Albert Sawyer in 2081: Albert Sawyer, #3

By Ian Eress

The year is 2081. Albert, Deborah, and Galileo adjust to their new life on Earth with increased transparency, but complications arise, requiring Albert's attention. Something happens to Vishal too, and everything changes in an unpredictable fashion. Vishal's behavior starts to worry those who know him. How will Albert navigate this volatile situation?

The old enemies, the HiDimBes and their loyal allies, are still up to no good, threatening Earth, Qeerav, and other inhabited planets in the Milky Way. However, more parties from alien worlds, some of them following absurd laws of physics, enter the stage. Are they friends or foes?

Albert is pushed to his limits yet again. He discovers new advanced techniques and knowledge at the edge of science and philosophy. A powerful, mysterious entity studies Albert too. Could it be something beyond human comprehension, beyond dreams and visions?

The fate of the galaxy depends on Albert, his friends, and his family. Albert doesn't know what to expect. But he and everybody around him will be changed forever.

Read this exciting science fiction adventure spanning multiple star systems and parallel universes, bringing Albert Sawyer's story to an unexpected conclusion.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ian Eress
• Release date: Jun 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201996413

Ian Eress

Born in the seventies. Average height. Black hair. Sometimes shaves. Black eyes. Nearsighted. Urban. MSc. vim > Emacs. Mac.

Book preview

PART I HEART

Giving birth to a baby is easier than worrying about it.

Japanese Proverb

CHAPTER 1 CONFLICT

The one True Path leads to your destiny. Patience and time will show it to you if you are willing to believe in your strength and passion.

The Life and Philosophy of the Holy Prophet Galileo, by Baroness Iseasan, Mayor of New Atagan

White dwarfs, stellar core remnants with roughly the mass of the Sun and the volume of Earth, are the main source of carbon atoms in the Universe.

-From Carbon, APS L2 Wiki, last edited by Alex

ALBERT

AFRICA, EARTH

FEBRUARY 5, 2081

DEBORAH TURNS OUT to be really good in bed, not that Victoria or Livilla were so bad. In Africa where Deborah lives and early February, I discovered that she particularly excels in the freaky elements if I may paraphrase her. How many boyfriends did she have before me? So I 'sinned' against BoR albeit I know it's not a serious book. We didn't get the chance to marry—a mere formality.

You're really, really— I say, lying in bed late in the morning and stretching, something fluttering in my chest like a holy fire about to reignite. Thick curtains hold back the brutal African Sun as the soft bed lets half of my body drift away.

Deborah stirs, her dark-skinned hand on my mighty chest. Aha. Which part, Alberet? She licks her cherry lips with her tongue. Her voco is pleiful, and she's going through a hopefully temporary phase of utilizing fatuous names.

She's a wild one: domesticated but wild. You want me to spell it out for you? I put a warm hand behind my neck on the sticky pillow. I got meetings and speeches to do. With the Peace Coalition and to explain to Kuqips what's going on.

Deborah straightens her spine. Just play a tape, Albie. Deborah smiles.

Desire races through my body again, my fingers tingling longing for contact. Is this forever like the rustling of the winds?

Sir, the Thohnuths are fighting in Sector 393I, Amaterasu says through a comm. That's in the Solar System.

Chomp. Who's sparring who? I ask, my jaw stiffening.

They look alike, dude, NBBN2 says, and they're evenly matched.

Sensing the change in mood, Deborah walks to the shower, making my blood hotter, vidying part of her tight...you know...butt. She already knows about Amaterasu and NBBN2 and thinks them 'cute'.

I check the tempo in AR mode. You tried communicating with 'em? I ask. Do they care about my obvious questions? I know that the three are intelligent, but I can't help myself.

No response, sir, Fiafi says.

Three AIs and they still need me. Kay, what's the response of the Peace Coalition? I ask. Can I manage without them?

An urgent meeting, sir, Amaterasu says with a slight Japanese accent. In two minutes.

I told her to try different accents when nobody else is around. Quickly I dress, although I could use a shower, and run to the wormhole closet. One of the AIs already dialed in the location: the building of the General Assembly of the former UN in GNY.

From the relative silence of Deborah's home, I emerge in a windowless room with distant chatter, footsteps, and humming machines. It needs better ventilation. I find my way to the hall where I am expected.

A yellow ted-bot ushers me in with a few words. Holograms and OLED++ vid-walls display the space battle and various heads of state calling from their remote locations. Mayor Salkov and Vishal wait for me there. They're Berfimmorts so rigadu like twenty-somethings although they were born in the previous century.

"Glad that you cared to join us, malchik." Mayor Salkov (a former Russian; Russia doesn't exist anymore) rigardus mad, clad in a dark suit that's out of fashion, but he's rarely in a good mood as far as I know. I wouldn't call him hostile; he doesn't abuse anybody. He's more of the controlling type—I suspect that his long career in the military did that.

I apologize for keeping you waiting, I say.

You didn't. athletic Vishal, born in Mumbai, avoids my gaze. He wears an AFB T-shirt and jeans. Other than meetings I haven't spreched to him for months, having to do with me creating the OPR and other reasons. I have no idea what happened to his alcohol issue. He might have resolved it by now.

The Thohnuths spar like chesspleiers in a hurry from what I vidy on vidwall in a period of 23 minutes. These are prolly automated ships without a living soul in them. It's hard to follow what they're doing but obviously there are two sides; neither is winning. Reports come in from terrestrial teams trying to get in contact with the aliens. No results. I try to stay downwind from everybody. Which side should we support?

The Thohnuths spar like chesspleiers in a hurry

Could Yolanda Santos be with them? If she is, I'm sure Juliana would like to know.

+ AGCTX ~ XAGCT * GAXCT ~ CGAXT +

MANY DECADES LATER

ALBERT SAWYER IS the biggest liar in the history of diaries, Senior Historian Kely of Luna, son of Ursula and Isaac, said in his university office, many decades after Albert's story. He wore a grey-blue waistcoat, more layers of clothing and soft flesh underneath. With pale, leathery skin, he was in his fifties, fair and round-faced, and as far as his coworkers knew, he was always part of the university, bound by the narrow fences of the institution. His colleagues considered him the peacemaker of the history department.

Young voices, belonging to elite students, chatted somewhere nearby. Most of them came directly from Worm-node 517. Its pavilion was within walking distance from Kely's office.

It’s an almanac. Economist Tewart of Venera, daughter of Suzanne and Iain, frowned, her long hair curly and shiny and clad in the latest Venera fashion—a power dress seemingly made of black leather but in fact a masterpiece of Morlock electronics and nanotech. Anyway we have many tapes of psych evaluations, transcripts, and eyewitness reports. He wasn't a liar.

Kely didn't know her age but assumed she wasn't much older or younger than him. Tapping a long brown shoe, Kely placed a roll-tablet in front of him. Yeah, I was exaggerating for effect. I mean, all this talk about Deborah. Who the fuck cares?

I do. Did you pass your PE by the way?

PE's were required for travel within the Solar System. Senior Historian Kely crossed his arms, carefully controlling his voice he said, I did. It's all BS. Tewart's family was wealthy, so Kely expected Tewart to be extravagant and ignorant of other people's lives.

---

i.

The humans turned out to be very bad hosts: they can't even take care of their own home planet. And to think that we gave them the technology for four-dimensional bridges, perfect adhesives, and digging.

-Emperor Gluk, leader of Atagan

In the 1930s the RFC owned by the US government bought up failed small businesses in the hope to relaunch them.

-From RFC, OPR Generals Wiki, last edited by Nate

ALBERT

GNY, EARTH

FEBRUARY 6, 2081

A DAY PASSED without progress like an indolent moth. I'm having lunch with members of the APS and OPR in a GNY BFF run by an old friend of the Awakenistas. There are lots of customers, some of them children, but not that many ted-bots. Why is that? I doubt human workers are cheaper.

Ruined buildings, flooded streets—I know I don't have to walk far to vidy them, yet I prefer not thinking about that. It's a miracle that parts of GNY aren't underwater.

I dip a fake-chicken nugget in the delicious sauce. The food almost gives me wings. Force the corporate giants to buy out the smaller fish like Roosevelt's RFC did.

We can talk about that later, blond Adam, smelling of Pura haro oil, drawls phlegmatically. Let's solve our latest crisis. Vishal is calm, but Adam is even calmer and taller. He's one of the calmest Morlocks I know. For one, he doesn't overcommit himself if he can help it.

Why? I chew for a second, tugging my ear. It's some sort of internal matter. Hey, why don't you join the OPR? He'll never do that, of course.

No thanks, tall Adam drawls. You're all brain and little heart. And he's never afraid to say no.

Ouch, that hurts. Mockingly I press a hand against my chest. I might be autistic, however, it's not affecting me. Should I ask a VR shrink for their professional opinion?

Don't poach my friends. Vishal waggles a dark finger. It's bad enough that my granddaughters left the APS.

Not personal, g-papa, BD blurts out with shoulder-length haro and a bit shorter than Vishal.

Six-foot, dark-haired and Caucasian, Scott Jones stops near our tables, furrowing his brow. He sports the BFF uniform—a blue T-shirt and cap with the BFF logo (golden curly letters). I hope you're enjoying your meals. He's the guy who fed the Awakenistas when they came up with the name for their little group, many decades ago in former NYC.

Oh yeah, I say. Hey, the RFC was a bank of sorts in the 1930s. I explain quickly while Scott Jones listens and nods. What do you say about forcing corporations to pay for that?

I think that's the job of governments, sir, Scott Jones says, his voco dipping and surging like a red buoy. Bad news—BFF is supposed to cook for Mars and the other colonists from now on.

Nobody says anything to that. We knew this. Qeerav can supply us, but we’ll need more wormholes, and it’s not like we can lean on the petite Qeeravs forever. I must ask the Chosen Wavejer to help although it might cause his ego or something else to blow up like a balloon. The Atagans have been starving: riwkvem shortage.

Scott Jones' eyes dart around. My girlfriend, Abby, worries about the future. I've been through tough times before but never like this.

Does he mean World War Three? I can't help you, I say. Not right now. Maybe you should join the OPR.

You have nothing to offer, Vishal says. The AFB and by extension the APS will ensure a smooth recovery.

That's his answer to everything. No, they won't, I say, a light quiver in my stomach. Did you hear about my Grid initiative?

Scott Jones meets my gaze. Yes, sir. I'm not sure how having my home computers process your data helps with GW2.

I can't tell him that I owe favors to my wavej friends in parallel universes. It's a long and complicated story.

Too bad. Scott Jones crosses his arms. I have no time for politics or philanthropy, sir. Running the BFF is more than a full-time job.

I don't understand why; he has ted-bots to help him. More meetings follow for me. A speech to persuade that leaving Earth would eventually solve GW2. Later that day Deborah visits me for unfinished business. We dine and rock the Earth. I kinda twisted her arm and said that we must sprech Galileo tomorrow.

The Thohnuths spar like chesspleiers in a hurry

I have lunch in Scott Jones' BFF

It was a nice lunch, and I am still sort of friends with Vishal and Adam but for how long? G-Kev doesn't approve of them anymore.

+ GACXT ~ CGAXT * TXACG ~ GXATC +

MANY DECADES LATER

ECONOMIST TEWART PUT her graphene-plastic cup down on the faux-wood desktop. Do you buy all this talk about the damn Multiverse?

No, he's a modern Baron Munchausen, Senior Historian Kely of Luna said. He coughed for a beat. I doubt he was an actual genius. People in the 21st century didn't know as much as we do. And the aliens made full advantage of that.

Drones, the size of an average fist, flew in, saying nothing. In a few minutes, they left again. A gopher-like creature with gray-tipped ears came into view before the door closed behind the drones.

Tewart crossed her arms. Albert Sawyer is not a liar, but he might be mistaken about certain aspects of his story.

Same fucking difference. I passed the PE again. Have you ever failed?

Economist Tewart flashed a tight-lipped smile. You mean talk to a VR? No.

---

ii.

You can't run away from the Golden Gods, not even through suicide.

-Collected quotes of Diviak Plagnor I, Leader of Qeerav 4 by Captain Galagat

According to research, Awakenistanis are more inclined to donate if reminded of their own problems.

-From Donations, Cheeky Wiki, last edited by Kalpana

ALBERT

YANGBRIDGE, EARTH

FEBRUARY 7, 2081

GALILEO CLAPS AFTER all the pins fall, clad in a Futurama T-shirt. He still rigardus like the little boy that he is but will hit puberty soon. "No hands, tivi."

Relaxed Kuqips in the Yangbridge bowling alley keep their distance, some of them glancing in my direction. Most of them wear casual clothing. Balls roll and pins fall. Hey, that rhymes.

Yes, yes, stop showing off, I say, swallowing the urge to laugh. It's bad enough that you refuse to help me.

Galileo rigardus up at me."Tivi, the Gods said I've done enough."

Dressed like a PhD student (a tad more sophisticated than an undergraduate?), Deborah studies the boring floor. She's nervous around G like Stefanie. I hoped for her to replace Victoria, but it rigardus impossible.

Hmm, so you're going to limit yourself to simple parlor tricks, I say. G, the magician. How much money can he make that way?

For now. G lets another ball roll forward as if by magic. However, for all intents and purposes, it could just as welp be that. "Don't go to Thohnuth, tivi. I had a vision. Bad things will happen to you if you do."

A dream? What you talking about? Maybe he has PTSD.

Urzur wishes to speak to you, sir, Amaterasu says. She's a fork of the Urzur we know.

I gathered that. My eyes dart, searching for something, anything. Teleport me somewhere more private.

Yes, sir.

In the same building, I find a quiet and private location, leaving Deborah and Galileo behind. Will they have fun? Amaterasu teleports me.

At home the hologram of tall Forked Urzur, a female Thohnuth AI with a bird head (like a thrush) and a flame dancing over her humanoid body, greets me. Albert, one knows everything about you. As you may have discovered, Thohnuth has two warring factions.

Is one of them on our side? And you want me to help your nation. Wouldn't be the first time somebody asked me to do that. I'm talking about the Qeerav Alliance, of course.

Forked Urzur pushes her chest out a bit. Not only that. One wants to take on the ones you call the HiDimBes. Their star-sized computers to be exact. One knows their location.

She means in our universe. In other universes, if they exist, we can't touch the evil spirits. I use the word universe here as a place where the twenty physical constants I care about have a certain value. Other universes will be slightly different than ours in that respect. You make it sound like a walk in the park, I say. I'm sure they'll send thousands of armies—

The Supreme Council of Elders believes only the Azoins will stand in our way.

I pour myself a peach-flavored drink. Hey, sure. They're small, and there's only a quadrillion of them.

Their number is of no consequence, but we can expect them to be beyond ready for us.

Aha. I hold my glass. Yeah, that's suicide.

Urzur says nothing nor does she move. In reality, as an AI, she has no body, of course, like Amaterasu, Fiafi, and NBBN2.

Thanks for clearing up the mystery, I say, nine seconds later, but I must pass. No hard feelings, I hope.

"Uthnora, you got this all wrong. If you don't cooperate, we'll have no choice but to turn on you. On Earth."

Chomp. Are you serious? That wasn't a necessary question, yet something compelled me to ask it.

Forked Urzur lets out a small sigh. You have eight days to decide. The hologram winks out.

Great. This is 2070 all over again except that they want me as a mercenary or consultant. Why can't everybody leave me alone? I tell Amaterasu to inform the Peace Coalition of the new developments.

Deborah and I have another sinful session of the act that rhymes with Herodotus. I ask her why Galileo bothers her so much, but she won't tell me. She starts talking about conception which made me cough. Or it was something else entirely.

Hours later it turns out the Peace Coalition wants me to go to Thohnuth. Barney.

The Thohnuths spar like chesspleiers in a hurry

I had lunch in Scott Jones' BFF

One of the Urzurs reached out to me: a new reason to worry

At least I am with my favorite linguist

What am I gonna do with Galileo? And the Thohnuths?

~ XAGCT + XGACT * XAGCT + XCAGT ~

MANY DECADES LATER

SENIOR HISTORIAN KELY laughed after pausing Albert Sawyer's holographic audiobook. What a fucking joke!

Watch out. Economist Tewart grimaced. The Prophet Galileo believed his father.

Oh, I forgot about your religious beliefs. My apologies. Allegedly, we now know how child four was conceived.

Who cares? Economist Tewart wrote a quick note on her paper notepad. Naturally, paper, especially the kind she was using, was very expensive.

Senior Historian Kely watched, hiding his jealousy with ease thanks to decades of experience. You're right. Nobody cares.

You know, I heard about a friend of a friend of mine who had to talk to an actual human shrink.

Oof! I hope that never happens to me. Knock on wood. Senior Historian Kely knocked on his faux-wood desktop.

Oh, c'mon, it's not that bad.

---

iii.

Life and light are precious: it's our responsibility as intelligent beings to preserve them. Life and light are gifts from the Gods: it's our duty as rational creatures to fight for them.

The Life and Philosophy of the Holy Prophet Galileo, by Baroness Iseasan, Mayor of New Atagan

Due to the Sun getting hotter in around a billion years, the amount of carbon dioxide in the Earth's atmosphere will be reduced by about a million times. This will disrupt photosynthesis and the production of oxygen by plants, causing mass extinctions.

-From Oxygen, APS L1 Wiki, last edited by Major Uspensky

~VISHAL~

MUSKVILLE, EARTH

FEBRUARY 7, 11 AG

WE’LL INCREASE the voltage if you don’t answer, Fiafi says. In the unlikely case that you survive that, we’ll move to more delicate parts. Where are Mrs. Grotz and General Fowler?

"You, domkoppen, have no common sense, tall and blond X1, born in South Africa, slurs in a prisoner's uniform. The AIS room with a one-way mirror he was in featured only one chair. Just kill the kaffers and everybody else who doesn’t add value. I did your work for you."

Green salad on the desk before him, Vishal almost flinches at the rude remarks. Thanks to his bionic hearing, he hears bird noises in the distance.

Do we have to listen to this shit? Major Uspensky looks at a piece of paper, invisible to X1, a briefcase and steaming coffee cup near him on a desk and facing Vishal. Pancake! Let Albert read this wanker’s brain again.

He tried. Vishal smiles. The scanning equipment doesn’t work for 1% of all brains.

X1 screams in agony and hums a soldiers’ song. "Kak. I’ll klap you, lackwits, if I get my damn hands on you. We got fucking moles in your organizations."

That doesn't surprise Vishal. Who were they, though?

Major Uspensky grins. Fiafi—Fiafi, ask about that.

Who are these moles?

"Call me a moffie, X1 says, but I don’t actually know."

Bluff? Vishal pricks a fork in his green salad. Albert seems reluctant to go to Thohnuth. His OPR opposes that too.

We can send his twin. Major Uspensky stuffs papers in his briefcase.

Would Isaac agree? Rhodes says we should fight the Thohnuths. Vishal crosses his arms.

"D'javol! Albert is but one boy. What the hell is the big deal?"

Vishal shrugs as X1 yells again. He won’t talk. As for Albert, I think he’ll crack eventually.

Are the Azoins going to be a problem? Major Uspensky leans against a wall.

Vishal stares at the prisoner for a second. No idea. We’re doomed no matter what.

And hard.

I’m so tired. Vishal puts his fork down. Not physically. Thanks to Urzur that won’t happen for a while. Our grandchildren have children. I hoped Albert would succeed me. But he turned out to be more loyal to Kevin than he should have been. Was Vishal to blame for not intervening?

Major Uspensky watches his coffee cup. Everything comes to an end. We were foolish to embrace immortality.

It’s not real. Vishal puts his hand on the chair next to him.

Major Uspensky fingers his forehead. What the hell are we going to do about the moles?

If they exist. Vishal leans back. I’ll let you handle that.

Majors Uspensky laughs. Aye, sir.

Vishal finishes his salad and leaves. AIS agents nod and greet on his way out.

I need a village to help me, Vishal thinks. Five villages. No, seven cities.

Dozens of meters to Vishal's left, a man looking like X9, one of the leaders of X-org, a direct subordinate of X1, waves. He disappears with a soft pop.

Vishal presses a button on his roll-phone. Fiafi, are the wormhole blocker malfunctioning?

No, if you’re referring to X9, he must—

Using the secret wavej tech only OPR knows about. Vishal grins. Or so they think. They couldn’t imagine their ted-bots would want to work with us. What is their motivation?

No, sir.

The regressors hoped to scare me, Vishal thinks. Two can play at that game. I need a holiday. It’s overdue.

He walks to the place where X9 was last seen and picks up a piece of paper the latter dropped. He reads. Vishal clutches his agitated heart and drops on his knees.

---

XXVII.

Houses and guilds—cartels and gangs. It's sad to realize how many people don't want to follow the one True Path at all. Tragic.

The Life and Philosophy of the Holy Prophet Galileo, by Baroness Iseasan, Mayor of New Atagan

Many cities will disappear in the following centuries because of Global Warming Two and other disasters caused by the Azoin War.

-From Cities on Earth, APS L1 Wiki, last edited by Major Uspensky

*HUJOLA*

UMVITAR, MILKY WAY

FEBRUARY 7, 11 AG

"THE WHOLE PLANET moves against the normal flow of time, Ata." Hujola Beescido (a yellow-skinned young woman or the closest equivalent to that and like most Umvitars she had somewhat of a vestigial tail and an elongated head) closed the lid of her compu-bag.

As time did the unthinkable, Umvitar oscillated, its constituent subatomic particles unable to stay in one world. She was in her first father's cabin, aboard a ship on Noia's Sea. The official name of the sea was much longer and harder to pronounce. They were far, far away from Ne’ras: one of the few stable nations on Umvitar, neighboring the Unified Republic and Bafeozaz. The other two countries kept to themselves out of fear for the Glowers.

Normal for us. Her first father (not biological) vibrated in sync with Umvitar. It’s weird. We can communicate with beings from different universes, but they can’t imagine us going in the opposite direction, so to speak.

So we know what will happen to otherworlders before they do? Hujola looked at her watch, seconds passing. Five. Six. Seven. The whole idea seemed ludicrous to her, but she was just a kindergarten teacher whereas her father was a Navy Captain.

Hujola’s first father, Ata Beescido, shaved. Deliberately. His beard, yellow skin with the tattoo of a green triangle in the middle of his forehead, the water, the sink, flowed around in the Multiverse, but the people of Umvitar calling themselves Rosus (five feet tall on average, humanoid if one ignored their short vestigial tail and head akin to a canary melon) barely perceived that.

Hujola drummed on her compu-bag and sighed. "I wish they never stopped giving me the drugs, Ata."

You’re an adult now. We can’t keep the truth from you forever.

I can’t wrap my head around the fact that creatures can live in the future for me, that is actually their past. Hujola grinned. Wait, am I saying this right?

It doesn’t matter, dear. Talk to your second father. Maybe he can explain it better.

Hujola coughed. I doubt it. She turned in her swivel chair. I can ask all my mothers and brothers and sisters—

Nobody is stopping you, sweetie. Her first father splashed water in his face. Just keep contact with aliens to a minimum.

"Why can’t they keep giving me the drugs, Ata?" Hujola inclined her head.

Sharply her first father turned to face her. This is how it goes, Hujolachen. From time to time there is a shortage and we, older parents, decide which young adult may have a taste of the Field.

Hujola remembered what it was like. The dark water. A dream-like beach. Weird Rosus like magical creatures from a fairy tale walking in the wrong direction without looking.

OK, when is the next time?

Hujola’s first father chuckled. Rosus who are too eager end up dangling from the nearest city hall. Relax, daughter.

Geez, you didn’t have to say it like that. Hujola grimaced.

What the hell are we gonna do with you? I thought you could be reasoned with.

Hangings are for Rosus who have coitus. Hujola took candy from a bowl.

Well, you know better now.

Dark is the spirit of those who let their animal consciousness, Hujola stood up and bowed, triumph.

Some animals experience what you just did. We kill them immediately.

Hujola gasped. I—I... Why?

Isn’t it obvious?

Pirates! The voice belonged to a senior officer, Alla Nomselnebra. We’re under attack.

Explosions. Bangs. Hujola’s father grabbed his gun. Stay here. I’ll be back soon. Don’t open the door for anyone.

Hujola nodded and her first father locked the door from the outside. Shouts, a gunfight, and clinking what Hujola suspected were swords followed.

Angry voices shouted whilst someone pounded on the door. Hujola pushed and shoved everything she could into a pile to block the invaders.

An ax. It’s no use, the faen said. We’ll wait her out.

What were faens doing here? Those degenerates didn't belong on a ship.

"A facen would make my day," another faen said.

Yeah, a Rosu wouldn't want anything to do with a damned faen.

"No, these guys keep facens and faens in labor camps," the first faen replied.

I have everything I need here, Hujola screamed. You’re wasting your time. What were the chances of them just going away?

We’ll kill your father if you don’t come out, the second faen shouted.

Hujola didn’t answer. She had heard horror stories about faens although they weren’t attracted to Rosus, they pretended to for fun. Faens molested camp guards now and then; horrible abuse the news sometimes showed.

"I’d rather stab myself in the guknuring heart with a sharp object," Hujola yelled.

The faens chuckled, choosing not to reply.

CHAPTER 2 PROTEST

Protest is not only about shouting and slogans; it is about telling the truth, the Prophet Galileo said during his fast of 41 AG.

The Life and Philosophy of the Holy Prophet Galileo, by Baroness Iseasan, Mayor of New Atagan

Inside cells, they produce chemical energy using oxygen and nutrients. Mitochondria metabolize cholesterol and make neurotransmitters and hormones. Gene editors can edit 88% of targets in three days.

-From Mitochondrial diseases, APS L2 Wiki, last edited by Dr. Itai Itai

ALBERT

ROME, EARTH

SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 2081

PROTESTERS CLASH WITH police on Saturday evening in Belgrade, Algarve, and Paris. All having to do with food rationing and somebody's bright idea to compensate with cheaper beer. Drunk teens throw stones and storm shopping malls. The former Resistance has the unfortunate task of helping law enforcement.

As uniformed cops boil out of air-cars, I stand in the middle of a broad street in Rome with a view to the west flank of the Colosseum, an ice cream cone in my hand while my electroreceptors pick up signs of distress from all directions. We had a gloriously sunny afternoon—unusually warm for February. The OPR is with me, looking worried. Cops in thin blue uniforms rush toward a crude fence.

I raise my hand to acknowledge someone I know. Wish I could use auditory hypnosis.

With short, black haro and brown eyes g-mama Elena rigardus at her rollphone. We can also throweth glue-bombs.

I guffaw and take a bite of the cold tagatose mass. Better save it for real battles.

K, Vishal's g-daughter with shoulder-length haro and sister of BD, shakes her head. You can hypnotize a person at a time, provided someone holds him or her at bay.

They should have offered cheaper Synthadurg instead of alcohol. I wipe a sticky finger. If it weren't for BoR, I'd have used other words with more sharpness to them.

Like one big herd, the excited youths are walking in our direction. Gradually the cops tense up. An officer brandishing an iAdedeji megaphone attempts to reason with the loud crowd. Kuqips stare at me with a knowing rigardu on their faces, giving off something the way liquid gives off vapor.

Jerry Caldwell, a short stocky man, rubs his pale hands. It's too cold for ice cream.

He does like complaining. To my knowledge he doesn't have valuable skills but senior APS members felt sorry for him, and he ended up in Qeeravstan for a long, long tempo. There's a whole story around that, and I don't know all the details. Only had a bowl of rice this morning. I shrug, my gaze wandering. Right. When the action heats up, we'll make a few Kuqips stumble.

Jerry glances at a police horse. Everybody can see us. He pulls his dark hood up over his head. Once upon a tempo, he was a wanted man in New York City. Naturally, New York doesn't exist anymore. It was swallowed up by GNY.

I raise my eyebrows. No one can ever guess what happened. Those in the know will keep it to themselves. Anyway, in the worst-case Kuqips will fear us more.

Give this more thought please, BD blurts out. K, her sister, is slightly taller than BD.

I tip my gelato cone towards her. What are Kuqips scared of? I don't have many...no Kuqip friends. My interest in Kuqips is a distant cloud on the horizon.

Mathematics and death. BD rubs her shoulder like an introvert who wants to be alone although she certainly isn't one.

I can say what BD said is a childish thing to say, but she meant it as a joke, and we have been friends forever. Moreover, BD is just spontaneous.

As expected the sparring intensifies with casualties on both sides. Yellow-orange air-ambulances take away injured protesters. With as much stealth as we can muster, the Order intervenes by Pushing and Pulling remotely, amounting to slight nudges through invisible Planck-length wormholes thanks to concealed lupsofot strands. More than half of us graduated to performing the feat through slight subvocalization.

The OPR intervenes at a protest rally

Elitist, I know, but what else could we do? Like a tomato sauce stain on a white cloth, the old distrust still lingers. Pride comes before the fall. Maybe we, Morlocks, are overcompensating for our insecurity.

~  GXACT + CGXAT * AGCXT + TAGCX ~

MANY DECADES LATER

SENIOR HISTORIAN KELY guffawed, pausing the audiobook for the fourth time in the last hour, the sun bright in the Earth sky. I'm sorry but it sounds ridiculous.

Economist Tewart in her black power dress, with a pattern of random (?) A, C, G, T, and X letters, limited herself to a tight-lipped smile. There's extensive holo-TV footage, countless eye witness reports. The Prophet Galileo has been subjected to lie detector tests, and General Fowler tried to beat a confession out of him.

Kely's round face turned serious. That doesn't qualify as proof, professor.

Don't call me that. I haven't earned it yet.

Kely wasn't supposed to be aggressive, but sometimes he just made a mistake. I knew a professor who, if rumors are correct, received a lobotomy. Kely let his pale fingertips touch each other and cleared his throat.

The rapist? I heard that story too.

In unison, footsteps of students with brains and clothes worth a small fortune echoed outside, shoes squeaked. They walked past the light statue of former GNY mayor Mandeep Park, a holographic cigar in mouth.

---

i.

I, the Emperor of Atagan, never make mistakes; neither did the emperors before me.

-Emperor Gluk, leader of Atagan

Scientists predict even higher temperatures in the coming five years.

-From page five of the Awakenistani Morning newspaper

ALBERT

GNY, EARTH

FEBRUARY 9, 2081

I SWERVE AROUND scaffolding that has taken over part of the sidewalk in GNY flanked by two lawyers, dressed in expensive suits. Or they're accountants, I forgot, but they claim I know 'em. The way they act, you'd think they can cook eggs just by staring at them. A month ago you couldn't walk here without getting wet feet.

A city air-bus whooshes, taking off after all the passengers entered it and sat down. It’s early in the morning but not first light—most Kuqips already had breakfast. Long-limbed cyclists on carbon fiber bikes, wearing graphene-plastic helmets, roll through narrow lanes with tunnel-vision rigardus on their emotionless faces.

Peter, one of the pair with a clean-shaven, pale face and the beginning of a belly, stops to avoid bumping into a planted tree. You can forget about the money. Actually, you owe us.

I cross my arms, checking my fingernails. There's nothing wrong with them. What a relief! If I wasn't so hungry, I'd have argued with you until sundown. Had a bag of Doritos this morning.

Tanned Egon raises his eyebrows, unlike Peter sporting a striped tie. Our clients need to be paid. The story of you trying to save humanity won't fly. We can do this the easy way or our favorite way. Either works for us.

A Bus Boys' song pleis as a ringtone. I check it out. An automated message from the hotel. The Austin Clay GNY. It went under, and I should get my belongings asap.

Peter frowns. It's five thousand marks for each day you're late plus administrative fees.

Egon lifts his tanned head to study the towering building in front of us. Are you competent enough to handle this? If not, maybe you should file for bankruptcy.

Does he really think he can give me advice? I clasp my hands, forcing myself to not stroll away from them. Well, I have been an entrepreneur since 2070. I probably can sue you for being annoying.

We'll see you in court then, Peter says. They walk away, and I enter the building.

In the Austin Clay GNY hotel (a many-windowed affair featuring Tudor arches) , the dozen guests and staff decide to throw a party. There's meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and wine. I guess we're all hungry and thirsty.

Snarl. I rigardu and vidy a chomping golden tiger outside: cute kitten, shame about the aggressive attitude. Screams. I exit the building whilst panicked Kuqips tell me to stay inside. The predator and I eye each other. Welp, I assume a submissive posture. Kuqips put their rollphones to good use. The beast roars, but I can almost touch it. I leap, subvocalizing my magic word. Victoria, the beach, the cat Teleports in my strong arms.

I carry Tigger on my back whilst it struggles to come free. Amaterasu, find out where my newest pet came from and return it tout de suite.

Sir, the employees of the zoo in question are on strike. Actually, most of them were let go.

Was the zoo affected by GW2? I stop. Guess the Island is an option.

The local authorities are still inspecting the property, sir, since the regressors left boobytraps.

Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Mick Smiley's Magic pleis for me in AR mode. No offense, but I can't carry Tigger on my back for the rest of my life. Figure it out.

I'll teleport it to a safe environment, sir. Just a minute.

I nod and think about Urzur's ultimatum and the debts I supposedly must pay off. Gosh. It could have been worse if I'd been someone else.

The tiger disappears, and I stretch. I need to add value in an exponential manner. Wrestling with tigers gets me nowhere. A revolution in less than a week.

The OPR intervened at a protest rally

I sparred a cute tiger

He has been in a cage for too long. A wild beast would have been a different matter altogether.

~ GCAXT + CAGXT * CAXTG + TAXCG ~

MANY DECADES LATER

BEFORE YOU SAY that there's evidence of this, Senior Historian Kely said, physical strength or the financial situation of Albert Sawyer doesn't interest me.

Yeah, I find it intriguing how the world economy almost collapsed, Economist Tewart said with wide eyes.

"Almost? Kely leaned back. You mean, not counting hunger, the devaluation of currencies, and the damage in the order of trillions of current gold-dollars." Why was it so hard to put a positive spin on this?

Economist Tewart nodded. Yes.

Milady, the university AI said with a sexy voice, Senior Historian, would you like something to eat?

No, thank you.

---

ii.

The Golden Gods don't care about exquisite beauty or simplicity. These are trivial concepts Qeeravs made up to keep their anxious minds busy.

-Collected quotes of Diviak Plagnor I, Leader of Qeerav 4 by Captain Galagat

Robot scientists can pick chemical experiments out of millions of candidates; 85 experiments and 800 manipulations a day.

-From Robot scientist, Cheeky Wiki, last edited by Stefanie

ALBERT

GNY, EARTH

FEBRUARY 10, 2081

A LITERAL PRINCESS, you whiner. Agrippina, my ex-wife's older sister, rigardus like what she said is completely normal.

Hours after the Sun was up, I'm in her office, resembling the waiting room of a successful dentist (because of the many chairs but without magazines) only ten tempos bigger. The windows are tall and the lighting soft. Outside strangers are arguing while my nose picks up traces of air freshener.

Why is she so rude? On my roll-phone I check the progress of the robot scientists figuring out how to feed the world. The House of...Agrippina. I gotta give the team more tempo. Monopoly in what exactly?

Damn trade in GNY, dipshit. Agrippina rubs the back of her pale neck. Mind you, she talks dirtier than that to other people. You got connections. The blabbermouths in your inner circle are popular too. Get it done, and I'll pay your debts off.

I have those, but it's a temporary setback. Money is tight and never enough.

Galileo barges in, uninvited. "Tivi, don't go. The bird-heads will take advantage of you."

He means the Thohnuths. Agrippina knows about them too. G, how did you get here?

Galileo folds his arms. Livilla told me where you are.

Agrippina beams at G. Aren't you gonna give your aunt a nice hug? A step aunt.

G has no principles or pride. I avert my gaze, admiring a painting of a race horse. The robot scientists are onto something, but there's no guarantee it'll laboris out. Agrippina bribes G with food in a faraway kitchen and then returns alone. So what the hell is it gonna be, sissy boy?

Contacted a bunch of peeps already.

Agrippina stirs her coffee. I heard you traded my sister for a younger woman, shithead.

I was already divorced before I met Deborah. That's not what happened. The monopoly you're dreaming about won't happen overnight. I can ask folks to meet you—

You, vagina, don't talk to me like that. Agrippina flushes red. I know what I'm doing. Once I'm satisfied, I'll fulfill my end of the bargain.

Why can't she be nice to me? Kay, that laboris for me. I'm not gonna wait around for her to do what she promised.

G joins me, and we leave together. "If you go, I must go too, tivi. The Gods will protect me."

I frown. No need for you to take the risk. I already had him wavej on Qeerav Prime. Why take more risks?

Hours later we teleport to the lab with the robot scientists. I owe another group of Kuqips for all the equipment and rent. We can synthesize snail protein. It's rather expensive, though.

G jumps on a stool. "Why, tivi?"

I place a palm on my forehead, trying to remember. Fiafi?

The price of the ingredients is high, sir.

I thought it was something like that. You hungry, champ?

No.

I plei on my flute. Agrippina will get a monopoly in GNY. She wants to be a princess. Where did she get that idea from?

G takes out his harmonica. "I know what she's like, tivi. No need to explain."

Mr. Empath. It had to happen, but I'm seeking other solutions too.

You must stay on Earth for that, G says.

Apart from Deborah, G, my other kids and kids, there is little for me left here. If I do, I say, I gotta face the lovely Thohnuths in battle.

G lifts his head. "I can handle 'em, tivi."

After what happened on Qeerav Prime, I can't deny his claim. There is a strange coldness about his confidence.

The OPR intervened at a protest rally

I sparred a cute tiger

Agrippina wanted to be a princess and wealthy

So she’ll be a dictator

At least she's nice to G. Maybe there's more to that than meets the eye.

~ GAXCT + AGXCT * AXGCT + AXCGT ~

MANY DECADES LATER

SHIT. ECONOMIST TEWART coughed during their first break. Every time I hear this bit, I remember how even geniuses make bad decisions.

What should we tell our colleagues? Senior Historian Kely asked. I'm inclined to believe that this never happened.

A small drone brought refreshments: chocolate-covered strawberries, cookies, coffee, tea, water, and more. Meanwhile, soft voices conversed in the adjacent room using an alien language.

Tewart stroked her chin. You tell your side. I—

We can't argue every damn point. Maybe four items.

Okay, okay.

Senior Historian Kely sighed and started the holographic audiobook again. He pulled out a chair from behind his desk and sank in it.

---

iii.

According to the Prophet Galileo, mercantile houses and guilds were a bad idea from the start, but they dominated the human economy for centuries.

The Life and Philosophy of the Holy Prophet Galileo, by Baroness Iseasan, Mayor of New Atagan

Gene editing has led to improvement of crop seeds but also met with public resistance.

-From Crop production, APS L1 Wiki, last edited by Vishal

~VISHAL~

MUSKVILLE, EARTH

FEBRUARY 10, 11 AG

VISHAL COPIES THE electronic keycard in the AIS office, furtively checking for AIS agents in the neighborhood. He lied to get access, but it wasn’t a big lie. The officer on duty had a lot on his mind. Hours later Vishal ambles in a Muskville forest to hide the keycard in a secret location.

After that whilst darkness sets in outside, he meets the other L1s for a game of poker in a Muskville house the regressors had made into temporary headquarters before being forced to go into hiding. They invited Rhodes too as a former L1s, but he didn't show up yet.

You’re quite the James Bond villain, Igor. Vishal smiles, sitting at a table in the living room whilst facing Major Uspensky and Adam.

The man in question sneers. The weird wiggles pretending to be damn art and the torso of the metal...knight. Mrs. Grotz chose them. Hell yeah, I have a straight flush.

Vishal didn't care about the paintings and sculptures either.

The odds are against you, blond Adam drawls phlegmatically. If you play really tight and only bluff in position, you could get really far.

Vishal hates his cards but has enough experience not to show it. You mean tournaments. Well, if enough fish try their luck, sure.

Let’s not think of ourselves as sharks. Major Uspensky throws chips in the pot. Maybe whales or something. Agrippina wants to be a princess, eh?

Tall Adam nods. Literally. It must have been her childhood dream. I’m playing really tight.

With ‘Woman’ by Wolfmother on the stereo, Vishal plays with his chips. Albert needed the money. We help him so that he goes to Thohnuth. End of story.

Major Uspensky grabs a vodka bottle. Not if Agrippina gets her wish. Let’s listen to Michael Bolton.

You’re going too far, Adam drawled. Robot scientists with superintelligence and infinite patience. We should have invested in them decades ago.

Tanned Rhodes walks in. Am I too bloody late?

"Nyet, Major Uspensky says, we’re talking about your favorite subject. Your favorite drink is ready. Grab a seat."

Excellent, mate. Rhodes waits for his cards. So ya were discussing how awesome I am. Look, I’m a modest bloke.

Vishal pushes his chest out for a second. We’re all the best. Now that you’re evil, um, I don't know what to say.

Ya operate under the bloody assumption that there is such a thing. Rhodes snorts. Are monkeys bad? Robots? I’ve never had such good cards. Straight flush.

Weird, Adam drawled. I got that too.

We need new jokes, Major Uspensky says. Robot comedians. Rocket fuel. Better explosives. Dig deeper for geothermal energy. Greenhouses. Population explosion.

Vishal folds, bored by the old jokes he had heard before. I'll settle for an alcohol substitute. Maybe, um, only the smell. I sometimes have the feeling that my leg is still missing.

Adam makes a pistol with his thumb and index finger and points it in the ceiling. As long as your inner child is alive...

It certainly is, Vishal thinks. I guess if my brain is functioning properly, that should be the case.

Rhodes checks. Philosophers and neuroscientists haven't figured it out yet, mate. On the bright side, robots can do everything we can, so robot philosophers it is.

Major Uspensky narrows his eyes. And whether Galileo is lying about his damn abilities. I don't believe as you very well know.

Does it matter? Adam asks. Are we getting anywhere with our manhunt?

No, Major Uspensky says. I have a flush. Ace of hearts.

It's possible, Vishal thinks, but Igor often bluffs.

~ VISHAL + VISHAL * VISHAL + VISHAL  ~

20th CENTURY

VISHAL AND HIS father often visited their neighbors who had a better TV, slightly bigger with one extra channel and actual colors. One day when Vishal was thirteen years old, the news talked about Maoists in Kashmir recruiting child warriors.

With the smell of old carpet, the neighbors' house was also a tad larger, and they owned stuff Vishal's family couldn't afford: trinkets, knick knacks, and more electrical appliances of better quality. Vishal gazed at the family photos and books in a language he didn't know. The sound of kids kicking a ball drifted through an open window.

Lies, Vishal's father said in the local language. He glanced at his son. Well, not all of it. They're certainly poor people but not all of them are Maoists.

Vishal didn't know what to say. Many of the words he heard were unfamiliar to him.

Both sides have done horrible things, the neighbor with charcoal eyes said. The Adivasis are the victims.

Vishal's father frowned. Minerals. It's all about fucking minerals.

Vishal considered the statement, but it sounded like gibberish to him. The neighbor just stared at the smoke coming out of his cigarette.

Vishal’s mother came over to invite them all for lunch.

---

XXVI.

The Gods want us to be the best we can be, the Prophet Galileo said. Possessions and wealth, even nutrition, distract from that.

The Life and Philosophy of the Holy Prophet Galileo, by Baroness Iseasan, Mayor of New Atagan

Enhanced rock weathering is the practice of spreading rock dust, for instance, basalt, on farmland to capture carbon dioxide.

-From ERW, APS L1 Wiki, last edited by Major Uspensky

*HUJOLA*

UMVITAR, MILKY WAY

FEBRUARY 6, 11 AG

HUJOLA WORRIED ABOUT the visions of backward walking Rosus plus the occasional faen and facen. The faens outside, their skin a darker shade of yellow compared to Rosus and disdain for tattoos, hadn't given up and waited, in front of the door of her first father's cabin, for a chance to barge in. She didn’t care about her job—that was the last thing on her mind. Or her first and second family.

Try again, Kemedvosal, a faen said with authority.

This is the seventh time, boss.

I don't care, stupid. Do it until you get in.

The pounding continued, each time pushing Hujola and the furniture she had grabbed in a hurry, a bit. She knew it was unlikely for her to keep the pirates from eventually shattering the door. Guys, you're wasting your time. Well, on other planets time was going in the opposite direction.

Shut up, Kemedvosal said.

You shut up, superdick, Hujola yelled.

We don't have dicks, dear, Kemedvosal said.

Hujola had forgotten about that. After all, faen anatomy was irrelevant to most Rosus. "Whatever strange organs you have won't work on me, so why not guknur the hell off?"

Sweetheart, we don't care about your body; only about what your mind can do.

Twit, you didn't have to tell her that, Kemedvosal’s boss said.

That piqued Hujola's interest. Do you mean the freaking visions? Was that the right word for it?

The talkative faen laughed whereas the other, aer boss, scoffed. Hujola was in bad need of certain hygiene products, and she told the faens.

We can give you that after you give us a little demonstration to satisfy our curiosity, Kemedvosal said.

Not a word more, freak, the second faen said.

Hujola stared at her yellow hands, trembling just a little. "Look, I can let one of you, unarmed, in. My first father gave me a gun. I'll even give you faens a...handjob."

The faens laughed.

Silly girl, Kemedvosal said, we have your father. The boss is fetching—

Bang. A heavy object dropped and then a lighter one. "Let me in. I never liked that guknurpie."

Hujola gazed through the peephole: the pirate faen was holding his hands up, near the corpse of his dead comrade. They wore orange-blue clothing. On all fours, she ordered. She opened the door and let the faen crawl inside.

The faen touched Hujola’s hair. You promised me something.

Hujola sighed and started unzipping the faen's pants. It took four centoceses to finish the job.

You're a pro.

Hujola frowned. No, believe it or not, this was my first time. What did you want me to demonstrate?

As you know we can do things with our minds unless damn drugs prevent us. Well, it depends on...stuff. I just wanted to know what you can do. You've been off the drugs since yesterday, innit?

What in the name of Umvitar do you mean? Hujola's first father probably told the faens.

The faen pointed gingerly. Try to Lift that chair.

Hmm, okay. Hujola focused; she knew it could be done or at least a Senior Administrator had hinted at the possibility. The chair fell over.

In front of the open door, the fallen faen stood up on aer feet and clapped. "Impressive. You'll need more training, but that's not a bad guknuring start."

You're pathetic. Hujola aimed her gun at the faen outside. I thought you were shot down.

The faen held aer breath. "Yes and no. It was a flesh wound and us faens heal quickly unless our brain is damaged. Don't they teach you that in guknuring school?"

Hujola had heard stories but never believed them. She shrugged. Where's my first father?

Dead. I doubt you can pull off two perfect headshots. Lower the gun, or we'll kill you.

Hujola had trouble breathing. She was close to her first father, who she had known almost all her life since the First Assignment.

The faen inside grinned. She does give a helluva HJ, not that her body aroused me.

Hujola laughed. I should kill you just for that remark. She spotted the flesh wound on the faen's neck. It was indeed healing nicely. Probably ten times faster than it would for Rosus.

You're wondering why we didn't win the Gender War. It's because there are too few of us.

Hujola snorted. I knew that.

Something punched her in her gut. A fist sailed into her field of vision, and she fell back. Darkness.

CHAPTER 3 CHIMPS

My father gave intelligence to the chimps’ elite, the post-chimps, and now I face a similar choice, the Prophet Galileo said to his followers. But the circumstances are completely different.

The Life and Philosophy of the Holy Prophet Galileo, by Baroness Iseasan, Mayor of New Atagan

Conductive polymer batteries are cheaper and easier to produce than lithium-ion batteries without heating problems. They are primarily used in offices and power plants.

-From Polymer batteries, APS L2 Wiki, last edited by Lari R

ALBERT

EVANGELINE AIRSHIP, EARTH

FEBRUARY 11, 2081

THE AECHS RIGARDU at me as though I’m made of floating honey on the Evangeline airship, floating above the submerged former coast of North America. I hold a roll-phone close to my mouth. Amaterasu, what’s the status of our experiments?

We sail nine hundred feet above the fabulous, sunlit surface. Below in the distance and to starboard, a freighter plows the waves toward an unknown destination. The smell of bananas I brought with me wafts up to me.

The subjects did pretty well on the IQ tests, sir.

A chimp, Aech 415, pelts me with bananas that I catch and drop with my free hand. He reeks of alcohol. Senior Aechs subdue him. What a confrontational individual! What did I do to him?

Damn. NBBN2 chuckles. He hates you, doesn’t he?

I shrug as though I don't care. We got hope for ERW panning out. The chimps understand what it means?

Sorta, NBBN2 says. Don’t worry about it. They don’t mind helping a bit. Don’t make ‘em do long divisions, though.

I check the tempo. We should do this faster. Doubt it. Gonna be heavy laboris. Carrying rocks... To be weathered.

Your son can break dem rocks in no time, NBBN2 says.

I sigh. He refuses, and we lack the bandwidth to do more. Is he lying? I think it’ll come down to forced labor.

My raprod vibrates. Agrippina has been busy, sir, Fiafi says. She invited you for a meeting tomorrow.

I'll have to listen to her bad language again. Accept. I’m still waiting for the spark that will give the exponential value-adding solution. Kay, I’m going nowhere... My productivity plummeted.

That’s what you got us for, boss, NBBN2 says. We're like leaves whispering in your ear.

He's frivolous, but I made him that way because Amaterasu is too serious, and I wanted to have fun. A jokester AI—one ought to be enough.

In AR mode, I check the tempo. Why doesn't he get to the point?  The Multiverse Energy Sucker, Istas told me about, might bail us out. I stare out of the viewport at pretty clouds. Extra lamps in greenhouses. Some Kuqips use old-fashioned tech. We must forcefully remove ‘em from Earth to have any chance of beating GW2.

No offense, but you sound like a damn fascist, NBBN2 says.

What can I say to that? Won’t witness the Peace Coalition actions ‘cause I’ll be on Thohnuth most likely.

With all due respect, it does sound wrong, sir, Amaterasu says with a hint of a German accent.

Fair enough. What do you propose?

Nothing, sir.

That doesn't help me. Thought so. My voco trembles slightly. Did Amaterasu notice it? I must prepare for the voyage. Half of the OPR is coming.

Sir, Amaterasu says, we analyzed the footage from the Belgrade riots. We’re certain someone used wavej to provoke the protest.

Regressors? I nod. Yep, we dropped lupsofot threads on Qeerav Prime. Of course, we recovered as many strands as possible.

The Aechs don't mind carrying rocks

Human DNA matches chimps' for 99%, or so we're led to believe. Maybe aliens created us as part of nebulous experiments. Who knows?

~ TCGXA + TCGAX * TCAGX + TACGX ~

MANY DECADES LATER

SO THEY USED nuclear fusion reactors, but it still wasn’t enough, Senior Historian Kely said, stopping the audiobook yet again.

Apparently, Economist Tewart said, her voice rising like the dawn from the sea. The public was afraid. See, theoretically, those reactors weren’t perfectly safe. Naturally, they were safer than nuclear fission. And there was general resistance to AI and the APS.

Round-faced Kely inclined his head. I don’t understand the reasoning behind using MES. The Kuqips, as the APS and the OPR called regular citizens, would have hated the idea. Kely knew that some Morlocks still used that word, Kuqips.

The APS called them that too. It was genetic engineering against AI or no modern technology at all.

Senior Historian Kely smiled. Like ice cream flavors or pizza toppings. What's our take on this?

Economist Tewart shrugged, her face pale as wax because of a special cosmetic cream a panda-bot had applied to her face. I haven't made up my mind yet. It's not a simple question. I haven't thought about it in great detail.

---

i.

We, Atagans, have many legends about immortal warriors, and now indirectly Thohnuth science has given us the next best thing.

-Emperor Gluk, leader of Atagan

Forest fires have been made illegal in 523 nations to counteract Global Warming 2.

-From page two of the Awakenistani Morning newspaper

ALBERT

GNY, EARTH

FEBRUARY 12, 2081

IN WHAT COULD have been a courtroom (with a wooden bar and a door leading to the seat where a judge would have sat), I face the dozen members of House Agrippina (dark-haired Mrs. Greer, red-haired Mr. Kelly, Mrs. Gutierrez, gray-eyed Mr. Clay, blue-eyed Mr. Ritter, and others I can’t remember the names of), who must love the way senators dressed in olden Rome. The head of the house goes on and on about her plans. My presence serves no clear purpose, but I fake interest.

Because of GW2 Kuqips are dying of heat waves. Vishal’s last-ditch attempt at geoengineering might actually lead to an Ice Age. In GNY the weather is unseasonably warm too.

In a green dress revealing her shoulders, Agrippina glares at me. Don’t you agree, nerd? I’m censoring her words a bit.

I try to sonoj cooperative. Oh yeah, shipping is where it’s at with all the water... Watch out for the Bermuda Triangle, though. That was a joke of course. I stop myself from grinning. Fiafi performed shallow Monte Carlo simulations. You’ll do well. In the worst case, Galileo could live with her.

Glad that you approve, damn hippie. Again censoring. I would give you a cut if I thought you worthy. Have been thinking about something. Purportedly, you’re somewhat of an athlete and a scholar. To make a long story short, I request your freaking seed.

I lift my eyebrows. You what now? She could have given me a warning. As in what I did with Livilla after we married? I gesture at the others. Shouldn’t we discuss this somewhere more private?

No, no, spaz. Agrippina places an arm on her side. I meant quite literally what I said. Now, Livilla told me that you have your hangups about that sort of thing. So...

BoR doesn't approve of that, but since it apparently was written by the HiDimBes or their Matbrains to avoid mishaps during tempo-traveling missions, I might make an exception. I suppress a sigh of irritation. Listen, you can have my XNA. You aren't the first to request it.

Agrippina locks eyes with me. Hmm, that’s mighty tempting, but I have been having trouble with getting pregnant, and I want a beautiful child.

Like Galileo, Julia,