drink, and I nodded when she offered me the first glass.

“That is entirely possible,” she said. “But the Knowle Institute of History has a long record of avoiding affiliate interference. Especially when it is this public.”

“How’d you pull that off anyway?” I asked.

Terna shrugged. “Not hard, our press is voracious, always looking for sensational stories. I just offered it to the right group, made sure it went public before it was reported to Silken Sands leadership.”

“Ahh yes, weaponized press. An old favorite of mine,” I said, before taking a sip of the drink Terna made for me.

It was strong, fruity, and burned like hell going down, but I didn’t complain. The hobb knew her alcohol.

“All right,” I said, before taking a deep breath. “Let’s get prepared for trial.”

Terna nodded and swallowed her drink. “I have your counsel on standby. Anytime you’re ready, we can meet with her.”

I gulped the rest of the drink Terna had made me and stood. “Now is as good a time as any.”

Terna opened the sliding door to my safehouse and I followed her out into the world ship’s underbelly. I followed the hobb woman through rafters, utility tunnels, and finally out into the open in a very strange hab unit.

The unit was considerably smaller than those I had seen before and contained the most elaborate buildings Terna’s World had to offer. I walked on clean, well-maintained streets toward a large building marked by carved marble pillars on its front, and an elaborately decorated domed roof.

On one side of it rested a BlueCleave fortress, and on the other a series of mansions nestled into a gated community. Everyone I saw on the streets wore business chic, most of them in Silken Sands colors. They also gaped as I walked by. Terna rested her hand on a pistol at her belt, and stared down the building’s guards as they noticed our approach.

Both armed and uniformed hobbs hurriedly shouldered their weapons but backed down at an angry bark from Terna. “The warlord is in custody already, stand down! You have no jurisdiction over a Terna’s World prisoner. Your only duty is to protect the Hall of Academics!”

They glared unhappily but backed away. Both hobbs kept their weapons trained on me as I slowly ascended the marble steps. Each pillar featured a different Knowle, holding up a symbol of knowledge. One had books, another held a compass. The pillar I walked beneath held scales and a scroll, and held its eyes averted from both.

“Cheery place,” I grumbled, feeling very much like I was walking into my own execution. The crowd gathering behind me didn’t help, nor did the many BlueCleave soldiers filing out to see me for themselves.

“Ignore it,” Terna commanded. “Eyes forward, walk with purpose. We’re here to do what’s right, never forget that.”

“Yeah, I just don’t like being stared at,” I replied.

“Best get used to it,” Terna said with a shrug. “That’s not likely to change anytime soon.”

We walked up the steps of the grandiose building and entered an oversized lobby. Security screening was just beyond the entrance doors, and I was required to submit to a full body scan. At the end of it, a hobb guard approached holding a miniaturized pulse ion cannon.

Terna touched my arm and we turned aside. “This is standard procedure, I apologize for the lack of warning. It slipped my mind in the rest of the preparations. They will require you to drain all your starfish suit’s charge and refrain from recharging it while in this building.”

“Every time, I imagine,” I whispered back.

“Yes,” she answered.

I stood and raised my arms, stepping away from Terna so the guard could shoot me. After the momentary discomfort it caused, I was allowed through the security gates. The guard with the cannon followed me as I proceeded through the entrance hall, toward a Knowle woman wearing an expensive looking suit.

She smiled broadly from beneath her round-lensed glasses and extended one paw to me as I approached. As we shook, she said “welcome, Mr. Dawes, I am so pleased to meet you. My name is Tazha Wulf, I’ll be your representative during your trial, and will be helping you prepare beforehand.”

Tazha gestured with one paw. “Please, this way.”

Terna and I followed her down an ornate hallway to her office. Tazha’s name was emblazoned on a bronze plaque beside the door and identified her as an arbitrator. The hallway I stood in had several offices with similar plaques.

Once inside, Tazha gestured to large, comfortable-looking chairs. She circled around an oak desk and sat behind it while Terna and I sat in front.

“Well,” Tazha said. “Let’s get right into it. Your trial is going to be focused around three incidents, which will lead the council to make a decision on the issue of your threat to Silken Sands.”

I nodded. “Which three incidents?”

Tazha opened a folder on her desk and looked down, using one claw to keep her place as she read. “First, you are accused of damaging a BlueCleave ship while mounting an escape. Second, you are accused of causing damage and disruption to the gravity sling’s normal traffic. This is the most serious of the accusations we will need to explore. And third, you are accused of destroying a planetary monument, your own statue in Central Plaza, Prescott.”

I nodded again. “Okay.”

“To start, I would like to go over your personal accounting of these events,” Tazha said. “Then, when the council provides us the official list of accusations, we will go over those. Your preparation is likely to take most of the week we have before the trial itself. Do you have any questions so far?”

I sighed and shook my head. “Let’s get started,” I said.

Chapter 22

The next week passed much as my arbitrator predicted. I came and went, always under Terna’s personal escort. She was excellent at losing the many spies that attempted to follow us and divine my safe house’s locations. But Terna stayed ahead of them, primarily by rotating where I stayed, and using her intimate knowledge of the world ship.

It was in the Hall of Knowledge that I practiced my defense. It was an intimidating place in terms of its construction; more like a dozen cathedrals stuck together than a library, it was vast and imposing, filled with magnificent arches and the statues of past scholars. A variety of crystal glass cases showed off ancient tomes and holographic displays actively advertised this treatise or that, but in a hushed mental whisper that only became distracting if you walked up to it and touched it.

There were bookshelves and texts, of course, but most who came instead took out electronic files on little plastic Infocards.

These Infocards were sleek and compact, no larger than a credit card, and in the top right corner they held a strangely deep effervescent square that clearly stretched into some unseen other dimension. Within it, a number slowly twirled in a slow orbit, showing off the level of access the holder had available to them.

I was, of course, at number one. However, there was an asterisk next to mine, with the word ‘sponsored’ spelled out in the tiniest print I'd ever seen.

The rest of the cards were made of a durable, glossy material that shimmered when turned, and they apparently changed color as the levels of the user went up. Mine, as a beginning neophyte to the halls, was white. The highest level, I was told, was black.

Walking down the halls, staring quietly at everything, I came to the place I'd been directed. It was a cozy nook set near the center of the complex.

The nook was partially enclosed by tall bookshelves, their sheer presence closing off most of the area from view and giving the illusion of privacy. The shelves were filled with a variety of large book-shaped 'mind tapes' that I understood to be the actual lives and experiences of top Knowle scholars from the past, copied and formatted into a usable broadcastable medium. One into which I'd be opening my mind to the second I lay inside the educator device.

Right. The educator. I looked over to where it sat, looking so much like a mix between an old lazy boy recliner and a dentist chair. There was a tray hanging out from its arm, in which lay a variety of colored vials and a syringe that made me queasy. It wasn't the prick of the shot that worried me but rather the gauge of the needle. It looked like something you'd use to tranquilize a horse.

I hesitated, taking in a whiff of old dusty plastic and faux leather before stepping over to it. The lazy boy aspect of it looked great, and I imagined if it weren't a pre-BuyMort artifact the ads would probably describe it as 'an elegant blend of form and function, crafted from polished wood and rich almost leather' or some shit like that. It definitely wasn't a 4 star or less product, that was for sure. I turned around and sat back into it, feeling the faux-leather push soft and inviting against my suddenly weary body.

Right. Red, orange, green, then helmet and close my eyes, I thought to myself, remembering the instructions I'd been given. I picked up the injector, and slotted the red, taking the first shot like a champ despite the flare of flame inside me. The second and third went much the same way, and I was half-drunk by the time I got to that part about the helmet.

I swatted around blearily, finding it on a nearby pedestal. I held it up in front of me, examining it. The helmet was shiny plastic decorated over with patches of blinking lights. Its interior was soft, and cushioned, and placing it over my head felt a lot like what clouds looked like they'd feel like if we could touch them.

I could feel the VR world overwhelm my sleeping mind, like a directed and vivid dream. The technology was invasive and my brain fought against its waves of psionic pressure, striking out at its invasion of my dreams. Or so it all felt like, anyways. The best description of that first session was the sensation of a tsunami of energy and color overwhelming my consciousness and seizing it with a firm hand.

No wonder I needed the meds to use the machine.

Tumbling from the sketchy beginning of whatever my mind had originally planned for me, I found myself rolling across thick green grasses then falling off a cliff, plopping into the center of a courtroom.

There was something wrong with it. Unlike the serious places of Nu-Earth, this courtroom looked more like a circus tent than a place of legal proceedings. The walls were draped in vibrant, swirling colors, and the ceiling was a kaleidoscope of stained glass that glittered rainbow hues from lights set up behind it. The judge's bench was an enormous tower of reddish-brown timber, manned by a Knowle who stared down sternly, wire-rim glasses perched on the end of his snout.

He licked his nose and nodded his powder-wigged head at me, before banging his gavel to begin the proceeding.

“Welcome to the Court Training Module Basics, Level 1, Recommended for Ages 7 - 9!” the judge boomed, his voice reverberating outwards. “Here, we will teach you the ins and outs of an academic defense, trial preparation, and the rules of etiquette. Pay close attention, young one, for it is the mark of a Knowle to be able to reason and use logic. Without these capabilities, you are nothing.”

I puckered my lips, a sour taste rising in my mouth, just waiting for some rolled up piece of paper to stroll out and begin singing that he was just a bill. I'd been sent to start on a kid's module! Me, the former Warlord of BuyMort. I raised a finger to raise some objections and ask for a more advanced program, but to my left, a prosecutor appeared and screamed, “Objection!”

The prosecutor was wearing a felt top hat and carrying an oversized briefcase strutted forward, presenting a series of charges in a singsong voice. Coalescing from the misty borders of my dream world, a jury of Knowles appeared, 13 in total, and each of them nodded to the lawyer's words, gazing at me with a critical eye.

“Defendants should always bow to the judge and present their defense thesis, in accordance with the statutes of common presentation!” the prosecutor continued.

I grumbled, turning to the judge. “Your honor?” I asked, but it was too late to rectify my mistake as a chorus line of dancing gavels strode out of the misty nether, singing a tune about presentation and protocol. I listened to their words, memorizing their details, all the while wondering if Terna wasn't sitting somewhere watching this all and laughing her ass off.

Old Phyllis would have loved it.

The child-themed antics continued, various documents and enforcer type characters coming out to sing and dance about the importance of evidence and the stages of proper trial preparation. It was unexpectedly wacky and memorable. Something about the way everything was presented made the information flow well, and I even began to find myself tapping my foot to the various briefs.

Of course the lessons shifted and changed. My ‘defense’ cartoon gavel in a wig arrived and did a tap dance while demonstrating the proper way to address the judge, how to object respectfully, and the importance of maintaining a composed demeanor. A giant law book with arms and legs did an operatic solo about the importance of maintaining popular opinion during cases, while a courtroom audience appeared behind me to ooh and aah at the dramatics.

Soon enough, the lessons rolled to a close and I could feel the imposed dream world begin to roll back off my mind, peeling itself from every cerebral wrinkle with a mental snap. There was a flash, then words appeared in a manner much like a BuyMort ad. “Beginner session completed. Please report to a testing terminal to gain accreditation for the completion of this course. You will be charged the appropriate fees upon testing completion.”

I woke up with a gasp, feeling incredibly clear headed and quite well rested. Before me stood Tazha Wulf, attired in another expensive suit, looking down at me through her round-lensed glasses. She hit a button on the side of the educator chair and as it rose up to put me back into a sitting position, she smirked.

“Welcome to the Knowle legal system, Mr. Dawes. There is a lot to learn before your trial, but I trust you have the mind and acumen to do so. Come, let us get your testing and accreditation.”

Chapter 23

My time at the hall of knowledge was a whirlwind of defense, evidence, and plain old hard work, with Tazha and Terna counseling me in every point. The tapes got more mature as I advanced through the system, and despite all the many rules of etiquette for me to learn, processes of the council, and many reams of history to go through, my mind absorbed them all. And past the tapes, Tazha told me that anything I could learn of the Knowle Institute of history that might be helpful to me in some way.

I engaged my eidetic memory and spent my evenings pouring through the material she provided me. Most of it was terribly dry, but I managed to glean several minor insights into the Institute’s various processes and practices, as well as the three council members that would sit in judgment of my statements.

Each of them were elder Knowles, scholars of history. One was a master of Silken Sands history, another of the Sol system’s history. The third caught my attention the most, as she was a master of my own history. She had devoted his life to studying the year of chaos that had been my rule over the BuyMort system, as well as the months that came before. Her writings on the subject were insightful, and she divided my rule into three eras.

The Warlord of Arizona era, the Warlord of Nu-Earth era, and the Warlord of BuyMort era.

Her commentary on my history was almost always accurate, she had a knack for seeing through the haze of lies and the fog of war to find the truth of most any encounter I was part of.

My studies focused on her teachings considerably. Her name was Adjudicator May.

Throughout everything, I attempted to keep in contact with Nozzle, using a BuyMort bridging service to occasionally connect to him and his gobbs, and to occasionally send support their way.

During one choppy conversation I broached the topic of creating an affiliate with him, only to find that he’d already done so.

I visited it, finding it to be a fully immersive nightmare of chaotically random goods and services, including offers to “experience packages” that promised such scenarios as a “full space pirate experience” or a “Personalized Alien Abduction Experience”.

It was something that, when all of this blew over, I would really have to sit down and work on with him.

Time really flew by, and before I knew it, the first day of the trial had arrived. As I stood in front of the mirror, preparing for the day, the lessons of the prior week rolled through my head. First steps, of course, were appearance. I needed to appear confident, respectful, scholastic, and ready.

I was told my former warlike nature was something I had to keep out of everyone's minds. From behavior to image. Terna gave me a whole wardrobe to pick through, and my first attempt at non-hostile dress made her snort laughter, but I was pretty sure that the next time through I was picking the right stuff. I chose a suit that looked good on a business man, but avoided the corporate gray, going for a fabric that was a deep midnight blue and that shimmered when it caught the light. It was the sort of thing that less screamed CEO, or Warlord, and more whispered “mild-mannered reporter at the Daily Planet”.

Keeping with that theme, the rest of it all sort of fell into place. Under the suit was a crisp white dress shirt. through the collar ran the  fabric of my tie, a rich, dark red dotted with black triangles and knotted in a precise Windsor knot. My cufflinks were silver and polished, bearing the old insignia of Silken Sands and a reminder of not just who I was, but what the past had been.

On my feet I wore polished black leather shoes and for once my hair was neatly and professionally styled, and my face freshly shaven. I wouldn’t miss the beard, it had grown more out of neglect than any stylistic choice on my part.

I coughed and adjusted the knot of my tie, making sure it was centered correctly. There were bulges and outlines due to my starfish, but there was nothing I could do about those, so I turned my head, glancing over my cheek for stray hairs one final time when Tazha and Terna opened the door and entered the room.

“You’re looking good, Tyson,” Tazha said, giving me a once up and down. “Appropriate choice of attire.” I noticed that she was wearing an even more expensive suit, one whose very blackness almost seemed to drain all the other colors of the room of their vibrancy. She was carrying a sleek, silver briefcase in her left hand, and she'd changed her glasses to narrower, more aggressive shaped lenses.

Seeing her eyes through those glasses momentarily made me imagine her as a sniper, and I smirked.

“Looking good yourself, Tazha,” I answered.

Terna checked my appearance and gave a nod of approval. She herself was dressed in a sharply tailored charcoal gray suit, custom fitted to every aspect of her athletic frame. It looked like it probably cost a ton of morties, and then I realized that almost assuredly one of her own people had made it outside of the system. Under her suit she wore a white blouse, and a slim black tie, no frills or funny shapes anywhere. Her hair was pulled back into a low bun, and I couldn't help but think that her entire ensemble somehow made her appear that much more intimidating than her normal survivor self.

In her hand, she carried a slim black portfolio, the words Tyson Dawes scrawled over it in Hobb.

“Looks like we are all ready,” Tazha said matter-of-factly, already turning away and starting to walk out the door. Terna and I followed, all of our steps clacking over the floors as we marched. “Remember, though logic is the most valuable aspect to a Knowle legal defense, the character of a witness is also on trial, as the mind of the individual can be questioned by their apparent demeanor as well as their public image. Remember your lessons on how to present yourself, how to speak, and how to handle their questions. No lies, no exaggerations, and complete confidence.”

“Yeah. Got it. No pressure,” I joked, eager to get this over with. I reached up to scratch my nose, and her hand knocked my hand away before it even got close to its target.

“No! You must show your ability to resist such distractions.”

I grumbled, letting the itch fester and spread out, thanking the spaghetti above when it faded away.

“Glad I'm not on trial,” Terna added, scratching the tip of her nose. I frowned, feeling my own itch start up again.

We stepped out of the Hall of Knowledge, marching slowly down its many steps towards a sleek and stately shuttle waiting on its own private landing pad, surrounded by cordoned-off press and onlookers.

“Discover the Pinnacle of Interstellar Travel with the StarChaser Elite! Experience Unmatched Luxury and Efficiency!” an ad screamed in my ear. “Step into a world where elegance meets innovation. The StarChaser Elite is designed for those who demand the very best in interstellar travel. Whether you're a business mogul, a galactic warrior, or a discerning traveler, this shuttle promises an experience like no other.”

I waved it away. It might have been interesting information, but I was hardly in the mood to go shopping.

The words stopped abruptly, and we made our way into the craft.

Inside, the shuttle's cabin was something like I'd imagined the Presidents experienced on AirForce One. The seats were upholstered in rich, dark leather, massage controls set into their side and chock full of various positions and settings. The walls were paneled over with a dark wood finish, the symbol of a pyramid entrapped in a circle burned into the center of each. Soft, ambient lighting illuminated the cabin, casting a warm, golden hue over everything.

I raised an eyebrow at it and Terna laughed. “No, this isn't what I'd normally use. But we have to keep appearances. Expect crowds.”

There were also recliners. Each of these seats had their own holo-display embedded into the armrest, networked through BuyMort to allow passengers access to various games, videos, and other electronic amenities, and there was a table in the center of the craft, with swivel chairs bolted in a circle around it, obviously good for last-minute face-to-face meetings. I wondered if I might be guided there, and given even more information to process, but instead Tazha and Terna made their way to the recliners and kicked back almost immediately.

I took my own recliner, but didn't kick it back, instead staring out at the multiverse that I had once known.

As the shuttle ascended smoothly from Terna's world, the view from the windows was breathtaking. Below us, the sprawling landscapes of Terna's homeworld flowed by, glass twinkling and shining. Stars glittered and blinked, and I couldn't help but wonder if there were fewer of them than there had been before. It seemed like everything had gone to hell after I'd gone.

The flight was smooth and soundless, and I watched and ruminated as we traveled across the surface of Terna’s World. Soon, we descended again and flew through large tunnels that provided access to the specialized hab block that housed our destination.

The ship flew smoothly inside flowing lights that guided our way beneath ground, and once we entered the hab block, the Hall of Judgement came into view. It was one of the larger buildings near the Hall of Knowledge I had trained at.

I stared and felt my heart race as the shuttle began its descent. We dipped down, swooping into a park filled with monuments and statues of Knowle scientists and philosophers, angling and then coming to a standstill over the landing pad. This pad was part of the structure itself, one of many I could see now. It was large, circular, and had a long stone bridge connecting it to the main building.

I sighed as I looked at the bridge. It was full of people, most likely protestors.

The shuttle touched down with a soft thud, and Terna and Tazha's recliners automatically repositioned themselves. Both of them stood and I followed suit. As the engines powered down, the cabin doors slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing a group of BlueCleave guards and judiciary officials waiting to greet us.

None of them smiled, and all looked ready to get down to business.

We stepped out of the shuttle, and I briefly took in the cultivated sight of the Judgement grounds. They were quite beautiful—lush gardens filled with exotic flora, meticulously maintained paths, and statues of past scholars lined the walkways that circled the behemoth complex.

“Welcome to the Hall of Judgment,” one of the officials said, bowing slightly. “We have been expecting you.”

I bowed back, as I had learned was custom. “Thank you. I look forward to judgment.”

“Thank you,” Tazha replied, on script. “We are ready.”

The officials and BlueCleave surrounded us and marched us forward through the mess of people on the bridge. At first our presence instilled a curious quiet over them, but as we moved, I could see people starting to get worked up. It started with the media, of course, reporters going up to the guards and yelling at us over their shoulders as the camera drones zipped about like mosquitos on a summer night.

“Tyson, over here! Can you give us a statement?” one reporter shouted, her voice barely audible over the din.

“What do you say to the accusations of genocide in your official capacities?” another called out.

“Is it true that you ruined the multiverse?” yelled another.

We all marched on, stone-faced, as the questions continued to come. I kept my gaze forward, maintaining the calm and composed demeanor we had rehearsed. Tazha raised her hand as we walked.

“Mr. Dawes will not be making any statements at this time,” she said firmly, her voice firm and demanding. “The trial will reveal the truth. Please respect the process.”

With that, we moved through the throng, parting the sea of people just enough for us to pass.

The interior lobby of the Hall of Judgment was impressive. The floors were a pristine white marble, inlaid with golden patterns that formed intricate geometric shapes. Grand staircases flanked both sides of the room, leading to upper balconies upon which some onlookers had begun yelling insults, others their support. A scuffle broke out between two and a guard rushed in from seemingly nowhere to break them up.

Above us hung a massive chandelier, each of its thousands of tiny, glowing orbs rotating as if they were planets. And hanging just below them flickered the holographic image of the first Knowle scholar, his stern visage looking down upon us. We marched on through, and I resisted the urge to turn my head and examine everything.

“Stay close,” Terna muttered as we made our way through the lobby. “Crowds like this are perfect cover for anyone wanting to cause trouble.”

I kept to the script, not reacting at all. As we neared the entrance to the trial chamber, a final checkpoint awaited us. Security Knowles, dressed in sleek, dark uniforms, scanned our credentials and waved us through.

The trial chamber itself was a vast, circular room with high ceilings and walls lined with bookshelves, all of which were filled with ancient texts and legal tomes. The room was bathed in a soft, ambient light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, leaving no shadows.

At the far end of the chamber was the council’s bench, a structure made of dark wood and adorned with the insignia of the Knowle Institute of History. Behind the bench sat the three elder Knowles, their faces just as devoid of emotion as my own.

To the left and right of the chamber, rows of seating were filled with spectators, all of whom watched us silently as we made our way to the defendant's table.

Tazha placed her silver briefcase on the table and began organizing our documents with practiced efficiency while Terna took a seat. I, as per protocol, strode past them and bowed to the judges, thanking each of them for presiding over my case, before sitting back down next to Terna.

A voice boomed through the room, a stern Knowle woman's voice who managed to sound downright doom-laden.

“The trial of Tyson Dawes will now commence,” she announced, her voice echoing through the chamber. “Let the proceedings begin.”

With those words, the trial was in motion. There was no turning back.

Chapter 24

The proclamation was chilling, silencing all but the buzzing camera drones that took every angle of the room and broadcast them abroad for the billions to enjoy. It was slightly concerning to me that most of them had their camera eyes pointed my way, but I kept a plain face and soon enough they got bored and turned back to the Adjudicator panel, who by protocol had been holding a long silence.

The lessons I had learned told me that it was supposed to last just a minute, but despite my mental acuity, the roiling in my guts suggested that it’d gone on much longer. The central Knowle cast a meaningful scan over the audience, left to right, before banging her gavel.

“We are here to decide the truth of fact on three instances, leading up to a determination on truth of character, regarding Tyson Dawes, former CEO of Silken Sands,” the central Knowle said. Her voice was bland, as though reading lines into a record. “I am lead Adjudicator Blary. To my left is Adjudicator Hart. On my right is Adjudicator May.”

“Each an expert in your history,” Tazha whispered to me. “What was taught of it, at any rate.”

I held my tongue, despite wanting to respond. Arbitrators were allowed to whisper to their clients, but the clients could not whisper back without incurring a penalty from the court.

I absorbed the reminder without acknowledging the whisper, per protocol. Instead I kept my focus on the Adjudicators as I was supposed to.

“The first incident in dispute is your time aboard a BlueCleave military spacecraft, and the damage that was incurred as a result,” Adjudicator Hart said. “Let us begin.”

“Our recorded statements from BlueCleave officers will be accompanied by a direct witness interview,” Hart said, peering over his glasses.

The door behind me swung open and I ignored the impulse to turn and look. Within a few seconds, the witness walked into view. Phyllis, in full uniform. She approached the dais and sat in a smaller seat near the front, where all could see her. The witness stand.

“Grand Admiral,” Hart started, still sounding quite bored. “Will you give us an accounting of the events that transpired aboard your ship, please?”

Phyllis nodded. “With the exception of classified material, yes. I was sent to the Sleem gate on orders to apprehend a criminal entity operating inside the Sleem universe. Upon arrival, Mr. Dawes was taken into custody for transport back to Nu-Earth. Upon arrival in orbit, Mr. Dawes damaged my ship by punching a sizable dent in the cargo bay, then proceeded to escape custody. During his flight from custody, he flew through our gravity array, causing its complete destruction.”

I stared at Phyllis, remembering our times at her trailer, smoking pot and laughing at the world. It saddened me to see how BuyMort had changed us all. She was young now, and mean, not at all the woman I’d used to help out despite the wishes of Mr. Sada.

“Mr. Dawes,” Adjudicator Hart said, breaking into my thoughts. “Your recounting next, please.”

I stood and began. “I was in the Sleem universe because that is where Admiral Omen left me, after he drained my suit of charge, and removed my head via dustcaster fire. I was not operating as any criminal entity, I was merely confused and trying to get home. When I was approached by the BlueCleave ship, I did not resist, and went aboard willingly. During my time in custody, I had words with several crew members, and witnessed acts that led me to believe my own life was in danger. I did damage the deck of the cargo bay, and the ship’s gravity array, but my motivations were simply defense of self.”

“Grand Admiral?” Hart asked. “I do not wish to interfere in BlueCleave operations, and we all must bear in mind that this hearing is public. That said, I would like you to expand upon the criminal entity portion of your testimony.”

Phyllis’ lips tightened. “Those were the orders I was given. My investigation of the system found only Mr. Dawes.”

“I see,” said Adjudicator Hart. “Mr. Dawes. Could you elaborate upon the elements that led you to fear for your own life? Bear in mind the assembly’s full knowledge of your starfish suit and stat shot enhancements. For the record, it does take considerably more effort to end the life of one so protected.”

“Yes,” I replied with barely the hint of a nod. “I witnessed concerning behavior from some of the enlisted hobbs when I spoke of the BlueCleave I had known, and the summary execution of an officer. I was also regularly plied with pulsed ion cannon shot, which completely drains a starfish suit’s charge. Monowire weaponry was employed to contain me several times, and no matter the enhancement one may carry, nothing prevents damage from a live monowire.”

“Any refutation from the Grand Admiral?” Hart asked.

Phyllis sat stoney faced and glared at me. “No.”

“Defense of self-fact established, in that case,” Hart drolled. “I would like to know more about these orders of yours, and of course the incident Mr. Dawes has referred to regarding the end of the Church war, but for the moment I deem that the threat to his life was indeed sincerely believed. Once mortie reparations are made, the matter will be settled for both parties.” The Knowle took his folders from the center of his area and placed them under the desktop.

Adjudicator Blary opened her files and sat forward. “Grand Admiral, please stay for the second round of questions. The second incident in dispute is the damage to Nu-Earth’s gravity sling, as well as several injured or in arrears parties. Affiliates and individuals both. Complaints and testimony have been provided, and a determination of truth has already been made in this incident. But, for the public’s sake, we will walk through the determination and provide evidence. Ladies and gentlemen of the press, please adhere to decorum rules while this evidence is provided.”

The silence in the hall was palpable. I nearly sighed, but caught myself. My past was full of so much destruction and chaos that I was never held accountable for—it felt absurd to be in court over stuff that wasn’t even my fault.

“Shortly after Mr. Dawes escape from BlueCleave custody, during which he feared for his life, an altercation in the skies above the gravity sling caused roughly fourteen billion morties worth of damage and loss, and caused no less than twelve minor and moderate injuries,” Blary said. “First, we will hear the official stance of BlueCleave, from the Grand Admiral please.”

Phyllis sat forward. “In pursuit of Mr. Dawes, still considered a criminal entity at the time, my fighter wing engaged him above the gravity sling, at which point he landed upon it. The damage and injury proceeded from there. In the conflict, Mr. Dawes destroyed multiple craft and injured multiple pilots.”

“I must remark upon the passive, neutral tone used by BlueCleave in official capacity. We all have access to the same evidence, and while the military’s statement is not inaccurate, it lacks comprehension that I feel is necessary to view this incident in the light of fact-based truth. Before the evidence is provided, the council will take testimony from the accused, Mr. Dawes. Please, go ahead,” Blary finished, looking at me.

“I was in the process of exploring Nu-Earth again, having come to the realization that a century had passed since my last visit. In doing so, my intention was also to leave behind the BlueCleave pursuit. When pursuit found me above the gravity sling, they opened fire with a pulsed ion cannon, which discharged my suit and caused my drop to the sling. From there, I was struck by oncoming cargo, which recharged my suit. At that point I began efforts to prevent further harm to those around me on the sling. BlueCleave continued firing upon me, which led to more disruption of the belt, as well as more cargo and spacecraft damage. In order to stop the damage, I destroyed an attacking ship’s drives while being intentionally careful to avoid harming the cockpit. I then took the pursuit away from the belt and succeeded in escaping BlueCleave forces,” I recited.

Blary nodded and closed her folder. “Now to video evidence. Relevant portions have been edited to show each available moment of the incident.”

Multiple camera angles began to play, one at a time. The video jumped from source to source and the scenario played out exactly as I had described. There was ruffling from the press as the BlueCleave ships hit the belt itself with pulsed ion cannon fire. One member of the audience gasped as a ship collided with another on screen, and was quickly escorted out of the room. After the initial outbursts were quelled, the evidence was presented from multiple angles, multiple times.

An evidentiary expert presented each scene, the Knowle’s tone cold and devoid of emotion. He carefully explained each sequence, and at the end presented his findings, always in my favor. The minutes ticked away as the battle was shown over and over, exhaustively proving how BlueCleave’s pilots had been at fault for the carnage and destruction. I sat still and merely watched in silence as the evidentiary hearing proceeded.

Blary peered down at Phyllis as the videos played, watching for reaction. Phyllis just stared stoically as the evidence played out. As the civilian craft jammed together around me, I saw her fingers tense. It was a small movement, but it told me something important.

“If I may,” Phyllis suddenly said. My heart flared at the stern look her face made, a glimpse of the woman I had known and fought beside. Her action felt like the Phyllis of old as well; I knew from my classes that she’d just committed a severe breach of decorum, and I fought against a smile when I saw all three Adjudicators suddenly glare at her.

Good old Phyllis.

Blary frowned, a rare expression of emotion from the bench. Then she looked back and forth at her fellow Adjudicators. “I’ll allow it,” she said. “Be brief.”

“I was not made aware of these elements,” Phyllis said, shifting in her seat. “If I had been, my own statement would have been different from the statement that was prepared for me. I didn’t know he tried to help people.”

An assembly guard approached and Phyllis stood and followed. As she left, her eyes were glued on me, calculating and reassessing.

I felt the urge to get up and reassure her that, whatever story had been told about me, it was all lies and that she of all people should know better. Instead, I kept my eyes ahead, letting her disappear from sight.

Chapter 25

Blary cleared her throat. “The decision is made, as stated. Mr. Dawes version has the ring of truth to it. BlueCleave appears to have intentionally removed substantive information surrounding the incident. They are clearly the primary cause of both damage and injury, while Mr. Dawes did indeed attempt emergency aid as he was able,” Blary announced. “In light of this evidence and information, the injury of BlueCleave officers and damage of BlueCleave property was done in clear defense of the public. Recommendation for an independent review is to be formalized at the end of this hearing.”

Tazha had warned me that one day was all I would get in front of the assembly, and I saw why. Only an hour had passed since I set foot in the building.

“The final incident before us today requires the assembly to delve into matters we do not usually consider. Namely, emotional states,” said Adjudicator May. She opened her own folder and an image of the destroyed statue in Central Plaza filled the evidence wall.

“In totality, this assembly is tasked with determining whether or not a very powerful individual may threaten or pose undue risk toward the single most important and influential affiliate now in the BuyMort network. And thus, all civilized life within the BuyMort network. This requires a more comprehensive view of the events under question, as well as the individual’s history. Accusations of damage are the destruction of a planetary monument, albeit a monument of the accused, and shoplifting. Let us begin.” May pulled a sheet from her folder.

“Mr. Dawes, how would you describe the events in Central Plaza the night of your arrival? Please be candid about your emotional state. It will be relevant to our findings,” she told me.

I started a nod, then caught myself and held my head still. “My first day back was confusing,” I started. “Admiral Omen’s removal of my head caused cognitive issues that I was still recovering from when I entered Prescott. I stole a shirt to fit in, to protect myself from discovery. I was still concerned for my life, but that was not the reason I stole the shirt. It was just a calculated decision I made in order to prevent discovery.”

“Admission of guilt in the shoplifting accusation is entered into the record,” May announced. “Go on.”

“Next, I took a shuttle to the city. I was trying to understand what my world had become while I was away, while trying to avoid discovery,” I said.

“The testimony you provided this assembly beforehand said that you announced your identity to two individuals before you arrived at Central Plaza. Could you expand on those actions please?” May asked.

“I told a bartender at a Morbin Time Bar and Grill my identity in order to establish a rapport and get directions. And I told a yarsp cart vendor in Prescott in order to gauge his reaction. I wanted to know if people would believe I was still alive at that time,” I said. “After a conversation with the yarsp cart vendor, I went to Central Plaza. The . . . nature of the statues was upsetting. That sense of upset grew until I read my own statue. At that point, I became angry and filled with despair, so I destroyed the thing that made me feel that way.” I left the description of both individuals vague, knowing their run-of-the-mill jobs at oversized chains would provide them anonymity.

“Why did a memorial statue of yourself cause this emotional response?” asked May.

“I didn’t like the thought of leaving a memorial of myself standing when I was still alive,” I started, hesitantly. “But mostly it was Admiral Omen’s betrayal. My assassination. A century may have passed for everyone else, but it was all very fresh for me. I lost everything, in the space of a few seconds, at the hands of a friend. I was still having trouble internalizing everything that had happened, as well as how much my former affiliate had apparently changed.”

I paused to let the audience and press absorb it all. “However. I made certain there were no civilians nearby. I was careful to avoid hurting or frightening anyone. It was late at night, and Central Plaza was mostly empty. My destruction of the monument was not an act of blind rage, or unnecessary recklessness. It was a political statement. An announcement that I was alive. To myself if no one else.”

“A political statement?” May asked, sitting forward. “This is new information.”

“Yes,” I replied. “It was my intention to announce to all of Nu-Earth that I had not died the way my statue would have them believe. I knew I would be on camera, and thought that the press would make my destruction of the statue public.”

“You wanted the multiverse to know you had destroyed the monument?” May asked.

“I wanted the multiverse to know that I was not dead,” I corrected.

“This trial has more than accomplished that,” May retorted.

“Yes. I understand that my actions were needless now, but that understanding only came at the long end of a series of realizations regarding Silken Sands current operating methods. My return was not announced, not publicized at all. I was taken in secret and told that I would be put in prison for these acts. At that point, I fled, again in fear for my life,” I explained. “I did not think I would be allowed to survive my imprisonment.”

“This council has already decided on the most grave of your accusations, there will be no imprisonment so long as the Knowle Leadership council accepts our findings. Remuneration and civil service is the likely penalty for your accused crimes,” May said. “However. The task this council faces today is to ascertain your potential continued danger to the affiliate. This requires a broader perspective than just your actions upon your revival. We must delve into the history that surrounds your former residency as CEO in order to determine the risk factor of your return.”

Another series of images filled the projection wall. A fuzzy image of the vortex spider featured front and center. It had already destroyed the Nahgah Prime gate and was perched in the center of it, trying to destroy my former fleet.

“This creature has never before been seen in the BuyMort system,” May started. “It is the single most damaging occurrence of a ‘BuyMort bug’ in recorded history, and it caused untold damages, even destroying a BuyMort gate, which cut off an entire universe from easy transit and business. This cost many lives and morties, and permanently altered the balance of power. It was also a direct consequence of Silken Sand’s war with the Church, which you instigated and led.”

I nodded, staring at the images of the horrible creature.

“This court must also recognize that it was your immediate action that removed this creature from the multiverse, quickly after its summoning,” May continued. “But at a cost, of course. Many innocents died as a result of this creature’s abilities. People simply waiting in line to use the gate. Press, bystanders of your battle with the Church. What do you say to that fact-assessment, Mr. Dawes? I am curious to learn your perspective on the still-uncountable number of casualties that resulted from the Church War, the basis of the monuments in Central Plaza.”

Concern creased my brow unconsciously and I looked down at my feet for a long moment.

“Death and destruction were never my primary goal,” I finally said. “It was a tool that I used during my time as Warlord. From my perspective I was forced into action at every turn. From the moment I accidentally purchased a starfish suit, my path through BuyMort felt beyond my control. I was simply trying to survive, to protect those I loved. Eventually that extended to my people, those Nu-Earthlings who had survived BuyMort’s arrival. Then my planet, when Kraken threatened. Eventually the Sleem, and finally the Church. It never felt like I was the instigator of the violence, only ever responding to it.”

I took a breath and paused, looking between the adjudicators. Each was paying rapt attention, students of history learning from a living fossil of their own past.

“I tried to build,” I started. “I built up the original Silken Sands, in the campground. That was mostly to defend what few people I had at the time from the dangers of a newly included BuyMort planet. Then I helped my friend Axle build his library. It is so different now though, much larger. I rebuilt Prescott, down the mountain from its former ruins. And all the while I built a successful affiliate, following the rules that BuyMort set out for us all.”

“Your perspective is noted. Moving on to our next incident of note, you mentioned the Sleem genocide. While the Sleem are recorded to have been a dangerous species, they were also a top-tiered member of the BuyMort system. Behind only TransPoCo and the Church itself, their affiliate, while unconventional, was an important part of the greater BuyMort ecosystem. Their sudden removal had severe consequences to the entire multiverse. While this court acknowledges the threat to sapient life the Sleem represented, there is some question as to your personal motivations when removing them. Would you please expand our knowledge of this incident?” Adjudicator May asked.

“Yes of course,” I started. “First, I must regretfully correct the court on a matter of fact-analysis. The BuyMort system is not the entire multiverse. There are myriad universes and worlds beyond its touch, and it is important to recognize that fact while operating inside of BuyMort. It is not our entire world. It is merely a system that we operate within.”

The adjudicators leaned in toward one another and conferred for a few quiet, tense moments. Then May nodded and lightly tapped her gavel. “Your correction is entered into the record. I apologize for my loose language. Please, continue.”

I nodded. “The Sleem were not people in the way that we are people. In the way that Knowles, Hobbs, Orkreshi, Nah’gh, humans, and Gobbs are people. They were a completely different form of sapience, one that more closely resembled a hive of ants than an intelligent individual. I say this not to minimize my actions in killing them, but merely to explain some of their more dangerous behavior. At the time, there was a surge in aggressive Sleem activity across the entire BuyMort system. My . . . encounters with a beholder that took over part of my base of operations led me to the realization that they were behaving in a more aggressive manner because the next planet being added to BuyMort was another Sleem.”

“How does this planetary addition explain the behavior of Sleem already present within BuyMort?” May asked.

“The Sleem were a gestalt intelligence. Their minds were all connected, even those outside of the BuyMort network. At a rudimentary level, they were capable of communication with one another. This led to a massive buildup of Sleem on the new planet, prior to its inclusion in BuyMort. They sensed it coming, and were primed to take the entire system for themselves. To consume all living matter within the system. My actions of genocide against them were defensive in nature. My goal was to protect the BuyMort system from an overwhelming number of newly included Sleem, which would have overrun all affiliates’ defenses and destroyed the entirety of civilized life,” I explained calmly.

“My desire was not to kill them all, it was my only option to protect my people. To protect all life within the system,” I finished.

“Perspective added to the record,” adjudicator May said. “Moving on, there is also the matter of the beholders themselves. Once thought of as only myth, there came a frightening reality to all of the denizens of BuyMort when your actions revealed them as not only real, but threatening to all affiliates other than the Church. Of primary concern is the manner in which you dealt with the Blackguard, known at the time as Inky. Records state that your actions placed the entirety of Nu-Earth in harm's way, used as bait to attract the creature. Could you please expand upon your own perspective of this event?” Adjudicator May asked.

I sensed a pattern. “Those records are incomplete, in that case. It was not a matter of using the world as bait. After dealing with the beholders and killing several, I understood Inky’s behavior. I knew they would be coming to Nu-Earth after recovering from their wounds at the hands of this very world ship. In order to choose the moment of the creatures attack, so that I could destroy them and protect my world, I brought the fleet home and announced it to the multiverse. I used only military assets as bait, and succeeded in destroying the last beholder threat. The Church’s final relic ship followed, which I had anticipated and needed the fleet to counter. Fortunately, I was able to destroy both threats before any damage or casualties were sustained on Nu-Earth.”

“Perspective added to the record. Thank you, Mr. Dawes, for your testimony today. Court will adjourn to chambers to discuss this testimony and new information,” May stated. “A final judgment on the risk factor individual Tyson Dawes presents to the Silken Sands affiliate will be relayed as soon as it is reached. Good day.”

With that, the Knowle adjudicators stood and gathered their folders, before retreating out of the back of the room. As soon as they were gone, the building erupted in sound. Press, individuals, and guards all raised their voices and attempted to assert their own control over the arena.

Terna and Tazha both grabbed an arm and directed me out of the room, through a line of guards.

Chapter 26

The rest of my day was spent in the waiting room. It was comfortably appointed, fully furnished, and had a complicated vending machine against one wall. The broad box would cook small meals for you, and even offered wine pairings.

I reached out, some old part of me thinking I'd have to click buttons and choose something from the menu, but no more had I started imagining what I might eat than the room around me began to blur and transform, the colors swirling and blending until I found myself sitting in an opulent dining room.

It was wood-paneled, with images of Knowles scorched into each section, each portrayed telling some fable or lesson that I didn't know. The flooring was the same, though the shade of the wood used was paler and softer. It felt a bit like I was standing on a mattress.

There were circular tables, all covered over with pristine white tablecloths, their centerpieces flowers with candles set around them in a circle.

Between the panels were large, picture-glass windows. I stared through one and saw that this restaurant was floating gracefully in space. We were situated sideways to an enormous, glowing nebula, its colors glowing and shifting through the spectrum.

“Beautiful, isn't it?”

I spun around, now noticing that a Knowle chef was standing there, waiting to gain my attention. Behind him lay a magnificent looking kitchen, all of the burners on, and all of them filled with sizzling pans and boiling pots. The aroma that hit me was amazing, and I started to truly appreciate how many morties Terna was spending on me.

He smiled, bowing while putting a hand up to hold his puffy hat in place. His fur was impeccably groomed, and he wore a pristine white chef's coat adorned with various interstellar culinary awards. He smiled, showing pearly white incisors that gleamed and sparkled.

“Welcome to the Maître D' OnSite 5 Star Cuisine Generator. May we ever please you with our offerings,” he said, his voice a rich, melodic rumble. “I am Chef Rekar, and it will be my pleasure to guide you through your dining experience today.”

“Yeah,” I answered, feeling out of place. “Thanks. So, what do I do now?”

He gestured grandly to the stunning view outside the window. “While you enjoy this celestial spectacle, allow me to help you choose the perfect meal. Our selection is vast, catering to the most refined tastes from Nu-Earth and Knowle cuisine. Let’s begin with something broad, shall we? We can narrow it down from there.”

I nodded, doing as he had told me and gazing at the virtual yet so majestic swirl of superheated gases floating through space.

“Are you in the mood for something light or something hearty?” he asked.

“Something hearty,” I replied, grinning. “I'm starving pretty much all of the time.”

“Excellent choice,” Chef Rekar said with a nod. He swept an arm in the direction of the kitchen and I glanced over to see what he was doing, just in time to see a number of the cooking dishes disappear off their burners, the flames extinguished. “Now, do you prefer land-based meats, seafood, or perhaps a vegetarian delight?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Meat? You aren't talking any of the sapients, are you?”

“Surely not,” he chuckled. “Any meat offered by the Maître D' OnSite 5 Star Cuisine Generator is guaranteed to have been grown and harvested without harm to any sapient health.”

Nodding, I thought about all of the different foods I missed. I had my bacon waiting for me, of course, and I wondered if the synthetic stuff offered here would compare. But really, I could test that out later. Here and now, I just wanted something new and high-class. A real celebration for the fact that I'd stood up for myself in court.

“Then I'd like to go with seafood,” I decided, thinking of how long it'd been since I had any. Hundreds of years, seemingly.

The chef’s eyes sparkled. “Ah, a connoisseur of the ocean’s bounty! Very well. Do you lean more towards delicate flavors, like a perfectly steamed crustacean, or robust tastes, such as a richly grilled fish?”

“Delicate flavors,” I decided, eager to see where this would lead.

Chef Rekar smiled broadly, his sharp teeth glinting. “A refined palate, indeed. Allow me to present you with a few of our finest selections.”

With my attention focused entirely on him, he shook a hand in the air, and a menu appeared there as if by magic. He opened it, and as I watched the words and pictures swirled, the menu refining itself to showcase an array of beautifully presented seafood dishes. Each image was accompanied by a short, enticing description.

“May I suggest our signature Moonlit Scallops? They are poached to perfection in a fragrant saffron broth and paired with a crisp Chardonnay. The delicate texture and subtle sweetness will transport you to the ocean's depths.”

“It has to come with Chardonnay?” I asked.

“We're in your head, sir. Whatever choices I offer come from the limited scanning capacity I have over your mind. It can be anything you desire, so long as it is compatible with our system.”

“Right. Okay.”

He paused, allowing me to take in the details before continuing. “Perhaps you'd like to try our Starlight Lobster? It is gently steamed and served with a lemon-basil butter sauce, accompanied by a glass of exquisite Sauvignon Blanc. A symphony of flavors that will dance on your palate.”

I considered the options, each sounding more delightful than the last. “The Moonlit Scallops sound perfect,” I said, my stomach rumbling. I wondered if that was an automatic function of this ad space, or if it had happened in real life too.

“A splendid choice,” Chef Rekar said, tapping the menu. “You won’t be disappointed. And could I interest you in a side dish?”

I nodded, one cool and crunchy thing already dominating my mind. “Coleslaw. KFC style if you can.”

Chef Rekar broke into a large, sharp-toothed and murderous grin. “You, sir, are a connoisseur. KFC Coleslaw is a rare, 5-star specialty and yes, we will have that brought to you immediately upon menu exit. And what to drink, sir?”

“You said you know my mind, and I expect you know what pairs well with what. Give me the top 3 options and I'll pick from those.”

He spun the menu in his hand like a top, then brought it to a standstill. Facing me were three different pictures of three different Nu-Earth wine bottles. “We have a few exquisite choices for you. First, a crisp and refreshing Riesling that will complement the buttery richness of the scallops. Second, a robust and slightly oaky Chardonnay that will add depth to the delicate flavors. Lastly, a light and bubbly Prosecco for a touch of effervescence to balance the meal.”

I thought for a second, giggling a bit and how ludicrously posh yet entertaining this whole menu had been. “I think I’ll go with the Riesling,” I decided.

“An excellent choice,” Chef Rekar said, bowing. “Your meal will be prepared and served shortly.”

The scene around me shimmered and faded, and I found myself back in the waiting room. The vending machine hummed softly as it prepared my meal. Moments later, the dish of poached isopod with butter, coleslaw, and a small glass of Riesling was ready, just as Chef Rekar had described.

Terna laughed when she saw me returning to the lounge area, dish in hand. “What are you spending my morties on now, Warlord?”

I shook my head and sat down to eat the small meal. “Nope, not a warlord anymore. I reject the title. From now on I am a pampered historical refugee.”

“Pampered is right,” Terna said. “Though, if you can adapt to your new role in the multiverse, I think that will not be difficult to accomplish, even without my help.”

“Which I do appreciate, by the way,” I said, mouth full of expensive seafood. I delicately took a sip of my wine, then smiled at Terna. “Assuming this goes our way, what’s next on our agenda?”

The hobb woman shook her head. “Not in here. Besides, there is no guarantee that this will go our way. The focus on Nu-Earth being used as bait was unexpected.”

Tazha grunted, then cleared her throat. “Personal interest, I’ve no doubt. May is one of the most wildly inappropriate adjudicators the bench has seen in five decades. She also moonlights as a Windowpuncher historian. Still, her rulings tend to align with objective reality and fact-based analysis, so I am sure it won’t have any bearing on the hearing.”

“How sure?” I asked. “What, exactly, happens if they deem me an abnormal threat to the affiliate?”

“They’d hand you over to BlueCleave,” Tazha immediately answered. “That would put you directly under Axle’s control.”

“But,” Terna said, raising a hand. “That is unlikely.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So you keep saying. Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?”

Terna chuckled at that. “I am too old for self-deception. That was driven from me long ago.”

“And yet you believe in me,” I replied. “Hard to hold both of those things in my mind at the same time, you know?”

Terna frowned. “You are worthy of belief. I was there, unlike many of these people playing pretend at historian. Analyzing minutia and ignoring the broader picture of what occurred. You saved us all from the Sleem, took down the Church, and eradicated the beholder threat. You personally have done more to help the many people stuck within the BuyMort than any other sapient I know of.”

I paused in my meal and stared at her over the miniature wine glass. “Thank you, Terna,” I said. “Here I was thinking you had me beat.”

“Certainly not anymore,” she sighed back. “After what we’ve been forced to do to survive on the world ship, I feel like it's never going to be what it was.”

I reached over and patted the back of her hand. “It will be. We’ll get it all back, and then some. One way or the other. If I have to outlive whatever Axle has planned for me, I will. If not, things’ll move faster is all.”

“Speaking of fast . . .” Tazha waved at the TV, dismissing the press coverage and reverting it to an official channel. “We have a notification here,” she said.

We turned to the TV as one, preparing ourselves for the final decision.

Chapter 27

“Judgement decided, all trial participants are to return to the Hall of Adjudication as quickly as is reasonably possible,” a wide, flat panel on the screen told us. It was red and black, to grab notice, and had a flashing red dot in the corner of the screen.

“Is that good for us or bad for us?” I asked, raising my wine glass to gulp what remained.

“Neither. It means only that the case was easy to decide. All three adjudicators likely share opinions on the final outcome,” Tazha replied.

I scooped the last of my coleslaw into my mouth and stood. The vending machine had a receptacle for dirty dishes, so I placed mine in it as we left the room. The same squad of hobb guards escorted us back to the primary hall, and we all reclaimed our former positions. In my absence, my chair had been removed, so I stood with my hands clasped lightly behind my back.

The adjudicator panel filed back in and took their places behind the bench. Lead adjudicator Blary tapped her gavel and opened a thin file folder. She began reading from the single sheet of paper it held.

“Adjudication is complete in the threat assessment of Tyson Dawes, founding CEO and warlord of Silken Sands affiliate. Adjudicators Hart and May are in alignment with myself, Lead Adjudicator Blary. This panel finds that Tyson Dawes is no more threat than any of the other starfish suit capable members of the affiliate. Being a public figure, his activities will be monitored and reported on as a matter of course by the free press. This is sufficient long-term risk management, in the court’s opinion. Remunerations for damages is sufficient consequence of the individual’s actions. BlueCleave will handle their own repairs, however. Only the gift shop chain is to be remunerated for the stolen shirt.”

Blary paused and took a breath. “These are the official recommendations of the Knowle Institute of History to the Knowle Leadership council. Mr. Dawes will be released immediately, with an expectation of integration into Silken Sands greater society, and a peaceful coexistence with those who currently reside within said society.”

The adjudicator leaned forward and pierced me with her gaze. “Mr. Dawes, do you understand and agree to this court’s ruling?”

I nodded once. “Yes, thank you, adjudicator Blary.”

“What can you tell us of your plans for the future?” the Knowle woman asked. “I think everyone listening here and abroad would like to know what you intend to do next.”

My eyebrows raised and I shook my head. “Find a life to live. Maybe try to help some people in Storage. I’m hoping to reconnect with anyone still around from my own time as well.”

“No more destruction of property or violence, for clarity's sake?” she asked.

“No more of either,” I replied. “Except in defense of myself or others, of course.”

“With this ruling, and an expectation of non-destructive behavior from the accused, we adjourn.” Blary tapped her gavel and the courtroom burst into noise.

Press hurled questions at me, and my own team worked to bustle me away from the growing commotion. All three adjudicators vanished through a door at the back of their benches. I followed Terna and my guards, and they led me out of the courtroom. More press verbally assaulted us in the hallway, and I was escorted ungently through a security checkpoint.

BlueCleave guards handed Terna and me off to local Terna’s World guards. The uniform differences were stark, with the Terna’s World militants wearing a mishmash of thick work clothing, and patchwork armor. BlueCleave’s signature colors and designer-quality officer uniforms provided an immediate contrast.

I descended through the structure into the ever-present maintenance tunnels beneath the specialized hab block, then boarded a cargo tram and was whisked away from the commotion at our backs. With a heavy sigh, I sat down across from Terna on the tram.

The single remaining guard presented Terna with a tablet device, from which I could hear the tinny sounds of a newscast. Terna stared at it impassively.

“As expected,” she said, turning the device and handing it to me.

I focused my attention on the broadcast. The host of the program was a white Conda Nah’gh woman, and for a moment my heart wrenched in my chest. She sat behind a broad, glass desk covered by a giant emblem of the news network, SSN. In the background, a giant still frame of the tower in Prescott was featured, with a slowly waving Nu-Earth flag.

“Silken Sands News Network reporting on the only story anyone is paying attention to, the trial of returned warlord Tyson Dawes!” the Nah’gh woman exclaimed. “I’m your host Hris C’aze, and I’ll be running you through the consequential verdict that was just handed down.”

Her outfit was revealing, and her scales were lightly flushed with purple. I handed the tablet back.

“I don’t care,” I told Terna, looking out the tram window at a passing hab unit. Unfortunately for me, the screen wall in the hab unit was showing the same news broadcast.

“Warlord of BuyMort returns, freed of all wrong-doing!” ran across the bottom of the screen on a chiron. I rolled my eyes.

“Should have stayed incognito. Being famous was never really my thing,” I said.

“Unfortunate. Being the CEO of any major affiliate means a certain amount of fame in the BuyMort today. Or infamy. It's all part of the game those at the top play, using the public’s consciousness,” Terna said. She stared out the window too. “We push and pull, always keeping an eye toward influence above all else.  Other than the morties of course.”

“Of course,” I said, suddenly paying attention to Terna. “But go on. I need to understand this game of yours, if I’m to win it.”

She snorted a single laugh without any humor in her tone. “Ha. You’re not wrong, but it’s not that simple. There are no rules, only objectives. Power, control, income. Each major player approaches these objectives in a different manner.”

“You’re a revolutionary,” I said. “That’s how you play it.”

“A revolutionary to a fifty year revolution that makes no progress, yes,” she replied. “My world ship is worse now than it was when I opposed Axle’s hostile take-over all those decades ago. Of course, I was a different hobb then. I was younger, though not young. I had hope. I was naïve.”

“What’s Axle’s take on this game?” I asked.

“He pretends to be above it all. Aloof, the king on the top of the pile. Which, of course, he actually is. Helps his persona. The Knowle makes occasional public appearances, some speeches, public financial statements, military events. Typical strong-man nonsense, but with him it bears a special kind of weight. His name is never attached to any atrocities, they’re always rogue elements of BlueCleave, or an associated affiliate gone off on their own,” Terna spat.

“But he sits like a spider in its web,” I added.

“Yes, exactly. He is at the center of it all. From the slavers in Storage you hate so much to the BlueCleave boot on my world ship’s throat,” she said. “His one weakness is that public persona. He presents as a benevolent business-Knowle. Nothing flashy or wild, he sticks to business, and the wealthy elite of Nu-Earth adore him for it.”

“Let me guess, Nu-Earth is the only voting block for his elections,” I said.

“Good guess. Although, being fair to him, most affiliates that participate in democratic shows use planets as their borders.” Terna looked down at her device momentarily, then back up to me.

“While their reaches far exceed just one planet,” I added.

“Yes indeed. I didn’t say it was representative democracy. Only a show of it,” Terna said.

“Sounds like our first avenue of attack,” I replied.

Terna raised an eyebrow. “I am not so certain of that. Many of the primary voting block are unlikely to support your goblin inclusion initiative, for example.”

“Oh don’t call them that, they hate that word,” I said.

“I use it to make a point. That is how it will be perceived on Nu-Earth. How it will be spoken of. None of them will want gobbs in their backyards,” Terna said.

“Well, it's not an initiative yet,” I grumbled. “I can keep that for after I win the election.”

“You had better. Keep it between us, preferably. We have enough hurdles to overcome without adding gobbs to the mix,” she said, staring up at the silent, stiff guard in the tram car with us.

I frowned, then smiled and chuckled. “Hang on, is this our first campaign meeting?”

Terna laughed back. “I suppose it is. Pay attention.”

I laughed with her for a short moment, then the hab unit blinked past and machinery took its place on the wall to our side. It served to break the levity.

“Thank you, though. I’ll need your help if this has any chance of working,” I told her.

“What will you do if it does not?” she asked.

I blinked a few times and shrugged. “Wait until the next election and try again, I suppose. Not ideal, all those I want to help will continue to suffer while I sit idle.”

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Terna and I shared a look.

“You got that ad?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Maybe we should just use that one?” I asked, grinning. “Sounds like a hell of a deal.”

Terna scowled, looking around for something to throw.

“Joking. Just joking.” I swiped away the ad.

“Your last statement to the adjudicators was important. Helping people in need is always a good public image I think, if this campaign fails, we can use that persona of public aid to our advantage. Keep you famous, keep your reputation growing in the public’s eye,” she replied.

“We should use that right away,” I said. “How much relief work can you fund?” I asked.

Terna puffed out her cheeks comically. “Honestly not that much,” she replied. “Most of what I gave you for your gobbs was from my own personal morties. We could likely put together a relief effort, using Nu-Earth donors to fund it, but otherwise our options there will be quite limited. Small scale only.”

I nodded, then looked down at my lap. After a moment of thought, I raised an eyebrow. “Any monsters I could slay? Cosmic BuyMort bugs to clean up?”

“Now there you may have something,” she said, leaning forward. The tram hummed along, taking us further and further from the commotion at our backs. “There are a handful of major issues you might be capable of publicly handling. Things the press may pay attention to.”

I rubbed my hands together. “Hit me,” I said.

“No, I think I will simply tell you instead, hitting you seems rather pointless. Besides, I don’t want to hurt my hand. The latest rumors out of Storage say you allowed yourself to be shot in the head at point blank range to make a point,” Terna said, her eyes narrowed at me.

“It’s a saying. It just means tell me what you’re thinking,” I clarified, shaking my head. “But also yes, I may have done that. Hopefully the rumors don’t lead back to Nozzle and his tribe.”

“In the future I suggest you avoid mixing your human and gobb outreach on Storage, for more than one reason. Any publicity around the gobb efforts would be deeply harmful to your campaign,” she reminded me.

I nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’ll be more careful in the future. Now, what kind of monsters are there for me to slay?”

“I actually think we should start with something smaller. Well, less violence-oriented, I should say. I have a connection in the ‘save the Cubes’ non-profit. They’ve been at a standstill for years, your connection to the most famous Cube in BuyMort history might be just the thing to boost your profile,” Terna explained. “Establish that sense of philanthropy you wish to be famous for.”

“Wait, what happened to Cube?” I asked. It was becoming a tiresome thing, finding out all the horrid ways in which my friends had been changed by my absence, but it was all necessary if I was going to put my life back together.

Chapter 28

Terna sat back and sighed. “Nothing good. For a while after you vanished, he was content, but after Tollya died, he began asking about you. Coupled with his intentional growth spurts, things got a bit more difficult,” she said.

“Shit,” I muttered.

“Yes. Cube was officially decommissioned four years after your death,” Terna told me.

“What does that mean?” I asked, sitting forward. “What happened to him?”

“The same thing that happens to every Cube that becomes a nuisance to its affiliate. Not even breaker technology can destroy their bodies, so they are thrown away in space. There was a brief surge in their popularity, but that ended when Cube himself had an episode in Prescott. Took the better part of a year to clean up the city after his last growth phase,” Terna explained. “He became too big to effectively control, especially after he stopped responding to his handlers. The Crown of Thorns took him to the edge of the Mandakini galaxy in Neolithic Earth’s universe and cast him into deep space. The void between galaxies.”

“Mandakini?” I asked.

“Neolithic Earth’s name for the Milky Way,” Terna said.

I nodded. “So my pet is floating through the void between galaxies and has been for decades.”

Terna nodded. “Better part of a century now. Many Cubes have suffered the same fate, over thousands of years. Save the Cubes wants to rescue and rehome them.”

“And it’s a non-profit? How’s that work, exactly?” I asked.

“Not well,” Terna scoffed. “It’s a wealthy socialites pet project. She funds the vast majority of the work they do personally and draws from a family account to do so. When she can be bothered to pay attention to it, anyway.”

“Which limits her reach,” I mused. A mechanical zone filled the window suddenly, full of vats of water and pipes. The entire ceiling of the cavernous area was covered in a thick mist, and dozens of the diminutive mole-people Grimms worked beneath it.

“Indeed. She cannot even afford the fleet of ships it would require to perform her goals, not without major affiliate backing,” Terna added. “Which, being a non-profit, is not exactly an attractive association.”

“I’m her Huckleberry,” I said. “Get me in contact, I want to find my friend anyway. Cube deserves better.”

“I will,” Terna replied. She reached in her jacket top and pulled out a small notepad, scribbling in it briefly before putting it back away. “Good to have a publicity event nailed down so quickly. Now we need some campaign issues.”

“Ooh, good call. Yeah, let's talk about those. I’m at a significant disadvantage, I don’t really know of any,” I said, sitting forward in interest.

“We should focus on Nu-Earth's primary political issues, since that’s where the voting base is. Other worlds are involved, of course. But . . . our primary focus has to be what the voting base cares about,” Terna said. She pursed her lips as her eyes looked through me for a long moment. “Dream-crime,” she finally said, snapping her fingers.

I scowled.

“Dream-crime is a recent phenomenon, and it's almost entirely happening on Nu-Earth. Axle’s Knowle leadership faction has failed to introduce any new measures against it in almost three years, so it’s a point of political vulnerability,” Terna explained.

“Is that like a dream-storm?” I asked. “We dealt with a few of those in my day, but they mostly dried up once the wealth accumulated under my affiliate. We took steps to make sure no one with access to the funds had nightmares. Spent a lot of morties on mental health care and meditation training.”

“During your rule, dream storms and even undesirable dream-purchases became uncommon. Your affiliate set a generational habit. Everyone transferred funds into holding accounts while they slept. It became culturally commonplace,” Terna said.

“But as Nu-Earth became a wealthy playground,” I started.

“Yes, the habit degraded. Children were less attentive than their parents, and that has trickled down over roughly 4 generations since your time,” she replied. “Now dream control meditation is rare. Only high level affiliates can afford to use BuyMort holding systems, and there have been several local banking affiliate scandals that drove most of the wealthy to manage their own morties.”

“So what happens with this dream-crime?” I asked.

“A few years back, there was a popular news story that stayed in the news cycle for about three weeks. A wealthy couple had been held at gunpoint and robbed by an individual that was hired in to fulfill a BuyMort dream order. The husband, who held most of the couple’s morties through a family inheritance, had a nightmare about getting robbed,” Terna explained.

“And it spread from there,” I concluded. “Wow, though. That’s a pretty cunning criminal.”

“The first one perhaps, but there’s a broad mix now. Junkies on Storage, low level strong-arm robbers, even well-organized cartels now,” Terna said. “We don’t have much of a problem with them here, but it's become a small-scale epidemic on Nu-Earth.”

“I bet the media perpetuates it too,” I added.

She nodded. “It does. Badly. It’s a sensational topic, really brings in the viewers. There have been accusations about the coverage, but the news associates all claim that the viewers want the coverage and nothing changes.”

“Of course not. Why would a for-profit media company fail to continue something that provides them with a profit?” I asked mockingly.

“Exactly,” Terna replied. “It’s a self-perpetuating cycle, and the wealthy bring it on themselves by festering in their thoughts of it. Now an entire criminal underground has sprung up around that one nightmare so many of them now share. A great many of the semi-wealthy on Nu-Earth invest in art, or precious minerals, even necessary circuitry, to avoid fluctuating mortie markets.”

“Have those ever stabilized?” I asked quietly. “I had a heavy hand in messing them up, a long time ago.”

Terna shrugged and took a deep breath. “Not really, I’m sorry to tell you. War has been a near constant since your time, in one universe or another. Sol system is relatively peaceful, aside from our situation here.”

“And even that seems primarily hidden. Not a big news story off Terna’s World when the revolution burns down a police precinct, for example,” I said.

Terna’s eyes flashed as she glared at me for an instant. “Or a public execution of my people.”

“Point taken,” I replied. “I’m just not used to stuff like that happening on my account.”

“Few are. You have come to a unique position in life, Tyson. You are a man out of your own time, and hunted by more than a few for it,” she said.

“Oh good, more problems. Hopefully the hunting thing will be over for a while,” I said.

“After your favorable ruling, so long as you do not cross BlueCleave again, you should be okay from the biggest threat. But there may be others. A delf cult has gained some notoriety in your absence. They, uh . . . they don’t like you very much,” Terna explained. “Blame you for quite a few things, and part of their belief system is to kill you if you ever came back. So I suspect you’ll have to deal with them sooner or later, at the least.”

“Ah,” I said, nodding. “Yeah, that makes sense. Any orc houses left? They might have a gripe or two against me.”

Terna smiled softly, looking out the window as the end of the maintenance area approached. “I’m not sure, actually. Probably not. There haven't been many major Orkreshi militant factions since your time. You really did a number on them.”

“Not my proudest moment,” I replied.

We sat in silence for a few moments as the tram shifted onto a new track. The only scenery was metal walls, and the occasional door that flashed by.

“Not to change the subject, but this was productive. We have a publicity element and a campaign issue, it’s a good start. You should spend the day in rest,” Terna said.

“No, I want to get started. I’m not tired,” I replied. “Besides, if I have a delf cult hunting me, I should get off Terna’s world as quickly as I can. Can you get me in touch with your contact in ‘save the Cubes?’”

Terna nodded. “I appreciate your concern, and yes, I’ll do that. Let’s get you to your safehouse first.”

I nodded, and we did as she said. The tram shifted tracks a few more times and when we got off, it was only a short walk to the safehouse.

Chapter 29

Terna’s contact within Save the Cubes turned out to be the non-profit’s CFO. She was a human woman, roughly thirty years old and from a wealthy Nu-Earth family. And her name was Molly. I cringed inwardly and frowned as memories of Molls rushed to the forefront of my mind.

An ad for BuyMort’s family return service, delivered through their versatile CloneMort facilities, popped up as the woman approached me, hand extended in greeting. I mentally dismissed it.

We had chosen to meet on the surface of Terna’s world. The woman was eager to net a celebrity representative, who came with a celebrity cause. Within the spaceport, Terna had hired out a bar for the meeting. Her revolutionary guards stood in the doorway, moving back together after having allowed the woman access. BlueCleave stood at attention a little bit down the terminal, keeping a close eye on Ternas guards.

Foot traffic moved on around the bar, many people eagerly looking inside and taking pictures once they recognized my face. Terna had specifically sat me at a portion of the bar that had me facing the entryway. Her publicity team didn’t miss much.

“Mr. Dawes!” Molly exclaimed, hand still extended.

I snapped out of my memories and smiled pleasantly up at her. Then I stood and shook her hand. “’Molly Ackles,’ isn’t it?” I asked.

“Yes, chief financial officer for Save the Cubes! It is so thrilling to meet with you, I’m a huge fan. Your trial was so uncalled for, all the news is showing how BlueCleave caused that entire mess. I’m so glad they decided in your favor, we can usually count on the Knowle Institute of History.” Molly gushed.

I smiled in response, as Terna and her publicists had trained me. Beyond the guards more photos were taken, then posted immediately to social media and other websites. “I’m glad too,” I said.

Molly sat down at the bar, laughing with her nose crinkled at my statement. “Oh I just bet you are!” she giggled. “Shall we talk about your message to STC?”

I nodded, and the bartender hesitantly approached. He looked unsure if my nod had been his signal or not, so I repeated it and lazily gestured to the bar in front of us. “Yes, let's,” I said.

“Well, you were light on words, but it sounds like your goal and ours may align quite naturally. Cube is one of the primary targets on our list, and we have the best data on his potential whereabouts,” Molly said.

“Yeah, I really want to find my friend. Bring him home. I’ve been told a bit about your organization and I thought we could work together,” I told her.

“What role are you thinking of when you make that offer?” Molly asked. She pointed at a drink on the plastic menu in front of us and the hobb bartender nodded. His hands began grabbing ingredients from beneath the bar. Within seconds he deposited a tumbler with a perfect sphere of ice, amber liquid with a pink swirl running through it, and a sliced cherry garnish.

I stared at it just long enough, feeling the familiar swirl of ads swinging into my mindspace.

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It was a cheap ad, but straight to the point, and I liked what that said about the producer. And it was some kind of whiskey sour hybrid, which sounded right on target. I shook my head and indicated the same, pausing just briefly to remember the question. “I dunno, captain of the ship we use to collect him?”

She laughed, lips pulled back from her teeth in a grin. “You are so funny,” she exclaimed, putting a hand on my elbow. “Of course we would want you to be on the ship in some form or other, but we were thinking of utilizing you in an advisory role. Someone who really knows Cube and can give some interesting interviews to the documentary crew we hire on.”

I shrugged. “That sounds good to me. When can we get started?” I took a sip of my drink. It was cloyingly sweet and burned going down, with a heavy artificial cherry aftertaste. I lowered the sensitivity of my taste buds and enjoyed the drink better for it.

Molly’s eyes widened and she took her hand off my arm, reaching into her bag with it instead. “Well, I believe an expedition can be mounted within six months, assuming our publicity pushes can get the funding needed to hire the ship and crew,” she answered.

“If I get more involved, can we push that date? I want to get moving as quickly as possible,” I told her.

Molly looked at me with wide eyes and a large smile. “Oh I like you! Yes, if you could make an appearance at our next fundraiser, that would give us the chance to net a higher class of donations.”

I smiled back at her and nodded. “I’ll happily host. When is it?”

“Tomorrow night. With your presence, as host no less, we can push some last minute exclusivity ads out,” she said, before taking a sip of her drink. “Can I just say, it is so nice of you to share your moment in the press with our organization. Shoshanna is so excited about this potential celebrity endorsement.”

I raised my glass. “Happy to be of assistance. I honestly share your mission. Cubes deserve better.”

“They do, don’t they!” she exclaimed. “You are just a treat, I don’t need to coach you at all for the event. But, really, your coaching will be tomorrow immediately before the dinner, so do please arrive three hours early.”

I smiled lightly. “I have a good memory, Molly, and I’m a fast learner. I’ll do fine.”

“Oh I’m sure you will, this is a match made in heaven. Just wait until you meet Shoshanna, you two are going to just hit it off!” Molly nearly squealed.

“Will the drinks be this good at the event too?” I asked, turning down my taste sensitivity even further before taking another swig.

“You are just too much!” Molly shrilled, nearly snorting in laughter. She took a final sip from her glass as she stood, then touched my elbow again. “Thanks for the meet, doll. I’ll have my people get in touch.”

With that, Molly turned to leave. She donned an oversized pair of sunglasses and a giant smile as she stepped out into the crowd. A small handful of press had found their way to the cordon and shouted questions at her as she slipped between them. I heard her providing glib answers about a deal being easy to make, and how excited she is to work with former warlord Tyson Dawes.

The next night, I stood in a vineyard’s patio on the California coast, going over my flashcards before taking the microphone. Terna had expressed some concerns about my trip to Nu-Earth, but only because it was so soon after the verdict. There hadn’t been enough time for any kind of intelligence about potential Silken Sands or BlueCleave responses. I told her I was happy to risk it and caught a passenger ship to the event.

I was in the business plus class, but that wasn’t as high quality as I had been hoping for. Things had been better when I'd been warlord, at least in that department.

My ride had been uncomfortable, and with so many of us packed into one cabin that the O2 alarm stayed in a permanent orange position. Just below an emergency, according to the chart on the wall beside it. But once I had landed at the Los Angeles spaceport, more commonly known as LAS, the trip became far more comfortable. I boarded a mag-lev train and zipped up the coast to the former Napa Valley.

Chapter 30

In a family-owned, Nah’gh operated vineyard named for the Nahgah prime solar system, the bottles all bore oil on canvas versions of the system’s primary star. I found myself surrounded by the planet’s elite, mixing with the corporate philanthropist’s usual gathering of upper middle class. As I stood under a gazebo and addressed the crowd, reciting from a prepared speech, I gazed out over the gathered people.

Even with the lights in my face, it was hard to miss the presence of a crowd of BlueCleave elite guards, hulking in their suits. They surrounded an ancient Knowle, seated at a table by himself. Axle, my former CFO, with claws folded and mechanical eyes flashing.

Axle had arrived suddenly, without advance notice. Molly was ecstatic, her voice even more shrill than usual as she explained his presence to Shoshanna over the phone.

As part of my presentation, I gestured his way with an open palm and introduced the leader of the greatest affiliate in all BuyMort history, a large smile painted on my face as I did it. The crowd looked his way from their own tables and politely applauded, then went back to lightly buzzing about his presence amongst themselves.

With that formality out of the way, I proceeded with the speech I had been provided. It focused on the intelligence of Cubes and contained several anecdotes about their cooperation with other sapients. I had some of their attention, but many of the crowd were drunk, or distracted. My words didn’t really matter anyway, only my presence.

One of the anecdotes was the story of how Cube had helped us kill two beholders. When I got to the section on the notes where we had trapped Quadrum in the basement, I paused and a genuine smile flickered over my lips.

“You know,” I said, going off script. “Cube didn’t even really understand how dangerous the trap was for him, specifically. My good friend Axle over there only gave him fifty-fifty chances of making it out alive,” I said, gesturing toward Axle again. The old Knowle scowled at me, but it appeared to be his resting expression. It never altered while I spoke.

“Yeah, that’s right. People often forget it, but Axle here was a key element in that first beholder kill. He was fighting at my side, for his family’s safety, for his home. We come from such humble origins, don’t we old friend?” I asked, looking down at Axle. “Anyway, Cube understood a complicated plan. He camouflaged himself on the roof of the tunnel and took that beholder by complete surprise. Cube is really the only reason we thought we could kill that beholder in the first place. He was our key teammate in that endeavor. And then of course, later on when he was bigger, he couldn’t get enough of beholder treats, as we called them.”

A giggle rolled through the crowd, affecting every table but Axle’s. A reporter knelt to take photos of the moment, and I smiled brightly for my picture.

“We took down some real foes to sapiency in those days. We hunted monsters, and we could only do it because of Cube’s eager participation. We all owe him our lives, in a real, measurable way,” I said, getting more somber in tone.

“So do please, remember that debt when you go to make your transfers. All donations should go through our press team as well, to ensure proper credit is given in public,” I finished. Then I gave a light bow and waved to the people at the tables below as I stepped away. There would be a meet and greet portion of the event to attend, where I would share endearing stories with wealthy benefactors, making them feel like they were getting a little piece of history for their time and morties.

All of the many humans, Knowles, and Nah’gh that were in attendance wanted to shake hands with me and get a photo for their social media feeds. All of them except for Axle, who made a donation with the receptionist and then quietly left via instant portal. After an hour of glad handing and pretending to be as excited about my past as they were, I was tired and ready to leave.

In spite of myself, I stayed until well past the end of the special dinner. The patrons had all paid twenty-five million morties per plate, but that would barely be enough to cover fuel, let alone the ship rental.

Save the Cubes had only a single small craft in its fleet, and it was fitted for navigation only. The craft would be too small to move anything beyond an adolescent Cube, and most of them were discarded well after that stage, when they were considerably larger.

So we would need to rent or buy a new craft, depending on how well the fundraiser went. Molly and Shoshanna, another human woman from Nu-Earth, were convinced rental would be our only option, and that at least one more fundraiser would have to be held before we could acquire it. I had high hopes for my influence. There had been a handful of affiliate heads and other celebrities at the function, specifically to see me.

I had to hope that would pay out. Meanwhile, I worked the press as hard as I could by staying to help with cleanup.

While I helped the vineyard staff put away tables and chairs, our invited press took pictures. By the time the kitchen staff took away my mop and insisted that I go home, the press and all our other guests had left. Molly waited for me in the hover-limo, sipping at a glass of champagne and browsing on her phone. She looked at me over her wine glass and smiled. “You sure are committed, huh?” she asked.

“Completely,” I replied. “I believe in Shoshanna’s dream. Not just for my Cube, but for all Cubes.”

They’d given me some basic literature on the way over, and with my eidetic memory, it was easy to absorb. Save the Cubes had found a tri-solar system, within an abandoned universe. The stars in the system had already destroyed the gathering planetoids within their gravity wells, which meant plenty of radiation and raw material for Cubes to ingest. I had to hand it to Shoshanna, and more likely her team, but the solar system really was the perfect playground for Cubes.

Save the Cube’s first fund-raiser had been to reopen the gate, so their single ship could make an excursion and get readings of the solar system to determine viability. The dusty history documents that had led them to it were not enough to operate on.

Shoshanna herself had spent a large chunk of her inheritance buying that first ship, then refurbishing it for the journey. To avoid having to alter her affluent lifestyle, she turned to fundraising after that single, large purchase.

It was docked at the Los Angeles spaceport, waiting to join us on our journey to Neolithic-Earth’s universe. Her ship would help us coordinate and update theorized navigational data about Cube’s discard date.

The Crown of Thorns had done it personally, using the gravity drive to not only reach the edge of the galaxy, but to throw the large Cube as well. As much information about that throw that could be found had been gathered already, so we would primarily just follow the non-profit’s calculated route and see what we found.

It required an FTL capable ship, for obvious reasons. We’d have to travel light years into the void between galaxies. Shoshanna’s ship was already equipped with a high end FTL drive, so the new ship would have to be able to match her speed, if the expedition was to take only weeks instead of months, or years.

“Well, you should have a glass of champers with me, Tyson. You just helped us have our biggest fundraiser by far. Did you know Axle would show up?” Molly asked.

“I honestly had no idea that would happen. Huge boon for our publicity though, right?” I replied, refusing the offered glass of champagne.

“Huge boon for the entire affiliate, for the entire cause. I have to admit I’m mostly in it for Shoshanna’s friendship, but I love to see your passion. It’s almost equal to hers,” Molly added. “Axle donated four-hundred and seventy-five trillion morties to our affiliate, by the way. Personal transfer, too.”

My eyes widened. “Really? How’s that compare with the rest of the donations?”

“Dwarfs them, really. The rest totaled two-hundred trillion, give or take. We’re buying a ship!” Molly exclaimed. “I’ve already cleared it with Shoshanna. We’re all going shopping tomorrow. Would you be so good as to join us? Shoshanna believes we can get a discount with your celebrity presence, plus it’ll be good press. Axle is being a bit of a stink-butt about this whole thing.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

Molly handed me her phone. A video on it was in the middle of a reporter following Axle and his guards out of the event. “Why did you donate to the WindowPuncher’s cause, CEO?” the reporter asked. “Are you reconciling? Will there be a renewed partnership announced in the near future?”

Axle stopped walking and turned to stare grumpily at the reporter. “I just hoped this nonsense would keep him busy,” he grunted. “Out of the affiliate’s hair.” With a dismissive gesture, he turned to walk away. The clip ended in the rainbow flash of a portal.

I rolled my eyes. “Of course,” I muttered. “Can’t have a kind word. Don’t deserve one either.”

Molly grinned at me and took a sip. “But he mentioned us. Not by name, but the association will be out there. I’m going to fundraise like crazy off that mad old Knowle.”

“Ha! Well, you enjoy that. He’s definitely the gift that keeps on giving,” I laughed.

Still. Scorn and derision aside, he had bought us a new ship. Well . . . a used one. A quick glance at the available ships for sale locally told me it was a seller’s market. But it would still be a ship for the cause. Once they had one they owned, Save the Cubes would be able to launch expeditions anytime they had funding for fuel and provisions.

Chapter 31

I eventually took a glass of champagne, mostly to humor Molly. It tasted expensive but had never really been my thing. Still, I raised a glass with the non-profit’s CFO, and celebrated the sudden expansion of her pet project, while I wondered how much of the operational fund she spent on expensive, carbonated wine. There was a second, already empty bottle in the limo’s small trashcan.

Eventually the hover-limo dropped us off at the train platform and we switched to a first class sleeper room on a direct line to Los Angeles. The trip would only be a few hours, but Molly had insisted on the cabin.

Once on board I quickly found out why. In her inebriated state, she started kissing me as soon as the cabin’s door slid shut. Her oversized smile and boozy breath weren’t exactly a turn on, and my mind twisted into knots while time slowed down for me.

Her position within the non-profit could be extremely harmful if she felt scorned. Molls was only a couple of weeks in my rear-view mirror, and I felt nothing for the human woman in my arms. I was still in mourning. The kind of mourning where your mind really doesn’t grasp what it's mourning, because the person is just gone. Vanished in the blink of an eye.

But, there was my public image to consider. I could be isolated, mysterious to my opponents, and serious all the time. Depressing, really, if I put my mind to it. Or I could present a public image that humanized me. Something that made people want to be me, to live vicariously through me as they ground out their lives against whichever wheel they were strapped to. A high-profile relationship could dramatically benefit that public image.

So after a half-second of hesitation, I started kissing her back. The woman’s long, black hair fell loose as she pulled her decorative comb out, and she stepped out of her heels before standing on her tip-toes to tongue kiss me again. I responded by lifting her bodily and moving toward the bedroom, much to her delight.

After, she fell asleep and lightly snored on the tousled bed, one shapely leg sticking out from beneath the sheets.

I moved naked into the sitting portion of the cabin and spiraled into my own thoughts. Molly was nice enough, if a bit annoying, but I still loved Molls. It felt like a betrayal, no matter how often I reminded myself that she had long ago died of old age. The sex with Molly, while physically pleasurable when I allowed myself to enjoy it, had been empty. Meaningless. If I wasn’t careful, and Molly wanted to pursue anything further with me, I could seriously harm her emotional state, or even psyche. If I didn’t share any of her feelings, that was.

Ideally I could fall for Molly, given enough time and enthusiastic physical coupling, but I struggled to imagine what we would have in common beyond Save the Cubes.

With a titanic mental effort, I pushed the thoughts away and brought my focus back to living in the moment. Another lesson from Molls, in the early days. If I could just have fun with Molly Ackles, CFO, it just might work out between us after all.

Instead I spent the rest of the train ride in reading, familiarizing myself further with the non-profit and its actions so far. Mostly a lot of public awareness campaigns. There had been an expedition attempt with a rented ship before, but they came back empty-handed when their limited morties ran dry. Otherwise nothing of real note. People knew about them, but rarely paid attention to them.

I was about to change all of that.

Molly snorted and jerked awake after I shook her hard enough to cut through the booze. Arrival in Los Angeles was in mere moments, and she was still very naked. And still more than a little drunk.

I helped her find her clothing, smiling as she drunkenly giggled when I held her black lace panties up after a particularly grueling search of the cabin. When I turned down my hearing a bit, her laugh was actually quite endearing. Very natural, and unrestrained. When she was happy, she actually showed it genuinely. After realizing that about her, I allowed myself to join in, leaning down to kiss her again before I turned to gather our limited luggage while she struggled back into her clothes.

“Fuuuuuck, remind me to pack my yoga pants next time,” she slurred, trying to zip up her own cocktail dress, and spinning in a circle at the attempt.

“Woah, hold on, let me help,” I said, still smiling. “I don’t think you want to spin in too many circles right now.”

Molly giggled and collapsed into my arms as I approached to help her. With a patient smile, I leaned her back upright and zipped the dress for her. I had to be careful not to rip the zipper, as the garment was not on properly, and the zipper ran tightly over one curvaceous buttock.

Once she was dressed, Molly turned to the nearby mirror and started adjusting her clothing. She pulled out a small wand from her handbag and used it to first erase her disturbed makeup, and then to reapply it, all within sixty seconds. As a final touch, she pulled her hair back into a messy bun and clamped it in place with her decorative comb.

“Get me to bed,” she said, the slur leaving her voice. Molly grinned up at me. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I am sure you will, Molly. But I think you need a tall glass of water. Maybe some aspirin,” I told her.

“Mmm, you’re a tall glass of water,” she giggled. “And maybe some aspirin. What is aspirin?”

I chuckled and offered her my arm before opening our cabin door. “Nothing important.”

Molly happily took my arm, and I led her from the train station. One lonely paparazzo was waiting, and he took plenty of pictures as Molly and I had our public walk of shame from the train to another hired hover-limo.

Again I wondered at the price of such extravagances, and if they were coming out of the non-profit’s funds. But I was glad to be off the streets, LA was just as crowded as it had ever been, and muggy with the oncoming fall weather, even in the dark of early morning.

Molly draped her legs over my lap in the car. She dug in the minifridge at her side until she found a hangover cure bottle, and squealed happily as she twisted it open. After a single swallow, she sat back and took a deep breath as the miracle elixir did its work.

“Much better,” she said, smiling at me.

I smiled back. “I agree.”

“Oh you’re still funny,” she said, grinning at me. “Wanna sleep over?”

I looked at her and shrugged, then laughed when she reached out and socked me on the shoulder. “Of course, Molly,” I said as she scoffed indignantly at me.

I had spent the night in pleasurable company, and slept in a comfortable bed, with a beautiful woman wrapped around me. Really I had nothing to complain about, which made the empty feeling in my chest that much worse.

She awoke desirous, and we had sex twice more. Once in bed and once in the shower, both at her initiative. While she took her time in the shower afterwards, I ordered breakfast. It was on the hotel room’s small table before she stepped from the steamed-up bathroom in a fluffy terry cloth robe.

“Oh food!” she yelped, hustling over and grabbing a piece of yarsp bacon from the platter. “Thank you, Tyson! You’re a real gentleman.”

I smiled softly and bowed my head. Then I sat and ate, while Molly wandered around the hotel room getting dressed. She had ordered a new outfit before finally going to sleep for the night, and adjusted it in the room’s various mirrors as she walked by them.

It was a blood-red blouse over a black, pinstripe miniskirt, with another pair of heels. Once her hair was dried and up, and her round spectacles were back in place, I realized I did find her attractive. She represented a sexual relationship I had never thought to engage in before BuyMort. A beautiful, wealthy socialite. Raised around old money, and almost completely fulfilled by shallow pursuits.

Save the Cubes was her one laudable enterprise, I’d read her file while she slept. Everything else she was engaged in was either mildly evil, or full out evil. Her portfolio was filled with for-profit prisons, strip mining affiliates, and even a healthy share of McYarspies.

Blind investment, likely. According to her social media profiles, and what limited celebrity news she had been involved in before, she spent most of her time at music festivals and cocktail parties.

While I hadn’t intended to get involved with anyone, she seemed as good a candidate as any, for what my public image required.

And sure enough, the tabloids and celebrity gossip affiliates were running wild with the story. Minor celebrity CFO and former Warlord of BuyMort seen ‘sex-tussled’ in Los Angeles. One headline stuck out to me.

“Dawes no longer exclusively dating Nah’gh women?”

I scowled at it and closed the phone. I’d invited it, so I didn’t complain. But it was still distasteful.

Chapter 32

Fortunately, as soon as I stepped out of the high-priced hotel on Molly’s arm, we met Shoshanna and started shopping for the affiliate’s new spacecraft. Shoshanna was a tall blonde woman, with an absurdly long and delicate neck, which she draped with gold and silver chains.

She squealed at the same time Molly did, and I turned down my hearing reflexively. Both women rushed across the baggage unloading area of the hotel’s front entrance and embraced while kissing the air off each other’s cheeks.

“Oh my god, Molly, is it true?!” Shoshanna exclaimed.

“Very true,” the other woman said, smiling slyly.

“Ugh, you slut! I love it, tell me everything!” Shoshanna replied.

“Perhaps not here, though,” I interjected. “I believe we have a ship to go and see?”

Shoshanna smiled, her hair glittering in the late morning sun. “Tyson, so good to finally meet you! Thank you so much for doing our fundraiser, I cannot tell you what a boon your endorsement has been to Save the Cubes. We all aspire to your passion.”

“Especially me,” Molly said, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Oh stop that! But tell me everything. We have time on the ride over,” Shoshanna said, grabbing Molly’s hands in her own.

I stretched out my back a bit and sighed heavily. “Ladies, I think I’ll fly, if you don’t mind. Been a while since I’ve seen LA from the sky.”

“Oh he’s shy, don’t mind him,” Molly said, waving a hand dismissively at me.

“Try to come in and land right when we meet the ship-owner!” Shoshanna yelled up at me, as I lifted off.

I nodded and saluted her, then rose rapidly until the women were mere specks on the ground below. Part of my brain kept track of their car, which was a more sensible land-roving sedan. Apparently, Shoshanna was more responsible with her money than Molly was.

My head swam with thoughts, as I took in the grimy city from above. It hadn’t changed. From a concrete jungle to a mud and plasti-crete jungle. Homeless encampments sprawled between businesses and residences, with heavy fencing to keep the two separate. A grimy, graffiti filled trolly rolled between the various districts as individual vehicles crammed together in the many roads.

All that I had done to reestablish Los Angeles had led right back to its original form in my own world. But it was full of people. Hobbs, humans, even the occasional orc or Knowle could be seen going about their lives. They filled the streets, factories, black markets, and vendor stalls that filled the city.

Near Long Beach, Shoshanna’s car entered a massive, walled zone that led to the spaceport. Specifically the back end, which sprawled down the coast and featured housing and docking stations for the many spacecraft that called LAS home. Either temporary or permanent, the spaceport housed roughly forty-five thousand ships at any given time.

The craft her car approached, after a hearty drive through the Long Beach ports, towered nearly four stories in the air. It sat in an oversized rectangular docking hangar with the roof extended open to allow it. The ship itself was a large rhomboid block. Its front end housed a major slit that ran from the halfway point down to the underbelly.

I saw a man in a suit step from the docking hangar’s entrance, a canopy-covered area with a single metal bench. Shoshanna and Molly got out of the car after it came to a stop and moved to meet with the man in the suit. Taking my cue, I dropped down and caught myself just above the ground. Once my feet were on solid ground, I adjusted my own outfit, a casual day suit.

It was the same suit I’d worn to the fundraiser, just without a vest and tie.

Molly grinned sharkishly and sidled up to me, reaching up to plant a kiss on my stubbled cheek. I smiled down at her and pressed her to my side by her hip. Shoshanna grinned at us, then turned to shake hands with the sales representative. He was gaping at my arrival.

“It really is you,” he breathed, before seeming to snap out of it. “Welcome! I’m so happy your affiliate chose the Pykrete for your needs! I’m Dicky, and it will be my pleasure and honor to facilitate this transaction.”

After he shook hands with Shoshanna, he turned to Molly, and then me. I nodded and smiled at him while I shook his hand, and he just gaped up at me.

“Sorry,” he said, catching himself and clapping his jaw shut. “Let me show you around the ship!”

Molly leaned into Shoshanna as we walked through the hangar’s entrance, which included an empty receptionist’s desk and space for a wall sign to be installed. “Are we sure we’re buying this one?” she asked in a throaty whisper.

“Almost,” Shoshanna said back. “I’ve had my eye on it for a while, the last couple of weeks actually. I dunno, just had a feeling something might happen to boost our chances of renting it. Of course now I want to keep it, given how amazing our fundraiser went.”

She turned, her long straight hair whipping around in a golden cascade that glimmered like Molls’ scales used to. Then she grinned at me, showing perfect white teeth and glittering blue eyes above her sunglasses.

I politely smiled back and squeezed Molly’s hip just a little harder. She squealed and laughed, leaping away from me a step before immediately closing the distance again and leaning into me.

“Yes, right up ahead,” said Dicky, oblivious to our flirting.

He opened another set of double doors and led us into the open air hangar, where our likely new ship hulked, frost hunkered on thick lines that connected it to the walls. The boxy ship’s mouth was closed, but looking at it from an up close vantage, it was clear that its front half could rise to either side like gull wings.

We approached a small ramp at its base, near a trunk-like landing strut, before walking up past the dealer and his over-wide smile. Shoshanna breathed deeply from the ship’s smell, which was full of metal, old grease, and sweat. She seemed to love it though, twirling around as soon as we reached the craft’s main embarkation area, arms extended as she took it all in.

It was an oversized chamber with space for small loading trucks if needed. The ramp behind us was wide enough to allow them too. On the far side of the area a series of mechanical arms and heavy, cabled netting was crammed together and pressed up against a broad, translucent metallic aluminum bulkhead for us to see.

“Below us on this side,” Dicky began, taking long strides across the embarkation area. “Below us you’ll see the ice grapples, and netting. All in working order, of course. Having been stored for half a year, I recommend a maintenance cycle before use. Oh, and the fuel tanks are empty for both sublight and FTL engines, it will be the renter’s responsibility to refill them, but no fill is necessary upon return.”

Shoshanna shot a quick grin my way and said, “oh we’re not renting anymore, we’d like to purchase the ship, if everything is in order.”

“Oh how delightful!” Dicky stopped and clapped his hands. “Well, allow me to run you through the full tour in that case!”

He showed us the bridge, right above the massive ice grapple equipment bay. It was a broad, L-shaped room full of consoles and computer equipment. All very spare, plenty of cabling merely bolted to the walls and floors. The main viewscreen was installed over another pane of translucent metal. This one was translucent titanium alloy, so it was considerably smaller. Like an armored helmet's vision slit, really.

In the engine bays, Dicky enthusiastically rattled off technical specs for both sublight and FTL drives. Our sublight engines were typical hydrogen rockets, located in a grid at the rear of the craft. In order to slow down upon approaching a destination, the entire ship was required to turn around for rocket-assisted braking. Turning was accomplished by phasing which banks of rockets were fired, and a good portion of the rear area was dedicated to fuel management and storage.

The FTL drive was a space disruptor. It created a warped bubble of space at the fore and aft of the ship, which allowed for dramatically faster than light movement while going in a straight line but required careful calculation and star-charting before activation. Any kind of hazard encountered would still be able to affect the ship if the shield was not operational.

And the shield was not operational.

Dicky profusely apologized, and quite willingly knocked off a quarter trillion morties from the seller's price.

The shield was in need of some new parts and maintenance, but Dicky assured us the discount would cover it. He expressed remorse for its status and professed a belief in our non-profit’s cause.

When he was finished with his rehearsed speech on the shields system, I leaned in. “How much are you authorized to knock off the sale, in total?” I asked, squinting at him with a sly smile on my lips.

“Well,” Dicky sputtered. “Well I don’t know, I’d have to contact the seller and ask.”

I shook my head and detached from Molly momentarily to stretch. “That’s not how a sale like this works, Dicky. Don’t be insulting now, I thought we were all friends. You’re pre-authorized to make certain decisions and have a hard limit on how much you can alter the price. Otherwise you really wouldn’t be here, we’d be doing it all through BuyMort directly.”

Dicky blinked and looked at me wide-eyed as Molly started to smile.

“Of course, the fact that we’re using a broker at all means the seller is offering at a much higher price than the ship is actually worth. No problem, it’s a sellers’ market right now. But this is for a good cause, as you yourself have said,” I told him, clasping my hands behind my back. “So just between us, how much could you knock off if you had to?”

Dicky opened his mouth a few times, looking up and to the left. “I believe our lowest acceptable offer would be five-hundred and thirty-five trillion.”

“Not five-hundred flat?” I asked, grinning from one side of my mouth, as Molly bit her lip and leaned in to say something to Shoshanna.

Dicky looked quickly between the three of us and started to shake his head. “Well, I could reach out to the seller. It’s not impossible your recent celebrity might sway them in price a bit.”

I clapped him on the shoulder and smiled down at the smaller man. “Thank you, Dicky! We’ll wait right here while you do that.”

When I took a few steps back to Molly’s side, Dicky grabbed a phone out of his suit jacket pocket.

Molly gripped my elbow. “I want to go see the cabins,” she whispered.

“Oh, I can smell ‘em from here Molly. I’m not so sure you’d be that happy to see them up close and personal,” I told her. There was a light scent of must and decay wafting from the nearby crew quarters, but Molly insisted. Without enhanced senses, the ship was large enough to mostly contain its smellier areas from one another.

Molly became dramatically less horny when she saw the rooms, as I had predicted. Each was a cramped hexagon, featuring a bunk on one wall, and a toilet behind a shower curtain that cordoned off the back end. Behind it, a showerhead stuck out from the wall, and a simple drain in the floor next to the toilet indicated the area’s primary use.

The rooms were also covered in stains, or glue-spots on the wall where former crew had stuck posters. One of them remained, show-casing a nude Nah’gh woman in a lewd pose. Molly giggled at it and took a picture.

We met up with Shoshanna in the captain’s quarters, which were luxurious by comparison. The room was larger, had a higher ceiling, and a Florida king-sized bed tucked up into an oversized view port.

“This could actually be nice,” Shoshanna preened, walking around the room slowly taking it all in. “I’d hang a little chandelier right here, put a nice dining table beneath for hosting company. Of course those linens, if they are linens at all, will have to be changed. Along with a lot of other stuff, but we’ve got funds.”

That confirmed it. The women used their fundraising morties for nonessential purchases. Now I just had to see how far it really went. Upgrading the ship could be easily written off as an affiliate expense, but a full scale luxury upgrade was another thing entirely. I said nothing and smiled as the ladies went about fantasy-renovating.

Molly was showing Shoshanna an ad for a lounge chaise when Dicky entered, phone in hand. He grinned and said, “five-hundred is good with the seller, so long as you cover the dealer fees and publicize the discount in your affiliate’s next online blast.”

Shoshanna squealed, joined hands with Molly, and both women jumped up and down in excitement. “We’re buying a ship!” she exclaimed.

My own feelings stayed steady. Everything was proceeding as I had hoped and planned for, and by the month’s end we’d be in space chasing my old pet and friend Cube. A twinge of guilt surged through me, knowing I was using his rescue to build my own public persona. Knowing I didn’t feel the same set of emotions toward Molly she almost certainly felt toward me.

Infatuation was easy to recognize. Her pupils practically dilated anytime I touched her on the hip, she didn’t make it difficult to ascertain. And while I held a distant interest in her, I certainly was not obsessed with her. With getting to know every detail about her.

I felt like I had her pretty well understood already.

Chapter 33

Molly didn’t surprise me when she suggested throwing a party that night, to celebrate the affiliates first ship purchase. I agreed to go, then excused myself to go call Terna. After removing myself to the ship’s bridge, I pulled out my phone and swiped away all the garbage-ware ads on it before punching in Terna’s call info.

“We got the ship we need,” I told her as soon as she answered.

“Good news. I see you’ve decided to hang a socialite off your arm. Also a good idea, we could use the continued publicity, even in gossip rags,” she replied.

“Yeah, not my initiative, but it seemed like a good idea,” I said.

“She’s not bad looking,” Terna offered.

I chuckled and nodded. “It’s not a true burden, I agree. Just . . . it’s just soon.”

“After Molls, I understand,” Terna agreed. “I appreciate that you are doing this, spending your time on Nu-Earth pushing forward our plans.”

I smiled and nodded. “Always felt better about my emotions if I could get lost in my work. Once we rescue Cube, we use that media cycle’s boost to announce the campaign,” I said.

“I remember the plans, that’s why I mentioned them,” Terna said. “Keep going, you’re doing great.”

“It’ll be a month before we can take off, logistically. There’s repairs, refits, and some heavy cleaning that needs to happen. Not to mention hiring a crew. I’ll probably have to do at least one more event here, but I was hoping to take some time and visit Storage again too.”

“Publicly or privately?” Terna asked sharply.

“Privately. I need to do some traveling and see more of it for myself, as well as visit Nozzle and his tribe again,” I said.

“I can fund that, we have a crop surplus this month so food will be easier. But you’re going to need to sit in study if you want to understand the political issues at play in Storage” she told me.

“No, I need to know what is really happening down there, not just the scrabble over it that the elites like to play at. This kind of issue cuts through political bullshit, Terna. We come at it from the same earnest, honest place of wanting to help that we’re doing here, and it will boost our profile dramatically,” I said, pushing back.

Terna was quiet for a long moment, then I heard her sigh and nod. “I trust your instincts,” she said. “But please don’t ignore the political issues either, it's required reading for a campaign.”

“I understand, and don’t worry. I will do my reading. But this is more important,” I insisted. I heard Molly creep up the hall behind me.

“I understand Tyson,” Terna said. “And I trust your instincts, I do.”

“You’re just used to being in charge,” I said, changing my tone to a comforting one. “And you are, believe me. This plan of ours is going to need time to foment anyway. We have plenty of time to handle everything,” I told her.

I heard her nod on the other end of the line. “True. Very true, I just want to be free of the BuyMort now.”

“Yeah, me too Terna. But there’s a process to all of this,” I reminded her.

“And right now, that process is buying a ship to retrieve Cube,” she sighed. “Early days of a revolution are the worst.”

“My own experiences lead me to agree,” I chuckled. “Call you again soon, when I’m ready to head out to Storage again.”

“Alright,” Terna said, then hung up on me. It was her way, she didn’t like being on the phone.

I turned to see Molly’s smiling face. “That sounded official,” she pried. “But why are you going to Storage?”

“I go there on humanitarian missions now. Help feed people and the like,” I told her.

Her eyes widened and she put on an impressed pout. “You’re nothing at all like your legends,” she said.

I smiled back and nodded. “I have my moments. But the world I’ve returned to is nothing like the world I left.”

“Oh right, all the war,” Molly groaned. “That must have been so hard.”

“Actually that part was always easy,” I said. “Most of the hard stuff was figuring out where the next attack was coming from. Getting my people ready for each new shock to our systems.”

Molly nodded, expression blank until I finished speaking. Then she pointed down the hallway behind her. “We’re going to find a hotel bar to rent out for tonight, do you want to come with us?”

I swept her into my arms and kissed the beautiful woman, then shook my head. “You guys are good at that without me, I need to do some reading.”

“Oh,” she said. “Okay, no worries. I’ll see you at the party though, right?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it,” I told her, bending down for a kiss.

A real smile flitted across her lips before she put a less-honest one in its place. “Okay, see you then,” she said and turned to walk down the hallway. Molly looked over her shoulder at me twice as she left.

Once I had the hotel room to myself for a few hours, I happily drew the shades and sat down on the nice soft bed. Terna had forwarded the Storage dossier she had collected for her own political uses.

I blocked out thoughts of my new girlfriend and sat down to absorb it.

Molly was wearing a tight, revealing dress featuring slits that ran up both of her sides. It showed plenty of skin. I walked into the bar, wearing my same suit, and she ran in her heels over to me, drink in hand. I leaned down and smiled in spite of myself when she grinned through the entire kiss.

The evening felt like pointless frivolity to me, but I did a good job of putting on a happy face, and I drank plenty of booze. Not enough to get sloppy, and I kept scaling my senses to adjust for some of the effects, but I partied with the socialites and their friends.

A few paparazzi showed up, prompting a flurry of ads for photo-blur and video static fields, but I just let them. Wasn't like I had the morties to waste anyways, and the pictures would make for great publicity. They took pictures until the hotel removed them, and published our get-together in their celebrity gossip publications. That made the night worth my effort, but once I got tipsy enough, the girls weren’t bad company. I just had to loosen up a bit and care a lot less than I normally would. Especially when Molly checked her phone and then started complaining about the recent performance of one of her affiliate investments.

It was one of the lunar strip miners. I bit my tongue and ignored it.

Shoshanna slid over to me in the booth we were sharing once Molly left to go to the bathroom.

“I’m really grateful,” she said, slurring her words a little. “I’m so grateful you’ve joined us, Tyson. So grateful.”

I smiled and nodded. “I’m in until we get Cube back at the least. Beyond that, I figure your affiliate will be able to handle expeditions most any time. I’d be leaving you guys better equipped.”

“No, you don’t understand. It’s always been a dream, nothing more. Something we get drunk and talk about, because talking about it makes us feel better,” Shoshanna explained. “Now I can go do it! Molly won’t come, I know better than to think she’d be willing to go on an expedition into deep space. But I can’t wait!”

Molly returned then, giving Shoshanna a quick glare before turning her stiff smile on me. “Can’t wait for what?” she asked over the music in the bar.

“Our expedition!” Shoshanna cried, raising a glass and reaching it toward Molly.

The other woman cheered and picked up my glass, clinking it against her friends. When she took a swig, she nearly spit it out, before grunting and swallowing it with some effort. “Tequila! Ew! Doll, you’re hot, but you have bad taste in liquor,” she told me.

“And women,” added Shoshanna with an impish grin. Molly gaped in mock offense, then sat down on my lap while sticking her tongue out at Shoshanna.

In the morning, I was the only one capable of getting any work done on the Pykrete, so I flew over while Molly lightly snored. I left her a note and some yarsp bacon in the hotel minifridge before I left.

When I arrived at the ship’s hangar, I set off alarms by landing in the hangar area itself. Once spaceport security had responded, which took a lot longer than I cared for, the issue was quickly cleared up. I was on the list to be able to access the ship; they just told me to access the spaceport from the proper channels in the future.

On their way out I heard one of the men grumble, “starfish suits.”

The thing that bothered me most about it was how unimportant I had become. In my time, my simple presence granted me access to wherever I wanted to be. Now I had to work within the confines of a system that really didn’t know or care much about me.

I pushed it aside and got to work on the ship. With my enhanced strength, I was able to get all of the ship’s old mattresses and dirty sleep-netting cleared out and into the hangar, before I sold it all directly to BuyMort, on the affiliate’s account. I harbored a tiny hope that my financial responsibility would wear off on Shoshanna and Molly.

After the old, stained mattresses and tattered, well-used sleep-netting were gone, the ship’s crew quarters started to smell significantly better, so I kept working. Scraping glue off the bulkheads in the cabins was easy enough, as was tearing out all the old shower curtains. Some of them were moldy. All of them were stained.

Molly arrived about five hours later, fresh and bright after a good sleep and another hangover cure. The woman ordered all of her hired transports to be stocked with one, which made me think about the transport industry surrounding the wealthy. That kind of special request was considered normal, Molly told me when I asked. Nothing unusual.

She grinned and flirted with me, telling me she liked the shirtless, sweaty workman thing I was doing. To keep her happy, and indulge my own need for a vacation, I took her back to the hotel early and indulged her for the rest of the evening.

The next day played out much the same. I pushed Shoshanna to get the work started on the shield and then went to hire workmen of my own. Molly came along, to access the affiliate’s accounts for me, but she didn’t bother looking at the amount when I decided on a contract.

“I trust you,” she explained with a sly smile.

A team of professional cleaners spent the next three days crawling all over the crew sections of the Pykrete, sanitizing it for use while I went to a coastal resort with Molly. I spent the time reading, watching her sunbathe in a bikini, and eating five-star cuisine. The bed was like sleeping on a marshmallow.

While we worked on getting the ship ready for use, I kept in touch with Terna. She occasionally sent me reading material, mostly on Storage. The structure’s issues had gotten worse since my time.

There were rolling blackouts across parts of the superstructure, due to many damaged baffles. This had come about when someone in the control satellite opened all the doors within Storage. There was a good degree of mystery around that event, because BlueCleave and Axle’s leadership faction kept a tight lid on how the doors got stuck open.

Once they were all hauled open, untold trillions died in the chaos that followed. Through necessity, or a simple desire for meat, many of the cities were built near highly populated BuyMort bug tunnels. There were attacks, food sources were depleted, and gobb raids spiked.

All of that was secondary to the sheer destruction caused when most of the superstructure’s cities and towns were suddenly dumped into the bottom of the baffle in their spire. Any baffle that had a city dropped into it suddenly stopped working, and the control satellite was damaged beyond repair. It smashed through three spires on its way down into the gas giant’s depths during the event.

One of the resulting effects was that life in Storage became drastically more dangerous in the aftermath. There were hundreds of trillions of refugees, wandering the super structure and trying to survive anyway they could. Most civilized areas of Storage collapsed, either literally, or eventually through the side effects of the doors all being stuck open.

BuyMort bugs rampaged. Gobbs rampaged. People themselves rampaged. Storage, the last vestige of hope for those living under BuyMort without morties, became a deathtrap for decades. An every-sapient-for-themselves hunting ground.

At the same time, resources tightened around the multiverse as war raged on in all universes. Storage’s situation went largely ignored, and the automated BuyMort functions were all the people in Storage had to rely on.

One watery meal of meaty gruel a day, if you could find a pod-pole. And that became a big ‘if’ after the doors opened.

If people damaged any part of the structure that was still considered BuyMort property, BuyMort responded by sending a potentially lethal bug. But if the bugs damaged the station, BuyMort considered it a natural disaster and ignored it. Being lightning rods for people, a frightening amount of pod-poles were damaged or destroyed in bug attacks.

The catastrophes skewed in the bugs favor, but the gobbs had a different experience entirely. The gobbs, being more acquainted with the way Storage worked, flourished under the new dynamic. They lost a few large settlements, and plenty of casualties along the way, but in general their population fared better than ever with the doors open.

Once life in the Sol system normalized, people began paying attention to Storage again. Some of them ended up going to it, after all. When a deal collapsed or an associate fizzled out, every so often the person behind the morties would suffer for it. If they couldn’t pull themselves up by their bootstraps fast enough, Storage was often their destination.

So news stories began to emerge about the conditions, and several public debates arose surrounding how to handle those conditions.

Axle’s Knowle leadership faction argued that Storage was handled by BuyMort, and that to intervene would be too much strain on the already fragile economic system that was starting to grow under his leadership.

Once the wars receded to embers, Axle did what he was good at and made the affiliate morties. Paw over claw as the Knowles said. But at that same time, several of the war-ravaged universes shriveled and died, eventually even losing gate access. His economics largely ignored those the war had affected. He chose to leave them to die and focused the main industries of BuyMort on and around Nu-Earth. The planet became the beating heart of the BuyMort system in my absence, even crowding out Neolithic Earth for financial prominence.

BuyMort culture formed up in tiers, as it had before. Those in Storage were at the very bottom. But several levels of middle class had sprung up, with a handful of quintillionaires at the top.

The wealthy elite had no vested interest in helping those in Storage, so it didn’t happen. That was the basic level of understanding I gained from reading the many dossiers that Terna sent me. When I looked a bit deeper, there was a lot of support for Storage improvement initiatives among the population of Nu-Earth. The lower on the wealth ladder an affiliate member got, the more likely they had progressive ideas about how to help the poor souls in Storage.

One of the main problems with any of the initiatives was the sheer scale required to actually make a difference. There were proposals to do clever things like use the plastic and metal waste polluting Tertiary to build small, easily transported, and cheap grow houses. The pollution cleanup affiliates made a big show of hiring brilliant young engineers and theorists to craft several items that would help life in Storage.

But none of the affiliates were willing to pay to ship the items once processed. Not at any scale that would matter. Tertiary was littered with concentrated dumping grounds, full of old greenhouse panels, plumbing pipes, and chemical cauterizer packs.

Another issue was financial aid to family members. That was something that held enormous popularity among the voting population, but directly contradicted the Knowle leadership faction’s priorities. People wanted a fund put together, like several other ‘public good’ funds Silken Sands ran.

They were not exactly charities but acted as such in the eyes of the people on Nu-Earth. Some areas got discounted grocery prices, some got lowered rents. All through Silken Sands direct financial intervention. But taking even a cursory look at the numbers publicly available led me to a clear pattern.

Groceries were lowered in areas that had intensive manual labor as its primary source of production. Large farming towns, and deep mines that spawned cities around them were fed more, to keep them strong. I even found a free beer initiative in one of the mining towns.

Every weekend, anyone directly employed by the local mining affiliate was able to get a free beer from any local bar. Silken Sands paid to keep them docile.

Lowered rent was typically found in areas with higher than average corporate associate numbers. Tech companies, management affiliates, and financial districts got lowered rent in order to entice talent to come in and work for low wages, or unpaid internships.

Every single affiliate initiative that spent morties in an apparently charitable manner could be tied back to affiliate benefit. Axle was taking care of his people, sure, but he was taking care of his morties first. The fact was that there was no benefit to the affiliate in helping those lost to Storage.

My campaign began to form in my mind. The more I learned about the issues, the more I saw the bigger picture of political action on Nu-Earth.

Chapter 34

Molly ignored my reading, for the most part. Occasionally she would interrupt me, if I had been doing it too long and she became bored, but usually she just smiled and kissed me on the forehead.

After a week of living in Los Angeles with Molly, she asked me when my trip to Storage was. I took the hint and got portal morties from Terna.

My hobb partner also included another grocery bundle for Nozzle’s tribe. My fob was delivered by a standard pod in the hotel. Once I had changed clothes and kissed Molly goodbye, there was very little else to do but input the arrival platform I wanted and step through a portal.

After my surroundings changed from a high-end hotel room to a domed jungle, I took to the air and started looking for Nozzle.

The oversized insects were starting to get used to my presence. One of the leaf bugs ignored me completely when I pushed it aside to get into the elevator shaft. A quick survey of the elevator shaft and surrounding tunnels told me that Nozzle wasn’t in the immediate area. I pulled up my fairy fire map in my anti-magic helmet and delved into uncharted territory.

For a few hours I stayed near the top of Storage, flying through tunnel after tunnel looking for a sign of my gobbs, but the trail was cold. I spent the rest of the night searching, and discovered some wondrous and terrifying sections of Storage as I did.

One low tunnel in particular was completely full of blinking fireflies, which camouflaged large, aggressive, bioluminescent slugs that tried to drop on me from above. It was another swamp biome, with a deep lake full of BuyMort bugs and life.

The hobbs and gobbs both had a cultural focus on reshaping Storage, and though my rise had changed the hobbs forever, the gobbs never stopped growing.

They outnumbered the rest of us by a lot, I suspected. During my wanderings that first night, I found evidence of several gobb encampments. None of them had any gobbs, but as I had seen, one tribe could leave dozens of encampments in an area in Storage, due only to their migratory nature. With the influence of the recent slavers in the area, I couldn’t tell how many tribes I was tracking.

My map of Storage expanded dramatically while I searched. The only zones on it that were left unfilled were those populated by the tall-people, as Nozzle had called us. Humans, hobbs, Orkreshi, and Nah’gh were all represented, with the occasional Knowle.

Really though, Storage didn’t discriminate. Each species had individuals that fell prey to BuyMort’s worst instincts and ended up in the super structure once they’d run out of morties for good. It was a snapshot of the BuyMort population numbers. Those of us who were good for manual labor lasted, while the management came and went.

There were no delves in Storage that I could find, and no settlements of record. To my reckoning, that made them one of the least populous members of the BuyMort system. Knowles were running a close second, which made sense considering their last home world had been intentionally destroyed by the Church roughly two centuries prior.

Humans still had two planets. Neolithic Earth had the resources to survive the war, and Axle had made sure Nu-Earth did too. Orkreshi Prime was still in the system, even though its entire solar system had fallen in the resource wars that followed the Church conflict.

Meanwhile, those who had adapted best to Storage learned to live off its ‘land,’ and their numbers rose dramatically. First the hobbs had flourished in the primitive Dyson sphere, and quietly alongside them, the gobbs followed suit.

Since the doors had been opened, that dynamic seemed to have accelerated. Storage had become a true dying ground for the less-hardy species. Those who lived within the BuyMort system had feared Storage before, but now it was a cause for true despair.

The weight of my actions began to rest on my shoulders more and more as I slowly widened my search of Storage, hoping I was going in the right direction. My Cicada wireless was useless, as the gas giant was enjoying one of its large electrical storms in the upper atmosphere, so all coverage was down.

Lights were also primarily off in my portion. It was a protective measure, something Storage did on its own. The few settlements I encountered in my search were all burning torches and bonfires to keep the inky dark at bay.

Only those near the top, in the cold, had any light. And that light by the stars alone, the system's sun was on the far side of Storage for the next thirty hours. While the planet’s rotation was faster, the superstructure in its atmosphere skated along the top, causing somewhat longer day and night cycles.

On the second day of my visit, I decided to run in a straight line directly for the sun, after checking my position on a planetary map. The area I had mapped was infinitesimally small. Fortunately, it was easy to return to my starting point, as I had the arrival platform’s coordinates and could order a free pod anytime I wanted.

My sun-run had the effect of getting me away from the electrical storms and back into Cicada Wireless coverage, but I still couldn’t reach Nozzle. He was out of range, according to the service, which meant wherever he was, it was likely part of the electrical storm. Needless to say, that storm covered a much larger area than I could successfully map.

But I tried. For three days, I flew through the tunnels of Storage and searched for my friends, for Nozzle’s tribe. As far as my grid went, and as slowly as they had to move, I should have found him. But at the end of my scheduled trip, I had found no gobbs, just abandoned settlements.

At the end of my trip, I landed on the outskirts of a mostly human settlement and summoned Terna’s grocery pallet.

The gate guards, because all settlements in Storage had to be walled now, sounded the alarm when the flash of rainbow light bounced across the dark tunnels and lit up their night. I was gone before they could find me. I flew up the tunnel to the arrival platform and used the funds Terna had provided me for travel to buy a portal.

I arrived back in the hotel room, which Molly had rented out for the month. She wasn’t there, so I quickly showered and got dressed in a clean set of clothing. She’d been shopping for me ever since we first hooked up, so I just picked some of the clothing items she’d found appealing enough to buy for me.

A charcoal suit with a dark gray shirt, and a pair of matching derby shoes. Then I pulled out my phone to contact her and stopped. My thoughts wandered to MortMobile.

I wondered if he could help me find Nozzle, and how much the service would cost. That would be if the entrapped deity within the phone would even remember me. His mind had been stretched to the point of breaking when we first met, and with his occasional help, I had reduced the load on his mind. Mostly by reducing the sheer population using his services, but still.

He owed me.

Once again, my attempt to access the service was blocked by insufficient funds. I’d been coasting on reputation, living like a monk when not in the arms of my spend-happy girlfriend, or sleeping on Terna’s various couches. My BuyMort account info was not exactly promising.

At some point I was going to have to find an income source of my own.

But, for the time being, I helped prepare the Pykrete for its expedition. I met up with Molly, and through her connected with Shoshanna. She was working on hiring a crew with the remaining funds, since the shield had been repaired in my absence.

The main difficulty was in the length of the voyage. Most people who hired out as crew for various space-based jobs wanted a solid window for the job’s length, along with location, wages, food, housing, duty lists, etc. But we were only able to provide a wide window for their length of employment.

The way hunting for Cubes worked was simple in theory, but complex and time consuming in practice. Most of the non-profit’s work to that point had been sifting through records, where they were available, and doing trajectory calculations based on the data. They produced these stellar maps that looked like flowers, with a single, central path lifting out of the many curving available path variations.

If the Cube in question had struck the edge of a cargo bay door, for example, or been pushed off-course by the ship’s thrusters once ejected, that changed its possible location hundreds of years later by massive margins. Our journey’s goal was to explore one of those flowers, in an attempt to find a relatively small object floating through primarily empty space.

The central pathway was always illuminated in red, with the surrounding pathways a shade of dark orange, eventually fading out to white as the pathways became increasingly less likely. Each flower map had hundreds, if not thousands of potential pathways to follow.

So when a potential crew member asked us about how long the voyage was expected to run, we had a hard time giving them a straight answer. A week at the shortest, with fourteen months on the outside range.

Many of the potential hires balked at the uncertainty and turned us down flat. The handful that agreed typically had issues. At the end of a two-week hiring process we ended up with a captain that had a clear drinking problem, a pilot with social anxiety, and a pair of mechanics that clearly wanted to use our expedition as their honeymoon.

I was handling security, which had made Molly horny for three solid days. Still, I only hired a couple of men to aid me as security agents. Both hobbs were quiet, with a lengthy history of similar hires on their resume. From the brief conversation I’d had with both of them, they were former military who hired out after a bad discharge.

Perfect for my needs. Also almost certainly plants for Axle, considering the uniform nature of their background checks. It was almost as though they’d been written just for me, to give me my perfect hires. There were others who applied that had a similar profile, if not the same word for word. And none of them showed any hesitation at the uncertain timeline.

I picked my favorites from the list of what I felt certain was Axle’s attempt at a leash and dismissed the rest. Both the hobbs practically reeked of BlueCleave when I did in-person interviews with them, which solidified my choice. I wanted Axle to know everything.

There was nothing in our activities for him to use against me politically, and Terna had already trained me in not talking about the upcoming campaign. For good measure, I kept all my notes and thoughts on the growing campaign in my head, just in case one of Axle’s men got into my devices while on board the Pykrete.

Anything Axle got from his spies would be harmless. It would also have the likely effect of lowering the attention he spent on me. I’m sure one innocent venture over a month or so wouldn’t give me complete freedom from his gaze, but I also doubted the hobbs were on board to sabotage anything. I planned on staying up the first couple nights to ensure they were just watching and listening.

Beyond that bit of espionage, I imagined they would make excellent deck guards. BlueCleave training was still top tier, and for a hobb to get into special forces that sent them undercover usually meant they were pretty good at their job. It was an assumption based on what I’d seen so far, but it was a safe assumption.

The military machine I had built had a great foundation, one that Rayna had set. I doubted the competence of that machine had dulled much after her death, with near-constant war since my own time. If all went to plan, the spies would do a great job and leave without anyone aside from me suspecting them.

I made sure to include an open comms policy in the hiring paperwork, specifically for them. It did, however, function as a very welcome perk that got us a few more hires.

Chapter 35

Our cargo and net-handling team was hired to use the Pykrete’s manipulator arms and gargantuan, self-folding nets. They had the best contract of all. Only as-needed maintenance work until the day we found Cube. At that point they would be required to use the machinery needed to attach him to the ship.

The Pykrete did indeed have a mouth, and it opened wide for ice mining. The front end of the ship would split apart, opening gull-wing style while the guts of the ship deployed. Eight long, loose-jointed mechanical arms worked to net up the ship’s payload and hug it in close to the hull, at which point the ice could be hauled via the ship’s FTL drive.

Shoshanna very cleverly saw the ship’s application for picking up oversized Cubes. From what I had heard of Cube, he was going to be significantly bigger than us, but the Pykrete was capable of hauling ice loads so massive that the ship itself looked like a large tick, dug into the glacier’s sides. According to the sales page, anyway.

The only downside was slow turning once loaded.

Shoshanna also hired a doctor and a janitor for the expedition. Neither of them was accredited the way we would have liked, but I felt confident they knew what they were doing at least.

Once all the repairs, refitting, and hiring was complete, we had a week left. I spent it with Molly, partying and lounging in equal measure. She was working on the next fundraiser but kept complaining about the numbers because of my absence. The dinner would be happening during the expedition, so without expensive portal use that would wipe out any gains, I wouldn’t be able to attend.

Ever helpful, a BuyMort ad rose to my aid.

“Make Your Next Event Unforgettable!”

Elite Event Planners - Boost Your Success!

Images of grand venues and holographic projections filled my mind, each more opulent than the last.

Celebrity Holo-Guest Appearances:

I envisioned a grand ballroom filled with elegantly dressed guests. The lights dimmed, and a soft, ethereal glow illuminated the center of the room. Suddenly, life-sized holographic projections of famous personalities, past and present, materialized, their presence so lifelike it was as if they were truly there. The holograms moved and spoke with perfect clarity, their voices warm with genuine emotion and inflection as they greeted guests, delivered speeches, danced and performed.

The projections even interacted with the attendees, responding to questions and engaging in real-time dialogue.

It was an impressive sight. The holographic technology was powerful stuff, with crystal-clear visuals and precise movements, making it nearly impossible to distinguish the projections from the real thing.

“Can't make it in person? No problem! Our cutting-edge holographic projections let you be there without being there. Packages start at 150,000,000 Morties!”

Luxury Venue Partnerships:

Next, scenes of exquisite locations played out. I found myself transported to a series of stunning venues, each more breathtaking than the last. I stood in a palatial ballroom with marble floors and opulent chandeliers, their crystal facets casting a dazzling array of lights. The space was filled with rich, velvet drapes and gold-accented furniture, evoking a sense of timeless elegance. Then, I imagined a serene beachfront venue, where a pavilion stood on the edge of turquoise waters. The sound of gentle waves complemented the setting sun's warm hues, creating a perfect backdrop for a sophisticated soirée. Finally, a modern rooftop garden came into view, complete with lush greenery, twinkling fairy lights, and a panoramic view of a vibrant cityscape below. The air was filled with the scent of fresh flowers, and a sleek bar offered bespoke cocktails. These venues were available at exclusive discounts, each location tailored to different tastes and styles, yet all guaranteed to provide an unforgettable setting for any event.

“Secure the best venues for your event, with exclusive discounts for Elite Event Planners affiliates. Booking fees as low as 300,000 Morties!”

Event Marketing Blitz:

A rush of vibrant images and catchy slogans flooded my mental space as BuyMort presented the ad option for my consideration. Brightly colored ads for the upcoming fundraiser flashed before me, accompanied by upbeat music that pounded and beat with such force that it shook my eyes. Banners filled with clever taglines and eye-catching graphics promised an evening of elegance and excitement, appearing in a variety of organic means beyond the reach of BuyMort itself, such as in sleek digital billboards overlooking bustling city streets, or as posters plastered over the walls of buildings and over street signs.

“Make a splash with targeted advertising across all platforms. Comprehensive campaign packages start at 500,000 Morties!”

Make your fundraiser a resounding success. Elite Event Planners - Where Every Event Shines!

“Think of it as a midway fundraiser, Molly,” I told her one evening. “Something that keeps us going, it could help resupply both ships if the expedition runs long. It’s certainly not worthless just because it’s a smaller event.”

She was lounging by the pool in her bikini, playing on her phone and pouting. “But it's all because you can’t be there!” she grumped. “Kinda hurts my ego, knowing I can’t really throw a great fundraiser without a major celebrity presence.”

“Are you kidding me,” I asked, sliding on the lounge chair beside her and pressing our hips together. She gave me a heavy-lidded smile before turning back to her phone. “Have you seen the gossip rags? You’re more famous than me right now.”

She bumped me with her hips. “Don’t poke fun. I am not,” Molly pouted. “And I’m only famous ‘cause I’m dating you anyway.”

I shook my head. “Not true, I saw a great expose on your work as CFO just last night on SSN.”

“Silken Sands News?” she asked. “Really?”

While she pulled up the video, I comforted her with a back rub. That led to sex in the pool shed, and when a hotel employee caught us walking out of the shed, we had to pay a small fine in order to keep our room. Molly grinned impishly the entire time.

A week later, on the tarmac in front of the Pykrete, Molly broke up with me.

She explained that a month apart was a long time, and she was starting to feel like we had run our course. Best to keep things light, she told me, before leaning up for a final kiss in front of Shoshanna. I smiled and agreed, feeling a substantial bit of relief.

Which lasted until I looked over and saw the way Shoshanna was staring at us.

The ship’s launch was a quiet affair. Molly hadn’t planned any big sendoff party for us, given the fact that she was planning to break up with me. What small press there was seemed barely interested.

Still, Shoshanna made a small speech in front of the crew, which was recorded and broadcast across our social media pages. I shook off Molly’s departure quickly, needing to put on a good face for the speech. And to my surprise, Shoshanna actually inspired me.

She spoke about the nature of our relationship with other species, and how being part of BuyMort can sometimes lead to unfortunate outcomes. The plight of the Cubes was that they were cast into eternal darkness for the crime of being annoying. Or too big.

The history of Cubes being discarded into deep space was one of our system’s primary points of shame, Shoshanna insisted. A part of our shared history that we were duty-bound and compelled to make right.

That day I started looking at her in a new light. I’d understood that she was dedicated, but I’d ignored her intellect because of the socialite affectations. There was definitely a strange relationship between her and her friend Molly, but that wasn’t something I cared about much.

People were always strange, no matter what level you interacted with them on. Shoshanna cared. That was rare in BuyMort.

After Shoshanna’s speech, we boarded the ship and got our liftoff countdown going. The first step on our journey was to use the hydrogen rockets, which caused a lot of smoke and fire in-atmosphere, to get to Prescott and land on one of the space elevator’s external platforms. We’d paid a premium to avoid having to do a full liftoff from LAS into orbit. That would have been absurdly expensive, even with the rocket's insane fuel efficiency.

So the first liftoff was a violent leap. The rockets fired and slowly lifted us into the air, before they cut out and we began plummeting back to Nu-Earth. On the descent, our pilot fired the rockets again to land us. The companion ship had calculated the jump for us, and we saved seventy-percent of the fuel it would have cost us to leave the planet’s gravity well completely.

The ship was refueled as we waited our turn on the space elevator, and then we all gathered around the viewports to watch ourselves rise into the sky as the elevator platform began to lift. Nu-Earth’s twinkling cities shrank until they vanished.

Once in orbit, with our companion craft at our sides, we joined the line of ships heading from Nu-Earth to the Jupiter gate. When our turn came around, the Bubble Drive got activated and the stars streaked on the view screens.

We all sat in transport seats, until the FTL jump was in process. Then we could cut free and float around the ship. It didn’t feature any kind of gravity control, being a utility craft. The companion ship had gravity, but traveling between the two ships would be a major difficulty for anyone but me.

Once we were in transit to the Jupiter gate, I joined Shoshanna on the bridge. Our captain and pilot were on duty up there, but otherwise the low-ceilinged room was empty. We ran a skeleton crew and so much of the ship felt empty once everyone had gone to their separate areas.

The net-handling crew went to familiarize themselves with the ship’s workings, through a series of training programs complete with sims. Security took their jobs seriously and got started. One was on constant patrol of the ship, and the other resting. Both hobbs would work twelve hour shifts, until we were finished.

The documentary crew consisted of two humans. A cameraman, and an attractive woman who acted as host. Both of them seemed excited to be there, but neither of them was happy about the state of the ship. It was far more dingy than they had been expecting.

Our new mechanics went straight to their cabin for some FTL lovemaking in zero-g. I know because they were loud, and sound carried unfortunately well in the crew compartments. I’d gone through it on my way to the bridge and overheard them.

I settled into a mindset of patience once we were on our way. The month the expedition had been building, it wasn’t really real for me. Once the ship took off, I knew I was committed. I didn’t have the funds to go jumping around the multiverse with portals anymore, and Terna could only float me so much.

The Pykrete was my only ticket home, barring some emergency or disaster.

Shoshanna’s first ship, the Navigator, followed in our wake. Its FTL was more capable than ours, so it was easier to follow us until we reached our search area.

An hour later, we reached the BuyMort gate. Our captain doubled as the pilot’s replacement, which meant occasionally he was going to be drunk on the bridge. It was something I had known was going to happen, but it still irked me when he raised a whiskey pouch to the gate as it was our turn, before everything became rainbow lights. Thankfully the pilot was still handling navigation, even if he wore heavy headphones at all times and avoided eye contact.

We arrived in orbit of Brhaspati, in the Neolithic Earth solar system. They called theirs the Utu solar system, and their Jupiter was named Brhaspati. Their gate had some significant differences from our own as well.

First and foremost was the military satellite that floated alongside, bristling with weaponry and surrounded by a small swarm of active fighter craft. The small ships acted as border control, scanning each arriving ship and checking their manifests before allowing them to pass.

Our drunken captain engaged with the fighter assigned to our ship when they beamed a comm request at us. He confirmed that our mission took us into the gulf between galaxies. We confirmed that we would be going out of range of help, and that we accepted the risks therein. Once cleared, the pilot set our next jump program in motion with a single button.

Both ships in our fleet, the Navigator and the Pykrete, shifted in space. They turned until they were facing exactly the same direction, and then we streaked away. The Navigator fed us map data from its computers, active scanning as we traveled to ensure we stayed on course.

The next several days were going to be spent in FTL travel, so I focused on Shoshanna for the rest of the day. She was interesting, in a blissfully happy state for the start of the journey. I first found her on the bridge, wedged in the slit of a portal we had. Her leg dangled from the center of the T-shaped window, and she smiled up at the streaking stars.

“Oh Tyson,” she exclaimed as I approached. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

I nodded and smiled, floating in and gripping the other side of the T. My movement in zero-g was comfortable and easy. The rest of the crew needed gravity boots, or to use the many handrails all over the ship. “It is. A bit slow for my tastes, but beautiful.”

She smiled back, showing teeth as she grinned. “We can’t all travel via gravity haul. FTL is already at maximum.”

I nodded again. “Yeah. It is pretty exciting to be finally getting out here. Looking for him.”

Shoshanna stared at me for a few minutes as I gazed at the stars. “You miss him, don’t you?” she finally asked.

“I do,” I replied. “I’m not sure why, really. But I miss my friends. My family. Feels like this is one I can actually get back.”

She grinned as she noticed the camera man behind us, recording our conversation.

“I love that you call him family,” Shoshanna whispered. “It’s how I grew up imagining the two of you.”

“Cube was with us from the start, from the campground. We bought him not knowing any better, just needed an electrical hookup for the park. But soon he was powering all of Prescott and fighting beholders with us. It all feels so recent. I barely got to know him for a year, maybe a few months more,” I reminisced.

“But you went through so much together,” Shoshanna replied, reaching out to touch my arm. “Those memories are important. I’m really glad we’re going to make this right, together.”

Chapter 36

I patted her hand on my arm and smiled warmly at her for the camera. She was as beautiful as Molly had been, but in a very different way. Shoshanna was rich, but she was very bohemian. Almost a hippy. The woman did yoga every morning upon awakening, and then unfailingly ate muesli for breakfast. Her favorite drink involved kombucha.

She also wore loose fitting clothing, until boarding the ship, where a floating sundress would be impractical and exposing. The jumpsuit she wore for zero-g looked strange on her, I realized. As did the bare wrists and neck, she normally wore loads of loose jewelry, some of it appearing handmade.

As I lived with her on the ship for the next few days, I learned a lot about her. We got together and talked at least once a day. She was great about making natural conversation surrounding Cubes and our mission for the cameraman, and happily answered any questions the host came up with for her. I tried to be accessible for them as well, but they seemed more interested in her than me.

That changed on the fourth day when they caught Shoshanna kissing me on the empty bridge. After that they couldn’t wait to catch us in a compromised situation. We quite wisely kept our affection PG-rated around the crew, but Shoshanna didn’t jump into bed with me the way Molly had anyway.

It happened one night, a week into the expedition, but it seemed to take her an emotional journey to get there. We talked at length about Cubes, and our societal response to them over the years, and it was clear she found the conversations stimulating. But one night was special.

“I just,” she said, stopping to sip from her wine pouch. “I don’t know, I just feel like we’re bad sometimes,” Shoshanna said.

“What do you mean, bad?” I asked. We were in her cabin, in an attempt to get some peace from the documentary crew. They were bored, so the instinct to document a high society romance was coming out more and more each day. Shoshanna had asked me to have dinner with her, something we regularly did by that point. We ate in her cabin, to avoid prying eyes and ears.

After the sealed meal pouches were emptied of their delicious but mushy contents, we floated and drank, looking out her large window and lightly chatting.

Shoshanna sighed and twisted in midair to face the window more fully. “I don’t know, bad. Like there’s something really wrong with us for not only how we treat intelligences we think of as lesser, but also our shared inability to even care.”

“Plenty of people care thanks to you, Shanna,” I told her.

“Well thank you, sweet man, but I mean in general. At large, you know? My little crusade here brings basic awareness to a few hundred thousand people a year, when there’s hundreds of trillions of people in the world,” she explained.

“And by world, I assume you mean the BuyMort system?” I asked, following her gaze to the streaking stars around us. They had been getting thinner for half of the day, and something dark was starting to loom behind them.

“Yeah,” she said, between sips from her wine pouch.

“So your influence is a drop in the bucket,” I continued. “Compared to how you feel you need to be helping, you’re really not helping at all.”

“Yes, exactly! So many people just never think of Cubes at all, and one day soon this horrific crime our society has perpetrated will simply be forgotten,” she exclaimed. “It makes me wonder how many crimes we’ve all already forgotten.”

I nodded and slid closer to her, on the bed. She leaned into my embrace.

“What really messes me up is thinking about how many crimes we’re all still blind to right now.” I said.

Shoshanna looked up at me, eyes wide as she shook her head. “Oh don’t do that to me,” she whispered.

I smiled and pulled her closer. “You’re doing good in the world, that’s what matters,” I said lightly, into her ear.

Shoshanna leaned back to kiss me, and those were the last words we spoke that evening.

Hours later, I awoke to her shriek. I shot straight up in bed and my armor deployed. She turned at the sound and then shrieked at me. Shoshanna had been looking out the window, and there were no apparent threats in the room, so I dropped my armor.

The young woman stared as its plating vanished into dimensional gateways, then relaxed when she saw my face.

“Why’d you scream, Shanna?” I asked, concerned. “Are you okay?”

Shoshanna nodded, then pointed to the window. It had become solid black while we slept. During the night, we passed outside of galactic space and entered the void between galaxies. There were no stars to be seen.

I enhanced my own vision and immediately noticed the dim glow of distant galaxies, as well as a small handful of rogue stars in the gulf itself. But to a normal human’s vision, we had entered a completely dark region of space. Since we were pointed away from the neighboring galaxies, we got no perceivable light through the portals.

“Oh,” I said, before she could sputter an explanation. “Oh I get it. Yeah, that must have been kinda freaky to wake up to, huh?”

Shoshanna was trembling though, so I reached out to her. “I’m sorry I scared you, Shanna.”

“No, it wasn’t you,” she said, leaning into my chest. We bounced against the netting that covered the sleeping area. The mattress went unused unless we were thrusting with the rockets. At prime sub-light speed, they produced a single G of gravity on the ship, a standard feature in most ships that didn’t produce their own gravity for the crew.

“It’s so dark out there. I woke up and saw it and immediately thought I was in deep space all alone,” she explained. “I’m sorry Tyson, I’ve just had that nightmare since I was a child. Since my father . . . threw out our Cube.”

I held her close and nodded. Her obsession made more sense after that morning.

Once she was consoled enough to face the crew, we left her cabin and she called a meeting. All the crew attended, including the off duty security officer. Once they were all floating in the embarkation room, Shoshanna began. She used the equipment window as her backdrop.

“Thank you everyone, I’ll make this brief,” she started. “Last night we passed into the gulf between galaxies. We’re on track, following Cube’s primary theorized trajectory, but it will be another week at our max safe speed before we can begin searching. So get ready but take your time. Any questions?”

The mechanic raised her hand. “Yeah sorry, I’m a little unclear on the exact nature of that search. What will we be doing, exactly?”

Shoshanna sighed and nodded. “Good question. We here on this ship will actually be doing very little during the search. Our doctor suggests mental health exercises because of the void out the windows. Other than that, rest and maintain a ready state. If we find our target we’re going to have to take immediate action.”

“So we’re all just on call?” asked one of the net-handlers.

“Six Nu-Earth standard days from now is our first window, so there’s plenty of time to engage in R&R. But after that point, yes, I would like everyone ready to move to stations if our target is found,” Shoshanna explained. “Thankfully the Crown of Thorns didn’t throw Cube very hard, or he would be much deeper into the gulf.”

“And how are we going to find this Cube?” another voice raised. I think it was the janitor’s.

“Another good question, thank you,” Soshanna started. “Well, the Navigator has advanced scanning suites, we plan to use those to locate Cube once we’re within range.”

“So we’re doing nothing,” another handler said.

Shoshanna sighed and shrugged. “Yes, I suppose. I’m sorry. There’s plenty of food and wine, and we have a full suite of entertainment downloads available to the crew. But the actual work is not going to be for a while yet.”

Out of nowhere, my mind exploded with vibrant colors and a booming, enthusiastic voice-over, accompanied by an epic orchestral soundtrack:

“Think you have enough entertainment options? Think again!”

Introducing the Ultimate Entertainment Experience: “Stellar Stream+” by Sloss Entertainment!

The screen of my mind was filled with a dazzling cascade of visuals—explosions from action movies, heart-pounding beats from live DJ sets, and breathtaking scenes from nature documentaries. Everything was hyper-realistic, with each frame more vivid and exhilarating than the last.

“It's not just entertainment—it's an ADVENTURE!” the voice declared, as virtual spotlights swung across a digital stage, revealing a parade of holographic avatars dancing to the latest hits.

“Experience the thrill of tremendous action with blockbuster movies that will leave you on the edge of your seat! Dive into fantastical realms with immersive gaming that transcends reality! Feel the energy of live performances, all from the comfort of your home or starship!”

The visuals intensified, now featuring a whirlwind tour of top-tier shows, exclusive premieres, and interactive events. Characters from beloved series leapt out of the screen, engaging with the viewer as if they were part of the action.

“Boredom? Not on our watch!” the voice laughed. “With Stellar Stream+, you'll have a front-row seat to the greatest show in the universe! With thousands of titles, there's something for everyone—action, romance, comedy, and more! Plus, exclusive content you won't find anywhere else!”

Fireworks exploded in my mind's eye as the ad reached its climax. A holographic conductor orchestrated a symphony of spectacular visuals, and the screen filled with golden, glittering stars.

“Upgrade now and dive into a galaxy of entertainment like never before! Subscriptions start at just 70,000 Morties per month! Stellar Stream+—because the universe is your theater!”

I paused a short time before tossing the ad away and moving forward to her side. “This was all made clear in the mission statement, which all of you were supposed to read before boarding. This is a low-effort mission. You’re all getting paid to float around, sleep, screw, drink, whatever. Then for a few hours on one day of this mission you’re going to have to jump to and do your jobs. Is that still unclear for anybody?”

The documentarians loved that, I saw a small commotion from their huddle. The host was excited and trying her best not to touch her floating cameraman and disrupt his shot.

“Is it really true you fought a black hole spider?” the male mechanic asked in the silence that followed my statement.

“Yes, I did, though I’m not sure that’s an accurate description of the beast,” I answered. “I’m an open book, people. Come talk to me anytime I’m not busy and I’ll tell you my life story. Let’s just get this mission clarified in everyone’s minds right now please. Now, any more questions about the mission?”

After a moment of silence, the doctor raised a hand.

“Just shout it out doc, no need for ceremony,” I told him.

“How large, exactly, is the Cube we are hunting?” he asked.

Shoshanna happily lifted a finger. “If he has not ingested any further material, which is likely in the void, his last recorded size is two kilometers squared.”

I blinked. Cube had gotten big.

One of the net-handlers whistled. “Can this rig even manage a cargo that size?”

“Of course, that’s why I bought it. This ship is rated for comets and ice chunks that size, so Cube should be no different,” Shoshanna said.

“Excuse me,” the doctor interjected, hand raised again. “Am I wrong in believing that Cubes are capable of massive electrical discharges?”

I shook my head. “No you are not, which brings us to the most important element of this rescue. Trust. We’re going to have to convince Cube to trust us before we can net him up. That will be my job.”

“Trust?” someone yelled.

“What the hell does that mean?” another joined in.

“How are we supposed to establish trust with a Cube?” the doctor asked.

I raised my hands and they fell silent. “That’s my job, I said. I know this Cube, he was mine a long time ago, and I raised him from a baby. I’m going to talk to him when we find him, then he’ll let us haul him back.”

They muttered after that comment, but no further loud questions came our way.

Chapter 37

Shoshanna was nearly in tears though. She activated her jumpsuit’s movement jets and floated toward me, colliding in a hug as the crew began retreating to their various areas. I held her as she shook and tears began ejecting into the cabin with us. Thankfully the ship had scrubbers that would draw in and capture any lost moisture during zero-g travel.

“Hey, it's okay,” I said, comforting her. From my peripheral vision I saw the camera crew heading our way, so I activated my gravity harness and flew us away through the halls to her room.

“It went so bad!” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe how bad that went!”

I let her go and moved to grab a towel for her tears. It was best not to intentionally overload the scrubbers, each compartment had their own and it was a pain to change them. I knew from reading the ship’s manual.

“It wasn’t that bad,” I told her. “They’re just afraid.”

“Afraid!” she exclaimed. “What on Nu-Earth do they have to be afraid of?”

“Shanna, we’re in deep space where rescue is unlikely if something goes wrong, there’s no stars out the viewports anymore, and we’re on our way to pick up a massive, extraordinarily dangerous animal with an intelligence that even BuyMort struggles to understand,” I explained.

Her brow furrowed and she thought about it. “I never really thought about it like that,” she said after a few seconds.

“There’s a reason Cubes get thrown away like this,” I told her. “There’s the ethical failing at the heart of it, but people typically do things like this because they’re afraid. The reality is that Cube could blow out every electrical component on this ship and maroon us all as easily as you or I breathe.”

Shoshanna nodded, refusing to look me in the eye. “But he wouldn’t do that,” she pouted.

“He might,” I immediately replied. “The truth is that this is a dangerous mission with a lot of down-time in the leadup to a single, big, scary moment. The crew is right to be tense. But we can handle it. I can almost certainly convince Cube to let us take him back.”

She frowned suddenly. “Almost certainly? That’s not very encouraging. Now that you’ve outlined how scared I should be, I’d like a little more assurance than that.”

“Well,” I said, floating over to the sleeping area. I grabbed a sheet on my way by and a set of gummy tack-ups that we kept all over the ship. Anytime we needed to stick something to a wall, we’d grab a little chunk of the sap-like material and use it. It wasn’t sticky, just magnetic. So anything thin enough was pinned to the hull easily, even with a small glob.

“I guess I should have thought and talked all of this through with you before we got moving,” I said, after a long pause. “But basically, he’s been out here lost in space for a lot longer than I ever knew him. I’m not sure what state his mind will be in.”

Shoshanna nodded. “Alright . . .” she said.

“He has to want to come with us,” I said. “They all do, if we’re going to really do this on a large scale. Talking to them could be very dangerous, especially the older ones.”

She finally calmed, then started laughing. “What have I gotten myself into?” she chuckled. “Daddy always said I’d do this.”

After the meeting, things smoothed out a bit. The crew seemed to accept my explanation, or at least the down time they were getting. The expedition had turned into a cruise. I overheard one of the net-handlers talking to the camera crew while floating and eating a package of grapes.

They were in a mesh bag and he carefully took one out at a time.

“Hell, this might be the best job I’ve ever been on,” he told them. “Just so long as we’re not stuck out here too long.”

And that was a real concern, of course. If the mission took months before we even found Cube, that could lead to some real concerns with the crew, something the host immediately reminded me in a follow up interview.

I did my best to be cordial.

Three days into the void, the Navigator made contact and had some concerning news. Its sensitive scanning arrays had picked up an anomaly twelve hours prior, and the crew had written it off as a momentary fluctuation in the reading equipment. A false positive.

But it continued. So the crew of the Navigator began running maintenance checks on all their equipment. That crew was part of the non-profit, Shoshanna kept three dedicated employees on payroll from her trust fund. They were true believers, people who had signed up early on and helped the mission however they could. Most of our map flowers were thanks to their dedicated work and they were more excited than anyone but Shoshanna to go on the expedition.

Once the maintenance checks revealed everything operating as intended, the crew ran out of options and brought us the news. They informed us that there was a tiny gravity well following our ships, close enough to disrupt our warp bubble.

It was a miniscule amount, something a non-specialized ship’s sensors would easily miss. Our own shields barely registered the fluctuation, we had to go digging through the reports with a magnifying glass to find the little bump.

Shoshanna scowled at the communication, up on the bridge with me and the captain. He looked sober enough, because his scowl was far more concerned than hers.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

I sighed and shook my head. “It means there’s a ship behind us. Probably a stealth ship.”

Her color faded a bit and she swallowed hard. “And what does that mean?”

“Nothing good,” the captain answered. He took a whiskey pouch out of his jumpsuit and started fumbling at its opening tab.

I floated silently, in thought. Shoshanna had glanced at the captain when he spoke, but she was staring at me with that same intensity, that same need to know as she had been.

“Let’s walk through this,” I suddenly said. “Stealth ship in pursuit, but not trying to knock us out of our warp bubble. Most of the stealth ships I knew in my day had that ability, so why would that technology walk itself backward? That means it might not be an attack craft, but someone who wants to watch us and not be noticed.”

“BlueCleave, maybe?” the captain offered.

“Maybe,” I replied. “More likely Axle’s personal guard, if that’s the case. But BlueCleave is far from the only option. I have a complicated history with BuyMort’s delves.”

Shoshanna nodded and took a breath. “Right, there was a protest against you on Midnight, Molly told me about it.”

I nodded back, but my face stayed tight. “I don’t wish to alarm anyone, but if it is delves, there is a significant chance of violence. I only wonder why they aren’t attacking already if it’s them.”

“Hence why a spy ship is more likely,” Shoshanna said, looking to me for approval.

I nodded. “More likely. It could also be something we’re simply not thinking of.”

“But it’s a stealth ship for sure,” she said.

I nodded. “Thank the Navigator crew for us. Bit late, but I understand why they didn’t recognize the anomaly.”

Shoshanna took her phone out and started tapping into it while I floated over to the captain. “Look,” I said. “We’re obviously going to need to keep this quiet. Don’t tell the crew, at all. You good with that?”

His bloodshot eyes went wider and he nodded, sucking on his pouch. “I don’t talk to them anyway.”

“Good, keep it that way. I’ll deal with this, whatever it is, and I’ll keep you in the loop. If there comes a time we need to let them know, you’ll be handling that,” I told him.

“It is?” he asked in distress.

“That’s your job, you liaise between the owners and the crew. At the owner’s direct order,” I told him, flat faced.

He nodded slowly, eyes still wide.

“Good man,” I said, before I clapped him on the shoulder and turned away.

“They said they’re sorry they didn’t report it sooner,” Shoshanna said.

“Naw, send ‘em a bottle of champagne or something. It’s a great catch for a non-military crew. Someone was being obsessive over the shield readouts to even notice that. They did good,” I replied.

I floated over back to her, and then took her with me near the viewport. We sank down below it, since the view disturbed her, and I stopped once the bank of computers and terminals was between us and the captain. I also wanted to avoid the documentary crew, they tended to follow us up to the bridge anytime we went, and it was a minor miracle they hadn’t walked in on the transmission or our discussion of it so far.

“This might get a little ugly,” I quietly told Shoshanna. “I’ll handle it if it does, but I wanted to mentally prepare you.”

Shoshanna nodded. “Ugly how? Or should I not ask?”

“You’re fine. I just may have to destroy that ship. If it turns out to be a threat, I’m not going to risk either of our ships, I’m just going to destroy it,” I explained.

She nodded, but she didn’t look particularly comfortable. “I understand.”

The rest of that day was spent in tense silence. We avoided the documentary crew and mostly stayed in Shoshanna’s cabin. She was quiet and withdrawn at first, but shortly after we arrived, she began working on the portal in our sleeping area.

By the time she was finished an hour later she’d replaced my jury-rigged sheet and covered the entire portal with a decorative blanket that displayed a sea of stars against a swirling, colorful background. It had a smattering of small lights tucked away behind it to provide the illusion of twinkling movement, as they slowly activated and faded.

I smiled at her when she was finished and admired her handiwork. “Beautiful,” I told her. “Thank you for fixing that for us.”

Shoshanna turned and grinned, then pushed toward me for a kiss.

That night I floated silently, awake while my new girlfriend slept. Thinking about my tiny, vulnerable fleet and about the ship that followed.

Chapter 38

The last couple of days in FTL were tense. Shoshanna’s anxiety about the ship at our rear continued to grow. Our first search area was coming up, which meant dropping out of FTL and allowing the Navigator to run their scans.

That also meant confronting the ship that had followed us.

Shoshanna convinced me to tell the crew, but I managed to talk her into telling them after it was too late for them to do anything about it. That meant I would already be in space, confronting our pursuer.

The mechanics were the only crew who missed the meeting when the FTL drive spun down, deaccelerated, then stopped us. They had to be in the engine room monitoring the drive. Everyone else gathered in the embarkation bay.

“Everyone,” Shoshanna started. “Everyone please, I have important information to share.”

That got their attention, and she proceeded to clumsily explain our situation.

“So there’s a ship following us. We don’t know who they are, but it’s possibly a delf stealth ship, based on the signature,” she said. They were quiet for a few seconds, than all burst out talking and shouting at once. Shoshanna had her hands full.

I left via BuyMort pod airlock as soon as the ship came to a stop. My armor deployed as I entered space, and I was immediately disoriented. There were no stars in all directions except directly behind us, and those were dim. I quickly tuned up my vision, not only to feel comfortable again by seeing stars, but to find the ship at our rear. The Navigator had given me coordinates, which my anti-magic helmet used to show me a trail. My enhanced sight also helped dramatically.

With a galaxy at its back, the stealth ship hung silent, unmoving. I pushed the suit and approached as rapidly as I could without hitting it. When I stopped, it was directly in front of the ship’s viewscreen. The entire front end of the shaped stealth craft was blacked out. Its shaped panels helped keep it off even advanced ship’s sensors, so once it was finished disrupting our warp bubble, our ships would be helpless to find it. Not that either ship had any means of defending themselves from it if they could see the attack coming.

I summoned my breaker gauntlets and clunked them together in front of the ship’s view screen, to make my point. The ship responded by rocking side to side, in a sort of wiggle. I frowned.

Someone on board opened an airlock, which cast a beam of light from the craft's belly. I shrugged and flew in. The airlock cycled and the inner door opened onto a familiar face.

“Justin Lee?” I asked, dropping my armor and staring openly at the delf. He looked much the same, with only a few telltale signs of aging. Really it was more like maturing, he finally fit his once-skeletal frame and looked healthy.

“Tyson!” the delf man said, spreading his arms wide. He wore a purple silk robe and insisted on hugging me.

“Well look who survived,” I said afterward, looking him up and down.

“Thrived, my friend, not just survived,” he answered. “The House of None has had its problems, but life for delves in BuyMort has improved dramatically nonetheless.”

“You’ve even embraced the slang word for delfs,” I said. “Things really have changed!”

He laughed and swept an arm out. “You must be eager to contact your ships and let them know that the vessel in pursuit is friendly,” Justin said.

I nodded. “Yes, thank you. I’m so glad to see you. To know that you’re alive,” I said, trailing off at the end. “What brings you out here Justin?”

An alarm sounded once on the ship and Justin’s eyes widened. “A suspicion that has just been confirmed. Please, quickly, to the bridge,” he replied.

The stealth ship was essentially a big hallway, with living quarters, engine, even brig all spread out on either side, tucked into the oddly shaped hull. I followed Justin forward, feeling the slight movement of the deck beneath me. Walking had its advantages, when gravity was available.

A few seconds later, we arrived on the bridge to see a recording playing on part of the view screen. It showed two more stealth ships arriving in a blur of FTL distortion, then firing up their rear-facing drive plumes.

“That is what I came to protect you from, my friend. Or more accurately, protect your unarmed fleet,” Justin explained. “You can deploy from here, we have a pod airlock,” he added, pointing up at the screen. “There are two of them, both Cult of Eternal Darkness ships. Destroy them, I’ll explain when we’re done.”

I nodded, clanked my armor back into place, and hurtled out of the pod airlock. They were convenient, I’d made a habit of using the little tunnels whenever possible. I much preferred their quick cycle rate to the regular airlocks, they let me leave at speed.

Like a torpedo, I hurtled toward the ship on the right. Justin’s craft was already following the one on our left. It dipped low with a burst of its engines, and my friend’s ship followed, deploying its PDCs and opening a small missile tube at its nose.

The ships noticed Justin at their back and spun into evasive maneuvers. He had dropped out of FTL a great distance back, in hopes of catching them exactly as he had. With their rear engines exposed, the ships typically found it extremely difficult to use their stealth advantage.

My ship turned and cut its engines, arcing to cut into Justin’s path. It deployed its own guns, ready to cut the other ship to ribbons with high-caliber fire. I punched into its engine compartment sideways, tearing the caps off their rockets and sending the ship spinning off course.

It attempted to fire its engines to correct, and an explosion crumpled its entire rear end. The craft spiraled down and away from my fleet, so I turned to see how Justin Lee was faring. It took a bit of searching, even with my enhanced vision, but I found them when they opened fire on one another.

His ship had the advantage, peppering the enemy craft with conventional bullets from its rear. I noted that stealth plating hadn’t changed since my time. The addition of armor plating always created a lidar signature, so they were like flying paper mâché.

Justin’s ship raked the enemy craft with a second barrage, causing glittering bits to fly out into empty space as its engines sputtered and died. The ship behind me fired a missile, aimed at the large ice-miner in the distance. I easily caught up to it and destroyed its engine with a lazy slap, then turned back to face the ship I had left stranded.

It spun and gyrated, flipping end over end as it plummeted away from the rest of us. I shook my head and followed. At the front of the craft, I hurriedly crimped closed the single missile tube, then started looking for the airlock as I called Shoshanna on our short range comms.

“Baby!?” she answered. “Are you okay? What’s happening?” Her face was streaked with tears and makeup, and I could see the bridge screen behind her. The cameraman was there, taping the monitors showing our battle, with the rest of the crew watching in fear.

“Everything is fine. It was three ships, one of them was friendly. Both enemy craft are disabled, the fleet is secure,” I told her. “You should tell the crew.”

“Guys, it’s okay. He got them, whoever they were!” Shoshanna yelled across the bridge. I heard a few sighs, and a lot more shouted questions.

“It was three delf stealth ships. One was my friend, coming to warn us about the attack. The other two were supposedly cultists,” I told her.

“Ohh,” she replied. “I hate to say it, but that’s a little disturbing. Cult?”

“I was warned there’s a delf cult that wants me dead, but I didn’t think they’d move against me so quickly,” I explained. “But I’m about to board one of the ships, see if I can’t get any more info.”

“Okay,” Shoshanna said, distractedly. “Be safe babe.”

“How is everyone?” I asked. “Upset, I’m guessing.”

“Uhh, yeah, they’re pretty pissed. A lot of them are saying they should have been warned. Most of them yelled at me during the meeting, but that got interrupted when stuff started getting shot outside,” she said.

The missile I had sent off course popped then, lighting up the consoles behind her. I winced and nodded. “I’ll be back soon. Are you safe with them?”

“What? Yeah. It’s not that bad, Tyson. And both of your hobbs are in here anyway,” she answered.

“Alright. Thanks Shanna. I’ll try and be quick,” I said, before disconnecting. The delf ship spun in front of me, and I started the laborious process of aligning with it.

I pushed the suit this way and that, raising and lowering my speed until I was spinning perfectly with the ship, directly outside its airlock. It was a skill I’d had to utilize more than once during the Church War, but I never enjoyed it. My efforts ended when I gripped the airlock doorframe.

Chapter 39

My only concern was to get in and out before my anti-magic helmet lost its lock on the fleet. It had impressive range, but in deep space that would get eaten up fast. The ships were already tiny in the distance.

The airlock opened when I forced it just right, shoving carefully to avoid bending the metal or breaking its internal mechanisms. I was particularly careful not to damage the seal as I worked. Once I was inside, I used the internal controls to cycle the lock and let myself on board the damaged ship.

I kept my armor deployed, just in case, and stalked in, carefully heading toward the ship’s bridge. Once aboard, artificial gravity helped stabilize the sensation, so the violent spin didn’t create problems for the crew. For a ship with no armor, it was surprisingly sturdy thanks to its advanced technology.

At the junction that housed crew quarters I encountered the first delf. He wore intricately carved armor and swung a glowing mono-wire dagger at my midsection with a high-pitched scream. I caught his wrist as the blade sliced off a chunk of my armor. The suit deployed a dimensional gateway and replaced it immediately, and I crushed the delf’s hand.

He screamed again and the knife clattered to the deck, its wire going dark as soon as the power button was released.

“Who are you?” I asked, my helmet amplifying my voice.

The delf used his free hand to pull his helmet off and drop it. He bit down hard, then exhaled with a harsh laugh. “One of the blessed dead,” he snarled, before foam started to build in his mouth and he slumped.

As I watched the delf collapse, a BuyMort ad popped into my mind, sweeping over me.

“No Escape? No Problem.”

Eclipse Exit Solutions - The Ultimate Last Resort

The image of a sleek, black capsule appeared in my thoughts, its surface glistening ominously in the dim light. A calm, authoritative voice narrated the benefits.

“When capture is not an option, choose Eclipse Exit Solutions. Our fast-acting suicide pills guarantee a painless, immediate end, ensuring that no secrets are ever compromised. Discreet, effective, and untraceable—because sometimes, the only way out is through. Available in bulk orders starting at 20,000 Morties per unit.”

A tagline followed, simple and stark:

“In darkness, find your release.”

“Well, at least their suicide pills are quick,” I muttered, continuing forward on the ship.

My path to the bridge was not obstructed further, and I found a small graveyard had already taken up root. The crew were all dead except for the captain, who sat in his chair with his back to the door, watching the now-dark main screen. All that could be seen, even with the spin, was empty space.

“In darkness we are born,” the captain recited as I entered. “And to darkness we must all return.”

“Poetic. We say dust on Nu-Earth,” I told him.

“You humans love your dirt,” he replied.

I nodded and stalked in a semi-circle around him. “I’ve noticed that myself. You feel like telling me what this attack was all about?” I asked. “I’m a friendly guy if you let me be.”

The captain narrowed his glowing eyes and shook his head lightly. “I only wanted to see the monster we hunt with my own eyes.”

“You did just try to kill me, did you not? What changed your mind now that I’m in front of you?” I asked.

“Our mission was not to kill,” he hissed. “Only to punish.”

“Who equipped your ships? Where are your military assets located? Where are you from?” I asked.

The delf captain smiled and gave a small chuckle. “Darkness,” he replied, before biting down on his own poison capsule and expiring in front of me.

I scowled and checked my helmet’s mapping ability. The fleet was still in range, so I performed a cursory search of the bridge. All of the consoles required DNA matching to access, and there was no physical evidence to find aside from a single long cloth draped from the roof.

It showed a deep, burning purple light surrounding the silhouette of a human male. I had to assume I was the figure.

I blasted out of the ship with a flash of my breaker gauntlets and turned back to look at the badly damaged craft. “I’d like to sell that, BuyMort,” I said. Then I turned to look for my fleet. I’d gotten far enough away that they were dim specks in my enhanced vision, but they stood out against the empty backdrop, so I pushed the suit and flew toward them.

Even with my powers, space was frighteningly dangerous. Something Omen had known and used to his advantage. I was lucky I’d woken up from that at all, I could have easily spun through Sleem forever without encountering anything to charge the suit.

I shook off the thoughts as I reboarded Justin Lee’s ship. He and his crew were drifting in plain view between my two ships, with the airlock open and projecting a bright beam of light for me. One of Justin’s crew members was waiting and escorted me up to the bridge.

“Well fought!” my host said as I entered. There were several monitors focused on different things, which I took in at a glance. One was focused on the Navigator, one on the Pykrete, and one on each brutalized stealth ship. The second ship, that Justin and his crew had engaged, spiraled slowly while glittering bits of debris formed a series of rings around it.

“Thank you, Justin. You saved my crew, and my girlfriend at the same time,” I told him.

“Ohhh, that sounds lovely, I’m so glad you have someone. I must admit though, I am surprised with the speed you’ve moved on from Molls. Not to offend, or bring up painful memories, but it hasn’t been that long from your perspective,” the well-dressed delf replied.

I nodded. “It hasn’t, and that bothers me every day. But she’s dead, and these new relationships help me to reach my goals.”

Justin nodded back, then offered me a chair. On one of the screens, a rainbow flash indicated the BuyMort pod had arrived. My personal account spun up a few million morties, and I was accosted by a BuyMort notification to invest in an affiliate account for future sales.

TIRED OF LOSS? SICK OF NOT KNOWING WHAT PRICES YOU ARE SELLING FOR? WHY NOT BECOME A BUYMORT AFFILIATE? AS ALL SMART SHOPPERS KNOW, BUYMORT AFFILIATES KEEP MORE OF THE VALUE FROM EACH SALES TRANSACTION, AND THE MONTHLY SUBSCRIPTION FEE IS NOTHING COMPARED TO THE FINANCIAL WINDFALL A SMART SHOPPER CAN ATTAIN. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? SIGN UP TO BE AN AFFILIATE TODAY!

The ad threw me back to a time so long ago. Back when I was struggling not to just understand the Shopocalypse, but also myself. I shook my head, trying to stay in the present.

“This ship is refusing to sell,” Justin informed me. “You know what that means, I assume?”

“It means the structure is being used by another customer,” I said.

He nodded slowly. “Would you like to board them and question the survivors?”

I took a deep breath and let it out. “Is there any reason to?” I asked.

Justin shook his head, his tall ears swaying in my peripheral vision. “None. They are assuredly cultists and will take their own lives before telling you anything of value.”

“Then why bother?” I sighed.

Justin gave a single, sharp nod, and his ship opened fire again. This time, its guns aimed directly at the bridge on the other ship, and I saw atmosphere vent into space with the shots. He waited for the compartment to vent completely, then raised a hand to the console as if offering me the wreck.

“Thank you, Justin. I could use the morties,” I told him, before pointing at the shipwreck on the screen. “BuyMort, I’d like to sell that.”

The delf at my side smiled gently and gestured to a nearby chair. He gave me the captain’s chair and then swirled his robes out of the way while he sat down in the nearby pilots chair. Once he had it rotated back to face my own seat he sat back and crossed his legs.

“I assume you have questions,” he said, meeting my eyes.

“Yeah, I sure do. Too many, really,” I replied. “Let’s start with Midnight. Tell me how your world has changed, Justin.”

My delf friend smiled and raised a hand with two fingers extended. “Wine, please,” he said gently to the crew member that approached. “Midnight, now that is a subject near and dear to my heart.”

I smiled shortly. “I’m grateful for that, enough of BuyMort has become a worsening hellscape since my time. I’m glad to hear at least one world is better off.”

Justin shook his head emphatically. He sat back and adjusted his robe. “No, no I don’t agree at all. On many worlds, yes, of course things have gotten worse. There is great prosperity as well, it is merely concentrated into only a few hands.”

I scowled. “That would be the primary issue, from my perspective.”

The wine arrived then, and two broad-based glasses were filled for us. The bottle was emptied by the pour.

“Oh of course, this breeds suffering and poverty. No one in The House of None’s leadership council will ever deny that. Our society on Midnight is very different from the average planet, we profit-share with each delf that lives under our protectorate.” Justin took a small sip of his wine, not bothering to smell it first. “Ah, not bad.”

“What has Midnight turned into?” I asked, warily eyeing my own glass.

“Oh what it always was,” he replied with a wry smile. “Simply better managed.”

I sniffed my wine, then raised it to my lips for a swallow. It was good, down to the molecular level. My enhanced senses enjoyed the experience immensely, while my altered cognition filed through possible scenarios based on my friend’s vague statements.

“Midnight has produced BuyMort’s lithium supply for centuries. Most other worlds don’t even have infrastructure around mining it because of Midnight’s stranglehold on supply,” I started. “But that was handled by the great houses before and kept insular. Nobody benefited from the wealth this mining produced except the heads of the great houses,” I started. “So if you’re controlling all of that now, and profit-sharing among your population . . .”

Justin nodded with a wide smile. “Yes, I knew you would understand. All delves are wealthy, compared to most labor-intensive industries or planets. Our miners live in mansions alongside our political leaders. We also provide the vast majority of the BuyMort system’s deuterium and tin. Not as flashy as the lithium, we know, but they bring in nearly thirty-percent of our overall profits each year.”

“Without Midnight, there would be no space-travel in BuyMort,” I said, my brow furrowed in thought. “That’s how you’ve stayed out from under Axle’s thumb.”

“It is indeed my friend. You really left us with scum in charge, that is one thing I’ll fault you for. But he’s easily manipulated when you have something he needs, so I suppose that at least balances the equation for some of us. Your actions against the delf great houses saved my world, and my people. What came next, I cannot fault you for, but we made things . . . alright for ourselves,” Justin replied. He took another large swallow from his wine glass and smacked his lips in appreciation.

I chuckled, then gasped in realization. “Cheeze on Pasta, that also explains how this cult was able to field those ships.”

“Ah,” Justin said, nodding slowly. “Yes, that. An unfortunate side effect of our shared prosperity on Midnight is that the Cult of Eternal Darkness has plenty of morties to operate with. And your return has truly stirred them up.”

“You can’t cut off their funding?” I asked.

“I can now, if you have proof of their aggressive acts against a Silken Sands associated affiliate,” he replied. “But before today all that I could do was watch and form my own response to their actions.”

I summoned my anti-magic helmet and pulled up the combat footage. With a swipe of my hand I transferred the file to Justin’s device. He had produced it immediately upon seeing my helmet deploy.

“Thank you,” he said. “I have a financial plan of attack ready to go, all I needed was physical evidence to put it into action. I need to warn you though, this will not stop them from using what they have stockpiled, and I fear they have stored much in preparation of this day.”

I took a large drink from my wine glass and sat back with a sigh. “What can you tell me?”

“Oh I have an intelligence package you should be receiving soon, it goes over the Cult in great detail. What I can tell you is only what I have watched grow in your absence,” Justin said. “In the first days following your death there was a considerable amount of celebrating among the remnants of the great delf houses. Delf leadership had been at the head of the Church, and your actions left their network in a state of terrible disrepair. Those who remained were unable to do much with their remnant power. Many of them ran out of morties trying to vie with one another for a leadership role.”

He took a break to drink more wine, this time sniffing the glass before taking a mouthful. “In fact,” Justin said, taking another hurried sip before putting his wine glass down. “Those who survived followed in the financial footsteps of the emerging House of None. We kept our focus on income and member well-being in equal parts. In essence, we kept our people fed and in homes, while the rest of the multiverse did not guarantee such luxuries. The expansion of equipment and supplies our house had gained access to dramatically increased the income from our lithium mines. We had been held back by our leaders' greed and neglect for too long, and our own desires took over once freed. Midnight quickly became one of the wealthiest planets in BuyMort.”

I nodded and twirled a hand for him to continue.

“Hatred for you was ever-present in the members of the other houses, but in the House of None we kept out of system politics and sold a great deal of precious ores and fuel. Eventually the other houses were absorbed into the affiliate, under the condition they were not required to fold into the House of None in anything but BuyMort associate status,” Justin told me.

“But the cult itself?” I asked.

“Ah, yes! The cult rose as a result of this situation. With the profit-share in place, and your enemies benefiting from it, the former wealthy elites were once again free of financial ruin and able to pursue their own interests and desires. They began meeting and communicating with each other more and more as time went on and their personal issues were forgotten,” he explained. “Within about ten years of your disappearance, the Cult of Eternal Darkness rose as a cultural call-back to the great houses’ time of dominance and financial success. A sort of club for those who took their family’s downfalls personally. And they used your clever lie about the cult within the Church. Where you had used it as public cover for the beginnings of your war, this cult has become very real by basing themselves on your concept. They rally around a singular figure, who our sources have never been able to identify, and blame you for all of the troubles in the multiverse.”

I sighed. “Alright. How many of them are there?”

Justin shook his head. “Uncertain. Our intelligence is not as in depth as I would like, but espionage is not a major part of delf culture any longer. We know they have more ships, and that there are at least one thousand individual members of the cult itself. Beyond that,” he said with a shrug. “We simply do not know.”

“How many more ships?” I asked.

“At least a dozen. Possibly as many as fifteen,” he replied. “Not all of their craft are simple stealth ships either. I know of a battleship that would give you trouble, if it were to visit your work here.”

I nodded. “We’ll be moving on to another search zone if this one doesn’t work out, and they’ll have no way of tracking us without our map and route. “I’ll tell my affiliate CEO and she’ll send along orders to protect the information. This expedition will be safe within days, tucked away in the void between galaxies.”

“That’s good, but we will stay as escort until your mission here is complete. I was unfortunately instrumental in the funding of this cult, I feel responsible for your safety,” Justin said.

I shook my head. “I hardly blame you, Justin Lee. Your civilization is one of very few that give me hope in this wreck of a system. You can’t be expected to control what anyone spends their morties on. But I am grateful for your help, old friend.”

He smiled again and reached for his wine glass. “I’m glad to provide it. The last time we met, our situations were more than reversed. You saved me, my people, and at least one of my planets.”

“I remember, but from my perspective you saved yourself. All I did was provide the tools,” I said. “But I have to go. My crew is probably terrified, they need an explanation.”

“Would you return for a meal, perhaps?” Justin said, standing up with a swirl of his robes. “I would enjoy talking with you further, and possibly exploring how we can be of assistance to one another in the coming days.”

I raised an eyebrow, then lifted my wine glass for a sip. “That sounds like you have something specific in mind,” I said.

He smiled and raised his own, much less full glass. “Indeed! A mutually beneficial arrangement can be made and I would be remiss if I failed to lay it out before one of the greatest minds BuyMort has ever seen.”

Justin raised his glass as if toasting me. After a long moment in thought, I raised my own to his and clinked it. “Dinner, tomorrow?” I asked.

“Of course! I’ll be honored to host you,” Justin said. He took a sip of his remaining wine to punctuate his statement.

I slowly and carefully drained my own glass. Gulp after gulp, I drank the wine and stared at Justin’s glowing eyes. He scowled but smiled and even chuckled before I finished.

“Thanks,” I said, before handing him my empty glass. “Good wine.”

“We’ll open two more tomorrow,” Justin quipped, smiling nervously as he accepted my glass.

I nodded and floated up to the roof of the bridge, before aligning my body with the pod airlock and exiting through its automatic doors. My armor deployed once I was through, wrapping around and concealing my clothing through moving dimensional gateways. The advanced version was much better than its base level, which tore through my clothing when deployed.

With a short flight, I was back on board the Pykrete and facing an angry mob of employees.

Chapter 40

“Everyone,” I said, using my booming voice to quiet them all down at the same time. “The ship flying escort is a friend of mine from before your time. He came to warn me of attempted sabotage of our mission, and we engaged the ships shortly after. Both hostile ships are destroyed, our ships are completely safe, and my friend is going to fly escort for us to ensure everything stays that way.”

Shoshanna pushed off the wall and floated toward me, her arms open and eyes wet with tears. I happily dropped my armor and caught her, then stabilized us both and looked to the crew for questions.

“Well, shit,” the captain slurred. “Who were they?”

“Yeah, and what do you mean sabotage?” another voice in the floating crowd called.

The documentary team was silent, staring and recording the entire encounter. I frowned.

“Just that, they intended to harm our mission capabilities, and damage our ships,” I carefully answered.

“Damage?” someone shouted. “You mean destroy!”

“Which is why I dealt with the ships,” I yelled authoritatively. “There was no way I was going to risk either ship, either crew. I protected this fleet, which is my exact job. There are activist factions who disagree with Save the Cubes mission, and apparently are serious enough to do something about it. But they won’t be back. Our fleet is safe, and our mission continues on as planned.”

The crew was silent while I spoke, but as soon as I finished someone shouted, “Hazard pay!”

“Yes,” I sighed. “Yes, that will be taken into account when your end-of-mission bonuses are paid out,” I replied. “Of course it will, that was never in doubt. Check your contracts for hazard pay details, the affiliate will obviously honor their contracts. Now if you all don’t mind, this has been hard on everyone. Most of all our CEO.”

As I finished addressing the crew, a sharp notification buzzed in my mind, followed by a calm, businesslike voice that could best be described as oily.

Crew gone unruly, mutinous whispers at every turn, any Captain may wonder about the dangers set to befall them . . .

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With the crew meeting complete, I floated down the hall past the camera man. He turned to follow me as I moved, carrying Shoshanna in my arms. Her head was tucked in against my chest and she was crying softly.

Once we escaped to her cabin, things got better. She still sniffled and wrung her hands, but she calmed significantly.

“I’m sorry Shanna,” I whispered, when she leaned into me for a hug. “It may have been unwise for me to join your affiliate in such a public manner. I still have enemies. This is something I should have seen coming.”

“What even happened?” she whispered back, clutching at my jumpsuit with one curled fist.

I took a breath and shook my head. There was no way around it.

“A cult of delves that wants to hurt me targeted your ships. But a very old friend arrived first to warn us, and we destroyed both ships together. Everything is fine. He’s going to stay and protect us until we find Cube, even if it takes a few more FTL jumps,” I explained.

“But that could be weeks still!” Shoshanna exclaimed.

“It will be fine, my friend is well-equipped. Plus, I can respond again if needed,” I told her.

She nodded against my chest, but then pulled away to look up into my eyes. “Wait, does that mean you just killed people? Like you killed the delves on those ships?”

“No,” I told her. “I disabled their ship, then went on board to talk to them once they were no longer a threat. They killed themselves, suicide pills. It was fast, looked painless.”

“But your friend was shooting that other ship, we all saw it,” she whined.

I nodded slowly. “Yes, my friend killed the crew of the other ship,” I admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“And they were going to kill us,” Shoshanna asked, in a small voice. “To hurt you?”

“Yes,” I answered.

My girlfriend took a long, shaking breath and nodded, looking at her own hands. “Well, I’m glad you stopped them then.”

“It wasn’t a close thing, you were never really in danger, thanks to my friend’s warning,” I answered.

Her eyelids raised a bit. “That’s comforting, I suppose. But this cult, they know my affiliate now. They know me now. Won’t they try again?”

“They’re not that big, and I doubt they’ll send another ship now that we’re ready for them,” I said. “We have plenty of time to get security in place for you and your affiliate.”

Shoshanna’s eyes widened again and stayed that way. “I’ll get started on that right away.”

I sighed and looked away. “I’m sorry,” I whispered again.

The next day when I left the ship for my dinner with Justin Lee, the crew was silent and separate. None of them raised much complaint after they saw the generous hazard pay stipulations, and Justin’s ship kept its distance to avoid reminding them of the encounter. But none of them were exactly happy either. Especially since we had to cut comm access out of security concerns.

Unfortunately, those hazard pay sections in the crew’s contract were generous. Part of that had been the Silken Sands standards and practices, which provided rough guidelines for contracts operating under its umbrella. We had been lax with them because the mission was expected to go smoothly and be quite boring. That was my fault for underestimating the cult.

I ended up having to tell Shoshanna the new fundraiser morties would have to go to cover the crews additional pay, and we would figure out something else for resupply if it became needed. That helped her calm down, and she immediately began pressing at her device to get Molly on the phone. Out in deep space as we were, the options for that were limited, and I saw MortMobile’s face briefly in her device.

He stared at me in the instant before he turned into a tunnel of gray fog and connected the women. Shoshanna immediately began crying as she blubbered everything that had been happening out to her friend. I left to let her vent, after reminding her to swear Molly to secrecy.

On my way out of the ship, I heard MortMobile in my head, far weaker than before. “Who are you?” he whispered, before our connection was cut. I felt his absence in my mind as clearly as his presence.

Justin’s ship was a few thousand kilometers to our rear, but the journey over to his ship took almost no time at all. I simply pushed the suit into a short range gravity haul and then started rotating with his ship, looking for the open airlock.

Once I was aboard, I was led to the captain’s quarters. The cabin was still cramped, tucked away into the sharp edges of the outer hull, but it was nicer than I had expected. The room was roughly octagonal and furnished to be comfortable. Justin’s bed was covered up by a thick purple curtain on one end, with his bathroom area behind another at the opposite. A small dinner table had been placed in the center of the cramped space and draped with a purple silk tablecloth.

The other cabins were mere cots in the walls of the ship, small compartments covered by sleep-webbing, magnetized screens, and family photos. Comparatively, the private space was a luxury. It reminded me of the delf culture I had fought against a century before. Their soldiers were forced to live spartan lives, even while serving in wartime, on an attack craft.

Justin opened his arms to greet me as I entered his cabin. “Tyson, welcome, welcome. I am pleased to share a meal and more wine with you.”

True to his word, two bottles of wine were open on the table, and our oversized glasses were already filled partway. I smiled and sat where he gestured, across from him on the small table. It reminded me of a folding card table, the kind we used to set up at the campground to check guests in when the office computer went down. Only Justin’s table was made of ebony hardwood.

A silvery metal candelabra held two modest candles, already melting. Beside it sat a small cornucopia filled with flower petals and dried herbs. A pleasant, spiced smell wafted up from the centerpiece, but was quickly overwhelmed by our meals once they arrived.

The artificial gravity on his ship allowed for proper cooking, and one of the craft’s weapon bays had been remodeled into a small kitchen. Instead of the easily stored zero-g rations the ship would have had before its remodel, a full meal service was available to its crew.

I lamented the availability of such a luxury for my own crew, it would have gone a long way toward helping morale.

Our food was brought in on tin platters, with shining covers. Justin thanked the server as the delf carefully lifted our covers to fill the room’s ceiling with steam.

In front of me was a large, baked fish in a thin, gray sauce. There was a side consisting of an unfamiliar citrus fruit and an orange mashed root vegetable. It all smelled delicious, but I hesitated when I saw the fish.

“Wasn’t this sapient?” I asked.

Justin nodded quickly. “Indeed. Fish, sadly, do not typically fare well under BuyMort. Those that are included are often hunted to extinction and represent a fleeting delicacy. Of course, there are those who protest the eating of lesser sapient animals, but a trout is a trout to most.”

I looked closer at my fish. It was trout, a sizable rainbow trout from Earth.

“Where did you get them?” I asked, a chill running down my spine.

“Apocalypse Earth,” he replied casually. “The last of my supply, I wanted to share something special with you.”

I took a deep breath and looked at my host. “What is Apocalypse Earth?” Even as I asked, I knew the answer.

“The next Earth in line, after yours. It was included in the BuyMort system roughly thirty years ago. The inclusion was short-lived, as you can probably glean from the name. Most don’t even remember it anymore. No more Earths will ever be added, thanks to how poorly that one performed. Hardly even a thousand humans were added to BuyMort, of course. Hard to win placement on the top ten with that kind of start,” he remarked.

I stared at him while he spoke and thought. I imagined the world that had entered BuyMort after my own. With that name, it wasn’t hard to recognize the theme. The history my people experienced in another universe, years later. BuyMort found your world faster each time, and before my world had come an Earth at roughly the start of the industrial revolution. That one hadn’t survived the Church wars either.

Sensing my focus on the destruction, BuyMort flicked an ad into my mind, and all at once I was immersed in the ad space.

Before me orbited Earth, and as I tore through space and atmosphere, I saw that it was one like the Earth I had come from, but devastated by apocalyptic conditions.

In the place of sprawling cities, dusty wreckage and gaping craters remained. The side screens in my periphery popped up with scenes of daily life for the remaining residents. They were either hunkering in deeply-buried bunkers eating canned food, or struggling to survive around a fresh water source on the planet’s desert surface. Not many looked healthy, and none of them were young.

Where my Earth had been a fragile blue marble, this Earth was a wasteland. I stared down at it as my perspective slid by at sky-level.

Then, stopping in the sky directly over a familiar little campground in Arizona, the ad showed me waves of red dunes blowing across my former home, now desolate and scrubbed from the face of the planet by endless sandstorms.

One of the dunes shifted and revealed part of a human skeleton beneath the sand.

Seconds later, the camera pulled back and showed me a still-frame of a pockmarked continent. The entire landmass of the planet was covered in atomic strike locations visible from space.

Large letters tumbling past me, freezing into place as I watched.

'EXPERIENCE THE DESOLATION OF APOCALYPSE EARTH!' they enthused in bold, flashy text, the excitement in their message loudly proclaimed against the landscape of the dead planet.

The documentary ad continued, bombarding me with more scenes of devastation across this alternate Earth. Cities crumbled under the weight of time, war, and the elements. The skeletons of skyscrapers bent and eventually collapsed, and vegetation rapidly withered in the scalding heat and nuclear fallout.

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The screen on the right showcased the “best moments” of the apocalypse—highlight reels of ever-expanding wars, panicked crowds around water ration facilities, and the relentless march of extinction, with animal and insect names falling off the screen like coins from a slot machine.

People entered specialized shelters in remote locations, leaving the rest of the population to tear itself apart and succumb to the collapse in a variety of ways, one more devastating than the next until that final blossom of mushroom clouds.

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The final image was a scorched Earth, heavily pitted and scarred by nuclear weapons. There was still life, but it was rare. Those who still remained, barely subsisted. When BuyMort arrived, the majority of people still alive dove into Storage like it was a resort vacation. A small few in large bunkers quickly became influential citizens in the BuyMort system.

A final barrage of words rolled past.

DON’T JUST WATCH HISTORY—LIVE IT!

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Only Nu-Earth and Neolithic Earth had managed to flourish in the post-Church environment, no other Earths remained attached to the BuyMort system.

In a terribly linear sense, I was given a snapshot of my planet’s history through the multiverse. Something I felt repulsed by and compelled to improve. My planet still lived, even thrived under Axle’s self-centered rule. I could protect that world from what had been about to befall it, before BuyMort’s introduction.

When BuyMort arrived, my world fell apart in hours. But that was because our society had been weakened and ready to collapse. We had built everything around a single, deeply flawed tool, while blinding ourselves to those flaws. Once our systems had rotted from corruption and neglect, a stiff breeze could have knocked us all over. And with the increase in storm potency, that had been happening more every year.

Whatever path my people had been on, I’d been given the chance to see where it led even without BuyMort. Full civilizational collapse. Apocalypse Earth.

Chapter 41

I filed the thoughts away for another time and took a bite of my trout. It was juicy and delicious. I ate in comfortable silence with my host, who seemed quite eager for his own meal. Once we were finished eating, Justin calmly opened a can of cigarettes, twisting at the tin with a key popped from the lid. He took one of the filter-free cigarettes for himself, then offered me one by pulling up a paper tab in the center of the can. The cigarettes around it rose with the tab.

With a second of hesitation, I accepted. It was nothing my suit couldn’t repair, if needed be.

It was strange seeing the item coming out of a can, but then a storm of memories flooded through my mind. I had known about canned cigarettes because Silken Sands sold them. It was one of the preferred storage methods for longer lived species under BuyMort. Typically it had been the delves and few remaining elves that bought them.

Something about keeping them fresh longer than paper or plastic containers appealed to the elves, and they almost all smoked them without a filter.

Justin happily lit mine for me, and then turned the flame from his lighter to his own. As we drew and exhaled the smoke, I heard the rooms life support kick into higher gear.

“Nice to be able to smoke and eat this way. My crew has none of those luxuries,” I commented. “Ah well, notes for the next expedition.”

“Advanced life support systems are on sale from my affiliate right now, if you’re interested,” Justin replied with a grin. “I believe its ten-percent off list price.”

“Which is ten-percent higher than it needs to be,” I answered.

Justin burst out laughing and nodded. “Of course! How else are we supposed to get people to buy them on sale?”

I shook my head and smoked. It was decadent, as I had expected. When the leader of a planet like Midnight offers to share a vice, you can usually count on a high-quality experience.

So I drew the harsh, biting smoke into my lungs and exhaled it in a thin wispy line. While I watched it get dragged into a hidden fan in the ceiling, Justin poured himself more wine.

“So,” he said after taking a sip. “How can we help one another?”

I raised my eyebrows at that and chuckled. “That is the question, isn’t it,” I lamented. “Always the question. You had something in mind for me earlier. Does it pay?”

The delf nodded. “It does. I’m establishing an open bounty on the cult, it should help thin their numbers out a bit, but I’d also like to send you after high-value targets we’ve been following. Capture or kill missions, primarily. Some sabotage as well.”

“Done,” I said. “I was going to do that anyway, I’ll be happy to do it under your planetary securities supervision. Keep my public image cleaner.”

Justin smiled broadly. “You do not even know the bounty amounts,” he said with a chuckle.

“Does it matter? I’d be doing it for free and you said your world is rich. I assume it’ll help my pocketbook at the same time I clean up a mess,” I explained, flicking ash into a tin ashtray near the center of the table. “I have problems, this feels like it’ll solve two of ‘em at once.”

“Well, tell me of your needs, and I’ll see how I can fill them,” Justin replied. “I feel a great debt to you personally, Tyson. You saved me, started me on this path. In my eyes, every bit of success I have is due to your intervention.”

“I have no finances, to speak of. No income,” I started, thinking out loud. “And I have plans for the immediate future that I’m not sure how I’m going to fund. Expensive plans.”

“Consider them funded,” Justin said. “Though I’m sure my CFO would prefer I ask what those plans are, before I promise to fund them.”

“I need to get my affiliate back, Justin,” I said, looking at him over my dwindling cigarette. The decision to include him in my plans was immediate. No risk, no reward, and Justin had proven himself more than once. “I plan to challenge Axle in the coming election,” I told him.

Justin scowled. “The election that is three months away? For the CEO position in Silken Sands?” He raised his wine glass and offered a toast. “You never do anything halfway, do you?”

I clinked my own glass to his and finished my cigarette. Justin pushed the ashtray toward me from the center of the table and I snubbed my embers out. “No, I guess I don’t. This expedition was meant to be a publicity win, something to launch my campaign on. Now . . . I’m not sure how that’ll play with the cult attack.”

“BuyMort loves a spectacle,” my delf friend offered. “I’m sure it will drive your numbers, but you’re right to worry about negative reception. The Cult of Eternal Darkness is not well-known outside of Midnight, and Midnight is not well-known in general. This will all come as a nasty shock to the rest of BuyMort, I am certain.”

“It’s going to hurt my chances too, nobody is going to want me in charge while this cult is running around trying to ‘punish’ me,” I said, before taking a drink. “I have to deal with them.”

“I will help you with that, in certainty. Much of my security apparatus is already well-educated on the cult and its activities. The transition to active enforcement against them should prove to be easy,” Justin replied. “I am CEO of the affiliate, so I’ll have other duties and cannot provide my security forces off of Midnight as easily. They are planetary security, after all. We do have a small navy, however, which is ready to go. I’ve mobilized them already, we have Eternal Night’s gate locked down.”

“That will increase their portal costs at least,” I said. “Thank you, Justin, I’m grateful to have you as an ally in this fight. Hey, what is your affiliate, anyway? I don’t think I’ve asked yet.”

“The House of None, of course,” he replied. “Our house has always worked for the betterment of all delves, and now free of corrupted, incompetent command we hold the seventh place on the top ten list. All delves on Midnight are part of it in some form or other, for the profit-share if nothing else.”

“So you pay everyone, not just the employees?” I asked.

Justin nodded over his wine glass. “We find it inordinately healthy for our society on Midnight. Those who wish to launch their own affiliates do so with the full financial backing of our profit-share system, and essential jobs offer a higher share for the ambitious. There is a particularly good coffee associate that provides for our miners and citizenry alike, and it all came about because an elderly miner wished to continue working once his body could no longer handle the mines. I’m proud to say my associate support effort funded his startup.”

I nodded back, slowly, in thought. “I can’t imagine how much innovation has come from that diversity of applied opportunity.”

“Exactly!” Justin exclaimed. “I leave the politics of it behind completely, my only task was to build a strong society.”

“That kind of system has its downsides,” I added. “Much easier to accomplish with a lower population, no offense.”

“Oh none taken, I understand your meaning completely. As an economic system, it does have its problems, without doubt. But my people were due so much back-pay I couldn’t just ignore it for my own benefit. And besides, it’s only a share. I still reap my majority,” he commented, staring into his wine glass as he adjusted his robe’s collar. “Where my policies have indeed given rise to a murderous cult, I would weigh that against all the good those policies have done and the lives they have elevated.”

“Some people wouldn’t work at all, of course. Or work just enough to stave off existential boredom. I bet your arts are broad and varied,” I muttered.

“Our people are quite dedicated to one another, which drives industry as well. A cultural remnant from our experience over centuries at the hands of the great houses. Delves are proud to be miners, it’s a very desirable field. We usually have more applicants than jobs on planetary pride alone,” Justin told me.

“Yeah, I bet. I have to hand it to you, Justin Lee. You’ve done well for your people. Very well. This system of yours is a perfect match for your people,” I said, before sipping my wine.

“Almost perfect, but thank you,” he replied.

“At least that came of my wars,” I muttered.

“Much came of your wars, Tyson. Much. War is never easy, but you set us on a path to prosperity on the remaining Midnight. Even though I arrived as a refugee, my own Midnight destroyed, I was quickly followed by the people due to my association with you. BlueCleave still helped us in the early days, and we were ready when they pulled out. Our cities run deep, and our mines deeper,” Justin said, smiling. “I can help fund your campaign, but you’ll want a diversity of donors as quickly as you can get them.”

“Yes, I can see that. Too close an association with Midnight’s financial system is likely to be a stumbling block with my voting base. Some of them may decide I’ll do the same with them and not want to suddenly be on par with those they consider beneath them now,” I said.

“Of course. A hazard of any economic system that relies upon classes,” Justin said over his wine glass.

I squeezed my eyes shut hard and shook my head. The tumble of intentionally complex financial systems and the resulting cultural responses to them was too much for me to process properly, and I had gotten what I wanted out of Justin at any rate. I relegated the task to my subconscious. Results would happen over the course of a few days, an understanding of the complexity in question would slowly come to me.

Financial backing for my campaign had been achieved. Terna would be able to throw some support in as well, but it would be far easier for her with the House of None doing the heavy lifting.

I smiled at Justin politely and raised my glass to him. “To our campaign,” I said.

He happily raised his own glass. “To your return to power!”

Chapter 42

While I drank my wine and smoked a few more cigarettes with Justin, I thought about his toast. About what my return to power would really mean. For him, his people, and everyone else living under BuyMort. Now that Molls was gone, I had no reason to seek a quiet life. My war was returning to me. My hatred for BuyMort, for morties, and for all the suffering that was caused because of them.

Back on board the Pykrete, Soshanna slowly healed from the shock of the cult’s attack. She made plans to get personal security in place and started taking the security needs of her affiliate far more seriously. To her credit, she didn’t break up with me over it. Instead, she leaned into our relationship even harder and even started love-bombing me. It mostly felt like stress relief, a healthy physical outlet.

I was happy for the additional affection, but it worried me about her mental state. Shoshanna had gone from a happy go lucky socialite with no responsibilities to a war-torn woman afraid for her own life and the lives of everyone in her affiliate.

Save the Cubes had become a target. A potent, still mostly hidden enemy was plotting and scheming against her, and I saw it in her face daily. She was stressed, and worried.

Once our mission failed to produce any sign of Cube on the first, most likely path on our map, we hurriedly switched to the second most likely. This involved an FTL jump that took us into a different section of the void between galaxies. There was no sign of tampering with our maps and they had been secured quite quickly after the first attack, so the crew felt safer once we were in the second search path.

Questions were repeatedly raised about how long we would stay and search. Each path on our flowering maps took at least three days to search at sub-light speeds. The Pykrete would coast along on the main path while the Navigator ranged and searched for Cube with its advanced sensors. Once the area was declared empty, both ships would move to another area to continue the search.

In theory, we would find Cube on one of the primary paths. But even that could take months, and the crew morale was lower than I had expected at this point in the expedition. Of course, an attack from stealth ships fielded by a violent cult would have that effect on most any crew.

I continued to go back and forth between my ship and Justin’s as I began planning out the early stages of the campaign with him. He put aside a sizable war chest to run advertisements with, in the range of ten trillion morties. It fluctuated based on the day, as did any fund of sufficient size, simply due to morties being worth more or less depending on the market.

Shoshanna did her best to stay focused and keep her spirits up, but the crew wore at her daily. Within a week of the attack, her hide-and-cry sessions had become nightly occurrences. I found myself comforting her, reassuring her, and letting her use me for her own emotional well-being. The love bombing continued, and she told me she loved me or couldn’t make it without me several times in the course of a few days.

I shared everything with her on the Pykrete. We slept together in her sleep netting, or I just held her while she slept. She insisted on eating with me, again in her cabin. As the days passed, Shoshanna grew more and more distant from the crew. She isolated herself from everyone on board aside from me, and I quickly became her emotional lifeline.

The combination of deep space and stress were starting to become a real problem for her.

I helped in what ways I could, using Molls’ old lessons to help Shoshanna maintain and improve her mental health. She began doing zero-g yoga three times a day and often stopped whatever she was in the middle of to do a quick deep-breathing session. As I watched the young woman, I started thinking more and more about abandoning the search and taking her home.

When I broached the subject with her after our second path failed to produce Cube, she vehemently objected. Shoshanna told me that it was her expedition and she wouldn’t accept it ending in failure so quickly. Our scans of the third path on our map were not showing anything yet, but she told me she had a feeling about it.

My own uneasy feelings grew as the search progressed. The crew was starting to mutter about going home and their hazard pay bonuses were starting to weigh on their minds more and more. Our supplies were dwindling faster than we had anticipated. The crew was stress-eating and eating out of boredom.

Our captain informed us that he had only three days of alcohol left, which gave us a definitive point for either resupply or a portal home for him. At our expense, of course. In his drunken state he often complained to the pilot and threatened to report us to Silken Sand’s affiliate management department.

Any hearing they convened would be the equivalent of a malpractice lawsuit, and with my involvement I suspected the department wouldn’t call balls and strikes in a fair manner. If anything, it would be the perfect thing to sink my upcoming campaign before it ever got off the ground.

I kept a particularly close eye on my security plants. They’d had their comm access cut as well, which left them only BuyMort and MortMobile to report back to Axle. While it was a risk, I trusted Axle enough to figure he wouldn’t turn my location over to the cult outright. The guards kept their cover, only they and I knew about their mission.

After we arrived on our third search path, the rest of the map was starting to look impossibly massive to me. I sat and thought about each thin petal circling its core and held off despair. There were dozens of possible paths, and all we could do was slowly search each of them and wait.

Even with my advanced cognition the expedition was starting to get to me. I distracted myself by scheming with Justin Lee, spending time with Shoshanna, and spying on my security guards. They were clearly briefed that I had better senses than their average targets, but I could still hear them when they exchanged information.

I’d learned their routine, and hovered just above the supply room they had sound-proofed with thin, rolling mats they brought on board hidden in their personal items. The air vent allowed sound through, even while it was closed, and the ship would mark the room for maintenance if they blocked it even temporarily. They met for only two minutes, exchanged important information, and then split up again. They would also use the room to make their reports via MortMobile.

Each time they called the entity, I felt his presence touch my mind. He seemed to be just looking, for lack of a better term. Trying to see if this familiar presence was indeed someone of importance. I felt nothing about our deal, or even my history when he was skimming my mind. Just a faint sense of familiarity and curiosity.

The guards always kept their devices at low volume, but I could hear both ends of their conversation. Axle and his people were still underestimating my crystalline colonies, which gave me continued hope that they had remained a secret during my century-long absence.

Their reports rarely had anything I cared about stopping Axle from learning. They hadn’t heard who my friend on the ship defending our fleet was, but they had reported its presence and nature. No doubt Axle was focusing an investigation on Midnight while I floated in search of my old pet and friend.

Just as my impatience, stress, and boredom were peaking on the third day of our path, we found him. The Navigator called over, and I could hear the excitement in their crew’s voices as they described the sensor hit they had just recorded.

An electrical resonance ahead of us in space. That far out, with no celestial bodies within a thousand light years, there were very few things that sensor hit could be. The next, cleaner and more focused sensor sweep came back with a square shape to the resonance.

That was cause for immediate celebration on board both craft. Shoshanna sobbed in relief on the bridge as soon as the report came through.

We were exactly on course to encounter him, which also confirmed the accuracy of their mapping system. Shoshanna clung to me as the camera crew recorded, crying and laughing at the same time. She was ecstatic her expedition had found their first Cube, and I said nothing to ruin that moment for her.

But soon the crew was up on the bridge looking at the sensor reports and starting to worry about something I had known was coming.

“Now that we’ve found him,” one of the net-handlers said. “How sure are you that you can convince him we’re here to help? A cube that size could literally eat both of our ships.”

“Cube won’t do that,” I told them. “If I have to, I can handle him in a fight, knock him away from the ships.”

The grumbling and occasional shouted question continued for a time, until I finally told them to go rest and prepare. We had work to do, finally, and most of them became eager to get started once I reminded them of that fact.

Once the excitement of the discovery had faded, the documentary host left the bridge. The cameraman stayed in case anything else exciting happened, and I convinced Shoshanna to stop obsessing over the sensor reports.

Chapter 43

Cube was quite large, according to the readouts. I visualized him as a three-story building in the desert, how he was the last time I saw him. Then I used the readings to adjust that image. Cube was as tall as a mountaintop. The Pykrete had its work cut out for it, but it had been chosen for the mission based off his size.

That was part of why they chose a big Cube to go after first, to make sure it could be done with conventional spacecraft. Ships with knockoff gravity drives were available on the market, but they were expensive and difficult to acquire. Ice miners were the top candidate, and we were poised to prove why.

The next few hours passed quickly, while the crew got to work priming the systems and running drills. Once we arrived, I smiled gently at Shoshanna and exited the Pykrete. She hung onto the edge of the main portal and stared at our target.

Cube hung massive in the dark. His dirty silver sides gleamed, reflecting our lights in swirling patterns. Our fleet held back at a safe distance, though I wasn’t sure it was all the safe. At his size, Cube’s tongue would likely be able to cover a long distance.

He twirled slowly as he coasted through space, and I plotted my approach carefully to avoid his massive mouth. The slit in his side was apparent, his only facial feature constantly making small movements.

I approached slowly at first, but it was quickly evident he wasn’t aware of me at all. He just spun in place and talked to himself, so I pushed the suit and dove in close, making light contact with his back. It felt like I was floating next to a monolith the size of Everest.

Immediately upon touching him, I heard his voice through my armor.

“Cube is fine,” he muttered. “All needs met, all needs met. No problems. Calm, peaceful Cube. Cube is fine.”

I shook my head and sighed. “Cube,” I said. “Are you okay?”

“CUBE IS FINE!” he suddenly shouted. “ALL NEEDS MET, ALL NEEDS MET!”

“It really doesn’t sound like you’re okay, buddy. Do you know who I am?” I asked.

“VOICES STOP, ALL NEEDS MET! CUBE IS FINE!” he roared back.

I scowled in pain, holding one hand to my poor, mistreated friend.

“I’m not a voice in your head, buddy. It's me, it's Tyson. I’ve been looking for you and I’m so glad I finally found you. It’s going to be okay, Cube,” I told him.

Cube was silent for a short moment. Then, hesitantly, he said “Tyson?” in a small voice. “NO, TYSON GONE. VOICES STOP, CUBE IS FINE! CUBE IS PEACEFUL!”

I thumped him on the back a few times, activating my breaker gauntlet to really get his attention. The blue energy bursts splashed against his body, causing no harm or damage. “No, you’re not, Cube. You’re talking to yourself and can't tell that I’m real.”

Almost instantly, I was engulfed in liquid metal and plucked away from the side of my former pet. He hauled me around in front of himself and closer to his huge, cavernous mouth.

“TYSON GONE!” He repeated emphatically, his voice warbling a bit with the liquid metal of his tongue carrying it to me.

“NO!” I yelled back, suddenly afraid he would swallow me on a reflex. Cube was clearly not in full control of his mind. “I came back, buddy! I came back! It’s me, it’s Tyson, and now that I’ve found you, you’re going to be okay again!”

“CUBE IS . . . CUBE IS FINE!” he insisted.

I splashed in his tongue with my limbs. “Do you feel that!?” I yelled.

“CUBE FEELS! TYSON GONE, YOU NOT TYSON!” he yelled next.

“Buddy, you gotta remember my voice,” I replied. “Slow down, think carefully, and tell me who I am.”

“Tyson,” he said immediately, in a small voice. Then he paused and his entire body rippled. “TYSON GONE! CAN’T FIND TYSON, TYSON GONE!”

“I was trapped, Cube! I was trapped in deep space, just like you! That’s why I was gone, but I escaped and came back,” I frantically explained. “I’m not a voice, Cube. I’m your Tyson and I’ve come back to find you!”

My pet hesitated at that. “Tyson . . . trapped?” he finally asked.

“I was trapped buddy, yes! Trapped just like you, someone threw me away into space,” I told him. “But I came back! I came back for you!”

“TYSON CAME BACK?” he roared in excitement. “TYSON!”

“Yes Cube! I’m here buddy, I came to save you!” I exclaimed, fighting back tears. “I came back for you!”

“TYSON SAVE CUBE!” he shouted. “TYSON SAVE CUBE!”

I sighed in relief as he retracted his tongue and let me go.

Once he accepted that I was really there, and not a voice in his mind, the effort to rescue Cube grew significantly easier. I reported in and then spent a few hours talking to Cube and making sure he understood what was happening to him. The truth was that Cubes were intelligent creatures, especially the bigger ones.

They could understand a lot, if anyone had the patience to work with them and explain things clearly. He terrified the crew of the Pykrete when he reached out his tongue to explore and understand the ship. That was going to hurt in the hazard pay when we got back, but I felt certain I could rely on Justin’s House of None to help me foot the bill if needed.

My gigantic pet was ecstatic. I explained calmly to the crew while he gently tongued over the entire ship that he was merely making himself feel secure by ensuring the ships were not there to hurt him or make him feel worse. They weren’t likely to understand the complex combination of emotions that led a Cube to an insecure state, coupled with the trauma of decades in darkness, alone.

Really, we had gotten lucky that Cube was as smart as he was. I was going to have to really work with some expert exotic animal handlers before any further expeditions could go out. Preferably those with clinical psychology framing in their education or associate background.

Either that or buy a ship that could transport a Cube without actually touching it.

Once both of our ships had passed his vibe check, Cube tucked his tongue back in his mouth and awaited contact from me. I spoke to him and prepared him for every step in the process of his retrieval.

First the Pykrete opened its net bay. The entire front end of the oversized parallelogram split from just below the bridge, down to the embarkation entry ramp. Deployed like that, the ship would be unable to make planetfall without burning up in the atmosphere of even thin-skinned planets. Once fully open, with its doors in a slanted gullwing formation, the ship's gigantic amount of carefully packed netting began to deploy. They formed a cotton ball of webs beneath the ship's belly before carefully moving away from one another as the arms began manipulating them.

Long sections of the net were connected directly to the ships control mechanism by electricity-manipulated fabric. When the ship provided a charge to it, the rigging would stiffen and wrap around itself, becoming rod-straight and rigid. With careful manipulations of the delicate armature, our net-handlers would get Cube ensnared.

I helped by hand, of course. Over the next two days I spent thirty-seven hours working in space. My job was to keep Cube calm and informed, so I spent a great deal of time leaning on his back, talking to him while we spun through the void. He adored the interaction and attention, and the more we talked the healthier he began to sound.

Once the netting was secure on his corners, the Pykrete began to draw him in. The netting had been designed for ice comets or broken up clusters of them. Water was water, and the ship had been designed with several shapes and sizes of ice in mind.

With the netting firmly in place and tightened up to the belly of the ship, we were ready to return to the BuyMort gate. The Pykrete began an agonizingly slow turn with its cargo attached, but all attention was diverted when Cube shouted “HELLO NEW FRIENDS!” into the Pykrete. After that, we had all new problems with the crew.

Cube could hear everything they said. Every suspicion or complaint about him was something else I had to explain to him, and it wasn’t long before I called a halt to our movement and ordered the netting loosened.

We got him far enough away from the ship and crew to start smoothing the situation and let the netting go soft. Without its rigidity the sound didn’t carry far enough to reach him. I went out and worked with Cube immediately, and left poor Shoshanna to explain to the crew they had to watch their mouths around the giant liquid metal box attached to our ship’s belly.

More complaints, more unexpected issues. I lamented my lack of foresight, I really had just been focused on how this expedition could aid me personally. Shoshanna handled herself amazingly. She kept herself upbeat and matter of fact, becoming stern but kind with the crew when needed.

Animal interaction was listed in their contracts as a possible duty, so we were able to tell them what to say and not say or they were in breach of said contracts. With the hazard pay most of them were expecting to collect, none of them wanted to risk breaching their work contract with us.

Shoshanna and I talked during small breaks I took from consoling Cube and reassuring him that the new people would grow to like him if they could see past their own fear. It became necessary to explain to the animal why his behavior frightened people who were so much physically smaller than he was. He struggled to keep that concept at the forefront of his mind.

Eventually, after another few hours of discussion on both ends, I convinced Cube to give it another try. Once we reconnected with the ship, Cube shyly said “Hello,” in a small voice. I immediately congratulated him and reentered the ship.

The crew was primarily silent, but a few smattered “Hellos” returned from them. One of the net-handlers said, “Nice to meet you, Cube,” while working to finalize the net formation.

Cube was silent, sulking as he nursed hurt feelings. The crew stayed far more quiet than they had before, but occasionally shared a few careful words with my pet.

I happily coached anyone who had any questions about how to interact with him, making sure they understood that he could hear us before I started. By keeping the interactions friendly and calm, Cube started to relax and understand what made each crew member nervous. Out of desire to interact more, he was very careful to avoid each crew member’s specific fear triggers while growing his interactivity.

In the handful of hours our ship took to finish its turn, he was already effectively learning and retaining a complex web of knowledge about several crew members. After he had effectively assuaged our crew’s concerns, some of them even started to like him.

We jumped to FTL as a fleet, expecting four days, thirteen hours travel time to Neolithic Earth’s gate. The crew was prepared, and none of them mentioned how easy it would be for Cube to eat our ship, connected to his back the way we were. Mostly because I had told them that every time they did mention that, Cube would be reminded of the possibility, and would have to convince himself that eating our ship was a bad thing to do.

The nicer the crew was to him, the more likely he was to make that decision in everyone on board’s favor.

Our netting and shields ensured that he came with us when we jumped, and his bulk was carried along by the warped bubble of space we coasted on. I smiled as the faint galaxy in the distance grew in brightness. Despite everything, life really hadn’t been a hard reset since waking up. My future was starting to form.

Chapter 44

The Navigator followed at our speed. They flew wing, even though their FTL engine was capable of faster travel than ours. Justin Lee and his crew followed behind us, spreading out our sensor capabilities and ensuring no more uninvited guests would interrupt our expedition.

He was certain the Cult of Eternal Darkness wouldn’t be able to find us again, since we had gone off course. The ships, he explained, had likely waited for us at Neolithic Earth’s gate. They had a copy of our map, but they had no way of knowing which path we would take next. The affiliate had the sense to never share the potential routes with the public on an updated basis.

We all settled in to wait for the FTL journey to end. Four and a half days of waiting, with very little to do except stress and create horrific hypothetical ends to our expedition. While some of the crew found Cube charming, they still feared him instinctively. Anything as small as us would fear something as big as him quite naturally, after all. My hobbled together crew was no exception.

By the end of the second day, the doctor came to meet with me and handed me a note saying that our entire supply of anxiety-relief and sleep aid medication was gone. He insisted we needed more, immediately. I could see the stress lines on his face as he drew an ad from his mind and flipped it towards me.

Before I could respond, I was immersed in the familiar clarity of the ad space. Surrounding me were cold, sterile white walls, possibly those of a hospital, though I couldn't make out any other distinctive features. These stayed for just a few moments before themselves vanishing, replaced by the serene image of a tranquil forest. A soft, soothing voice washed over me as a breeze rustled through the leaves.

“Feeling the pressure of deep space? Sleepless nights becoming all too common? Let Trick K Pharmaceuticals guide you to peace.”

The scene shifted to a comfortable bedroom, where a figure reclined on a plush bed, sighing happily upwards as they drifted into a deep, restful sleep.

“Our patented formulations ensure that no matter where you are in the multiverse, you can find the calm you need to face another day. Anxiety melting away, stress dissolving, all while keeping you alert and ready for action.”

The scene transitioned to a bustling starship bridge, where the same figure, now well-rested, confidently navigated the ship through treacherous asteroid fields with ease. Colleagues around them smiled, clearly relieved to have such a capable and calm leader at the helm.

It actually made me a little uncomfortable how relaxed they seemed. I wondered if they'd keep smiling even as they barreled through asteroids, faced off with enemy combatants, or faced hull depressurization and were subjected to the whims of raw space.

“Trick K Pharmaceuticals—because even the bravest need a moment of peace.”

I sighed. Despite my slight misgivings, he wasn't wrong. If it kept them happy and on mission, it was absolutely the right call.

Everything flashed, and I found myself back in the white room from the beginning, this time next to a human doctor, her white coat pristine. She held a bottle of pills in her left hand, and was gesturing to them with her right. “Order now. Side effects may include mild dizziness, flatulence, sudden cravings for dehydrated rations, and inexplicable nostalgia for lost pets. In rare cases, users have reported uncontrollable laughter and an overwhelming desire to challenge the laws of physics. If you experience any of these side effects, please contact your nearest Trick K Pharmaceuticals physician.”

The ad ended, leaving me staring at the doctor as the words 'See Affiliate Page for details,' scrolled past my vision one final time.

“This is the best bang for the mortie, and we need it now. Like now now,” he said, his eyes staring into my own.

A silent meeting with Shoshanna later, she and I pitched in from our personal accounts to get a pod to deliver a fresh supply.

BuyMort charged us for the distance, and for travelling at FTL speeds, so the expense to even get our handful of pill bottles delivered was still far too high. Fifteen million and change in morties later, the doctor was satisfied. I threw in what I could, but Shoshanna ended up footing the majority of the bill.

I held back a few million of my own. There was no telling what need would arise next, or how much it would cost.

The crew wandered around in a semi-drugged state, with only a few of them avoiding the use of our medications. The captain had no need for it, he was one of the few who genuinely enjoyed Cube, and he was drunk all the time anyway.

My security hobbs wisely chose to go radio-silent during the FTL jump. Cube would hear anything they said, so there was no way to transmit off the ship without giving away who they were and what they were doing.

We all muddled through in our own ways. There was no more sex with Shoshanna, or even enjoyable meals together. Like the rest of the crew, we spent the time almost entirely silent. Anytime we did speak, our words had to be carefully weighed, to ensure they wouldn’t upset Cube. Most communication was done via note, or text.

I spent much of the time in thought. It was an unpleasant feeling to be taken by surprise. So many elements of this expedition I had simply failed to put any thought toward, and the end result became something far different from what I had wanted at the start. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing the documentary.

In my thinking, I ran through several possible scenarios and tried my best to imagine what being thrown into deep space had been like for Cube. The gravity haul would have been mere minutes getting him to the edge of galactic space. In all likelihood, the last thing he had seen before being tossed was the gate we were heading toward.

I ordered a full shift on the rigging, for when we were scheduled to drop out of FTL, and security to keep them at their posts if the worst happened. Both orders were made quite separately, in writing and delivered electronically. I wanted us ready to detach the ship as quickly as possible if Cube had a trauma reaction to the gate.

My thought-exercise paid off when Cube began a low, rumbling keen as soon as we stopped. I ordered him detached, and the net-handlers, already at their posts, immediately did as I said. The netting relaxed and the Pykrete pulled further away from Cube. I deployed my armor and exited the craft, exactly as planned. My job was to help Cube calm down for transport.

Shoshanna was on comms with the local customs fleet, explaining our situation, that it was under control, and that we would report to them immediately upon securing our cargo. No matter how intensely they yelled at her or threatened, she just gave them the same explanation in a steady voice.

“Stay afield customs fleet, stay afield,” she would say into the comm unit. “We are transporting an oversized Cube, who is having an emotional response to the gate that could threaten any ships who come near. Keep gate traffic clear of our vessel and do not come within two thousand kilometers yourselves. Once our cargo is calmed and secure, we will process our gate travel as normal and be out of your universe.”

Cube was, of course, massive. Every ship in the nearby area reacted to him in some form, most of them turning and running.

Within a couple of minutes we had a fleet of threatening fighter craft at just past two thousand kilometers, each with a swirl of red and blue lights flashing from them. I flew down to Cube and made contact with him, dodging his long tongue as it threshed over the area, wrecking the nets and breaking manipulator arms.

“NO ALONE!” Cube shouted as soon as I touched him. “SCARED! NO ALONE!”

“It’s okay buddy! We’re all right here with you, just focus on my voice. I’m here Cube, right here with you,” I said, placating the massive beast. “We’re going to take you through the gate to a new solar system, in a new universe, one filled with other Cubes. Doesn’t that sound good?”

“OTHER CUBES?” he yelled quizzically.

“Yeah buddy, others just like you. Loads of them,” I lied. I thought on my feet and came up with a deception that would work itself out in natural course. “The new solar system has three stars, Cube. Three solar winds to play in, three sources of radiation. Not to mention tons of planetary bodies. There will be so much for you to explore and play with.”

“Three stars?” he asked quietly. I couldn’t tell if he knew what that meant or not, but he was thoroughly invested in the conversation.

“Yeah! Three whole stars, and a ton of intact and broken up planets and moons for you to eat. You can grow as big as you want and make tons of other Cube friends. The only downside is that it may take a long time to find other Cubes. Your new solar system is really big. Are you ready to start your search for family and friends buddy?” I asked, trying to hype him up.

“Cube find family?” he asked, again in his quiet, introspective voice. Then, “CUBE FIND FAMILY!” burst out of him and I smiled in relief.

“You’re going to have to search for ‘em buddy, can you do that?” I asked.

“CUBE FIND! CUBE LOOK, CUBE FIND FAMILY!” he replied.

“It could take months, or maybe even years to find them, are you ready for that kind of commitment?” I asked him. “This new solar system is a big place, buddy. If you want it to be, this is your new home where you and all the other Cubes can coexist and grow.”

“NEW HOME!” he roared. Cube was excited again, his emotional state calming from the shock of seeing the gate. “CUBE FIND FAMILY!”

It was true that I was lying to him, but so long as he believed other Cubes were there, and that he could find them, he would be okay. His mind would be focused on exploring his new home, a wild, violent solar system with three different stars, all in different sequences and emitting different forms of radiation.

All I had to do was keep Save the Cubes in operation. Our expedition had been historic for the sheer cost, being from a non-profit. To be fair, BuyMort wasn’t exactly known for its non-profits. Looking at the future of the operation, our expenses weren’t going to get much easier.

We needed more ships, more crew members, and more logistics work. The affiliate would need specialists, people who could successfully work with wild Cubes and relocate them. If the non-profit was going to function in rescuing more Cubes than just mine, I was going to have to find a revenue source for them. A significant revenue source.

In a system like BuyMort, providing so many morties for an affiliate that produced no income was a difficult task.

I focused on Cube and keeping him calm as the Pykrete detached its damaged netting. Once he was free and clear, I pushed him toward the gate. My starfish suit’s gravity harness was capable of producing plenty of thrust, so I used it to push my massive pet up to, and then through the BuyMort gate.

We’d had to pay to reopen the tri-solar system’s gate, and then pay for Cube’s sheer mass to pass through it. That part of the operational fund had been taken from the fundraising pool and earmarked at the beginning of the trek, but it still hurt to see it vanish.

Once on the other side, I quickly noticed that the gate wasn’t securely anchored to anything in particular. In the distance, three vibrant stars shone from different parts of the solar system. To our rear was a vast debris field that seemed to swirl inward toward the solar system’s center, where a dust ball hovered, different parts of it reaching toward different stars.

One of the lights was small and bright blue. It gave off an almost white light and was difficult to look at directly. It orbited a red giant, while a distant pulsar shot waves of violent radiation through the area. My anti-magic helmet identified it as a harmful aura and told me to steer clear before too much corruption settled into my body. I was once again reminded of the fact that magic was nothing but branding, in BuyMort.

Cube vibrated as he took in the solar system. Whatever organ systems he used to perceive his surroundings worked overtime. Suddenly he shouted, “NEW HOME TASTES GOOD!” and I knew he was going to be okay.

“You have a lot of territory to cover buddy, can you make your own way here?” I asked.

“CUBE WANT FLY!” he said, and his body suddenly became a flat sail. It filled with radiation and he tore free of me, flying away so fast that he vanished from sight almost immediately. Even with my enhanced vision, I couldn’t see him anymore.

He would ride the solar winds and gravity wells like a dolphin in ocean currents. If all went to plan, I would never see him again.

I raised a hand in the direction he had disappeared. “Goodbye Cube,” I whispered.

The pulsar brightened, and I felt a mild scorching sensation penetrate my hardened epidermis. I flew toward the BuyMort gate and activated it. The solar system was really unsuitable for anything but Cubes. As I flashed away in a dazzle of rainbow light, I wondered what profit BuyMort had ever found there.

Chapter 45

Jupiter, my Jupiter, welcomed me back to Sol system. I quickly searched the many spacecraft nearby and found the Pykrete floating just outside of traffic lanes. They were trying to get the netting and manipulator arms stowed, but the damage was causing complications. One wing of the ship wouldn’t close.

I took a few deep breaths and brought down my armor. In space, I was aware of the cold, but it didn’t penetrate or damage my skin since the Stoneskin patch had acclimated. My epidermis was hard enough to deflect shipboard railgun fire, but that solar system had left me nearly glowing with radiation. I could feel my crystalline colonies retreating into my other organs and musculature.

With a long, slow exhale, I mentally authorized my suit to skin me. After I had woken up in Sleem, figured out what was happening to me, and started on the path to getting my affiliate back, I’d hoped my days of getting skinned were over. It was getting more difficult to damage me enough to even need it. At least the process regrew my hair and beard once the new skin was in place.

After that particularly unpleasant experience, I pushed my remnant skin toward Jupiter. There was no way I was selling that to BuyMort, no matter how mortie-poor I was. That was the perfect way to teach Axle exactly what my crystalline colonies were all about. I had no doubt he’d placed standing orders the second he heard about my arrival.

Once I had a new epidermis, I got involved in the ship’s problems. With my direct aid, the broken parts were successfully stowed and I was able to board the ship again. I boarded through the regular airlock, to ensure I wasn’t too irradiated to be around the crew. The BuyMort pod locks didn’t typically have the sensors, because BuyMort pods were typically impervious to radiation.

As soon as I was on board, I was confronted by a surprise. My crew was gathered in the embarkation room, applauding as I entered. Our red faced captain led them, but I saw more than one face beaming with pride. We had accomplished a terribly difficult and noble task together, and for all their whining and fear, my crew felt good about what we had done. They felt good about themselves.

Shoshanna stood at the back, one hand partially covering her gigantic smile as tears streamed down her cheeks. Once the applause dwindled to nothing, my girlfriend raised her voice and shouted, “How was it over there?!”

I shook my head, smiled back at her, and shrugged. “Beautiful. He was so excited to be there he left without saying goodbye. Though he never did before when we parted ways, so I don’t know why I was expecting him to this time.”

Our documentary crew approached and the host began haranguing me with questions. They got full descriptions of the solar system and my final moments with Cube, then started in on questions about what was next for the non-profit. Shoshanna and I talked to them for most of an hour as the crew got back to work.

It was time to go home to Nu-Earth. It was time to begin my political career.

With Shoshanna, Terna, and Justin Lee at my side, I made the announcement a week after the expedition’s return. Save the Cubes honored its contracts and paid out the hazard clauses for each crew member. We even memorialized all of them on a plaque at the affiliate’s headquarters, which were set up on Nu-Earth in the wake of our success. Not in Prescott, but close by on the Gulf of Mexico’s coast.

After the announcement, I got to work using various ad assistance affiliate agencies, rolling through a variety of often over-the-top suggestions, trying for a hard balance of truth and awesomeness by which to lead my campaign. After hours of work, I leaned back in my chair and stared at the holographic 'solid copy' display of my first political ad, then approved it, letting it overwhelm my senses and plunge me into ad space. Blinking, I saw myself in a sleek, minimalist room with a vast, wall-sized window overlooking the horizon of Nu-Earth, drenched in the beautiful reddish light of a setting sun.

“Vote Tyson Dawes for CEO of Silken Sands. Bold Leadership. Trusted Experience. A Proven Vision.”

A smooth, authoritative voice echoed through the room as golden letters shimmered into view against the backdrop of Nu-Earth’s skyline. The camera zoomed in on me, standing tall at the edge of the cityscape, my black suit with silver pinstripes catching the last glints of sunlight.

“Under Tyson’s leadership, Silken Sands saw an era of unprecedented growth, stability, and innovation. Now, with the galaxy facing growing threats from dream-crime, associate sanctions, and unrest across the system, it’s time to bring back the man who can steer us through these turbulent times.”

Suddenly, the scene shifted. I was standing on the bridge of a massive ship, the Pykrete behind me, shining under the brilliant stars. I was still in the suit, I noticed, and now that the viewpoint was closer up, I noticed too that my hair was carefully styled. Certainly nothing I'd picked in any of my options. A holographic Cube floated above a console, slowly rotating as I addressed an unseen audience.

“Save the Cubes wasn’t just a success; it was a beacon of hope. Tyson Dawes knows how to unite people, affiliates, and worlds for a common cause. His commitment to every citizen of BuyMort is unmatched.”

The image shifted again, this time to a factory on Nu-Earth where workers labored side by side, building spacecraft. A foreman glanced up from his work as the voice continued:

“The working class of Nu-Earth are the backbone of our system. They deserve a leader who understands their needs and fights for fair wages and improved working conditions. Tyson Dawes will ensure that prosperity isn’t just for those at the top—it's for everyone.”

I raised an eyebrow as the next scene appeared. It showed Axle in black and white, an outdated image that did him no favors. The text underneath read: “Axle Seeker’s Knowle Leadership faction: disconnected, and out of touch.”

“Axle Seeker has kept the affiliate stagnant with outdated policies and dictatorial oppression. Tyson Dawes is the future.” The voice dripped with calm certainty, just enough venom to make the point but not enough to appear outright hostile.

Then, the final transition occurred. It was me, standing once again behind the podium from my announcement, looking into the camera. I smirked in anticipation of what was coming, standing in the midst of Prescott. “My fellow Nu-Earthers,” my voice said. “I’ve returned not just to lead, but to guide our affiliate into a new era of prosperity, unity, and strength. With your vote, I will make Silken Sands a beacon for the multiverse once more.”

Golden text rose above my image: “Vote Tyson Dawes for CEO. A Leader for the Future.”

The ad’s closing shot was of a sunrise, symbolizing the new era we were trying to sell.

Then, as expected, the soothing, calming tone of the disclaimer whispered its way into my ears:

“Paid for by Terna NoMort Free Thought Political Initiatives and supported by the Tyson Dawes for CEO Campaign. Some claims subject to further validation. Results may vary depending on galactic conditions. Side effects may include high poll ratings, media scrutiny, and occasional sabotage attempts by political rivals. In rare cases, voters may experience spontaneous motivation to challenge unjust affiliate practices.”

I blinked as the ad space dissolved back into my office. The experience had been slick, powerful, and just the right amount of grandiloquent.

I smiled. “Good enough to sway a few people, I think.”

Public interest shot up as soon as we entered Nu-Earth’s atmosphere, and not just because of our political ad. The documentary crew had been editing as they shot it and released their product before our ships had even landed. It went out to all the major content platforms and was an immediate hit.

My meeting with them before release had been mercifully quick. It was explained to me in succinct detail that ‘inspirational’ and ‘heartwarming’ were on the rise while ‘scandalous’ and ‘interpersonal drama’ were in decline. The documentary team did their job and followed the genre trends, crafting a product that showed us and our expedition in a very good light.

Shoshanna, Molly, and I did a streaming reaction event for the affiliate’s diehard fans. I was pleased to see the challenges and dangers we faced presented in ways that made our crew shine when we triumphed over them one after the other. The entire thing built up until the big climax when we found and transported Cube home.

They chose to skip over the intense fear and lasting anxiety we had all felt during transit, as well as many of the more unsavory elements like the attack by the Cult of Eternal Darkness. I didn’t even have to threaten or intimidate any of them, they left it out all on their own.

Axle’s spies likely delivered him a less enchanting version of our tale, but that had always been the plan. Allow him to see what I was up to. I had nothing to hide from him, after our victory in deep space. All I was doing was trying to help, just like I had said publicly after my trial.

The documentary soared on Nu-Earth. There was something special about Shoshanna’s passion and my matter-of-fact handling of deadly scenarios that combined to win audiences over. In the few days following our arrival back home, Save the Cubes saw a massive growth in awareness and positive sentiment. Donations also increased to a steady flow, settling into a healthy trickle after the documentary’s main bump had faded.

I used that public-awareness surge, and my status as a Nu-Earth celebrity, to push my run for CEO of Silken Sands. Part of that process was giving a small speech, so I spent the week learning how to present myself to the Nu-Earth voting public. I also made sure Shoshanna was on board.

She questioned what it meant in terms of personal danger for her, and I was honest about it. To her credit, she simply took a deep breath, reiterated that she loved me, and stayed by my side. When she saw the armed security Terna had provided, she did pale a bit, but said nothing.

“My fellow Nu-Earthers,” I said, stepping up to the podium as a wave of sound filled the air. A band stationed on a nearby levitating platform struck up an energetic and powerful tune, the kind reserved for a wrestling event. The music swelled, making sure every ear in the live audience and across the streaming platforms knew this was the hardcore kickoff to a startlingly significant moment. I adjusted my black suit with silver pinstripes, the same one I'd used in my ad as a nod to the business style of my time. Demographics told us this look played particularly well with voters over 80, a surprisingly influential voting block on Nu-Earth.

As I began speaking, the hum of engines grew louder overhead. I paused, glancing up with a small smile as the crowd's eyes followed mine. A formation of seven sleek ships, courtesy of the local Screaming Angels Aerobatics affiliate, streaked across the sky in perfect symmetry. They left contrails in the colors and patterns of a rainbow. Within those streaks rose the words, 'TYSON FOR CEO.'

The crowd erupted into applause, and I allowed the noise to settle before continuing.

“Today, I would like to officially announce my candidacy for CEO of the Silken Sands affiliate,” I declared, my voice carrying over the cheers. The band softened their music, now creating a steady, jock jams like back rhythm that had more than one onlooker tapping their foot to the beat as I spoke. Giant holographic banners unfurled behind me, showcasing my silver starfish campaign logo. Supporters in the audience, already prepared by my ad for the announcement at hand, waved flags and banners, creating a sea of color and energy.

“I have the utmost respect for my dear friend CEO Axle Seeker,” I continued, nodding gravely for emphasis, “and all that he has done in my absence to care for the multiverse.” I paused to let the words sink in, then leaned forward, my voice rising with determination. “But the time has come for me to guide our affiliate once more.”

The words “guide our affiliate once more” flashed in bold text on the screens behind me, and the crowd cheered.

“These times require a particular kind of strength,” I said, my voice now strong and unwavering, “and the ability to make tough, uncompromising decisions for the betterment of us all.”

As I laid out my platform, the music shifted into a triumphant crescendo.

“Over the next three months,” I continued, “my campaign will lay out our plans for many hot-button issues, including but not limited to dream-crime, food shortages, harmful associate sanctions, the rebellion on Terna’s World, and several of Storage’s worst issues.”

Another ship, this time larger and more symbolic, performed a slow flyover, casting a shadow that seemed to underscore the gravity of the problems I was addressing. The lights of the ship glimmered in the evening sky, and the words 'WINDOWPUNCHER' flashed on its underbelly.

I paused to let the audience absorb the weight of the issues, the music still playing softly in the background. The energy in the crowd was palpable, and even the air itself felt charged with anticipation as I prepared to conclude my address.

I paused and gave the crowd my best solemn expression, then continued.

“Axle’s Knowle Leadership faction has done a passable job, and I don’t intend to upset the apple cart they set in motion. I merely think we could be doing more and ensuring prosperity to many more worlds than we currently are. My experience as system Warlord will also be invaluable in bringing to a close the many military conflicts still occurring all around the BuyMort system. Thank you all for your time, and I look forward to improving this affiliate, and its many associates as your new CEO.”

With my speech finished, I allowed my campaign manager to field press questions. While I watched the human man answer their questions from a release I had prepared for him, I thought about how much I missed Yolara Brinks. The world she and I had operated in had been very different though, and my new guy was the right man for the job.

As a Nu-Earth human, from a humble billionaire upper-class family, he was perfect to hit the demographic I most needed to win. Terna had hired him for me, she was well-versed in how the political machine on Nu-Earth worked.

She was my true campaign manager, of course. He was merely the face and mouthpiece we had to use. Terna’s biggest strength had been recognizing the political landscapes her world operated within. She’d miscalculated with Nu-Earth, but none of us had seen Admiral Omen coming. I should have, really. He’d even warned me in plain language what he would do if he ever thought I had become a threat to the affiliate.

After the announcement, we hosted a big gala event celebrating the success of Save the Cubes’ first expedition. Shoshanna was thrilled to have a night of partying to wash away the harsh space voyage, and I was happy to use our fame for my political career. The relationship between my newly founded campaign and Save the Cubes was symbiotic. My presence drew press, which increased public awareness of the affiliate further, and kept it in the public eye after its first success. Normally a news story about a non-profit throwing itself a party to celebrate a win would be a hard sell but add in a scandalous and potentially dangerous political candidate and it was prime time viewing.

My role in the party was supportive, I merely teased the press with small details about my campaign promises and redirected them to Save the Cubes with every question I answered. Shoshanna loved me for it, as Molly showed her the affiliate’s climbing numbers as the night went on.

We actually made more in donations that night than we spent on the party. Even with Molly’s expensive ride service fees and lavish personal spending the non-profit was stockpiling a sizable mortie stash.

The marriage of my campaign with the Save the Cubes affiliate was clear to the public, and the release I had prepared for my campaign manager implanted the narrative that I was there to help. That my return heralded a potential golden age for Silken Sands.

Chapter 46

While I celebrated, my campaign did an interview with Hris C’aze, the Conda Nah’gh host of SNN. Her show was already covering Axle’s mostly quiet campaign, so my entrance shook up their programming lineup. In normal electoral seasons, Axle’s team used the time and attention to reinforce their vision for the affiliate and lay out guideposts for the next two years. SNN served as the public’s view into how the affiliate was run.

All of my campaign manager’s interview was heavily dramatized and laced with substantive policy suggestions to sound officious, but the evening slot reached nearly eight hundred million people across Nu-Earth. During my party, Axle’s Knowle Leadership faction released a statement about my announcement, which was also aired. Their campaign acted like I wasn’t a serious candidate and pretended at nonchalance. A clear stalling tactic, absent of any policy discussion or sight toward the future of the race. Overall, it was a weak statement that did nothing to boost public confidence numbers.

One thing I had to thank Axle’s campaign for was the access to polling information. They paid for premium sourcing, and then shared the information freely via the press. Anytime a poll was announced that didn’t immediately get purchased by Axle’s campaign, the press paid for it themselves. The relationship between press, polling associates, and the campaigns was quite incestuous, but the information was solid. It all amounted to one conclusion. I was the hot new thing.

Immediately following my campaign manager’s interview, all the planet’s news networks began digging for old footage to display. My former triumphs that had been filmed and stored a century prior began making the rounds again, which only added to my public image.

By the morning after my announcement, my campaign office was fielding dozens of interview requests. My schedule began to fill, and I had to carefully calculate how to spend my time for the most exposure.

In the space of twenty four hours I did a rush of television appearances. First, I did a morning show in Prescott, hitting Axle in his backyard. We discussed my initiative for dream-crime at length and I left the show with another immediate leap in my poll numbers. My favorability was going through the roof, and it was thanks to my bold stance on the problem.

I declared the for-profit media to blame for the issue, pointing out how dream-crime spiked in any region that had good ratings on an episode that sensationalized a break in. Well, a portal in, but that phrasing didn’t play on TV. The criminals selling themselves to fill specific nightmares would hit one person, that person and their story would be featured as dramatically as possible, and that night several more nightmares would come true.

It was a clear pattern. To avoid making an enemy of the press, I said that Silken Sands would provide guidance to all press to avoid further breakouts without trampling on their right to profit from the news. The story of any new break-ins, I argued, would be the primary concern of associate security. Not of the press. My plan was simple, they could report on the dream-crime cases as loudly and dramatically as they wanted to, after the crime was solved. Until that point, the story would remain the property of Silken Sands and BlueCleave constabulary. Putting the solution into the phraseology of ownership had polled well with our focus groups.

I added that mental health care would be a higher priority for the affiliate, as well as a return to the culture of meditation to control one’s dreams. That didn’t play as well as blaming the media though, so it was a minor sidenote to the policy proposal.

My campaign whipped up some projections for me, and I shared them with the press. According to me, the problem would be addressed almost immediately, without hurting any of the affiliates involved.

Of course, in reality it was police state overreach and press manipulation. Nobody called me out on it though, because my charismatic lies played well among the millionaire middle class in Arizona. A handful of voices spoke out against my plan, and accurately pointed out the flaws and oversteps within it, but those voices didn’t raise ratings as much as my florid nonsense did, so the press disproportionally carried my words instead.

I followed that up with a pro-worker rally in Australia. The continent held much of the planet’s manufacturing infrastructure and housed a massive population of laborers. All my campaign had to promise was a higher wage recommendation in the Silken Sands standards and practices, and we got a sizable crowd to show up and cheer for us. That footage went on to supplement the news stories about our campaign, which cyclically added to public enthusiasm.

People like to vote for a winner, and by the time I circled round to a late night comedy show in what used to be eastern China, I was starting to look like that winner. The host made jokes at my expense and soft-balled me questions about my time as the Warlord of BuyMort. By the end of that program, I had been thoroughly humanized, and my crimes against BuyMort had begun to be white-washed.

My public image was starting to form, and people liked what they saw. I was the tough but sensible wartime leader they all knew from my history propaganda videos, with a funny side and an affinity for Cubes. My perceived ability to operate a non-profit without any personal income also scored me points. They thought it meant I was good at BuyMort, in a very simplistic sense. There was very little awareness among the upper echelon of BuyMort society surrounding the true nature of wealth management and its relationship to competence.

Once I was officially attached to both affiliates, Save the Cubes and my campaign, my credit rating began to rise. It was a real time representation of my ability to navigate BuyMort’s complexities. My primary goal in raising my credit rating was to get back in contact with MortMobile. He was still way out of my price range thanks to his shrunken, calcified customer base.

Instead of following the standard path of economic least resistance, he had become a rarity. My work, mostly, but how he had managed to maintain such exclusivity was something that baffled me. It had been a century, and his deal with BuyMort shouldn’t allow for his business model. I had to find out why it had.

But first I had to win back my affiliate. MortMobile, while he was on my mind, would have to wait.

Especially once Axle announced my first scandal to Nu-Earth. He did an interview himself and spent his biggest chip against me right up front.

“CEO Seeker, Allow me to say, I am just starstruck. You are, of course, a role model and personal hero of mine,” said Hris C’aze. Her scales were flushed vibrant purple, and she batted her massive eyes at the decrepit Knowle across from her.

Axle’s mechanical eyes flashed in the light of the cameras, and he smiled demurely. “That is good to hear, thank you. I’ve always strived to be a good example, I think anyone in a position like mine should be.”

A cut against me. I snarled while watching on my phone. I was on a flight. Our campaign had just purchased an in-atmo flier, which operated like a high atmosphere hovercraft. It had gravity drive tech, a low power version of the engine that helped manage the craft’s gravity within Nu-Earths natural well. I was on my way home, to spend a weekend with Shoshanna, and the interview almost certainly meant that weekend was going to get canceled.

“Wise words, thank you sir,” Hris simpered. It was gross, watching a member of the press gush over their love for power in such an overt manner. “Can I ask the main question right up front? Or would it be rude of me?” she asked.

Axle shook his head and gave that same small smile. On his features, it looked like a grimace, like he was intentionally baring his teeth. Knowing him the way I did, it was the latter.

“Oh, thank you! Alright, so our audience is just dying to know; what made you decide to do an interview this political season?” the Nah’gh woman asked.

“My opponent,” Axle said, matter of fact. “This electoral season is unusual, in that my opponent represents an existential threat to our way of life here on Nu-Earth. None of you know him like I know him.”

She flushed yellow at his words, a rich, dark urine complexion that appeared practiced. Molls had never had good control over her scales, but she had clearly become a therapist because of her own traumatic childhood and family dynamic. She didn’t have the ability to control her emotions as easily as this trained, practiced serpent in front of me on the screen.

A creature meant to be bait for me. To manipulate my emotions. My snarl stayed in place as I watched.

“None of us, no,” she agreed. Her scaled arm reached across the table to him, and he stared down at it instead of taking it as she clearly wished. She waggled fingers tipped in painted claws excitedly at him and retracted the limb. “Which is a major part of why I agree that it’s important to hear directly from you, CEO. So, what can you tell us?”

Axle shrugged. “Tyson Dawes is dangerous. Much more so than the history reels tell us. Regardless of his testimony at the Knowle Institute on Terna’s World, I was there. I heard his words, I lived through his actions, and I am telling you right now, he used this entire planet as bait to kill his enemies.”

“A serious accusation!” Hris gasped, hand to her chest as her yellow darkened again.

“I lived through almost two years of this man’s rule. He is a warlord, at his core, and thereby dangerous for a civilized society. In my experience and knowledge, the Knowle Institute has made a mistake on this ruling. Not their first, of course, but it is important to notate each occurrence to ensure their continued resolution to accuracy, and not personal interest,” Axle explained. “My campaign will be in touch with a list of the many times the Knowle Institute of History has made mistaken rulings in the past. For context, of course.”

“Oh of course!” Hris exclaimed. “Our shared dedication is to the people of BuyMort. To ensure they are informed, in an accurate and fair manner.”

“Tyson Dawes cannot be placed in a position of power over this affiliate, this precious and fragile system ever again,” Axle grumbled. “And my job as CEO is to protect the people of the BuyMort system from any and all threats. Including this one.”

“Oh, do please go on,” the host beamed.

“This will sound absurd but trust me when I tell you that it happened. Tyson Dawes once came to me and expressed a desire to kill BuyMort itself,” Axle said, leaning lightly on the table to emphasize how serious he was being. With those words he definitely canceled my weekend with Shoshanna. I made a mental note to increase her personal security to compensate.

There it was. I wanted to kill BuyMort. Axle’s first and best shot at my campaign. I turned off the interview and floated up front of the craft to instruct the pilot to change course. We were still going to Prescott, but my landing area had just changed to the SNN headquarters.

Chapter 47

I was going to take them up on the offer for an interview, and they were expecting my call. Less than an hour after Axle had spoken to SNN, I was on air to provide a counter. This meant sitting across the desk from Hris C’aze, to my distaste.

Her blouse had been changed for the interview and was considerably lower. It wasn’t obscene, but it showed off the size of her bust considerably more than the previous top had. Snitties yet again, the ever-present reminder that sex sells. She smiled broadly at me, gleaming with purple in her scales.

“We’re all so glad you could make time in your busy schedule to respond!” Hris said with a wide smile.

“Of course,” I replied easily, sitting back in the chair.

“Well, let's start with the obvious. Some would say ridiculous, but our CEO is a solid source, so it has to be taken seriously. Do you want to kill BuyMort, Mr. Dawes?” she asked.

“Oh of course,” I said, scowling exaggeratedly. “Don’t we all?”

Suddenly, an interactive overlay appeared in my vision:

“Confused? Want the facts? With Teal'c CertiCheck, you'll receive the exact truth you need. Let the world agree with you. Let Teal'c CertiCheck provide you with trusted facts, catered to your perspective!”

An animated button popped up with two glowing options:

- Option A: Axle's Truth

- Option B: Tyson's Take

I smirked inwardly at the overt manipulation but dismissed the ad with a flick. Facts were flexible these days, after all.

The Nah’gh woman burst out laughing and reached across the table for me. I happily gripped her hand and laughed along. “Oh you are just a delight,” she squealed. “We will have to have you on more often! Now, in all seriousness, can you explain the CEO’s statement?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “What my dear old friend is referring to is a simple thought exercise. We used to do it as a method of producing tactical plans against our actual enemies at the time. The Dearth Conglomerate, the great Orkreshi houses, the Church itself. The idea is to simply brainstorm about how to kill something much more powerful than yourself, in essence,” I explained. “The entire concept was only ever a strategic exercise, something to inspire actual strategy against potent enemy forces.”

While I spoke, she nodded along as if she understood my word salad. “To be clear, you do not want to kill or destroy the BuyMort commerce system?”

I scoffed. “You know, I wouldn’t mind getting rid of that icon in my vision. But eh, you get used to it.”

“That’s a no?” she asked.

I smiled again and shook my head. “That’s a no,” I lied. “In all the thought exercises, we only ever came up with one potentially viable strategy at any rate, and it involved eons of slow changes to structural and cultural systems. Much more akin to guided evolution than killing.”

“Well that’s good, I suppose,” Hris said.

“Oh it is, if you like economic stability and societal standards,” I replied. Axle was going to come for me, and I wasn’t going to be gentle in reply. But it had to be done in this bizarre arena of mistruth and truth. “Under my operation of Silken Sands, the affiliate saw the most rapid economic expansion and rise in the history of the BuyMort system.”

Suddenly, the screen flickered as Teal'c CertiCheck, obviously a program sponsor, lit it up with bombastic flair.

The room was filled with dramatic, pulsing music as huge, golden checkmarks exploded into view, floating in mid-air between me and Hris. A deep voiceover boomed:

“TEAL'C CERTICHECK VERDICT: TRUE!

Fact: Silken Sands reached the Top 10 Affiliates in BuyMort history in record time under Tyson Dawes' leadership!”

A sweeping visual showed a digital timeline, displaying Silken Sands’ rapid ascent to the top 10 affiliates. Neon arrows shot through the chart with fireworks blazing in the background, while a glowing “100% Certified” badge spun slowly in front of Hris's desk.

She clapped her hands in delight, her scales flushing a pleased shade of lavender. “Well, there we go! Teal'c CertiCheck is on your side for that one!”

I smirked, my eyebrow arching slightly. “Glad to have it confirmed. Hard to argue with facts when they’ve got pyrotechnics backing them up.”

Hris giggled. “Oh, isn't it just marvelous? They really pull out all the stops these days.” The screen behind her flashed once more, transitioning from the economic chart to a video montage of smiling workers in spaceports and shimmering planetary cities, showing the growth Silken Sands had achieved.

She turned and pointed to another screen behind the table. On the monitor showing us our own broadcast a large chart popped into view. It showed affiliates that had made it into the top ten, and how long it took them to accomplish that monumental task. Silken Sands was on top, by a massive margin.

Only a handful of other affiliates had managed to reach the top ten in under a century, with all of those being associates that I had personally set in motion or elevated, like the House of None. I’d sent SNN the chart myself, something Terna had acquired from the Knowle Institute of History. It was hard data with confirmable sources that was difficult to argue against.

“That,” I said, “is undeniable proof of my ability to run an affiliate. I saw the collapse of the Church coming and took steps to ensure that Silken Sands would come out on top. I stood up to The Dearth Conglomerate as they were twisting the teachings of BuyMort, producing expensive crap as cheaply as possible and then selling those necessary goods for as much as possible with no regard to quality or customer experience. I set us all on a better path, and I saved as many lives as I could along the way. People forget that what we have experienced, and are still experiencing today in a tangible way, is the death throes of the former ruling class.”

Hris sucked in air between her teeth and the color in her scales pushed toward orange, with some red seeping into the yellow of her sudden jolt of fear.

“And one more thing,” I said, cutting her off before she could say anything. “There are a handful of people who knew me back then still alive today. Most of them knew Axle as well, if not personally then by his hand as my operations manager. And all of them have come out to support my campaign so far. We are actively seeking BlueCleave starfish troopers to join our campaign as well. Simply contact Save the Cubes, and they’ll get you in touch with the campaign.”

“Alright, thank you so much Warlord, that’s all the time we have for tonight, unfortunately,” Hris announced. She had been touching her earpiece and not listening to me during my final statement, and it was clear someone said to cut me off as soon as I had started talking about the class system of BuyMort.

That was always a sore subject. I’d been on both sides of it twice already and was able to recognize its effects more than the average denizen of BuyMort. Those in the ruling class never wanted to hear how things were ruined or outright destroyed because of their actions, but there were always so many in the lower classes who could see it evidently. The argument would be a part of BuyMort for as long as morties were.

With her abrupt cutoff, the feed died and I was gently escorted from the building. The interviews from SNN would likely dry up for a couple of days, but that was when it was time for me to make the rounds on smaller and more targeted media sources.

The pasta-damned routine of podcasts, content creators, and comedy shows that actually reached a substantive number of the voting public and was therefore worth doing. That tour was what I had to do with my weekend instead of spending it with Shoshanna.

She quickly became a wonderful distraction for me as the campaign continued. Where before my arrival in her affiliate and life, she had been quite unproductive and used her non-profit as a hobby more than anything serious, suddenly she was focused. Shoshanna complained to me more than once after we landed that Molly’s spending was out of control. The women had argued over it in front of me one night, and I stayed silent, looking away and pretending not to hear.

Shoshanna’s involvement in Save the Cubes suddenly became full time. She soberly accepted a large security escort, and went to work cheerfully every day, finding new Cubes to save and attempting to obtain a larger fleet of ships to work with. Her long-term goal was to purchase a large, fast cargo ship that had been based on the Crown of Thorns warship.

It was driven by a gravity drive, which held the ship together and provided extreme FTL speeds alongside gargantuan cargo capacity. The entire ship was a thick starfish design that opened its arms to accept cargo into the craft, as well as providing the advanced living suites and defensive capability any affiliate into deep space work would desire. Its gravity drive was capable of diverting all incoming projectiles or allowing them to pass through the ship with a quick movement of its plates and inner compartments. It could even bend weaponized light, if needed.

All while controlling the personal gravity of each person on board according to their spoken desires, and being capable of holding its delicate cargo at a long distance, in case the Cube could not be consoled. The ship, with a programming upgrade, could produce a sound-transit arm. Something that could be used to reach down to the Cubes and speak to them, while limiting what it could hear from the ship. If the rescue Cube became unstable or erratic, the sound-transit arm could be rapidly disassembled to prevent harm to the ship.

In Shoshanna’s perfect world, Save the Cubes was going to save all the cubes, including those that had been lost for tens of thousands of years. The data on Cube sales and discards had been cheap when the affiliate had no way of successfully accomplishing its goals.

But the ship was absurdly expensive and would produce no profit once attained. Not only that, but Shoshanna wanted a small fleet of them, to go after multiple Cubes at once. She told me she was worried about our Cube, and how he was doing all alone in that violent system. The way he’d left me made me feel good about it, there had been no hesitation at all. It was like he’d finally come to a place he could recognize and thrive in.

Like a fish finding water for the first time. I figured he would be fine, and that he would be content to explore and feed until we sent the next Cube through.

While Shoshanna elevated the non-profit to a serious affiliate, I focused on my campaign. Over the weekend I had to miss with her, I visited several broadcast and publication affiliates to tell my side of the story. To counterprogram Axle.

Chapter 48

My media blitz had a variety of effects, but the most important thing was that people kept talking about it. I made a handful of longwinded statements, at one point on a late-night comedy show telling Axle to remember that while he had been my operations manager, I was still the affiliate’s head during its most dramatic successes. I called his public record into question, producing more data as my campaign worked to unearth it.

Much of the donations we received went to purchasing data, and I was assured it was an extremely normal thing for a political campaign to do. Information costs were expected to run up to sixty-percent of a campaign’s total finances.

I shook my head at the broken system and played my part. Making the rounds anytime Axle’s campaign released a statement became the norm for me. While his campaign shrank in popularity by dint of sheer exposure for him, the press rabidly hunted for any clip that could be scandalous enough to bring in ratings. Their sense of loyalty to power only went so far. Ratings were morties, and nobody ignored morties.

As a result, the conflict on Terna’s World began to receive more exposure. Her rebellion was difficult for the media to handle, and BlueCleave’s oppressive actions began to steal the spotlight in the public discourse.

My campaign tended to follow a pattern with its own scandals. We would laugh them off, explain them away succinctly, and then go around on smaller shows to redirect the media cycle back to Axle’s problems. It rapidly became cyclical. People were predictable, in large enough groups.

Saying just the right things, at just the right time was a skillset. When applied correctly, that skillset began to alter perception on a multiversal scale. Suddenly, Silken Sands had flaws, and those flaws were becoming the focus of Nu-Earth’s media bubble more and more as I pushed.

I never went too far, I never crossed the lines of basic civility when refuting Axle’s statements about me, but I said pretentious things. Things that were designed to keep the media cycle going and continue the rise in perception my campaign was receiving. The goal was not necessarily to inform the voting public, although that was part of it. We primarily had to win this election, by brute force if nothing else, and it was working.

We were experiencing a robust rise in the polls, as Axle’s once solid footing on the race began to chip and flake away. He lost numbers one by one at first, then in larger and larger chunks as I made his statements about me sound like the absurd ramblings of a tired and out-of-touch old Knowle.

I used the many active wars in the multiverse against him. I brought them to the forefront of Nu-Earth’s collective mind and kept them there to show off how ugly Axle’s reign had truly been. He struggled to convince the public that I was the dangerous radical he portrayed, because I didn’t act that way and my primary interest aside from the campaign was my girlfriend’s heartwarming non-profit. Save the Cubes was still selling. Views per day had risen into the hundreds of millions, and the documentary was starting to reach other universes in the system.

The affiliate’s fan base grew on Nu-Earth, Terna’s World, as well as the Venus magma-kelp barges, Mars Terraforming Cartel, Luna, and the Saturn mining stations. Each was smaller in population than the former, but it began to add up. Once it reached Saturn, an overlooked aspect of the market would help its spread to other universes—proximity.

Once people near the BuyMort gate were watching it, they were more likely to spread the word through the gate. A news story about a BlueCleave customs officer made the rounds. The hobb woman was enthusiastically endorsing my campaign and recommending to every ship she scanned and directed to watch the documentary.

The block that mattered the most was my precious Nu-Earth middle class. Millionaires who could easily afford housing and basic necessities, but often felt unprivileged compared to their betters in the higher income brackets. They were production workers for the most part. Nu-Earth had become the multiverse’s hub for spacecraft sales. That industry alone was enough to produce a voting bloc, but many other smaller industries complemented the planet’s primary export.

There were those less fortunate than the millionaires, and those much more fortunate. The higher up the income bracket one went, the smaller the population became, and the more niche their interests.

I had celebrities come out for and against me, representing those niches.

A hard-drinking rockstar who had grown up in a privileged trillionaire community professed to speak for the working man while being one of the wealthiest musicians on the North American continent.

Before the thought could settle, I was bombarded with a mental ad from NuConfluence, the multiverse’s leading service for connecting campaigns to high-profile influencers.

“Need a boost in public perception? Let NuConfluence align your campaign with the perfect celebrity endorsement. Whether it's a rockstar for the everyman or a pop icon with global appeal, we've got the star power to elevate your message. Packages start at just 500,000 morties!”

The ad played out, showing a montage of various influencers shaking hands with political candidates, posing with campaign merch, and performing at rallies. The images were interspersed with staggering polls showing dramatic upticks in support.

The final image was a smiling celebrity standing next to a holographic crowd of cheering voters, the caption reading: “With NuConfluence, you're always one endorsement away from victory.”

I swiped the ad away with a thought and refocused on my campaign strategy.

Another celebrity, someone who acted in popular films, told the rockstar that he was a weirdo on a comedy podcast, and the pop culture war sparked from there. While it was amusing to watch celebrity affiliate heads and wealthy cultural icons argue and bicker, I instructed my campaign to ignore it and decline comment on any explosive statements from either side.

We were professional, after all. Strategic, intelligent, and focused. All the qualities one should want in their governing financial body. Our campaign was above such discord, even if I did frequent the same shows and field questions about the statements. I was statesmanlike, often parroting my campaign’s official responses and refusing to elaborate. The shows that pushed me too hard didn’t receive return bookings.

I let them sit and wonder for a week at a time before returning to ensure their audiences had my personal perspectives on all major public disagreements in mind.

As I campaigned, nearly a month passed at breakneck speed. My routine was established, and I sunk into it eagerly.

When I could, I actively spent time with Shoshanna. The relationship grew from its origins, and my feelings for the woman grew alongside. It was no longer a political arrangement for me, I started having strong feelings for the socialite in spite of myself.

At the end of our first month of campaigning, the Cult of Eternal Darkness struck again. I had been collaborating with Justin Lee on Midnight, and his entire affiliate was dedicated to hunting the cult down and removing them as a threat. His actions had been swift, and direct. His affiliate ultimately controlled their associates' finances, so the cult’s funds had been drained and its access to affiliate benefits revoked. Justin also put bounties on all known cult members, which increased pressure on the relatively small organization. They were put on the back foot, in spite of having primarily drained their associate accounts before their first attack. The loss of benefits meant transportation and income were significantly more difficult.

A small bomb was mailed to my campaign building, and several staff were killed, including my campaign manager and head of security. The Cult was declared responsible, and my second major scandal began.

Chapter 49

Once more I started making the media rounds, providing explanations and excuses. Convincing the public that the old delf houses were my problem and not Nu-Earth’s problem. That this cult was little more than a minor terrorist organization.

The only way that was going to be convincing is if I went and did something about them immediately after the bombing. Once again I increased Shoshanna’s security and left Nu-Earth.  This time I headed for Midnight as my poll numbers began to decline.

Terna and Justin had arranged the visit for me, so I traveled in style on a House of None VIP shuttle. It was comfortable and well stocked, even though the journey would only take a handful of hours. Most of that I spent waiting in line for the Jupiter gate, watching Axle’s statement on the bombing.

“This is what I was trying to warn you all about,” he told Hris C’aze on SNN. The Nah’gh woman was doing her level best to look serious and solemn while in a revealing, low cut blouse. “None of you remember what life was like under Warlord Dawes’ rule. The constant threats, the existential dread and lost loved ones. He, the man himself, brings this death and destruction onto everyone around him.”

I sighed and shook my head. He wasn’t wrong.

“Your campaign released a statement earlier in support of the Dawes campaign, condemning the bombing and wishing everyone well,” the buxom snake-woman said, tapping at a blank paper in front of her on the desk. “So these new statements are completely from you, personally?”

“Yes, of course I feel for those who have been slain,” Axle grumbled. “As I feel for any of my affiliates’ many people. We all face a terrible danger at the hands of Tyson Dawes, if he is elected to power.”

“So your office will be accepting the results of the election? I understand there has been some murmuring from inside the Prescott Tower about that,” Hris said.

“It’s my election, I wouldn’t have held it all these years if I didn’t believe in it. If I am voted out of the CEO’s office, I will accept the affiliate’s decision and step aside. I think tonight more people can understand why that would spell disaster for the multiverse though,” Axle said, ending the interview and causing another dip in my polls.

We weren’t quite in free-fall, but the delf cult was sensational news, and it was not helping my campaign’s public image. I needed to project strength, fast. With that in mind, I took Justin Lee’s call as it came through the shuttle’s comm system.

“Devastating interview, friend. And on top of the bombing, insult to injury,” he said.

“It’s okay, we just have to clean this mess up,” I told him. “We shut down the cult, hard and fast, and that’ll fix our campaign problems. It’s also the only thing I really want to do. They’re threatening people I care about, and I only have one response to that.”

Justin Lee nodded slowly. “I remember well. How can I help?”

“I’ll need everything you have on the Cult of Eternal Darkness, as well as access to your military apparatus,” I said.

He frowned. “Ah, that last bit may be a problem,” Justin replied. “I don’t actually control the planet’s military apparatus. At least, not directly. There is an affiliate board I answer to, and while most of them are on our side in this matter ideologically . . . there is a problem.”

I raised an eyebrow and waited.

“One of the board members has long been suspected to be a cult member. Old great house blood, from the time before the House of None took over. He always has an excuse to oppose anti-cult affiliate action, usually financial in nature. Most of his lies are thin, but enough to stand up in public,” Justin explained. “Without a unanimous vote, I cannot mobilize the planetary defense units for any act other than their normal duties.”

I nodded. “Time to find evidence of cult involvement then,” I said without smiling. “Quickly.”

Justin nodded back and cut the communication. He would follow my suggestions before they had to become orders, but I had to be careful about that around any of his affiliate members. I couldn’t publicly undercut an ally as important as Midnight or alienate any of their populace. The planet was unable to cast votes in the election, but they got involved financially.

When I had left Shoshanna, she had been in a bunker deep under the gulf of Mexico. The underwater city of Rapture had secure bunkers that were impossible to access without BuyMort access, and she moved into one temporarily. Her affiliate rented the space through a security broker, to avoid records and tracing. She was able to talk to her friends and family, but her only company was going to be security guards until I could return.

I felt a twinge of guilt, it was starting to remind me of constantly shuffling Molls around the multiverse, trying to keep her out of harm’s way. Now Shoshanna stood in her place, a target at my side.

The only thing I could do about it was to remove the enemies making life dangerous for her. My only vexation with the situation was the fact that I had to prevent public chaos while doing so. I couldn’t just find and tear the delf cult apart. I had to be seen taking them down, but it had to be done in a civilized manner. Something that wouldn't scare off potential voters when they saw it on their evening news programs.

My journey to Midnight was meant to be a quick, quiet trip. I waited in line like anyone else, portaled through to the lonely solar system Eternal Night, and looked out the window as my pilot used the system’s ice giant to slingshot us toward Midnight itself.

Out the window by my side, a brown dwarf star glimmered in the distance, its dim light shining against Midnight’s metallic composition. The planet was a tiny glimmer beside the purple star that grew larger as we approached.

The view was beautiful, and I glanced at it from time to time while I familiarized myself with all the intelligence Justin Lee was able to provide me on the cult. The House of None’s records were extensive, reaching back the entire century I had been missing. The usual financial trails were all there, as well as security response action reports and eye-witness accounts. My favorite part of the intel package was the rumor mill, though.

It was divided into two sections, natural rumors that sprang up on Midnight in the course of its people interacting with the Cult of Eternal Darkness, and those thought to be spread by the cult itself. The rumor mill contained hundreds of thousands of files, several hundred news reports, and dozens of videos. More than one of the video files were full-length motion pictures, with view reports from the years they first emerged in House of None popular culture.

Through the technical readouts, and the cultural references, I began to get a vague sense of what it must have been like to live on Midnight with the Cult of Eternal Darkness a relevant part of the planet’s history for the past century. Many of the public opinions on it were offset by the financial reports. People gave the cult far more capability than it had ever actually displayed, including more than one plot to take over governance from the House of None.

Most of those rumors were attributed to the cult itself, likely nothing more than an attempt to inflate their public presence. They were the planet’s primary bogeyman, but the cult clearly had aspirations to spread that reputation to other parts of the multiverse. Primarily where delves lived and worked, but anyplace that had favorable public opinion ratings of me, and my legend.

Cultural counterprogramming.

The majority of the cult’s public crimes were surrounding my name, or image. One of note involved a Midnight-based film company that attempted to create a drama series about the transition from the great delf houses to the House of None leadership. Many of its depictions were unfavorable to the former great houses, and within a month of publication the film company’s primary offices were bombed. The type of bombing and explosive were identical to those used against Save the Cubes.

Shortly after, the set shooting material for the on-going series was stormed by angry assailants wielding long knives. Many of the actors and set-workers were killed before security could respond, and the production was shut down.

At the same time as they engaged in calculated public violence, the cult seemed to direct financial resources toward influencing culture on Midnight. They directed funds to several pro-great house organizations, most notably those that ran news and entertainment programs. For the first two dozen years after the great houses fell, the majority of the content the cult funded was anti-House of None.

Talk shows, news programs, and various informational resources that the people of Midnight relied upon to keep abreast of their planet’s status within BuyMort were poisoned by the cult. They told anyone who would listen that the House of None was at fault for anything bad that happened, and tried their best to give great house remnants credit for every bit of positive news.

This was combined with a number of ‘long knife’ attacks that led to the House of None remaining quiet about their own achievements for decades. Any publication of positive changes or deals made that benefited the planet had the risk of a cult attack.

But the delves fought back. Members of the House of None’s publicity associates began using heavy security around press releases, and personal combat training for each of their staff. Within three decades, a warrior culture had arisen within the House of None, who mercilessly fought back against any cult or great house interference and strove to show the people of Midnight the truth.

At that point in the planet’s history, the cult began to wane in influence. They mounted fewer and fewer successful attacks while the war-like stance of the House of None publication wings grew to encompass more of their affiliate, and then society. Fighting back against the cult became fashionable, and refuting its lies a cultural norm.

During the Cult of Eternal Darkness’s decline, their leadership crumbled. Most of the old great house members that comprised their upper ranks were killed or vanished from public record. Its population shrank to record lows at the same time its operations stalled almost entirely. The cult became a name, sitting in darkness and silence, waiting.

Which is the state they were in when I stumbled back into the multiverse. An almost forgotten entity, a formerly active terrorist organization that hadn’t attacked anyone or advertised their presence for decades. That time in their history was almost entirely void of action reports or publicity reels, but its financials were as active as a freshly kicked hornet’s nest.

They invested, they funded associate startups, and they loaned morties. The entire cult, quieted by defeat, invested in itself and focused on building a reserve of financial capability. While reading the cult’s final years of financial statements and records, I began to develop the sense of a mind behind them. A singular intelligence guiding the organization. Keeping its profile low while building its mortie reserves. A business-minded delf, or small group of them.

My flight broke atmosphere with a rumbling shudder, and I looked up from the dense reading material. Out my window, once the flames of reentry cleared, I saw Midnight for the first time in a century. The world’s jagged metal mountains rose in tight waves sprinkled with light. Cities and industrial centers dotted the deep ravines between peaks, twinkling at me as my craft came in to land.

Our landing pad jutted from the side of the ravine, partway toward its bottom. I could see the heavy water rushing by below us until the rounded pad filled my vision. Stubby legs rumbled from the bottom of the craft and it hovered in just over the tarmac, just about to land.

A brilliant light caught my eye from higher up the ravine, moving rapidly toward us.

Turrets protecting the landing pad sprang into motion, pivoting and firing at the incoming bright speck. One of them hit it with shining bullets of its own, and an explosion rocked the canyon above us.

“Get off the ship!” I yelled, running toward the entrance myself. “Get out!”

Before I could make the door, three more dots of light descended on us from the tips of the mountaintop. The platform’s defensive turrets only stopped two.

My shuttle erupted, throwing me back as flame and shredded metal filled the air. I closed my eyes reflexively, and when I opened them again, I was thrown free of the rubble. My suit hung from me in smoking tatters, and the burning wreck of my shuttle slumped on the landing pad ahead. The starfish suit and crystalline colonies had protected me from any real harm, but I realized the point of the attack when I saw the gathered bystanders staring at the wreck. Cameras recorded the attack, and before I could be collected by Justin Lee’s security teams, they recorded me in my disheveled state.

By murdering a pilot and steward, the cult had shined a spotlight on my arrival. They had set the public’s expectations and dramatized the event. They ensured the media cycle would continue. The Cult of Eternal Darkness had made sure that my failure, and inability to stop their attacks would be forefront in the minds of everyone on Nu-Earth.

Chapter 50

House of None security and emergency response employees quickly carted me off into the luxurious leather seating of another hovercraft, this one with flashing silver lights on its roof. I was given a fire-proof blanket to cover myself and quickly escorted to a secure location.

The hovercraft’s doors slid open onto a cut-stone cavern. Veins of ore streaked the walls and glimmered in the light of bare bulbs installed at regular intervals. A delf woman with her dark hair in a bun approached me, wearing a navy-blue uniform with subtle armor plating over her vital organs.

“Warlord,” she said, standing in front of me with a nod.

“I’m not a warlord anymore, don’t call me that,” I replied, shrugging out of my blanket. My starfish suit covered my genitals, but I noticed her glance down instinctively when I pulled the scraps of my suit off. I left both at my feet and rubbed my face to clear some of the soot.

“Apologies,” the delf woman said. “I’m captain Serassa, and I’ll be your liaison for the Planetary Defense corps.”

“Captain?” I asked. “How many troops does that rank put at my disposal?”

Serassa frowned and narrowed her glowing eyes. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“How many armed delves can you command on my behalf, Serassa?” I asked bluntly.

She grimaced and nodded back. “Ah. None, I’m afraid. That’s not how this is going to work.”

“Then explain please,” I started, staring down into her coal red eyes. “Tell me how it is going to work.”

“I take your requests and relay them to command, at which point a decision will be made to allocate resources and personnel,” she said. The delf woman turned to face a door at her back and snapped her fingers as another uniformed delf approached. The incoming delf increased their speed to a jog.

They were holding a garment bag, and offered it to me, along with a damp towel.

I hurriedly scrubbed the blast off my face and hands, then got dressed in the parking lot. My ensemble was a new pinstriped suit to match the one that had been blown off from me, with shoes in the fashion of Midnight, with a higher tongue.

Once I was dressed, I looked back at Sessara. “What now?”

“Up to you, sir,” she replied, clasping her hands behind her back. “I’m here to support your actions on Midnight and see to your security.”

“Tell me about the attack on the landing pad, in that case,” I demanded, arms crossed.

“Three of our high-point recon bases were infiltrated and taken over. They impersonated our delves and prevented us from finding out about the attack until too late. The missiles were shoulder-launched, and no physical evidence of cult involvement has been found at any of the recon bases so far.”

I nodded before slipping into ad space to order something for my hair. The world wavered, and I found myself floating through the ad space, its darkness flitting through with wild ads, the better paying ones shoving others aside to jostle directly in front of my view.

First, a flashy, holographic bottle of GloryLocks Max whirled into view, surrounded by glowing strands of vibrant hair. A booming voice echoed, “Turn your hair into a crown of glory! Super strength, super shine!” The words floated in front of me, until they were abruptly shoved aside.

In their place, a swarm of tiny drones buzzed in, each carrying a shimmering vial labeled EverFlow Essence. The drones formed a glowing halo above my head as an elegant voice whispered, “Let your hair flow like a river—silky, smooth, forever.” The drones attempted to drape my digital reflection in flowing strands, but they were suddenly smacked away by a giant comb.

The next ad crashed into view—a huge animated comb wielding a bottle of Mane-Tastic Turbo Cleaner, with loud rock music playing in the background. “For those who dare! Clean and style in SECONDS!” it roared, blasting aside the more delicate ads in its path.

Just then, a rich, golden mist engulfed my vision. A luxurious bottle of ZBikowski's Hair Heir Insta-Clean Groomer floated elegantly before me, pushing all the other ads into obscurity. A soothing voice announced, “Because true royalty deserves nothing less.” The background shifted into a beautiful and elegant bathroom, one much like the one I'd once shared with Molls, and unconsciously I stepped forward, selecting it. It expanded and surrounded me, drawing me in until I stood upon its tiles next to marble countertops gleaming under bright lights. My reflection in the mirror showed my soot-covered, disheveled self with stink lines added in to highlight the severity of my dirtiness. A cheerful jingle played, and a soothing voice chimed in.

“Bad hair day? ZBikowski's Hair Heir Insta-Clean Groomer is here to save the day!”

The reflection of me reached for a sleek bottle of Hair Heir, shimmering in the bathroom light. With just one application, my messy hair transformed—sleek, shiny, perfectly styled, like I’d just left an upscale salon, while my stink lines were replaced by flowers and kittens. A banner appeared across the mirror: “120,000 morties. Worth every shine!”

The scene was filled with vibrant graphics showcasing happy customers with different hair types, all transformed by Hair Heir. Above the mirror, a glowing 4.8-star rating sparkled, with enthusiastic customer reviews scrolling along the bottom.

“Clean. Style. Shine. Because true royalty deserves nothing less,” the voice concluded as the mirror version of myself smiled confidently.

After it was applied, and my hair was clean and neat once more, I pointed at the door behind Sessara. “Where does that go?”

“Oh, uh . . . I had you brought to our local HQ, that would take us inside,” she explained.

I sighed and put my hands on my hips. “I don’t suppose you have any current intelligence for me to act on. Nothing like where suspected cult members might be?”

Sessara’s cheeks flushed, and she glanced at her boots. “My apologies, war . . . sir. I was told not to attempt to direct your actions, my orders were to retrieve and aid you however I can. I do have several locations where cult members have been known or suspected to gather.”

I shook my head and sighed. “Not your fault. I just get cranky when I’m blown up. Take me to the nearest cult location, I need to talk to one of them.”

“Yes sir,” she snapped. The hovercraft pulled out of its parking spot and slid into place beside us at a motion from her hand. She provided me with a small device, showing a map of the area. A glowing dot was blinking from a few kilometers above my destroyed shuttle’s landing pad. “This is a meeting room I can show you to, but there’s no guarantee any cult will be there.”

“They’ll be there. Get me a camera crew too,” I ordered. “Small, local crew. Let them trickle it up to the major affiliate presses when we’re done.”

The delf woman blinked in surprise, but snapped a ‘yes, sir’ at me and started talking into her coms. As we traveled in the hovercraft, another joined us and fell into place with our escort. Our craft climbed the cliffside, and I could see the smoking wreck of the landing pad not far below.

When we arrived at the cult meeting room, I was surprised to find that it was a plain location, no frills or luxury amenities at all. In the back of a cargo loading warehouse on the edge of the cliff, a group of delves in black hooded robes were in place around the overlook. Their meeting room was open air, merely a carved out section of cliff that allowed them a view above and below.

The news crew we hired tried to approach me to ask questions, but I had Sessara’s security officers hold them back. They were allowed to collect footage and audio, but not directly interact with me or the cultists.

A dozen delves in long robes turned to face me as I entered, pulling down their hoods and exposing ornate etched metal masks. From the center of the group, one delf raised their arms in greeting, their robe sleeves hanging down to their waist.

“Welcome!” the leader sang, head thrown back. “All are welcome in the dark. All are destined for it!”

I nodded. “Right, whatever you say,” I sneered. “I’m just here to find out why you blew up my shuttle and killed the delves helping me get here.”

“And what makes you think we are responsible for such acts?” the cult leader asked, dramatically sweeping their arm to their chest indignantly.

“What do I call you?” I asked.

“Darkness, of course,” he replied.

I shook my head and snorted. “No, I’m not calling you that. You look like a ‘Mike’ to me. Everybody knows an asshole named Mike,” I muttered. “So, Mike, tell me what your little viewing party is here to view, if not the attack on my shuttle?”

“Why, your majestic arrival of course, Windowpuncher. Lord of nothing, come to visit our humble world once more,” Mike said. “We came to witness history, as any world you grace flows with both history and blood.”

“I spill no blood. Only the Cult of Eternal Darkness has done that, by intentionally murdering two delves of Midnight for nothing but the crime of service. They were doing their jobs, and you killed them to make a political point,” I calmly replied. “And now that you have me in front of you, what would you like to do?”

At a nod from Mike, the cultists all produced long knives from their sleeves and surged toward the meager security forces present.

“Arrest these cultists, captain,” I ordered

Captain Sessara nodded and stepped forward. “All members of the Cult of Eternal Darkness are under House of None direct control and arrest. Questioning will occur during your detainment, and opportunities to contact personal counsel will be provided.”

One of the news crew screamed as a cultist grabbed hold of them.

I moved.

Pushing the starfish suit and my aimed shot perk patch colonies to their limits, I analyzed the oncoming battle and stepped into motion. The cultists knives all glowed along the sharp edges, indicating monowire edges I needed to be careful of.

In a blur of movement, I slapped the first knife out of Mike’s hand and floated behind him to trip the next three in their charging formation. I shoved one cultist into five, and then flew back across the chamber to do it again on the other side, knocking the last of them to the ground.

In an instant, the attack was thwarted and all the cultists were dazed on the ground.

House of None security troops scrambled into action. My fast action had prevented any real attack. I was also careful not to kill any of them, or even wound them. Of the dozen cultists, only one suffered any injury, and that was from a companion’s knife as they collided. Sessara’s troops applied first aid as they escorted the cultists into more hovercraft.

Then, while the angry, unmasked cultists were bundled away wearing bits to prevent them from breaking any suicide pills in their teeth, the news crew was allowed to approach me at last. I prepared for their arrival by helping place the safety bit in one of the dazed cultist’s mouths and then picking up their long-bladed, ornate-handled knife.

I inspected the weapon with a sneer and cast it aside to focus on my approaching interviewer.

“Mr. Dawes,” she gasped, microphone extended. “Can you tell us what just happened here?”

I shrugged. “I’m working with Midnight security to root out and arrest any members of the Cult of Eternal Darkness. This particular sect attacked me when I started to question them, so I stopped their attack and stunned them long enough for security forces to save their lives with the anti-suicide pill bits you see on each prisoner.”

“Save their lives?” the delf woman asked.

I looked into the camera and nodded. “Yes, that is my primary goal here on Midnight, to save lives. What happened upon my arrival was a needless tragedy, and I’m working directly with House of None security associates to ensure it doesn’t happen again. This cult has a long, sad history of political violence, and the active members today have been convinced that this violence is worth their lives. I’m here to show otherwise.”

Once I finished my statement, I turned to leave. The crew fell into step beside me.

“Can you tell us what your next steps are going to be?” the delf woman gasped, stepping over a bound and gagged cultist.

“Of course,” I replied over my shoulder. “As I’ve said, we’re going to stop the cult, and save as many lives as we can in the process.”

Sessara’s delves held the news crew back as I entered the hovercraft. They immediately turned to catch more footage of the cultists being hauled away. The bits in their mouths made it look rather oppressive, but the cult robes, masks, and ornately inscribed knives helped our cause.

Once in the hovercraft again, I waited for Sessara to climb in beside me. Once she was seated, I stared at her until she turned to face me. “What are your next orders, sir?” the delf woman asked in a small voice.

“Same again. Take me to the nearest known cult gathering place, preferably those you know will have cultists,” I said. “We’re spending the night arresting them.”

“Sir, I must protest these orders. They are not within my command authority to actualize. Being a member of the Cult of Eternal Darkness is not a criminal act according to House of None Security Standards, as laid out by my governing associate,” she recited. It was clearly something she had practiced.

“Get the next arrest squad ready,” I told her. “They will be needed.”

“But sir!” she said, glowing eyes narrowing in frustration.

“I heard you. The arrests will happen regardless,” I growled. “This cult is unable to resist attacking me, and the primary element in your deployment orders from the House of None is to ensure my personal security. If they attack me, or anyone with me, they immediately become subject to arrest based on your governing associate’s security standards, which I read on the way over. It's all very fresh in my mind, I know what I may and may not do here on Midnight. Why do you think Justin Lee and I organized this visit?”

The dark elf woman at my side closed her mouth and nodded, then straightened her uniform pants and pulled out her comms device. I listened while she sullenly muttered my orders to her own troops. The security delves around us looked confused, but followed their orders.

It took roughly an hour to get to the next location, but that included the time we spent waiting for backup to arrive before we went in. The location was nestled in a storage room behind a popular restaurant's kitchens. By the time our team made it past the cooks and dishwashers, the few cultists there had taken their pills. Only robed corpses awaited us.

Sessara scowled down at the three bodies, each still seated in high-backed chairs. It looked like they had been in a meeting when word of our arrival got to them. As I had suspected, the individual members of the cult were getting together to celebrate or scheme. On Midnight, the cult was established in small cells scattered around the planet. Most of them operated with significant independence from the leadership core.

This meant they would make themselves vulnerable during times of unrest.

I’m sure the Cult of Eternal Darkness had their headquarters somewhere, but there was real potential for some of our captives to talk, assuming we could get to them with our bits before they used their pills. I was also betting on a group of that size having a few holdouts who would prefer to live than die, and I needed to find the main operating core of the cult as quickly as possible. I needed proof to use against their leadership.

They wanted me dead, but that was because most of them didn’t actually remember me. The vast majority of the cult’s members didn’t remember what it was like to be in a violent conflict with me. My job on Midnight was to find the few who did.

To that end I started shaking the cult’s various trees. That first night on Midnight I spent chasing small cells down with my security escort. We visited a handful of locations and captured plenty of cultists to work with. There were the meeting places that were closed and empty, and those filled only with the dead, but we collected them all anyway.

Sessara called in more security staff three separate times, and sighed in frustration at the payroll confusion it was going to cause her later on. I merely shrugged and continued hunting the delves that wanted me dead.

The next day I met Justin Lee at a secure location atop the planet’s richest lithium mine. The House of None operational headquarters was nestled into the rebuilt ruins of an ancient delf capital city cavern. It was the same cavern uncovered below old Lithtin.

New Lithtin was built into the ruins themselves and served as the political and financial capital of Midnight.

I rode the elevator to Justin’s office in silence, Sessara beside me nearly panting in exhaustion. Her unit was not used to so much action, and certainly not in a single night. Their holding cells were full, and several local dentists had laid claim to much of the security associate’s operations fund.

Justin’s office featured a window that overlooked the mine entrance. Hovering carts of ore floated from the darkened tunnel, slowly moving into a nearby warehouse.

“Well, you’ve had a busy night!” Justin said, running a hand through his hair. “I knew I’d be fielding complaints once we started this, but a hired assassin was stopped by my personal security staff late last night. You’ve really rattled their cage.”

“That’s what I do,” I replied.

“Don’t sit,” he said as I approached his desk. “We have a situation to respond to, come with me.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

He flicked me a live news feed. Lithtin was under attack, a small army of cultists with long, glowing knives attacking people in the street.

Chapter 51

Justin Lee spoke into his comms device as we walked, making our way back through the building’s extravagantly decorated hallways to the elevator. The attack appeared to have been coordinated, using help from inside House of None security forces. As we walked, Justin’s personal security told me that the attack had been launched almost immediately after my hovercraft had entered the building’s garage.

I quietly moved back through the group of delves and stood at Justin’s side as we walked.

When he took a breath and looked up from his comms unit, I got his attention by clanking my armor into place. “Most of them will be distractions,” I told him. “If it's a serious attack, they’ll primarily be clustered here and in the mine, unless you have other important infrastructure in the city.”

Justin looked up at me with a scowl. “Our CFO’s apparatus is across town. An inverted pillar, you can’t miss it.”

“I’ll go once you’re secure. Do you have a panic room you could use?”

He shook his head as we fell a few steps behind our escorts. “Not here. The demolition storage room in the mine below is secure though, I could use that short term.”

“Who can you trust on your security team?” I asked in a whisper.

Justin Lee looked up at me and scowled. “All of them, I should hope. But no, I don’t know them personally.”

Sessara noticed our distance and stopped. As she turned, she drew her sidearm. I stepped in front of Justin.

“Sir?” the delf woman asked. The other security officers stopped and turned at her voice. More than one of them lifted their weapons at me, but the confusion of the moment held any real response in check.

“Go,” I said. “Get to work out there, I’ll ensure the CEO’s personal safety.”

“Sir, I can’t do that,” Sessara replied. She kept her gun lowered, but raised a hand with her palm flat toward me. “I need you both to come with us.”

“Captain Sessara,” Justin said from behind me. “Do as Tyson says.”

She holstered her sidearm and turned, just in time for one of the building security officers to drop a metal ball on the floor. It ruptured and a cloud of darkness spread instantly, blacking out that portion of the hallway.

I grabbed Justin and pushed my suit, flying us back down the hallway to his office, where I shut the doors before shoving his oversized desk in front of them. Pinpricks of blue light blasted out of the door and desk before ricocheting off my armor.

With a grunt, I moved aside, getting out of the line of fire. Handheld railguns had far less power than the rifle-sized versions, but the ammunition fired at us was radioactive too. A warning sprang into view on my anti-magic helmet, warning me of a ‘wasting spell’ on the rounds. That and their glow told me what I needed to know about them.

“Justin!” I shouted. “Brace yourself, and hold your breath!”

He did as I asked, squeezing his eyes shut as I flew toward him. I grabbed the delf and then pushed the suit, hurtling backwards through his office’s window. Justin screamed in spite of my warning, but I ignored him and pushed us toward the mine as fast as was safe for him. My body could withstand a lot more than the average delf. Even unaltered, humans were considered far hardier than delves.

The external mine compound was filled with low structures, most of them warehouses. Tool storage, vehicle deployment, ore transit hubs, even locker rooms for the miners. It all spread out beneath Justin’s tower in a maze of productivity and industry, surrounding and leading to a singular black hole cut into the wall of the cavern.

I followed the tracks into the dark entrance and turned on my helmet’s fairy fire spell-function. It bounced off the walls and gave me a generated map as we went. The mine was an oversized cavern at the entrance, where hover carts and mining apparatus were stationed. Most of it was against the walls, but the carts all floated above their tracks.

Each cart had not only a sizable cargo department, but seats for a dozen miners, and external racks for equipment storage. The cavern walls around us were cut evenly, and supported by metal or stone pillars. Back when it was run by delves with nothing but hand-tools, they had carved the stone to create its own structural support, so they could dig deeper.

Only seconds after I had entered the mine, an explosion from outside rattled the air around us, and the lights all clicked off. Hovering carts fell to their tracks, and emergency lighting strips began to glow.

Justin moaned in discomfort as I flew him deeper into the darkened mines. I flew at the maximum speed I could while preventing damage to his body, and followed the twisting tunnels ever deeper into Midnight’s crust.

After a couple hundred twists, turns, and intersections in the sprawling mine, I stopped and let my passenger go. Justin immediately fell to his knees and groaned.

We were in a staging area, where equipment was stored for miners. It featured one way in, that led back up to larger open areas, and one route down that lead to the ore vein that was being mined.

I pulled up BuyMort and dove into ad space. I needed the extra time it provided me when fully engaged. My mind raced. I had to find immediate radiation treatment for my delf friend. The railgun rounds had been irradiated enough to give off visible light. The damage they would cause, even by proximity, would be lethal for the House of None’s CEO if I didn’t act. Mentally inputting “emergency fast radiation treatment” into BuyMort, the search results exploded in front of my vision, flooding my mind with its images.

First up was the RadAway Express Bed, a sleek medical marvel framed in shimmering blue light. The ad showed an elegantly designed medical bed. Over top of the image, a smooth voice began to speak. “Our state-of-the-art radiation treatment bed neutralizes harmful radiation within minutes! Equipped with automated organ repair and anti-radiation canopy protection, the RadAway Express Bed ensures maximum comfort and safety. Instant delivery available!” The image shifted to a woman, pale and sweating, lying down, only to sit up moments later, bright-eyed and healthy.

2,250,000 morties, 4.6 stars.

“10% off with a subscription to RadAway Health Pro+!” the ad chimed sweetly. “Organ repair function requires addons sold separately.”

Next, Anti-Rad Booster Shots hovered before me, three metallic syringes spinning in the air, their sleek, chrome design giving them an almost luxury feel.

“Fast-acting radiation boosters—because every second counts! Neutralize radioactive poisoning in the bloodstream instantly. Perfect for emergencies, compatible with humanoid and delf biology.” The scene changed to a miner who looked like Justin, clutching his side, only to inject the shot and return to full strength in seconds. “Works best when paired with our radiation detox bed!”

750,000 morties, 4.2 stars.

I grimaced, wondering if 4.2 stars would be good enough for the situation we'd found ourselves in.

Then came the RadClean Body Chamber, a towering device that looked more like an iron maiden than a medical tool. The chamber opened up with a hydraulic hiss, revealing a glowing cocoon lined with soft light.

“The ultimate in flesh-based radiation detox. Completely purge anybody of radioactive particles in under 30 minutes. Precision molecular filtration and body wrap therapy.” A naked human, his skin red and covered by blisters, stumbled into the chamber. The door sealed shut, and the readout showed the radiation levels dropping to zero.

6,000,000 morties. 4.9 stars

I clenched my jaw. Expensive, and it was suspiciously worded. I struggled to assume it was a life-saving device, it sounded like it would let Justin die while it cleaned the radiation out of his cells.

Feeling my reticence, a more budget-friendly option blinked into view: Radiation Detox Patches. “Affordable and easy-to-use patches for immediate radiation protection. Peel, stick, and stay safe for up to 24 hours. Perfect for field use or while waiting for full treatment.” The ad was practical, but the little disclaimer about “mild radiation exposure” was a dealbreaker. Justin would definitely need something stronger.

The last option intrigued me more than I expected: RadGuard Personal Shield Generator. It was a compact, portable device that clicked onto a belt, generating a glowing shield around the user.

“Deploy instantly to create a radiation-free zone! Ideal for field operations or mobile teams. Monitor exposure in real-time with our advanced rad-monitoring bracelet. Protect your team and yourself with just one tap!”

1,800,000 morties. 4.8 stars.

The shield looked tempting, but it wasn't a treatment, just a protective measure.

I scrolled past them quickly, mind racing. Justin groaned on the bench nearby, his face already going pale, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. I didn’t have time to overthink it.

I picked the bed, then saved the ad information and flicked it to Justin. The delf was doubled over on a nearby bench, clutching his stomach. The bench was in front of a set of lockers, and looked like a dressing area for the miners. There were even curtains on a rail one could pull to provide limited privacy from the rest of the staging area.

“Buy that, right away,” I told the sick delf. “I can't afford it.”

The delf looked up, his eyes dim, and swiped at the air in front of himself. A BuyMort pod tore into place beside the bench and warped in an oversized box. While I tore into it, I suddenly noticed that the tape was normal. No flesh-tape was present on the box anywhere.

I cast aside the thought and got the specialized bed unpacked as rapidly as I could without breaking it. Once it was on and the startup screen was glowing softly, I picked up Justin and laid him down on top of the specialized hospital bed.

The bed’s mechanical arm swung out with a large cuff that I hurriedly put Justin’s arm through. When it blared an angry alarm at me, I turned and stared at its small screen to find a clothing impediment warning blinking back at me. I grunted and pushed up Justin’s sleeve, then snarled and tore it off at the shoulder when the obscenely soft silk refused to stay bunched up and out of the way.

“No!” Justin cried. “Oh that suit was expensive,” he groaned, laying back as his complexion paled and his eyes dimmed further.

“Sorry!” I snapped, playing with the bed’s primary control panel. I set it to radiation therapy and told it to start its program.

The medical bed beeped in alarm, informing me of the patient’s rapidly declining state, then hissed into motion. A needle on the end of a tube shot from the cuff into Justin’s arm, establishing an intravenous port that quickly filled with thick, yellow fluid.

Soft light turned harsh beneath Justin, and the bed deployed its canopy, rolling a flexible length of translucent cloth across the body and then inflating the entire thing. Its ends self-adhered to the bed’s inner lips, and I was barricaded from directly interacting with my friend any further. As I watched, a breathing mask deployed itself across Justin’s face and the machine within began aiding in his breathing.

The small readout told me a list of interventions the bed was attempting in order to save the life of its patient, but major organ failure had already begun. A surgical suite upgrade option popped up on my BuyMort, and I flicked it to Justin.

He weakly raised a hand and swiped at the air above himself.

Another BuyMort pod flashed into existence at my side, and I paid attention this time. There was no scent with the pod like before, and the package it delivered was notably bereft of flesh-tape. Only plastic tape and staples held the massive cardboard box together.

That had to mean Tower wasn’t working for BuyMort any longer.

I shook my head and tore into the new package. It was a literal add-on to the medical bed, so I opened its instructions in my BuyMort popup menu for a small fee, then got to work installing it. With the starfish suit it was easier than I had expected, but it still took longer than I was comfortable with. I heaved it into place, cradling the bed in its L-shaped structure. Then I locked its docking clamps into place and connected both power-sharing, and data transfer cables.

The surgical suite sprang to life, responsive and quick as advertised. It began immediately printing a new delf liver from its store of cellular material, while other arms got to work on Justin Lee himself. His suit remnants were cut away with lasers, removed with delicate, metal pincers, and discarded onto his legs.

His IV changed color momentarily, and then the surgical suite began cutting on him. The delf’s liver was swiftly removed and replaced by a rapid-printed one the machine had produced. With that accomplished, his vital signs began to increase again, and the machine’s various alarms and alerts calmed somewhat.

Justin Lee was still irradiated, but the treatment was working and his liver had taken it the hardest, so no further surgeries were needed. I took a breath and looked around the staging area in the mine. The miners, whenever they needed this section to work in again, would certainly be surprised to find the medical bay in the middle of their locker room.

I stared at the machine and its patient for a long moment, then decided he would be fine until I could return for him. The mine was a maze, and without power there would be no way to track his location since I had flown him in personally.

“Unless they follow the radiation,” I muttered to myself.

BuyMort popped up once again when I glanced at the icon in the corner of my vision. “Show me mercenaries from Storage,” I said.

The space around me warped into a vivid, pulsating scene. The gritty underworld of Storage filled my mind with its twisting alleyways and rusted metal scaffolding. Flickering lights buzzed overhead, and the echo of distant machinery made it feel as if I were standing in the belly of a forgotten industrial zone. The smell of smoke, oil, and unwashed bodies clung to the air, assaulting my senses. BuyMort was nothing if not immersive.

The first ad materialized with a metallic clang. A hobb appeared before me, tall, wiry, and draped in ragged clothing that looked like it had been scavenged from various battlefields. His gray, pebbled skin glistened in the low light. He moved like a shadow through a series of dark tunnels, an icepick in hand, his scarred body almost melding with the rock walls.

A deep voiceover boomed through the dark space, smooth and confident: “Hobb Vagabonds: Experienced in harsh environments, these hobbs are quick, silent, and adaptive. Equipped with rudimentary weapons, they thrive in confined spaces like tunnels or mines. For just 200,000 morties, hire a seasoned survivor to watch your back. Military equipment sold separately.”

The hobb lunged forward in a blur of movement, his icepick sinking into the throat of a delf soldier caught unaware. Blood splattered across the tunnel wall. The hobb barely made a sound as he dragged the body into the shadows, disappearing just as fast as he had appeared.

I nodded, getting Rambo vibes, but before I could process it, the scene shifted. This time, a squat human male appeared, covered in dirt and grime, his clothes stitched together from spare parts and materials clearly salvaged from the worst of Storage. He clutched a jury-rigged railgun in one hand, its mismatched components glowing with a faint blue light. The scavenger ducked behind an overturned storage unit, his sharp eyes scanning the terrain for potential threats.

The voiceover kicked in again, its tone eager to sell: “The B-Team: Masters of improvisation, these fighters know how to turn any scrap into a weapon. Quick on their feet and even quicker with their hands, they can rig explosives from just about anything they find.”

The ad shifted to a fast-paced scene: the scavenger running toward a group of ai-generated delf mercenaries. He threw what looked like a large jar at them. It exploded mid-air, sending shrapnel in all directions, taking out the entire squad. “Just 15,000,000 morties per job, homemade grenades sold separately,” the voice added in a way that made me sure the speaker was winking.

Without warning, the visual transformed again. The ground shook as an orc emerged from the shadows, towering and brutal. Chains wrapped around his massive fists, scars crisscrossing his bare chest like battle trophies. His green skin gleamed under the dim lights, and his feral grin sent a chill down my spine. The ad showed him standing in a dark pit, fists raised, surrounded by a crowd of shouting delves and humans alike.

“Team Garthrust: Once nobles, this fallen house has given up grandeur for a life of crushing skulls and eating sapient hearts. Unstoppable in close combat, these orcs live for the fight, bringing unmatched brute strength and raw power.” The orc roared and charged at an opponent, sending the other fighter sprawling with a single punch that shattered bone. The crowd erupted in cheers. “30,000,000 morties per job. Includes one free rage stimulant injection for enhanced combat efficiency.”

The next ad gave me a small jump scare as a small, wiry figure darted across the screen. there were words being whispered, just below my level of hearing, but soon enough they became legible. “Ratfolk, ratfolk, walking your way. Ratfolk, Ratfolk, stalking their prey. Ratfolk, ratfolk, small but mean. Ratfolk, ratfolk, your TEAM IS SLAIN!”

The last words were shouted, and the ad dove into a squeal of heavy metal and hard drumming as rats wearing camouflage uniforms and carrying miniaturized combat devices came swarming out of every location possible. Quiet like ghosts, the ratfolk swarmed through a cramped tunnel, tiny claws tapping softly on the metal floor as they set up traps on the fly—small explosives and tripwires carefully hidden along the path. Their beady eyes met mine, gleaming maniacally, before they turned and fled back to where they had come from. The music overlay and died back down to its original creepy whisper, and I watched, my heart pounding, to see what came next.

A platoon of delves marched in, eyes wide open and wary, yet none of them could see the horrific minefield the rats had strung for them. The first stumbled into a trap, and the heavy metal squeal began again. Multiple guitars shredded as explosions, sweeping blades, and gouts of acid came from seemingly everywhere, reducing the delves to a pile of mulch. The rats came back out to examine their handiwork, and as they did, the ad zoomed in on one particular rat grinning smugly and giving it all a big thumbs up.

“Ratfolk Saboteurs: Experts in sabotage and disruption. Not suited for direct combat, but perfect for weakening enemy defenses or laying traps in industrial zones and mines. Only 10,000,000 morties per job. Includes free tripwire setup and one basic explosive device.”

Finally, the visual shifted again, the dark tunnel fading into a high vantage point overlooking an industrial wasteland. A figure all in black materialized in front of me, cloaked in shadows, a slim figure with a high-powered sniper rifle cradled in their arms. The ad zoomed in on their face, showing intense, calculating eyes peering through a scope. The sniper adjusted, inhaled, and fired. A target in the distance dropped without a sound. The sniper’s cloak fluttered in the wind as they disappeared back into the gloom.

The voiceover was almost reverent now: “Clan Gutterborn: Silent, deadly, and precise. Perfect for long-range support and eliminating high-value targets from a distance. 25,000,000 morties per job, with a free set of camouflaged clothing, ideal for mines or low-light environments. Sign them up now and gain Gutterborn Fan Club Membership free for 30 days.”

I glanced at Justin Lee, who was still groaning on the bench, barely holding on. I'd asked for cheap mercenaries, and these were the ones who popped up. It made me wonder what the expensive ones looked like.

I could only afford one of them, so it was an easy choice to make.

“BuyMort, hire the Hobb Vagabond,” I muttered.

They arrived a moment later, through a normal BuyMort pod. I couldn’t afford instant delivery.

In front of me stood a hobb wearing rags. He was tall, lanky, with pebbled gray skin. All of the main features I remembered, but intensified somewhat by bare survival existence. His body was scarred, and his ragged clothing was interlaced with equipment. He carried a length of thick climbing rope around his torso, and wore a thin backpack. It was his best-preserved item, and looked like it had been recently purchased.

“Hi,” I said in perfect hobb. “Today is your lucky day. Let me explain why.”

The hobb’s eyes were wide and searching in the dark of the cave. My suit’s glowing eyes, the medical bed, and the thin strips of emergency lighting combined to create a glum environment where shadows loomed.

“Your last job earned you enough for that pack, I’m betting,” I told him, allowing the armor to bounce my voice off the caverns around me. “Probably a pretty big help, living in Storage.”

He nodded, taking me and my armor in with a concerned scowl. The hobb carried a sturdy looking icepick in one hand, and had a home-made shotgun resting against his back.

“Yes,” he said after a long silence. His hand touched one strap unconsciously, as if reminding himself that it was real, and still there.

“Well this job will set you up for life. Forget the pay I already sent, forget your cut from the merc company. This,” I said, pointing at Justin Lee’s medical station. “Is the CEO of a top ten affiliate, and I need you to guard them while I go deal with a situation. If you do that successfully, this delf will provide for your relocation to any world in the BuyMort system, as well as enough morties to set you up with a normal life. No more Storage.”

The hobb scowled and listened as I spoke, then looked around. “Are there lights?” he asked.

“Nope, my enemies hit the power plant, and very well might be searching this mine as we speak. I moved fast, but I can’t promise none of them saw me. If you see combat, it will be against delves who are better equipped than you are. But, you pull this off and you never have to see Storage again.”

He nodded, then glanced around the area again. Moving silently, he walked across the darkened cavern and pulled down a heavy-duty mining laser. Something the miners used to carve entire sections of stone and metal out of the mountain’s walls.

“Can I use this?” he asked.

I nodded. “Use anything you can, just protect that delf,” I said, then I lifted off and flew back through the mine toward the surface. My new employee was highly motivated, and the maze of the mine was Justin’s best defense, but I thought about how the media would approach my actions if they caught wind of them and cringed internally.

It was fine, I’d just have to get the hobb a bonus for lying about his hire date. My wallet simply couldn’t afford better. But that worked in my favor too, since he would be desperate to have his escape from Storage fully funded.

I put it out of my mind and brought my current task into focus. The Cult of Eternal Darkness had launched a full-out attack on Lithtin, and I had to stop it.

Chapter 52

My mapped-out path would have allowed me to return to the surface quickly, but the saboteur cultists in my way were worth the delay. The first group I encountered was setting a seismic disruptor only a few tunnels away from Justin and his new bodyguard. I stared a bit longer than I should have, and an ad eagerly popped into my vision.

Like what you see? Introducing the Seismic Disruptor SDE-X1 from Sierra Technologies.

Crack MortBlocks with ease and take territory wholesale. Weren't invited to a party? Make it crash and burn. Collapse tall buildings. Crush underground bunkers. Whatever your planet-shaking desire, Sierra's SDE-X1 has you covered. With adjustable frequency modulation and a compact, sleek design, it's perfect for covert operations or large-scale demolition. Set it up in minutes, and let the tremors begin!”

No seismic engineering degree required! Sierra Technologies provides a seamless experience with built-in guides and real-time adjustments accessible manually or by app.

Starting at just 30,000,000 morties, 4.7 stars. Order today, and we'll throw in a 10-year warranty!

Roughly the size of an oil barrel, the disruptor unfolded long, chisel-tipped legs and drove them into the stone floor beneath it. Once deployed, a sharp hum filled the air and the cultists began to run away. Floating at the roof of the darkened tunnel, I watched this process before shaking my head and flying in to intervene.

The seismic disruptor was my first target, and I simply bashed through it to shut down its dangerous effect before it could collapse the mine. Already, dozens of thin cracks had spread from its base into the nearby cavern walls, and a fine rain of dust was pouring from each.

My noisy demolition of the machine got the cultists’ attention, and several produced long mono wire knives and sprinted toward me. With a calming breath, I actively remembered my purpose on Midnight and restrained my response.

The first delf to reach me slashed at me with his glowing blade, and I calmly swatted it out of his hand, before driving my fist into his midsection. The delf doubled up before going limp and collapsing to the floor in a heap.

I did much the same with the next three cultists to charge me before the last two figured out who I was. They looked at each other and then bit down hard, before falling to the floor dead. I sighed. Dead cultists were annoying, but unavoidable. So long as they died by their own hands, I would be able to spin it in the press.

With Justin’s comms device, I left coordinates for a priority security pickup. Then I used cabling from the emergency lighting system to tie the hands and feet of the unconscious cultists and left them there. On the way out of the mine, I stopped another five times to deal with cultists. They were all trying to install seismic disruptor units, and I hurriedly destroyed each.

My quick intervention was not enough to fully prevent damage from the swarming cultists, and at least two tunnels on my map collapsed.

After arriving in the main entrance hall of the mine, I stopped to stare at my map for a long moment. I couldn’t be sure I had cleared out all the cultists, but I was confident there weren’t many left, and all of them had been above the level I’d left Justin on.

An idea clicked in my head and I pulled up the cult’s social feeds on Justin’s comm unit. Their recklessness made access laughably easy. Desperate for glory, they’d made all their actions public, commoditizing the chaos for their followers. The feed was a jumble of shaky videos and self-important manifestos, but it was enough to pinpoint their movements.

One live feed showed a group setting explosives near the CFO’s building—exactly as I suspected. Another showed two cultists preparing to sabotage a cultural site across the city. I noted their locations but prioritized the CFO. If he wasn’t dead yet, he would be soon.

I hurriedly disabled a series of explosives the cultists had set, meant to collapse the mine’s entrance, then flew out into the primary external compound. The power plant was already smoldering, smoke pouring from a hole in its roof. The cult’s first target in the mine compound.

Of their three primary targets in Lithtin, I found myself able to secure two. The mine and Justin Lee himself, CEO of the House of None affiliate. Their CFO was across the city, and I had to simply hope his security forces had been better vetted than Justin’s.

Given the situation at hand, it was doubtful that they had been. I had to assume cultists had infiltrated there the way they had with Justin’s team. Which meant if I left, it would almost certainly be to chase down a corpse. Defending the mine, one of Midnight’s primary income sources and notable historical locations, was simply more important. The CFO could be replaced, and preventing the cult their publicity win mattered to my campaign more than the poor delf’s life.

With that mental calculation, I focused on protecting the mine. Standing outside the demolition warehouse was a small squad of cultists armed with thick, black rifles that glowed from deep inside their barrels. Linear cannons.

I made a mental note to avoid damaging the weapons, they were worth a small fortune each. The weapon acted as a miniaturized atomic accelerator, firing a beam of energized atoms at roughly the speed of light. The weapon’s effect was part laser beam, part energized kinetic strike.

Technically they could run out of ammunition, but the atomic packages it fired were so small it would take hours to deplete a single magazine, and even then, the laser function would still work. Their major vulnerability was charge. It took a massive amount of power to operate the delvish weapons, and each was built around a vacuum energy reactor, a device that drew power from a tiny tear in the fabric of space time at its core.

All of that technology and expertise combined to create one of the only ranged weapons that could reliably penetrate my armor and modified flesh. My skin in particular was harder than most metals, but could be easily penetrated by a linear rifle.

My fists made contact with the first delf before he knew I was coming. He had been guarding a small side-door, and was alone. I landed in a slide of pebbles and hooked the delf in the gut, making him retch and gasp as he fell. That secured me the entrance door to the warehouse but got the attention of a delf on the roof. They floated out and down, robes whipping around their grav-belt, and linear cannon pointed my way.

The line of dusty light that blasted from their weapon sizzled as it cut through my armor, body, and then the ground behind me as I launched myself into the air and tackled the delf around the waist. With a quick twist of my hands, I broke the delf’s belt and caught him as he began to fall. I wrenched his rifle free and looked down, gauging the distance to the ground before I let the cultist fall.

He screamed, then went silent when he landed and both legs broke. The delf slumped against the warehouse wall, dazed but not unconscious. I glanced at my wound, a thin line cut into my abdomen, then tapped the delf on top of his head with two fingers. Just hard enough to knock him out, but not enough to kill him.

I authorized the starfish suit to perform what it insisted was urgent repairs on my spinal cord, then flew through the open door of the explosives warehouse. It no longer mattered when the suit would pop out one of my vertebrae, as I could use the suit’s gravity control features to compensate for the damage.

Another dozen cultists were inside the large building, in the act of stealing mining explosives. Ignoring the guards, I first went for the delves hauling crates. They had a small hovercraft with an open bed inside the warehouse, directly in front of the heavy loading doors.

Two bulky delves moving large crates stopped and turned to look at me. In unison, they pulled off their robes and turned to face me, both wearing engraved suits of power armor. I scowled and glanced to the ceiling, where several cameras blinked at me, working on emergency power.

Power armor came in many forms under BuyMort. Some of it was rudimentary, mere battery-powered splints moving armored plates to cover the body. On the other end of that spectrum were nanotech enabled superstructures drawing energy from subspace.

The delves were well-equipped and well-funded. Their power armor wasn’t relic class, but it was high end enough to represent a real threat to me. As they approached both delves activated their gauntlets, which hummed with mono wire claws. Raising into the air didn’t help me, as both my aggressors were equipped with anti-gravity tech too, and simply followed me.

In the half-second I had before the fight began; I took a little time to think. It wasn’t a grand thought process, just a simple realization.

I was equipped for destruction. My starfish suit kept me alive, allowed me to move with total freedom, and to demolish nearly anything with an atomic structure. The suit’s capabilities were enhanced and complemented by my crystalline colonies.

My Stoneskin patch had changed my body's structure to ensure I could withstand multiple gravities worth of force while moving, and multiple atmospheres of pressure. The Aimed Shot patch had upgraded my reflexes to allow me to move at enhanced speeds with accuracy, even in disorienting environments like open space. And the Power Blow patch had enhanced my strength. That didn’t just mean advanced destructive capability, it meant advanced control too. Precision demolition.

The first power armored delf arrived and slashed at me with his mono wire claws. I swept to the side in a blur of motion and slapped his belt. The metal shattered and dropped the delf to the stone floor three stories below. He landed with a grunt and his claws went out. I kept moving to avoid the incoming barrage of linear cannon fire from several of the other cultists.

Finding my way through multiple beams without contacting any of them was another manifestation of my Aimed Shot perk patch. It had upgraded my operating system in a structural manner, and I was capable of far more complex flight than I had been without it.

My remaining flying opponent came at me from below, trying to catch me off guard. I dropped down and flicked him on the head, activating my breaker gauntlet. His helmet shattered, and the delf dropped with a grunt. His armor protected him when he landed, but he was out like a light. His helmet slowly reformed from the neck of his armor while I moved to deal with his partner.

Even without an antigravity belt, the other power-armored delf was dangerous. He leapt onto my back and began clawing at my midsection desperately. I responded by headbutting him, but not before his mono wire claws had done serious damage to both the suit and me.

Blood seeped from the slits in my armor as the suit’s central core sparked and spit out chunks of metal. My own repairs could wait, the suit worked on fixing its core first. Enough damage there and it would cease function entirely. Flying back up, I dodged and weaved the linear cannon fire while picking my first target.

The delf couldn’t respond fast enough, in spite of seeing me coming, and he gasped as I landed in front of him. Another restrained punch in the midsection was enough to knock him out, but the hapless delf was cut into a dozen pieces as the other cultists turned their linear cannons on me.

I had to take a moment and appreciate the safety mechanisms of Justin’s mine. None of their explosives detonated while being carved into and apart by the fire of linear cannons. Still, footage of the attack was spectacular, as vivid dusty beams of light cut the warehouse apart in wild swings.

Bits of the roof collapsed, cultists were hit by friendly fire, and the entire structure was made unstable by our battle. I calmly and carefully knocked each delf out, until the last one realized what was happening and took the easy way out. Of the original dozen delves inside, only five survived the assault. Still, none of them died by my hand, and the footage would show that.

I searched for more cultist activity once what was left of the demolitions warehouse was secure. A quick aerial sweep told me the surface of the mine was clear, and I turned to bolt for the CFO’s position. The flight across Lithtin showed me what I had expected to see. The cult had focused their efforts on Justin Lee and on me.

While there were attacks in the streets of the delf capital city, they seemed limited to major population centers, cultural gathering places, and buildings of historic note. The attacks were spread out, and by my count just over two-hundred cultists had been employed to perform this attack.

Which meant they were out of members. Whoever the cult’s leadership was, they weren’t down there in the streets wearing robes and attacking random delf citizens with long knives. They were secure, watching and hoping their goals would be met.

Those goals had to be connected. They wouldn’t spend the majority of their remaining cultists trying to kill Justin Lee simply because he was my friend. My assumption was that the dawn attack was meant to seriously destabilize the House of None by killing its leadership in one fell swoop.

Already security forces were mobilized, securing entire blocks of Lithtin and arresting or killing cultists. I helped as I worked my way across the city toward the CFO’s building. Security hovercraft flitted above my head while I was on the ground and below me when I reached the stalactite building my target was in.

The entire structure had been carved from the naturally occurring stalactite, and featured several external portals, mostly for vehicle entry. I found a balcony and entered. What had once been a palatial estate for a single wealthy delf family had been transformed into a workplace. Offices with glass paneling and open meeting rooms dominated the building, but I found no delves until I reached the higher floors.

There a battle had clearly been fought, with dead delves and still-burning slashes in the stone walls. At the end of a long trail of battle, I found the CFO in a panic room, dead. The delf had a long silver-bladed knife in his chest that projected an image on the ceiling from its hilt. In great house style long-form delvish, it read “The House of None will never rule.”

I stood in the abattoir for a long moment, sighed, then left to go back and help the rest of the city.

Chapter 53

For the rest of the morning, I wandered Lithtin helping the House of None security forces as they attempted to mop up the cultist attacks. News affiliates from all over the multiverse had come swarming, and I wanted to be sure to get as much positive press as I could. The standing bounty Justin Lee had placed on all of the cultists didn’t hurt either. I needed the morties, and kept a running tally for him to honor later.

My armor prevented most press from recognizing me at first, but the suit beneath it was shredded. Rather than go nude, I kept my armor in place. Most of the outlets got wind of who the mysterious flying armored figure was by watching the others report. For-profit news was like that, always watching each other and looking for details to pounce on and repost for additional clicks, hits, and eyeballs.

My action in the air of Lithtin’s cavern on the morning of long knives was candy for the press. They swarmed in numbers rivaling that of House of None security while the cleanup was going on. I helped fan the media flames by searching for any cultists still active and bringing them down.

The majority of cultists involved in the attack died. Security forces killed them at range rather than face the possibility of their knives, and plenty took their suicide pills after getting out their rage and realizing there was no way back from the pre-dawn assault. Even still, a few dozen were taken alive, mostly by me personally. I did it for the press's sake as much as for our investigation’s.

Only once I returned to the mine was I free of cameras following me. There, a security web consisting of tiny, weaponized drones was in place, and prevented any access via ground or air.

Most of my victims in the mine were taken into custody before I returned to find Justin, but I passed a squad of security forces cleaning up my lowest encounter. Two dead and four alive with various injuries to their midsections were in the process of being collected when I flew in.

Each of the living cultists  were wearing the anti-suicide pill bits, but glared daggers at me over them. I landed and dropped my armor, letting pieces of my new suit fall away as I walked down the last tunnel to Justin’s radiation bed.

With my enhanced vision I could see a small collection of corpses piled in the center of the room. I slowed, but as soon as my steps changed cadence, the hobb leapt out from the side of the tunnel wall with his mining laser. It roared as he swept it across my chest.

I nodded, brushed the singed silk off my chest and waved at him. “It’s me, your employer. Can’t hurt me with a simple laser, don’t worry. Seems like you earned your pay though,” I told him.

The vagabond narrowed his eyes and kept himself between me and Justin’s bed. “You don’t look like my hire,” he grunted in hobb. His Storage accent was noticeable, which made me think about the evolution of hobbs since my death.

With a short sigh, I raised my arms and redeployed my armor momentarily. “Satisfied?” I asked.

He scowled and took a step back, but nodded and lowered his mining laser. “Sorry boss.”

“No, you did good. Killed a full squad of 'em, looks like,” I complimented him, walking around the corpse pile on my way to Justin. The pile was actually a collection of cauterized limbs and body parts, as opposed to complete corpses. “Must have been quite a fight.”

“No fight. They never knew I was there,” the hobb replied flatly.

I looked over my shoulder at him and dropped the armor again, with an impressed nod. “Even better.”

The radiation bed was holding Justin unconscious as his therapy continued, to avoid the worst of the symptoms. There were only a couple of hours left in the cycle, so I took a deep breath and sat down, leaning against the bed’s surgical suite.

The hobb approached, still holding his mining laser. The rig took both hands to lift and hold, but he carried it with ease. “Boss?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Just stay here. And don’t kill any more delves, your mission is complete. House of None Security forces will be down here soon. They’re on our side.”

He nodded and turned away, walking a short distance before setting down his mining laser. I took the opportunity to call Shoshanna. The service was expensive, running across two universes and accruing multiple upcharges from BuyMort for the use of its gates. I called her on Justin’s comm unit, which allowed me to pass the charges onto the House of None.

It also pinged his location to their security forces, already sweeping the mine.

“Tyson?!” she answered. “Are you okay, you’re all over the news!”

“Yeah, I’m good,” I lied. “Just felt like taking the two minutes of quiet time I’m going to get today and spend it talking to you.” I smiled as I spoke, hoping she could hear it across the connection.

“Well,” she spluttered. “What happened?”

I moved the comm unit away from my mouth and sighed. “I provoked a response. It occurred and I’m in the process of dealing with it, that’s all. Pretty normal stuff, actually.”

The other end of the line was silent for a long moment before she whispered, “Are you really okay?”

“As okay as I get, Shanna,” I replied. “Really, this is all . . . according to plan. Going well, even.”

“This is according to plan?” she gasped. “The news is calling it a terror attack. There are so many dead.”

“Yeah, all of that is true. It was also inevitable. Coming here was always going to cause this kind of reaction,” I explained. “But that’s it. That’s all the cult had, and they spent it in anger like I knew they would. Now all that’s left is cleaning them up.” I tried not to think of their fleet, or the plant in the board of the House of None’s leadership.

“Cleaning them up? My God, Tyson. Those are people,” Shoshanna whispered.

“They’re cultists. People yes, but a threat and a danger first and foremost. I can’t allow them to continue their attacks, Shanna. This is how we have to deal with them,” I told her. “We have to project strength, people need to believe I can protect them from things like this.”

“Oh Tyson,” Shoshanna said, before lapsing into silence again.

While I waited for her to say something more, Captain Sessara approached from the darkened tunnel. Her security forces had gotten some emergency generators set up, but there wasn‘t enough power to reach our levels, so she didn’t see me right away.

“I have to go, Shanna. I’ll be home soon, love you,” I said.

She silently hung up the phone on her end.

“Well, shit,” I muttered, standing up and facing Captain Sessara. “Hi. How’s the security force faring?”

“Heavy casualties,” the delf woman snapped back. “Where is my CEO?”

I stood aside and gestured at the bed, where Justin Lee slept peacefully.

“What happened to him?” she exclaimed. Sessara stepped up to the bed and immediately began swiping at its screen, seeking information and starting the process of waking Justin Lee up early.

“Radiation treatment and a liver replacement. Your fake security officer had heavily irradiated rounds in his railgun sidearm,” I said.

“How long was he exposed?” she asked, still staring at the screen.

“A few seconds. Long enough for me to grab him and get out of there. I brought him here right away and got this treatment bed up and running before I went to secure the mine. Still let a pack get past me, but I hired a guard for him before I left,” I explained.

She glanced at the pile of body parts in the middle of the dim room and nodded. “Seems you hired well.”

I looked at my hobb vagabond and nodded. “Yeah, he proved his worth alright. By the way, I made promises to this hobb. In Justin’s absence, I expect you to make good on them.”

Captain Sessara blinked, exhaled a short laugh, and then turned to look me in the eyes. “What promises, exactly?”

“A life. A job, here on Midnight, or on any other world he chooses. The House of None has connections in every world in BuyMort. They all need your ore,” I told her.

The delf raised her hands and shook her head. “Whatever you say, Warlord.”

I didn’t bother correcting her. Captain Sessara finished her inspection of the machine and turned to face me fully. “I’m sure my CEO will honor your promises, and it seems the hobb was instrumental in securing his safety,” she said, still glaring into my eyes.

“Spit it out captain. You’ll feel better,” I sighed.

“You could have told me my own delves were cultists,” she hissed. “All damn day I’ve been looking over my shoulder trying to clean this thing up.”

I nodded and frowned exaggeratedly at her. “I would have, if I’d have been able to be sure you weren’t cult yourself.”

“You knew this would happen, didn’t you?” Sessara shouted. The troops at her back flinched, and my newest hobb hire casually picked his mining laser up. The hobb man turned away from the others and calmly ensured his weapon was ready to fire then sniffed as he took in the room. I caught his eyes and firmly shook my head.

“Something like it, yes,” I told her. “Why did you think we were rounding up cultists all night? Your teams were as prepared as they could be, the obvious infiltration potential meant we could only tell you so much at any given point. Now that this has happened, I can tell you more about what we’re doing. Sorry about the rough morning though.”

“Asshole!” she hissed. “Do you know how many officers I lost? How many civilians we lost?!”

I floated up to her and hovered just over her head, forcing her to look up at me. “Too many, on both counts. But those deaths are not on me. I’m not the core cause of this problem in your system. I’m just not allowing it to continue. The process of stopping that problem is painful.”

Captain Sessara’s glowing eyes widened and she gaped at me in open shock.

From behind me, Justin’s chamber hissed as it cycled open.

“Stop!” he croaked at us. “He’s right, this isn’t his fault.”

I was ignored as Captain Sessara rushed past me to Justin’s bedside. “CEO!” she said.

“Oh, easy captain. Easy,” Justin sighed. He peered around himself before looking at me and saying “In the mine?”

“Yeah. I knew it was under attack, but time was of the essence. Plus, I left security,” I said, gesturing to the hobb.

Justin stared at him, squinting as his eyes dimmed and brightened. “What is your name, sir?” he said, looking past the hobb at the corpse pile.

“Hord,” he said, gesturing to himself.

Something in my chest clenched and I looked at the hobb again, closer. I immediately decided it wasn’t him. A common enough name, in my experience with BlueCleave, but the memory of my time with a hobb named Hord was not gentle.

“Thank you Hord,” Justin said. “You seem to have saved my life.”

The hobb shrugged. “Hired to guard” he grunted in broken English. “Guarded.”

Captain Sessara shot me an angry glance. “Sir, I must inform you that the Warlord has endangered your life in his pursuit of the cult and its members.”

“Oh, it's worse than that, Captain. I also failed to save your CFO,” I calmly replied.

“Do not repeat that, Captain Sessara,” Justin said, suddenly stern. “That is a direct order. Never breathe word of such accusations again.” He groaned in pain as he pushed himself into a leaning position in the bed. “That goes for all of you. Tyson Dawes has been nothing but helpful. He has contained a catastrophe that has been building on this planet for over a century. Any personal feelings you may or may not have are not to be discussed, in public or private.”

“Yes, CEO,” said Captain Sessara, back straight and eyes forward. A few of the other House of None security guards muttered the same.

Hord scowled at us all. Justin Lee laid back down and gestured to the hobb. “You there, Hord. You’re with me. Personal guard. I’ll fill you in on the threat as we go, and provide an expense account for your immediate use. I want you equipped for the job.”

“Can I bathe?” Hord grunted back.

Justin laughed and grimaced, hands going to his midsection. “Of course. This mine has showers and I’ll be safe while you use them. I need to be moved, but not immediately. Go ahead now. I need to speak to my partner.”

I stepped forward and stared at Captain Sessara until she glowered and stepped away. Then I leaned in over the bed so Justin could speak easier. He was exhausted and breathing heavily between words. “Thank you, Tyson, my friend,” he started. “Tell me all that I missed.”

“Whew,” I started, blowing my lips. “Where to start. We got a good solid majority of their fighters. Plenty of em alive, shouldn’t be a huge task to get em talking. Just assign a handful of specialists.”

Justin raised a hand to stop me, then pawed through what was left of his jacket before frowning and scowling down at the bedding around himself. I produced his comm unit and handed it back to him.

“Borrowed it. Very helpful, by the way, thank you.” I said.

Justin smiled as he took the device from me, but quickly returned to frowning at his laser-cut clothing. As if prompted, BuyMort dinged cheerfully within my mind, and an ad popped up.

Naked? Burnt? Fashionless?

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For warriors, champions, and those who refuse to settle. Ever been caught mid-mission with your clothes burned off? Fear no more. The Resilient FlexSuit combines top-grade, laser-resistant nano-fibers with a sleek, high-comfort design. Feel the difference as the FlexSuit adapts to your every move, whether you’re leaping into action, navigating cavernous mines, or facing down the toughest opponents. This gear is engineered to keep you looking sharp, no matter what the universe throws at you.

Features:

Laser-Resistant Material: Laugh in the face of laser fire – your suit will stand the test.

Adaptive Fit: The FlexSuit contours to every movement, giving you agility and confidence.

Ultra-Secure Storage Pockets: For your comms, creds, and essentials – they’re safe, and they’re within reach.

Effortless Style: Forget armor and dazzle! This suit is a statement. (disclaimer - Flex Suit is not actually armor)

The Resilient FlexSuit is priced at 8,500,000 morties and boasts a 4.7-star rating.

Don’t let anyone catch you with a tear – upgrade to FlexSuit, and be the indestructible legend they all remember. Exclusively from Snekkie Style, because durability is just the beginning.

Justin smirked. “Ad got ya?” he asked. His hands moved across his comm units screen and he recited what I told him into the device. When he was finished, he looked up at me for more.

“Interrogation should be prioritized, but we need to rehabilitate as well. It can be quiet right now, but it has to get started. Don’t torture these delves. We need to wave this around in the public’s face as soon as we can. Let them know things are under control and being handled in a humane and ethical manner,” I told him. He held his device up to me while I spoke, and it took notes for him.

“With the information they provide us, we can easily track down the rest of the Cult, and one or more of ‘em should give us what we need for your board member,” I finished. “That is, in summation, the plan.”

“How extensive was the attack? You mentioned my CFO? I hope you are wrong about him; I’ve known the delf for years. He’s a friend,” Justin said.

I shook my head and sighed. “Too much was happening, and I prioritized the mine. This attack was obviously something they’d had planned and disseminated to their various cells. Our actions last night forced their hand, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t have an effective plan of attack. I did what I could, but I had to prioritize your safety. Clearing the mine simply took too long, and he was gone by the time I got there.”

Justin sighed and nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.

“I’ll be here for the next steps. If your board member isn’t the top of this thing, he’s still a great scapegoat for the press,” I said. “That story will sell, and help quell public unrest from the assassination of your CFO.”

I watched as Justin silently wrestled with something. “Sad though this day is, I am grateful for your intervention. We would have lost much more without it. I must receive medical aid and then get in front of a camera. The public will have a great deal of anxiety and pain over this attack.”

Hord returned then, hair still wet from the shower. He wore a fresh House of None security forces uniform, with obvious added plating. The hobb was also carrying a linear cannon. He moved to stand directly beside my friend, monitoring each of the  other delves in the room for threatening activity.

Most of the assembled security force seemed to understand the scrutiny they were under and quietly talked together in a small huddle. Only Captain Sessara stood apart, close to their CEO’s bedside.

Justin Lee looked up at me from his bed and frowned. “What happens next?” he asked.

“Next,” I said with a sigh. “Next, they use their ships. For us, it’s a race to see if we can find their leadership before they can find a suitable target to annihilate from orbit.”

Chapter 54

The next few hours were a whirlwind. We got Justin Lee to a secure medical facility and into protective hands he insisted I could trust. The facility was halfway around the tiny planet, in a remote ore-finding station deep into the dead zone underground, where no breathable air was present. Even while his doctors were running a battery of tests on the delf he continued giving orders to counter a potential air-based cult attack.

Justin Lee ordered more ships into the air around Midnight. He increased the number of protective patrols in the planet’s various orbits in space as well. On the planet, cultural centers and sensitive affiliate locations had their security increased while lithe silver fighters whined overhead at all hours.

In spite of the medical unit’s orders to rest, Justin Lee kept himself in talks with the House of None’s parent affiliate within Silken Sands. He quickly negotiated BlueCleave military aid. Given the nature of the attack on the mine in Lithtin, Silken Sands Knowle Leadership council passed an emergency deployment order, and an entire wing of the world’s fleet deployed to protect its interests.

The fleet sent to us was led by one of three Crown of Thorns style capital ships, the Foregone Conclusion. So named because of its primary role in the multiverse, a defensive bastion against attack. The powerful relic ship would deploy in orbit of a world with a valued resource and stay until security was assured, by one method or another.

When it appeared in the sky above Midnight, the public’s reaction was mixed. Many were afraid; the machine in their skies was a notoriously dangerous sign of system instability and impending violence. The other side of that equation was relief that a strong military presence was there to handle any violence for the regular people of Midnight.

Fortunately, our methods of interrogation were not only humane, they were effective and started producing names for us to run down. Agents came to us on loan from House of None Intelligence, otherwise known as HONI, who in turn subcontracted from an affiliate called Chris Holt's Interrogation & Interview Services. The ad for the affiliate noted that they find the truth without breaking a sweat or a finger, and that they specialized in theft, fraud, insider threats, and terrorism, making them the top choice for rooting out dishonesty fast. And from a quick look through the reviews, I realized they really were top notch. Clients noted that the agents would establish a rapport with their target, and offer improvements in the arrested cult member’s situation. Within the first day, we had half a dozen leads for security officers to follow up on.

I rode along on the highest profile arrest of the day, using my armored frame to bring the eventual confrontation to a peaceful end with minimal injury. The delf we arrested was a film star. A quick analysis of his filmography showcased a primal hatred of Nu-Earth humans and plenty of Cult of Eternal Darkness pieces.

He was so brazen that he often took roles as high-ranking cult officials in his films. I subdued his security, and the actor himself submitted to arrest willingly. As he was being pushed into a hovercraft outside of his elaborate cliffside mansion, he revealed to the gathered press that he did indeed have a suicide pill in his tooth. He had merely decided not to use it.

By the time the sun was going down on the day of the Morning of Long Knives, the House of None security forces had made significant progress toward shutting down the cult for good. Arrests continued, as did killings and suicides as the various levels of the cult collapsed.

After the very public morning attack, Justin’s board had met to pass several new security initiatives and orders. Our enemy on the board protested loudly in public, proclaiming the new measures to be draconian and counter to the House of None’s place within delvish society. The various interviews of arrested cult members were all leading up to him, and once we had a direct line of confession, he was fair game. Until then, we stayed hands off and allowed him to do as he pleased.

Justin Lee conducted an interview explaining the situation from his hospital bed that evening, which immediately went viral on both Midnight and Nu-Earth. My campaign forwarded me the information from our various data scrapers. In essence, it meant Nu-Earth was invested in the Cult of Eternal Darkness as much as Midnight herself was. All eyes that mattered to the election were on us.

Midnight was suddenly a main campaign issue. An active test of my leadership capabilities.

Polls started coming in that night, reflecting the cult’s influence on the upcoming election. Opinions were still varied, but support for the clean-up efforts was undeniable even for my detractors. They quibbled about my methods where they could find reason to, but ultimately even Axle himself was forced to verbally state his support for the House of None’s efforts.

I took the opportunity to meet with BlueCleave’s commanding officer in charge of the defensive fleet. It wasn’t her idea, and I was certain Axle was fuming about it, but I didn’t leave them much choice when I made my invitation public.

Press were everywhere, following us like seabirds after a fishing boat. It was easy to pull one aside and announce that I was hoping to meet for a defense summit, to share operational information. After that, questions immediately started flying asking why BlueCleave wasn’t responding. Within hours, they caved and I met with the Admiral in command of the fleet, my old friend Phyllis.

She arrived at our predetermined meeting place wearing the naval uniform of BlueCleave, a navy-blue jumpsuit with her rank pinned to her collar. Only when she approached me with cameras clattering did I notice how physically petite the woman was. Her mech suit shined from under her collar, ready to deploy as needed, but the woman herself seemed almost vulnerable without the massive mechanical seating I was used to seeing her in.

“Thank you for coming, Admiral,” I said politely as we shook hands. We met at a rented estate on a cliff overlooking a waterfall. Mansions were everywhere on Midnight, so it wasn’t difficult to rent one.

She grimaced and nodded. “Thank you for the invitation. Of course BlueCleave and Silken Sands wish to cooperate with the defense of Midnight. The House of None is a valued associate. We look out for our own.”

“Is that so?” I asked. “The Knowle Institute of History has provided me with several documented attacks on Midnight from the Cult of Eternal Darkness, spanning the last century. None of them warranted direct BlueCleave response.”

Her blue eyes narrowed. “Midnight has always handled its own problems, no invitation or request for aid was received before now.”

I nodded. “Just so. It’s good to be working together again, whatever the situation.”

Phyllis nearly halted in the middle of sitting down, glaring up at me with an instant of open hostility before her professional calm demeanor came back. “Yes, thank you Warlord.”

I waved my hands as if warding off the word. “I’ve rejected that title since my return. I am not a warlord any longer.”

“Then I must ask, in what capacity are you defending Midnight?” she asked.

“A principled consultant, and old friend,” I immediately replied. “I have some experience chasing down cultists, and the House of None’s CEO is a personal friend of mine from the days of the Church War. Having that kind of interpersonal relationship is important in a business relationship, after all.”

“I suppose it isn’t lost on you that the Cult of Eternal Darkness was founded, in part, to kill you if you ever returned?” Phyllis asked, icy glare still on me.

“Not at all. I can’t help but feel responsible. The cult’s leadership is primarily composed of former Church middle manager types. Not quite the big bad guys I went after, but their underlings and mailroom clerks,” I joked. “I’m merely finishing what I started, and trying to help as many of these mis-guided delves as possible. There’s been more than enough death for one day.”

Phyllis stared at me for a long moment before she took a deep breath and sighed. “Very well, what tactic would you like to discuss publicly, for all who may listen to hear?”

“Our operation is above-board. No secrets from the public, especially during a time like this. Loved ones are still missing, and many in Lithtin are grieving tonight. Justin Lee and I are engaged in the hard reality of leadership. The cult is a security threat, and is being dealt with as such,” I said, facing the cameras and ignoring Phyllis for a moment.

“But the House of None is above all, a civil affiliate. Cult involvement is being treated as a mental health emergency for the cultists themselves, and any of them we can save we absolutely try to help,” I recited. “Justice and public aid, both being meted out in a time of need. I see this type of security action as priority number one for any responsible affiliate leadership.”

“Very well,” Phyllis said flatly. “How can the Foregone Conclusion fleet be of assistance?”

“I don’t wish to alarm anyone, but the few cult remnants are well-equipped. They have ships, and the next attack is most likely to come from those ships. All we need is for your fleet to coordinate with House of None Security forces to control the skies over Midnight. We must ensure commerce continues as we secure against any threats,” I said.

“Of course,” she replied. “Our officers are already in contact with House of None Security, and are coordinating flight patterns as we speak.”

“Excellent, that allows you and I to catch up a little,” I said. I turned and faced the press, signaling my security detail. A web of drones above us on the mountainside came to life and began destroying the press's camera drones. House of None security forces emerged from the nearby building and began escorting the gathered press away, bundling them into for-hire hovercraft and securing privacy for me and my guest.

Phyllis and I waited a long moment, until one of the delves in my employ flashed me an ‘all clear’ signal from the driveway.

“You’re good at this,” Phyllis said.

I shrugged. “I have to be. Part of the job.”

“What job?” she snapped. “From what I can tell, you don’t have one.”

I smiled gently and nodded. “Do you really think Axle is up to running the affiliate? You’ve had a century under him. Your opinion means a lot.”

Phyllis scowled, then blinked rapidly and looked away. “I’ve never much liked anyone in power.”

“Of course not. You fought the Nazis. As a child you fought them. I can’t imagine you’d look at anyone in control of so much military capability with a positive eye,” I said. “Why else would you have served him all these years if not to prevent more harm than has already happened?”

Phyllis looked quickly over both shoulders, then leaned across the table toward me. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to say I miss you, Phyll,” I replied. “I mean that.”

“The feeling isn’t mutual,” she grunted.

“Of course not. I was your commander, a figure you were always going to mistrust. But now we’re both free of that dynamic, and I wanted you to know that I missed you. Miss you, actively. I wish you were on my side in all this,” I told her.

After a short pause, she shrugged. “What could you miss about me? I was a drugged-out cantankerous bitch. Can’t remember throwing a kind word your way.”

“Just that. You, among all my many friends, employees, and helpers, you alone never once lied to me. You always told me the exact truth, no matter how mean you had to be to do it. You were the one advisor I could always trust to steer me in the right direction, and call me out when I did wrong,” I said. “I miss that.”

I looked into her eyes and watched as emotions played across her face in subtle ways.

“Did you really not know how much I valued your input? How much I valued you, Phyll?” I asked.

She startled, blinked several times, then looked up warily. “Well good. You’re dumb. You should listen to smart people.”

I smiled lightly. “You’re not wrong there. But tell me, what are you, as smart as you are, doing enthralled to Axle? You know what he is. What he did.”

“What did he do?” Phyllis asked, struggling to meet my eyes.

“Only one person, in all of Silken Sands, had access to my gate travel records. There isn’t anyone else in the entire BuyMort system who could have told Admiral Omen where I took the Thread of Fate. Axle betrayed me, to my death. Or as close as I get, anyway. It was blind luck I recharged in that solar system, just random chance and orbital mechanics, Phyll,” I explained. “Axle tried to kill me, and changed the fate of every living being in this system when he did it. Including yours.”

Phyllis said nothing for a long moment, and I gave her the time and space to process what I had told her. Axle and Omen had taken the opportunity I gave them, and used my trust in them both against me.

“You’re assuming I don’t agree with his decision,” she finally said in a small voice.

“Do you?” I asked.

“No,” she admitted. “I just don’t want to give you the pleasure of being right.”

“We’re old friends Phyll,” I said, gently. “Being right in an argument isn’t something I cling to. But you’ve always been right about me. About who I am. In fact, if you tell me to drop out of the race for CEO and go live a quiet life somewhere in the multiverse, I will.”

Phyllis scowled. “You’d stop? Just because I told you to?”

“No, Phyllis. I’d stop because you’ve never once lied to me, or been wrong about who I am at any given moment. I’d stop because I trust you,” I reiterated. “If you really think I’m going to  make things worse, I’ll step aside and let you clean up BlueCleave.”

The young woman across from me ground her teeth and grimaced. For a few quiet moments, I stared at her as she wrestled with herself. Finally, she took a deep breath and sighed it out. “You win again,” she muttered.

“Nothing to win here, Phyll. Just my oldest friend and I talking. You’re the last person I would want to fight,” I told her.

“What is all this shit with the Cubes then?” she asked, sitting back in her chair with a scowl. “Why are you running around with a non-profit? Other than chasing skirts, of course.”

“Because I can,” I answered with a shrug. “I finally have the time to do some of the things I care about, and there’s a lot of messes I feel the need to clean up.”

“BlueCleave among them?” she snapped.

“Yes, BlueCleave among them. You can’t tell me that you’re happy about the way things have been going, can you?” I asked.

She scowled. “Oh of course. I love endless war and authoritarian military structures.”

“Then why stay part of it?” I asked. “No accusations this time, I just want to know what’s kept you part of this machine for all these years.”

“At first it was you, strangely enough,” she said. “You and Molls. She convinced me to help her find out what had happened to you, back before her rebellion broke out. Axle made sure to keep me far away from her after that. I think he knew he couldn’t trust me when she was involved. I never got confirmation that he was behind your disappearance. Molls always suspected, of course.”

“I never deserved her,” I said.

“Agreed,” Phyllis snapped back, a sharp grin on her lips. I chuckled and shook my head.

“The women I’m dating now are a comfort, Phyllis. I don’t think I’ll ever love someone the way I loved Molls.” I sat back in my chair and looked up at Midnight’s dark sky. The only light that twinkled in the pitch-black sky was the ice giant, far in the distance near the BuyMort gate. Even to my enhanced vision, there were no stars.

“I’m trying not to hurt them, and I'm picking women who likely won’t stay at my side and become the kind of target that Molls became,” I continued. “But I don’t know that I’m capable of that kind of love again.”

Phyllis stared at me while I spoke, then shook her head. “Give it time, Tyson. You’re still young.”

I chuckled and smiled from one side of my mouth. “If you say so.”

“Would you really drop out if I asked you to?” Phyllis suddenly asked.

I nodded slowly. “It looks like I’m functionally immortal, so I can take my time with any projects I have outstanding. Being CEO of Silken Sands again would provide me with a lot of tools, make things happen much faster. But I won’t do it if you honestly think I would make things worse.”

“What’s the other end of that?” she asked. “What would you do if you became CEO now?”

“Try to help. I’d stop the wars, stabilize the multiverse, and clean up my old messes,” I said. “Terna’s World in particular, I hate what’s happened there.”

Phyllis frowned. “I do too, and I’m sorry I ever accepted the orders to move against them. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, and we were desperate. They were withholding food, their independence was no longer an option.”

“I know Terna, and she can be talked to. Reasoned with. There’s no way she’d starve the people of Nu-Earth without a serious reason,” I said. “And I’ve read the histories. I know BlueCleave had a presence on Terna’s world before the food shortages. They were there to secure her Kitchen Sink weapons, which is what began the hostilities in the first place.”

Phyllis scowled. “I know.”

“Then you know you weren’t justified in occupying her planet,” I replied.

“Not at the time, I didn’t. Axle . . . his leadership council, they were so convincing. Things were so dire, our options so limited,” she said, emotion obvious in her voice.

“You have a chance to make it right, Phyll. We both do. We can end this conflict, and fix this system. We can make it livable,” I said. “From Nu-Earth to Storage, we can make people’s lives better, if we work together.”

“How?” Phyllis asked in a sigh. “What can I do?”

“Endorse my campaign,” I answered.

Her eyes went wide and she stared at me for another long, silent moment. Then she nodded and moved to stand. “Okay. After we’re done here, I will.”

Chapter 55

“That’s perfect Phyll, thank you. Thank you for your trust,” I said.

“You realize what this will mean for me, I assume,” she asked, her posture slumped.

“I do,” I said. “Do you want your position back once I win the election?”

Phyllis shrugged. “Yes,” she said. “No. I don’t know. Things would have to change.”

“Agreed. That is, exactly, my plan here. I need to get my affiliate back so I can fix this mess,” I told her.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she snipped back.

“Why help me, if you don’t believe I’ll do what I say?” I asked, leaning forward and raising an eyebrow at her.

“Because you’re going to do it with or without me, and you’re better with me,” Phyllis said. “Simple as that.”

“Right, the fate of the multiverse resting on your shoulders has nothing to do with it,” I said, smiling from the corner of my mouth.

“It’s not a fight like you’re used to, you know,” Phyllis warned.

“I’ve been getting that sense, yes,” I carefully replied. “It’s more complex, less out in the open. Stuff like this, like what’s happening on Midnight is a bad shock to the system.”

“So was your arrival on Nu-Earth,” she said. “You have no idea what you started when you smashed that statue.”

“Oh, I have some,” I replied. “It wasn’t just to make me feel better, you know. After what I saw on your ship, I knew I had to get involved, and it had to happen fast.”

“BlueCleave is barely hanging together because of you. You, your damned words, and everything you’ve done since you got back,” she hissed. “Did you know that pre-Church War video file uploads spiked among BlueCleave enlisted hobbs less than three days after I picked you up in Sleem?”

I shook my head. “I didn’t, but it doesn’t surprise me. That army has become something it was never meant to be. Something it doesn’t want to be. Do you think Rayna would smile at BlueCleave now?” I asked.

Phyllis sat back as if struck. “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in . . . a long time.”

“Those days are all crystal clear in my head, Phyll,” I said. “I can see exactly where things have gone wrong. Help me, and we’ll fix it together.”

“Yeah-yeah, you already sold me. I’ll help. I’m just surprised you still want me to,” she replied.

“Of course I do. You’re family. Scary, lethal family,” I said with a smile. “Now help me clean up this cult so we can get you fired.”

“Fired? Ha! I’ll be lucky if Axle doesn’t try to have me killed again,” she said. When I stared at her in open shock, she added, “long story.”

“He hasn’t tried to kill me yet,” I said. “Seems to care a great deal about public perception in that regard.”

“He also doesn’t have the balls anymore. You stayed young, I aged backwards, and he’s overdue for a new hip,” she snarled. “His Knowle Leadership Council does most of the actual work these days, I hear.”

“Glad I’ll inherit them once I have your glowing endorsement,” I said. “But first things first. With your dragnet in the sky, it’s just a matter of time until we take down the cult here. Our HONI agents are closing in on at least two ships, they tell me. Either we’ll get 'em with the police-work, or you will once they try something.”

“Understood,” Phyllis said as she stood. “Are we done here?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Just one last thing. Where is Tower? Can you tell me why he no longer works for BuyMort?”

Phyllis sniffed and looked away. “He got fired,” she said, a small snarl on her lips. “BlueCleave couldn't effectively kill him without causing BuyMort to respond, so he was ‘exiled.’”

I raised an eyebrow. “Exiled?” I asked.

“That’s what the affiliate says. The reality is a little more grim. He went on a rampage on Nergal; Neolithic Earth’s Mars. We had to abandon the planet. It’s a giant game preserve now, with nothing of any note left on it but Tower himself,” she explained.

I shook my head. “Wow. Alright, I’ll add that to my list of messes to clean up. The entire planet was lost?” I asked.

She nodded. “Tower became unstable. He began attacking anyone and everyone, including all BuyMort facilities he was attached to. We lost several planets because of him, but the only planet he still exists on now is Nergal. The rest of him died off within a few days of the revolt. It interrupted BuyMort services for two days, causing mass devastation.”

“Why did he turn on you?” I asked.

Phyllis shrugged. “Nobody could ever really talk to him but you. Once you left, he slowly destabilized. A few years later, golems stopped taking orders and were purged from BlueCleave. Once the last of them was out of circulation, he just exploded. Tore fruition centers to bits, destroyed pods, everything. Most planets had massive BuyMort bug infestations to deal with in the aftermath, so we stopped caring about Tower himself. That’s why he was able to take Nergal from us.”

She stopped and shook her head. “It was different there. On other worlds, he just died. Those big vats in the fruition centers were full of dead, gray puddles by the time we managed to excavate them. But on Nergal his golems were everywhere. Coordinated attacks too. He knew exactly where to hit us and how. We’re lucky we got the planet as evacuated as we did.”

“How many did he kill?” I asked.

Phyllis snorted. “What, on Nergal? A few hundred million. Multiverse-wide the toll was in the tens of billions.”

I sat and thought about my old friend for a long quiet moment before remembering that Phyllis had wanted to leave. “Thanks, Phyll, that's all I need for now. I knew you were still in there somewhere.”

She raised the middle finger on her right hand at me and snorted a laugh. “Don’t start thinking you know me, shitbird.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it Phyll,” I said, a small smile on my lips. She walked across the lawn to her shuttle and boarded without looking back. I watched as it took off and floated upward toward the starfish shape hovering in the sky. Then I sighed and stood up.

There was work to do.

Early the next morning, the Cult of Eternal Darkness made its last stand. A single bulky silver ship covered in obvious weaponry and glowing with an intense shield launched toward the Foregone Conclusion while a dozen sleek bombers deployed on the other side of the planet.

Air traffic control gave us early warning, and only a single town on Midnight’s craggy surface suffered any damage in the attack. Three delves died when the clothing warehouse they worked in collapsed, but even there most of the associate’s employees made it out unharmed.

Phyllis’ fleet took care of the cult’s ships within minutes of their launch. They had tried to distract BlueCleave’s fleet by sacrificing their single battleship, while their fleet of small bombers caused as much damage as possible. This plan fell apart when Brisingida class demolition cruisers and sand star frigates descended from orbit and rapidly disassembled the cult’s small fleet.

They tried to fight, but each encounter was laughably one-sided. The bombers, capable of defending themselves with on-board laser weaponry, engaged the sand star frigates and lit up the morning sky with vibrant purple beams of weaponized light. Each frigate seemed to merely soak the incoming fire, but close inspection of recordings showed the power of their Sandcasters in detail while they fired back. I watched the battle like the rest of the citizens of BuyMort, on my phone. Each time a sand star would engage a delf bomber, the delf bomber was shredded in the sky before detonating. Phyllis’ demolition cruisers took captives, disabling the bomber’s critical systems with carefully placed atomic breaker blasts, then carefully carried the ships to secure landing zones.

Those on board the captured bombers all took their own lives in the face of capture, but the battleship was a different story. While it was operated by a skeleton crew, there were still seven delves on board, and every single one of them was captured for questioning.

The Foregone Conclusion used its potent gravity drive to first immobilize the battleship’s many weapons, then the ship itself, and finally the crew inside. They were each found the same way by BlueCleave boarding troops, with their jaws clenched, frozen and unable to activate their suicide pills.

It was a good reminder of the extreme power of the relic ships I had unleashed upon the multiverse. The fleet handed us the delves we needed to directly implicate Justin Lee’s adversary on the board. Later in the day he was arrested and paraded around in front of cameras. The wealthy delf didn’t even have a suicide pill installed, and when captured, he expressed genuine shock.

His arrest signaled the end of the cult on Midnight, and doom for the greater body of its remaining population. The investigation was on-going as I stood in front of cameras and bragged about the three day process that had cleaned up a public security threat and secured the suddenly front-of-mind ore the planet quietly produced.

We canonized the cult, particularly our quick defeat of it, in the press. I made public appearances on Midnight all of the next day, speaking to crowds of delves and the audience back home on Nu-Earth alike. We publicly mourned the dead and privately bought off their families with memorial plaques in the House of None’s primary financial building, once rebuilt after the attack. Our priorities looked right to the multiverse at large, and my campaign reaped the benefits of positive public perception.

While my poll numbers jumped back up above the levels they were at before the cult had attacked, the people of Midnight celebrated their newfound safety. All the while everyone forgot that it had all been my return that caused the cult to become violent in the first place. Axle’s media teams tried to remind the multiverse of that fact, but the majority of the public just didn’t see it that way.

Or they didn’t care.

My personal mortie account spun up once Justin Lee paid me the bounties his affiliate owed. I had access to a cool trillion morties, which made me rich on Nu-Earth but still poor on Midnight. The wealthy society celebrated its victory over the last vestiges of the cult and held me up as their celebrity savior. The perception was clear, I had arrived during a time of conflict and helped the House of None once more.

The legend of the Windowpuncher returned to the forefront of BuyMort culture, driven by my action against the cult and my political campaign. No time was wasted canonizing my victory over the cult; my campaign immediately began running ads bragging about it. Making claims about my leadership ability, financial savvy, and unwavering ethical commitment to the people of BuyMort, my campaign ran wild with the victory.

I dumped my trillion morties into the campaign’s affiliate, funding the new wave of ads that inundated Nu-Earth with my face and deeds. We prepared Nu-Earth for my homecoming, planning events and parties the world over. Everyone likes to back a winner, and my campaign was hard-focused on projecting the strength I had shown on Midnight. This was buttressed by a scandalous new endorsement; Phyllis, admiral of BlueCleave naval forces and leader of the fleet sent to Midnight, said a few quiet words and endorsed my candidacy over that of Axle’s.

I returned to Nu-Earth a hero, to fanfare and even a parade in Australia, where the spacecraft industry had been saved from a nasty price spike in their ore costs. The for-profit media descended on us like seabirds on a fishing vessel. I said my goodbyes to Midnight and boarded a shuttle home, to Nu-Earth. My poll numbers skyrocketed, and my campaign began releasing video records of BlueCleave hobbs coming forward to endorse me for CEO.

It was strange and incredible. Everywhere I went, the venues were lined with waving crowds, and to my surprise, a number of them held plushies that were clearly based on me. The first time I saw them, I stared a bit too long, and found myself propelled into ad space even as one of them leaped up from his holder’s hands, his little fists punching the air.

The travel through ad space was intense, threads of intertwined rainbow corkscrewing around like strands of DNA as they led me to my destination. I landed on the outskirts of a battle between a giant stag beetle and myself, with an older-style mechanized Phyllis cackling from the porch of her trailer. I stared as snippets of all of my battles played out in front of my eyes, one after another. Over top of the footage boomed a heroic voice that reminded me of the He-Man cartoon I’d watched as a child.

“The Windowpuncher. Tyson Dawes. Warrior. Hero. CEO. First, he saved his people. Then his world. Then the multiverse. Whether it be Dearth, Sleem, or the Church itself, Tyson Dawes has given us his all. Now that he’s returned it’s time we gave back!”

I startled, brows furrowed. Who was actually behind all this? A starship loomed overhead, its hull a dark mass against a lightning-streaked sky, and from within fell hundreds of my plushies, a flash of electrical energy lighting them up majestically as they dove face-first, their arms stretched out like an army of supermen. “Justice for everyone!” one of them screamed triumphantly, and the others followed as I wondered just how my legend had evolved over the centuries.

Enemy fire shot through the air and the plushies diverted course, striking out at various enemy fighters. “To the infinite!” yelled one, punching a space fighter into non-existence. “To hell with ya,” yelled another, slapping the craft into the ground. “Got milk?!” scream-asked another as he sent his foe to its doom.

I started to shake my head, chuckling, when one of them landed right at my feet. Standing a foot tall, seeming to flex his cushioned muscles, he stared straight into my eyes, daring me to make my move. “Hold tight, hero!” he told me. “I’ve got your back. No evil is safe from the Windowpuncher!”

Around me, the plushies went to town on variations of everything I’d ever fought, the sounds of battle mixed with the tang of scorched metal and fresh-cut earth. It was kind of amazing; they’d made it feel real, or close enough to it to spark trauma memories I had repressed.

With a loud thunderclap, the scene faded and I found myself in a store, all of the plush Windowpunchers standing at attention and giving me a salute.

“The Windowpuncher plushie,” continued the voice from earlier. “Made of the finest synthetic fibers in the multiverse, durable enough for the toughest battles yet soft enough for bedtime. Each one comes pre-programmed with dozens of catchphrases, fighting stances, and a heroic heart just like Tyson Dawes. Available now, only through Heroic Enterprises Affiliated.”

I watched as the plushies broke out of their formation and started performing tiny punches in the air. They shouted lines I’d never dreamed of, each one more outlandish than the last.

“Protect the multiverse!” one called, landing a kick with surprising ferocity.

“Punching evil into dust!” another declared, throwing a jab at an imaginary foe.

Around me, shelves were filled with plushies doing various combat poses. I’d been in a lot of bizarre places in my life, but never one in which hundreds of plush mini-mes were swarming around me to show off their best battle poses. I couldn’t help myself, I reached down and picked up one that had been booting me in the foot, bringing him up to my face for a closer look. The features were amazingly cute yet very much me.

“Don’t just watch the legend,” plushie me said in the narrator’s voice. “Bring home the Windowpuncher plushie and carry the spirit of justice wherever you go.”

Buying one was just too easy. As soon as the thought to buy one came to mind, a brief text advertisement popped up and everything froze.

Get the buddy of two lifetimes with Tyson Dawes, The Windowpuncher. 54,000 morties, 5 stars.

I paid the morties, fading out of ad space and stopping mid parade to get my own from the bleeping pod that portaled beside me, and holding it up high as the pod flashed away, to the thunderous cheers of Nu-Earth crowds. It was amazing, despite being so incredibly inaccurate, and I couldn’t help but wonder how many others were out there, clutching plushie-mes and hoping for a better future. “You can do it . . . Windowpuncher-style,” my Tyson told me, and I nodded, ready to do just that.

My return to Nu-Earth included an immediate breakup with Shoshanna. It wasn’t unexpected, and ended up being rather painless. She was kind about it, met me at the spaceport and sat down with me in a private car to tell me that she felt it was important to separate Save the Cubes from my candidacy now that military action had become part of it. I listened to what she said, agreed with her on every point, and hugged her goodbye without protest.

She would be safer, having distanced herself. I returned to my campaign while she went back to Save the Cubes. The breakup barely generated a blip in the media coverage. Tabloids ran it, people gasped in shock, and then everyone forgot about it. Even me.

Shoshanna and I were incompatible, something I should have known before getting involved with her. She rejected violence and I embraced it. Once I realized that core difference between us, she was nothing more than a friend and business partner to me.

I was expecting Axle’s campaign to lash out upon my return to Nu-Earth, especially the more my poll numbers surged. With only three weeks left in the race, I was closing the gap between us. He denounced Phyllis when she endorsed me, removed her from her position of authority, and publicly admitted there was a morale problem within BlueCleave. There was nothing else he could do once hobb endorsements started to sprinkle out, but I knew he had something up his sleeve.

So I was not surprised when his campaign announced that the gobbs of Storage were erecting shrines centered around my plushies. Axle’s Knowle Leadership faction declared the shrines evidence of my desire to bring gobbs out of Storage. They also showed the world video of a goblin captive that knew me by name.

A three second clip showed Nozzle sitting in a cage and politely asking for me in English.

Chapter 56

I swallowed my fear and anger, and immediately went to work. First, I made a public demand for Nozzle’s release. Then I petitioned Axle directly, sending his office a message with a request to meet face to face. Finally, I started making the media rounds.

Every for-profit news affiliate on the planet wanted my thoughts, and I didn’t hold back. I explained my desire to improve conditions for gobbs alongside every other species living in Storage.

A rising tide lifts all ships, after all.

I described in detail the life gobbs led, and described my humanitarian trips to Storage, leaving out what I did to the slavers. The harmony gobbs found inside Storage, living as part of its greater ecosystem, was beautiful. Natural. The way I described them, they didn’t want or need outside intervention.

My campaign categorically denied accusations of mass-immigration policies we were accused of supporting. The gobbs, I explained, had no desire to leave Storage. No desire to live on Nu-Earth or any other planet in the BuyMort system. Storage was their home, and I wanted to pull everyone else out of it to let them have it.

Storage was not someplace people should be sent, I explained. It was wild, untamed, and perfect for gobb inhabitants who had been there longer than any of the rest of us. I petitioned and received long-term records from the Knowle Institute of History that helped me paint a new picture of Storage in the public’s eyes.

Instead of being someplace they all had to be afraid of, it would become what it was meant to be in the first place. A storage facility for BuyMort, where goods passed through or sat in between sales. It could be a place for the gobbs, since they clearly wanted it for themselves. But under my rule, I promised, nobody would be sent there simply for not having enough morties.

I promised that I would reduce the need for such an outlet on our system and bring it back into harmony for everyone.

Axle and I had garnered a gargantuan amount of attention to our campaigns, which brought with it the eyes and ire of trillions. Public engagement in the election rose to an all-time high. Nobody could help but discuss my promises around Storage, whether they agreed with them or not. The news cycle couldn’t let go of the story, and for a solid week I did very little other than petition Axle for the release of my friend.

Some groups even started releasing ads on the issue. I received one that showed the gobbs in a sympathetic light, living rustic and semi-tribal lives in the midst of an overgrown metal-twisted ruin in the Storage tunnels. It urged that we let the gobbs live as they live and have a home of their own.

A different one showed them rioting, smashing and looting a worksite, and imploring that the gobbs be confined to Storage, because they were genetically criminal and unsafe to be around.

Though the two sides were coming at it in very different ways, I smiled to think that they all were pushing people towards my end goal.

Gobbs were best left to themselves, I told all of BuyMort. They were self-sufficient in Storage, and any attempt to remove them from their home world would cause violence between the species to continue. As part of my campaign’s policy push, I told all of BuyMort that gobbs wouldn’t hurt them if only they were left alone. That all the raids in Storage were nothing but waste, brought on by eons of violent, imperialist relations between the species.

I had been waiting for the gobb story to eventually make its way into the mainstream conversation around our campaigns, and released prepared policy statements focused around retracting BlueCleave, and stopping the unnecessary military conflicts that plagued us all. Part of my demilitarization effort was going to be focused in Storage, where BlueCleave was stretched so thin as to be ineffective. They couldn’t help anyone there, so I told the multiverse we needed to perform a controlled evacuation of the megastructure.

It was also undeniable that gobbs were often used as slave labor on other worlds, but in every major planet my campaign laid out plans to replace their labor with contracts from the CloneMort facilities all affiliates gained access to once they leveled up high enough. Since most affiliates were associates of Silken Sands, the transition would be seamless. I even had projections for how much more basic soil, a staple-sale of the poor, would potentially sell for under my new system.

CloneMort used primarily clay to create their temporary robots, so soil of all types was always in demand for the strange BuyMort service. The phrase “dirt-poor” had never been so apt.

I timed that last tidbit of information with a tour of the major homeless encampments on Nu-Earth, starting with Los Angeles. My campaign and I brought summoning fobs from Terna’s World, and delivered large crates of food, clean water, and other basic necessities to the LA basin, New New Delhi, the Shanghai crater, and even the bottom of Rapture. The people living without shelter didn’t have much under Axle’s regime, but they still had one vote each.

While Axle’s campaign relied on his base and donors to carry him through, I went looking for people who didn’t bother voting and convinced them to give it a shot.

Potential voters the world around believed me, too. There had long been an underlying fear of the gobbs in the BuyMort system at large. They were well known, very few worlds avoided their use, and every single major culture and affiliate had horror stories of gobb raids. Worst of all, no power structure within BuyMort had ever produced a real solution to the problem. It wasn’t difficult for me to present the voting populace with a picture of hope.

All I had to do was tell them I had a plan, and that it would help them. That my plan would help everyone. Change was a potent campaign message. In regard to political figures in a democratic system, populism beats establishment like rock beats scissors.

Nozzle’s capture had signaled a major escalation in the campaign, and my response was two-part. I had the public persona to maintain, but I was also working behind the scenes to free my friend. A HONI agent from Midnight got in touch and provided me with a packet of intelligence on the matter a few days after I had asked Justin Lee for help.

The various intelligence agencies operating under major affiliates liaised with one another, and while the interactions were usually monitored to ensure overall associate loyalty and compliance, some things were just not closely guarded secrets. That made them fair game to convert into morties, and my request had too many working parts attached to keep it fully secret.

While I couldn’t see any specifics about his current location or details about the security around him, BlueCleave had hired out his capture to a third party firm. Their reports and video recordings told me the story.

Their hired guns started out in a familiar bamboo-walled tunnel town in Storage, speaking to people wearing rags. An old man in particular talked at length about his encounter with me. The mercenaries used hovercraft to traverse the tunnels and seek out my gobbs camping locations. One after the other, their ship slowly flew over abandoned gobb campsites, stopping to drop off high tech traps.

I watched in frustration as a fleet of dozens of specialized ships wandered Storage in my footsteps, setting traps for my friend. One of their snares eventually succeeded, capturing the gobb ranger when he approached to inspect it. To his tribe, he had just vanished. Fortunately, it looked like his giant spider, Babyeater, was not captured with him. Nozzle had dismounted to inspect the glowing trap.

As soon as harsh, vibrant beams of light shot out in a radius around the gobb, a team of humans and hobbs portaled in to effect his capture with a simple tranquilizer dart. In the background, my supernaturally sharp eyes spotted his spider lurking and watching the entire event.

It was over in a heartbeat too. They portaled in, darted him through the laser beam bars of the trap, and portaled back out with his limp form. The gobb’s rifle was left smoldering on the ground in their wake, sliced in two by the trap.

All of it left me where I had started. Axle had my friend and I had to get him back. Knowing how exactly they had found him in the jungles of Storage did little to soothe my anxiety around his capture. He had returned to the lake, where we had spent a peaceful night feeding his tribe. The trap had been laid on the shore of the deep body of murky water.

Not that the location mattered. They had laid traps in the concrete ruins, the cold upper storage levels, and every grassland or swamp within a thousand square miles. I had brought disaster upon his people simply by visiting them. By making friends, I had doomed them.

The stark difference between my search for Nozzle and Axle’s search reminded me of his network. He was capable of fielding hundreds of freelancers to seek out a tidbit of information about me that could help him in his campaign. He probably wouldn’t even notice the cost either. I never had, when I’d sat in his place.

During that first week back to Nu-Earth, I slept very little. Most of my time was spent on the campaign trail, and the rest was spent trying to find my way to Nozzle’s prison, one way or the other. To that end, I put out feelers among the handful of BlueCleave hobbs that had come out to endorse my campaign.

They had been unceremoniously fired, to a hobb, but they still had contacts inside the organization. Friends, mentors, family. BlueCleave wasn’t a job to the hobbs that served, it was a way of life. My return had caused major splits in loyalty. Once Phyllis was publicly removed from service for endorsing me, the number of hobb defections spiked by over eight-hundred percent. Disloyalty to the affiliate was against BlueCleave’s terms of service, and the firings were compulsory, but it still made headlines.

I put all of the hobbs who defected to work in my campaign, restoring their lost wages and finding housing for them near or in their former homes. Axle refused to comment beyond a blanket statement about morale in BlueCleave being a problem his Leadership Council was hard at work on. So I countered his statement by promising pay raises and changes in deployment.

The back and forth continued in public, but my anger toward the Knowle grew the longer he kept my friend imprisoned. His office had ignored all of my requests, and only used the short video of Nozzle politely asking to speak with me as evidence of my pro-gobb policies that would hurt Nu-Earth.

So when one of my BlueCleave contacts came through with the gobb’s location, I immediately relocated and began work on his release. Axle had Nozzle hidden in the basement of his own tower, in the heart of Prescott. It was surrounded by BlueCleave soldiers on the best of days and that military presence was only increased with the unrest my arrival had caused.

Where I would have stormed the facility before my return, instead I staged a protest. My campaign announced that BlueCleave members, unhappy with Axle’s totalitarian rule, had given us his location. We then called for all concerned affiliate members to shut down the tower with a mass protest.

Hundreds of my supporters came to aid me once I put the call out through my various media contacts. By the time I arrived on the scene, the crowds were already formed. Each major road into the tower was blocked by my protestors, carrying signs and shouting slogans.

My anti-magic helmet infiltrated the building’s security and provided me with on-sight verification that Nozzle was in the building. It also served as proof of my claim, once the media got involved. The footage showed hundreds of individual outlines, from my point of view outside the structure. My helmet’s ‘magic’ had infiltrated the security camera strips that were installed almost everywhere in the building and gave me live fairy fire outlines from the footage. Before in-house security had responded and kicked out my malicious programming, I recorded a sizable video file for the press to enjoy.

There was only one gobb-sized outline in my recording, and he was in a room by himself at the bottom of the tower’s sub basements. I gave a brief interview inside a sound bubble set by SNN staff, where I explained that my friend was being held without cause and shared my anti-magic helmet’s recordings with them. They promptly shared it with the world, and public sentiment suddenly shifted.

Over the course of a single hour, while my protest raged and went mostly ignored by Axle, his public approval ratings plummeted. The story was simple. He was using an innocent gobb to harm my political campaign. It felt dirty to the public, like cheating.

Axle responded in the worst way he could have, by trying to forcibly shut down my protest. BlueCleave security, wearing padded armor and carrying riot shields, began to emerge from the tower in lines. They pushed back my protestors before establishing energy shield barricades.

I deployed my armor and flew to the main road leading to the tower. The hobbs following Axle’s orders hesitated at the sight of me in front of them, floating in the air. When one approached to order me back, I landed, crossed my arms, and shook my head. All around us camera drones swarmed, and a small video feed in my HUD fed me the stream.

“Sir,” said the hobb in front of me, trying a different approach. “We have orders to secure this area, would you please move back?”

I activated booming voice. “Not until my friend is free. If you want to move me, you’ll have to use violence to do it.”

A few more minutes passed while the hobbs communicated with their superiors, and I stared directly up at Axle’s office. His windows were armored and tinted to the point that I couldn’t see anything, but I knew he was up there watching.

Escalation appeared to be the next step, as several hobbs in armor stepped forward and leveled grenade launchers at me and the crowd of protesters at my back. I immediately rose into the air and shouted, “Don’t!” but the hobbs fired anyway.

Classic forty-millimeter canisters of tear gas began to rain down on the protesters, but I snatched the first one out of the air and threw it back. Then, using my height advantage I sought out the rest in my crowd and threw them back too.

The crowds started to panic, so I used my helmet’s booming voice feature to try and calm them, shouting for those who wanted to leave to do so carefully, and to avoid hurting anyone nearby. I continued grabbing the tear gas and throwing it back to the hobbs who had launched it, but I could only cover so much ground.

Then the news in my helmet caught my attention. Another flying figure, wearing armor similar to my own, had taken to the sky and was retrieving tear gas canisters in another section of the protest. Cheers started to rise from the crowd then, as several more flying hobbs in starfish suits intervened.

Suddenly the tower's security forces were scattering as the protesters pushed closer. Starfish suit enabled hobbs used breaker gauntlet technology to destroy shields, and people surged for the tower. My peaceful protest became an angry riot in seconds. The tower in Prescott was the focal point for all news in BuyMort as crowds of my supporters and a squad of former BlueCleave starfish troopers threatened to storm its depths for my friend Nozzle.

Axle’s own starfish enabled hobbs began to deploy as the riot grew louder. They hovered in place above the roads, armor deployed and atomic breaker gauntlets glowing. My hobbs moved to engage them, and a few scattered fistfights broke out between the flying figures. Most of them restrained themselves, holding their lines and protecting the shields that remained, but the threat of impending violence grew more and more present as the hobbs faced off.

In the first smart move of his campaign, Axle folded. A new squad of his security forces emerged from the tower’s garage carrying a small green humanoid between them as the starfish troopers on both sides stood down. Nozzle blinked in the sun as I accepted him from his captors, but as soon as I dropped my armor he broke out in a wide, sharp-toothed grin.

“Your home is strange, tall-man! Strange and rude,” he said, shouting to be heard over the roar of the crowd.

Chapter 57

I ignored the press, my protesters, and the handful of loyalist troops still protecting Axle’s tower. Instead of dealing with any of the unrest I’d help create, I took my friend home. With the chaos still raging around us, I summoned a pod and input the coordinates for the spire above Nozzle’s last location in Storage.

We stepped through its portal and the lush greenery of the spire greeted us with blessed quiet. The only sounds I could hear was the constant low groan of Storage moving against the violent atmosphere, and the small scratching noises of the giant leaf bugs that inhabited the spire. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a peaceful moment.

“You hurt?” Nozzle asked.

I smiled and looked down at my friend. “No. I just missed this.”

The gobb scowled. “Nobody misses Storage but gobbs,” he said.

“You’re not wrong, but I’m not exactly normal,” I told him.

“You got that right!” he laughed back. “What did you do to get me out? Your army back there won’t miss you?”

“It’s no army, my friend. That,” I said, blinking as I realized he wouldn’t understand. “That was a protest.”

Nozzle scowled in confusion.

“It’s when a great number of people who agree that something is wrong come out to express how they feel about it. It is an inherent threat of violence, but peaceful if done correctly,” I explained.

The gobb’s scowl remained. “Threat of violence? How you get that many to threaten but not fight?”

I chuckled and shook my head. “It’s something that happens in systems where violence is considered unacceptable by the people who live within the system.”

“Doesn’t sound like BuyMort to me,” Nozzle replied with a shrug. He started moving toward the ladders down, swatting away a complacent leaf bug in his path.

I followed with a soft smile. “You’re not wrong.”

“So,” he said, mounting the ladder with a glance at the abyss below. “That was Nu-Earth? Bright there.”

“What did they do to you?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Broke rifle. That hurt feelings. But threw me in cage and stopped pods from taking me. I couldn’t go home,” he explained. The gobb was fast on the ladder, I let my suit drop me a little faster to keep up.

“How’d they do that?” I asked.

“Same way we do,” he answered immediately. “Captive call pod, stab with pointy stick and kill bug it summon with something stronger.”

“They used pointy sticks?” I asked, bewildered.

“Yes,” Nozzle answered. “Made of wood. Nicer than ours, but still just wooden stick.” He continued clambering down the ladder at a rapid pace. “Makes BuyMort think you not strong. Sends a weak bug, you kill bug, repeat as needed.”

I nodded slowly as my thoughts swarmed. The vein scorpion I had summoned with my old Mossberg had nearly killed me, causing me to reach out to BuyMort and provide it with the right combination of requests to land me with a starfish suit. I thought of the old militia sniper who had summoned a sea-cucumber style bug to flatten and devour him. His rifle had been high-caliber, I remember because Tollya had been pleased to add it to their own arsenal.

At every point that BuyMort had been damaged, it had sent a proportional response to protect its physical infrastructure. All the way up to the void spider that killed Jada, the responses from BuyMort had been tightly controlled. Based on rules.

The harder you hit BuyMort, the harder it hit you back. But, with careful application of force, and stronger backup nearby to respond, the bugs it sent were no threat at all. Axle’s team had kept my friend prisoner with sharp sticks. BuyMort probably sent them aggressive leaf bugs or something similar. Something easy to defend against with better weapons, once the simple pointy stick had done its work.

My head spun with thoughts. Ideas. Plans. All while my friend climbed down the length of the ladder to the lake at its bottom. When we arrived, he cupped his hands around his mouth and made a series of loud clicks with his tongue, first in one direction, then in the other.

From behind us, in the dark of the tunnel, a series of clicks returned. Then the foliage rustled as Babyeater charged toward us. The spider clambered around the lake and came in low to greet Nozzle, making a series of whining grunts as it pushed into the gobb’s hands.

“Good spider!” Nozzle said, stroking the space between the giant creature’s eyes. After a few strangely heartwarming moments of stroking and reassuring the spider, Nozzle moved around and mounted his saddle. “Let’s go!” he said.

I nodded, but the gobb didn’t move. Instead, I saw him swiping at the air in front of his face. Within seconds, a BuyMort pod arrived and projected a wide swath of rainbow light. Nozzle urged Babyeater forward, and the pair vanished into the portal. I shrugged and followed.

We emerged on another spire in Storage, this one frozen over. Ice dripped from and crawled across every surface, obscuring and twisting our view of the gas giant below. Babyeater tapped at the walls surrounding the central elevator until a sheet of ice broke free and plummeted into the depths. Then the spider squeezed itself through the doorway and attached a thread of silk to the top of the shaft. With a whoop, Nozzle and his spider descended into the darkness. I fell alongside them, laughing at the gobb’s expression of joy.

The shaft warmed as we descended, until the ice on the walls leaked, causing a mild rain shower to create walls of dripping cold across the doorways of each level we passed. At the bottom was another lush overgrowth of ferns, great mushrooms, and bamboo. It was there we found his tribe, hunkered down in their make-shift dwellings and hiding among the foliage.

With a single shout, they all swarmed from their various dwellings and hiding places. The tribe circled us and jabbered all at once in their relief and joy that their ranger had returned. Babyeater hunkered down and Nozzle dismounted to join his people. I floated above them, watching as the gobbs interacted.

Nozzle looked up at me from inside the crowd of his people, and he scowled. “Come! We will share our food. They tell me there isn’t much, but we share!”

I shook my head. “Thank you, Nozzle. Thank you all, but I shouldn’t stay. It’s not safe for me to be here. More tall men will come to find you, and anything I do will leave them a trail to follow.”

A few gobbs nodded, but most just stared up at me with gleaming eyes. I swiped up BuyMort and ordered a pallet of fresh food from Terna’s affiliate, choosing the ‘portal in later’ option for an extra fee. The pod that arrived dropped off a fob to summon another pod, with the order. Until it was delivered, I accrued a rental fee that scrolled up against my fresh donations.

Midnight was expressing its gratitude in the days that followed my visit. My campaign received tens of trillions in donations, much of it ear-marked for my personal use. Justin Lee was still my primary donor, but millions of delves on the planet were also sending in mortie orders.

I tossed the fob to Nozzle, who nodded up at me once more, before pocketing the small object. “Don’t stay where you use that, it can be tracked.”

“Okay!” he yelled to his tribe. “Pack up, we’re moving. Long range move, leave nothing behind!”

The gobbs all ran to obey. Within minutes the camp was torn down and packed up, on the small creature’s backs and in their arms as they looked to Nozzle for their next move. He summoned another pod, which projected its rainbow light in a massive rectangle on the ground. The tribe all ran or walked into it at the same time, the action normal for them.

“Will we see you again, Tyson friend?” Nozzle asked.

“Maybe,” I replied. “If I win, I’ll have the power to make things safe for you here,” I told him.

He nodded, an impressed frown on his features. “Well then I hope you win!” he said, raising his arm. In it was a new rifle, an older bolt action from my own world. Already atop it sat an advanced scope, juxtaposing the archaic gun’s dull barrel with its own vibrant lights. His tribe wasted no time, their way of life normalized by reliance on their singular ranger. Then the spider moved through the light, and I was alone in the low tunnel.

The gobbs used the spires, and Storage’s free portals, to move around at will and cover immense amounts of territory. I checked against my own in-progress map, and discovered we were on a completely different part of the planet’s surface. He had led me tens of thousands of miles away from where I had been searching. With their new jumps taking them who knows how far away, I felt as though they would be safe even if my personal portal information was compromised.

I pulled up a portal home, paid for it from my growing account, and stepped through back to Nu-Earth, in front of the Prescott tower once more. In the half hour I had been gone, the protest had cleared out. Axle’s security forces still stood, or hovered, in the area, and my arrival caused a reaction. The floating starfish troopers still loyal to Axle hovered toward me and formed a bulwark keeping me from the building. I smiled at them and turned away, to fly over the city to my campaign’s offices.

While in flight, I checked my credit. It had been growing again while I politicked and policed.

My campaign affiliate rented out an entire building in the Prescott lower valley, near the space port. It was a small structure, only a few stories in height, but it was packed with campaign affiliate volunteers and security forces. Once I worked my way through the various security checkpoints, I entered the campaign office, where my crew was usually working on art projects, coordinating events, or talking to voters on their devices. When I arrived, however, the entire staff was silent.

In the campaign manager’s office, down at the end of the open floor, stood a tall Knowle flanked by power armored hobbs. My new campaign manager was speaking to the Knowle and smiling, so I walked into the office and interrupted.

“Hi,” I said, walking past the bulky hobbs and offering my hand to their boss. He was young, but had mechanical eyes that flashed the same way Axle’s did.

The Knowle bared his teeth in a ‘polite’ smile, mimicking the way humans smiled at one another as he clasped my hand in his larger paw. “Mr. Dawes, nice to meet you in person!” he said in accented English. “Ali Grumsch, campaign coordinator for Silken Sands.”

I nodded and shook his paw, then leaned against my campaign manager’s desk. “Please, continue,” I said, eyeing the hobbs. One of them gave me an almost imperceptible nod, so I returned the gesture. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

“Ah yes, Mr. Dawes,” said my employee from behind the desk. “We were just discussing the possibility of a debate.”

His name was Derek, and he had been the personal assistant to my last campaign manager, the one who had died in the bombing. Thanks to Derek’s meticulous record keeping, we were able to move forward with the campaign with only a minimal delay. He’d gotten things back on track quickly while I was on Midnight, and I rewarded his hard work with a raise and his boss’s former job.

“Sounds great! What’s my percentage?” I asked the Knowle across from us.

“Ten will go to each candidate, with the host keeping the jackal’s share. We’ve already worked up a contract with SNN to host, we just require your signature and the debate is good to go,” Ali said.

“Thirty-five,” I replied, crossing my arms.

His ears bent back, but with visible effort he kept them upright. “I’m sorry?” he asked, head cocked to the side.

“I’ll do your debate for thirty-five percent of the ad revenue,” I told him. “Or I’ll do it for free, if I can have a co-host of my choosing. Either way, up to you guys.”

The Knowle’s ears fully flattened, and he grimaced as though in pain. “I will pass along your conditions,” he said, before bowing at the waist and turning to leave. His bodyguards followed, clanking through my office on their way to the elevators.

My campaign manager looked as frustrated as the Knowle had. “Thirty-five percent?” he asked. “They’ll never go for that.”

“I know, that’s why I said it. It makes the co-host option much more appealing,” I replied. “Don’t worry, they’ll accept the co-host.”

“What do we do?” he asked after a moment of hesitation.

“Find me the perfect host,” I replied with a shrug. “Someone favorable to our positions, with enough of an audience of their own to affect the polls. Once I approve, get to work with them on questions for the debate.”

“You make it all sound so easy,” Derek said.

“Oh don’t worry. It will be,” I replied with a smile. “If you know the strings that control the system, you can do anything with no resistance.”

Derek frowned, then nodded and sat down at his desk. He started working on his computer and I left him to it. It really wouldn’t be all that much work for him. To start, he had to weed through the aggregate of our polling data and compare it with various media personalities. A data crunching affiliate we contracted with would handle most of that, all he had to do was order and pay for it. The biggest demographic match among both categories would determine our co-host. Then all he had to do was secure that co-host for the debate.

While my campaign did the busy work, I took the time to rest and prepare. That preparation process primarily revolved around thinking about Axle, and all the bad things he would say about me. The list was not exactly short.

I stayed in my hotel room, in rest and contemplation until Derek contacted me with our finalized details. Axle accepted my offer of thirty-five percent, to Derek’s glee. The morties would fund the campaign until the election, he told me. He congratulated me on the risky, but smart choice I had made with my absurdly high demand.

Derek was happy. I could only think of how Axle had seen my trap and avoided taking the bait. I wasn’t the only one who understood the strings that controlled BuyMort.

Chapter 58

The debate occurred only two weeks before the election itself. My campaign assured me that most voters didn’t tune in until the last few weeks. That fact, while depressing, bore out in our numbers. More eyes were on us than ever before, and following the news storm our campaigns had generated, the polls showed us neck and neck.

I would have liked a more comfortable lead, all things told, but my early numbers soured as greater numbers of people logged in and garnered a surface-level view of my protest. Axle’s friends in the media wasted none of the footage, using the worst of it to paint the picture of a deadly standoff for irrational reasons.

A few guests on those programs managed to slip a little history and context in for the viewers that tuned in, but they never got prime-time slots. The fact was that I had acted to save my friend and had acted non-violently until Axle started using tear gas. Even then my response was restrained, but all they wanted to point to were the handful of weapon-free fights that had broken out among the starfish troopers.

Of course, no injury occurred from said fights. They were all wearing active starfish suits, which meant any injury was repaired immediately. The suits were still brutal in their methodology, which combined with hobb warrior culture to create fighters that actively refused to care about getting badly hurt in a fight.

Limbs were torn off and reformed.

Those hobbs who had engaged in violence did so only to shame their counterparts. Among starfish troopers, a brawl was considered quite normal. Family-friendly, even. It was merely a more passionate expression of their distaste for a position or statement.

My mostly-rich, well-pampered voting population on Nu-Earth didn’t see it that way of course, and their incorrect viewpoint was pushed in the press. Normalized, no matter how devoid of fact or context it was.

With our poll numbers matched, both Axle and I had a lot to gain or lose from the debate, and without a friendly co-host, I was outmatched. Hris C’aze smiled tightly at me from across the stage, before adjusting her partially exposed breasts and turning her attention back to a nearby monitor. Her suit top was so low cut as to be obscene, and the Conda Nah’gh had to tape her breasts in place to keep from generating a Silken Sands parental media associate nudity fee.

She was also a vibrant, natural purple. The debate was clearly career candy for the woman. My return to BuyMort and Nu-Earth had been a major boon to her personally. My mind wandered to Molls and I squeezed my eyes shut to take a breath.

Axle entered to scattered applause from the crew and took his place at the podium opposite my own. Once he was in position, he nodded and the lights around us popped on, illuminating the stage and host’s desk. She was seated at the bottom of the stage, Axle and I forming the other points of the triangle. As we entered, fact checker ads popped up across minds all over the multiverse.

“Welcome Nu-Earth!” she exclaimed at the camera. “Tonight we have the much-anticipated debate between our amazing CEO and his controversial challenger.”

She paused to allow the cameras time to focus on first Axle, and then myself.

“To begin,” Hris C’aze said. “We’re going to allow each candidate sixty seconds to express their vision of BuyMort should they be elected. Our CEO goes first, of course.”

The old Knowle I had once known cleared his throat. “Society within BuyMort is on the correct path,” he stated. “Prosperity is wide-spread, and security has never been tighter. Violent acts, system-wide, are at historic lows. Silken Sands, as number one on the top ten list, is guiding the rest of the multiverse in business and daily life for every employee.”

He paused and looked my way before continuing. “There is an old-Earth saying, where my friend here comes from. ‘Do not fix that which is not broken,’” Axle grumbled. Then he waved at Hris C’aze, who smiled wide and applauded.

“Okay, thank you CEO,” she exclaimed. “Well stated, as ever.” The color in her scales shifted to green as she faced me and sneered, “Same question, Warlord Dawes.”

I shook my head and smiled tightly. “I’m not a warlord, first off. I control neither armies nor territory. My only affiliate is my campaign, and I spend most of my free time in philanthropic work. Trying to right the wrongs of this system through direct action.”

“Pausing the clock,” Hris C’aze interrupted, one claw in the air. “‘Warlord’ is your former title, and as such is still applicable when in discussion of a public figure. SNN practices and norms are quite clear on this. But of course, if you win the election, you will also regain your command over the BlueCleave military affiliate.”

“Fine,” I shrugged. “Calling me a warlord when I’m not one is a little too overt, though. I should warn you that the people at home watching are smart enough to know when they are being manipulated. That’s one of the things I’ve learned about leadership throughout the years, the need to be genuine, and how faking it never works long term.”

My timer on the far wall of the set clicked away my seconds, so I shifted gears again.

“Society within BuyMort,” I started, pausing to take a deep, dramatic breath. “Includes those in Storage. It includes the homeless all around us, barely making enough to stay out of Storage. If you think those parts of BuyMort are operating as intended, you wouldn’t be wrong, but you’d also have to recognize that you wouldn’t want to be stuck in that situation yourself.”

“Prosperity,” I continued. “Prosperity should never be forced upon us by threat of squalor and untimely death. Not in a system as rich as this one. There’s more than enough housing for the homeless, it is an active choice by those in power to keep those homes empty for the sake of nothing more than a few extra morties.”

Hris C’aze’s scales fluctuated as I spoke. Yellow and red clashed to form a vibrant orange across her body before a placid blue flushed them both out. Her emotional control was also evident in the statuesque expression she wore.

“Under my leadership, everybody will matter. That’s the difference between us. I’ll work to help everybody, for as long as I have to,” I said. “Thank you for the time to express that.”

Our Nah’gh host’s scales flashed orange again before she got them under control. By the time the camera returned to her, she was a calm, steady purple once more.

“Thank you both!” she said, oozing false bravado. “Time for an ad-break, we’ll be back with important questions for both candidates!”

My mind flashed, campaign banners slashing diagonally across my view as glitter popped from all corners of my vision. A large neon sign appeared in the center of it all as uplifting music began to pulse. Axle Seeker: Stability You Can Trust!” The words pulsed in bold, bright letters, as the serene images of laborers working contentedly at various occupations rolled slowly by in the background. “Prosperity for all—security for your future. Stay on the path that works. Vote Axle.”

I shook my head to dismiss the ad.

As soon as the monitors told us we were clear, I turned to Axle and asked, “You really believe what you said?”

He frowned but ignored me.

“Of course not, why would you? You know about the injustice on Terna’s World, but you continue it because controlling people’s food is how you control them,” I said. “With your military presence, you can squeeze supply and demand, while keeping direct control of something outside of your own affiliate.”

The monitors flashed, our warning that the ad break was coming to a close. When I focused on the monitors, I had to stop my reaction. Thirty-five percent of the ad revenue would still be a sizable contribution to my war-chest hopefully, but Axle had gotten the better of me again. All of the ads were from his campaign. Since he controlled SNN, he likely also controlled how much they charged him to run nothing but his own ads.

“Wasting no time, let’s move on to constituent questions,” Hris C’aze said. “Our first question comes from Alan, a human living in the upper west end of Prescott. He says; “My great uncle was a victim of dream crime, and now my stake in his Living Will has taken an eighty-five percent cut to make up for his losses. As CEO of Silken Sands, how will you address financial loss to affiliate and associate members from dream crimes?”

Our Nah’gh host gestured to Axle. “To you, CEO.”

“Our dream crime fund will be hiring directly from the pool of victims and their extended families, in order to alleviate these financial worries. Managers will draw from a percentage of the fund while managing it, but investments will be tightly controlled by Silken Sands Knowle Leadership Council, as always. The work involved will be minimal, and the benefits maximal,” Axle explained. “The fund is for the victims of dream crimes, after all.”

Hris C’aze applauded again, a tight, false smile showing off her fangs. Then her smile dropped as she turned to face me. “Warlord Dawes.”

“Not a warlord,” I started. “My campaign has a comprehensive plan to address dream crime at its source, removing the market need that creates criminals in the first place. It sounds like my old friend Axle here wants to pay off the wealthiest victims, but dream crime happens on a daily basis in the Australian shipyards. How will his elite fund help those victims?”

“Issues like dream crime are a logistical failure before they are ever a moral failing. It is a problem we can solve easily if the right steps are taken,” I insisted. “Standards and practices for managing large mortie accounts during sleep cycles used to be a major part of how this affiliate was run. From the top down, everybody was careful not to cause a dream purchase that gets out of control.”

Without applause or recognition, Hris C’aze turned away. “Moving on, this next question is from Zhalla, a Nah’gh associate owner in the Australian shipyards. They ask: ‘Ore costs spiked for the three days that Warlord Dawes was on Midnight. Is this kind of market instability something we can expect if we vote you in as CEO?’”

She turned to face Axle, a serious expression on her face. “CEO?”

“Of course!” Axle exclaimed, wringing his paws once for emphasis. “This is exactly what I am talking about. Everywhere he goes chaos follows.”

I scowled. “Ore prices fluctuate on a daily basis,” I interrupted. “And after my visit the cost is low and stable, exactly as the shipyards like it. Projected to last years at that level.”

“Warlord, please,” Hris C’aze said, raising a hand as if to stop me physically from across the stage. “We will get to your perspective after our next ad break. Please, be civil and wait for your turn.”

The ads ran, and for a brief moment, my thoughts were overrun by a jarring promotional flash: “Axle Seeker: The CEO Who Cares.” The message was paired with an image of Axle shaking hands with a perfectly polished holo-representation of a Nu-Earth farmer. Text scrolled across the ad-space: “Leading Silken Sands to Prosperity. Protecting Your Future. Axle Understands You.”

I dismissed the ad and scowled at Axle. “This won’t go the way you think it will. You know I’m never wrong about this stuff, and this entire debate is going to backfire. It's too overt.”

He turned and bared his teeth. “You are not in control here.”

I shook my head and sighed. “How much do you want to bet?” I asked him. Then I turned to the host and nodded my chin at her. “Hey, Hris,” I said. “You have that on tape now. How well do you think that would play for your ratings if you released it? Is it enough to risk the wrath of your parent company? It might be. You might be able to survive off it even if Silken Sands cuts you loose entirely. Especially if management won't be the same in two weeks.”

“You see?” Axle said. “I told you he would threaten.”

“Oh you’re such a baby,” I replied. “You can never see a forecasted outcome as a warning instead of a threat. It's not about me dominating you. It’s a damned warning you seem too dense to understand. Change is coming. If not this cycle, then the next time you run this sham. All I have to do to win this fight is stay in the public’s eye, which this helps me to do. It's falling down around you, Axle. It's falling down around you and I’m trying to save you before it all turns to rubble on top of your head.”

“What is?” he hissed. “Do please, be specific about what will land on me and crush my head.”

“The system,” I replied. “It's squeezing shut again and people are dying. I’m trying to stop that, not add to it.”

“It does not look that way from here,” he replied steadily. “And it never has.”

“I know,” I said. “It took me too long to realize it, but I know. Just like I know you gave Omen my coordinates.”

The statement hung in the air between us as the monitors flashed their warning. Axle took a few steadying breaths before turning back to Hris C’aze and nodding.

“And we are back,” she said. “Warlord Dawes was going to respond to the accusation of system instability.”

I frowned. “That’s a rather broad way to discuss the kind of effect any public figure can have when moving openly between planets. Industries on both worlds respond, here on Nu-Earth the tabloid market dropped until I returned, for example. Doesn’t mean I have some sinister effect on the sales of tabloid stories, just that I’m a public figure.”

“I would point out that your presence on Midnight was in direct response to a cult that was formed around you as the primary, central figure of concern or interest,” the Nah’gh woman countered. She glanced at her own teleprompter and nodded. “The Cult of Eternal Darkness was founded to try and kill you, if you ever came back, was it not?”

I scoffed and nodded. “In a way. It’s a warped cultural response to something that happened over a century ago, but I was dead for that entire time. I had no hand in its founding, practice, or attacks, but I did shut it down to prevent it from causing more harm. As quickly as could be reasonably expected. I recognized my part in forming the warped movement, and stepped in to shut it down,” I said. “What more could I have done? I’ve been away for a long time. Stuff like this didn’t used to fly in my day. We shut down bigger operations harder, and for less. Besides that, I’m not in charge anymore.”

“Oh of course. The man returns with the largest public tantrum that BuyMort has ever seen, and we’re supposed to believe that he’s here to make everything right,” Axle interrupted. “Since you destroyed an affiliate monument, you’ve done nothing but exert your influence and power on the soldiers under our associated BlueCleave personnel,” he accused.

“Again, it's not my fault that I’m well known among that community. Nobody asked me about a statue, and I feel like I get to have some say in art that I am a part of. Besides, I have repaid that debt from my personal affiliate earnings, as we agreed to in the Knowle Institute of History,” I countered.

Hris C’aze looked between us as we spoke. Axle scoffed and shook his head.

“Moving on to our last member question,” the Nah’gh said. “This comes from Mel, on Luna City. Fingers crossed it’s the Mel! She asks simply, but powerfully as is her style; ‘Tell us what the Church War was like.’ To you, CEO.”

“Hellish,” Axle said. “How things went so wrong so quickly, I’ll never understand. New planets, new universes being added to BuyMort is always a time of shake up and change, but this one stuck in our throats like a stone. The worst part of it was that I slowly realized I was part of the problem, part of the instability, because I was following this man’s orders! Eventually I was following those orders at gunpoint, and I’ll never forget what he said. He said ‘I don’t care. I’m using it all as bait.’”

I shook my head and sighed. “You remember it wrong, friend. I only ever used military assets as bait, and only when we had a solid plan to kill the final beholder. The fact that Nu-Earth and Prescott were going to be the place the attack landed is a matter of history shaping itself through systemic conflict and upheaval. I was responding to that imminent attack, not coordinating it. I saved you from the Church, and I never had you held at gunpoint,” I insisted. “You were under heavy guard because of repeated attacks on your life, but you were never being held at gunpoint.”

“So you say,” he gruffed back. “I remember differently.”

“Because a century has passed since then for you. For me it's only been a few months. I remember it more clearly than you do. It’s not an attack against you, it’s a statement of fact based on objective realities like the passage of time, and health concerns for a Knowle of your age with as much stress as you clearly are under,” I said. “You are my friend, and I am doing this entire thing to try to help you. I wish it didn’t have to be this public, but I understand the kind of demographic you speak to, and they need to hear this.”

“I’m just being told we have to break again. This will be our final break, there has been a technical error that is going to force us to close down the debate early, but there is one more question for both candidates when we return,” Hris C’aze said, cutting in.

The monitors flickered, and the space in my mind filled with yet another ad. “Axle Seeker: The Visionary Architect of Progress.” Behind a noble image of him standing proudly in an aristocratic manner, I could see a vivid picture of an idyllic Nu-Earth, bursting with markets, high-tech transport hubs, and carefully curated shots of beaming prosperous families in perfectly planned neighborhoods. “Innovation at Every Step. Growth Without Limits. Vote Axle for a Future Beyond Imagination.”

I shook it out of my head.

“This is what I’ve had to do to speak with you. I’ve been trying for over a week and you won’t see me or return any of my messages,” I told him. “I’m not trying to take something away from you. I’m trying to prevent you from doing something truly terrible in response to your personal fear around my return.”

He scowled at me, mechanical eyes narrowed and teeth bared. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you seem sure that I’m going to become violent toward you at some point, likely in response to your own betrayal, which made me essentially dead for a hundred years. I lost a lot, because of that move, but I’m here trying to keep the rest of it. You were family at one point, Axle. Don’t drag this out any longer. The instability isn’t going to get better, it's going to get worse and you know that. You’re going to need me at the head of this thing again, and it's only happening faster now that I’ve come back into the picture,” I said.

“And you would be what,” he scoffed. “Willing to overlook my transgression? Forgive and forget? Am I meant to believe that?”

I nodded. “It’s more complicated than that, but yes, in essence. I’m not here to retaliate against you or anyone else, but there are a lot of problems I could help fix, if only I had my affiliate back. It’s a tool, after all, we need to use it the right way or it doesn’t really help us.”

The Knowle stared at me for a long, intense moment. “What if I believed you?” he asked suddenly, almost afraid.

“What would you want? Retirement, none of the world's problems at your doorstep? Yeah man, no problem. I’ll keep you comfy as you want for as long as you want, no harm done,” I told him. “I need the power of this affiliate to save the people caught up in the multiversal flow,” I droned. “This is bigger than you or me, or any one world in any one universe. The few that are left,” I finished.

He flinched. “I’ll . . . think about it,” he said after a pause. Then he nodded at Hris C’aze and left the set.

She turned on me, unabashed red filling her scales as she brought us back from break. “We are back, but the CEO had to leave. He and his competitor engaged in a telling debate backstage, between breaks which we at SNN are proud to offer as an elite upgrade package. Find out for a nominal fee what they said to one another in this history-making debate.”

The moment she mentioned it, my mind swelled. “Exclusive Content for Discerning Viewers! Witness the unfiltered drama between Axle Seeker and Warlord Dawes, RAW and Unedited. Only 1,200,000 morties to see it all. Don't miss this pivotal moment in Nu-Earth history!”

The ad lingered briefly, the words glowing with promise, before fading back into the recesses of my thoughts with a whispered, “Witness history in the making.”

The Nah’gh smiled, still red, and looked at her teleprompter. “Warlord Dawes, our final question is for you. It comes directly from me, on behalf of SNN. What can you say to the people of Nu-Earth about the future?”

I nodded stoically and took a breath. “It depends. This system is volatile and spinning out of control again. I can probably fix a lot of it, save a lot of people, keep things going, but not without my tools. I understand the gravity of this choice, and genuinely wish each voter a calm moment to contemplate it for themselves. That’s where the power really lies anyway.”

With that, they cut the program. Hris C’aze glared at me, then carefully changed the color in her scales to a controlled, soft purple. “Either way this works out, always a pleasure doing business with you, Warlord.”

“Ohhh, you and your branding,” I replied. Then I turned and left the building, walking through their hallways to project a strong sense of normalcy.

Chapter 59

After the debate, especially the uncut special edition that kept getting pirated and put out on social media, my poll numbers went up. When asked about the program in large groups, people would form word clouds that were filled with words like ‘hit job’ and ‘farce.’ Axle came out of it looking inordinately weak. Unable to keep up in conversation, let alone accept the gravity of the times. The surety of collapse that we all faced.

A little fear did what it always did and drove views on the controversial media to market saturation heights. Suddenly soft, cozy trillionaires were concerned about their income streams, and were prepping their various bunkers again. I used a great deal of my own income stream to invest in the trends as they hit. It wasn’t hard; you see food spiking and buy shares in farmland.

I found my own orbital home on the market and bought it back, giving myself a place to live that was both outside of the world, and deeply connected to it. I could see the continents shift by beneath me in the gardens of my snow globe, which I claimed gave me special insight into their problems and issues while I stood in contemplation.

It was literally a snow globe too; I kept the climate settings at winter with a heavy snowfall. The machinery recycled the water, melting the bottom layer of it off the artificial lawn and refreezing it to make fresh snow. The effect made for better photos, with more obstruction and mystery. The orbital paparazzi kept drones outside of my house at all hours, so I leaned into it.

My rise seemed certain, Axle’s fall complete. All that was left was the election, so I gathered with Terna and the rest of my campaign staff at the orbital manor for an official event. For the special occasion, I set the weather to reflect a bright summer’s day outside, giving the press all the coverage they could use. Their various drones flitted about the outside of the dome, reminding me of curious ravens.

Justin Lee represented Midnight, his bright glowing eyes and oversized smile selling the attitude of the planet. Polite, restrained, but capable. His contributions to my campaign were the reason I could stand against Axle at all, when it came to ad buys, though in the last few days his fell off.

While I shared bottles of expensive champagne with my celebrity friends, including both of my recent exes, people on Nu-Earth signed into their super-secure, un-hackable voting app, on any device of their convenience. Dominance Voting controlled the app, and it was an associate of Silken Sands. The Knowle Leadership Council controlled the vote by hosting it every two years. It was kind of a social media event for the wealthy elites.

Everybody votes, and we see how much we all agree with one another.

Only this time a lot more people voted. As the night progressed, it became more and more clear that I would win the popular vote, by a margin not seen in Axle’s election since its inception. My gathered friends and the campaign staff present at my venue treated the evening with a party attitude, drinking and dancing to loud music in the manor and yard.

Axle arrived before midnight, surrounded as usual by his personal guard in power armor. My serving staff offered Axle champagne, but not his bodyguards. There was no point, it was well known they wouldn’t drink on duty.

My old friend approached me in the manor, eyes flashing at the celebration around him. He stepped up in front of me, blinked several times, then shrugged. “I’m here to concede,” he said.

I nodded. “Okay,” I replied. “What happens next for you?”

His mechanical eyes narrowed. “You know, a good portion of my Knowle Leadership Council is telling me to ignore the election. Some have even suggested you’ll have me killed.”

I frowned but nodded again. “I’m not surprised. Those in power are often paranoid, and often suffer from antisocial personality flaws. How do you feel about it?”

“We’ve had democratic elections for decades. It’s how our people feel like they have a hand in our affiliate decisions,” he replied. “But it’s never been serious before.”

“Well, you’ve conceded, so I can imagine what your conclusion on all of this was,” I said, cutting him off.

“What would you have done had I chosen not to honor this election?” he asked.

I grimaced and shook my head. “Waited and tried again,” I replied. “I meant that part too.”

“But things would have fallen apart, you claimed,” he countered.

I nodded again, slowly this time. “If I had to, I would have taken control of the situation,” I admitted. “Nonviolently, if possible, but you know . . .”

“I do know,” he answered. “Please keep your word to me, old friend.”

I nodded. “As comfortable as you like, for as long as you like. Physically, anyway. I can't promise you’ll always enjoy my decisions about the affiliate. But it's not your problem anymore, I’m vetting candidates for a new operations manager as we speak. Silken Sands will never call on you again. You can rest.”

It was true too. I had a data collating company operating on my search parameters and compiling a list of potentials for me to go through.

“Very well,” Axle said. He reached out and offered his paw to shake. I gripped his paw lightly, and my mind zoomed into the ad space. My reality had been replaced by a formal conference room, a long table of a dozen chairs, six to a side, filled with sapient beings in suits and ties. I sat at the one end of it, and Axle was on the other.

“Welcome to the formal merger-acquisition of Silken Sands, gentlemen,” greeted a handsome hobb with slicked back hair. The walls pulsed around us once with his words, a sort of intaken breath that temporarily swirled golden data streams. One of the lawyers clapped his hands, and over the table between us a series of three-dimensional holographic displays appeared mid-air, each displaying visuals of Silken Sands’ most valuable assets while tallying numerical data about them on the right hand side.

“There is no need for the pomp, gentlemen,” Axle said, standing from his chair. “Everything is to be ceded to Tyson Dawes. May his market decisions save us all.” The Knowle vanished, and all of the lawyers turned towards me, their eyes stuck to my own. One of them, a human, stood and walked to my side.

“Tyson, the transfer of authority over Silken Sands is proceeding. Such a large merger can take time. However, with an upgrade to our Premium Deluxe package, one which you can now well afford, this can be done rather instantaneously. Especially given the lack of negotiations.”

He didn't bother to hide his predatory grin. Everyone knew what was what here, and the artificial delays and barriers built in to make acquisition a nightmare.

“Let me guess. A billion morties?” I asked. He nodded. “Do it. I can afford it, and the affiliate can't wait.”

The lawyer gestured, and a cascade of data appeared above the table, all of the assets, debts, accounts and other innards of both affiliates zipping together until they were one. I scanned it once, saw nothing amiss, and snapped my fingers. A lawyer of my own scanned over it, before nodding at me and flashing out of existence.

“You understand that in this acquisition, you are assuming ownership of 97% of Silken Sands assets, with the remaining distributed among independent MortBlocks that are inalienable under Knowle Leadership Council protocols,” the human lawyer asked, his head cocked.

I nodded. “Yeah. There's always something. Let's just get this done with.”

Over the table, the data flashed, replaced by the symbol of Silken Sands, as the lawyers all stood and bowed in my direction. The human lawyer stayed behind, watching them impassively as they zipped out of the system.

“Congratulations, Windowpuncher. Silken Sands is yours,” he said, reaching out his hand. I shook it, and disappeared back to real space.

Axle had given me ownership of the affiliate back, ceding his own power over it in the same act. I promptly removed his name from the affiliate entirely and turned back to my party. Silken Sands was massive, covering hundreds of millions of direct associates. It was going to take me some time to wrap my head around, and I didn’t need to start right then and there.

Of course, a small part of my brain started working on the problem right away. Imagining possibilities and wondering about capabilities all at the same time. While I focused on my friends and guests, the back of my head swarmed with questions. Eventually I pulled up the affiliate page and interacted with people through it as they came and went.

Eventually Terna noticed and raised an eyebrow at me. She had come to the event in a cocktail dress with one armored pauldron. The message was clear, and before the news was even finished calling the election for me, BlueCleave was pulling out of Terna’s World.

Her own revolutionary forces went from waging a guerilla war of attrition to managing the daily security concerns of the affiliate within hours. The transition wasn’t seamless, and she had to return home to manage a thousand growing crises before the night was through, but it was hers again. I made sure to detach our affiliates, removing her associate status beneath Silken Sands. It was the first step to getting BuyMort off her world once more.

She had run a shrunken affiliate apparatus intentionally, back when I first met her. For a planetoid body the size of Terna’s World, the affiliate was quite small. Now that she was free of Silken Sands dominion, she would be able to slowly return to that. Sharecropper affiliates would slowly dissolve as land rights were passed on to those who operated it once more. Terna showed me her plan for my return, and I signed off on it without any notes.

I trusted her to do what was right. She and I also shared a common goal we didn’t want the public to know about; BuyMort’s eventual demise. Her world ship would be a critical ally in that process, and nobody knew better how to implement it.

Once my party was over, and the news of my victory and return to power had spread, I went to work. The tower in Prescott was still where Axle made his home, so I respected the top floor and allowed the penthouse to be an independent MortBlock. The rest of it I kept, including the roof and armored insulation in the ceiling above his penthouse.

My MortBlock was something I spent some time studying over the next few days. I owned the planet, the space elevator, and the space station above us. The moon was also mine, but everywhere I looked I saw independent MortBlocks carved out of it. Buildings, entire cities, and in one case, an entire crater on the dark side.

Beneath Silken Sands blanket ownership, tens of thousands of associates operated their own MortBlocks by their own rules. One of the first things I did as leader of Silken Sands was to restore our old standards and practices regarding employee MortBlocks. Lockers, shelves, rooms, and buildings started to become available to individuals once more as I consolidated overbearing affiliate holdings for myself.

Within two days of my ‘election,’ the homelessness problem in Los Angeles was down by fifty percent. MortBlock reform scared most of the associates operating under my umbrella into lowering rent prices. Those who refused were quickly targeted by Silken Sands parent affiliate realtors for aggressive MortBlock acquisition.

The Knowle Leadership council met a single time in the wake of the election and then disbanded. They just didn’t matter anymore, once I took my affiliate back, and they seemed to know it.

I couldn’t be cowed by tradition, bought by corruption, nor made vulnerable personally or professionally. My mastery of the media only grew the more they paid attention to me. Anytime I needed an affiliate conflict settled in my favor, and the opposite party was holding strong, I took it public and warped the narrative to my favor.

While those first weeks poured by, violence against me was common. A great deal of my own affiliate heads began to fear my sweeping changes, particularly when threatened financially. Fortunately, my friends were all well-protected, and distant enough from me that they weren’t good leverage if threatened.

Which meant all the ideology-based violence landed on me personally. I funneled it toward me when I saw it coming and made sure I traveled light to avoid BlueCleave casualties. The early days were the most violent, when agents from inside my own affiliate, equipped by great wealth and influence, made their attempts on my life.

Chapter 60

Fortunately for me, I was tougher than the average ideologue. Killing me to remove my influence over the affiliate wasn’t as easy as my new enemies first thought. They all came to recognize my nigh-invulnerability one way or another, but the first month of having my affiliate back was spent moving from place to place to avoid near-constant attacks.

BlueCleave stepped up right away. The military affiliate quietly mobilized, focusing on intelligence gathering above physical security. Assassination attempts were frequent, but not particularly effective. I could survive being shot in the head by a linear cannon or cut apart by a monowire weapon, and those were two of the most common ways left to actually harm me. Of course, ‘common’ meant logistically possible. Not all affiliates could even afford to take a shot at me.

Lasers were ineffective, railgun fire bounced off. Even radiation, various acids, and poisons of all types weren’t really that harmful. My crystalline colonies ensured that anytime something had hurt me, it was much less likely to do so in the future.

There were some things that just couldn’t be defended against, however. Weapons with an edge only a single atom wide could cut through anything made of atoms, it was simple physics. Particles accelerated to a significant portion of the speed of light were another sticking point, though my exit wounds did get smaller with each hit.

One particularly clever assassin managed to trap me inside an antimatter reactor during a tour. I broke out of it before he could get it cycled up, so the attack was ineffective. Still, I valued the creativity of the attempt, as my hobbs tracked him down and annihilated him.

They were my hobbs, too. The military wing of Silken Sands saw immediate improvement upon my return to power. The hobb in charge after the dust of my arrival had settled was a direct descendant of Rayna. She was named Tollya in honor of the fallen hobb, but that wasn’t particularly surprising. The names Tollya and Rayna had become increasingly common among hobb newborns since my first year in BuyMort.

Nu-Tollya, as I thought of her back then, had studied the history of her tribe. Any good warrior is intellectually curious, and my hobbs were no exception. I had won the BlueCleave vote by mid-90 percentile, no doubt part of why Axle gave up the race. That had to intimidate him, the way my military always had.

With a mind for reform, my new hobb commander took the helm and started retracting the military apparatus from across the multiverse. We didn’t quite give up BlueCleave MortBlocks on other planets, but we stepped down their size and encouraged the military there to coexist with the native populations as best as possible, with ‘good relations’ considered a top military concern.

That wasn’t exactly easy, considering how abused many of the populations had become in my absence. Instead of allowing affiliates to grow naturally in their own environments, the military had been used to force them into Silken Sands compliance. Everything was run for the benefit of Nu-Earth, and my job was to untangle that mess while not making the situation worse for anyone involved.

Part of the military affiliate’s reform involved an internal review campaign, which led to arrests, mass firings, and executions, depending on the offense. Terna’s World required justice to heal, and as I continued operating BlueCleave directly, I realized several other worlds did too.

From an outside perspective, I can understand the panic I caused by such a sudden reduction to military assets. It had to look bad from the typical ‘BuyMort-native’ perspective. Affiliate heads also mistook the move as weakness, in a few odd cases. That specific issue cleared up on its own pretty quickly though. Reducing the military helped to overcome the loss of income our top earners were complaining about too. For me anyway.

I wasn’t exactly callous to the concerns of the ultra-wealthy, but they could afford to weather my changes. The people in poverty around the system, I helped. I often spent more hours on my Storage policy implementation than my military concerns.

My new operations manager quickly began to condemn my priorities, and I had to meet with him several times to ensure operations moved the way I wanted them to. It took a lot of convincing, and time, but eventually he started to see my long term goals. More insular, self-sufficient planets would lead to less conflict among them, increasing trade stability and allowing for more expansion. Ore prices from Midnight were a great measuring stick, I pointed to the decades of stability the wealthy planet had offered the rest of us to justify my own changes.

The steps I took were all in pursuit of more market stability, not less. Or so he believed. In reality, it would lessen the influence BuyMort had on each planet. The streams of pods travelling across each globe would thin out if the people of that world were doing BuyMort’s work for it.

In public, I made several ‘jobs’ pushes that helped my cause as well. By increasing affiliate investment in delivery services, we saved morties, I told them all. The less we relied on BuyMort and its constantly shifting prices, the better we would all be.

BuyMort and the multiverse’s wealthy had developed a strange relationship, and MortMobile was the person who helped me explore it. After I got my affiliate back, I spent some morties on a new account with his service, something I had been meaning to do since the Sleem gate.

The cost shocked me, for a simple communications service his rates were insane. Hundreds of trillions for some calls, far outside the range of most people within the system. But me he would talk to for free, once I reminded him who I was.

But even that interaction was bizarre. I asked if he remembered me, gave him my name and various titles, then waited while he stared at me in silent contemplation for a frighteningly long span of time. Eventually a slow smile crept into place and he nodded, repeating my name mechanically. I was concerned he didn’t remember me, but he broke contract and gave me sensitive information from his other customers, so he must have.

MortMobile wasn’t the same, like so much in my life. He had been stretched to the breaking point and beyond, his powerful mind connecting everyone’s calls and piping television programming into their homes and heads.

When I first arrived, I started to ease the pressure on him through my various actions. At first it hadn’t seemed to matter. A few hundred people in Arizona died and he barely felt the weight lift. A few thousand in this battle or that had never seemed to make much difference to his constant headache.

But then the Sleem had all died at once. After that, he was invested in me, and often helped me far beyond his contract stipulations. He even helped me lure certain high-level Church officials to their doom. Primarily though, the war reduced populations across the multiverse, and that trend continued after my demise.

For nearly a century, MortMobile had serviced the upper echelons of BuyMort high society. He did this quietly, without complaint or redress for his situation. The majority of his customers forgot about his role in my coup entirely, all while his prices became inaccessible for more and more of them at a time. When I got to him the second time, he had barely three-hundred clients.

I rapidly discovered he was part of a vicious mini-economy feeding on the tip-top of the economic food pyramid. Browsing other CEO’s phone bills was enlightening in more ways than one.

These people spent so much in transport, security, and amenities that it created a pool of services that catered to these whims, all from BuyMort itself. MortMobile was chief among them. BuyMort went out of its way to increase prices for things that could be achieved by far cheaper means and relied upon a handful of wealthy addicts to keep its profits on an upward trend.

Eternal growth, unending pursuit of short term profit manifest in the long term. The numbers for the rest of us operated by a totally different set of rules. The algorithm detected a weakness in a handful of people, and preyed upon that weakness with terrifying efficiency. MortMobile helped explain this to me, over the course of several cat and mouse question and answer sessions, each unlocking more valuable data.

He was infuriatingly vague in conversation, to the point that I began to suspect it wasn’t intentional.

“Why are your prices so expensive?” I asked him once.

“Why do people continue to pay them?” he replied.

My conversations with the entity often went nowhere, like talking to an old earth chatbot. The interactions were dry, empty, and often frustratingly circular. Eventually I would say the right thing in the right way and he would regurgitate information about a competitor or threat, and then he would shut down like an overworked machine.

With careful application of tact, I consulted a neurologist about it and he suggested a permanent dissociative state. I didn’t tell him who I was asking about, something told me that context would only complicate his perspective.

The powerful psychic creature, capable of entangling quantum states and touching every mind in the multiverse at once, had become so broken by his duties to BuyMort that most of his mind hid away somewhere inside itself, even while active and working with customers.

Those first few weeks, I tried to get through to him. But after the neurologist, I approached the mind I was entreating from a different angle. I used his services and allowed his mental presence to become comfortable with my own again. Questions seemed to elicit the occasional moment of clarity, so I spent time, morties, and especially affiliate rewards to use his service whenever I could conjure a reasonable excuse. Then I questioned him until he shut down on me, and the process would start again.

I wound together so much of my life with the daily operation of my affiliate that I began to experience the passage of time subjectively faster. Days would blend into weeks and my sheer busyness kept me from pursuing any relationship or hobby.

My driving purpose was my affiliate. I had to fix it, to restructure it to what I wanted it to be, in preparation for a much bigger job. Taking down BuyMort from within was going to involve wielding a great deal of power with extreme caution.

My response to assassination attempts was a good example of that tactic in action. In public I lamented them. Political violence was to be condemned, everybody agreed. In private my intelligence machine hunted down the powerful elites who paid for each attempt on my life, and I resolved each situation in one way or another. Various conflicts between associates caused the majority of the attempts, as I rubbed one CEO or another the wrong way.

Most of them could be bought out. Some few were receptive to threats, and a small handful required death to remove them as problems. Still, I wasn’t resorting to killing my business rivals anywhere near as much as I used to.

Behind the scenes, Silken Sands was cut-throat. Any associate head I had a personal issue with quickly found his associate taken out at the knees. I developed a team of acquisition specialists and gave them free reign once a target was selected. Within days, the offending associate found itself swamped in fees, tariffs, and refusals of service. Occasionally, I would put together funds for the victims of these associate takeovers, depending on publicity. Charitable giving had diminishing returns, when it came to public image, but in those early days it still had some value.

I was able to walk the thin line between coldhearted businessman and caring, empathetic leader. Media manipulation began to operate itself as the various associates under my umbrella fell in line one after the other. Sometimes it required leadership changes, but I usually handled that through various funds and buried associates, to avoid direct implication.

Material conditions began to improve after only a few weeks. The homeless in each major city across Nu-Earth were finding reasonably priced housing and good-paying jobs. Each major city was reporting a reduction in houseless individuals without spikes in portals to Storage. The one issue normally went hand in hand with the other.

But even Storage was improving under my watch.

I’d used scrap material from BlueCleave’s retraction to construct and deploy five city structures for Storage. I had an absurd amount of decommissioned ships, armored personnel carriers, and various weapons platforms that I refused to simply resell into the market. Instead, I ordered them disassembled and the parts used for my pet project. The city’s fit in the tunnels by design, and came with many defensive measures, up to and including an oversized main door that could slam shut in under a second if needed.

We broadcast the locations for each prefabricated city across Storage and secured the route with armed hobbs to ensure a safe migration. People flowed into the fortresses and were greeted with thick, warm clothing and military meals. Reducing BlueCleave’s standing force had the side effect of surplus uniforms. It didn’t take much to funnel them into Storage too.

Our success, of course, was commercialized. It wasn’t just a matter of building the cities; we had to convince people to leave their precarious shelters and take a chance on what we were offering. For that, we needed a message, one crafted so precisely that it could cut through the noise and distrust.

Diving into the system, and moving to the best affiliate page I could find according to the ratings and numbers of reviews, I waded into adspace-run real non-automated person-on-person discourse, the sort of premium treatment that was once almost normal in my first lifetime. It was nice to sit down and work with a team of creatives, marketers, and data analysts, giving them my personal touch. I noticed right away that the entire team was too scared to argue with me, being the legendary Windowpuncher and all, but it didn't bother me much because they were clearly competent enough to deliver what I demanded, and to nudge me in the right direction when things felt off. I checked in via ad space often as they crafted the ads, making sure they went exactly how I wanted them to.

I was quite particular about the visuals. Zooming in on a scene of kids running through a communal growing area, their laughter muted behind a narrator whose voice was the sound of brown gravy on mashed potatoes. The crops were pristine and flourishing, and the children looked positively rosy-cheeked and bubbly. It helped that they were wearing good clothes and decent shoes. The message of prosperity was absolutely clear.

Despite that, it wasn't all to my liking. They had a few scenes dealing with big trucks, scantily clad supermodels, and giant sauce-heavy burgers. Those got the cut.

The tagline needed to be perfect, and we debated it for hours. Too soft, and no one would believe it. Too harsh, and it might scare them away. We eventually settled on one I made: “From tunnels to triumphs—claim your future in Nu-Storage today.” It was simple and to the point, and that felt like exactly what was needed despite light protestation from my staff.

The ad’s visuals came to me for approval in short clips and pieces. One showed the sprawling interiors of the new homes, with communal kitchens serving steaming meals and private quarters that were small but comfortable. Another showed gobbs drinking quietly outside a small cafe. I chopped the ones that felt wrong, and gave my approval to everything that fit my vibe of the place.

I made sure the campaign's ad bid would peak in each market at times when we’d get the most attention. The targeting algorithms would ensure they hit the right people, and I set top bids to make sure they came through in front of the pack.

When the team was finished, I was called back to the ad space to experience the final version. It started with a burst of light and sound, something like a mini-big bang exploding in my brain. I didn't wince though, flowing through it with a carefree feeling that was almost certainly paid into the ad. I leaned back, letting the calm wash over me, before landing gently on my feet within the cracked concrete of a Storage tunnel.

It was dim, and grungy, a smattering of plants sprouting out of the cracks to reach for light and moisture. Families huddled there, cold and miserable, their faces gaunt and weary. Above them, salvaged and jury-rigged lights flickered and flashed, while from the sky the narrator’s voice came in, rustic and homey.

“In the depths of Storage, life is a constant struggle. But what if there was another way?”

The camera shifted to a hobb soldier, a towering figure in gleaming armor, extending a hand to a child clutching a ragged stuffed toy. The scene transitioned seamlessly into a sunlit fortress, where the child now ran through a stately communal square. I smiled, feeling it where it counted.

“Welcome to Nu-Storage, your next step to a better life.”

The visuals were pristine. Trees swayed in artificial sunlight, children’s laughter bubbled faintly beneath the narrator’s soothing cadence, and families gathered around communal tables, sharing steaming bowls of soup. The focus shifted to a growing area, where rosy-cheeked children played tag, their laughter synchronized with the narrator's tone of simple country boy optimism.

“From tunnels to triumphs—claim your future in NuStorage today.”

The tagline flashed in bold, golden letters, overlaid with the rotating image of a shining fortress. Below it, an interactive display offered a menu of options: “Explore,” “Reserve Your Space,” “Jobs Available,” and “Learn More.”

And then, as a capstone, the scene cut to Phyllis's one. She stood there, towering in front of the emergency blast door, her scowl practically daring anyone to mess with her as she flashed an exaggerated thumbs-up. I chuckled despite having seen it over a dozen times.

The final moment was a simple return to the hobb soldier, smiling as they handed out a uniform to a trembling figure in rags who hesitated, then accepted it with visible relief.

“Nu-Storage: Not just a home, but a future you can trust.”

The sound faded and the ad’s interactive text floated in place for just a moment before it all faded and I was back in an ad space conference room with the team.

Smiling, I nodded. “That’ll do,” I said, standing. “Good work.”

The room erupted into cheers and applause as I faded out of the ad space and back into the reality of day to day affiliate operations.

I made sure the tunnel cities were being built and deployed while funding it from a reduction of waste inherent in the system. Various middle managers and their affiliates overseeing the many aspects of BlueCleave daily operations were retired, and the funding they had tied up for their own profit went back into the machine it had been meant for.

My hobbs were happy to build the structures, they all understood the plight of those in Storage. Part of my legend in their culture was their march out of Storage with my aid. They wanted to help, and labor was never in short supply for the project. We even hired directly from Storage, giving denizens a pathway out.

Terna’s World collaborated with BlueCleave in their first peaceful interaction in years and each fort was equipped with a biome-specific growing area, as well as seeds and supplies to maintain them.

The vast majority of Storage was still wild, and dangerous for most sapients, but in the first few weeks of my return to power we established a foothold. That foothold went on to grow, and to eventually define life in Storage, but in the early days it helped boost my signal. I meant the stuff I’d said in the election, and more and more people were starting to realize it.

I sat at the head of the BuyMort system, and consolidated my power over it like any good tyrant would do. The major difference between my governance and tyranny was the consent with which I governed. At first that consent had been falsified. Massaged, gaslit, and manipulated. But as my second reign went on, the people’s support became more and more genuine, even over only a few weeks.

Some of them were hurting because of me, I was under no illusions about that, especially with the dozen or so assassination attempts in that first month. So many more were healing because of my policies, however. Enough healing for the multiverse to notice.

At the end of my first month back at the head of Silken Sands, the only job performance review I needed arrived at the top of the space elevator on Nu-Earth. The entire top docking ring had a mural painted on it during a scheduled maintenance stoppage. No cars rode up or down the elevator for two hours, during which time Mel somehow sneaked into our security system and disabled the camera drones, then flew outside in her own special spacesuit and put the mural in place.

An eyewitness recorded the woman in a spacesuit, using a handheld sprayer to install the mural with a pre-programmed design. There, immortalized in special UV-resistant paint, was a scene of people working together to repair the station, complete with falsified battle damage. From a distance, the damage looked real, as did the tiny figures painted working to repair it.

Of course Gobbs were featured heavily, wearing smaller spacesuits and working alongside the other species of BuyMort, sharp teeth exposed in innocent smiles.

Chapter 61

I took Mel’s approval to heart. Her mural made up for the assassins hounding my heels, and helped revitalize me for the fight that was yet to come. Wrangling a system out of its addiction to morties was all consuming. I remembered what the Church had been like, what they had done to us all in the name of profit for a few.

The insanity of the Church’s final manager had been apparent in the extreme lengths she went to in her attempts at self-defense. The bunker-city in the depths of a gas giant cost hundreds of trillions of morties per minute to operate, and she had gone into hiding there fully three months prior to my arrival. The sheer fortune wasted trying to protect one greed-soaked life could have funded my Storage efforts for years.

My MortBlock extended to the two remaining satellite platforms there, once I had weeded through the associates to get them back. Both were in severe disrepair and scrabbling together funds for them while not stepping on any toes became an ordeal. I ended up pleading my case directly to the public in order to get the opposing affiliate heads to submit.

There was no profit in it, they correctly informed the multiverse. It took a dramatic decline into Storage happening in real time for the system to notice and care. At my request, my machine ground an opposing affiliate head into dust with various deniable deals, and the man lost everything within the span of a month. I coordinated the entire experience, using a nameless ideologue on the wrong side of the argument to get my point across.

To the public, decline into Storage was just a thing that happened. Sometimes these big risk affiliates went under in a splashy way and everything got dumped on one person. An affiliate fall guy who could never navigate life without wealth in the way most fish can’t breathe on land. Once his fortune was gobbled up, he made a series of mistakes that led him inexorably into Storage’s open arms.

Once there, I caught him, using my BlueCleave forces and a carefully deposited arrival platform address. He was funneled into one of my prefabricated cities and cared for far beyond the average Storage dweller. Eventually, I provided him with enough Morties to come back home to Nu-Earth, through a work program in his tunnel-city. But not before the media had documented the entire thing in livid, gory detail.

It served my purpose two-fold. First, affiliate heads stopped trying to keep everything the way it had been before I regained power. Most of them got the message and adopted a subservient pattern of avoiding my ire.

Second, the public loved a good story. The media storm that rippled through the popular shows helped cement my public approval, as I was seen helping the man, but not destroying him in the first place. Early data buys had my approval rating in the high fifty percentile in general, and higher when specific policies were invoked in the polls.

While my affiliate rolled forward, I took my opportunities to do good where I could. I used my own personal fund of morties to fund the research necessary to duplicate a cargo variant of the previously unimitatable Crown of Thorns and gifted it to Save the Cubes. Molly and Shoshanna held a fundraiser celebrating the event, and the media lapped up the public interest story. Everybody in BuyMort started to cheer Save the Cubes again. It gave them something wholesome to root for, as another mission was launched, and another discarded cube given momentary celebrity status by association.

The people rooted for Shoshanna, and her new crew. They cheered the cube’s retrieval and placement, and celebrated the win as if they had helped it along by watching.

Good news became possible again, as the system of privilege and plenty started to change. People started to care about things beyond their own self-interest once more. Material conditions improved, in some cases dramatically.

Over the course of my first year back in power, Terna’s World normalized relations with Nu-Earth, and BlueCleave was well on its way to full reputational salvage. The rebellion on her world melted into a functioning agrarian society that she ran from the top down, with full autonomy. It was one of the few worlds I stayed out of, and indeed looked to for example.

Profit sharing began on the farms and spread to the manufactories, as public services were expanded and improved upon. I willingly gave up the leverage her food production gave me, and instead focused on feeding everyone who needed to be fed. The purity of Terna’s vision was apparent, in the drop of violence and the increase in productivity that followed her return to power.

Food even flowed into Storage, with gobb tribes and my tunnel cities both able to purchase pallets specially priced for the megastructure. Many considered it waste, but there was more than enough for the participating planets within BuyMort. The extra had to go somewhere.

Even waste fed Storage, as people sold their leftovers and affiliates offloaded their out of date foodstuffs directly to BuyMort. It was all used in the gruel BuyMort offered once per day for free, but when quality in the outside system rose, so did the offerings at the bottom. Soon opposing commentators were arguing against my Storage policies simply because they felt weird.

‘If Storage wasn’t so bad, why would people work to stay out of it?’ they argued, weaker and more nonsensical with each attempt.

The fact that BuyMort faced as a population was simple; life in Storage didn’t have to be bad. Life anywhere didn’t have to be bad, if only those in charge focused on the right things.

Months slid by as I slowly pushed on BuyMort culture, using my celebrity and wealth in equal measure to bring about substantive improvements. The only few who suffered under my rule were the obstinate elite. Even the majority of them got over the threats and enjoyed the lion’s share I left them, after restructuring their affiliates.

I pandered to their sense of self-preservation, and used my access to their communications and finances to coerce and convince them that my way was what was best for us all. At the end of my first year back in power, I had no more enemies. No substantive resistance, no major groups of opposition, nothing but BuyMort itself left to overcome.

My mission in that regard was slow-moving, by necessity. I had started the cultural shift away from it, but it would be years before that took root and actually changed the people’s minds. Some of them would have to die off, but the next generation would be more likely to embrace a BuyMort-free world, especially with the examples we had planned.

Terna and I coordinated her return to minimal BuyMort presence, though in those early days progress was slow. Mostly it involved clean up, and restructuring. Jobs had to be created, filled, and fine-tuned to respond to her people’s needs. We also operated a fund for the planetoid ship to draw from, a reparation for BlueCleave’s various authoritarian atrocities. It covered most of their larger expenses, and I made sure it always refilled.

Whitewashing my military’s reputation was a slow process, but it was working. Even in the early months, public sentiment started to turn around on the various planets they were deployed to. There was a sense of change, of calm and order being restored to the military machine. Their warlord was back from the dead, and the hobbs of BlueCleave fell back into their older, nobler warrior culture readily, if not eagerly. Those who didn’t were weeded out of the associate, and occasionally given public trials if their crimes were bad enough.

The Knowle Institute of History regularly collaborated, being unofficially in charge of justice, and societal order. The Knowles that operated the affiliate were focused on record keeping, and with standards and practices in place of any real system of law, they were the best suited to operate our system of crime and punishment.

Beneath the placid surface of my affiliate a thousand conflicts ran their course, but proper application of power, usually through morties, continued the trend of all things going my way. I was always careful to implement my changes slowly, if they were not profitable. It helped ensure the fully functional, mortie-making aspects of the affiliate helped pay for the associates that couldn’t easily pay for themselves.

Through the haze of daily affiliate management, my mind began to fixate on BuyMort again. The logistical challenge of tackling the multiversal store was enormous, and I thought about it often.

Fruition centers were still commonplace, like sores civilization had to be built around. Each squatted near or in large population centers, with loads of anti-pedestrian security built up around it. Usually the oversized warehouses had barbed wire fencing set up around it if nothing else. Anyone who ventured into one normally met with a grisly end, as it was dangerously easy to interfere with BuyMort’s normal business and land yourself a bug to contend with.

Tentacle roaches were common. Humans, hobbs, and delves all summoned those if unarmed, so it was a predictable BuyMort bug to contend with. Many scavengers made the attempt armed, of course, so the type and size of bug summoned was often an unpredictable threat.

Nearby city structures tended toward slums because of this. Wealthy affiliate members didn’t typically want to live close to a fruition center, but they got closer the more security was provided on site. Prescott’s fruition center was a good example of this, an entire BlueCleave fortress had built up around it. The disciplined hobbs were smart and well paid enough to avoid any attempts at a raid, and if a BuyMort bug was summoned somehow, they were the perfect people to handle it.

In the Shanghai Crater city, however, the defenses were minimal. Poorly maintained fencing and a large real estate area dedicated to low-income housing meant bugs happened often and were a major problem. Until the associate that operated the city could get proper infrastructure in place, I ordered a special forces unit into the area with the mission of BuyMort bug response.

The ten-hobb squad brought their own hovercraft, and a variety of weapon platforms, so the dense population of the crater’s primary slum welcomed them with open arms. They did the dirty work of cleaning up after an accidental summon, and quickly gained their fifteen minutes of fame. News media loved the stories they produced, and the public ate up their various heroics.

By the end of their mission, a movie was in production. Walls, security, and public services were funded, and quickly the need for such a team faded away. Similar stories played out in planets across the multiverse, one of many stabilization efforts Silken Sands helmed. I only got involved in one, when an industrial accident had summoned a kaiju-worm to the last remaining Nah’gh planet, Nahgah Bronze. The massive, winged menace I used to summon when I blundered through BuyMort’s physical hardware was no longer a real threat to me but could wipe a city from the face of a planet without too much effort.

The city used one of their free portals to bring me onto the scene, and I tore through the worm’s long brain stem to kill it. Messy, but quick. The corpse was used to help pay for my portal home, and I was barely on the planet for ten minutes, but I developed a celebrity following there overnight. The Nah’gh who lived there quickly became one of my plushies’ largest purchasers.

On Nu-Earth, the popular bakery affiliate Another Donut Hole offered Windowpuncher themed frosted donuts. There were two, each specially decorated to look like me or the gossamer-winged worm. The Long John-style worm donut came with a mixed berry jam filling and was notoriously messy to eat. People all over both planets posted videos of themselves eating the donut to social media in celebration of our shared victory over an aggressive flying worm. I tried one, it was pretty good for a mass produced bakery treat.

The incident reminded me that even just securing the various pieces of BuyMort infrastructure demanded my attention. I could only imagine what was going to happen once I started intentionally destroying them.

Pods were another issue. Our buildings and vehicles had to have access for the pods, or they would just damage themselves trying to get inside and summon a bug on you by no fault of your own. BuyMort was intensely stupid, and pod behavior was one of the biggest examples. The pod could match your relative speed in space, even while in most forms of FTL.

But it couldn’t turn back if you didn’t leave a door open for it.

Pods were, by far, the most common cause of BuyMort bug attacks. It was easy to damage them, and everyone had to accommodate for their behavior during deliveries and sales. They were a critical part of the BuyMort machine and had seemingly zero programming toward customer experience. You could pay more for better behaved pods, but even then they only had that one singular goal. To drop off or pick up its order.

The Church, which pushed worship of BuyMort as a living deity, had struggled to explain the pods. They were angelic devices, in most Church worship groups. In others they were considered the direct touch of the entity itself. Both descriptions were intentionally vague and seemed only designed to obfuscate the pods' strange behavior.

But it was easy to explain. The pods acted like that because they had incredibly simple programming, designed to maximize profitable interactions for BuyMort. They didn’t seem to care about the customers because BuyMort wasn’t alive. It was an idiot machine, operating on programming that led to anti-human behavior.

BuyMort didn’t care. It couldn’t, it didn’t have the proper set of instructions, and was incapable of complex thoughts or emotions. BuyMort wasn’t alive and had never been alive. It was just a system.

I hired teams of Knowle archeologists, and every one of them confirmed my own assessment. BuyMort was just code, algorithms, and numbers. In my earliest days, when I had regularly accessed the relic storefront left in place by Specter, his recording had told me much about the nature of BuyMort. He had also equipped me to fight it.

My affiliate was simply another tool for that task, albeit one that took a long time to hone. Eventually, I meant it to be the very tool I used to destroy BuyMort itself.

In preparation for that goal, Terna set me up with an abandoned fruition center on the surface of her worldship, after a year of work shutting down demand for its services. I took my military and headed gleefully toward Terna’s World, with the intention of learning how to safely demolish BuyMort property.

Chapter 62

I brought the fleet with me, but we kept the larger ships tucked safely at the back side of the world ship, where fewer people would see them. The Crown of Thorns gravity drive was capable of reaching across Terna’s World from its position behind the engines, so it wasn’t necessary to frighten the people on the ground by displaying it while we worked.

We were adapting the normative way that people held prisoners in a system that allowed for portals on demand. Use something simple to cause damage to the pod, then stand ready with powerful weapons to clean up the bug that followed.

The issue was how specifically to destroy the fruition center. Terna had her people pulled back from the area, so we weren’t terribly concerned about civilian casualties. She also informed me that, by her calculations, the fruition center wouldn’t be rebuilt by BuyMort if destroyed. There wasn’t enough traffic.

Visual scouting confirmed that only a few pods came or went from the massive structure, so I ordered my assault fleet into position. For safety’s sake, we flew three starfish suit capable hobbs in Brisingida demolitions cruisers, flying support for the Crown of Thorns itself. The oversized star hid in the shadow of Terna’s World’s engines, manipulating a crude explosive jelly into place with its gravity drive.

BuyMort was particular, and with full access to the Knowle Institutes of History and Record, I knew exactly how particular. If you attacked it, BuyMort was capable of calculating some level of intent. To get around this, you had to do things in a particular manner.

We used the ship’s gravity drive to install a spread of explosive jelly, then had a man on the ground set timers into the gel manually. This ‘man’ was a hobb explosives specialist, who was trained to make their way into the compound and leave before the bombs went off.

His advertisement had been impressive—unlike the more serious ads, his was a reflection of his personality. It had started with the simple scene of an old home, the sort of place that had already seen its good years go by and was ripe for retirement. Tranquil bird song played, the scent of fresh-cut green grass rolled over me, and I was about ready to chalk the whole thing up to a strange advertising error when suddenly the whole home blew to pieces, a veritable whumph-kabloomie of lovingly-constructed instant demolition.

Heavy metal began to shriek, replacing the birds while the smell of soot and fire overwhelmed the grass. Above me, the sky turned crimson-red and the skies opened up to rain blood over top of us all.

“Meet Boomer, your friendly neighborhood demolitions expert!” a cheerful voiceover declared, as Boomer cart-wheeled into view, winking at the camera before tossing a lit stick of dynamite over his right shoulder. “Whether it's home demolitions, fortress demolitions, trash demolitions, or just an awesome party kicked up to the next level, Boomer's got the style and jazz to take you and your explosive operations above and beyond.

The whole thing had been insane, but the right kind of insane. The sort of insane that told you he loved his job and was very much a king in his field. Considering what we were planning, I knew he was the man for the job. Especially after seeing him lay explosives on a concrete dam, and watching the digital timer flip to a smiley face before exploding hard, chunks flying everywhere.

This process was completed one bomb at a time, but we could get creative with them thanks to the semi-solid form of the explosive itself. The first section was installed by floating a glob of the explosive jelly into place, and then the Crown of Thorns released all gravitic control. This would stop BuyMort from associating the ship with the attack, since all it had done was lay an inert object on a BuyMort surface. No damage was done, no hindrance was caused, so no response was warranted.

The hobb we sent in wore plain clothing and carried no weaponry aside from the detonators. He walked, almost casually, through the fences and barricades up to the bomb that was smeared across one corner of the fruition center and pressed a timed detonator into it. Once this was accomplished, he returned the way he had come, and stopped to wait in the open no-man's-zone that was between the fences and the surrounding agriculture domes.

The bomb exploded, and a BuyMort bug was summoned. The entire thing cost about a hundred and fifty morties per detonation, which pleased the few accountants we had attached to the project.

We were using crude blasting jelly, an explosive compound made from decaying fertilizer and readily available chemicals. The timer sent a small electrical jolt through the jellied mass and ignited it. Each explosion was relatively weak, and only took down a portion of the wall at a time.

But it also only summoned a pair of electrically charged rhinoceros beetles. Each was the size of a large truck and could release powerful bolts of electricity into their targets, or any grounding material nearby. My hobb was in immediate danger, but that’s what the demolitions cruisers were for. Two ships swept in and used their long, grappling arms to capture and destroy the beetles before they could do any real harm.

The hobb on the ground had an intense job. They were, in essence, bait. Somebody had to be directly responsible for the damage to BuyMort, and that meant the bugs got summoned on top of them no matter where they were. But they also couldn’t be armored or armed, because that would influence BuyMort’s bug criteria and increase the risk to them instead of making their job safer.

On our first day, only a single charge went off early. The hobb was still trying to traverse the many holes we had cut in the layers of fencing around his target. Still, the beetles summoned nearly killed him by zapping the fence he was touching.

We paused the project after that incident, and the hobb was taken for medical care before being declared in good health. The charge had dissipated enough by the time it reached his section of fencing that no serious damage had been caused, and he was merely stunned for a brief period of time.

Still, we considered increasing the sophistication of the timers on our bombs. Ultimately that was shot down, and the risk to the hobb on the ground was deemed necessary. If our bombs increased in complexity, BuyMort would respond with a more dangerous bug and the risk to him would increase during our ship’s response phase.

The Brisingida’s pilots had to have good reflexes and careful control of their ships in order to do their part of the job. They had to capture the angry beetle, lift it away from our vulnerable hobb on the ground, and kill it as efficiently as they could. I wanted the beetles dead, but not damaged any more than necessary. Selling them back to BuyMort not only helped us recover our costs, it funneled more food into Storage’s gruel system.

This type of hunting quickly became a game for the competitive pilots, who worked to kill each beetle as fast as they could while causing as little physical damage to it as possible. There was no damage to the ships, thanks to the Brisingida’s adaptive energy-leeching, and the beetles were helpless once lifted in the air. Eventually my pilots discovered the creature’s nerve center and would use a single atomic breaker burst from one arm to destroy the cluster of nerves. Death was instantaneous, and the entire process became cleaner and more efficient.

Bug corpses typically sold for more than the explosives we used to summon them, and by the end of our first week on Terna’s World, we had completely destroyed our first fruition center. The project had one minor injury, zero collateral damage, and had a very low mortie cost. Terna was happy with the new lot, which she started construction on once it was clear BuyMort wasn’t coming back.

The handful of pods using the fruition center floated away like aimless fruit flies, before being reassigned and zipping off to their new homes. Terna’s World still had dozens of fruition centers on it, but our first mission was a success.

Once we reduced traffic, BuyMort would abandon its destroyed property and stop trying to rebuild. Our demolitions, if done carefully, would result in no damage or lives lost, and we could even balance our expenses, because BuyMort would pay us for each bug it impotently tried to kill us with.

After our first bomb had knocked a hole in the corner, I had inspected the structure to satisfy my own curiosity. The giant vat Tower used to sit in was replaced by a simple machine that made tape from plant matter.

His service had been easily replaced, which told me BuyMort had only used him because he was cheaper than the next easiest alternative. This suggested that he may not have entered his service willingly, and he certainly didn’t get paid enough for what BuyMort had put him through.

Going to see Tower rose a few notches on my to-do list, but I kept putting it off. I felt uneasy anytime I thought about the creature, as a certainty settled over my mind that he would be changed too, and not for the better.

As much as I didn’t want it to, the encounter felt likely to end in violence.

So I focused on other tasks, and my own desire to advance anti-BuyMort logistics drove me. The win on Terna’s World had me ready and eager to do more. I knew BuyMort was a vast physical system and my goal to dismantle it would take many years. In addition to being in all our heads, it had a physical presence everywhere its customers were.

I could pull that back to a degree, depending on affiliate composition, but the vast majority of BuyMort’s infrastructure was still outside my ability to safely target. If I destroyed it, BuyMort would just build it back again.

Terna led the way on that front, in accordance with our plan. She rolled out initiative after initiative on her world ship and produced entire communities that had stopped using BuyMort completely. Her world ship was starting to return to what it had been when we met.

This, of course, got the attention of the rest of the BuyMort system. The public started occasionally discussing what life without BuyMort might be like. A great deal of that conversation was push-back on the very concept, but it felt like progress was being made nonetheless. Back when the Church had people worshipping BuyMort as a benevolent deity to further their own system of economic fiefdoms, the very conversation about life without it would have been deemed blasphemous and could have resulted in violence.

Now, only a year after my return, people were curious, and free enough to talk about the possibilities.

I kept my demolition efforts a secret from the public with industry-standard non-disclosure agreements and pay that went along with them. There was no reason to get everyone up in arms about what I was or wasn’t doing behind the scenes while they pondered the various failures of our shared system.

Mostly they cared about my campaign promises in that first year.

My dream crime initiative was working. In the course of a year we had reduced occurrences of dream crime home invasions by seventy percent and dealt with some of the bigger cartels. A series of ads describing how to protect one’s assets overnight accompanied a series of funds that took morties in for the night and handed them back in the morning, with only a tiny surcharge for the service.

Consumer trust was critical for that service, so Silken Sands ran it directly. People enjoyed the big name, and the surety of their deposits. My direct involvement ensured that no shady business was run, and everyone had easy access to their morties on demand. Nobody that used my mortie storage service lost their deposit, or even had to wait to get it back. Our guarantee was absolute.

This coupled with a story-purchasing program that we used to keep down the inflammatory media driving dream crime. For-profit media companies abused us, at first. They concocted stories to sell us, and focused their coverage heavily on dream crime to maximize the profits they could make from it.

I happily ate the costs. It didn’t matter; all I needed them to do was be quiet. To stop spreading dream crime stories that spread dream crime itself. While I was paying to let me gag them, my other tactics dramatically lowered the occurrences themselves. We hunted down the pirates running dream crime operations and pushed steps that would prevent unwanted dream sales from the public at the same time.

Eventually, about six months into the project, I stopped paying for the news stories and let them run. By then the culture that had created the crime was changed, and isolated incidents aside, my society no longer had to deal with the inconvenience. Many people even avoided news outlets that ran dream crime stories, which quickly changed the media affiliates’ behavior.

The odd occasional dream storm still happened, of course, but they were quickly dealt with. BlueCleave, reverting from an authoritarian military faction, happily dealt with any dream storms that threatened damage or death. It was considered a public service and was something I insisted we no longer charged communities for.

An increase in public approval was all I needed for it to be worthwhile.

Dream storm wreckage or waste was also ours to sell, which mostly covered costs. I was an ideologue, but not an idiot. We still needed funding for our many efforts, and I had to be careful to avoid waste wherever possible in order to fund my various non-profit endeavors.

A great deal of this funding stemmed from Nu-Earth’s many industries, all of which fell under my umbrella. Importing ore from Midnight and other planets, the Boing affiliate operating on the continent of Australia crafted thousands of spacecraft. Most of the continent had become dedicated to this task and brought in a tremendous amount of morties. Of particular profit was our gravity drive line of craft, which were a direct descendant of Specter’s ships.

Our engineers had figured out the mysteries of gravity drive tech while I was dead, but each drive required exotic matter at its core, which made them incredibly expensive. The Crown of Thorns and its accompanying battleships were still the most martially capable ships in BuyMort, but now we sold smaller versions, with more limited functions.

The cargo ship I had given to Save the Cubes was a good example. It wasn’t weaponized, but the gravity drive itself was an intensely powerful defensive weapon. If an attacking ship was within range, the gravity drive could simply take control of it directly, or tear pieces off from it as desired. It was also capable of catching or avoiding most incoming weapons fire, by shifting its armored hull plates and allowing the projectile or energy burst to pass through.

Most of the Top Ten had contracts for ships with Nu-Earth. We had started off selling raw spider silk for novelty goods and had ended up as the main industrial shipyard in the multiverse. Morties flowed to us for each big ticket sale, but I also saw one of the critical points of conflict with my overarching plan. With everyone reliant on Nu-Earth for spacecraft, it would be difficult to detach BuyMort from the planet, once traffic was reduced enough.

A big part of that traffic, when looking at sheer mass transported via pod, was the product of our shipyards.

I was going to have to figure out how to sabotage my own businesses without hurting any of the people who worked for them. My plan there stretched into the long-term and was two-part. First, I slowly seeded new shipyards on other planets, seemingly in an expansion of the Boing affiliate. Then I set limits on service contracts and purchase orders.

The limits were minimal at first and were presented as a cost-saving exercise to hide their true purpose. Once the limits had been normalized, I could use them to throttle back on each ship yard, and on the industry as a whole. To slowly force each shipyard’s production level’s down. Of course, the process would take decades if not a century or more.

That was for only one of a thousand different industries.

Each associate had to be inspected for cross-planetary involvement. Each affiliate had to be established so that it could eventually retract and serve its universe and its universe only. If I was ever going to actually kill BuyMort without causing untold death on a mass scale, I had to prepare its people for a life without the multiverse at their fingertips. Every planet would have to be able to stand on its own.

The logistics work was a nightmare, but it had to be done to accomplish my long-term goal. This was the fight against BuyMort, for the time being. Paperwork, and finance manipulation.

Chapter 63

The other major aspect of my fight against BuyMort was the knowledge gathering mission I had the Knowle Institute of History working on. They collaborated with the Knowle Institute of Record to trace BuyMort through the years.

Our iteration of civilization within BuyMort was only the most recent. I had entered BuyMort at a critical tipping point, and helped ensure there was some civilization left after the Church’s long overdue fall, but that was far from the only time everything had fallen apart. Our civilization lived on the bones of many more that had come before it.

The Church had ruled for roughly seven thousand years, give or take. But BuyMort had existed before the Church’s rise. Records from any time before my first rise to power were spotty at best, and I was looking for information dating far before that. BuyMort kept its sales records and made them available to interested parties. The only problem was how many of them there were.

It was like looking for a receipt in an unending pile of receipts. A needle in a haystack if the haystack was infinite and you had to pay to look at each piece of hay.

Seeking information on previous iterations of BuyMort civilizations was referred to as ‘relic hunting’ because most who did it were trying to data-mine their way to a relic storefront, with expensive or powerful goods. Starfish suits were a good example, but relics ran the gamut. Some were more powerful or useful than others. All were rare and therefore worth morties.

But my purpose was different. I wanted the relic storefronts too, though most of them were far less intentional than Specter’s had been, they often still held treasure. Specter was my ultimate research goal. He had built his affiliate near the end of BuyMort’s original civilization. The rogue system had continued its programming even after it had destroyed its creators.

Specter had seen the writing on the wall and knew that while he himself could no longer take the machine apart, he could leave behind the means to do so. Unfortunately for me, he seemed to have cleaned his own record from the registry somehow. While I could point my researchers to his storefront, it was like a single snapshot from an entire era of history taken without context.

I needed to know how he purchased his materials, who he did business with, and what his society looked like when it gave birth to BuyMort. I needed to find his home, in essence. Not just the black hole storefront his digital ghost operated out of, the entire society he had been a part of.

To that end I set my archaeologists to find out whatever they could in order to track down the physical location of the storefront. Ever since our last interaction, the storefront had been marked as sold out. But I knew there were more relics there. Specter's ghost wasn't helping us at all. It had self-destructed the instant I had fulfilled its programming requirements, shutting down and erasing itself. All that remained was the basic storefront AI, and it was limited to information about its available products, all of which were labeled as coming soon or temporarily out of stock.

The slow realization that I was going to have to come clean about my secret perk patches hovered in the back of my mind, but I couldn’t do that until I had stabilized the multiverse, at the very least. My perk patches gave me a massive advantage over literally every single living creature in the BuyMort system, including other starfish suit users. I had to wait.

But because the AI wouldn't speak without products to speak about, the sold out storefront was useless until I unlocked the patches.

My BuyMort archeologists worked without that information, and started piecing together the various levels of fallen civilizations that came before our period of peace and prosperity. Chief among them, the Church.

Morties poured into the Knowle Institutes, but I was able to handwave any concerns away by claiming that I was funding an ongoing hunt for relics. To my business-minded underlings, I was simply seeking more morties.

Many of them played it off like it was a minor gambling habit. So long as I didn’t over fund the project, none of them complained, and certainly not to my face. My days were filled with mundane projects, keeping the affiliate moving and melding the way I wanted it to while keeping my detractors ignorant to my designs. Violence was rare, and with only the occasional dream storm or out of control BuyMort bug to deal with, my days drifted together more and more.

I was surprised when the second anniversary of my election victory rolled around, and the media started asking questions about a fresh electoral cycle. Instead, I sat down with Hris C’aze of SNN for an interview.

The studio in Prescott was dimmed, with lighting focused only on the table between me and the Nah’gh woman across from me. Everything was designed to make it feel comfortable, casual, non-confrontational. I sat back in my chair and smiled at the Nah’gh woman across from me.

“Good evening BuyMort,” she started. “Tonight, on the eve of the second anniversary of his electoral victory, we have the CEO of Silken Sands. Mr. Dawes, I’ll lead with the most popular question in our polls, why have you decided to forgo the traditional election this year?”

I shrugged. “Didn’t seem like it was necessary. My approval numbers are pretty high and I’m right in the middle of several delicate projects. Storage alone is going to be a century-or-longer endeavor, I really can’t afford for all of that to be put at risk over an election. Lives are literally at stake.”

“Okay, follow up question then,” Hris C’aze said, glancing down at her mandatory sheet of paper. I frowned to see it actually had notes on it this time. “Does this mean you intend to do away with the election all together?”

I smiled softly and nodded. “I see no reason to continue the tradition. It was only ever a show at any rate. A way for Axle to play up his accomplishments, make the public aware of the affiliate machinations he wanted them to be aware of.”

“Yet he did step down when you won the count, two years ago,” she countered.

“He stepped down before the count was finished,” I corrected. “He was ready to retire, to pass on the mantle. My return was simply good timing.”

“This affiliate has been a functioning democracy for decades. Are you telling us that the right to vote is no longer a foundational aspect of the Silken Sands affiliate?” Hris C’aze asked pointedly.

I nodded once more. “It was never foundational,” I corrected, sitting forward. “Back when it was just me selling spiderwebs and trying to take care of my friends, there was no voting. I gave orders, and they were followed. Today is no different, and that’s how an affiliate is successfully run within BuyMort. Look at my ongoing projects.”

“Tell us about one,” she said.

“Let’s talk donuts,” I replied. “One would think that Midnight’s sudden interest in donuts would be an easy desire to fulfill. Yet, our associate Another Donut Hole has no flour provider on the planet. In order to get the flour their new franchises need, we have to import it from here on Nu-Earth. That drives costs to the point of inaccessibility, even for the relatively wealthy folks on that planet.”

“What’s the tie-in to your decision not to have an election?” my host asked.

“I’m in the process of lowering costs through the seeding of various technology-based affiliates. Grow-houses for the flour, specifically. But each grow-house comes with a list of parts. Each part has its own cost, its own complexity in the acquisition process,” I rattled off. “In order to provide donuts as desired by the customers on Midnight, I’m having to provide an entire infrastructure system for the affiliate that makes the donuts. If I stopped to pay attention to a popularity contest, my work would never get done. That’s just one affiliate, out of thousands I’m currently working with, on various levels of various projects.”

In reality, the process I discussed was being laid out to eventually ensure each planet in the BuyMort system could stand on its own once I killed the network connecting them.

“I see,” Hris C’aze said, tapping a claw against her lower lip. “You’re saying the stability we’ve enjoyed the last couple of years is reliant on you staying in your position as CEO,” she stated. It wasn’t a question, but I nodded along anyway.

“Yes. I’m currently managing fourteen armed conflict zones across the BuyMort network. Down from forty-nine two years ago, but still something I need to keep my attention focused on. Peace and stability are more than a two-year project,” I explained. “And BuyMort is not a democracy. I find the act dishonest, the people of this great system are strong enough to accept their reality. I run Silken Sands and will continue to. I don’t have any motivation to step down, and don’t foresee myself ever developing that motivation.”

“Because you have a lot of work to do?” she asked, feigning disbelief.

“That’s exactly right,” I said. “I am answerable to my people, and so far, all I’ve done is their bidding. Dream Crime is gone, a phenomena we can all remember, but no longer have to deal with. Military atrocities are being punished, BlueCleave is being reformed into the tool it was always meant to be. Affiliate profits are up, even my relic hunts have all paid for themselves.”

“But Save the Cubes remains a large draw on Silken Sands finances,” she interrupted. “A non-profit organization with a history of mismanaged funds, yet you seem to give them anything they ask for.”

I shrugged. “We can afford it, and it’s a good cause. What are morties for if not spending? I’d much rather spend my fortune on improving the system around us. Just look at the numbers coming out of Storage.”

“To put that statement in context for our viewers, Mr. Dawes is referring to a single digit reduction in the overall mortality rate for those sent to storage,” the Nah’gh host said to the camera.

“Yes, a single digit reduction in a megastructure that houses trillions. That’s a significant improvement to a massive population. It is important to remember that I have also reduced entrance rates to Storage. Fewer people than ever before are falling through the cracks, fewer people are becoming so desperate that they end up in Storage in the first place. Our prefabricated tunnel cities are also working, we’ve made each a safe place for Storage residents to try and work their way off the gas giant,” I explained.

“There’s a lot of context that goes along with that statement,” Hris C’aze rebutted, one claw raised. “Including the overall reduction of population within BuyMort. We’re at a record low for population numbers in general.”

“Yes,” I nodded. “The Church collapse was not an easy thing to survive, but my archeological teams are uncovering more and more of the civilization that came before the Church, a record contraction of the BuyMort system led to a population of only a few hundred million, scattered over a few universes that didn’t even trade with one another.”

That wasn’t true, strictly speaking. The civilization that predated the Church was assumed to have been massive, based on sales reports. It only contracted at its end, where a small handful of wealthy landowners formed the Church of BuyMort in order to control their own associates. From that system of noble houses another giant civilization had spawned, albeit one with structural issues that led to its downfall.

But the people at home didn’t need that particular bit of context. The last thing I wanted them to do was start pining for the good old days when BuyMort had been worshipped as a deity.

“I’ve been putting out fires and establishing long-term investments since I took the affiliate back,” I explained. “I’m not sure anyone really wants to interrupt all of that.”

“No, of course not,” Hris C’aze said.

The media’s support was unwavering. I was great for ratings, which was great for ad buys, which was great for the people who ran each media affiliate that profited from them. Their support ended up being structural. They profited from me, of course they propped me up in public.

“Tell me more about Another Donut Hole, are any further expansions expected? I’d love to see a franchise in every spaceport,” she beamed.

The rest of the conversation presented me as a busy yet relatable leader, exhaustively explaining the nitty gritty details that meant democracy was simply not profitable. By the end of the episode, desire for an election had faded by nine percent on Nu-Earth. A couple days later that number had grown by a healthy thirty-five percent.

People gave up what little stake they had in our power system, desperate for safety and stability. I promised both, while actually delivering in substantive, measurable ways, so they stopped caring that I was unwilling to give up my power.

Two years had passed in relative calm and quiet, while business chugged on ahead. The death of democracy was simply another cost of doing business. Quietly sacrificed and left behind.

Chapter 64

The politics were settled, for once my leadership extended a peace over the tired and war-torn multiverse. The parts of it I had access to and influence over, at any rate. I still had my detractors, the little talking heads who sniveled and sneered over everything that I did, from the color of my suit to the tenets of my pasta-based religion and even, for one solid month, the fact that I had put mustard on a yarsp-made hotdog without tasting it first. Apparently it showed that I was reckless, and a bad leader or something.

Didn't matter. If all they have to complain about is your interaction with condiments, you’ve won the political argument. I weathered it all with grace, focused on keeping what supporters called Pax Windowpuncher, while simultaneously pursuing relics and tracking the history of BuyMort and its origins.

It was in this last field that things took a turn and my relic hunt escalated dramatically. We'd had some breakthroughs, including the discovery of an old map kit on sale in the rustic ill-seen catalogue of BuyMort's bottom list items. It was dated to a timestamp whose format wasn't even recognizable in our day and age, including gate charts to dimensions not known by the Knowles, and was missing a plethora of the ones that I had known during my first life through the Shopocalypse. We purchased the three remaining kits in stock, and something about that purchase set off an even bigger breakthrough of a more psychic orientation.

It all started the day that MortMobile possessed one of my staff. I wasn't there when it happened, but came quickly once I got the emergency call to action. A powerful psychic force had seized the hapless Knowle and was using her to break into our records, specifically our purchase of the kits, and our subsequent unboxing videos and scientific analysis therein.

I responded to the situation myself, once it was clear what was happening. A powerful psychic force interested in archaeological finds about the past? A small bit of suspicion raced through my mind, and I checked MortMobile services. Sure enough, they had all gone to hell, everything associated with the psionic entity's services suddenly blacked out and out of service.

Rocketing off into the nether, heading for the Knowle Institute of Record on Terna's World,  I arrived within minutes. There I was informed that the possessed Knowle had moved on to data we had uncovered about pre-Church BuyMort society. My team had been researching a major population crash that the data indicated happened immediately before the Church became an affiliate.

Entering the room, I felt the Knowle shift from the terminal to meet my gaze. Gray, fog-covered eyes shined from the Knowle’s eyes, and a tired, sad expression sat on her face that reminded me of my first phone subscription so many years ago.

“Tyson,” the Knowle groaned in MortMobile’s voice, grey fog pouring from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. “Help me,” she moaned as she collapsed. In the two seconds it took me to get to her side, the Knowle had changed. She was free of the gray fog and blinking in confusion.

I looked at the desktop record-storage device. On its screen was a gate ring activation request. It had been out of use for just over seven thousand years. MortMobile had filled in the gaps in our knowledge, and given us a gate address to his home universe. It fit within the framework my Knowles had already provided, but more than that, I could feel the significance the destination held.

Medics swarmed into the room, followed closely by the archeology team. While their coworker was being lifted onto a stretcher, the other Knowles were asking her questions about the encounter, and documenting everything.

“Someone get me an activation cost on that gate,” I said, before turning and walking out. Terna was outside, entering the building’s lobby. I moved to intercept her.

“What happened?” the hobb woman asked me.

“MortMobile just gave us a gate address. It dates from before the Church, but just before. Like a few years, tops,” I explained. She turned and started walking with me. “He also asked for my help.”

“Is it from before BuyMort? The time you’re looking for?” she whispered, knowing I could hear her with my enhanced senses.

I shook my head. “Nowhere near it. But MortMobile asked for our help. I haven’t seen him like that since the early days.”

“What are you going to do?” Terna asked.

“Form an expedition,” I told her. “You want to come?”

“Absolutely,” she replied.

Two days later, I stood at the helm of the Crown of Thorns, with Terna at my side and a full complement of BlueCleave hobbs manning the craft. The ship carried families, as deployments were often long, but I wasn’t anticipating any danger. Our expedition was heading into pre-Church BuyMort territory, a long forgotten universe several thousand years up the multiversal flow.

According to my archeologists, it was likely to be uninhabited due to the lack of any sales records. While they had found the universe, and the BuyMort gate address, there was no indication of normal BuyMort activity.

I knew from my conversations with Terna that it was possible to forget BuyMort and leave it behind. Plus, I remembered the original conversations with MortMobile. He had told me he entered BuyMort’s service to spare his world from its presence. If everything I had seen to date added up correctly, we were heading to that world, that universe. Someplace BuyMort had left behind, in order to acquire something of great value; MortMobile’s service.

My expedition had leaked to the press, but the only result was more camera drones in the air above us before takeoff. Paparazzi had become a constant, and the public was always speculating about my activities. I ignored them, for the most part.

The press created several different theories about my relic hunt, but Terna stood at my side sharing the truth of our adventure. We were going to go somewhere BuyMort had failed to seize. For the first time in years, I felt excitement.

The ship lifted smoothly out of Nu-Earth’s gravity well before hauling to the Jupiter gate. With the gravity haul method of FTL travel, it was almost instantaneous. Just the gut wrenching sensation of falling, and then Jupiter hovered off our side while we floated gently toward the gate.

I was given preferential treatment by BuyMort itself, moving my larger ship ahead of those waiting in line and allowing me to portal out. It was a perk of my gigantic gate recommissioning fee. The trip took longer than I have ever experienced using a BuyMort portal. The vague sensation of hurtling past frozen and crumbling rivers wound together lasted for nearly a full minute before the gate spit us out.

Glancing at the various screens surrounding me on the bridge, it was clear we were in orbit of an ice giant. A massive blue-green planet stretched out on screen, covering most of the visible horizon. The system’s star was a tiny, bright dot in the distance.

“Debris field!” one of the hobbs shouted. Their screen flicked onto the main viewer and I saw what they meant. The debris field spread out in front of the ship, and behind it. Frozen chunks of green ice the size of buildings, asteroids, and small moons moved away from the ship as our gravity drive took control of the area.

We had been spit out directly into the gas giant’s ring, which appeared to be made up of significant pieces of the planet itself. There was scarring visible from even our orbit, as though it had been hit and portions of the ice had shattered and eventually formed the planet’s ring. BuyMort’s gate, inactive and forgotten, had fallen into a stable orbit as part of the debris.

“Take us out of the rings,” I ordered gently, staring at the screens. The Crown of Thorns lifted, and the debris field spread out below us. Not all of it was ice. “Are those . . . ships?” I asked quietly.

Terna nodded. “A great battle was fought here.”

“We’re picking up massive organic signatures, mixed in with the ice and debris,” my navigation officer said.

“Get me a scan of the ships,” I replied.

A few moments of silence passed while my hobbs worked, then an image took up the main screen. It showed an opera house in space, so decadently engraved and filigreed that I struggled to recognize it as a warship until its monstrous guns came into view. It looked like the kind of ships the Church had flown against me, only much older.

Like the difference between ancient Rome and Ancient Greece, the similarities were undeniable.

The civilization that had influenced the Church’s leadership had also been what created the ruined hulk in front of me. A humanoid statue of tarnished gold adorned the warship’s nose, confirming what I had suspected.

“How many ships?” I asked quietly.

One of my hobbs glanced down and turned to answer. “Four-thousand, three-hundred and seventy-two on this side of the planet, in various states of disrepair. None that can fly or target us. Life signs are still present, but too much to be sapient. This reading, while large, indicates simple organic structures.”

“Thank you,” I said, my eyes still glued to the screens.

The Crown of Thorns was big, big enough to house an entire city’s worth of people in it if needed. My expedition crew and families only numbered a thousand. It was enough to field the entire fleet if needed, but we travelled far more comfortably in the carrier, thanks in no small part to its sheer size. The gravity drive held together a ship of dimensions that should have collapsed under its own weight.

Even my flagship was roughly half the size of the ruined ships floating among huge chunks of ice. Our arrival had disturbed the perfect orbit of the rings, and collisions were starting to spread in a circle out from the gate ring. The cathedral in front of us crumbled as a planetoid body of ice crushed into it.

“Long range scans?” I asked. The quiet had spread from the bridge to the entire ship. Everyone was transfixed by the view.

“Four more planets, all down-sun from here. Substantive planetoid bodies outside of the solar system. We have readings that signify life, but none of it appears to be complex,” a hobb announced, staring at their station’s screens.

I frowned. “What kind of life?” I asked.

“Unclear,” came the immediate reply. “But it's on every planetary body in the system and deep space that we can read.”

“Even the ice giant?” I asked, looking at the main display again. A blue-green shine glared back from the planet, with striations and variations in color that had appeared to be ice.

“It appears to be moss, or mold of some kind, sir,” came the eventual response. “No brain function, I don’t think there’s any people here. Just the mold.” My hobb sounded confused.

On every screen in the Crown of Thorns, gray fog suddenly encroached. MortMobile’s head appeared, his expression strained. As if holding agony at bay.

“Help me,” he whispered deafeningly into our minds.

The crew reeled from the psychic incursion. I shook it off sooner than the rest of them and could see the screens as the gravity drive activated. My helmsman poured gray smoke, nearly collapsing over his console as his hands worked its controls.

We lurched and were in the orbit of another planet in the blink of an eye.

The psychic deity let go and my helmsman nearly fell out of her chair as she bent to vomit. Another hobb staggered in to take her place, barely better off. The ship slid easily into a high orbit as I looked down at the planet MortMobile had taken us to. The star hung larger in the black behind it, cresting the planet and shedding bright light across its surface.

The planet was the same shade of green as the ice giant, with similar striations. I looked at Terna. She shrugged and turned back to the screens, holding one hand to her temple in pain.

My hobbs were still recovering from the violent psychic episode, so I sat back and waited instead of barking orders. After a few minutes had passed the effects eased and my bridge crew recovered and started producing data via the scanners.

The planet was roughly Earth-sized and had the same readings as the ice giant. Flooded with vaguely defined life.

“You’re certain it’s the same kind of life? How can something thrive on such massively different planets?” I asked.

“I don’t know Sir,” came the immediate response. “But it's definitely the same stuff, whatever it is.”

“The ship is reporting an infection,” another hobb suddenly added. “It’s isolating the substance, we picked it up when we first encountered the debris field. Some of it made contact with the hull.”

“Show me,” I said.

A screen flicked to the main viewer, showing a small ball of green fuzz, held a few inches off one of the ship's many thorns.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Some kind of advanced plant life Sir,” a hobb said. I glanced over. He was a planetary sciences specialist, part of the crew used for exploratory missions. “An algae, perhaps? Possibly a fungoid mold. It's unlike anything I’ve seen before, the ship had to use its gravity drive to ensure no particulates were left. It’s incredibly virulent.”

Deep scans started to come through from the planet’s surface. There were ruins of massive, sprawling cities that covered entire continents. Shipyards, planetary defense batteries, even what had once been palatial estates. My ship’s scanners showed me great stone works, all covered in a thin layer of soft green fuzz.

Nothing moved, but I got the vague sensation of the mold creeping across the planet. Like a memory, I imagined how it spread, eventually covering the homes and factories. A blanket, laid across ground and bodies alike.

MortMobile came into my mind again, this time far gentler. He felt so close, so unlike I had ever felt him. There was a strong undercurrent of fear, and a tremendous wall of pain held at bay by sheer will. He whispered in my mind, and my attention was drawn to one of the planet’s three moons.

It was the biggest of the three and covered in green mold like every other planetoid body in the solar system. Information filtered into my head, each small burst woven with gray fog. I saw a structure on the moon, steps, and a row of towering figures.

“Can we land?” I asked.

“I don’t recommend it, sir,” replied the planetary sciences specialist. “That mold will definitely infest anything it makes physical contact with. The Crown of Thorns is having to police each individual particle in the mass, it keeps trying to spread back to the ship.”

I swiped up the screen showing us the small ball of fuzz. It was reaching out a tendril, slowly seeming to grow on itself in an attempt to reach the ship’s hull.

“Eject that once our scans are complete,” I said. “And ready my ship. I’m going down there.” I pointed at a screen that superimposed itself on the main viewer. It showed the moon.

My ship was a standard Brisingida class demolitions cruiser. I had flown a similar craft in the Church war, but a Beholder had destroyed it. I didn’t hold a grudge, since I had been using the ship to kill it at the time.

“I’m coming,” said Terna. When I looked at her, she nodded and frowned. “He’s in my head too. Begging,” she muttered. “Why is he begging us to find him?”

“I don’t know, but something is wrong,” I answered. My expedition was not going the way I had hoped. I had more questions than answers.

Within ten minutes, I was in the Brisingida cruiser. I carefully pressed the raise and lower intentions pedals as I picked up Terna. She had brought her own vehicle, an Aeremo tank that she insisted was up to the task of transporting us once on the planet’s surface.

I offered to just use my ship, but she insisted her tank was the answer. It could hover and was capable of identifying foreign contaminants and eliminating them. To this effort, it housed an expensive shield system. The Crown of Thorns also helped in the effort, pushing down on the moon’s gravity as we approached, flattening the mold out and making it less likely that a tendril would grow up and infect us in the first place.

It was still a risk, my science officer had told me. But my starfish suit would handle any infection I got, and Terna insisted she was protected as well. She boarded her tank in normal clothing, so I shook my head and gently lifted the vehicle in my ship’s arms.

When piloting a Brisingida, mental control was important, as were good reflexes. A single intrusive thought, for example, wondering about how well the Aeramo’s armor would stand up to the atomic breakers in the ships arms, and you could inflict terrible harm. Fortunately, my mind had become a steel trap thanks to years of exposure to the Aimed Shot perk patch.

It also allowed me to eyeball my flight paths. There was no requirement for advanced computation, orbital mechanics came to me as naturally as breathing.

I concentrated on holding the Aeramo, and simply followed the psychic pull MortMobile was putting out. It felt like a longing, a desire to go in one direction. There were no words for me anymore, just the implanted emotions.

He was a mess. The compulsion to travel toward him came laced with elements of his own experience. His anger, his terrible well of fear, and his overwhelming grief felt like a river sweeping me along. Wishing to help someone I had once considered a friend, I just went along with his desire.

I hovered above the ground roughly two-hundred feet after I passed through the moon’s thin atmosphere. It had sparked wisps of bright pink plasma against our hulls, but they quickly faded. The pull directed me to a massive city on the moon’s surface. Most of it was intact, the huge carved stone buildings and mechanical defense fortifications all covered in blue-green fuzz.

Slowly, I became aware that we were travelling through the capital of this solar system. The city was extravagant at every turn. Even the ancient streetlights still showed a hint of gold through their mossy covering. I flew around a giant structure with two gaping smoke stacks aimed at the sky. In place of a dome, they had terraformed the moon to provide it a breathable atmosphere. What little of it remained had once been puffed from the structure, before it stilled forever and became home to the same creeping green death that covered everything else.

Before I had left the Crown of Thorns, I had ordered several thorns fired at high normative velocities. The ship stayed in touch with each thorn as it hurtled through the solar system, feeding the mothership data as they went. My science officer reported that the probes were reporting the same substance on each and every planetoid body they could read.

The entire solar system, and beyond, was covered in still, silent moss. It grew on ice, land, and covered any bodies of water in a slick. I expected the solar system’s Oort cloud, once my thorns reached it in a few hours, would also host the strange lifeform in abundance.

MortMobile’s psychic pull suddenly intensified as the crown jewel of the lavish city came into view. A palace, towering on the moon's surface and nestled in the center of its sprawling capital city. Carved pillars clustered inside the palace’s militarized border, each standing as tall as a skyscraper back home. Atop the pillars hulked gun batteries and fighter bays tucked cleverly into alcoves. The still warships dripped green.

I floated us over the main defensive walls, with their silent gun towers. My cruiser lowered into the courtyard and I gently set the Aeramo down. Terna’s vehicle stopped a few feet short of the ground, and produced a wave of wrinkling heat from its underside that wilted the green moss away.

With care, I flew out of my own ship and into the Aeramo’s open top hatch. The energy barrier flickered at the top as I passed through, allowing me inside before immediately putting its defenses back up. Inside the Aeramo tank, I was pleasantly surprised to find a comfortable environment.

The cabin was spacious, sleek alloy panels lined the walls featuring high-tech, touch-activated controls, each of which emitted a comfortably soft glow. The seats were well-designed but old, comfortable high-density foam cushions covered in durable fabric that had obviously been patched by hand many times over the life of the vehicle. A long sofa dominated the rear of the turret, allowing for wonderful rest and relaxation wherever the tank ended up sitting in wait.

It wasn't all fun and games though. Despite its capacity as an apartment, it was also obviously a command station and center for strategic planning. Various screens ran on without sapient interference, rolling lists of data across the screen providing continuous data: environmental scans, system diagnostics, encrypted communications, and detailed topographical maps.

As I checked out our surroundings, Terna moved to the command chair, placing a large helmet over her head that extended over her eyes. She was wearing armor I had never seen her in, something pure white and quite formidable-looking. I allowed BuyMort's ad prompt to flow over me, informing me of her gear.

The Arcti-Cool Anti-Ballistic Scalesuit, Command edition from Deerkon Armoured.

Features knock-out protection with the Arcti-cool designed Xavier grade Dodge-and-Run AI. Monitors self and squad armor health, physical health, and points out possible flaws in enemy defenses and protective materials. No hype, no claims, just facts. That’s Deerkon Armoured. Serving professional soldiers since the beginning of time.

4.6 stars, 7,000,000,000 morties.

Before her was a bank of monitors, but she was staring at something in her own HUD that wasn’t showing on screen. With a flick of her fingers, the image appeared on a monitor near me. It was a scan of the structure’s interior.

The main doors were thrown open, one hanging from an oversized hinge, supported from below by thick wads of the mossy material. Terna pointed. “There’s power in there. A single room, it looks sealed from here. Completely self-sufficient, and closed off from the rest of the structure.”

“Take us in,” I muttered, staring at the screens.

The overgrown palace around us had once been a towering beacon of its civilization, a place they poured their resources and effort into, and where craftsmen had shown their best. The figures carved into the pillars and walls appeared humanoid, but with the life form covering everything, each scene was perverted. Lumped upon, given shapes of sheer madness coated in hanging moss.

The tank moved so smoothly I barely noticed, and its heat shield kept the lifeform at bay. Globs and entire sections of it that covered walls and ceilings fell on us but were burnt and pushed away from the tanks plating. Always the patch it had fallen from kept its covering, just thinned by the mass it had tried to infect us with.

I became more convinced it was intentional the further into the palace we went. Fortunately, the Aeramo was up to the task, burning any plant matter that came too close with its incendiary shield system. We hovered silently through the palace, following a straight line through open doors to reach our destination.

Atop a set of stairs two stories high, a large gold box sat where a throne should be. Hulking statues of armored figures stood guard, moss-covered hands resting on the hilts of towering swords. We hovered silently past, the Aeramo’s lights shining against gold showing beneath the moss.

Whatever it was, it didn’t like gold as much as everything else. It was still there, but thin, barely covering the surface. The great cube of it hulked over us, strips of the lifeform hanging from its corners. It featured an obvious door but had no other visible features. The pull from MortMobile was stronger than ever, and its source was right behind the door.

As the hover-tank slid into place the psychic pull shattered into agony. The mind behind the door begged us to open it. To blast it apart if need-be, he just wanted it open. Needed it open.

Terna scowled and rubbed her temples for a moment before turning and manipulating her tank’s controls. “There’s a digital signal. Aeramo can read it, give me a few minutes to translate and we should be able to control the door.”

The psychic pressure increased and my hobb companion moaned in pain. She shook her head to clear it and pressed a few buttons on her console. Then, mere seconds after we had arrived, the great golden door hissed as it unsealed, releasing a hermetic seal. It opened outward, wide enough to allow the Aeramo easy access.

A wave of relief hit me from MortMobile as I saw him for the first, and last time. Inside our minds, he sighed and whispered his thanks.

Chapter 65

MortMobile was an emaciated humanoid, completely bald. He was ensconced in a medical throne. The seat was part king’s throne and part advanced medical bed, with intravenous lines and gold filigree in equal amounts. Tubes and wires fed into and out of MortMobile’s flesh, and he looked down on me with ancient, tired eyes. He was bigger than a human, even seated he was over twelve feet tall. A giant compared to me.

“We have to collect him,” I said.

“You go out in that and it's going to fall on you. It seems intentional, and the mass above us right now is already growing. I’m getting a feed of the data the Crown is gathering on this stuff, it looks like it could survive your dimensional gateways. If you use your armor, it’ll have to be replaced,” Terna told me. She was still plugged into her tank’s various data feeds. “I can use the flamethrower to cover you though, that seems to slow it down at least.”

I frowned. “Now that we’re here, BuyMort is here, isn’t it?” I asked her.

She nodded. “It will forget this place again once we go, but yes. We are infested, so where we go it comes with us.”

“Crown of Thorns, I have a general order for the crew,” I said into my comms. The ship was on an open band, listening to us and recording everything we said. The Knowles on board had insisted on a full recounting.

“Go ahead Sir, you’re patched in,” a hobb replied.

“Whatever this green material is, it’s dangerous. We can’t let it get back to our universe, so I want a full quarantine. Nobody touches or sells anything from this universe. It has to stay out of the BuyMort system, or whatever happened here will happen to us too,” I told my crew.

Every soul on board listened, absorbed, and respected the information I gave them. They were all working with two living legends among hobb society. Anyone chosen for a mission with us approached that mission with a sense of reverence, and with the weight of the multiverse on their shoulders.

“Yes sir,” replied my crew member. “Shipwide channel closed.”

I turned back to Terna. “I’m going out there. If I can’t get clean, don’t let me back inside.”

She nodded once and turned back to her screens. “I’ll cover you,” she promised.

I floated up and out of the tank through its top hatch, which quickly slid shut behind me. The shield wasn’t going to lower for me, so I deployed my armor and passed through its scorching area of effect. The armor’s surface heated, which protected me from the immediate dump of material from the ceiling.

Terna’s tank fired a globe of crackling fire at it, which caused the mass of green fuzz to explode, raining down around us in cinders. What landed on my armor immediately began to spread, heat damaged or not. Its blackened surface quickly reverted to green and it spread across the plates of my armor in tiny patches.

I flew inside the giant’s formerly sealed room and mentally commanded my suit to replace the armor. Each infested plate lifted outward and fell to the floor, as my suit’s tendrils began drawing fresh sections from the turbine, one after another. Within seconds, my entire suit of armor had been replaced and I didn’t have any more of the mossy mold above my head to worry about. I focused on MortMobile.

His room had a power reactor in the back corner, hooked up to his medical throne. Tubing covered the giant’s nudity. Once the hermetic seal was broken, his sanctum immediately began to fall to the mold.

“We have to move you,” I told him. “How do I disconnect you from this throne?”

“You don’t,” he immediately replied. “Just go. Your work is done. Our deal is honored. You have freed me.”

When he spoke, his lips didn’t move. The words appeared in my mind with the full weight of his emotional turmoil. He was terrified, furious, and grief-stricken all at once.

I glanced behind myself. The Aeramo dodged another mass of green moss as it plopped down from above. The tank turned after its dodge and belched white flames, immolating the mass. More of it crept inside with us, slowly growing closer on every surface in spite of the flames.

“Why?” I asked him. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

“You have,” he sighed. “You should go, while you can. Leave me to my fate . . . and go seek yours.”

“I have to know!” I yelled. “I have to know how to beat BuyMort! You did. You held it away from this place, this entire universe. Tell me how!”

The giant’s eyes watered behind his breathing apparatus and he moaned in agony. “I paid a terrible price,” his voice said, when he regained control. “I made a deal, and the machine honored it.”

The moss behind us crackled as Terna continued to fight it back. She swept the tank’s flamethrower across the threshold of our room, but all of it that she burnt regenerated quickly and kept coming. I hovered into the air to avoid it, and to be at face-level with my host.

“I was king, here,” he whispered in my mind. “When the machine came, it infected all of my people, and me. I controlled my worlds, my armadas, my every asset. The price paid for BuyMort’s suspension of service was my fleet, and my servitude. I gave it something of equivalent value to leave us be and dedicated my mind to its service. My people were spared its horrors, only to be consumed while my mind was afield. There is-” he broke off, choking back the weight of his dead empire.

“There is no one left,” he choked out. “No one.”

Another light pattering of mold landed on my suit, and I floated forward out of its range, giving the suit the order to replace itself again. This time, something landed on my scalp while the plates were gone, and it immediately began to itch and burn. My suit scalped me without hesitation, but I ignored the sensation. My Aimed Shot perk patch had given me the ability to fine tune my own pain responses. The drug it used to flood me with was no longer necessary.

Green moss crept onto the base of the throne and made contact with the giant’s naked legs. I hovered closer, watching as my suit replaced my scalp and reinstalled my hair, before clapping my armor back in place. More mold fell on me, but I waited, watching MortMobile.

He flinched when the fungoid mold touched his bare skin, but the sensation of relief that flooded from him nearly overwhelmed me, holding me in place in spite of the falling mold particles.

“I am free,” he whispered in my mind, green crawling across his entire body.

His presence faded, receding from my mind as his body began to convulse. Then he stilled, and his mind was gone completely.

“Tyson!” Terna shouted.

I turned and flew back toward the tank. Mounds of burning moss were piling up all around it, trying to grow through the heat shield. “Go! I’m behind you!” I yelled back.

Terna hauled the Aeramo in a tight circle and began racing back to my ship. My armor was infected, but I kept it up. The suit could only replace all of its alloy a few times before requiring significant recharging, and I didn’t want to touch anything in this universe in order to charge it.

We rapidly retreated through the structure, back into the courtyard my ship was hovering over. The mold, moss, whatever it was, had grown up from the ground in a large lump and was infesting my ship. I pushed through the Aeramo’s heat shield and flew underneath it, lifting the tank into the sky above the overgrown city.

Abandoning the Brisingida cruiser, I pushed my suit and lifted Terna’s Aeramo higher. Once we had cleared the city, she dropped the shield.

“Thank you, Tyson,” she said. “Was this trip worth it?”

I glanced back at my ship, being consumed by green fuzz, and sighed.

“I think so,” I replied. “MortMobile has been released. That’s not nothing.”

“I felt his relief,” she reminded me. “We spared him terrible pain. We gave him the death he wanted.”

“I doubt that,” I answered, floating through space toward the Crown of Thorns. Ahead of me, the Aeramo tank ejected the plate of armor I had held onto while pushing it. The infested metal fell back past me, small hairs of mold reaching out for me as it went.

Once we got close enough, the Crown of Thorns took control of us both with its gravity drive. I discarded my own armor plating one final time, allowing the advanced ship to push it away from us as we approached.

The ship’s gravity drive was our best defense against the fungoid mold. It isolated each particle of the virulent plant life and pulled it away from us. Even the burnt stuff kept healing, kept growing. Once the ship’s scans declared us clean of infection, it drew us inside and docked the Aeramo in its bay.

Terna and I floated up to the bridge platform once more and I ordered the ship home. Before we engaged the BuyMort gate, I had the Crown of Thorns lift it gently out of the planet’s rings. It was also covered in fine specs of green, so we had to wait for the Crown of Thorns to clean it before we jumped out. The process took several hours, and gave me plenty of time to think.

It felt like a defeat. We hadn’t learned where to go next, and the entire universe was quite literally a dead end. My long range thorns reported the fungoid mold on every planetary body they could scan, as we had suspected. Whatever it was, it had likely killed an entire universe.

I sulked, sullenly staring at the ship’s various screens as we waited for its work on the gate ring to be complete. It went slowly to avoid causing any damage to the ring itself, but the Crown of Thorns declared the ring safe for travel roughly twelve hours after we had arrived in-universe.

With a nod, I ordered our jump home and braced for the lengthy travel time. Being outside of the shared flow of time and space, I felt MortMobile’s final emotions again.

He had made a deal with BuyMort that allowed total service denial within his home universe. At that point, the system essentially cut itself off. His mind was trapped within the BuyMort machine’s various systems and services, always focused on universes outside of his own. The deal he made ensured he wasn’t aware of his own people’s doom, until I lightened his load enough.

Then his mind had snapped back home to emptiness, and mass death. Whatever his universe had been before BuyMort, his sacrifice hadn’t saved it.

I felt an odd, unusual rush of fear at the thought. Even a creature as powerful as he had been helpless to save his people, his world. What hope did I have?

I was nothing but a drugged out loser from a shitty campground. He had real power, and even he was helpless to save his people from BuyMort.

We arrived back in normal space with a jolt, and Jupiter hung huge on the various screens. Terna looked up at me, then scowled when she saw my expression.

“He made a deal with the BuyMort,” she said. “That is why he could not save his people from it. You are not the same.”

I cracked a small smile at the hobb woman. “I might be. He had so much power. His abilities.” I shook my head and sighed. “His abilities were real power, and he couldn’t save himself from BuyMort. Maybe it's inevitable. Part of who we are.”

She shook her head violently. “No. Never. It is only a machine.”

I scowled but kept her gaze. “We form our tools, and thereafter they form us,” I answered.

“My people were not formed by the BuyMort,” she said. “They were destroyed by it, but never formed. I used to believe the BuyMort was a living thing. A manifestation of evil that possessed people and stole their souls. I know how you feel now, I spent much of my youth dealing with the same thing.”

“How can we fight it?” I asked quietly.

“We are fighting it, Tyson,” she replied. “It is a system, we must fight it systemically. The changes in our affiliates will grow and spread. We simply need to wait.”

“Time,” I said with a sigh. “Is something we have in abundance.” I raised my voice and faced my crew. “Take us home,” I said, and the crew obeyed. Those who had heard Terna and I speaking kept their silence. Her and I together inspired a new kind of loyalty in the hobbs who served us. Even our words together were treated with reverence.

Once back home on Nu-Earth, I started to let time slip away from me again. Terna returned to her own world, and our plan moved forward as rapidly as it could. Within a decade of our first expedition, profit sharing had become a normative affiliate practice. Homelessness was all but unheard of, and responsible dream purchase habits kept crime low.

Mel, my artist friend from the campground, would occasionally dip in and provide commentary on my work, but I never saw her again. She remained a hidden entity, living a life in secret away from her identity as the multiverse’s most famous artist. Instead of direct commentary, she painted murals in strategic locations.

Some were happier with me than others, but overall I kept her content. She was focused on sapient rights, and I rarely made any mistakes in that category. Storage reform in particular was something I was focused on, in that arena.

My prefabricated tunnel-cities were working, and people in Storage were safer. Gobb raids were down to almost nothing, and the sapient peoples of Storage were living in something approaching harmony.

I still regularly visited Nozzle and his tribe, using their calm wisdom to guide my hand when it came to gobb relations. Within a few years, trade had been established between several of the local tribes and my first set of tunnel cities. Trust began to grow anew.

Gobbs, and occasionally hobbs, tended to prefer independence, while the rest of the sapient races on Storage grouped together. The tunnel cities, funded by local taxation, ensured security and productivity. After my first decade back in power, Storage was producing nearly half of the multiverse's food. The thought of Storage turning anyone a profit had been discarded centuries before my time, but I made it work. There was more than enough land and workers already there, all I had to do was make the place livable again.

BuyMort experienced population growth, system-wide. Our worker-friendly policies were ensuring that people felt comfortable and secure enough to have families, while profit-sharing initiatives spread wealth and growth throughout the known universes.

Quality of life polls were on the rise, and overall people were happier. Most of the system’s various wars were easy enough to solve once I took over. Some of them took time, but peace ruled in the place of conflict.

Some years after my first expedition, Axle passed away quietly in his retirement villa. His presence hadn’t been felt since my return, so the people of Nu-Earth barely took the time to notice his death. He had died surrounded by aids and staff, instead of family and friends. I buried him, with the Knowle Institute of Record’s help. His final resting place was in an above-ground burial chamber on his Library’s extended grounds.

Where we had once faced down swarms of wild yarsp and idiot militias, flowers now grew in the desert. Axle’s mausoleum stood dark against the backdrop of vibrant desert wildflowers, and I said goodbye to yet another friend.

It was with shock, standing outside his last place of rest, that a sleek, black pod floated lazily through the air and beamed in a small package that plopped on the lawn at my feet. It turned and left, happily whistling its transaction-complete sound.

The box had a paper sticker attached to the outside. It was emblazoned with a brand that read “BuyMort Living Will Services. Axle.”

Memories rolled through my mind, and my hands shook as I flipped open my knife and slit around the box, before opening its cover.

Inside, on a small square of silk, was Mr. Sada’s bull’s head ring.

Chapter 66

Letting go of time, allowing it to pass me by without care, became a major focus of my life after Axle died. He was a reminder of what systems do to people, if given power over them. All that he did, for an entire century of my absence, was turn the crank on the machine. He kept BuyMort going, played by its rules, and allowed its atrocities to occur as a natural part of the multiverse.

My goal of tearing it down contrasted with his leadership. Status quo wasn’t anywhere near good enough for me, but I was restrained by the sheer quantity of lives dependent upon my actions.

Of course, people died every day. Some died of accidents, others old age or illness. Crime claimed a few more, even under my benevolent rule. But no longer did anyone starve. Even those in Storage always had enough to eat and lives worth living. Despair was becoming a foreign concept to my people, even as I worked to undermine the system they had lived with their entire lives.

People born into BuyMort didn’t typically bother believing that there were other possibilities. The system demanded too much of them. Too much time, too much effort, too much blood. If I tried to change it overnight, they would rebel. Hopelessly injured, people would fight to protect the system that kept them from power.

My profit-sharing initiatives, while excellent for raising prosperity and quality of life across the multiverse, sapped my own power. Morties were power, under BuyMort, and the fewer of them I had in proportion to those around me, the less power I had to enact change. In the earliest days of my rule, I kept the mortie exchange flowing in my favor. My base of power stacked up into numbers that were so large as to make no sense to the human mind.

Knowles were better about scale, but even they would struggle to fully encapsulate my fortune so others could understand it. But, for the first few decades that I ruled, I kept enough morties on hand to buy every other affiliate under Silken Sands simultaneously if needed. The brute force of my mortie reserve ensured my seat of power.

As the years passed, and morties began to spread more among my subjects, that power waned. I kept my lion’s share, using it to push the system to better my people’s lives and stabilize their various conflicts. As I did this, I instilled a sense of reverence in the people of BuyMort.

My altruism began to outweigh the warlord title I had acquired in my youth. Among the people of BuyMort I was thought of as a wise immortal. A human born to lead. Someone who not only held power but deserved it.

No one recognized the way my mind worked or knew about the crystalline colonies in my brain that led us all inexorably closer to my goals. Instead they saw me as their benefactor. I became capable of pulling my own consciousness back from the present, viewing the timeline I wanted to manifest, and pushing the levers of power to realize it. All without harming those under my protection.

Profit sharing was just the first step. It instilled a sense of ownership in the workers who kept my civilization running. Instead of punishment for failure, success was rewarded. Effort and merit began to produce profit, in the place of oppression and exploitation.

People began to genuinely care about their workers, and workers began to genuinely care about their affiliates. The mindset toward morties began to shift. Instead of being a treasure forever beyond their reach, morties became a normative tool of daily life.

My personal pursuits took a backseat to the daily operation of my affiliate. For years Terna did more work to distance us from BuyMort than I ever could. My focus was on peace, stability, and prosperity, as I had promised in my campaign.

On Terna’s World, things progressed back toward her vision more every day. She worked on pushing BuyMort off her world ship one section at a time. As our food dependency switched from Terna’s World to Storage, she was free to pursue her goal of independence from BuyMort.

More and more self-contained portions of her world ship became BuyMort-free zones, their people living No-Mort lives. Traffic to them was closely controlled, but press attention was allowed and encouraged. The story of life without BuyMort grew in relevance, until a resort opened on Nu-Earth promising BuyMort-free vacations. It marked a turning point in the culture.

The resort paid for service stoppage on a small island off the coast of China, and people came from the world over to enjoy a weekend off from their daily grind. The entire resort was built around the lack of BuyMort, treating its absence as a desired luxury. While on the grounds, even the icon in the corner of your vision was removed. Many customers noted that as their favorite part of their vacations in the reviews.

My goal began to manifest itself. People began to want freedom from the system. They began to think of BuyMort as an obnoxious necessity, a system they had to work within to sustain themselves. Worship of BuyMort as a god had fallen to almost nothing, and the last vestiges of Church cultural influence waned more with each passing year.

In its place, Terna led our shared culture. She was another leader in the BuyMort system that had elevated to legendary status in her people’s eyes. Those on Nu-Earth had their perception of her altered as well, the rebel leader that had held off BlueCleave and found victory through non-violent regime change. Hobbs began to unite under her banner, even those from BlueCleave. The rift between the hobbs of Terna’s World and BlueCleave began to heal, as violence became rare on the world ship once more.

Each new section of her world ship that managed to transition away from BuyMort reduced its influence in the solar system. Less pods were in the air, and fewer fruition centers plagued the land. I saw to it that they were each demolished when the time came, including the more difficult facilities we found in space around our worlds.

In orbit of each major planetary body that BuyMort operated on, was at least one pod hangar satellite. These facilities were relatively small orbs that housed inactive BuyMort pods and deployed them to nearby orbital vessels as needed. Of the many BuyMort structures we regularly demolished, these carriers gave us the most trouble.

The need for pods was far more random in orbit than it was on the ground. Ships, passing through or holding position, would often have needs only BuyMort was capable of addressing conveniently. In response, dormant facilities would often become active for short periods of time before going dark again. This made scheduling their demolition more difficult than other facilities, and even caused BuyMort to rebuild them in some cases.

Each satellite was roughly the size of a football stadium and contained a few thousand pods. Attacking them had a tendency to bring swarms of energy-sucking celestial jellyfish, which were a major threat to my fleet in particular. They required energy weapons to kill, and each one of them was capable of both swarm and individual behavior patterns. Chasing them all down before they drained the reactor of a nearby civilian vessel was a chore, especially because we had to use different ships for the job.

Our sand star frigates were completely useless against the glowing creatures, with only minimal damage dealing potential at a huge resource cost. Only the radioactive ammunition tubules from the Sandcasters could damage the jellyfish, and even they typically only slowed the creatures down. Feeding them too much was the only real way to destroy them quickly, and none of my relic fleet ships were focused into energy weaponry, instead relying on gravity-controlled kinetic warfare and atomic breaker technology.

To that effect, the Boing spacecraft affiliate provided ships. The sleek fighters came with three primary weapon’s systems that could eliminate the threats. Phased energy cannons were built into each ship’s spine, feeding directly from its on-board antimatter reactor. Secondary charges could be dropped, which would seek the jellyfish and then explode within range to overwhelm their digestive tracts, but those were dangerous to our own ships and risked further BuyMort intervention. The star of the show was the ship’s specialty shields, without doubt. I didn’t mind paying for the relatively useless weapons suite, because of the shields. Each sleek fighter’s shields could be temporarily accelerated to create an explosive energy radiation effect, in essence turning the ship into a large bomb that could explode multiple times.

It was a common tactic among our pilots to overcharge the shield’s explosive burst, drawing in the swarms of glowing jellyfish, before releasing it to great effect. During operations civilians on the ground often reported seeing the bright flashes in their night sky, which combined with orbital craft reports to bring press swarming to my demolitions.

Questions were asked, publicly, and then speculated upon endlessly. Old reports of my supposed war on BuyMort began to resurface and I was forced to answer for my military’s actions. Excuses about routine orbital clean ups gave me a couple of years before the questions were able to sharpen, to better reflect what I was actually doing.

Eventually I gave them the answer they sought. I confessed to the multiverse that I intended to slowly, but surely, remove BuyMort from our multiverse altogether. I explained that the process was still several generations off from realization, and that no one would be negatively affected by it thanks to meticulous planning. When pressed, I outlined the plan in detail, making the entire endeavor public knowledge.

The response was mild. People cared, but only as a point of interest. Some few were outraged at my dishonesty during the campaign so long ago, but I explained it away as an evolving decision. Something I had come to after my return to power, as yet another way to improve people’s lives.

Debate and discussion went back and forth in the public forum, as captains of industry, military leaders, and Knowles from the Institute of History weighed in. The conversation cycled for another year, headlines occasionally pushing various new thoughts or questions.

My demolitions became a normal part of life within BuyMort, and secrecy was no longer required. We destroyed the pod hangar satellites, cleaned up the celestial jellyfish, and nobody cared enough to do anything about it. Normalization of anti-BuyMort activity progressed at a natural pace.

While I worked on the day to day business of running my affiliate, the Knowle Institute of Record worked on my standing request for more defunct gate addresses. They sifted through sales orders and receipts, timestamps and location coordinates. The work of collating data, at boring desk jobs only Knowles would value, occasionally produced something important.

Our relic hunt was real, and the goal of all that data scraping was to find relic storefronts. Eventually the trail of receipts always led to one. Two decades after my first expedition, we found our biggest hidden treasure yet.

From a time before MortMobile, my relic hunters found not just a single storefront, but an entire world’s worth of abandoned storefronts. If the receipts were to be believed, there was a BuyMort-operated city waiting to be found that predated the Church by two thousand years.

Another distant universe became worth direct investigation, and with the discovery of its gate coordinates, my next expedition was formed.

Chapter 67

Seated once more at the helm of The Crown of Thorns, with Terna at my side, we left Nu-Earth for the Jupiter gate, a full complement of hobbs and relic ships aboard and ready to deploy. We included the Boing fighters with their array of energy weapons, just in case.

I felt a thrill of excitement as the gate accepted our payment. Rainbow light flashed out to us and we were travelling the multiversal flow. Sensation trickled into our minds as the trip went on, stretching beyond sixty seconds, and then another sixty. Calcified strands of frozen universes thinned as we shot higher and higher, travelling up the multiversal flow and back through BuyMort’s history.

A dark spot on the brilliant, shifting background grew larger, focused in the center of our perceptions until it engulfed us and the BuyMort gate spat us out into normal space. The Crown of Thorns immediately scanned our surroundings and pulled up the nearby planet on screen for us to see.

It was a terrestrial planet, roughly equivalent in overall mass to my own home-world. White clouds swirled over blue oceans and green continents.

“Why is the gate here?” I asked Terna, seated at my side.

She shrugged and shook her head. “The BuyMort prefers larger worlds, gas and ice giants in particular. It is cheaper, the rings consume less fuel adjusting orbits over time, or to avoid collisions. Each ring has a complex scanning suite, designed to inform the BuyMort of not just its customers, but any dangers it may encounter as well.”

“Long-range scans?” I asked the hobbs serving. It was a different crew than the last expedition. Nearly two decades had passed between them, a new generation of BlueCleave had come out to serve.

A young hobb woman turned in her seat, her braids swinging like a curtain as she faced me. “No other planetary bodies in-system, sir!” she reported. “Large debris fields though, could indicate planets that were destroyed.”

“Well at least that explains the gate. No other planets to attach it to,” I muttered. Terna nodded, staring up at the main viewscreen.

“Sir!” another hobb shouted. “Collision alert!” The hobb swiped up their console’s screen onto the main viewer and I took in the mess of the planet’s upper atmosphere. It was littered in technical debris, the remains of space stations and ships that had been torn apart floating in various orbits, creating a cloud of sharp metal to deal with.

The gravity drive kicked in to automatically protect our ship, shoving bits and pieces out of our way as we slid into high orbit. The BuyMort gate was high enough to avoid any of the floating junk, but scans showed all five LeGrange points were full of demolished technology as well. Streaks of red plasma sparked from the planet as the junk we pushed down burned up in the atmosphere, creating a small, localized meteor storm.

“We’re fine, son,” I said to the excited hobb officer. He was young and beyond eager to be on board. “The ship won’t let something like that hit us, no matter how dense the field. She’s fended off much worse.”

It was good to remind the hobbs that served under me how old and powerful our capital ship really was. They already shared reverence for the ship that helped free their ancestors from the Beholders.

The hobb nodded and turned back to his station.

“Give me a full scan, and send out long-range probes,” I ordered. Within seconds, several thorns fired and began their journey out of the solar system.

“There’s power!” another hobb called out. “We have readings of electronic equipment on the surface, in what appears to be a city.”

“Life? Beside the vegetation?” I asked.

My hobbs were silent as they worked their consoles. Then one said, “Unclear sir! Plenty of life on the planet, but none of our visual scans are picking up anything conclusive aside from wide-spread plant matter.”

Another hobb swiped her screen to the main viewer. It showed an aerial view of the city twinkling with lights and small flashes of neon color that couldn’t otherwise be seen from high orbit.

I squinted and pointed at a dark line cutting through the city. “What is that? It looks like damage.”

“The planet appears to have hosted an orbital elevator sir,” a hobb called out. “There’s wreckage in high orbit indicative of a platform, and that appears to be the cable on the surface. It fell to the planet, and crushed part of the city.”

I frowned. “Means there’s likely no sapient life down there, if nobody bothered to sell it. Space elevator cable is specialized gear. Even damaged and sold to BuyMort directly, it’s worth a fortune.”

“I see movement,” Terna muttered. “Could be No-Morts.”

I looked closer, activating my enhanced senses, and she was right. The streets of the city, where intact, had small shapes moving to and fro along them. I frowned.

“Take us in,” I ordered. “I want to deploy to that city. Ready a squad.”

One of my hobb officers lifted off the bridge and started floating toward one of our other platforms in the ship, to gather hobbs for the away-mission. The Crown of Thorns descended, slowly enough to avoid reentry plasma. We kept our view of the city, rising on all the screens.

A glittering pyramid in the middle of the city was our intended infiltration point. The Crown of Thorns carefully lowered us to within a hundred feet of the pyramid’s tip and opened the bay doors to show us all the city below. Mechanized vehicles roamed the streets in lines, hovering to a stop briefly at storefronts or apartment buildings before moving on again.

There were no people, and light growths of ferns and vines had sprung up in the empty spaces left to them by the army of robotic vehicles. Vibrant signs projected colorful light at the passing taxis, showing their wares to the empty seats inside.

A squad of one hundred hobbs stepped off the edge of their staging platform and began floating lightly down to the pyramid’s surface. The Crown of Thorns controlled their descents with the gravity drive, and the hobbs landed in a ring around the top level of the pyramid. Heavily armed and armored, each hobb spread out and began securing entrances.

The top cone of the pyramid was clear crystal, lit from within, and illuminated a resort setting across the top floors. Dry mud baths, empty restaurants and bars, and plenty of luxury accommodations with the skeletal remains of bed frames filled our landing zone with a sense of dread.

The bars had ancient bottles of colored liquid, and handrails of solid gold ran throughout the entire facility. So many morties worth of goods had been left behind that many of the hobbs started to whisper about ghosts. Their superstitions ran deep, but they stayed disciplined and cleared the top floor before Terna and I arrived.

She set down and pinwheeled her arms, before giving me a look. “I do not like your gravity drive,” she said, before walking into the top level of the resort. Her armor whispered as she moved.

I smiled and followed. Serving butler robots approached our hobbs and offered them empty trays, while small cleaning robots followed behind them and shined the floors. Grime had only accumulated in the corners, where the disk-shaped robots couldn’t reach. In one corner, a cluster of tiny ferns had sprouted, contrasting the white marble flooring with a splash of natural color.

“What is this?” I asked Terna. “Why is all this left behind?”

She shrugged and poked one of the serving robots. It slid backwards in the air, before hovering back up to her with its empty tray. “Nobody sold them,” she grunted, before moving into another room. “I don’t think there are No-Morts. They would use a place like this to make tools, or possibly live in if they could remove the robots.”

I nodded and we continued exploring.

The building’s elevator still worked, as did much of the technology present. It had clearly been built to last, with high quality polymers and alloys that didn’t wear down over time. Most of the lighting appeared to be constructed of crystal, with vibrant inner light glowing to illuminate each room. In some areas we found broken robots or dead advertisement projectors, but for the most part it all worked. I directed our search lower, and we entered a high-end shopping mall.

Empty hanging racks indicated where clothing had once been sold, but plenty of storefronts still had goods in them. I approached a shop, pausing to let its automatic crystal doors slide open, and picked up a small device from a counter near the entrance.

It looked like a phone with no screen, and the shop sold similar devices, all of its shelves still filled. I found a button on the device and it lit up a projection against the floor, showing me a recording of smiling humanoid aliens, with tall, pointed ears, all gathered in the shop I stood in, looking at a device exactly like the one I held. They chattered in a language I couldn’t understand, and then all laughed at the same time.

Above me, a track in the ceiling activated, swinging out a small, clawed bulb to hover over the shelf I was in front of. It lowered a new device into place and then raced back into the wall, vanishing through a tiny door that closed behind it. A hologram sparked into life behind the shop’s counter, and an elf said a few words I couldn’t understand.

I raised an eyebrow, but walked over to the countertop. The hologram gestured to the device in my hand, then to the counter at her side. A display lit up, showing the device surrounded by complex scrawl I couldn’t understand.

At the bottom, a mortie amount gently flashed. My own HUD activated and the shop’s request came through. It only cost a few hundred thousand morties, so I paid it just to see what would happen next. The projection smiled, bowed at the waist, and said a few more words in their language, before fading from view.

I shook my head and turned back to our escort. “Spread out. Report anything of note, but primarily focus on mapping this facility,” I ordered. My hobbs obeyed.

None of them worried overmuch about leaving Terna and I undefended. We were both legendary warriors in their culture, and I was well known for being impossible to kill. My return after a century in space only solidified their view of me as immortal.

I pocketed the device and followed Terna as she walked out to explore. The shopping mall, which it clearly was, extended down for nearly three dozen floors, most of it open in the center. Each level had stores and restaurants, as well as public, paid restrooms and elevators at convenient distances from each other. Most of them still worked too.

As we walked, the levels shifted away from shopping and toward residential. Small grocery stores with nothing but stains on their shelves were packed in with apartments that called to us to rent them at exorbitant rates. We walked and hovered down a few levels, before I found a residential suite with an unlocked door. It hissed as it opened at my touch, suggesting a hermetic seal.

Inside a pair of mummified corpses clutched each other in the center of a dark stain. Dust motes swirled as we entered. Both bodies had small tears in their leathery chests, and crumbled as we entered.

The device in my pocket activated, so I produced it. It projected a scene across the room, showing us the two victims as they ran inside the room and huddled together. As we watched, a group of angry humanoids burst in and fired weapons at the pair on the floor. They screamed, died, and the crowd dispersed.

When the device didn’t offer anything else, I frowned.

“What was that?” Terna asked.

“I think this thing shows you recordings that it can pick up,” I said, pointing to the ceiling above us. There was a strip in the ceiling with lightly glowing LEDs. “I think that’s a camera strip. Before in the shop, it showed people buying a device just like this.”

I turned the device over and thumbed the button on its bottom. The scene played out again, painted across the make-shift tomb with dancing lights. I stepped out into the main promenade and pressed the button again.

Digital ghosts appeared, packing the walkways and filtering in and out of stores and residences. Then the scene flickered and the people were running, fighting, and dying by the hundred. Heavily armored humanoids stalked the mall, shooting the unarmored and walking over their corpses. All of them had the large, pointed ears that made me think of high elves, but their weaponry appeared conventional.

They fired small, bladed darts, I discovered as I learned how to manipulate the device to slow down the footage.

I followed a stray shot with my eyes as it punched into a nearby wall in a flash of sparks. With a finger, I scraped at the wall and uncovered the small indentation in the wall it had left. From nearby, a tiny robot scrambled out of a concealed door at the base of the wall. It quickly climbed the wall to where I had scratched away its paint and reapplied the repair. Its task finished, it retreated back into its hidden compartment.

“They massacred themselves,” Terna muttered, her eyes narrowed. “But why?”

I shook my head. “We’ll keep looking, but I don’t know that it matters to us. This society is long dead,” I replied. “Like the hobbs said, just ghosts here.”

Terna nodded and we continued exploring the mall. It was packed with empty residences, lively stores, and plenty of items for us to take or sell. About half-way through our first day, I summoned Knowles from the Institute of Record to come and document everything, before we started selling it.

Our expeditions were expensive, and the last one hadn’t offered us anything thanks to the virulent mold that had claimed the entire universe. This place, however, was a treasure trove. Their fabrics had all turned to dust over the millennia, but most of their tech was still intact. The robotic taxis hovering around to and fro on the roads outside were worth plenty of morties each, as was the road they all worked on.

Knowles, hobbs, and humans filled the dead city, selling or claiming items in my name as I traversed the mall with Terna and gathered more recordings. Terna and I met with each team, handing out directives, and focusing our manpower in the right directions. Some items were of note to the affiliate, while others were worth nothing but the morties they would fetch on the open market.

We kept any weapons or security-related tech that we found, allowing BlueCleave engineers to go over it and ensure nothing there would threaten their supremacy in our own universe. Knowle nutrition specialists from the Institute of Record catalogued and tested any alcohol, and started the long process of reverse engineering any medications they could find. All of it would go toward my own flourishing civilization.

The security strips ran everywhere in the mall, and my little device was perfectly happy to access them and show me various scenes of murder and despair. But it wasn’t until we reached the bottom floor that we discovered the real reason things had fallen apart.

Disease.

On the ground floor of the mega-structure, a hospital stood empty to the naked eye, but it was full of digital ghosts when my device activated. It showed me crowds of sick elves, all clustered together in the hard seating. Other elves, wearing masks and gowns, walked among them and administered medicines that calmed coughs or quieted pain, but didn’t save any lives. I watched several scenes showing a steady degradation, until the inevitable charge of the armored elves ended the hospital too.

Terna frowned as she watched. “They do the disease’s work for it,” she said as the scene finished. All the bodies and scorch marks on the walls and floor were long gone, and a small maintenance robot hummed quietly across the floor in front of us, polishing a pathway through the empty waiting room.

“The plague must have destabilized their civilization,” I replied quietly, following the robot back deeper into the hospital. Medical equipment, thousands of years old but built to last, was plentiful. No drugs or medications had lasted, but there were plenty of high-end scalpels, robotic medical beds, and other assorted goods. None of it would go to waste, now that we had found this treasure trove.

But first, I wanted to complete our investigation of the planet. I had Knowles combing through the various buildings to catalogue everything, but close behind them were hobb technicians selling or collecting any item worth a mortie.

In the back of the hospital, I found a locked room, still hermetically sealed like the apartment we had found the elven mummies in. Once I broke open the door and entered, I immediately raised a hand to cover my face. Dust from crumbling mummies filled the air, swirling in tiny eddies as the door disturbed a long-forgotten tomb. The room had been crowded.

Video footage started to play over the scene, showing us the massacre that had taken place before digging further into the records. In projected light, we were shown two doctors meeting over the still body of a patient. Their words were foreign to us, as with all of the various recordings we had watched on that planet, but one of them activated BuyMort, and our nanites translated for us.

I hit the button on my device, freezing the projection to inspect the BuyMort window.

“Welcome to BuyMort Unlimited!” the advertisement read. “Your one stop shop for all informational services. I see you’re attempting to access disease management. Would you like some assistance?”

“What is BuyMort Unlimited?” I mused, staring at the projection.

Terna’s face paled, and her eyes widened at my words. “BuyMort’s living memory,” she breathed. “I did not believe it was real, but my people once spoke of this place. It holds much information, if you can afford the cost.”

“And this is a physical place?” I asked.

Terna nodded, still staring at the floating advertisement in front of us.

“Well,” I said. “Sounds like we have our next expedition.”

Chapter 68

BlueCleave had always done what I needed of them, since the earliest days in the campground. Even when that task meant restructuring their entire military organization, they never let me down. In the years following my return to power, BlueCleave adjusted its primary operational parameters from military occupations to civilian expeditions.

They were still warriors, the hobb culture valued that life path too much for BlueCleave to abandon it, but now they guarded scientists and adventurers instead of fighting in wars. The change was taken in stride, with most hobbs serving in BlueCleave approving of their new way of life. It was easier and far more interesting to serve as security detail during an archeological expedition than it was to fight and die for the profit of their bosses.

Of course, their services were in use on most planets, in some form or other. Even if all the local BlueCleave soldiers did was clean up dream storms, each hobb took pride and pleasure in being a structural part of what made their civilization possible. Most hobbs had history living without real civilization and knew how fragile it really was.

Even during their rise to prominence in the BuyMort system under my rule, the hobbs of BlueCleave understood their critical role in the daily operation of society and lived up to the awesome responsibility on their shoulders.

The ones that typically signed up to provide security on my expeditions were specialists of some sort or other. Armed hobbs were sprinkled throughout my own expedition crew to fill in necessary roles in addition to their security duties. Some taught free climbing to the staff as a popular form of exercise. The Crown of Thorns gravity drive ensured that no one was in any real danger from falls, even if the climb was taking place on the surface of a planet.

Others were skilled in rapidly assessing and successfully navigating various jungles. This skill in particular was something hobbs all thought of as noble, primal, and part of who their people had always been. Storage had once been their home, and much like the gobbs, hobbs had needed to survive its wilder sections. Even during the Sleem’s occupation of the megastructure, hobbs had flourished on Storage.

Our expedition to BuyMort Unlimited leaned heavily on this particular aspect of hobb culture. The planet our coordinates had led us to was a verdant, lush jungle world. The planet had oceans, but with constant steamy cloud cover, and a vibrant young star nearby, every scrap of land was covered in jungle. Once we had arrived, we had promptly stopped the ship in orbit to allow BlueCleave’s various jungle specialists to arrive.

Trail blazers who knew how to naturally fend off biting insects while guiding our people through the overgrowth were placed on each continent, with materials to establish base camps. The only strange thing they reported was a nearly complete lack of animal life beyond the insect or simple arachnid families. Nothing that could use BuyMort.

Then, on day two of the expedition, I found what we were looking for. My own personal searches were done by flying at low altitude and high speed over the jungles, in mapped outlines my helmet kept track of. My Aimed Shot perk patch allowed me to not only adjust my course to meet such an exacting flight path, but actually see everything that swept by beneath me in a blur.

Just south of the planet’s north pole, buried in a crowded thatch of hardwood trees and hanging vines, was a library that put Axle’s on Nu-Earth to shame. I noticed it because of four ivory towers poking out of the dense foliage, but my helmet lit up with its electronic signature.

According to the scans the Crown of Thorns provided, a vast underground structure accompanied a modest surface-level castle with high walls and towers. The facility was long-abandoned, but alive with power. My anti-magic helmet’s scans indicated a geothermal source far below the lowest levels, feeding every inch of the gigantic library.

I went in by myself for a first look, and once through the top of the forest cover BuyMort Unlimited sprawled out before me. Trees had taken root in the grounds, and some of the walls were disrupted by root growth, leading to crumbled sections and more overgrowth. Entire chunks of it were invisible beneath the thick jungle.

Near the center of the compound, a great gaping entrance allowed free access to the library, shrouded by vines, roots, and overgrowth. I approached, floating through hanging vines and snapping them free while ignoring the impediment. Broken strips of crystalline lighting responded to my presence with faint glows and the odd occasional working spotlight. The light showed my path forward, and I floated along, following it while I stared at the walls around me.

Every inch of every surface in the cavernous structure was filled with symmetrical rows of thin rectangles, each with a glowing dot. I stopped to press one, and the rectangle slid out from the wall, before turning on its side and projecting an image into the air above it.

A scantily clad reptilian woman danced while tinkling music played. Next to her came the holographic projection of a prompt box.

Scans have indicated your race to be-bebe -be Nu-Earth, human. (onsite matrix glitch – error 147, transferring services to nebula-based backup services) Ghjskdl slkdkdjr

I watched in fascination at the broken box, two raised point-and-click boxes sitting at the bottom just waiting to be selected. Unfortunately, at the moment, one was labeled Garbarba and the other was named Joobab.

However, the situation resolved itself with a ding, the box morphing into intelligible text.

Welcome to BUYMORT DIRECT OUTLET ARCHIVES! Sapient-to-sapient services are currently unavailable. Nebula-backup activated. Switching to version 1.21 Beta Crunx. AI-activated!

I arched an eyebrow at this news. Wasn’t the AI always activated? And what was version 1.21 Beta Crunx? I wasn’t sure, but I was positive this place would give me my answers.

Scans indicate your race to be Nu-Earth human, language English. Upgrade your experience with our translation services for just 10% more! Interested?

“What is going on here? How don’t you know my language is English?” I growled, but went ahead and selected the Yes button that was now so clear and readable. Moments later, the dancing reptilian woman’s heretofore unsettled growls and whistles became language. “Ooh yeah, Clutchling. Fertilize my eggs so that I may devour you completely,” she crooned.

My mind stirred as an ad rustily spun up, its video and sound quality dramatically reduced from what I was used to. Blocky 16 bit mental graphics declared:

“Saurian Sensations™ — Where Evolution Meets Euphoria — From BuyMort Plus”

“Unleash your primal instincts with Saurian Sensations! Immerse yourself in the exclusive, handcrafted collection of ethically sourced saurian fetish experiences. Now featuring our groundbreaking TyrannoPassion series—satisfaction guaranteed, or your morties back!

Subscribe Today for unlimited access, personalized content algorithms, and live interactions with your favorite saurian stars.

Only 15,000 morties per month – because fantasy is priceless.”

Notice: Viewing preferences will be logged for marketing enhancement and personalization. Sign up to Saurian Sensations Plus to opt out.

I frowned and pressed another. While the first continued its video, another rectangle slid out and began its recording. In this, a creature very much like a Knowle stood on the stage of a crowded auditorium and began lecturing in a guttural language that I couldn’t understand. Accompanying his words was writing, appearing to the side of the recording. I couldn’t read the words, but assumed it was subtitles for whatever lecture the creature was giving.

An accompanying ad jostled its way forward in my mind, replacing the cursed provocative display with the same lecture hall as the record, again distorted and lower quality. The g’kal lecturer spoke directly to me, giving me all of his earnest attention as he gestured toward a molecular model spinning lazily to his right side. “Atoms,” the alien intoned with gravity, “are the foundation of all things. Only morties separate you from ultimate understanding.”

BuyMort Institute Lecture Series – Atomic Structures Simplified

“Knowledge is power, and atoms are the building blocks of the universe! Join the g’kal Institute’s esteemed Professor G’rex Otharax for a stimulating lecture on Basic Atomic Structures. Suitable for all knowledge levels, from curious mammalians to aspiring quantum overlords.”

Special Offer: Only 45,500 morties! Includes lifetime access and a g’kal-approved completion badge.

A struggle began, something I was very much unaccustomed to, as the Saurian ad rose again and was batted down by the lecture. This was something primal and ancient, old BuyMort with very old technology and marketing capabilities. The ads took turns vying for attention, their visuals overlapping in a chaotic barrage, the saurian’s throaty growl competing with the g’kal’s impassioned call for atomic enlightenment, their voice rising higher and higher.

I suddenly understood. Like with the platforms of Nu-Earth, BuyMort had different versions that had “upgraded” through the centuries for “functionality”. Here, cut off from the main network, without personnel of functioning automatons and entirely abandoned by customers, this place’s BuyMort app had been left in whatever version had been in place at the time.

It was honestly Impressive that it could interact at all with the version implanted in my mind. My occasional work at the computers in Happy Trails Campground had me tearing at my hair, each computer an older version than the last and running an older operating system. It often took hours to get a file to work on one that was created on the other.

I pressed my fingers to my temples, working to make sense of the two simultaneous ads as they jostled for attention. I was tempted to try to use an ad-blocker to stop it all. But this was so novel, and so historical, that I was determined to stay the course.

Still, something had to be done, or at least tried.

“BuyMort, one ad at a time!” I commanded. It all paused, an ancient setting menu rising into view with the lower graphics quality but well recognizable insignia of BuyMort in the upper right corner. It had so many settings, so many things that weren’t available to us in our modern, brain-installed version of the app, and it was such an obvious consumer-friendly thing for the market to have. Something that had evidently been updated out of the system in subsequent “upgrades”.

Passing such sliders as PAUSE SERVICES WHILE SLEEPING, and DISABLE NOTIFICATIONS, I shook my head in wonder. I selected an option for Ads-On-Demand, paid 150,000 morties for the adjustment, then took the advertisements one at a time, quickly realizing something crucial. Here there were no affiliates, no associates. No third-party sellers. This was BuyMort, nakedly peddling both wisdom and vice.

I pressed a handful more buttons, and where the pressing root damage allowed, more rectangles slid out to show me a taste of their knowledge, running ads into my mind in their low-quality, ancient way. Some were broken forever, their buttons dark, hardwood root structures protruding. As I started to understand what I had found, I realized how much loss that involved, even if only limited to the top few sections of the library.

BuyMort’s memory, Terna had said. The ads in my app confirmed my suspicions, the facility held a database of all media that had ever passed through the BuyMort system. It had made copies and stored them, for future profit.

I pulled up my active mapping system and overlaid it onto my HUD. Below me sprawled a mega-city of chambers, more and more lighting up as power restored itself and prepared to receive customers. The structure was built most of the way through the planet’s crust, nearly eighteen kilometers worth of library.

Axle would have had a religious experience, I thought as I idly pressed more preview buttons. Each threw an ad in my face for one thing or another. Much of it was sexual in nature, which I quickly realized was a matter of course. Sapient creatures all shared an instinctual drive to procreate, which made sexual activity in various forms common and profitable, when it came to information storage and presentation.

But it was so much more than pornography. There were full university-level lectures and research files for every science I had ever known, and a few more on top of those as a bonus. Company employment records were tucked away in with animated films, math theses, and untold exabytes of music. Everything that could be thought of and put to record was stored within BuyMort Unlimited.

BuyMort’s memory. Damaged by time and with some gaps, but primarily intact and ours for the taking.

My Knowles were going to lose their minds over my find, and I took a handful of moments to soak it in myself before the library’s location became known to my fleet. Before an hour had passed, I discovered that Knowles had a cousin species no longer represented in BuyMort known as the g’kal. They were lankier and generally smaller in stature than Knowles, but clearly shared their passion for knowledge. Most of the university clips featured g’kal or Knowle lecturers.

The Crown of Thorns noticed my relative lack of movement and sent a ship to investigate, at which point the library became the immediate focus of my expedition fleet. Brisingida cruisers floated above my position, gently pulling away vines and removing trees that impeded scans, as a team of hobbs and Knowles followed me into the library itself.

I had migrated down a few levels, just pressing buttons and browsing the various samples, flicking some ads to the side for later, and dismissing others. The structure was fascinating, in an absolute way. None of our team members were immune to the urge of watching more samples. I found no identifiable sections to the library, and the files were all seemingly randomly placed. As it progressed, I realized BuyMort had sorted them by price, at their point of installation.

The structure seemed to have built itself inward, from the surface down. It was shaped like a toy top, with massive underground passages sprawling out from a central pillar for hundreds of kilometers through the crust, in shallow tunnels where the pressure was higher and heat more of a problem. I avoided my teams and ignored comms as I explored, figuring they could wait.

An entire constellation of data files were mine to browse, and I quickly became addicted to the act of sampling them. My estimated bill after only two hours was bordering on a ten billion morties. Each file was reasonably priced, but some that I stumbled across were more interesting and potentially lucrative than others.

BuyMort Direct Outlet Archives Invoice – Session Summary

Session Duration: 2 Hours

Total Files Accessed: 237

Itemized Breakdown

Basic Access Fee: 50,000 morties/hour (2 hours)

Subtotal: 100,000 morties

File Downloads:

BuyMort (142 files): 500 morties each

Subtotal: 71,000 morties

BuyMort Premium (53 files): 50,000 morties each

Subtotal: 2,650,000 morties

BuyMort Plus (12 files): 100,000 morties each

Subtotal: 1,200,000 morties

Real-Time Translation Services: 10% surcharge applied to file translation costs

Translation Subtotal: 395,000 morties

Search Optimizations & Metadata Access: Flat rate of 200,000 morties/session

Subtotal: 200,000 morties

Impulse Selections: 650,000 morties

Miscellaneous Fees

Data Archiving for Long-Term Access: 750,000 morties

Memory Compression (Avoid Overload): 1,000,000 morties

Estimated Total:

9,116,000,000 morties

In particular I kept product blueprints. Several items that I found were flat out relics. Things that, if we could build them at any sort of scale, could drastically ease our society’s daily functions. A power source that drew seemingly unlimited energy from quantum entangled black holes within a single universe was of note. The device would capture micro-black holes within an observable universe’s bounds, then drain them of all energy and convert it into whatever form required. According to the ads, it didn’t even require maintenance once produced.

I was also transfixed by relic construction equipment. A drone that would consume an asteroid’s mineral content and use it to print another version of itself could be used to rapidly terraform entire solar systems, with only minimal risk of grey goo scenarios. Proper programming was required, and the entire thing had a kill-switch that could be used to shut the drones down if anything went wrong.

Creative weapons accompanied new starships and new types of food. Self-pollinating, hardy crops came with the DNA of insects that would cultivate them as part of their natural life cycle. At the end, both meat and carb-rich starches would be abundant for small start-up costs.

Starships that could slip between one planet and the next using pre-installed high-orbit beacons would provide a railroad network for any planets in a solar system, dramatically reducing costs on transport for items between worlds.

Education plans designed to cater to neurodivergence within a society would ensure that each person living in it would have a chance at success, in whatever field they desired. This included pre-recorded lectures, as well as highly customized lesson plans on a variety of subjects.

I continued to float in the tunnels of BuyMort Unlimited, browsing ads and watching samples until a squad of starfish troopers finally caught up to me, three hours after my arrival.

“Warlord!” the leader shouted, as they floated around a nearby corner. I glanced in their direction, but ignored them, instead turning back to my latest ad, a tea-brewing terrarium that grew its own variety of consumable plants.

Once it finished its pitch, I flicked it aside and turned to face my hobbs. The leader of the squad hovered up in front of me, wearing full starfish suit armor and casting spotlights from their shoulders.

“What is it?” I asked quietly, reaching to press another sample button.

“Sir, Lady Terna is requesting your presence topside. There’s a problem,” the hobb reported, his voice threading through the suit’s speakers.

I frowned and turned my comms back on. The Crown of Thorns was recalling all of its squads at Terna’s urgent orders, which replayed for me when I checked the main command channel.

“I repeat, we have discovered a community of No-Morts, all teams immediately retreat to the ship. Extraction will be automated once you reach the surface.”

“No-Morts,” I breathed. “Here?”

Terna heard me and responded. “Yes Tyson. No-Morts. They’re everywhere on this planet, and we’re at risk of reinfecting them. Our expedition is too large. Fall back and we can plan our next step. We have to do this carefully.”

Chapter 69

Back aboard the Crown of Thorns, I met with Terna on the command bridge as our crew pulled the ship back to the BuyMort gate. It hung in orbit of the solar system’s largest planet, another ringed gas giant.

Once we were in the gate’s activation range, Terna called a stop and declared us at a safe distance. Then she turned to speak to me.

“Tyson, there are so many!” she exclaimed. “If the tribe we discovered is to be believed, there are potentially millions of No-Morts on that planet. Possibly as many as ten million.”

“What’s our play?” I asked.

Terna blinked a few times and shook her head. “Right now, nothing. We watch long range scans, looking for BuyMort activity. If we see none, we stay away.”

“Forever?” I asked. “Do you know what we found there?”

She nodded. “Yes. BuyMort’s memory.”

“It’s not just BuyMort’s memory, it's everything we need. It’s every product, blueprint, advertisement, or media file ever passed through the BuyMort network. The technology alone, Terna . . .” I drifted off with a sigh.

She nodded, arms crossed while I spoke. “Our presence there will bring the BuyMort’s focus back to this world. These No-Morts have been without BuyMort for hundreds of years, many of them no longer have knowledge of it. The tribe we discovered found us, after BuyMort Unlimited had already started coming back online. They came to stop us from going inside, and said that a monster lives there that would destroy us all if we disturbed it.”

“It would be devastating for them, wouldn’t it,” I said. It wasn’t a question, but Terna nodded emphatically anyway.

“They do not even have the icon. My tribe had icons, and we had not touched the BuyMort for over one hundred years before they were taken,” she explained.

I sighed again. “We can’t go back down there,” I muttered.

“It may be too late already,” she said. “We cannot know for certain unless we see BuyMort activity on the planet. With our fleet and expedition this far out, and the gate already active, we shouldn’t cause any further infestation. But again, it may be too late.”

I nodded and Terna left, floating across the ship’s open central area to one of its arms where her quarters were stored. I stared after her as she went. The library on the planet was too valuable to just ignore, but I couldn’t disregard her words on the matter either. In spite of myself, I weighed the lives of ten million No-Morts against the advancements my society stood to make.

With a shake of my head, I pushed the thoughts out. No matter what decision was to be made eventually, the first thing we had to do was wait. The Crown of Thorns kept pulsing its sensors, mapping out the solar system and paying close attention for BuyMort activity.

We quickly found a pod hangar orbiting the gas giant with us and locked in on it to watch for energy spikes. Several more carrier satellites were focused on as the scans continued, including three in orbit of the jungle planet. Mere hours later when we picked up the energy spike we had been dreading, the pod hangars all came online within seconds of one another, and pod traffic to the surface of the planet began.

I called Terna back to the bridge, but in the background of the communication window she already had the scan screens up. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she responded to my summons, and she said nothing as she arrived on the bridge.

I waited a handful of moments, giving her time to get her emotional response under control, and then I pulled up the jungle planet on our main screens. “Tell us what to do, Terna,” I said. “Tell us how to help.”

She wiped her eyes and nodded rapidly, before turning to the screen. “We must provide emergency aid,” she finally said. “Their world is irrevocably changed, all we can do is help where we can.”

With a nod, I pulled up BuyMort instant communication services and summoned the rest of the standing BlueCleave available force. My affiliate also put out the call for any sapient interested in providing emergency aid, and millions of volunteers appeared over the next few days. My affiliate screened the candidates and funneled them into various aid pushes that were scheduled in stages.

Over a hundred thousand BlueCleave hobbs arrived within the hour, accompanying the Foregone Conclusion and a massive amount of emergency supplies. Food, clothing, medicine, construction material, powered tools, and vehicles all stuffed the star-shaped craft’s various holds.

Terna began organizing units by recruiting her own No-Morts. This meant the No-Mort would lose all progress they had made in refusing BuyMort’s use and their service was considered a noble sacrifice. It meant they wouldn’t be able to go home after they were done. They would have to relocate to beginning hab-blocks, where BuyMort use was still common.

But their expertise was critical, as each led aid expeditions to the planet’s surface. They would know better than the rest of us how to help those on the surface while minimizing BuyMort involvement and related damage.

As quickly as she was able, Terna organized a squad for us to return to the tribe she claimed had found her. The location was within a hundred miles of the library, so I joined her. We descended to meet with tall, lanky g’kal tribesmen, as other parties began reporting both the canid-humanoids, and what appeared to be high elf remnants.

Both groups kept their distance from one another, living segregated tribal lives. While the elves of the world seemed to have a better grasp of masonry and craftsmanship, neither of them was at even an iron-age level of technology. The chaos the different groups of sapients caused while interacting with BuyMort immediately led to war between the species in more than one location.

A j’kal man claimed and sold an elven cemetery and the elves responded by selling a sacred mountain that the local j’kal used for coming of age rituals. My team managed to catch the mountain sale, being the only customers in range aside from BuyMort. With a surprisingly cheap price tag, we got it put back within hours, but the two species were at each other’s throats.

There were deaths. More vandalism and damaged land between the various factions continued across the globe. My hobbs were forced to dart and relocate entire populations, while Terna’s No-Mort coaches went to work trying to guide the populations through their new reality. Importantly, they offered a return to life before BuyMort. A path back to what their lives had been before our arrival.

A day passed without access to the library, and then another. Before I looked up, a week had gone by while I did nothing but put out fires, some of them literal. Whales from Nu-Earth became a problem, as they accessed the planet’s oceans and began a fire sale on everything they could point their sonar at. We sent whalers to hunt them, engaging BlueCleave’s submersible fleet and reining in the kleptomaniac ocean-dwellers.

Most other species respected our request to leave the planet alone, unless with BlueCleave aid groups, but the whales of Nu-Earth were notorious pirates. We hunted, darted, and relocated dozens of the thieving mammals, levying fines against them to stop the practice.

The expenses piled up, as my expedition provided no financial income. My mind started wandering toward the library more and more.

Our teams had a marked effect on the planet, but the damage was primarily done. The locals' way of life was forever altered, and many of them didn’t survive the experience. Terna and her people applied heroic effort, and even established three new hab-blocks on Terna’s World for refugees.

While all of this was going on, I directed groups of Knowles back to the library and began the long process of ransacking it. I wanted that place taken for everything it had, and the small army of Knowles I assigned to the project shared my sentiment. They set up shop inside the library itself, building a small base camp that was used for rest and resupply before squads would head back into the tunnels, carefully cataloguing each advertisement.

They started a large, comprehensive data hunt that paid for the entire expedition within days. A week into the planet’s chaotic tragedy, we established the first black hole syphon generator in the Milky Way and began powering all of our various settlements and civilizations using its output. It caused upheaval in dozens of industries, but my iron grasp on my affiliate kept things from spiraling out of control.

I reorganized the entire affiliate around the abundant energy supply, while aiding Terna’s humanitarian operations on the jungle planet, and keeping a close eye on the library’s output. Anything my Knowles found that I thought would benefit my civilization I latched onto.

Within a month of our discovery of BuyMort Unlimited, all of our populated worlds no longer required food imports. Within another month I had installed a network of slip-gate capable ships to handle the multiverse’s shipping needs. Each universe grew more insular, as I guided all of our civilizations toward post-scarcity status. With our energy needs met and exceeded, my long-term plans started to manifest.

Six months after our discovery of BuyMort unlimited, the only reason ninety-nine percent of all sapients traveled between universes was tourism. The people of the jungle planet had entered BuyMort against their will, but many of them chose to stay. They made homes on several planets in-system and integrated into our growing society.

When BuyMort had come to my world, it had tipped our fragile balance and caused us to immediately destroy ourselves. In spite of my best efforts, the vast majority of my world’s eight billion inhabitants had perished.

On BuyMort Unlimited’s home world, the death toll from BuyMort’s re-arrival accounted for less than one percent of their total population. Through careful intervention, we had rehomed just over a million people into our various affiliates and associates scattered about the multiverse. The rest we worked with to help return to their way of life before BuyMort.

BlueCleave enforced a strict quarantine of the planet, and only my Knowles on the library expedition were allowed long-term access. The Knowle Institute of Record became completely focused on the library and its contents, and I funneled morties to the cause as often as I could spare them.

Terna saved the No-Morts of BuyMort Unlimited and helped guide my own efforts to narrow BuyMort’s interest on the planet. We relocated the tribes living closest to the library facility, and repeatedly demolished BuyMort pod hangar satellites and fruition centers that it tried to build all over the planet. Each demolition was carefully controlled and used the summoned bugs to pay for themselves.

Everything worked, from the top down. I guided our systems to serve the people who lived under them, and my rule went uncontested. The various pieces of technology I brought out of BuyMort Unlimited helped in that regard. I carefully chose which to apply, and constantly guided my affiliate toward universe-based independence.

With my focus on the affiliate, I only looked up from my work when the new library produced something interesting and six months after our discovery of BuyMort Unlimited, it produced a whopper.

BuyMort’s first gate. With a shaken sense of calm, I ordered my hobbs to prepare another expedition. This time, I told them, we were heading to the origination point of BuyMort itself.

Chapter 70

Terna joined me on the expedition, as had become our tradition. She advised caution and guided our fleet with new No-Mort security protocols as my second-in-command. While she still supported our mission of exploration, she was wary of disturbing another colony of innocent sapients.

The trek through the multiversal flow went on long enough for our senses to perceive more and more of the calcified strands we traveled on. They wound around each other and hung still in the midst of movement all around. The sense of unnaturally fixed points blew by us as we hurtled up the thinning strands, until we finally climbed the last length. All around us the multiverse flowed, hurtling by at breakneck speeds and blurring the boundary between our bubble of space and the multiversal flow around us.

Then it was over, as we reached the top of the flow and plunged back into real space, at BuyMort’s home. The gate spit us out into an energetic nebula, and BuyMort’s home base loomed massive on our screens. A glittering tube-shaped citadel hung in space, with long, fine arms jutting from its external hull. Lightning strikes coursed back and forth along the network of metal arms, streaking out of the greenish-blue clouds of energized gas.

The nebula was violent, and our ship began taking stray bolts of energy, sparking from thorn tip to thorn tip. Glowing blue strips of light shined from the giant space station, especially thick at the structure’s connection point with its energy-gathering ganglia.

“Sir, scans are scrambled from this storm!” one of my hobbs reported. Even our viewscreens flickered and buzzed with static when the nebula discharged into us.

“Take us around, behind the structure,” I ordered. The station was slowly rotating, its own spin waving its many thin arms in predictable patterns. The effect was beautiful, the structures whip-arms spiraled around its cylindrical core. As it moved through the nebula, it drained it of energy for miles in every direction.

The station was massive, at least five miles in length, with a hollow space running through its center that appeared to be filled with atmosphere. I saw strips of green on the inside of the tube, along with blue bodies of water.

We pulled the Crown of Thorns in closer to the rear of the station, and without the nebula’s lightning strikes, our scans started to produce interesting images of normative buildings on the inside wall of the tube. We nestled in between the many flowing arms near the rear of the craft, hiding among them like a fish in seaweed.

“We’re being scanned, Warlord!” one of my crew announced. I rolled my eyes at the title but ignored it.

“Weapons?” I asked.

“Nothing obvious,” came the reply.

“Rev up the gravity drive,” I ordered. “Have it on defensive standby for incoming weapons fire.”

I stared at the screens, each showing a different section of the station. Mixed in between the green land and blue patches of water, I focused on silvery constructs rising from the inner walls of the station’s cylinder. The Crown of Thorns noticed my interest and magnified one for me on my personal viewscreen. It looked like a skyscraper, jutting from the midst of a cluster of smaller buildings.

“There could be No-Morts,” Terna whispered, but she was staring at a different cluster of buildings, this one stretched partway onto the surface of a placid lake.

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “Not this close to BuyMort’s source code. In fact, I’d be surprised if we found sapiency in this universe at all.”

The hobb woman looked up at me, concern evident on her face.

“Don’t worry,” I said, holding up a hand. “Full cautionary protocols are in place. Sensors, fire a thorn through that cylinder, I want to know more about it.”

A hobb barked obedience, and the ship launched a thorn. The projectile traveled slowly, passing through the open center of the station and sending back video accompanied by comprehensive scans. There was plenty of power all over the station, but no obvious signs of life beyond carefully cultivated vegetation and trees. The station reacted to the thorn as it traveled through, projectors casting long-defunct, company-born non-affiliate advertisements at it.

Long journey? Feeling grimy? BuyMort’s Insta-Clean Groomer—just press, spritz, and radiate success! Now available in Executive Compliance Black!

A shimmering ghost of an advertisement wavered in the dark, the word’s shiny silver text outlined in gold. A grinning bald alien extending empty, shimmering hands before vanishing into static. Another ad sputtered into view directly after, half-obscured by digital corruption:

Mornings are murder! Why fight them alone? The husband, another alien of the same variety, took up a mug with shaking hands, his face contorted in pain and longing. Practically throwing the fluid into his mouth, closed his eyes, swallowed, and relaxed, his posture straightening. His previously dull and unfocused eyes snapped wide open with the intensity of a nuclear sunrise.

“RAAAGH!” he screamed in heartfelt relief. “WHAT A RUSH!”

Strolling forward from off the screen, another alien shook his head, chuckling. “What would life be without a bit of Buy-Morning, every morning, in your mug? Buy-Morning offers a tremendous litany of benefits, ranging from 72-hour alertness to increased speed, stamina, and mental prowess. Supercharge your morning with Buy-Morning.”

The projection zoomed past the tweaking alien to a gleaming, vacuum-sealed container sitting upright on the counter behind it. “BUY-MORNING” it proclaimed, in fiery bold letters.

The ad cut and there was another, all ad copy that seemed nothing like the stuff we'd all experienced under the system. There was a surreal and antiquated feel to them, ghosts of ads marketed to beings that had long since gone extinct. No doubt the creators of the system themselves. We stared in awe. After everything we'd all experienced, it was a bit like meeting the Great Spaghetti, in person, meatballs and all.

“Take us in, this place is abandoned,” I ordered. “All that remains is BuyMort.”

A shaky hobb helmsman nodded and directed the Crown of Thorns to enter the station’s open air core. The ship glided smoothly in, approaching what appeared to be a spaceport near the station’s rim. As we approached, various ads popped up for me, Terna, and our helmsman. Each requested payment for docking, as well as various add-on services like maintenance or refueling. Several were no longer available, which BuyMort told us after it told us those services existed.

I authorized payment for a basic docking package, ignoring the various addons it offered, and we set the Crown of Thorns down on an oversized pad. Even with the sheer size of the relic ship, it was barely a dot on the landscape of the station. Above us, a central core ran the length of the station, with heavy support beams jutting out to the inner wall in various locations. For miles into the distance, glittering metal constructions rose to indicate former bastions of civilization.

Carefully, my team and I disembarked. Terna had us all under strict orders not to accept any BuyMort ads, just in case there were No-Morts living on the station, but as soon as I set foot on it, I knew we were alone.

Streets stretched out in eerie silence, their pavement pristine but dusty and long undisturbed. Shops stood, some with their doors ajar, neon and holosigns flickering off and on half-heartedly, casting fractured reflections onto shattered interiors. In some, automated sales assistants looped their greetings into the void—”Welcome, valued customer! Special deals inside!” Their voices crackled and whined, age having obviously wound them down as they sought for sales in what I was beginning to expect was a tomb.

Homes also lined the avenues, their windows dark, their interiors a tragic tableau of violent finality. A table broken in two, plates shattered and desiccated mummies piled against a cracked wall. A child’s reptilian plushie lay there, still sputtering with automated life.

“Hug me!” its AI sputtered enthusiastically. “Derni, where are you? I miss you!”

I cracked a little inside, thinking of the child who must have loved it as much as it obviously loved her, and wondering how long it had been pleading into the darkness.

A holographic billboard zoomed to life overhead:

“BuyMort Mortgage Services: Your Home, Your Future! Missed payments? Apply for emergency credit—Acceptance guaranteed! Live the dream! Live on BuyMort Central!”

Further in, the signs of violence sharpened. Charred impact craters pockmarked the walls, melted railings sagged like wax figures, and the rail infrastructure, though operational, carried only ghostly momentum—tracks still powered, trams still waiting, their doors closing and opening on scattered debris and the long-deceased.

There was more. Quarantine signs and disease warnings were plastered throughout the city area. Some homes bore biohazard sigils, their locks fused shut, holo-warnings jittering staunchly in their thresholds. Portions of the station were overgrown while others had died out and left barren patches of dust in carefully carved out striations. Only the gardens remained untouched. Robotic landscapers staggered about them, snipping hedges and sowing the soil, while drones sprayed mist over top.

My squads spread out and began to explore. The Crown of Thorns deployed Brisingida cruisers, and they began slow flyovers of other locations across the station. All of it seemed dedicated to BuyMort, with ads emblazoned onto crystalline windows.

I started paying closer attention to the tourism ads flickering through my HUD, swiping all the others away one after another. The algorithm responded by narrowing my results, and while I kept a few interesting options to investigate later, I primarily focused on BuyMort itself.

EXCLUSIVE VIP ACCESS: TOUR BUYMORT CENTRAL! SEE WHERE IT ALL BEGAN!

A golden ticket icon spun in place, pulsing eagerly, as a crackling audio narration began to fill my mind.

“Curious about the magic behind BuyMort? Step inside the heart of Uncle Bezi's dream market, of the people, by the people, and for the people to see how the great marketplace of the consumer came to be! Learn how BuyMort was founded, its rise from small network market hub to multiversal prominence, and experience the mechanical whirl of its continuous administration and grandeur. TOUR NOW!”

The choice was obvious. I accepted.

The HUD shifted seamlessly, mapping out a route through the empty streets. As I followed the guiding arrows, the tour began remotely, narrated in a voice thick with practiced enthusiasm.

“Before BuyMort, commerce was slow. Clunky. LIMITED. But somewhere in the small town of Esterlil, young Mister Bezi was working to change things. To bring freedom to the consumer, outside of the shackles of governance. A place where there would be one currency outside of petty rulers and tyrants, one market that would always guarantee it and offer their goods at affordable prices for best reward. A market of the people!”

The scenery around me warped, projected over reality like a living commercial. Buildings rewound, reconstructing themselves into towering skyscrapers adorned with vintage BuyMort banners. Holographic aliens walked the streets, shaking hands, laughing as, in the distance, a flag pole fell and a government building toppled.

A different voice took over, older and distinguished.

“Technology has superseded governance. And with BuyMort, you can truly be a nation of one. Your efforts and life done your way, through the invisible hand of supply and demand. That is my guarantee!”

An image flashed in my HUD, informing me this was said by 'Uncle' Jephro Bezi, 2754, with no further definition on him nor what the date actually meant in terms of life in the universe. It disappeared, just in time for a golden-sheened kiosk to rise from the sidewalk itself. It chirped a cheery tune, reminiscent of the BuyMort pods, and holographic lettering spun out above it in a slow orbit.

CHECK YOUR BUYMORT CREDIT SCORE & AFFILIATE RANKING FREE, COURTESY OF BUYMORT!

A rueful laugh filled my mind. “We never expected to come to much,” Uncle Bezi said. “Investors called it a farce. Government officials called it a scam.”

The image of a gaggle of shoppers rose from next to the kiosk, walking past markets, taking packages from pods whose designs were quite antiquated.

“But thanks to smart shoppers like you, we have all moved on to the next level of existence. Pure and unadulterated freedom.”

I walked past them, thinking of what the descent into freedom had done to my planet.

The next projection that rose announced an abrupt change of topic—BuyMort’s primary processing hub.

“Unlike lesser economies, BuyMort does not confine itself to a single universe!” Uncle Bezi gushed. “Our proprietary quantum entanglement allows our network to synchronize across disparate universes, integrating data, markets, and opportunities in ways our competitors simply cannot match!”

A towering superstructure appeared in the distance, pulsing with energy drawn from countless universes. At its base, BuyMort computer cores thrummed with activity, their crystalline matrices glowing in constant rhythmic pulses.

“Every BuyMort nanite, every pod, every ring gate—ALL of it contains a part of BuyMort’s processing network, ensuring seamless integration and uninterrupted service, to give you the shopping experience that you deserve. But there is a catch. All of it is operated here, at BuyMort Central, the premier first stop shop in the multiverse, with houses available to all at reasonable costs.”

Letters flashed across my eyes. BUYMORT PRIMARY CORE TOUR NOW AVAILABLE.

I was headed for its brain, its primary memory core. The place where its decisions were made.

My tourism purchase included a train ticket and VIP pass to the core, so I messaged Terna and headed over to the nearest station. She beat me there and was standing impatiently at the edge of the boarding platform, her arms crossed while holographic ads fought for dominance in the air above her.

“I sometimes forget how slow you are,” she stated. I shrugged and she smiled. “Always, you shrug. It is good I am here. I moved all door blockages. The train will now move.”

“You're amazing, Terna. I appreciate it.”

“No, I am impatient. Let us go kill BuyMort.”

Terna purchased her own tour package, and with that done, we stepped inside the train together.

It activated with an electronic hum and began picking up speed as it navigated the various rails to our destination. The train car rose onto one of the many arms leading to the structure’s core, and while I was staring at the view it carried us into the central pillar. Pipes, cables, and stretches of plain metal walls replaced the view momentarily, and then the train car deposited us at an embarkation platform inside the core of the station. With a glance at my map, I confirmed that we were at roughly the center of the entire station, not including its long energy-gathering arms on the outside.

Arrows painted on the marble and steel floors directed us deeper inside. We passed an empty greeting desk, swimming with foreign letters that coalesced into readable languages and offered us welcome to the heart of the BuyMort system.

Terna and I stood in silence, as a moving walkway took us past various workstations, all sealed off behind thick crystalline windows. In one room the signage swam with symbols before the app settled on English, then it extolled the creative mastery of BuyMort’s advertising department.

In the next, CloneMort was explored and explained. The facility’s coordinates were available for an extra fee, which we happily paid. While we stood on the moving walkway, we were transported through a mockup of the facility, with holographic clay clones on the walkway ahead of and behind our position.

Terna looked around and offered a small snort of laughter. “This is the mind of my people’s great demon?”

I smirked and nodded. “It's like a theme park in here,” I added.

Terna burst out laughing. “The monster we feared would claim our souls has none of its own!” she exclaimed between laughs.

I joined her, chuckling as we slid through a visual representation of CloneMort’s factory floor. Clay clones of every type were busily assembled, taking on their ordered form before being warped away by rainbow light. Metal endoskeletons were pulled from an assembly line of furnaces, then dipped in murky coolant before being swung over to be encased in clay and finally baked. Robotic arms ran on tracks in the ceiling, constantly swinging to and fro in their work.

Then we passed through the end of that section and entered the next. Racks of heavily wired mainframes filled the walls on either side of us, lowered in pools of steaming coolant. A holographic human, and holographic hobb hovered along the moving walkway with us, explaining our surroundings.

“And now we pass through the very brains of BuyMort itself. Our patented crystal data storage drives, and automated maintenance routines ensure that all BuyMort transactions are free of service interruption,” my hologram explained. On the other side, Terna’s said the same thing in her native dialect of hobb.

I glanced at her, and she nodded gravely. “We are close,” she said.

“I could wreck the drives,” I offered.

She shook her head. “I suspect you will not need to. Let us finish our exploration first at any rate.”

The next section we entered was it. The heart of BuyMort, the very place I had sought since it arrived on my world, and the one place I could actually kill it.

Chapter 71

The tour continued, leading us through a hall of wonders that flaunted BuyMort’s glorious history in shimmering holograms. Golden walls gleamed with quotes from Jephro Bezi's, his corporate wisdom immortalized in looping light displays.

“Commerce is the final frontier of freedom,” an animatronic Bezi informed us. “You are only as valuable as your purchasing power.”

At the end of the corridor, a massive observation deck opened up, revealing the heart of BuyMort.

It was breathtakingly artificial.

A colossal, swirling energy sphere hovered in an ornate containment field, its murky green filaments shifting in hypnotic synchronization. Below it, data streams cascaded like waterfalls of pure transaction records, reflecting neon-rich financial surges. The tour’s automated narration filled the chamber, thick with manufactured awe.

“Behold! The Core of BuyMort! The beating heart of free enterprise! This marvel of quantum economics powers trillions of transactions across all dimensions! And now, our honored VIP guests, you get to witness it firsthand! But please remain behind the observation barrier—tampering with the Core or interfering with our technicians is strictly prohibited!”

There wasn't anything there to manipulate, as far as I could see. I turned to Terna, and saw she was frowning, reaching out towards the sparkling, gas-spewing entity. A transparent energy barrier shimmered in front of us, making it clear that the pronouncement about tampering was going to be enforced.

“What now?” I asked. Terna didn't answer, sharp eyes scanning the rooms, searching for the next part of our journey.

Something about it all bothered me, though. My cranial colonies had sharpened my mind, my vision, my everything to a point that I could see that the image presented wasn’t right. It was too perfect—the symmetry, the glow, the pre-packaged sense of wonder. Everything about it felt staged. A showroom display, meant to awe and overwhelm, but not actually doing anything.

“This isn’t the real BuyMort Core,” I said. Terna nodded, her frown deepening. We both moved forward, tentatively probing the energy barrier, and a hologram cast done beside us, his alien features unmistakably firm.

“Unauthorized curiosity detected. Is there a customer service issue? Please remain behind the protective barrier and enjoy your tour!”

My gut tightened.

I kept my tone light. “Yeah, I was just wondering . . . if this is the Core of BuyMort, why does it need a protective barrier? I thought BuyMort was all about accessibility.”

The hologram hesitated. Just for a second.

“BuyMort is indeed committed to accessibility! However, certain core functions must remain secured to ensure optimal consumer experience! Please enjoy the view and refrain from unauthorized system inquiries!”

I glanced at Terna. She wasn’t waiting. She'd progressed to the opposite side of the room, a mess of physical awards and titles that were obviously set there to impress. She grabbed at the various plaques and cards, tearing them from the wall with a series of meaty rips, her face unchanging as she savaged BuyMort's grace. I strode towards her, wondering what was going on, when I saw it. Behind a BuyMort Best Service Award, there was a panel. Terna shoved it with the palm of her hand, and it released outward on a spring, swaying to reveal a series of hieroglyphs and switches. Without delay, she flipped the first one.

The barrier flickered.

“Unauthorized tampering detected!” the hologram pleaded. “Please step away!”

But there were no alarms. No emergency lockdowns. No flurry of booted steps clattering towards them, promising to incarcerate or kill them. Instead, a corporate jingle played and distorted as the switches were toggled, one after the other, the entire display powering down.

The Bezi hologram was the last to go. He stared straight ahead, speaking without words, before shimmering down to static, then nothing.

Looking past him and into the space where the fake core had swirled and dazzled, we saw a door tucked into the far corner.

We walked to it and I took the lead, in case there was any violence left in this desolate place, before pushing it open. Inside was a service corridor, flickering but still functional lights flashing on overhead to light our way forward. Words on physical, static signs indicated which places went where, and when to turn.

Looking at one of them closely, I asked BuyMort for a sight translation app, and paid the morties, watching the symbols squirm into actual letters. There, nestled into the legend of this corporate place, was the real genuine item.

The BuyMort Core.

We followed through the corridor, past doors open and closed. The open ones were often offices. One was janitorial. Another was a large conference room that was so similar to the ones back on Nu-Earth that I could have sworn that boredom in business was a universal constant.

Trudging ahead, we finally came to our destination. The door itself was nothing grand or special, just the same as the others. Above it, BuyMort Core was stenciled in the alien language, no pomp or pizazz in their presentation.

Terna and I shared looks. “You ready?” I asked. She nodded, and opened the door.

The real room was small, dimly lit, and claustrophobic. No golden lights, no towering displays. Just a cluster of server racks, their cooling fans wheezing under the strain of multiversal commerce. Cables sprawled across the floor in tangled nests of quick-fixes, patched and re-routed so many times I could barely tell what was original.

And in the center was a chair and a desk, to which all of the cables connected. The machine that sat atop it was underwhelming.

It was a computer. One not any different to those that Sada had once kept in his office. It was dented, and obviously outdated when compared to the rest of the complex. Its status lights flickering weakly, buzzing with a low and cranky hum. A single line of plastic labeling tape ran along its casing, caked in dust. I wiped it off with one hand.

PROPERTY OF BEZI SYSTEMS – BUYMORT ALGORITHM PROCESSOR v9.7

I stared at it, mouth agape. Years of my life, multiple wars, and untold horrors had finally led me to my enemy’s jugular. BuyMort had an off switch. An empty shell, a mindless machine driving us all to near extinction, and there had never been any intent or mind behind it. It was just a machine. A tool, a system, something we didn’t have to be part of.

Everything that had happened, all the hurt, pain, and greed . . . that'd been us.

Terna exhaled sharply. “Is that it?”

I scanned the exposed wiring, the desperate patches, the sheer absurdity of it all.

“That’s it,” I said. “And somehow, it still works.”

She kicked the base of the machine lightly. “All of these centuries, even as I learned the multiverse, I really thought there would be a demon. Not a real demon, maybe, but that the BuyMort would be a robot, or a large brain in a jar.”

I swept the dust clear with a hand and sat down on the chair, pressing a button on the screen to bring it to life. BuyMort’s operating system self-translated to English for me, and I began exploring its functions. Within seconds, I found the master control switch and primed it to turn off all BuyMort hardware.

With a shaky breath I turned to face Terna and rubbed a hand across my chin. “You should go,” I told her. “Take the Crown, go back to Nu-Earth and your world ship.”

The hobb woman frowned. She had been watching over my shoulder, reading the same things I had read. “Why?” she asked, scowling in confusion.

“I’m going to turn it off,” I growled back, fixated on the screen. “It's right here. Right in front of us after all these years. But . . . there's a problem. It's all tied together. I'm clicking and looking, typing, and there's just nothing here.”

Terna sighed. “I have learned many things in my life, Tyson. The BuyMort, and the things within it, always have a help menu.”

I frowned. “Already checked. There's a predictive text help bot, and it's made it pretty damn clear that the system is all tied together. Can't have one without the other.”

We stared at the screen in silence, contemplating the enormity of it all. On the one hand, if the system kept operating, our own sapient nature would just turn everything to hell again. But on the other, the gates, the dimensions, so many were still tied together. So many civilizations met together, traveled together, traded together across dimensions that we otherwise had no idea how to breach.

BuyMort had so integrated itself into our societies that it had become our primary means of transport, our science, our livelihoods. We were dependent on it, and it was hard to think how to operate without all of this infrastructure that came with it.

Terna stared at the screen, and put a hand on my shoulder. “Do it. The NoMorts found ways to be independent of the BuyMort. Everyone else will figure it out.”

I nodded. “Yeah. They will. And there won't be any more Church of BuyMorts either. But there aren't any remote controls. Not across dimensions. Once it's off, all the services and gates will be closed and there won't be any way back to the home dimension. You should go.”

Terna barked a laugh. “For a smart guy, you can be pretty stupid Tyson,” she said.

I frowned and looked at her, my question obvious in my eyes.

“Why would you need to stay here alone?” she asked. “Do you really think none of your people would want to follow you here? To reclaim this station, and any worlds left in this universe? I know of at least three archaeological team leaders who would kill to come live and study here. Four if we told them you’d be staying to lead a final expedition.”

My frown deepened. She was absolutely correct. My single minded focus would have left me here alone at the end of all things. Nothing but my own mind and my memories to keep me company. No purpose, no family, no life.

But it didn’t have to end like that, I realized as I looked down at the functionally immortal hobb woman.

“Besides, you can’t shut it down yet,” Terna added. “We have a few things left undone that must be accomplished before we cut the connection between universes.”

My mind immediately raced over those things. Most of it was just logistics, and some public announcements. Warnings, for my people to get into whatever universe they wanted to stay in. BlueCleave’s population would be hardest hit by that order, the hobbs were spread onto every planet in every universe, with the exception of Nergal.

Tower. My to-do list had included dealing with Tower for years, since I had gotten back really. But I always found reasons to ignore the situation on Nergal, to put off my eventual confrontation with the beast. Now that I had found BuyMort’s off switch, that confrontation leapt back to the forefront of my mind.

I couldn’t leave Neolithic Earth’s universe with Tower lurking in it. Not after what he had done. He stayed on Nergal, and didn’t bother anyone who left his planet alone, but I couldn’t just trust that things would always stay that way.

The last time I had ignored Tower, it ended up costing billions of innocent lives.

I sighed and nodded, shutting down the interface screen. Terna clapped a hand on my shoulder and I stood to follow her out of the BuyMort tour’s exit, and back to our fleet.

Everything Must Go

The next few days passed in a blur of exploration, logistics, and the slow unraveling of BuyMort’s abandoned domain.

We scouted planet after planet in nearby solar systems, each one telling the same story. It was a universe emptied of its people. Vast cities still stood, but they were lifeless in the same way as the BuyMort Core had been, their planets full of signs of the apocalypse that had ended their civilizations.

On one planet, announcing itself as Hilfer EconoHills, we landed in what must have once been a corporate utopia. Entire city blocks were designed as open-air shopping complexes, their walkways lined with holographic storefronts still cycling through their final, unanswered advertisements. Whole rows of fruition warehouses stood, filled with BuyMort delivery drones that sat motionless, row after row, waiting to be activated and sent to the nearest customer.

I walked through a massive park, trees and lawn still trimmed and pruned by a small but diligent band of robots. Even here, in this place of rest, holo-ads popped up from every nook and cranny, digging for a sale.

“Bored in the park? Need something to walk? Sign up for our pet rental program TODAY!”

A flickering holo-projection showed a smiling family, eagerly tearing open a package and releasing the primitive clay clone terrier within. Their transaction data scrolled beneath them in neat, numerical precision, showing the morties deducted from their account.

At the center of the plaza, a metal kiosk whirred and flashed, bright and gaudy rainbow lighting pulsing around it. BuyMort Self-Loan Kiosk, floating letters declared. I moved forward, stepping around one of the strangely long-lasting alien skeletons, curious as to what this old outdated BuyMort program could even do anymore.

“Hello, Valued Consumer!” it chirped. “Would you like to take out an emergency loan in the event of financial hardship? Simply review our agreement and get an influx of morties today!”

I scanned the many keys, using them to manually type commands and check the kiosk’s backend logs. The last attempted transaction had been over a hundred centuries ago. The request had been denied.

My eyes flashed to the corpse lying nearby, the implications clear. Whoever this had been, they'd been out of morties, probably in a world dying around them. Without them, they had been unable to eat, or receive medical aid, and simply perished.

Our next stop was Vendel Prime, a massive planet-wide storage facility whose welcoming video claimed to offer eternal virtual life. Within the mega-structure were housed billions of habitation pods, still powered but long since abandoned. Apparently, the beings here could lie down in a pod, plug into the system, and live out the rest of their days in a utopic virtual world, or worlds, using technology similar to the later ad-space. A few of the pods opened automatically as we walked through the warehouse, their neural-interface chairs still holding the mummies of their long-dead users. Systems attached to the pods allowed me to see their worlds, to see their avatars standing stock-still in the middle of their virtual homes and yards.

Manipulating the options, I was able to see their mortie counts, and their last purchases. What I saw was still displaying their last-purchased entertainment packages, paused mid-stream.

I rolled through one user's, then another, in mounting horror. The users had run down on morties, then tried to sell their cornucopia of virtual items for more. However, each of the sales attempted were marked as (NO BUYERS) and between them was a slowly depleting mortie account that was growing increasingly thin.

A certain desperation could be felt. Food/nutrient purchases dropped in quality, extending the ability of the users to stretch their mortie purchases until, finally, they had nothing left.

Two of them tried to purchase an exit, but didn't have the morties to do so in a pre-Storage BuyMort. All three had tried and failed to take loans, being denied due to their credit levels and existing debt.

And all of them ended the same way:

- [Morties Remaining: 0]

- [User Activity] – Avatar inactive.

They'd been trapped in what amounted to a fully-immersive online game, knowingly starving to death as their game world continued on around them.

I spent a long time looking over the pods afterwards. Graves, all of them. Technology that would certainly benefit the post-BuyMort society that I wanted to thrive in the aftermath.

BuyMort would take them, use them, and sell them.

Us? We left the pods behind.

Everywhere we went, we saw the same pattern; commerce without consumers, infrastructure without purpose, planets rendered inert by chemicals, pollutants, extreme cold or heat. BuyMort’s home universe wasn’t just dead—it had committed suicide, monetizing every aspect of life and disregarding what that meant. Whatever their society had once been, they'd changed it into a simple machine, transactions within transactions without any regard to the consequences.

I catalogued it all, sending projections of the investigations and travels to the entire BuyMort viewing multiverse. The horror was so universal that, when I finally announced the looming shutdown of the entire system, the response was both immediate and favorable.

Still, I set the shutdown timeline for six months, giving people time to adjust, relocate, and decide which universe they wanted to stay in. Logistics would be a nightmare, but people would figure it out. They would have a choice in how to progress their civilizations, and no longer be stuck to the whims of a long-extinct society’s mindless algorithms and the horrors they pushed sapients to commit.

BuyMort was finished.

And now, the only thing left was what came after.

Of course, a handful of folks still wanted to keep things as they had been, but their voices were drowned out by the flood of those who wanted it gone. Many of them had stopped using it already and were experiencing some of the blessed peace that came with no longer being a customer. Instead, they acquired their needs and wants from each other, through equitable barter or rudimentary currency exchange. Gold was making a come-back, as in each universe the valuable metal was still needed for various practical applications.

The universes under my control began cutting final ties to one another and pulling back from their various BuyMort gates. I started the process of handing Silken Sands off to Terna, who would be staying in Sol system with my home planet. A final expedition formed around me, zealots and fanatics signing on to give their lives to my final adventure. We were going to live in the ruins of BuyMort’s original society and study every inch of it that we could find. There were far more volunteers than required positions.

I gave some thought to my crystalline colonies before the end of it all. Was it right to keep this kind of technology from my people? What would they do with it if I unleashed it upon their universes? The colonies made me functionally immortal, granted an impenetrable epidermis, and bestowed superhuman strength—none of which seemed to have an upper limit. They simply adapted to my body’s stresses and demands, amplifying their own functionality in response.

The Aimed Shot perk patch increased my brain function as well, and like the colonies, it only seemed to grow stronger the more I used it. The thought of any other sapient in the multiverse possessing that kind of power—particularly the heightened cognition—disturbed me. My own journey, shaped in no small part by Molls, had instilled in me a deep sense of ethics. But could I trust anyone else to remain benevolent under the influence of the Perk Patch?

After months of deliberation, I made a solo trip to the Teslak storefront and unlocked the patches for review. Spectre’s image greeted me cheerfully, informing me that only four of each were available before they would be permanently out of stock.

I bought them all and stored them in my personal dimensional pocket.

And yet, I hesitated. The thought of others wielding power equal to mine left me paralyzed with indecision. For now, the secret remained mine alone.

Through it all I kept the image of that interface station in my mind, the simple command keyed in to shut down all of BuyMort’s processes. It remained a fixed point in my mind, an inescapable future and sense of purpose that drew me ever closer to those final keystrokes, to the day I could finally kill my last enemy.

But first, I had to deal with Tower.

He was the final item on my clean up list, the last remaining bit of the old, violent world I had constructed before my untimely betrayal and death. I couldn’t just leave him as he was.

So I took my fleet to Nergal, and slowly descended from space onto the red-green planet below. I’d ordered comprehensive scans of the surface, and we had only one location on the entire planet that held any of Tower’s biosignature. Nergal’s version of Olympus Mons, named simply ‘The Shield.’

It featured a fortress-city, built into the dormant volcano’s crater, and all across its peaks, as a testament to the civilization that could build it. The entire fortress was a spectacle, with huge titanium alloy walls built up around the crater’s rim, and glittering spires infesting the crater itself. The Crown of Thorns also scanned a massive amount of living matter with Tower’s signature in the city.

I couldn’t see any Tower golems as I descended from orbit, leaving my thorny starfish ship hovering far above. In fact, there was nothing visible in the streets of the old fortress town. No people, no vehicles, no garbage, no wandering animals. The entire city of Shield was a ghost town, seemingly never occupied but for remnant Martian fines, a type of virulent microscopic dust.

Satellite images had shown a long progression of Tower golems making their way into the fortress decades ago. He had never left but was nowhere to be seen, even with our scans confirming his biosignature.

“Tower!” I shouted as I came lower, where there was air to carry my voice. Nergal’s atmosphere was thin, and shallow, from the electromagnetic rails that spread across its equator to hold the air particles.

I activated my booming helmet function and shouted the name again. “TOWER!”

As I set down in the city, my voice roared through the crater, bouncing from wall to wall and carrying through the empty streets. There was no response.

“I know you’re here Tower!” I yelled. “Stop hiding from me! You’ve no reason to be afraid!”

This time the ground beneath my feet began to rumble. Buildings in the crater began to crumble as the Mars-quake increased in severity. I raised an eyebrow and lifted off again, hovering a few hundred feet above the fortress town. Tower’s head rose massive from the crater, great bouts of steam roiling from his pink flesh. Bits of the fort were lodged in his skin, as though he had formed just beneath the structures.

Armored walls adorned his arms as those too rose, ripping the entire lip of the volcano’s crater free as Tower rose from its depths. Buildings crumbled and fell past his eyes, which fixed upon me as soon as they were free. He continued to stretch upward as he stood. Tower’s body smoked with heat, trailing white and black clouds everywhere he moved.

He leaned his head back and roared, as a thick cloud of steam boiled out from within. Part of his face was covered in metal, the underground fortifications seemingly welded into his body. “AFRAID?!” Tower roared at me.

His kaiju form was massive, towering out of the crater and crushing Olympus Mons as he leaned against it. Stone and metal screamed as the city tore itself apart when Tower flexed. Ruins of the fortress town clung to him, jutted from within his body, and rained down across his back as Tower stood to his full height and stared at me with overt hatred in his eyes.

“Yes, Tower,” I said quietly. “Afraid.”

The air crackled and snapped as the massive flesh golem moved, raising a metal-encrusted hand to swat me from the sky. Tiny sonic booms formed and were crushed by his momentum, and the fist glowed pink with fresh plasma as it struck me.

I was torn from the sky and hurtled down the slope of the long dead volcano, bouncing and tumbling through the Martian desert at its base and tearing up a huge swath of land with my own impact.

“I fear nothing!” Tower bellowed, climbing free of the caldera to reengage with me.

I shook the impact out of my head and rose from the dust, streaking back up to face the monster.

“You are nothing but fear!” I yelled back at him. “BuyMort’s slave, used for cheap packing tape! I saved you! I freed you! I broke your chains and gave you back your mind, you ingrate! And how do you repay me?! With betrayal and death! With more of your helpless fear driving you to this pathetic place.”

His eyes swam and rolled with anger as I spoke, but his hands did not move again. “I took Nergal,” Tower rumbled. “Made it mine! My home, free of all false friends.”

I nodded. “I see that. And here you’ve sat,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “Alone, afraid of who might come. Hiding from sight beneath a walled city. All I see is your fear. You have always been a pathetic creature, Tower, but never have I pitied you more than here, in this place.”

“PITY!” the golem roared. “PITY?”

I was ready for him this time and concentrated on holding myself perfectly still. His fist rushed toward me, stuttering with waves of pink and orange plasma. I clapped my armor into place at the last second and pushed my suit to hold my position in the sky.

In a great gout of blood, Tower punched me so hard that I simply tore through his hand, from the knuckle to the wrist. I had a brief flashback of memories from inside the body of Kraken, and then the Martian sky brought me back to the present.

“AGH!!” Tower roared, clutching at his hand and drawing it in close to his body.

“Let me take you off this planet, Tower,” I growled, dropping my armor. “Allow it, and we can part as true friends.”

“LIES!” he screamed back. “You were never my friend!”

“You’re right!” I yelled. “You’re a monster, why should I be friends with you?!”

Tower’s giant, steaming face contorted. “You lied!”

“No, I tried!” I yelled back. “I tried to talk to you several times, and every time your true personality came to the surface you lashed out, just like you’re doing now.”

Tower surprised me then, lunging forward to bite me. I didn’t react in time and the massive flesh golem caught me, crushing me between two building-sized teeth. My Stoneskin Perk Patch saved my life once again, as it prevented me from being injured regardless of the pressure Tower tried to apply. I just cracked his tooth and was blasted with his rancid breath.

With a sigh, I turned my palms up to the tooth above me and activated my breaker gauntlets. His tooth erupted with blue light and shattered, causing another giant roar of pain. I flew free and shook my head, deploying my armor.

“Enough!” I shouted back in his face, booming voice active. “Stop this, and come with me,” I ordered. “I can’t leave you here like this.”

Tower’s hand had rushed to his face, and he was tonguing his broken tooth, sending more fragments of it tumbling from his mouth like an avalanche. His eyes welled up with lakes of saline, as he scowled deeply and turned partially away from me. “Go away!” he whimpered. “Stop hurting me.”

My eyes squeezed close and my brow furrowed in shame. “I’m sorry, Tower. I can’t.”

“Crown of Thorns,” I whispered, activating my com channel to them. “Do it.”

Tower scowled in confusion, and then vanished in a flash of blood and plasma. The Crown of Thorns used its powerful gravity drive to crush him, at a molecular level. In less than a second, there was nothing left of the flesh golem aside from a lake of viscous, steaming, charred blood running down the side of Olympus Mons.

I looked at the mess and wallowed in the sting of his last words. Then I shook my head clear of it. BuyMort’s wonders and in-shop morties had made so many monsters. And I’d just slain its last.

“Crown of Thorns, confirm biomatter signature status,” I ordered.

A quiet hobb on the other end said, “he’s gone. No further biosignature readings, that was all of him.”

I nodded, then rose into the sky and away from my last shameful kill. I thought of Mr. Sada, Garthrust, Kraken, Dario, Izan, Jada, and then finally Tower again. I remembered his human-sized golems charging into battle, mindlessly asking every enemy to be their friend, and how I had ignored him. My complacency and poor tool-use had doomed the creature as sure as BuyMort had.

A unique life was lost to the multiverse forever, but my job was done. That was what mattered, I could go home. I tuned my emotional response, activating the crystalline colonies in my mind to take the edge off my guilt, but I couldn’t do anything about my eidetic memory, and its ability to replay Tower’s final moments, afraid and in pain, once more because of me.

With Tower dead, I was free to return to BuyMort’s source and shut it down, once my final expedition had finished forming. Terna took the reins of Sol System’s various industries, from her place of power on Terna’s World. She gifted our expedition the Crown of Thorns, as well as a full complement of our remaining relic ships.

Phyllis decided to join me. She grumped that I would get everyone killed without her, and I didn’t complain or disagree. It was just good to have her back, and back to who she was supposed to be. I still remembered her execution of a good hobb and prevented Phyllis from having any position of power within the expedition, but I was glad to have her with me in spite of it all.

She was a killer, yes. But also so much more, especially to me. I was grateful to have my oldest friend with me when we left Nu-Earth for good. My planet threw a going away party that cost trillions of morties. Parades and public celebrations of the expedition took place in every major city on the planet, but none more wild than Prescott.

The city we had built down the slope from its former namesake was alive with hope, and the sheer joy of exploration. The Knowle Institutes declared a system-wide holiday, their last before we closed the links between universes. The idea was to commemorate the expedition in each universe, to preserve the history of our accomplishment in defeating the BuyMort system.

It was one of the last things that spread from universe to universe.

The affiliates cut ties and focused on operational realities within their own universes. Storage went to the gobbs, as it always should have. A small contingent of Knowles and hobbs stayed in that universe, making lives on the space stations above to monitor the primitive Dyson sphere. We had repaired what we could of it, and the structure was built to last. The entire thing was a relic, we couldn’t even reproduce the metallurgy that had gone into its hull plating.

Save the Cubes on Nu-Earth had retrieved and rehomed just over two-thousand Cubes while I had been working to change the multiverse. In just three decades, Shoshanna had managed to accomplish most of her goals, and only a small handful of Cubes were lost permanently. She had even launched a mission to one of the universes we uncovered in our expeditions, once data trails led her to the Cube lost within it.

The day after our planet-wide celebration, I boarded the Crown of Thorns and left Nu-Earth behind for good. While in transit to the Jupiter gate, I triple-checked our system’s ready-status. Each universe was ready to be separated. Black hole generators ensured post scarcity in each universe, and none of them were hosting any major conflicts that could destabilize their civilization hubs.

In the place of other universes, my people were going to start exploring their own. New solar systems were already mapped out for colonization, and industry was tuning up to take on the project.

For the first time since BuyMort had invaded my life, I didn’t have any work left. There were no tasks that required my presence, and a strange hollow sense came over me as we entered the gate for the last time.

BuyMort’s citadel awaited us, thick clouds of gas swirling around its many sparkling arms. My final expeditions advance team was waiting for us on the docking platform, with a new party celebrating our arrival. Yarsp was barbecuing on grills set up around the ship’s main ramp, and people of many species were enjoying food and a beverage before continuing on their day’s work.

My fleet was going to need to unpack. We were planning to use BuyMort’s citadel as our home base, and launch exploratory missions to other planets in the universe. The citadel wasn’t connected to any solar systems, but the energized nebula we were in was part of a larger galactic disk, so there were plenty of stars within range of the Crown of Thorns gravity drive.

The plan was to explore. To reach back along the citadels path and investigate the worlds that had spawned BuyMort. My people had an insatiable curiosity in addition to the tools they needed to satiate it.

While my crew stepped off the ship’s ramp to join the barbeque on the pad, I slipped away and flew toward the central processing core. I quietly went through the tour one last time, the excitement in my gut growing. When the tour’s automatic walkway slid to a stop to show me BuyMort’s primary command console again, I lifted off and floated toward it.

The screen flickered into life and showed that my last work had been saved. The shutdown command was primed and ready, blinking at me while I stared down at it. A wave of fear washed over me, and I took a second to realize that even I was afraid of life without this system.

I took a deep breath, shook my head, and hit the command key.

The icon in my vision was gone. There was no ceremony, no fanfare or flash. Just a sudden, and obvious absence. I collapsed onto the stool, waiting for my starfish suit or crystalline colonies to malfunction. Nothing happened. I could still fly, and my colonies were all working as intended. All the years of speculation from my Knowles had added up to nothing but noise, anyone wearing a starfish suit was still free after BuyMort was gone.

BuyMort was gone! I sat on the stool and stared at the dead console in front of me. It had shut off with the rest of BuyMort, but the station hosting it still worked. Even the tour’s moving walkway quietly hummed in the background, waiting for me to get back on the path so it could take me to the gift shop at its end.

For an hour, I sat and stared at empty space. There were no more ads. No more sales, no more affiliates or associates. I was free. Free from BuyMort at last, something I had wished for when dying to a vein-scorpions venom a century and a half earlier. All the suffering and death was over, I had won.

Finally, a soft voice at my back startled me out of my reverie.

“Warlord Dawes?” a female voice asked, quietly.

I snapped my head around and saw a Nah’gh woman wearing the Nah’gh-standard jumpsuit of the expedition, with a pair of large, circular glasses. She was also beautiful, with dark, forest green scales traveling across her face and body in exotic striations. When I turned to look at her, she smiled.

“Hi,” she said, raising one hand timidly. “I’m Bryanne Rush, head of ethnobotany for the expedition.”

I smiled at her, then turned on the stool and fully faced her with a small sigh. “What’s up Bryanne?”

The Nah’gh woman gestured over her shoulder. “Oh I was just . . . well, I wanted to make sure you didn’t miss the barbeque.”

After staring at her for a moment, I smiled again and stood. “Absolutely,” I replied. Then I reached into my dimensional storage pocket and retrieved the last pack of bacon my old world, Earth, had produced. “Have you ever had bacon?” I asked her.

Bryanne blinked large, beautiful eyes and shook her head. “Only yarsp,” she replied.

“Well, come on then,” I said, my smile growing easier. “You’re in for a treat.”

As I followed her out of the room, I glanced back at the console once more. Still dark. My war had finally ended, but my life was just beginning.

The End

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About the Authors

Damien Hanson

Damien is a writer, a gamer and an educator. He lives in Gimpo-Si, South Korea with his wife and son. He likes to meet up with friends and roll dice whenever the opportunity presents itself and has authored several stories.

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Joseph Phelps

In competitive or cooperative video games over thousands of logged hours, Joseph has always sought out unconventional gameplay and created his own fun.

He's the kind of gamer that ensures the ESRB cannot provide appropriate ratings for online games. It's this type of unusual and amusing gameplay that he brings to the LitRPG and GameLit genres, with wildly aggressive competitive and unconventional single player dynamics at the core of his storytelling. Join him and find out for yourself.

https://www.amazon.com/Joseph-Phelps/e/B07WZCJ39T/