What was he doing here? That’s what Commander Loveless thought as he stood in the top suite of the Century Club: Empress’s private rooms. He stood here for the good part of twenty minutes but still couldn’t find a reason why he was there. The Empress stood on the far side of the room, continuing to not acknowledge his presence.
She wore nothing but a bathrobe, with sigil of the Autumn Crown printed on its back. She was holding a tin can with an unidentified liquid. She never drank from this can, but continued to slowly shake it in her hand, the liquid within audibly swishing from the force. She was staring outside the window of the suite, now showing nothing of the habitat aside from a few streetlamps shining light.
The suite itself was dark, with only a few candles dug out of storage providing light. A soft song, barely audible, escaped her lips, sounding eerie and foreboding to the sole listener in the room. “What,” she said. “What is the point of all this. What is the point of all this, I wonder. Why do I do the things I do?”
There were books and fliers all over the table behind her, featuring conspiracy theorist books dating back from Earth (along with more recent Sixthist publications). There was an actual corkwood board near the wall, upon which were actual notebook paper pinned to the walls with actual thumbtacks. On the pages pinned were scribbles in surprisingly neat handwriting, with pictures, all connected to each other in multi-colored strings. Commander Loveless could not see the details of the board, but believed that he could recognize few pictures of the Equity Lords (and alarmingly, himself) on the board.
“Do we do the things we do because we were born to do the things we do, or because we know how to do the things we do?”
“Are you drunk, milady?” Commander Loveless ventured. For an icebreaker when talking to royalty, it was probably not the best choice, but it did finally bring a reaction. Empress turned around and glared, “No,” she snapped. “Okay, maybe yes, it seems like I am, but I am not. Nanoma…. Nanoma… nani…. Tiny machines in my bloodstream can almost instantly neutralize the alcohol in the blood like this, so I’m no-ohwowthatreallyhurts,”Alaria said, stumbling slightly. Commander Loveless stepped forward to help her, stopping when she held up her hand in his direction. “No, no, I’m fine. God, who thought this thing was a good idea.”
“Well,”
“Rhetorical question,” Empress said, getting up on her feet once more. She took a sip of the drink in her hand, frowned at it, and set it aside. “Technology to fill our body with nanomachines and we used it to stop getting drunk or getting hangovers. I don’t know whether to laugh or be impressed—did we enhance the fun of drinking the things that we like or did we somehow diminish the experience by eliminating the consequences. I don’t know.”
Commander Loveless remained silent. “I know, I know,” she continued. “I know I sound weird right now, but trust me, I’m fine. I’ll be fine tomorrow morning again just like I was fine for every day of my life. Or most days anyways. I’m babbling. Give me a candle.”
Commander Loveless didn’t move. “Okay fine, just stand there,” she said. She knelt down and picked up a lit candle from the ground. “This candle is me.”
“Shining light in darkness?”
“Don’t be stupidly poetic, Loveless,” the Empress snapped. “Outdated, completely useless aside from aesthetics unless in extreme situations like this, and also coming in a pack of 12 after being fabricated by some UAS mystics with a machine. It cost me ten pounds. Stupidly expensive for being so pointless. Also reminds me of you.”
“Ex…excuse me?”
“You aren’t a candle, relax. Keep up. Hold this,” she said, shoving the candle into the Commander’s shocked arms. Was this some kind of long-winded process to say that he was being fired? Commander Loveless felt a measure of fear, as well as excruciating pain from the new burn in his chest, as the Empress started scattering the papers on her desk.
“Where…where… where did I put that damned thing… oh wait, here we go… thumbtacks… thumbtacks… ah screw it,” she pulled out a knife from a drawer and a document, pinning it to the board by slamming the knife into its middle. “Project Gestalt,” she said, gesticulating wildly at the document. “Secret project begun almost immediately after the Council began to take over the Board of Equity Lords. Well, not exactly after. From what I’ve managed to deduce, it began shortly after some high level meetings between the representatives of the two factions.”
“Yes, I’m aware of the project,” Commander Loveless said, numbly holding the candle. “It’s the project which eventually created you.”
“It’s more than that,” Empress Alaria hissed, trying to entwine some strings around the handle of the knife. “BTL. Nerve stapling. Neural pathway realignment. JITT. Brainwashing, have you heard of these terms?”
“These are banned and otherwise tightly regulated technologies within New Atlantis,” Loveless said. “Well, maybe not BTL. We use technology derived from that for education.”
“Who doesn’t? Literally makes learning fun not by changing anything about it but by tricking the brain. Educator’s wet dream right there. I bet Atlas Mitsubishi or whatever is handing out a revised program where corporate slavery is fun as we speak. Sounds about the same anyways. Stop that,” she gave him a light smack on the arm, shaking the candle. “What did I do?” Commander Loveless complained.
“You are making me digress. Time is limited. The chip I installed an hour ago isn’t going to last long. Security programs in my nanite is distracted with the alcohol but not for long.” It took Loveless couple of seconds to process what he just heard. “You installed a BTL chip?!”
“Three, and it’s really distracting. You aren’t helping. Help me focus. Focus. Shine that light on the wall.” “Milady, this is extremely irre-“ “Just fudging do as you are told for one goddamn time.” Loveless did as he was told. “Look, look,” she said, pointing a shaking finger at a document: an expose published forty years ago regarding nerve stapling experiments on unwilling subjects, carried out under auspice of the New Atlantean governor. “A critical moment in our history that shaped our phyle today… but there’s a detail that people don’t really talk about.”
“Which is?”
“The people who wrote the expose, and became powerful members of the technocratic council, were the bio engineers and technicians who headed said programs. According to this expose, and testaments from people who saw the nerve stapled victims, programs have gone nearly to its conclusion before they were shut down by the technocratic council. With their nanite medical technologies and all the experiments done on six million people lobotomized by Deus, New Atlantis became… frighteningly good with messing about in our brain… expertise which we never lost.”
“Milady, that’s not exactly a revelation,” Loveless said. “Just because we don’t practice these techniques doesn’t necessarily mean we lack the knowledge-“
“Stop, stop interrupting,” Alaria growled. “I’m getting to it. Look,” she pointed towards a picture of many people in lab scrubs, one at the center holding a strange container with twelve pods. “The same people who headed the nerve stapling project would then go on to be part of Project Gestalt. Why?”
Commander Loveless tilted his head. “They were respected bio engineers and unlike Earth, number of trained geneticists and other engineers are limited. Surely they were hired to ensure that the cloned child… you, milady, were developing correct neurological structure? After all, not many projects such as these were done before.”
“Wrong. Well okay, correct, but correct for the wrong reason,” Empress said. “But also wrong. They were ensuring that I grew up with the correct neurological structure, of course, but correct under whose instructions? Using the knowledge and techniques in fields related to nerve stapling, you can basically engineer desired values and behavior in any person. Basically my entire bloody childhood. You mentioned something relevant. BTL chips in children’s education to make learning ‘fun.’ HAH! We still do that and we still see nothing wrong with it. Like how in old earth vids you can see some bloody twelve year old working the register or shops at 3 PM and people think its freaking precocious because they are helping the ‘family business.’ We have such different standards of agency and parity between children and adults. I’m digressing. Stop me when I digress,” the Empress babbled.
“The point is I’ve been brought up to reflect a lot of traditions that both the technocrats and the Equity Lords wanted to see in their new leader. Programmed into my very genes and my neural structure. I need to be high when badmouthing my own phyle or else I feel freaking physical pain in my head and guts. Did I choose to feel that? Hell no. I don’t like crowds either, did I mention that? But if I’m in front a lot of people who are all staring at me, my mouth opens and out comes bloody words. It’s at this point an autonomous response. And then I feel pleasure from it—pleasure! From something that seems so terrible.”
“That’s not you thinking this right now,” Loveless said, approaching slowly. “It’s the chips. The BTL chips. You need to remove it before…”
“Yes, yes, I will, but I need it for now,” she snapped. “I need to give you an order… an illegal order… and order I would never be able to give you when I’m bloody ‘sane.’ The bloody neurologists made me incapable of defying the five principles and the equity lords made sure I can never give up on the monarchy, so I need to give you this order when…”
“You are digressing, milady,” Commander Loveless said, resigned.
“Yes, thank you. You are a good follower. I appreciate that,” she said. “I was just one of the batch.”
“What?”
“The candle. Came in a pack of twelve. Like me,” the Empress said. “The designers made twelve gene seed materials. Decided upon me to focus on once the others grew. I don’t know how I figured it out—I can’t focus on this project when I’m sane. Probably was drunk or high when I learned it and made this board.”
“Information acquired while not fully aware of your faculties is not vali-“
“I can’t find out more,” she said. “I can’t order or approve of investigations and data mining operation within the phyle members to find the other children. My family. I’m physically unable to give that order, even when I’m pretty sure that the Equity Lords or the Council have their own labyrinths running around doing just that. You don’t have the same block on me. You can violate the privacy and order espionage against fellow Crowners all you want. I need you to do that. Find the others.”
“But why me?”
“Because you are the only one I managed to find on my own,” the Empress said. “Pod number eight, given to the former governor’s family to raise as their own. This is just as much your problem as my own.”
“I-what?”
“Chip’s internal security is breached. I’m running out of time. Tell me you’ll do it. Security firmware update on my nanomachines is arriving tomorrow. I won’t get another chance. I’ll take responsibility if you are found out. I can do that even when I’m sane. Please.”
“I…” Loveless looked at the Empress, with crumpled hair, a tired frown, and shaking eyes with a hint of desperation behind the pupils. He sighed. “Very well.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I…” she stopped. A smile exuding a sense of embrassment creeped into her face. Her shaking eyes focused into a gleam. She reached out a hand and brushed it through her hair to make it more presentable, and standing up straight to her full height. “I’m sorry, my friend,” she said, clear voiced. “I showed you an embarrassing side to me.” She pulled off a small rectangular chip attached to her arms. “I can never understand myself when I decide doing this is a good idea.”
“Are… are you alright, milady?”
“Perfectly well, thank you for your concern, commander,” the Empress replied. “Well, I may actually need some help cleaning the desk and hiding the board,” she said, chuckling. “I don’t want to explain it when I have a meeting in this room tomorrow.”
“Ah, I see….”
“Oh, and Commander? You don’t have to follow the previous order if you don’t want to.” She walked over to her desk and began opening drawers, shuffling the papers, documents, and books inside. “You are free to go after that.” There was no trace of the crumple haired woman who were hanging photos and papers to walls with thumbtack seating at the desk anymore. Her body language exuded confidence and authority. “Alright, milady,” the Commander said. He didn’t really know what else to say.