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\hypertarget{douglas-hadje-2325}{%
\chapter{Douglas Hadje — 2325}\label{douglas-hadje-2325}}
When Douglas Hadje pressed his hands against the sides of the L\textsubscript{5} System, he always imagined that he could sense his aunt along with however many `great's preceded that title, sense all of those years separating him from her, and he pressed his hands against the outside of the System every chance he could get. If he was sure that he was alone---and he often was---he would press his forehead to the glassy, diamondoid cylinder and wish, hope, dream that he could say even one word to her. His people, humanity, now nearly two centuries distant from the founding of the System, forever felt on the verge of true speciation, of mutual incomprehensibility, from those within. Did they still think the same? Did they still feel the same? Their hopes were doubtless different, but were their dreams?
But always his hands were separated from the structure by that thin layer of skinsuit, and always his helmet was in the way of the carbon shell, and always he was at least one reality away from them.
He would spend his five minutes there, connected and not by touch, thinking of this or that, thinking of nothing at all, and then he would climb away from the cylinder down the ladder, down the dozen or so meters to the ceiling of his home, climb through the airlock, and perhaps go lay down.
Others knew of this. They had to. All movement outside the habitat portion of the station was tightly controlled. Everything was on video, recorded directly from his eyes through his exo. All audio was recorded.
But he never spoke, and he always closed his eyes. For some unknown reason, he was permitted this small dalliance.
The System sat stationary at the Earth-Moon L\textsubscript{5} point, a stable orbit with relation to the earth and moon such that it only very rarely required any correction to its position. Once a day, as the point rotated beyond Earth from the point of view of the sun and more briefly by the moon, it fell into darkness, but other than that, it was bathed in sunlight unmoderated by atmosphere. It rotated at a stately pace in relation to the moon and Earth such that its vast solar collector was always pointed toward the sun.
The station itself comprised three main parts. At the core of the station was the diamondoid cylinder, fifty meters in diameter and five hundred meters in length. The solar collector was attached to the sunward end of the cylinder, spreading out in a series of one hundred sixty thousand replaceable panels, one meter square each, held in a lattice of carbon fiber struts. Surrounding the cylinder was a torus, two hundred meters in diameter and as long as core cylinder itself, such that it was forever hidden from the sun by the solar collectors. Seventy-seven acres, of living space, working space, factories, and arable land, all lit by bundles of doped fiber optic cables which collected and distributed the light from space and cast it down from the ceiling. The entire contraption rotated nearly three times per minute, fast enough that they had an approximation of Earth's gravity.
That is where Douglas lived along with about twenty others.
To fund such a project, the torus had originally operated as a tourist destination. Many of the living spaces consisted of repurposed hotel rooms. It had long since ceased to serve in that capacity as humanity's curiosity for space dwindled and spaceflight from Earth once again began to rise in price.
To build such a project, the area had been cleared of much of the Trojan asteroids that had collected there, either used for raw materials or slung out into space into eccentric orbits that would keep them from impacting Earth or winding up once again captured in the same Lagrange point. Even still, one of the many jobs was to monitor the area for newly captured rocks and divert or collect them as needed. The material could be used for new solar panels, or perhaps the two five-thousand kilometer long launch arms sprouting on opposing sides of the torus, the Hall Effect Engines that kept the rotation of the station constant as the arms had been extruded from its surface, or of course the two new cylindrical launch vehicles at the tips of those arms that had, over the last two decades, been constructed as half-scale duplicates of the core.
Little of this mattered to Douglas.
He was, he was forever told, a people person. He was an administrator, a boss, a manager. It was his job to direct and guide and herd people into doing what was required for this twenty-year project. He was forever told that he had the empathy and skills to lead, though he forever doubted it.
He simply cared about this with a fervor that was dimmed only by the idea that, somewhere within the mirror-box that was the System cylinder, his distant ancestor dwelt.
Douglas was the launch director. He was the \emph{director}. He was high enough on the food chain that he had ungated access to the textual communication line that connected the phys-side world to the sys-side world. He was the director, and he knew that, if he wished, all he need do was pull up the program, type up a letter, run it past security, click `send', and Michelle, his generations-gone aunt, would somehow receive it.
And yet he never did.
He didn't know why. He asked himself again and again what it was that kept him from reaching out to her. Was it that speciation? Was it the confounding societal differences? Was it that unfathomable distance between the physical and the dream? He did not know, he did not know.
Instead, he worked. He oversaw the construction of the Launch Vehicle Systems, those two smaller cylinders that would be, in a few days, released from either end of the launch arms at incredible tangential velocity. He worked with the sys-side launch coordinator to ensure that everything was working appropriately, that the micro-Ansible connection between the main System and the launch vessels was appropriately transferring entire identities.
Who this coordinator was, this confusingly-named May Then My Name Die With Me, he had no idea.
He needn't even message Michelle directly. He had May Then My Name Die With Me, perhaps she would know her. He could ask her. She could mediate.
And still, he never did.
\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
\begin{quote}
Director Hadje,
The launch is tomorrow and communications are looking good. A status report will follow, but before I get to that, I would like to open a dialog with you surrounding topics beyond the launch itself. Please ensure that this is both acceptable by the hierarchy of superiors that doubtless read our communications and yourself, as they are of a somewhat more personal nature. As my role of launch coordinator slowly dwindles, I have been asked by both my clade and a historian sys-side to collect information through extant lines of communication, a sort of oral history of the events leading up to, surrounding, and immediately after the launch.
Thank you,
May Then My Name Die With Me of the Ode clade
2325-01-20---systime 201+20 1303
\end{quote}
\hypertarget{status-report}{%
\section*{Status Report}\label{status-report}}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\textbf{Micro-Ansible transmission:}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\emph{Outbound functionality:} five-by-five (go)
\item
\emph{Inbound functionality:} five-by-five (go)
\end{itemize}
\item
\textbf{Transmission status:}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\emph{Personalities transferred:} 2,593,190,433 / 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Individuals by clade transferred:} 1,123,384,222 / 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Personalities remaining to be transferred:} 0 / 0\% (go)
\item
\emph{Individuals by clade remaining to be transferred:} 0 / 0\% (go)
\item
\emph{Personalities transferred leaving no immediate forks (pct):} 3.8\%
\item
\emph{Individuals by clade transferred leaving no immediate forks (pct):} 0.00000018\%
\item
\emph{Social makeup of transfers:} 84\% dispersionista / 10\% tracker / 6\% tasker
\item
\emph{Social makeup of L\textsubscript{5} System:} 23\% dispersionista / 38\% tracker / 39\% tasker
\item
\emph{Transfers irrevocably lost:} 8 (go)
\end{itemize}
\item
\textbf{System status:}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
Castor:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\emph{Stability:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Clock offset:} 0ns (go)
\item
\emph{Clock skew:} 0ns/ns (go)
\item
\emph{Clock jitter:} 0ns/ns/ns (go)
\item
\emph{Entanglement:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Fork reliability:} 17 nines (go)
\item
\emph{Merge reliability:} 23 nines (go)
\end{itemize}
\pagebreak
\item
Pollux:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\emph{Stability:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Clock offset:} 0ns (go)
\item
\emph{Clock skew:} 0ns/ns (go)
\item
\emph{Clock jitter:} 0ns/ns/ns (go)
\item
\emph{Entanglement:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Fork reliability:} 18 nines (go)
\item
\emph{Merge reliability:} 21 nines (go)
\end{itemize}
\end{itemize}
\item
\textbf{Disposition:} go for launch
\end{itemize}
\vspace{-0.5em}
\begin{quote}
\emph{Notes:} the level of transfers irrevocably lost is disappointing but cannot be helped. Still, it is far below the loss from the Earth-L\textsubscript{5} Ansible, which, as a matter of course, implies the loss of a clade rather than a personality. One clade was lost irrevocably, but, at the risk of sounding crass, they knew they were signing up for this, and it is always a risk for taskers. That one loss represents 0.005\% of the total transfer loss, and is vanishingly small in the grand scheme of things, though I am sure it is of no consolation to their friends. Congratulations, as always, for another step closer to launch.
\end{quote}
\hypertarget{attachment-history-questionnaire-1}{%
\subsection*{Attachment: history questionnaire \#1}\label{attachment-history-questionnaire-1}}
As mentioned, I am working with a historian---or rather, three forks of the same historian---to compile a history of the launch. Due to a certain incorrigible tricksiness, this will take the form of a mythology; something romantic to be passed down through the years. To this end, data collection is ramping up in the form of countless interviews. I have, of course, all the status reports a girl could ever want for the basic facts, all of the trials and tribulations over the last two decades, but that is only a small portion of a mythology. Should you and your superiors agree, I would like to begin the process of collecting testimonies from those phys-side.
\hypertarget{concrete-questions}{%
\subsubsection*{Concrete questions}\label{concrete-questions}}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
How long have you been working as phys-side launch director?
\item
What is involved with your role as phys-side launch director?
\item
How long have you been working with the System phys-side?
\item
What led you to pursue a career working with the System?
\item
What led you to remain phys-side rather than uploading, yourself? Will you upload in the future? Why or why not?
\item
What led you to pursue your position as launch director rather than remaining in your previous position?
\item
Please provide a biography of yourself to whatever level of detail you feel comfortable.
\item
Please provide a physical description of yourself to whatever level of detail you feel comfortable.
\item
Do you have any hobbies?
\end{itemize}
\hypertarget{on-the-system}{%
\subsubsection*{On the System}\label{on-the-system}}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
How do you feel about what you know of the founding of the System?
\item
If you were suddenly removed from your position as director, what would you choose to do as a career in its stead?
\item
If you were suddenly removed from your location in the extra-System station and returned to Earth, how would you feel and what would you expect?
\item
If the System shut down and all personalities irrevocably lost, how would you feel?
\end{itemize}
\hypertarget{gestalt}{%
\subsubsection*{Gestalt}\label{gestalt}}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
If you were told that, one year from now, you would die painlessly, what would you do? Would this change if you knew that your death would be painful? Would this change, in either case, if your death was seven days from now?
\item
If everyone but you disappeared, what would you do?
\item
How do you feel about being alone for extended periods of time?
\item
Do you remember your dreams?
\end{itemize}
\vspace{-2em}
\hypertarget{on-history}{%
\subsubsection*{On history}\label{on-history}}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
How long wilt Thou forget me, O Lord? Forever? How long wilt Thou hide Thy face from me?
\item
When you become intoxicated---whether via substance use or some natural process, such as sleep deprivation---which of the following applies to you?
\begin{enumerate}
\def\labelenumi{\arabic{enumi}.}
\tightlist
\item
Ape drunk: he leaps and sings and hollers and danceth for the heavens.
\item
Lion drunk: he flings the pots about the house, calls his hostess whore, breaks the glass windows with his dagger, and is apt to quarrel with any man that speaks to him.
\item
Swine drunk: heavy, lumpish, and sleepy, and cries for a little more drink and a few more clothes.
\item
Sheep drunk: wise in his own conceit when he cannot bring forth a right word.
\item
Maudlin drunk: when a fellow will weep for kindness in the midst of his ale and kiss you, saying, ``By God, Captain, I love thee; go thy ways, thou dost not think so often of me as I do of thee. If I would, if it pleased God, I could not love thee so well as I do.''---and then puts his finger in his eye and cries.
\item
Martin drunk: when a man is drunk and drinks himself sober ere he stir.
\item
Goat drunk: when in his drunkenness, he hath no mind but on lechery.
\item
Fox drunk: when he is crafty drunk as many of the Dutchmen be.
\end{enumerate}
\item
While walking along in the desert, you look down and see a tortoise making its way toward you. You reach down and flip it over onto its back. The tortoise lies there, its belly baking in the hot sun, waving its legs back and forth, trying to right itself, but it cannot do so without your help. You are not helping. Why not?
\item
Two by two, two by two, and twice more. We always think in binaries, in black and white. We remember history two by two. We consider the present two by two. We think of the future twice over, and twice again. I have looked back on history and seen ceaseless progress or steps backward. I look back a hundred years and see illness and failure, and I look at today and see \rule{5em}{0.75pt}?
\item
Oh, but to whom do I speak these words?\\
To whom do I plead my case?\\
From whence do I call out?\\
What right have I?\\
No ranks of angels will answer to dreamers,\\
No unknowable spaces echo my words.\\
Before whom do I kneel, contrite?\\
Behind whom do I await my judgment?\\
Beside whom do I face death?\\
And why wait I for an answer?
\end{itemize}
\begin{quote}
Please take your time, and remember that the launch takes precedence over your answers.
In friendship,
May Then My Name Die With Me of the Ode Clade
\end{quote}
\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
\newpage
\begin{quote}
May Then My Name Die With Me,
Thank you for the updated status report. I am looking forward to the launch, and will provide you the best textual description that I am able as it happens from phys-side. I will attempt to provide real-time updates, though the exigencies of the situation will take precedence. Congratulations on making it this far, and thank you for all of your help. Status report follows.
While we were largely baffled by the nature of your questions, the launch commission and myself have accepted the task of aiding you and your companion in your history/mythology project. Answers(?) will follow in a separate message.
Thank you,
Douglas Hadje, MSf, PhD\\
\indent Launch director
2325-01-20---systime 201+20 1515
Digital signatures:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
Douglas Hadje
\item
Launch commission:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
de
\item
Jonathan Finnes
\item
Thomas Nash
\item
Woo Hye-won
\item
Hasnaa
\end{itemize}
\end{itemize}
\end{quote}
\vspace{-2em}
\hypertarget{status-report-1}{%
\section*{Status Report}\label{status-report-1}}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\textbf{Station-side status:}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\emph{Systems check:} Complete (go)
\item
\emph{Staff:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Gravity compensation:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Tiedowns:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Expected rotational impact:} Nominal (go)
\item
\emph{Rotational compensation engines:} Nominal (go)
\item
\emph{Power storage:} 98\% (go)
\item
\emph{Power consumption:} 86\% (go)
\item
\emph{Panel efficiency:} 5 nines (go)
\end{itemize}
\item
\textbf{Launch arm status:}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
Castor:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\emph{Launch strut integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Launch arm integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Launch arm path:} Clear (go)
\item
\emph{Launch arm cameras:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Launch vehicle path:} Clear to 1.8AU, 5 nines confidence (go)
\item
\emph{Capacitor charge:} 6 nines, on track to 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Speed:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Expected acceleration:} Nominal (go)
\item
\emph{Expected jerk:} Nominal (go)
\end{itemize}
\item
Pollux:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\emph{Launch strut integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Launch arm integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Launch arm path:} Clear (go)
\item
\emph{Launch arm cameras:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Launch vehicle path:} Clear to 1.2AU, 5 nines confidence (go)
\item
\emph{Capacitor charge:} 6 nines, on track to 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Speed:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Expected acceleration:} Nominal (go)
\item
\emph{Expected jerk:} Nominal (go)
\end{itemize}
\end{itemize}
\pagebreak
\item
\textbf{Launch vehicle status:}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
Castor:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\emph{System surface integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{System interior integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Sabot integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Sabot ejection system:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{RTG power rate:} Steady (go)
\item
\emph{RTG temperature:} Nominal (go)
\item
\emph{RTG pre-launch heat sink:} Nominal (go)
\item
\emph{RTG post-launch heat-sink:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{RTG post-launch heat-sink deployment mechanism:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{Solar sail integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Solar sail deployment mechanism:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{Solar panel integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Solar panel deployment/retraction mechanism:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{Attitude jet functionality:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Raw material capacity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Raw material manipulator functionality:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Raw material manufactory functionality:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Dreamer Module functionality:} 100\% (go)
\end{itemize}
\item
Pollux:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\emph{System surface integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{System interior integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Sabot integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Sabot ejection system:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{RTG power rate:} Steady (go)
\item
\emph{RTG temperature:} Nominal (go)
\item
\emph{RTG pre-launch heat sink:} Nominal (go)
\item
\emph{RTG post-launch heat-sink:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{RTG post-launch heat-sink deployment mechanism:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{Solar sail integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Solar sail deployment mechanism:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{Solar panel integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Solar panel deployment/retraction mechanism:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{Attitude jet functionality:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Raw material capacity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Raw material manipulator functionality:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Raw material manufactory functionality:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Dreamer Module functionality:} 100\% (go)
\end{itemize}
\end{itemize}
\item
\textbf{Disposition:} go for launch
\end{itemize}
\begin{quote}
\emph{Notes:} We are 1\% away from desired power consumption reduction on the station. While this is within tolerances, we are expecting that, with the shutdown of the glass furnace at 2330, we will hit our mark of 15\% station-wide power reduction. Congratulations!
\end{quote}
\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
\hypertarget{message-stream}{%
\section*{Message stream}\label{message-stream}}
\begin{quote}
\textbf{Phys-side:} The launch vehicles in their sabots are settled into their creches and the doors are shut. Everyone's excited, but I'm pleased at the calm efficiency of the control tower I'm in (Pollux). We are 1deg offset spinward from the launch arm, so we should be able to see the launch well enough, but the arm appears to disappear into nothingness ``below'' us after about 100m, so the show won't be great past then. We'll all be watching the cameras. Even those won't be very exciting, given the speed the LVs will be going. Models suggest that we might feel a jerk and fluctuation in gravity, that will be quickly compensated by the engines.
\textbf{Phys-side:} Given your apparent interest in the subjective aspects of the launch, I have to say that I wish there was a big red button I could hit to trigger the launch. Wouldn't that be satisfying? I picture it like one of the keyboards, where there's some sort of spring in there, and a satisfying click as the button snaps down that last bit and makes some physical electric contact. Everything's done on a timer, however, and the chances of any manual intervention being required are essentially zero. Everyone in the tower here is in place to take in data and give reports. I didn't receive permission to pass those on directly, however, so you're left with them being filtered through yours truly.
\textbf{Phys-side:} One minute.
\textbf{Phys-side:} Thirty seconds.
\textbf{Phys-side:} Ten seconds. Godspeed.
\textbf{Sys-side:} Godspeed, you dumb bastards.
\textbf{Phys-side:} 3
\textbf{Phys-side:} 1
\textbf{Phys-side:} Launch looks good.
\textbf{Phys-side:} Watching the struts flex and jolt with the release of mass is quite beautiful.
\textbf{Phys-side:} They weren't kidding about the jerk. Two of them, actually, as the engines fired a half second after the jerk reached the torus. We've got two injuries down here---bumps and bruises. Reports from the torus indicate that damage was minimal. Some sloshing from the hydroponics, but that's easy to clean up. One of the furnaces will need some care. Worst bit of damage, however, is that the solar array suffered a cascading failure: one panel broke loose and tumbled end-over-end across a few hundred others. Power's still nominal, though. We'll get it fixed.
\textbf{Phys-side:} Did you feel anything up there?
\textbf{Sys-side:} Har har. No, nothing up here. I, like you, wish that we had, though. If there had been some sudden jolt or a flicker of the lights, I think that perhaps this launch would have felt more real. I suspect that my cocladist, Dear, Also, The Tree That Was Felled, would have simulated an earthquake at the exact moment of launch, destroying its home in the process, but alas, it was one of those hopeless romantics who transferred entirely to the LVs without leaving a fork. I will have Ioan (my pet historian) ask it if it did so from the LVs. I would not be surprised.
\textbf{Phys-side:} Your clade sounds fascinating. I don't understand a single bit of it.
\textbf{Sys-side:} I will tell you a story one day.
\textbf{Sys-side:} How do you feel with 20 years of work gone in an instant?
\textbf{Phys-side:} I'm still processing that. Numb? Giddy? Can I be both at the same time?
\textbf{Sys-side:} I see no reason why not. Why numb? Why giddy?
\textbf{Phys-side:} Numb because there was nothing to see. Not even a flash. The LVs were here, and then they were gone. I'll never see them again. Giddy because it worked. Telemetry is good, speed is nominal, entanglement is nominal, radio communication is nominal, though the rate at which message times are increasing is surprising, though I knew that this would happen. How neat is that?
\textbf{Sys-side:} Very neat. I feel much the same. I feel numb for the reason I mentioned above. They were here, and then they were gone, and there was no feedback from the action. We are still talking despite this. This is where the numb and the giddy cross, as, in some ways, it feels as though they never left (modulo the fact that Dear would almost certainly rather talk via sensorium messages rather than text), but Codrin (Dear's pet historian) is much suited to words. Giddy, though, because this remains exciting for all of us, both here and on the LVs. Already they diverge, already they are no longer the ones who left here, already they are no longer us.
\textbf{Phys-side:} That's not something I can picture, but I'll trust you on that.
\textbf{Sys-side:} Different worlds, different problems. I must see to Ioan and to writing. Douglas, congratulations once more, and I will stay in contact regarding the LVs and my research.
\textbf{Phys-side:} Thank you for all your hard work, May Then My Name Die With Me.
\textbf{Sys-side:} You may call me May Then My Name, now that the hard work is over.
\textbf{Phys-side:} Thanks! Be well.
\textbf{Sys-side:} You too.
\end{quote}

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\hypertarget{douglas-hadje-2325}{%
\chapter{Douglas Hadje — 2325}\label{douglas-hadje-2325}}
Director Hadje,
The launch is tomorrow and communications are looking good. A status report will follow, but before I get to that, I would like to open a dialog with you surrounding topics beyond the launch itself. Please ensure that this is both acceptable by the hierarchy of superiors that doubtless read our communications and yourself, as they are of a somewhat more personal nature. As my role of launch coordinator slowly dwindles, I have been asked by both my clade and a historian sys-side to collect information through extant lines of communication, a sort of oral history of the events leading up to, surrounding, and immediately after the launch.
Thank you,
May Then My Name Die With Me of the Ode Clade
2325-01-20---systime 200+364 1303
\hypertarget{status-report}{%
\section{Status Report}\label{status-report}}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\textbf{Micro-Ansible transmission:}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\emph{Outbound functionality:} five-by-five (go)
\item
\emph{Inbound functionality:} five-by-five (go)
\end{itemize}
\item
\textbf{Transmission status:}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\emph{Personalities transferred:} 2,593,190,433 / 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Individuals by clade transferred:} 1,123,384,222 / 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Personalities remaining to be transferred:} 0 / 0\% (go)
\item
\emph{Individuals by clade remaining to be transferred:} 0 / 0\% (go)
\item
\emph{Personalities transferred leaving no immediate forks (pct):} 3.8\%
\item
\emph{Individuals by clade transferred leaving no immediate forks (pct):} 0.00000018\%
\item
\emph{Social makeup of transfers:} 84\% dispersionista / 10\% tracker / 6\% tasker
\item
\emph{Social makeup of L\textless sub5\textless/subSystem:} 23\% dispersionista / 38\% tracker / 39\% tasker
\item
\emph{Transfers irrevocably lost:} 8 (go)
\end{itemize}
\item
\textbf{System status:}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
Castor:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\emph{Stability:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Clock offset:} 0ns (go)
\item
\emph{Clock skew:} 0ns/ns (go)
\item
\emph{Clock jitter:} 0ns/ns/ns (go)
\item
\emph{Entanglement:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Fork reliability:} 17 nines (go)
\item
\emph{Merge reliability:} 23 nines (go)
\end{itemize}
\item
Pollux:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\emph{Stability:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Clock offset:} 0ns (go)
\item
\emph{Clock skew:} 0ns/ns (go)
\item
\emph{Clock jitter:} 0ns/ns/ns (go)
\item
\emph{Entanglement:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Fork reliability:} 18 nines (go)
\item
\emph{Merge reliability:} 21 nines (go)
\end{itemize}
\end{itemize}
\item
\textbf{Disposition:} go for launch
\end{itemize}
\emph{Notes:} the level of transfers irrevocably lost is disappointing but cannot be helped. Still, it is far below the loss from the Earth-L\textless sub5 Ansible, which, as a matter of course, implies the loss of a clade rather than a personality. One clade was lost irrevocably, but, at the risk of sounding crass, they knew they were signing up for this, and it is always a risk for taskers. That one loss represents 0.005\% of the total transfer loss, and is vanishingly small in the grand scheme of things. Congratulations, as always, for another step closer to launch.
\hypertarget{attachment-history-questionnaire-1}{%
\section{Attachment: history questionnaire \#1}\label{attachment-history-questionnaire-1}}
As mentioned, I am working with a historian---or rather, three forks of the same historian---to compile a history of the launch. Due to a certain incorrigible tricksiness, this will take the form of a mythology; something romantic to be passed down through the years. To this end, data collection is ramping up in the form of countless interviews. I have, of course, all the status reports a girl could ever want for the basic facts, all of the trials and tribulations over the last two decades, but that is only a small portion of a mythology. Should you and your superiors agree, I would like to begin the process of collecting testimonies from those phys-side.
\hypertarget{concrete-questions}{%
\subsection{Concrete questions}\label{concrete-questions}}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
How long have you been working as phys-side launch director?
\item
What is involved with your role as phys-side launch director?
\item
How long have you been working with the System phys-side?
\item
What led you to pursue a career working with the System?
\item
What led you to remain phys-side rather than uploading, yourself? Will you upload in the future? Why or why not?
\item
What led you to pursue your position as launch director rather than remaining in your previous position?
\item
Please provide a biography of yourself to whatever level of detail you feel comfortable.
\item
Please provide a physical description of yourself to whatever level of detail you feel comfortable.
\item
Do you have any hobbies?
\end{itemize}
\hypertarget{on-the-system}{%
\subsection{On the System}\label{on-the-system}}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
How do you feel about what you know of the founding of the System?
\item
If you were suddenly removed from your position as director, what would you choose to do as a career in its stead?
\item
If you were suddenly removed from your location in the extrasystem station and returned to Earth, how would you feel and what would you expect?
\item
If the System shut down and all personalities irrevocably lost, how would you feel?
\end{itemize}
\hypertarget{gestalt}{%
\subsection{Gestalt}\label{gestalt}}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
If you were told that, one year from now, you would die painlessly, what would you do? Would this change if you knew that your death would be painful? Would this change, in either case, if your death was seven days from now?
\item
If everyone but you disappeared, what would you do?
\item
How do you feel about being alone for extended periods of time?
\item
Do you remember your dreams?
\end{itemize}
\hypertarget{on-history}{%
\subsection{On history}\label{on-history}}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
How long wilt Thou forget me, O Lord? Forever? How long wilt Thou hide Thy face from me?
\item
When you become intoxicated---whether via substance use or some natural process, such as sleep deprivation---which of the following applies to you?
\begin{enumerate}
\def\labelenumi{\arabic{enumi}.}
\tightlist
\item
Ape drunk: he leaps and sings and hollers and danceth for the heavens.
\item
Lion drunk: he flings the pots about the house, calls his hostess whore, breaks the glass windows with his dagger, and is apt to quarrel with any man that speaks to him.
\item
Swine drunk: heavy, lumpish, and sleepy, and cries for a little more drink and a few more clothes.
\item
Sheep drunk: wise in his own conceit when he cannot bring forth a right word.
\item
Maudlin drunk: when a fellow will weep for kindness in the midst of his ale and kiss you, saying, ``By God, Captain, I love thee; go thy ways, thou dost not think so often of me as I do of thee. If I would, if it pleased God, I could not love thee so well as I do.''---and then puts his finger in his eye and cries.
\item
Martin drunk: when a man is drunk and drinks himself sober ere he stir.
\item
Goat drunk: when in his drunkenness, he hath no mind but on lechery.
\item
Fox drunk: when he is crafty drunk as many of the Dutchmen be.
\end{enumerate}
\item
While walking along in desert sand, you suddenly look down and see a tortoise crawling toward you. You reach down and flip it over onto its back. The tortoise lies there, its belly baking in the hot sun, beating its legs, trying to turn itself over, but it cannot do so without your help. You are not helping. Why?
\item
Two by two, two by two, and twice more. We always think in binaries, in black and white. We remember history two by two. We consider the present two by two. We think of the future twice over, and twice again. I have looked back on history and seen ceaseless progress or steps backward. I look back a hundred years and see illness and failure, and I look at today and see \_\_\_\_\_?
\item
Oh, but to whom do I speak these words?\\
To whom do I plead my case?\\
From whence do I call out?\\
What right have I?\\
No ranks of angels will answer to dreamers,\\
No unknowable spaces echo my words.\\
Before whom do I kneel, contrite?\\
Behind whom do I await my judgment?\\
Beside whom do I face death?\\
And why wait I for an answer?
\end{itemize}
Please take your time, and remember that the launch takes precedence over your answers.
In friendship,
May Then My Name Die With Me of the Ode Clade
\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
May Then My Name Die With Me,
Thank you for the updated status report. I am looking forward to the launch, and will provide you the best textual description that I am able as it happens from phys-side. I will attempt to provide real-time updates, though the exigencies of the situation will take precedence. Congratulations on making it this far, and thank you for all of your help. Status report follows.
While we were largely baffled by the nature of your question, the launch commission and myself have accepted the task of aiding you and your companion in your history/mythology project. Answers(?) will follow in a separate message.
Thank you,
Douglas Hadje, MSf, PhD\\
Launch director
2325-01-20---systime 200+364 1515
Digital signatures:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
Douglas Hadje
\item
Launch commission:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
de
\item
Jonathan Finnes
\item
Thomas Nash
\item
Woo Hye-won
\item
Hasnaa
\end{itemize}
\end{itemize}
\hypertarget{status-report-1}{%
\section{Status Report}\label{status-report-1}}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\textbf{Station-side status:}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\emph{Systems check:} Complete (go)
\item
\emph{Staff:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Gravity compensation:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Tiedowns:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Expected rotational impact:} Nominal (go)
\item
\emph{Rotational compensation engines:} Nominal (go)
\item
\emph{Power storage:} 98\% (go)
\item
\emph{Power consumption:} 86\% (go)
\item
\emph{Panel efficiency:} 5 nines (go)
\end{itemize}
\item
\textbf{Launch arm status:}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
Castor:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\emph{Launch arm integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Launch arm path:} Clear (go)
\item
\emph{Launch arm cameras:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Launch vehicle path:} Clear to transsolar 1.8AU, 5 nines confidence (go)
\item
\emph{Capacitor charge:} 6 nines, on track to 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Speed:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Expected acceleration:} Nominal (go)
\item
\emph{Expected expected jerk:} Nominal (go)
\end{itemize}
\item
Pollux:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\emph{Launch arm integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Launch arm path:} Clear (go)
\item
\emph{Launch arm cameras:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Launch vehicle path:} Clear to cissolar 1.2AU, 5 nines confidence (go)
\item
\emph{Capacitor charge:} 6 nines, on track to 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Speed:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Expected acceleration:} Nominal (go)
\item
\emph{Expected expected jerk:} Nominal (go)
\end{itemize}
\end{itemize}
\item
\textbf{Launch vehicle status:}
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
Castor:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\emph{System surface integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{System interior integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Sabot integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Sabot ejection system:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{RTG power rate:} Steady (go)
\item
\emph{RTG temperature:} Nominal (go)
\item
\emph{RTG pre-launch heat sink:} Nominal (go)
\item
\emph{RTG post-launch heat-sink:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{RTG post-launch heat-sink deployment mechanism:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{Solar sail integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Solar sail deployment mechanism:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{Solar panel integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Solar panel deployment/retraction mechanism:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{Attitude jet functionality:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Raw material capacity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Raw material manipulator functionality:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Raw material manufactory functionality:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Dreamer Module functionality:} 100\% (go)
\end{itemize}
\item
Pollux:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
\emph{System surface integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{System interior integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Sabot integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Sabot ejection system:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{RTG power rate:} Steady (go)
\item
\emph{RTG temperature:} Nominal (go)
\item
\emph{RTG pre-launch heat sink:} Nominal (go)
\item
\emph{RTG post-launch heat-sink:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{RTG post-launch heat-sink deployment mechanism:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{Solar sail integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Solar sail deployment mechanism:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{Solar panel integrity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Solar panel deployment/retraction mechanism:} Tests pass (go)
\item
\emph{Attitude jet functionality:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Raw material capacity:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Raw material manipulator functionality:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Raw material manufactory functionality:} 100\% (go)
\item
\emph{Dreamer Module functionality:} 100\% (go)
\end{itemize}
\end{itemize}
\item
\textbf{Disposition:} go for launc
\end{itemize}
\emph{Notes:} We are 1\% away from desired power consumption reduction on the station. While this is within tolerances, we are expecting that, with the shutdown of the glass furnace at 2330, we will hit our mark of 15\% station-wide power reduction. Congratulations!
\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
\hypertarget{message-stream}{%
\section{Message stream}\label{message-stream}}
\textbf{Phys-side:} The launch vehicles in their sabots are settled into their creches and the doors are shut. Everyone's excited, but I'm pleased at the calm efficiency of the control tower I'm in (Pollux). We are 1deg offset spinward from the launch arm, so we should be able to see the launch well enough, but the arm appears to disappear into nothingness after about 100m, so the show won't be great past then. We'll all be watching the cameras. Even those won't be very exciting, given the speed the LVs will be going. Models suggest that we might feel a jerk and fluctuation in gravity, that will be quickly compensated by the engines.
\textbf{Phys-side:} Given your apparent interest in the subjective aspects of the launch, I have to say that I wish there was a big red button I could hit to trigger the launch. Wouldn't that be satisfying? I picture it like one of the keyboards, where there's some sort of spring in there, and a satisfying click as the button snaps down that last bit and makes some physical electric contact Everything's done on a timer, however, and the chances of any manual intervention being required are essentially zero. Everyone in the tower here is essentially in place to take in data and give reports. I didn't receive permission to pass those on directly, however, so you're left with them being filtered through yours truly.
\textbf{Phys-side:} One minute.
\textbf{Phys-side:} Thirty seconds.
\textbf{Phys-side:} Ten seconds. Godspeed.
\textbf{Sys-side:} Godspeed, you poor fucks.
\textbf{Phys-side:} 3
\textbf{Phys-side:} 1
\textbf{Phys-side:} Launch looks good.
\textbf{Phys-side:} Watching the struts flex and jolt with the release of mass is quite beautiful.
\textbf{Phys-side:} They weren't kidding about the jerk. Two of them, actually, as the engines fired a half second after the jerk reached the torus. We've got two injuries down here - bumps and bruises. Reports from the torus indicate that damage was minimal. Some sloshing from the hydroponics, but that's easy to clean up. One of the furnaces will need some care. Worst bit of damage, however, is that the solar array suffered a cascading failure: one panel broke loose and tumbled end-over-end across a few hundred others. Power's still nominal, though. We'll get it fixed.
\textbf{Phys-side:} Did you feel anything up there?
\textbf{Sys-side:} Har har. No, nothing up here. I, like you, wish that we had, though. If there had been some sudden jolt or a flicker of the lights, I think that perhaps this launch would have felt more real. I suspect that my cocladist, Dear, Also, The Tree That Was Felled, would have simulated an earthquake at the exact moment of launch, destroying its home in the process, but alas, it was one of those hopeless romantics who transferred entirely to the LVs without leaving a fork. I will have Ioan (my pet historian) ask if it did so from the LVs. I would not be surprised.
\textbf{Phys-side:} Your clade sounds fascinating. I don't understand a single bit of it.
\textbf{Sys-side:} I will tell you a story one day.
\textbf{Sys-side:} How do you feel with 20 years of work gone in an instant?
\textbf{Phys-side:} I'm still processing that. Numb? Giddy? Can I be both at the same time?
\textbf{Sys-side:} I see no reason why not. Why numb? Why giddy?
\textbf{Phys-side:} Numb because there was nothing to see. Not even a flash. The LVs were here, and then they were gone, and I'll never see them again. Giddy because it worked. Telemetry is good, speed is nominal, entanglement is nominal, radio communication is nominal, though the rate at which message times are increasing is surprising, though I knew that this would happy. How neat is that?
\textbf{Sys-side:} Very neat. I feel much the same. I feel numb for the reason I mentioned above. They were here, and then they were gone, and there was no feedback from the action. As planned, we are hogging all of the entanglement bandwidth with communication, some of which you will be receiving on other streams. This is where the numb and the giddy cross, as in some ways, it feels as though they never left (modulo the fact that Dear would almost certainly rather talk via sensorium messages rather than text, but Codrin (Dear's pet historian) is much suited to words. Giddy, though, because this remains exciting for all of us, both here and on the LVs, and already they diverge, already they are no longer the ones who left here, already they are no longer us.
\textbf{Phys-side:} That's not something I can picture, but I'll trust you on that.
\textbf{Sys-side:} Different worlds, different problems. I must see to writing, Douglas, congratulations once more, and I will stay in contact regarding the LVs and my research.
\textbf{Phys-side:} Thank you for all your hard work, May Then My Name Die With Me.
\textbf{Sys-side:} You may call me May Then My Name, now that the hard work is over.
\textbf{Phys-side:} Thanks! Be well.
\textbf{Sys-side:} You too.

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\hypertarget{douglas-hadje-2325}{%
\chapter{Douglas Hadje — 2325}\label{douglas-hadje-2325}}
May Then My Name,
As promised, I'm returning to the questions you asked. The launch went well, we had our party, and now my plate is mostly clear. I have a bit of work to do with the launch arms, but responsibility has shifted over to the flight coordinator.
I suspect that you are still interested in the subjective view of things. It's a little weird, not having so much to do all the time. I tried to sleep in this morning, but wasn't able to. Who knows, maybe I'll relax over time, or find something else to fill my days. Take up knitting. Something.
Anyway, to your questions. These were all very strange and cryptic, but in the spirit of building your mythology, I'll try to answer them in earnest. If you need clarifications, I'll be here.
\begin{quote}
How long have you been working as phys-side launch director?
\end{quote}
\noindent From the very beginning. I was a senior System manager before that, and submitted my resume to the launch commission on a whim. It was a bit of a shock when they picked me, if I'm honest. I suspect it was the name. It'd look good to people such as yourself.
\begin{quote}
What is involved with your role as phys-side launch director?
\end{quote}
\noindent As mentioned, very little now. Previously, though, I was the one who had to keep everything in his head. Those directly under me would supervise things such as the micro-Ansibles or launch timing or the HE engines, and I just pulled all that together and kept everyone moving at about the same pace so that nothing was rushed and no one was left behind. In short, I was a manager.
\begin{quote}
How long have you been working with the System phys-side?
\end{quote}
\noindent As long as I've been working. My first job back in 2294 was as an Ansible tech in a clinic.
\begin{quote}
What led you to pursue a career working with the System?
\end{quote}
\noindent I've always had a fascination with the System and just how different it was from life on Earth. I had considered uploading as soon as I hit the majority but something kept me out here, I guess. I think it was just that the whole idea was so beautifully audacious that I just wanted to keep it up and running smoothly.
\begin{quote}
What led you to remain phys-side rather than uploading, yourself? Will you upload in the future? Why or why not?
\end{quote}
\noindent I think I answered the first part up above, but I will add to it that there is some aspect of fear that kept me from doing so. Or, maybe not fear, but intimidation, if that makes sense? I felt like I would be outclassed there. I would be able to rub elbows with people from 210 years ago! It makes me feel small.
Will I upload? I think so. I think when everything is finished out here and I can comfortably leave my position and say that I did a good job, I'll head back planet-side, go on a week-long bender, and then go to an upload clinic when I'm still hung over. I've done a lot out here. I've given decades of my life to the System, and I think it would be a fine place to retire.
There is one other thing, and I hesitate to mention it because I'm not sure if it would be uncouth, but doubtless you recognize my name. My great-great-something aunt was Michelle Hadje, who was formative to the creation of the System itself, was one of the earliest uploads, one of what I think are called the `founders'. I want to meet her.
I know that I could just message her. I \emph{want} to just message her! Something keeps me from doing so, though. I feel weird about it, or intimidated, rather in the same way that I feel intimidated about uploading. She's family, but so distant as to be a total stranger; she's more than two hundred years old; she's been essentially silent from phys-side for most of that time as far as I can tell, so I don't even know if she's still alive. Some day I'll work up the courage to talk to her, but I'm not sure if that will be before or after I upload.
\vspace{-6pt}
\begin{quote}
What led you to pursue your position as launch director rather than remaining in your previous position?
\end{quote}
\noindent Like I said, I just submitted my resume on a whim, and before that, I was just managing station-side Ansible stuff. The next step up the ladder shouldn't have been launch director, but, like I said, here we are. The launch program totally captivated me. I was part of a messaging campaign to get it approved, and took part in as many debates as I could from out here. I desperately wanted it to happen, though I knew there was little chance of me actually getting to work on it. I was surprised and elated to get the chance.
\begin{quote}
Please provide a biography of yourself to whatever level of detail you feel comfortable.
\end{quote}
\noindent I was born Douglas Fredrick Hadje-Simon on April 9th, 2278 in Saskatoon to the last in a long line of Uranium miners. I got my implants along with the rest of my class at age five, and quickly took to the 'net. I spent as much time as I could in there, as did (and still do) most folks. I don't know when you uploaded, but most of Earth is not a pleasant place anymore, so the net is where one goes for literally anything but living in a shithole on a giant rock that is also a shithole, if you'll forgive the language.
Like I said, I took a job working on Ansible stuff as soon as I could. I'll admit that this was a selfish act. I was hoping that I would eventually wind up station-side to get away from the mess down there. I don't regret it. I don't miss my family. I don't miss my friends. I don't miss home. This is home now, as much as anything. I will do my best to either upload or die up here rather than go back. I'll work myself to the bone if I have to.
I moved up through the ranks quickly enough and, first chance I got, I headed up with a few other techs on a ship headed to some mining site on the Moon. I spent probably five minutes on the Moon before the other techs and I headed out to the station. I started out as a senior station-side Ansible tech and made my way up to lead before making it to launch director. You know the rest.
\begin{quote}
Please provide a physical description of yourself to whatever level of detail you feel comfortable.
\end{quote}
\noindent I'm nothing special, I think? Average height (I've heard that shifts over time? I'm 190cm), average weight, brown eyes, brown hair from my dad, curls from my mom. I have no idea whether I'm attractive or ugly, and honestly haven't thought about it until this question. I don't even know what to write here, I guess. My body's just a tool and vehicle to get me from place to place.
\begin{quote}
Do you have any hobbies?
\end{quote}
\noindent I still tool around on the 'net (though since there's more than a second's latency to Earth one way, it's mostly entertainment sims rather than chat), and for the mandatory exercise, I like running well enough. We're not allowed to cook up here, but I remember being fond of that back planet-side.
This is super embarrassing, and just between you and me. I'd prefer you not tell anyone about this, and please, please don't tell Ms.~Hadje. One of my hobbies is picking up any EVA task I can get just so I can go touch the System itself. Hardly anyone's seen it, but it's beautiful. It's coated in an inch or two of manufactured diamond, and the inside is a glittery mix of gold on black that seems to go on forever.
On these EVAs, I'll go touch the System and imagine that I can feel family in there.
I don't know if it counts as a hobby, but it's important to me, and it isn't work.
\begin{quote}
How do you feel about what you know of the founding of the System?
\end{quote}
\noindent I don't know what I feel. You have to understand that it's been existence for more than four times as long as I've been alive. I know some of the big highlights, I suppose. It was invented some time in the 2110s, and seceded in 2125. It used to be super expensive to get to, then in the 2170s when things started getting really bad, several governments started offering incentives to upload. It turned into a weird combination of a brain drain and a dumping ground for the poor. There were a few periods where one government or another would outlaw uploading, but it would never last. It was this huge allure to us, like some sort of perfect utopia. Some folks hated it. Some still do. There were even sabotage attempts on the launch.
I don't know, though. It's almost getting to mythical status out here, so maybe your work is coming at the right time.
\begin{quote}
If you were suddenly removed from your position as director, what would you choose to do as a career in its stead?
\end{quote}
\noindent You sent me this before launch, and it means less now, so I'll answer how I would have felt at the time. I think I would have gone crazy and thrown myself out the airlock. I'm really not kidding about how much this means to me.
\begin{quote}
If you were suddenly removed from your location in the extrasystem L\textsubscript{5} station and returned to Earth, how would you feel and what would you expect?
\end{quote}
\noindent See above. I'd rather die than leave the station.
\begin{quote}
If the System shut down and all personalities irrevocably lost, how would you feel?
\end{quote}
\noindent See above.
\begin{quote}
If you were told that, one year from now, you would die painlessly, what would you do? Would this change if you knew that your death would be painful? Would this change, in either case, if your death was seven days from now?
\end{quote}
\noindent Obviously, if it's possible, I would just upload in all of these cases. If it was not possible for whatever reason, I'm not sure. I think I'd spend as much time as possible working with the System as closely as possible. If I had the choice to die, painlessly or in agony, while touching it, I think that I'd be happy. Or maybe not happy, but it would feel like a worthwhile death.
Maybe I'd finally screw up the courage to talk to Michelle.
\begin{quote}
If everyone but you disappeared, what would you do?
\end{quote}
\noindent Um\ldots I don't know! Much of the uploading rig here is automated, though I know there are some buttons that need pressing and knobs that need twiddling. I'd probably spend every waking moment trying to automate it the rest of the way so that I could upload. If you mean the System too, well, see above.
\begin{quote}
How do you feel about being alone for extended periods of time?
\end{quote}
\noindent This is a very rare occurrence. Earth is crowded. The shuttles are crowded. The station is less crowded, but it's also a place where one lives with a bunch of coworkers, so I'm usually not all that alone. The closest I get to being alone is sleeping or during EVAs. I spend most of that time dreaming, and I don't mind that at all.
\begin{quote}
Do you remember your dreams?
\end{quote}
\noindent My dreams when I'm asleep? Rarely. They're usually confused images of long hallways or being super crowded in a small space. Waking dreams are much more pleasant.
\begin{quote}
How long wilt Thou forget me, O Lord? Forever? How long wilt Thou hide Thy face from me?
\end{quote}
\noindent I have to say, I started talking with de, one of the launch commission members, and we agreed that your questions grew exponentially weird starting about here. I originally thought I'd answer each in some snarky way, but the more I thought about them, the more I realized what you're going for. In that vein, I'll try to answer each as best I can.
There are a good number of people who think that God/god(s) forgot about Earth. There have always been doom-sayers and end-of-the-world-ites, but they have seen a huge uptick in my life alone. I think this last century has been defined by coming to terms with how fucked up everything is. And it's not that we don't blame ourselves. Many of us do! But many of those same people tack it on God, too. ``God is disappointed with us and that's why everything's terrible'' or whatever.
Me? I'm not so sure. I was raised thinking much of that, but I also feel like I left those feelings in the shuttle station back planet-side. I don't think about God much anymore. Maybe that's part of the problem: when we forget about God, we get complacent and then get into trouble, and suddenly he's much more relevant again. Who knows. Life up here is easy. I work, I get tired, I rest, I eat well, I get to do the thing I love most of all. Did I forget God back on Earth? Did I leave him there when I came here? Is there room for God in space? Do you have God in the System, and is that God the same one we talk about phys-side?
Maybe I can't answer the question without asking a bunch more because God and I forgot each other.
\begin{quote}
When you become intoxicated---whether via substance use or some natural process, such as sleep deprivation---which of the following applies to you?
\end{quote}
\noindent I laughed at this one. Where did you find this? I dug but couldn't find the source. I know that the previous one is a Psalm of some sort.
There are very few chances to get intoxicated here on the station. I had a glass of champagne after launch, and it was the first drink I had had in at least a decade, if not longer. You spend that long away from alcohol, and you lose essentially all of your tolerance, so I'm ashamed to say that, while I did feel drunk, I basically stumbled off to bed and slept.
However, you talk about other intoxications. I am no stranger to insomnia, and you're right that there is a sort of intoxication to that. I tend to get goofy and laugh a lot at the stupidest things when I've not slept for a day or two. I will laugh and laugh at the smallest thing, and then the laughter will fade and I'll sigh and say, ``I'm so tired.'' And then I'll do the whole thing all over again. I think that might be kind of like Ape Drunk?
One thing this reminded me of, though, was of when I had just turned twenty and got incredibly sick. I had a very high fever, and when it was at its worst, I felt as though I was being offered a chance to peek behind a curtain, or at least see the shadows moving around backstage beneath the hem of it. I felt that I was granted a glimpse of some thinner reality that sat just behind our own. I was writhing in my bed, unable to hold still, with my back arching and my tongue sticking out, and yet there was this sense of the numinous and a short wave of ecstasy, and I felt pleasantly drunk. I don't know what ``when a man is drunk and drinks himself sober ere he stir'' means. Does it apply to functional alcholism? Even if it does, it feels like that moment. When I was in fever, I burned all the brighter before I got better, and in that moment, I saw the most clearly.
\begin{quote}
While walking along in the desert, you look down and see a tortoise making its way toward you. You reach down and flip it over onto its back. The tortoise lies there, its belly baking in the hot sun, waving its legs back and forth, trying to right itself, but it cannot do so without your help. You are not helping. Why not?
\end{quote}
\noindent I don't know. I don't know why I flipped it, and I don't know why I'm not helping it, but I see myself there, watching it flail around, and I'm sobbing. I'm sobbing because for some reason, I'm not flipping it over and I wish against everything that I could give it relief. I feel guilt and shame in equal measure, and I watch myself beat my fists against my thighs, trying to force myself to do the thing, do the thing, just \emph{do the thing.}
This is a truly nightmarish question, May Then My Name.
\begin{quote}
Two by two, two by two, and twice more. We always think in binaries, in black and white. We remember history two by two. We consider the present two by two. We think of the future twice over, and twice again. I have looked back on history and seen ceaseless progress or steps backward. I look back a hundred years and see illness and failure, and I look at today and see \rule{5em}{0.75pt}?
\end{quote}
\noindent I recognize this! We read it in class. I know that the next words are ``twice that and more'', but I don't think that's quite what you're getting at.
I look back a hundred years and see illness and failure, and I look at today and see twice that and more \emph{below}, but up above, as it were, I see only the clean purity of space and the steady brightness of stars. If I literally look up, beyond the walls and hull, there is the System, and while I probably hold overly optimistic ideas of what goes on inside, I don't think you have illness and failure to nearly the same extent as we do phys-side. I doubt it's a utopia, but I would be hard pressed to imagine it as any worse than outside.
\begin{quote}
Oh, but to whom do I speak these words?\\
To whom do I plead my case?
\end{quote}
\noindent I am writing this to you, but if I have to plead my case to anyone, it's to myself. I have to make my case to myself that I am worth enough to upload, that I can bring \emph{something} to the System, that I would be welcomed there. I'm a very harsh judge, though, and it's taking a lot of work to convince myself of that.
\begin{quote}
From whence do I call out?
\end{quote}
\noindent Close. So close. I call out to myself from within myself. I call out to the System through a few inches of diamondoid coating and the fabric of my EVA suit.
\begin{quote}
What right have I?\\
No ranks of angels will answer to dreamers,\\
No unknowable spaces echo my words.
\end{quote}
\noindent This is the crux of the problem, isn't it? I am convinced, on some level, that I don't have the right to want this thing. Immortality is for the gods, and that's what you seem like to me. You seem like gods, and here I am, the mortal sweeping the floor of your altar. The candles are out, the celebrants are gone, no ranks of angles will answer to a dreamer like me, and as always, sound does not travel in space.
\begin{quote}
Before whom do I kneel, contrite?
\end{quote}
\noindent That part of me that says, ``No, you are not a god.'' And when I beg his pardon, he laughs and says, ``No amount of contrition will get you into a place separated from you by an impossibly large gap. Only death will get you there, and you are not worth that.''
\begin{quote}
Behind whom do I await my judgment?
\end{quote}
\noindent I wait behind that part of me which desperately hopes that you think kindly of me, that you accept me. You, May Then My Name, as well as Michelle Hadje and the whole of the System. If that part of me is allowed in, then maybe I will be seen as worthy, too.
\begin{quote}
Beside whom do I face death?
\end{quote}
\noindent There is no one beside me. I have few attachments here, and what professional contacts I do have with whom I've fostered a friendship have no plans to upload. It's just me before the System, waiting for death and hoping it's enough.
\begin{quote}
And why wait I for an answer?
\end{quote}
\noindent Please answer, May Then My Name. I wait because I have to know that there is something beyond this. I went into this questionnaire with an open mind, and now I'm having a hard time continuing because I just want to curl up in my bed and cry because these last questions have stripped me of any pretense that I had about my desires and what's keeping me from them. I don't recognize where you got them from, but they have me truly unsettled. They sound almost like your name, and if you are a part of these questions, then please answer.

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\chapter{Douglas Hadje — 2325}\label{douglas-hadje-2325}}
May Then My Name,
Thank you for writing back. I was not expecting to get so emotional from your questions. They struck a nerve, and I'm still not sure why. I sent my answers and then went to lay down and do exactly as I said: curl up and cry.
Then I sobered up, such as it were, and immediately regretted it. I feel like I was too emotional, too caught up in the moment. Too personal, maybe? You and I have had a very professional relationship, and I \emph{am} grateful for that, because we did just launch two interstellar probes full of a few billion souls. I feel like my answers were maybe too familiar.
Your reply put much of that anxiety to rest, for which I am also grateful. I will answer your next batch of questions momentarily, but I want to address some points from your letter leading up to those, first.
\begin{quote}
Of course I will write back! I have no intention of stopping. Ioan and I will continue to bombard you with questions until either you tell us to stop or we come out with our history and mythography---and even then, do not count on it. Also, please feel free to ask us your own questions. Not only will we enjoy answering them, but they will continue to help us build our picture of you which will help us put your answers in context.
\end{quote}
\noindent Oh, don't worry! I will have plenty of questions for you. If I'm going to upload in the future, I'd also like to know more about how things are sys-side. I mostly only contact you (and I guess Ioan through you? Hi Ioan!) so it all sounds very surreal.
\begin{quote}
I do remember the name Michelle Hadje. She was one the founders as you mention, but more, she was the source of (or at least involved with) many of the ideas that drive the System to this day. She helped with consensual sensoria, for instance, as well as the reputation market that we use in lieu of currency in order to regulate forking in the early days. Unfortunately, Michelle herself does not remain in the System as of a bit under twenty years ago, so I will not be able to put you in touch with her, and should you choose to upload in the future, you will not be able to meet her face to face. I am sorry for your loss.
\end{quote}
\noindent Thank you so much for letting me know. I'm saddened by this, but strangely calm as well. That I will never get to meet her comes with grief, but that I now at least know something of her (even if it's of her end), a portion of my curiosity has been sated.
I say a portion, though; did you ever meet her? You say she was formative for a lot of the System's tech; does everyone know that about her? Is she famous? If you did know her, what was she like? You say that Ioan's a historian, perhaps ey knows?
I know her end, but I remain hungry for any information that you can give on her life.
\begin{quote}
You mention having little to do. Do you know when you might upload? Failing that, might you ask the Launch commission if you can add real-time communication with us to your list of duties? It would be convenient to have someone on the station to talk to so that we are not limited by the transmission time planet-side.
\end{quote}
\noindent I asked, and they said yes. Though again, they were largely baffled by the request. They have suggested that I keep communication as the last priority on my list of duties, which, sure. I'll send a message when I'm able to talk, if you're amenable. Will they wake you if you're asleep? (Do you sleep? I realize I don't even know.)
\begin{quote}
You say that you consider your body a `tool and vehicle to get you from place to place'. I would like you to know that, upon reading that I ran to show Ioan your response and laugh in eir face for being almost exactly like you in this respect.
\end{quote}
\noindent I am not sure whether to thank you or be offended, but since Ioan sounds very interesting, I'll go with the former. Everything is so much bigger than I am, I sometimes wonder why I ought to worry about my body at all. Perhaps this is an artifact of an unpleasant upbringing and a long series of very intellectual jobs, and perhaps it's just foreshadowing me uploading.
Ioan, if you're reading this, maybe you can explain this to May Then My Name, if you haven't already.
\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
\noindent Before I get to answering questions, here are a list of mine not already included above:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
What does your day-to-day life look like?
\item
What did you do before uploading?
\item
Where were you before uploading? If it's not insensitive to ask, do you have an accent while speaking? I've noticed a few habits you have when writing, so it got me thinking English might not be your first language.
\item
I sort of asked in my previous email, but I worry that I overstepped my bounds by asking when you uploaded. Is that a sensitive topic?
\item
Where does your name come from? Does it come from that snippet you sent to me?
\item
On that note, do forks generally keep the same name (you mentioned three copies of Ioan, for instance), or is it common to change names for different forks?
\item
In the status reports you sent for the launches, you mention dispersionistas, trackers, and taskers, and in the final one, you mention that investing fully in the launch was a danger for taskers. By this, and from some surface-level research, I infer that these describe habits of forking. I'd like to hear your take on it, though. What habit do you have? Is this something people even talk about? Argue or fight about? Is it insensitive for me to ask? If so, apologies!
\end{itemize}
\noindent These questions are for Ioan, if ey's up for answering them:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
What does being a historian on the System look like? I keep imagining that you live in a sort of repository of all knowledge anyway and can just look up whatever you want. Is that true?
\item
What are some things that you enjoy researching/writing about?
\item
Is there a university up there where people study? What other occupations are there?
\item
Were you a historian before you uploaded?
\item
I asked May Then My Name above; if you're comfortable answering, what habit of forking do you have?
\end{itemize}
\vspace{0.7cm}
\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
\newpage
\noindent And now, for the answers to your questions.
\begin{quote}
If you are willing, tell me more about your childhood (where you were born, what your parents were like, what your schooling was like, etc).
\end{quote}
\noindent As mentioned before, Earth was a shithole, so while I'm happy to talk about it, don't expect me to be kind or friendly about it.
I was born in Saskatoon which, as a city, had gone through the usual cycles of boom and bust. In 2278, it was heading down from a boom cycle when the second great uraninite vein had been depleted. It was one of those times where everyone starts to realize that there's not going to be another that they can just drill their way towards, and by then, even the tailings had been refined as much as they could conceivably be.
When a city goes downhill like that, there really isn't any drastic change. It's all little things. The mine stops hiring. The trickle of new employees slows to a stop. When people move out in search of work, their houses sit empty with `For Lease' signs for weeks, then months, then years. Your friends at school start moving away. Your class size dwindles. Stores and restaurants close.
It's not until something big happens that makes you lift your head, look around, and realize, ``Holy shit, this place is terrible.'' In my case, it was when one of the two Ansible clinics closed. I had long been a dreamer, but to have one of the outlets for that dream disappear was my ``Holy shit'' moment. My parents had been talking about the city dying, about having to drop breakfast as an option in their restaurant except on Saturdays, cut staff, all that stuff, but it had never really clicked for me what that actually meant.
Saskatoon was such a brown place, too. Dust storms, summer droughts, wildfire smoke turning blue skies tan six months out of the year. You grow up with that, you'd expect to be used to it, but like I said, we spent as much time in-sim as possible for lack of anything else to do, so we knew what it could be like but wasn't. No reason to play out in the streets when there are AQI advisories. No reason to go shopping when you can't afford to buy anything, and all the toys you could possibly want are online.
I think that the Simon side of the family came with a hereditary pessimism that dogs our heels, so I suppose there may be a lot of that at work. My parents were pessimistic, so I was raised in that environment. Were others happy there? Maybe. Maybe they had taken it with them when the mine shut down. Maybe there were other places in the world with greater concentrations of happy people.
If so, I never saw them, unless they were online.
\begin{quote}
What is your earliest memory?
\end{quote}
\noindent I had to give this one some thought. I was going to say that it would have to be prepping for implants. I got them the week before my first year of school started, and I remember there were two appointments leading up to the procedure. The first was more a meeting than anything. ``Will he get the standard set?'' ``Yes.'' ``Any health problems?'' ``No.'' ``Great, we'll do a pre-op in a week.''
But I don't think that was quite it. Before then, I remember my dad playing with me where we would sit on the floor, legs spread out, and roll a racquetball ball back and forth between us. He laughed like a loon whenever the ball would go wide and I would have to get up and go run after it, but, on thinking back, he always made sure that those were in the minority, and that once I started to get frustrated, he'd stop and go back to just talking about animals or food or whatever.
\begin{quote}
Tell me more about Earth. We can get the facts from broadcasts and information requests, but I want to see it through your eyes and feel it through your hands.
\end{quote}
\noindent There's only so many times I can call it a shithole, I guess.
South of the 50th parallel or so, most everyone lives belowground and works above ground. We went on a few trips out east to visit the Hadjes and I always got a kick out of it for the first few days, running through tunnels ahead of the family, looking up at the balconies, all that sort of thing. Eventually, though, I'd grow tired of life in a linear strip, with nothing further away than a few hundred yards to focus on.
Lets see, what else.
There's two main governmental powers, loosely dividing the planet into the Northwest and Southeast hemispheres, plus a couple dozen smaller jurisdictions that will come and go every decade or so. We talked about various wars, uprisings, troubles, etc in the past, but there weren't really any when I was down there other than the occasional saber rattle. The two blocks were basically trade divisions centering on the Atlantic and Pacific. Overland trade is pretty rare and mostly automated, but still runs the risk of breakdowns, etc. Easier to do things by sea, I guess.
The ultimate cynicism of capitalism remains, though we were taught that it ebbs and flows. When I was down there, it was on its way out of a trough, where social services were being cut back, wage gaps increasing, etc etc. Rich folks lived at the poles, poor near the equator. Rich folks ate meat, poor folks ate tofu and tempeh. That sort of thing.
The 'net was also starting to undergo a boom of advertising as I was leaving (as mentioned, the station still has some connectivity, but it's rarely worth interacting via sims due to the lag), perhaps to make up for the lack of offline ad venues. I remember coming home and diving in and daydreaming through half an hour of trailers and interactives and the like, then just getting into trouble wherever I could.
I wish I could tell you more, but I either blocked out the rest or didn't pay attention in class.
\begin{quote}
If you could go back anywhere in history and change any one thing, what would it be?
\end{quote}
\noindent Shit. Um\ldots I guess in light of your last letter, I'd stop whatever made Michelle leave or quit or die or whatever happened to her? I don't think I'd want to have uploaded sooner. I'm proud of what I did for the launch. Doesn't change the fact that I'd love to have met her.
Is that weird? I'm starting to feel like it's weird.
\begin{quote}
If you could go back in time and tell yourself any one thing, what would it be?
\end{quote}
\noindent Of all the things that I have groused about already, I don't actually have any one thing that needs changing. I don't wish I'd uploaded sooner. I don't wish I'd left sooner. I don't have any regrets about the way I got here. Maybe go back and kick my ass and tell myself to talk to Michelle sooner? It's starting to sound like an unhealthy fixation at this point, and I'm kind of wondering if it is, to some extent.
\begin{quote}
You are given three wishes, with three restrictions: they must have plausible deniability (that is, be explained by luck, natural causes, etc.; no changing people's memories!); they must provide a benefit, rather than a detriment; they must not involve singular personal benefit for you or any one individual. What are they?
\end{quote}
\noindent Throwing me the hard ones, huh? This is probably the one I spent the longest on.
I'm going to assume by plausible deniability, that rules out changing anything about the past.
First, I'd wish there to be some technological breakthrough that would make it easier to communicate with the System. Text is fine and good for those who live up in their heads, but I think that one thing that keeps a lot of people away from uploading is the mystery of what's up there. They hear that life is better, but hearing is not seeing. They hear that they'd be functionally immortal, but hearing is not proof. If we had a way of seeing what day-to-day life was like in the society, we'd feel less of a taboo of making our way there.
Second, I'd wish that whenever a nuke or bioweapon was launched, there'd be some plausible failure in it. A firing mechanism doesn't work. A worker comes to work hungover and snips the wrong wire during a fix. That sort of thing. I said saber rattling, and that mostly comes down to a slow, quiet arms race, and even if the chances of anything \emph{actually} happening are very low, I have an intense paranoia of that kind of widespread death and destruction.
Third, I'd wish for some sort of astronomical event that would kick interest in space down there back into gear. It's weird, because I realize that this is contrary to the first wish, since folks zooming out into space is kind of the opposite of folks uploading. Still, everyone's got their heads down. There's some threshold level of hardship that makes folks turn to survival rather than out to the stars, and I think it's higher than one would expect. A rogue asteroid? Some crazy discovery on the moon? Hell, aliens? Anything grander than keeping a job or a house or just plain staying cool.
\begin{quote}
Do you have any romantic attachments? I am assuming no by your previous message. Have you in the past? Will you in the future?
\end{quote}
\noindent This next batch of questions was irksome. They're incredibly personal, and while I vowed to try to keep an open mind and be approachable about any subject you'd ask about, I'm frustrated with how much I didn't want to answer some of these. Oh well, no growth without pain, right?
No, I've never had any real attachments. I dated a few times back in school, but it was always one of those things that I did because it felt expected, rather than one I wanted to.
It's not for lack of desire, as I think that having someone meaningful in my life would be comforting and fulfilling, but it always came second-place to work or hobbies, so I'd spend those dates thinking about a project I was working on or dreaming about the stars or the System. Relationships are frowned upon on the station. Allowed, but closely monitored, with mandatory counseling, etc. That's too much time away from the other things in my life.
Will I have one in the future? If I remain phys-side, probably not, if I'm honest. The drive will still be there, but knowing myself, I'll work myself to death before I find the time for one. If I head sys-side, maybe I'll explore it. If that gives me the chance to deal with projects on the side, whether through greater free time or forking or whatever, then I don't see why that would stop me.
I'm not so lonely as to be hurting for one.
\begin{quote}
If yes, what do you look for in a partner?
\end{quote}
\noindent I don't know, really. Similar interests, for sure. I'd like someone who is interested in the System as the wonder that it is, and I'm sure that those people exist even sys-side. I'd like someone who is comfortable with my general desire to focus on those interests. Not that they'd be second-seat, of course, just that I'm not going to be able to shut up about those things even at the best of times. If they share those interests, we can get all excited together.
I don't know that I have any real tastes in women (more my type than men, though I've known a few I could see myself spending that much time with). It's not some grand statement on, like, the inherent validity of all types of women, just that as mentioned, I spend most of my time up in my head, so that's lower on the priority list. I don't know. They ought to have a head, probably.
\begin{quote}
If no, explain why not.
\end{quote}
\noindent N/A
\begin{quote}
When was the last time someone said `I love you'? How did that feel?
\end{quote}
\noindent Mom, the day I launched. It came with an implicit ``\ldots and I hate you for leaving me behind.'' I don't like talking about it, but I still hate her for that in turn. I don't do well with guilt.
\begin{quote}
What are your opinions on sex?
\end{quote}
\noindent It seems fine? I don't know. I don't have much (or any) experience with it. Again, it's low enough on the priority list that I just forget that it's even a thing most of the time. I imagine it feels good, of course, and I can see how it'd deepen an emotional connection. Those are good things, so it's probably a good thing, too, but I can also see it being used as an emotional weapon because of that intimacy. It seems fine.
\begin{quote}
Have you had sex before?
\end{quote}
\noindent No.~It's been offered, but in such a strange manner that the woman I was with at the time used my missing those cues as reason for leaving me. My social awareness is minimal, though, so I don't really know what she expected. I was left mostly baffled after the whole relationship. It was my last before leaving for the station, and I haven't tried dating since for previously mentioned reasons.
\begin{quote}
Will you have sex (again) before you upload?
\end{quote}
\noindent No, see above.
\begin{quote}
Do you masturbate?
\end{quote}
\noindent I don't know how it works sys-side, but this is generally an insensitive thing to ask someone phys-side. I'll say yes and leave it at that.
\begin{quote}
Assuming you have one, where is your favorite place to be touched? Least favorite?
\end{quote}
\noindent When I \emph{was} dating, the type of physical contact I enjoyed most was having my hair played with. I assumed most others did as well, so I would often offer an equal exchange, brushing my girlfriends hair for them and letting them play with mine in turn. My favorite spot was probably at the back of my neck, which I suspect is due to some ancient inhibition against letting people touch dangerous spots on the body, so if you are intimate enough with someone to let them do that, they must be a safe person to be around.
No idea about least favorite. I guess I just don't have that much experience with being touched.
\begin{quote}
What is your favorite texture?
\end{quote}
\noindent Fur, I think? Grandpa Hadje on the east coast had a cat, and one of my fondest memories from those trips was when she'd fall asleep on my lap or on my chest with me petting her. One of the girls I dated long-distance (I know that this makes it sound like I dated around a lot, but I only had three relationships: two local, and that long-distance one in the middle) had a feline av, and I was always happy when we would just relax in sim together and she'd let me pet her.
\begin{quote}
What is the greatest pain you have ever felt, physically, mentally, or emotionally?
\end{quote}
\noindent I was knocked off the edge of the torus by someone (I mentioned sabotage attempts before, right?), and the tether caught me around the middle and swung me up against the side of the station pretty hard. I broke an arm and a collar bone in the process. That hurt like hell, but you mentioned mental pain too, and the same applied there. Seeing the stars reeling beneath me, seeing the station leave me behind, and seeing the core of the System racing away led to a fear that made my chest and stomach hurt so hard that I retched in my suit. I'm just thankful that the guy was tackled before he could cut my tether. He was sent back planet-side to be charged.
\begin{quote}
If you could change any one thing about your body, what would it be?
\end{quote}
\noindent I'd like to be less demanding, if I'm honest. Bodies are a lot of work to upkeep. Is that the case in the System? I've heard that a lot of bodily functions are optional, but not whether opting out of them was pleasant or not. My arm still hurts sometimes when I change gravities, and that reminds me of the fear of falling away from the torus, and if I could stop my arm from doing that, that would be nice.
\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
\noindent You asked me to react to the following lines without looking them up.
\begin{quote}
Since then---`tis Centuries---and yet\\
Feels shorter than the Day\\
I first surmised the Horses' Heads\\
Were toward Eternity —
\end{quote}
\noindent This took a few readings before I was really able to understand it. It sounds like the middle of some longer work. I'm not totally sure what to make of it. Is it about immortality? I can see what it would be like to have to face down eternity, and assuming that by virtue of the horses heads pointing toward it, that one is inexorably carried into it yet never actually reaching it, you've got a sort of void you are constantly gazing into. It's terrifying and a little exhilarating.
\begin{quote}
I was of three minds\\
Like a tree\\
In which there are three blackbirds.
\end{quote}
\noindent This one felt impenetrable until I realized that it might be about forking. Is it a contemporary thing? I can see that being the three minds portion, and I can see the tree as a metaphor of the same root personality, but blackbirds haven't existed in any of the places I've lived for decades, so if there's specific symbolism behind that, I'm missing it.
Birds = flight and freedom, maybe? Black = death? Or maybe eternity? Three minds, each of which is bound up with those things? The freedom of eternity? I can see why this would appeal to one sys-side.
\begin{quote}
She has but does not possess,\\
acts but doesn't expect.\\
When her work is done, she forgets it.\\
That is why it lasts forever.
\end{quote}
\noindent I've never heard it this way, but this is from the Tao Te Ching. Of those who are not focused on doom-saying, Taoism is popular planet-side, particularly among the 'net crowd, as a lot of people use it as a way to focus on letting go of the terrible things.
This is particularly interesting in the way that the System and the LVs are designed to last forever. ``When her work is done, she forgets it'' makes me think that those who helped build or worked on the System wind up forgetting about it when it \emph{becomes} their life. ``Has but does not possess/acts but does not expect'' took more thought, but I can see it applying to the act of uploading, maybe. All those things you had, you never really possessed, as you leave them behind. Uploading itself is terrifying, in a way, as you can never go back and no version of you keeps living on phys-side. Maybe the only way you can get over that fear is to let go of expecting the procedure to succeed/fail. You need to leave behind your expectations, too.
\begin{quote}
Flown to space by what callous earth destroyed,\\
I chase the long-flying radio waves,\\
and sift to find again your breathing voice\\
Far away from grief and a potter's grave.
\end{quote}
\noindent Does this have to do with the launch? It certainly feels like! It feels like how even now my mind is chasing those radio waves that are coming from the LVs, now so far out of reach for any one of us that we can barely comprehend. But still, we keep on searching for those voices that come back to us ever slower. Did someone on the LVs leave you behind? Someone you love? Family? One of your forks? Basically, someone whose voice you keep on searching for. Or maybe they were one of the eight irretrievably lost personalities?
``Far away from grief and a potter's grave'' makes a lot of sense to me as someone who left Earth behind. I don't know what it was like when you uploaded, but I can see it as a way to dream of some place better.
\begin{quote}
Time is a finger pointing at itself\\
that it might give the world orders.\\
The world is an audience before a stage\\
where it watches the slow hours progress.\\
And we are the motes in the stage-lights,\\
Beholden to the heat of the lamps.
\end{quote}
\noindent You never answered me about your name. This is another one of those snippets from the work you sent earlier, isn't it? It has the same feel as your name, so I can't help but wonder if that is related to you in some way.
There is something feverish about these words that I don't quite understand. I don't know what they mean, can't even begin to give you an interpretation, other than it makes it sound like that feeling of insignificance that comes with looking at the stars and being buffeted about by forces we can't understand.
I'm trying to hold back on replying to you in the same emotionally inundated state that I ended my last letter, so I'll just say that this left me feeling things that I can't even name. Loneliness? Insignificance? I don't know, even those don't feel right. Can you send me the whole work? I'll block out some time to cry over it or something.
\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
Thank you as always, and I look forward to hearing from you soon.
Douglas Hadje, MSf, PhD\\
\indent Launch director
Digital signatures:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
Douglas Hadje
\item
Launch commission:
\begin{itemize}
\tightlist
\item
de
\item
Jonathan Finnes
\item
Thomas Nash
\item
Woo Hye-won
\item
Hasnaa
\end{itemize}
\end{itemize}

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\chapter{Douglas Hadje — 2325}\label{douglas-hadje-2325}}
Douglas doffed his suit and packed into its carry bag, which had previously held his clothes.
\emph{Why did I do that?}
He finished straightening his jumpsuit and began the slow walk back to his apartment. He ignored the colored strips on the wall that would guide him back the quick way, and instead walked anti-spinward, the long way around. This would take him through the manufacturing sector, but that was alright. It would be loud and there would be the quietly efficient drones carrying out all their little tasks, but it would give him more time to walk, more time to think.
\emph{Why the hell did I do that?}
He wound his way through a few of the factories, from the glass furnace to the thick cylinder that housed the strut-works, a complex of sturdy supports and extrusion machinery that had grown the launch arm out of this side of the station. He brushed his hand along the smooth wall of the cylinder, before continuing to wind his way through the manufacturing wing.
The reasons eluded him. He didn't know why he did that. Why he kept doing that. Why would he run himself through this exercise time and again? Why would he grab his suit, dream up some small errand that warranted an EVA, and go out to touch the side of the System?
Why would he keep doing that to himself.
She was dead. Dead, or close enough to it. \emph{Nowhere on the System.} That's what May Then My Name had said. This woman he had essentially no ties to other than a family name, this woman he'd never met, one who owed him nothing and to whom he only owed dreams.
She was dead and there was nothing he could do about it. No funeral, no memorial that he could reach. He wanted so badly to mourn this woman he'd never met and felt as though there were no possible way to do so without something to do. Something to say. Some cold stone to stand before or unfeeling metal plaque where grieving fingers could trace the letters of her name.
She was dead, and that shouldn't even matter to him.
That was the worst part, he'd decided: that his grief felt unwarranted. There was no connection between them other than the name, they'd never talked, and she likely didn't even know that her family had continued on after her through her brother, so what did he do to earn the right to mourn her? Doubtless she left loved ones behind on the System, too, people she'd known for more than two hundred years, lovers, enemies, colleagues and friends who respected her. \emph{They} had the right to mourn.
He was just that weird guy who would take EVA walks from the narrow gap of the station to the System, press his hands and forehead to the glassy exterior, and dream that he was dreaming along with the billions who lived inside. No one inside knew of him other than the sys-side launch team, and no one actually knew him personally aside from May Then My Name and perhaps Ioan.
The manufacturing sector ran out beneath his feet, and he stepped from there to the spotless, black control center for the machinery. It had hardly been used since the development and construction of the strut-works. It had only really existed for the pleasure of the tourists who had made the station possible in the first place, for the walls of the control center were glass, letting tourists gawk at all of the machinery that went into running a station.
No tourists anymore. No gawking. The glass walls offered little to those who worked on the station other than a place to lounge and zone out, watching robots scurry to and fro.
He swiped his way out of the sector and passed from there to what had previously been a strip mall running most of the length of the ship. Shops had long ago been decommissioned and transitioned into various offices. This had been divvied up into threes, with one third being dedicated to running the station itself, one third to running the System, and one third to science and research, for those who were still able to make the long, expensive trip out to the moon and from the moon to the station, where they might do their concrete astrophysics or space-bound astronomy.
The mall opened up onto a promenade and park. The grass and gardens there remained meticulously well kept, doing their part along with the atmospheric regulation system to keep the air inside clean.
Gardens faded into low trees and greenhouses where most of the food for the station was grown. Potatoes, yams, soybeans, apples, millet, and the precious rotating crop of grains that blessed the station with the occasional bit of bread.
All was tended by automated systems, along with the help of a few botanist-nutritionists.
He walked through the sectors of the station and thought. He walked along the promenade tailward, then further anti-spinward to the greenhouses, and back sunward again. He walked and he thought, slowly going through the mental list of things he'd always wanted to say to Michelle and erasing them, line by line. Why keep them around, now? Why bother?
Having walked back to the sunward hub, he finished the trip to his room in the hotel. His room where he would remain precisely as alone as he had been before.
His implants buzzed as he walked into his room, and a glance at the corner of his HUD showed a message-received icon. He'd turned off his HUD for the non-errand and the walk through the station, but now that he saw it, saw that it originated sys-side, he tossed his suit bag onto the bed and dashed over to his rig.
\begin{quote}
\textbf{May Then My Name Die With Me:} Douglas! Ioan and I are available today. If you have some time, we would like to talk with you.
\end{quote}
\noindent This, at least, was something pleasant to distract himself from his unearned grief.
\begin{quote}
\textbf{Douglas Hadje:} I'm available for the next few hours before I should probably go to bed. Let me know when you're around.
\end{quote}
\noindent The reply was almost immediate.
\begin{quote}
\textbf{Ioan Bălan:} Douglas, nice to meet you! May is forking, she'll be here in a moment.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} I am here! Glad you could make it. How are you out there? Enjoying the cold vacuum of space?
\end{quote}
\noindent He frowned, quelling the suspicion that they had known of his EVA.
\begin{quote}
\textbf{Douglas:} The station is a perfectly comfortable 20C at all times. If ever it gets cold, I'm probably in trouble.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Boring.
\textbf{Ioan:} Don't listen to her. Are you doing well?
\textbf{Douglas:} As well as I can. I'm still trying to figure out what to do with my time. I've gone on a few not-super-necessary EVAs to just look at the stars or the System or whatever. I really should take up knitting. Oh! And nice to meet you as well.
\textbf{Douglas:} How are you two?
\textbf{Ioan:} Fine, here. Very busy. We're conducting interviews all across the System, as well as coordinating with those who are doing the same on the LVs.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Ioan is doing the interviews and coordination, I am eating all of eir food and leaving the dishes out.
\textbf{Ioan:} She's been working, too. She's probably got the larger project ahead of her than I do.
\textbf{Douglas:} You sound like you're having fun, so I'll take that as a good sign. What did you want to talk about?
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Your questions. I thought that it would be more comfortable to do so as a conversation rather than over mail. Certainly more organic.
\textbf{Douglas:} Alright, where do you want to start?
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Perhaps it would be easiest for Ioan and I to answer a whole bunch of your questions at once. They are mostly biographical, and I think that a few paragraphs from each of us will cover most of them.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} We have flipped a coin, and it was decided that I will go first.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} I uploaded back in the early 2100s, back when the System was small and full of dreamers, weirdos, and people like you and Ioan who spend all of their time thinking. Before that, I was a teacher, though towards the end of my phys-side tenure and for some time after, I became involved in politics. I grew up in the central corridor of North America, in the Western Federation. As with everyone, I do not think that I have an accent, though after some trouble with my implants before I uploaded, I found that some speech and thought patterns had changed, and since then, language and I have had a complicated relationship. We could have worked to change it, my cocladists and I, but why bother?
\textbf{May Then My Name:} You ask about dissolution strategies (tasker, tracker, dispersionista): you are correct that they apply to the ways in which an individual forks. They are not hard and fast categories, but rather a set of patterns that we have noticed over the years and applied names and numbers to. Taskers will fork only very rarely, and then for a specific task, merging back into the root instance immediately afterward. Trackers fork more frequently, and may maintain forks over a longer period of time. The reasons for forking may vary---Ioan is a tracker, ey will explain more---but the forks almost always follow a single line of thought or relationship or what have you to its logical end before merging back. Dispersionistas are those who fork for fun, spinning off new personalities and maybe merging them back, maybe not. My clade, the Ode clade, falls somewhere between tracker and dispersionista: we fork frequently for many temporary purposes, but maintain a relatively small permanent clade of around 100 instances.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Is that clear? I can answer questions about this until the cows upload.
\textbf{Douglas:} I think so. It made sense when you called them `dissolution strategies', which makes me think of dissolving into a solution.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Basically. We all enjoy dissolution (or not) in different ways. Those are lazy categories to bucketize vague trends. They are similar in some ways to political divisions: one may identify with a political label, even if one's actual political inclinations may be more complicated than that label implies.
\textbf{Ioan:} And all dispersionistas are all bleeding heart liberals or weirdo artists.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} To a one, yes.
\textbf{Ioan:} I fall more into the tracker camp. I pick up projects such as this one or researching a book or something, and let a fork work on those. I---my \#Tracker instance, as it's called---or my forks may create extra instances for smaller tasks along the way, but it gets to be too much for me to deal with after a certain point, and the slow divergence of personalities feels uncomfortable. I have three forks out there now, one for collating data from each LV, and one for conducting interviews here while I write. That number goes up and down as needed.
\textbf{Douglas:} Makes sense to me.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Do you have a sense of how you will approach this when you upload?
\textbf{Douglas:} Good question. I'm only just now learning about it, so it's hard for me to say for sure, but I think I'm with Ioan on this. It sounds like it'd get confusing after a while.
\textbf{Ioan:} Oh, it does. When there are ten different Mays running around, I'd be hard pressed to tell them apart.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} I need to keep you on your toes somehow.
\textbf{Ioan:} Or step on them.
\textbf{Douglas:} Is that a common thing? That many May Then My Names?
\textbf{Douglas:} Would it be too personal of me to just call you May, by the way?
\textbf{May Then My Name:} `May' is a pet name reserved for those with whom I am closest. I ask that you please stick with May Then My Name.
\textbf{Douglas:} Alright. Apologies if I overstepped.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Accepted! Thank you for asking. But yes, it is common that I will spin off a bunch of instances for this or that. I have a tendency to fork when I get excited. That is not terribly relevant, though.
\textbf{Ioan:} You asked about what it's like being a historian on the System. It's not quite the information haven that I think you're imagining. All of that vast wealth of data is technically there, but it exists in the perisystem architecture, and finding one's way around there can be something of a pain. Our role becomes one of researcher and librarian as much as historian. Besides, the goal of a historian isn't always to dig up long lost artifacts or writing or whatever, but rather to make sense of what is there. Take all that info and make a story out of it.
\textbf{Ioan:} Do keep in mind that I'm not strictly a historian. I'm mostly a writer, and my role can vary from historical research to something more akin to anthropology like this current situation, to something almost like a journalist, where I watch something happen and build a coherent story out of it.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} That is how ey came to work with our clade and thus the Launch project. Ey had done some observing with one of my cocladists, and it recommended em to us for this task.
\textbf{Ioan:} As for my biography, before I lose the thread, I uploaded in the 2230s after growing up in south-central Europe. I uploaded after a short stint in university where, yes, I studied history. My parents died, and I am not built for a life with death in it, so I headed sys-side to allow my siblings to attend school.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Oh, Ioan. That is the first I have heard of this.
\textbf{Ioan:} It's been almost a century, I've come to terms with it. We can talk about it another time, though, if you're interested.
\textbf{Ioan:} You ask about universities here. There are quite a few organizations that fill that role, most of which are hyper-focused on specific fields. I worked with a history and anthropology institute for a while, and actually missed one of May's cocladists while working with an institute for art and design.
\end{quote}
\noindent Douglas frowned at his terminal. That was the third time Ioan had referred to May Then My Name as that pet name `May', but he couldn't think of a polite way to ask what that meant about how close they were.
\begin{quote}
\textbf{Douglas:} That makes sense. I imagine there has to be some structure in place. I know that you can't upload before you turn 18, but I imagine a lot of people still want to learn things that interest them after.
\textbf{Ioan:} Very much so. We have to make our own fun.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} `Fun', ey says.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Douglas, Ioan could have fun organizing eir pen collection.
\textbf{Ioan:} Can and do.
\textbf{Ioan:} You'll have to forgive the silliness, Douglas. It's been a long day for us.
\textbf{Douglas:} It's okay. I'm glad that there's still fun to be had sys-side.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Oh, plenty!
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Now, you also asked after Michelle.
\end{quote}
\noindent His stomach sank. He considered what to type back, but decided instead on waiting for May Then My Name to continue, lest he get too emotional again.
\begin{quote}
\textbf{May Then My Name:} First of all, you asked if I ever met her. I had the chance to meet her a handful of times. I would not call her famous, \emph{per se}, but many do remember her as one of the founders. She was
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Well.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} I want to say that she was old. I am only a little bit younger than she was, in the grand scheme of things, but some of her experiences prior to uploading left a mark on her, and time was not kind to her in that regard. Though aging is not really something that we need to worry about, sys-side, she seemed to have aged every one of those two centuries.
\textbf{Douglas:} What did she look like, at that age?
\textbf{May Then My Name:} You misunderstand, or I misspeak. She looked much as she did when she uploaded, but that pre-upload trauma meant that she felt all two hundred of those years. If you go through an event that makes 80\% of your days bad days, then that means that you wind up with 58400 bad days through the years. That will wear on one.
\textbf{Douglas:} I don't know what to say.
\textbf{Douglas:} I'm sorry to hear that about her.
\textbf{Douglas:} Is that a common experience sys-side?
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Not that common, no, and hers was unique.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Every now and then, one of us will get tired of functional immortality and decide to just quit their instance---that is what she did---and disappear off the System. I do not begrudge her that.
\textbf{Ioan:} I'm sorry for your loss, Douglas.
\end{quote}
\noindent He had to blink away tears in order to reply, and then did so quickly, hitting send before his courage failed him.
\begin{quote}
\textbf{Douglas:} I'm really torn up about this. I don't even know why. I never met her, know basically nothing about her, and have apparently been thinking about someone as though they were alive, when in reality, they've been dead for two decades. How can I possibly miss her? But I do! I miss her and feel like I'm in mourning, and then I feel guilty over the fact that I'm grieving this person who never knew me.
\textbf{Douglas:} I'm sorry.
\textbf{Douglas:} That just all came at once, sorry.
\textbf{Douglas:} I'm sorry.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Douglas, let me tell you a story.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} One of the times I had the chance to meet Michelle, I visited her sim with her. She had not built herself a house or anything, like most do, but instead built for herself an endless green field of rolling hills. Except, that, rather than letting that field be perfect, it was absolutely covered with dandelions. Weeds, basically. It was not that it was some weeded lot, but that it was a field of very obviously well-kept grass, dotted every few feet with these clusters of perfectly imperfect flowers, little suns peeking up out of their spray of leaves.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} From what you say of Earth, a field of well-kept grass would be incredibly rare, and so I imagine that you understand what it would mean for something so pristine to become filled with these flowers that everyone considered a nuisance.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} But Michelle was obsessed with them. She loved their smell, and loved how bright they stood out against the grass. There it was, this amazing field of the richest grass that invited one to roll in it, and it was dotted with these intensely yellow flowers.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Her sim was intentional in its imperfections. It was a dialectic. It was a koan, a contradiction in which sat a kernel of universal truth, understood only when one realized that both sides of that contradiction could be true at the same time.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} I did not know why she invited me over to her sim to meet with me, rather than meet up at some cafe or park or office, but when I arrived, I saw that she seemed to be having a bad day, as so many of hers were. When she had a bad day, it was visible in her very body. She would flicker between two different forms, like one might flicker between two different avatars on the 'net. I am still not sure how that worked, as it was generally a violation of the norms, but no one ever called her on it, no System process ever made her stop.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} I asked her about the field as we sat down on the side of a low hill, and she picked one of those dandelions. It was perfect. They have hollow stems, and the walls ooze a sticky, white latex when the stem is broken, and even that was perfect in the sim. She picked the flower and smelled it, then handed it to me. ``When I was in school,'' she told me. ``My friends and I would go sit in the grass above the football field and talk, and at least once a year when we did that, I would pick a dandelion and tell them that I always thought they smelled like muffins. They would always laugh.''
\textbf{May Then My Name:} And then she got real quiet and we sat there for what must have been an hour before she spoke again, ``How silly, that that is the one thing that I remember most clearly. Sitting in the grass, smelling flowers with my friends.''
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Scent, I have been told, bears the strongest ties to memory, and this defined her in some undefinable way. We got to our business after that, but I remember smelling that flower and thinking, ``Well, what do you know, it does smell like muffins.''
\textbf{May Then My Name:} I do not know if Michelle would have liked you or if you would have liked her. I do not know if you would have felt any connection for each other, or felt like family. What I do know is that she was every bit the person you imagine her to be. Fully realized and with every bit of story that you must have imagined for her over the years. She was real. She was complex. She thought about her friends, two hundred years gone, and how they laughed.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} You may not have had the chance to meet her, to talk to her, but you very much knew her, in your own way.
\end{quote}
\noindent It was a long time before Douglas was able to respond, and both Ioan and May Then My Name kept quiet. He didn't feel like they were expecting him to reply or that he was keeping them waiting while he let all that pent-up emotion out at once. They were simply holding space for him.
\begin{quote}
\textbf{Douglas:} Thank you for that. I don't know if we would've felt like family, either, but I am incredibly happy that I got the chance to hear you talk about her.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} You do not need to justify your grief, Douglas. You are allowed to feel it. Give yourself permission. You have my permission, as well.
\textbf{Ioan:} How about we call it here for now? There will be plenty of time for questions coming up, and I'm sure we'll all have our lists to bring to the next time we can chat.
\textbf{Ioan:} Take care of yourself, Douglas. May's right. You're allowed to mourn. It's the healthy thing to do.
\textbf{Ioan:} Besides, May made herself cry and I don't think she's going to be good for much more tonight.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Ioan I swear to god.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} I am going to eat crackers in your bed and put sand in your shoes.
\end{quote}
\noindent Douglas laughed in spite of himself.
\begin{quote}
\textbf{Douglas:} Thank you both, then. I really mean it. Ping me whenever, and I'll get to it as soon as I can.
\end{quote}
\noindent After they said their goodbyes and he put his terminal to sleep, he turned out the lights, stripped out of his clothes, and climbed into bed. He was prepared to let emotions overtake him, but where that knot of feelings had formed within him was now only calm. He wasn't through it, he suspected, but at least he was able to untangle some of that grief tonight.
He embraced that calm, rolled onto his side, and slept.

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\chapter{Douglas Hadje — 2325}\label{douglas-hadje-2325}}
\begin{quote}
\textbf{May Then My Name Die With Me:} I am surprised to see you online, Douglas!
\textbf{Douglas Hadje:} Remember how I said my workload as launch director would be starting to decrease after launch?
\textbf{Douglas:} Well, now I'm only working a few days at a time, and most of that is writing up documentation and collating reports for the launch commission. Soon, even that will disappear, and I suspect I'll be out of a job unless I decide to take on another position.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Do you think that you will?
\textbf{Douglas:} I don't know. Maybe? Probably. Once I'm out of a job, my reason to be here is kind of gone, and I imagine whatever goodwill I've built up will start to run out and they won't let me stay on the station. It's mostly self-sufficient, but resources are limited and I'm sure there's someone who would like to take my spot.
\textbf{Ioan Bălan:} And you mentioned not wanting to go back planet-side.
\textbf{Douglas:} God no, not if I can help it.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Either way, I am happy to see you about. Did you have any particular topics you wanted to discuss today? If not, I am sure that Ioan has some.
\textbf{Douglas:} Nothing in particular. I've got a few minor questions outstanding, I think, but I'm starting to get the sense that you'll only answer those when you're ready.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} That is a very good sense that you have.
\textbf{Ioan:} May's obstinate, ignore her.
\textbf{Ioan:} She also kicks pretty hard, but then, I deserved that.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} You did.
\textbf{Ioan:} Alright, well, the topic I was thinking of asking you about is that of the political side of the launch. One of the instances on one of the launches conducted an interview that suggested that there was actually quite a lot of political machinations behind the scenes.
\textbf{Douglas:} Oh! Yes! I'm surprised you didn't get much news of that in there.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} I am sure that we could look it up, but you are in a unique position to tell us more directly, and after it has been all mixed around in your head.
\textbf{Douglas:} True. Well, where do you want to start?
\textbf{Ioan:} How about you start most recently, actually, and then work your way backwards.
\textbf{Douglas:} Alright.
\textbf{Douglas:} There was one last spate of protesting right before the launch. I saw some of the videos from planet-side, and a lot of it was just talking-heads discussing the fact that some had tried to shut down portions of the net, and even tried to take down one of the Ansible stations. Most of it was the same stuff we saw during the planning phase. I guess it kind of broke down into three complaints:
\textbf{Douglas:} 1. Expenses---this one was diminished toward the end, as there's not really a whole lot of expense required in popping some explosive bolts to set the launches flying, and all the material used out here was from scavenged Trojan asteroids. The protests that we saw around this were mostly griping about how much had already been spent. ``Think of how much could have gone to deacidifying projects, etc etc''
\textbf{Douglas:} 2. Brain/workforce drain---This is a perennial topic with the System. All those smart minds out there focusing on pie-in-the-sky dreams instead of `real problems' back there on Earth. What they imagine someone with a masters in spaceflight or astronomy or whatever can do back on Earth to better an overheated dustball is beyond me.
\textbf{Douglas:} 3. Earth vs space sentiments---This one is probably the most common, and also the hardest to explain. Even I don't totally understand it. I think I mentioned before that, the harder things get, the less time and energy you have to focus on those pie-in-the-sky ideas. You're too busy scraping by or focus on growing soybeans or trying not to burn up or whatever, you don't have much time to do anything but dream about space and watch movies in your hour before bed or however your day looks.
\textbf{Douglas:} You have to remember that my opinion of the place is colored by the fact that I lived where I did with the family that I did while the city was in a state of decline, so.
\textbf{Douglas:} Anyway, a lot of these people seemed to be just plain angry that there were people doing things that were not for helping improve the general condition of life. There's still six or seven billion people down there, when you mesh birth rates with death and upload rates, and a good chunk of those people have no wish to upload, so they're stuck in a life that's uncomfortable enough to make them angry at those who have what feels like (and might as well be) unlimited potential, as they imagine the System to be.
\textbf{Douglas:} Does that make sense?
\textbf{Ioan:} I think so. You've got people who are unhappy, and part of that unhappiness is the fact that others are happy.
\textbf{Douglas:} More than that. They're unhappy, and part of that is that those others are not helping to make life better for them. It's usually not even making life better for humanity, but for them specifically, for the world as they specifically view it.
\textbf{Ioan:} Was there any sentiment that they were being abandoned by those who left on the launches?
\textbf{Douglas:} Yes and no. You have to understand that most people still struggle to think of the uploads as human. Thus calling them `uploads', even, rather than `uploaded personalities' or whatever. It's not just shorthand, it's a way of separating them into some other idea. They aren't people, anymore, they're programs, in their minds.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} There has always been this argument of speciation, and the instinct to make us the other continues apace, I see.
\textbf{Douglas:} I'll take your word for it. It's difficult to persuade the average person that those in the System are still human, or if not human, then at least still people. They're not the types to listen to all the arguments for why we know that you're still you after you upload. They duck-type you into being programs.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} `Duck-type'?
\textbf{Ioan:} Looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, must be a duck.
\textbf{Douglas:} Is that what it means? It's just come to mean a false-equivalency of any kind. Few enough ducks, anymore.
\textbf{Ioan:} I only learned it from an assignment talking with some perisystem specialists.
\textbf{Douglas:} I guess it doesn't surprise me that you have those inside as well as outside. Sometimes, I get these little jolts about how little I actually know about the System, compared to how much I know about the launch.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} It does not help that many of us---not just me---are obtuse on purpose.
\textbf{Douglas:} You said there was some grumbling sys-side, as well, right?
\textbf{Ioan:} Yes, though I don't totally understand it. Some of it sounds like that like, ``Why bother? We've got a good life here, and there's no reason to be putting that in any kind of danger just to throw copies of us out at the stars.'' The bits that I mentioned earlier, however, have more to do with the Dreamer Modules than the launch itself, though.
\textbf{Douglas:} Oh? There was a little bit of chatter about those here, but I didn't pay a whole lot of attention to it.
\textbf{Ioan:} That's okay. I'll dig, myself.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} We were working backwards from present. Was there much in the way of disruptions in the middle of the launch construction process?
\textbf{Douglas:} Not as much, no. There was a lull in overall protests. A lot of the grumbling about the Dreamer Module came during this time. There were one or two other sabotage attempts. Do you want to hear about those?
\textbf{May Then My Name:} We will, yes, but there is time. For now, we are curious about the macro-scale political landscape before, during, and after launch.
\textbf{Douglas:} Alright. That'll give me some time to remember more about what happened with them.
\textbf{Douglas:} Large scale, hmm.
\textbf{Douglas:} Well, most of the government side goes way over my head. In the WF, there was always a bit of waffling, even on the majority coalition side, but whenever sentiment in a member party of the majority drifted away from the launch, they never seemed to last all that long in power.
\textbf{Douglas:} I talked about protests and sentiments before, but for the most part, folks were either on board, didn't care, or didn't know about the launch. It was just another satellite in their eyes, or some deep space probe.
\textbf{Douglas:} Early on was when it was talked about most. There wasn't a whole lot of questions asked about whether or not the launch would happen, weirdly. I remember it just kind of popping up in the news as a foregone conclusion. ``The launch was happening, how's everyone feeling about that?''
\textbf{Douglas:} I think some were pretty unhappy with that, at first. Like, where did this decision even come from? Obviously, the System is its own authority and can do whatever it wants, but someone has to manage the phys-side work, so who, phys-side, actually had those conversations? There were a few gestures at investigation, but they fizzled out. Mostly, people were just confused. Some people get upset when they're confused, but for the rest, it just left them shaking their heads. It was the politicians who were dealing with it after that initial shock.
\textbf{Douglas:} Building the launches wasn't too expensive, honestly, because almost all of that was done in an automated fashion here on the station. That said, retrofitting the station for the launch struts, building the launch arms, expanding the production sector\ldots all that took time, energy, and money. I'm surprised it went as smoothly as it did, despite all the grumbling.
\textbf{Ioan:} So it just popped up on the scene, then interest waned, then ramped up before the launch, then dropped? Like an `M' shape?
\textbf{Douglas:} I suppose so, yeah. After the launch happened, there was nothing that could be done, so everyone lost interest or lost steam in their protests.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} We had a conversation a while back about our own point of no return. It was actually a year and change before the launch itself. By then, individuals were already transferring, and even if something went wrong, the cheapest solution would have been to launch anyway, and just take the hit on final velocity.
\textbf{Ioan:} Really?
\textbf{Ioan:} It makes sense, I suppose. What would you have done? Un-built the struts/arms and LVs?
\textbf{Douglas:} Basically. That would require dealing with yet more conservation-of-momentum issues, which would've required more money to build \emph{that} infrastructure, etc etc.
\textbf{Douglas:} None of which really seemed to matter to the protestors.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} You said that parties whose sentiments veered away from supporting the launch often wound up leaving the leading coalition. What was the general sentiment of the leading coalition in the WF? Elsewhere on Earth?
\textbf{Douglas:} Oh, good question. I guess most of them wound up being the types that pushed for higher taxes while playing to humanity. They're all named something different, I guess. It was the liberal democrats for most of the time in the WF. The demsocs felt that the money that was going to the launch was better served on Earth. The libertarians were here and there on the issue. Sometimes they felt like it would be a net win for humanity, sometimes they felt like the burden of the launch was too much. The conservatives spent most of the last twenty years as the shadow government. Their arguments were mostly what I said before. It was money that was going to a thing that wasn't them or their financial interests.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} The way you talk, I assume that you are a liberal democrat?
\textbf{Douglas:} We don't get a vote up here.
\textbf{Douglas:} I'm with whatever party allows the System to continue and helped the launch move forward.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} A single issue voter, then?
\textbf{Douglas:} I guess so!
\textbf{Ioan:} Well, we appreciate that, given where we live.
\textbf{Douglas:} Haha, well, good.
\textbf{Douglas:} Any other questions? I don't have any in particular, and would like to go grab dinner.
\textbf{Ioan:} Not from me.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} When will you be uploading, Douglas?
\textbf{Douglas:} I don't know. Some day, I promise.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} When you do, I hope that you will tell us, so that we can meet you face to face.
\textbf{Douglas:} Of course! After all this time, I'd be disappointed if we didn't.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} We will have many stories to tell you.
\textbf{Douglas:} I look forward to them all. Goodnight, you two.
\textbf{Douglas:} Or morning.
\textbf{Ioan:} Afternoon, actually. Enjoy your dinner!
\end{quote}

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\chapter{Douglas Hadje — 2325}\label{douglas-hadje-2325}}
Douglas found it strange that, over the next several days, the conversations that he had with May Then My Name and Ioan had amounted to little more than chitchat.
It wasn't that it was unpleasant. May Then My Name had a delightfully weird sense of humor and, though he originally found it difficult to understand, given the text-only nature of the medium, an undeniable sense of empathy that made him immediately feel comfortable around her.
Ioan, too, had proven to be fascinating to talk to. Ey was, as May Then My Name had suggested, the type who spent much of eir time in introspection, the result of which were statements that were as insightful as they were easy to understand. He liked the writer immediately. The two together could be hilarious, informative, somber, and comforting all in one conversation.
They were also very clearly in love with each other, which Douglas found endearing, yet odd for some reason, given how often they referred to each other simply as coworkers. Ioan, especially, seemed either completely unwilling to acknowledge or completely unaware of the dynamic.
Ah well. It was an interesting fact, at least. Interesting in that when Douglas had interacted with couples before, he had often felt like\ldots well, not a third wheel, particularly, so much as someone who simply did not understand the social dynamic at hand. Not so with them.
As enjoyable as all of the conversations were, however, and as much as he was beginning to understand sys-side life, he seemed to gain little in the way of actual knowledge.
At this point, however, his duties had diminished to almost nil, and he had little else to do. Within the year, he suspected that he'd be off looking for another job, hopefully still station-side.
So here he was, sitting on his bed, reading until either May Then My Name or Ioan pinged him.
Tonight, it was Ioan.
\begin{quote}
\textbf{Ioan Bălan:} Good evening, Douglas. Let me know when you're around.
\textbf{Douglas Hadje:} I'm around. How are you, Ioan?
\textbf{Ioan:} I'm doing well. And yourself?
\textbf{Ioan:} And by the way, it's just me, tonight. May has fallen asleep.
\textbf{Ioan:} All of her, actually. It's like the planets aligning sometimes. A bit of blessed quiet.
\textbf{Douglas:} I'm alright. Was actually just waiting up to hear from you. Things are pretty boring with no further launch stuff to do.
\textbf{Douglas:} Is May Then My Name loud in person?
\textbf{Ioan:} Oh, not really. She's just very
\textbf{Ioan:} Hmm.
\textbf{Ioan:} Intense, is maybe the right word? She doesn't chatter all of the time or run around or anything. Usually, she's just working and she does all of her work mentally rather than on paper. She'll have good conversations with me or with you, putter around, clean or cook, which I realize makes her sound very domestic, which isn't really the case. Those are just things she enjoys.
\textbf{Ioan:} But the whole time that she's doing those things, she's intense. Her expression, her personality, her words, her smile, her laugh, her eyes.
\textbf{Ioan:} That's one of those things that always strikes me as funny. You know, the whole thing about how eyes are just spheres, not actually emotive.
\textbf{Ioan:} But hers are intense.
\textbf{Douglas:} The intensity comes through even in text, so I believe you. So it's nice having a break from that intensity?
\textbf{Ioan:} Yeah, basically. It's nice when we sleep. The time before we head to bed is much calmer. Just a lot of talking and such. She's a very physically affectionate person, which I was not used to at all when she moved in.
\end{quote}
\noindent Douglas laughed, considered his options, shrugged, and typed his response.
\begin{quote}
\textbf{Douglas:} That also comes through in text, in a way. You two sound like a cute couple.
\textbf{Ioan:} Huh.
\textbf{Ioan:} You know, I'd never really considered that.
\textbf{Ioan:} `That' meaning being a couple.
\textbf{Ioan:} I don't know that we are, actually.
\textbf{Douglas:} ``Don't know''?
\textbf{Douglas:} Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to presume.
\textbf{Ioan:} It's alright. I also don't know that we aren't. Sometimes the question will come up in my mind and I'll wonder about it a little, but it always slips away and then I'm back to organizing my pen collection or whatever May accuses me of.
\textbf{Douglas:} But you've never talked with her about it?
\textbf{Ioan:} No.~Same problem as mentioned above. Every time I think of asking she's already asleep or too busy or I'm out on an interview as \#Tracker and then it just slips my mind.
\textbf{Ioan:} You can't be a couple without agreeing that you are, right? So maybe that means we aren't? I have no idea, it's all far above my pay grade.
\textbf{Douglas:} Do you want to be?
\textbf{Ioan:} I definitely don't know that! I'm not really comfortable continuing to talk about this, though.
\textbf{Douglas:} No problem.
\textbf{Ioan:} Needless to say, she's intense. The whole damn clade is.
\textbf{Douglas:} The Ode clade, was it?
\textbf{Ioan:} Yes. Or the Odists if you want something shorter.
\textbf{Douglas:} Can you tell me more about them? They sound fascinating, and I've always wondered.
\textbf{Ioan:} I can tell you a little bit. It's more on her to answer the details. They can be tight-lipped about the weirdest things.
\textbf{Douglas:} Of course. I'm eager to know, but don't want to pry.
\textbf{Ioan:} So, the Ode clade is very old. They've been around for ages. There are quite a few of them. I did a bunch of work with one of them named Dear, Also, The Tree That Was Felled about twenty years back, and that's how I got to know them. We've had an on-again-off-again working relationship.
\textbf{Ioan:} Though, now that I think about it, one of my forks---my only real cocladist---has found emself in a romantic relationship with Dear.
\textbf{Ioan:} You have to understand, though, every single Odist I've met (except maybe one, who isn't around anymore) has been completely and utterly charming, so maybe it's just a them thing.
\textbf{Ioan:} Anyway, They're all incredibly strange, is what I'm saying.
\textbf{Ioan:} Another thing about them is that they are, to a one, magnets for strange goings on. I guess that's part of being strange overall, but even so, every one of them has this incredible story about these events that have happened around them. I don't think it's a conscious thing, necessarily. Just by virtue of their intensity, they live through intense happenings, or have intense friends, or elicit intense reactions from those around them.
\textbf{Ioan:} For example---and this is public information here, now, I don't know if it ever made it phys-side---it was one of them who discovered (or at least was the first who was public about) the fact that those who live sys-side can't ever actually forget things. Instead of simply publishing some sort of report or studying the reality of it, he adopted the persona of a biblical teacher and organized an entire scavenger hunt to try and get the rest of the clade interested.
\textbf{Douglas:} That sounds dramatic.
\textbf{Ioan:} Agreed!
\textbf{Ioan:} I was going to say that they're not really dramatic, just intense, but it's definitely both.
\textbf{Douglas:} Can you tell me about their names? They all seem similar to the snippets of poetry that May Then My Name kept sending me.
\textbf{Ioan:} They're all poetic, I can certainly say that, but that's also a very, very touchy subject for them, enough that Qoheleth, the aforementioned Odist who did the scavenger hunt, the one I mentioned isn't here anymore, was assassinated for trying to divulge information about their names.
\textbf{Douglas:} Assassinated?!
\textbf{Douglas:} That's a thing that can happen, sys-side?
\textbf{Ioan:} Unfortunately, yes. It's rare, thankfully. There are viruses of a sort that interrupt the sys-side mind enough to cause it to lose coherency and just sort of disappear.
\textbf{Ioan:} You told us you still have implants and rigs out there, right? It's like when your avatar crashes, except it's your personality instead.
\textbf{Douglas:} That's absolutely horrifying. I'll go ahead and add that to the bucket of fears right alongside nuclear and biological warfare.
\textbf{Ioan:} Again, they're not at all common, and they by convention have to be tied to a physical object, usually a syringe or knife, so they are visible. They also need to be tailored to the target, which is why we say `assassination' rather than murder. It's very premeditated and there's no way to prosecute. Any time that someone has considered designing ones that aren't or which are more widespread, there's an incredible backlash. Happens once every twenty years or so.
\textbf{Douglas:} That's not super encouraging, but I'll try not to let it get to me.
\textbf{Ioan:} Well, let's change the subject, then, just to keep it from being anxiety-inducing. I know that May will ask this, so, when do you think you'll upload?
\textbf{Douglas:} Hah, well, I guess she would. I was thinking within a year.
\textbf{Douglas:} My duties are all wrapping up all at once, it feels like, so, maybe when they tell me to get planet-side.
\textbf{Ioan:} I have a suggestion, if you're interested.
\textbf{Douglas:} Oh?
\textbf{Ioan:} Upload on the one-year anniversary of the launch.
\textbf{Douglas:} Why?
\textbf{Ioan:} The Odists are total suckers for symbolism. If you do it on Secession and Launch Day, May will lose her damn mind.
\textbf{Ioan:} In a good way, I mean. You'll get to see it, I'm sure. It's quite the spectacle.
\textbf{Douglas:} It's not a bad idea, actually. I'll pester the commission to ensure that I'm up here for that.
\textbf{Ioan:} Really? You're seriously considering it?
\textbf{Douglas:} If you had left the planning up to me, I'm not sure I'd ever do it. I'd just keep on cycling and worrying and never actually do anything, but give me a little push, and I'll make it happen.
\textbf{Ioan:} I believe it. Keep me in the loop!
\textbf{Douglas:} Should I tell May Then My Name or keep it a surprise?
\textbf{Ioan:} Can you keep it a secret for the next six months or so?
\textbf{Douglas:} Sure, I guess.
\textbf{Ioan:} Great. Please do. I want to see her go nuts.
\textbf{Ioan:} Strange question: you say that you don't start projects without a little push, but you also said that you applied for the launch director position on a whim.
\textbf{Ioan:} Are you sure there was no push for you to apply?
\textbf{Douglas:} Huh.
\textbf{Douglas:} I\ldots will have to think on that and get back to you.
\textbf{Douglas:} Why do you ask?
\textbf{Ioan:} Well.
\textbf{Ioan:} I'm not sure I can tell you without compromising some agreements on my end.
\textbf{Ioan:} With May and the other Odists, I mean.
\textbf{Ioan:} I'll make sure May tells you at some point, though, alright?
\textbf{Douglas:} Sure.
\textbf{Douglas:} I mean, it sounds complicated, but like you say, they're a complicated group.
\textbf{Douglas:} I'll think about it, though, see if I can remember anything.
\textbf{Ioan:} Thanks!
\textbf{Ioan:} May's all sacked out in bed, so I think I'll go join her.
\textbf{Ioan:} Goodnight, Douglas. Sleep well, and keep in touch!
\end{quote}
\noindent Douglas made his goodbyes and then stretched out on his own bed, still grinning at the idea of Ioan sharing a bed with May and still not knowing whether or not they were in a relationship.
He turned the lights off and rolled enough to pull his covers over him. It'd be early to fall asleep, but it's not like he had much else to do, so he might as well do the same.

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\hypertarget{douglas-hadje-2325}{%
\chapter{Douglas Hadje — 2325}\label{douglas-hadje-2325}}
\begin{quote}
\textbf{May Then My Name Die With Me:} Douglas
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Douglas Douglas Douglas Douglas Douglas Douglas Douglas Douglas Douglas Douglas Douglas
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Mister Douglas Hadje, Master of Spaceflight and Doctor of whatever the hell your degree is in, call on line one.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Oh, whatever. Just let me know when you get this!
\end{quote}
\noindent It took a moment for Douglas to compose himself when he returned to his terminal after yet another evening of sitting in the Pollux control tower, now largely remade into an observation bubble despite the increased gravity. It was quiet, it was dark, it was calm, and there was nothing to see except the same Earth-rise-moon-rise cycle every thirty seconds or so.
So, when he returned back to his room to a series of messages that felt loud, bright, raucous, it took a moment for his mind to adjust.
\begin{quote}
\textbf{Douglas Hadje:} My doctorate is also in space flight. I did my thesis on booster stress in reusable launch vehicles.
\textbf{Douglas:} Now, how may I help you?
\textbf{May Then My Name:} That is just \emph{fantastically} boring, my dear.
\textbf{Douglas:} Oh, it was boring as hell. I'll send it to you sometime.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} If you would like.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} I will not read it.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Also, hi. Good evening. Have you had a good day?
\textbf{Douglas:} That was also boring as hell. I keep going for walks or trying to read or whatever, but there's only so much here to keep myself interested when I based most of my life on my job.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} That does not sound healthy.
\textbf{Douglas:} Can confirm: not healthy.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Well, fucking upload already.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} We can go out for drinks and build up your tolerance again, or you can go walk some place that has a horizon. Ioan took me on a hike a while back, we can take you there.
\textbf{Douglas:} Before long. A few months, probably, so that I can finish things up here.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} !!!
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Good! Excellent! I will look forward to the day.
\textbf{Douglas:} I'll keep you apprised, then. Where's Ioan today?
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Ey is here, but in heads-down mode. It can get frustrating sometimes, because when ey gets in that mindset, ey will not be able to fork effectively. If ey tries, the fork will just spend all of eir time whining about not being at work.
\textbf{Douglas:} Like me, huh?
\textbf{May Then My Name:} You said it, not me.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Anyway, I messaged you to ask you about something that you have mentioned a few times so far. Do you have it in you to answer some questions?
\textbf{Douglas:} Sure, why not. My first meeting is in the afternoon, tomorrow, and it's just a weekly safety briefing. Talk my ear off, I could use the distraction.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Yes, you certainly could.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} You mentioned that there had been sabotage attempts. We were surprised when we heard that initially, but it had been in the middle of some other conversations that we did not want to derail, so we have been holding onto it until a time when there was not much else going on. Can you tell me about those?
\textbf{Douglas:} Oh, sure.
\textbf{Douglas:} There were two big ones and one small one. You heard the small one, which was that tech knocking me off the edge of the torus. The other techs out there with us tackled him and tied him up in his own tether to bring him back into the station. One of them suggested just ripping off his suit then and there, but that was a reaction out of anger, and it's hard to stay angry out in space when you're all terrified of dying anyway, so they did the right thing.
\textbf{Douglas:} He was brought inside, taped to a chair (there used to be a security station with a cell for when the torus was a hotel, but it was repurposed at some point), and then confined to quarters until the next shuttle could come pick him up.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} How did he even get in there to begin with?
\textbf{Douglas:} As far as I could tell, just lying really well, or perhaps it really was just a spur of the moment act as he argued in court. It was his second EVA, so there wasn't exactly much time to suss out if there was anything up with him.
\textbf{Douglas:} It's weird, though. You have to have an MSf to even do EVAs here, and even just getting into that program, not to mention getting a job out here, requires a lot of psychological testing and the like. He must have been pretty good at lying.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} You said that he was sent back to Earth and charged. What were the charges? How did that work?
\textbf{Douglas:} I don't know too much about it, honestly. I know he was charged with attempted murder and there was a whole flurry of articles about how the case was groundbreaking as the first attempted murder in the vacuum of space. He was convicted, then probably sentenced to jail.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} What does jail look like?
\textbf{Douglas:} Depends on where you are and what you did. I think for something like attempted murder, he was just put in sim for a while, unable to back out.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Douglas, that is a nightmare.
\textbf{Douglas:} It's not like he's just put in a sim of a jail cell to rot or anything. As far as I know, it's just a tightly regimented day, most of it in a solitary sim, the rest in a shared sim with other prisoners.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Not able to back out, though. Even the thought of that makes me feel ill.
\textbf{Douglas:} Why? Aren't you kind of in that state right now?
\textbf{May Then My Name:} When you upload, you will see how the comparison fails. But it is terrifying because I am old enough to remember the lost.
\textbf{Douglas:} That virus or whatever that was getting people stuck in the 'net? Didn't that hit Michelle?
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Yes. Remember when I talked about how 80\% her days were bad days? That is why.
\textbf{Douglas:} Oh, shit. Yeah, I can see how that'd be terrifying, then.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} On to brighter subjects, then. You mentioned bigger sabotage attempts.
\textbf{Douglas:} Much brighter.
\textbf{Douglas:} Well, one of them was here station-side, and one was back planet-side. The one up here was when one of the mechanics (who don't need an MSf) had smuggled up some type of plastic explosive in their luggage. I think it was actually the fabric lining of the case, something where thin strands of explosive were coated in plastic and woven just like one normally would. It was powerful enough and its target small enough, that even just that suitcase lining would have been enough to do the trick.
\textbf{Douglas:} They tore out the lining, rolled it into a rope, and wrapped it around a portion of the launch strut extrusion factory. It was about six years back, and the arms were already about 2800km long, so if the explosion had wound up actually causing enough damage, the stress of the arm would have torn the station apart, and likely taken the System with it.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} WHAT
\textbf{May Then My Name:} That seems like an awfully important thing to not know as the sys-side launch director, Douglas.
\textbf{Douglas:} It was all hushed up by security (brought back up after my little incident on EVA). I wasn't allowed to tell you after the NDA. Sorry, May Then My Name.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Did they give you a reason for keeping it from us?
\textbf{Douglas:} They said it had political ramifications because of the articles of secession. ``No other governmental entity shall declare war on or attempt to destroy the System.''
\textbf{May Then My Name:} They worried it might be considered it an act of war?
\textbf{Douglas:} I guess so. If it was an act of war, then the System could retaliate. I'm sure they told someone over there who needed to know
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Then why are you telling me now?
\textbf{Douglas:} Well, our conversations are off the record, now. Besides, if I'm going to upload soon, it's also relevant to me in the same way it is to you.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} It is, at that. How were they caught?
\textbf{Douglas:} That's the weird thing. They turned themselves in. The cloth bomb had been in place for about a month, I guess, and they grew a conscience in that time, so they defused the bomb, brought security over, admitted to what they'd done, and let themselves be sent back planet-side.
\textbf{Douglas:} Which actually brings me to the other big sabotage attempt. Apparently, they were working with a collective who were really unhappy with the launch overall, so there was also a suicide bombing at a launch facility during a tour which was intended to take out the control room before it could be used for the next supply run.
\textbf{Douglas:} Cloth bomber struck a deal with the government for a lighter sentence (probably like my attacker received) for acting as an informant and ratting out the organization before the rest of the planned bombings could take place.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Less immediately threatening to us, but still, that is terrible. Do you know why this collective (is this like an interest group, or is there a deeper meaning?) felt so strongly against Launch?
\textbf{Douglas:} Yes, a collective is a group of people who have decided to lose as much of their unique identity as they can to live as singular facets of a shared identity.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Ioan will be fascinated to hear. Why is that?
\textbf{Douglas:} It actually started around a fictionalized account of forking. They sometimes called themselves clades, but the name never stuck in the wider world. It's kind of a weird love/hate relationship with the System that they have. They love it enough to try and emulate it in their social groups, but they also loathe the idea of uploading and a lot of other things that go along with the System.
\textbf{Douglas:} de, on the launch commission, is a member of a much more liberal collective. Still will never upload, but really seems to take pride in their job.
\textbf{Douglas:} So I think it was some of that hatred that was at play. They hated the lack of control that is inherent in the System. They hated all that went into Secession, how it made the System a political entity. They hated Launch because, by phys-side collaborating with sys-side, it was a sign that we were equals. They felt that the System has been interfering with phys-side politics ever since Secession. They hated the System for lots of reasons.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Do a lot of people phys-side think that the System is interfering with politics?
\textbf{Douglas:} Not really, no. We learned in grad school that there was a kerfuffle around it when uploading was incentivized that essentially no one remembers except for boring people like me who had to study it. There have been a few gripes here and there as other large political changes happened, like when governments merged or recessions hit. When things like that happen, I think a lot of people instinctively look for a boogeyman to pin it on, and the System is pretty convenient because it's not like you all can fight back, so you all turn into shadowy figures behind the politicians.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Oh, that bit is definitely true.
\textbf{Douglas:} Yeah, figured as much. You all up there steepling your fingers and talking in hushed tones about how you're going to do everything from crash the economy to hire Michelle Hadje's distant ancestor specifically to work on your nefarious plot.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Yep, got it in one.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} I am glad that none of these were successful on the scale that they had hoped. We do not know what happens to us if the System breaks. There have been a few instances of discontinuity over the centuries, but we don't see them except that systime jumps ahead. Were the System to explode in some fiery spectacle, we would just stop. Probably. Maybe.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Theologians and mystics have been disappointed to find no answers in what comes after death when one quits, so we are as in the dark as you are.
\textbf{Douglas:} Maybe a bit less, because at least one possibility of what comes after death for us is living sys-side.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} This is true! We are ghosts up here, haunting silicon and whatever else makes up the physical elements of the System these days.
\textbf{Douglas:} You may as well be ghosts, as far as people think planet-side. There have been various groups casting uploads in the light of ancestor worship in some places. I have no idea how those who are worshipped sys-side feel about being asked for courage or a healthy crop or whatever.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} I would be honored, personally. I have no one to haunt after two centuries but you. I am afraid that you are stuck with me.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} All I can do is bother you on a terminal, though, so I suppose that I am not that bad of a ghost.
\textbf{Douglas:} You're a pretty good ghost, I'd say. I'm looking forward to meeting you in person some day.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} I will beg you once more: please come join us soon. I know you said you would, but if you do not live up to that promise, so help me God, I will move into your implants and never let you sleep again.
\textbf{Douglas:} Don't worry! I promise. You'll see me within the year. I've already put in word with both the launch commission and the clinic here, and they're fine having me stick around station-side until I can upload, so it's already (loosely) scheduled.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} !!!
\textbf{May Then My Name:} I am eager to meet you, Douglas Hadje, Master of Spaceflight and Doctor of Other Boring Shit!
\textbf{Douglas:} Goes both ways, May Then My Name Die With Me of the Ode clade.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Excellent, excellent.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Now, I should head off. Ioan is coming up for air from eir writing, so I am going to go chase em around the house, frothing like I am rabid.
\textbf{Douglas:} Oh! Time for a quick question?
\textbf{May Then My Name:} If you hurry, yes. I am already frothing at the mouth.
\textbf{Douglas:} Are you and Ioan in a relationship? I'm sorry if it's impertinent, feel free not to answer.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} It is not impertinent, but there is no easy answer. If ey asks if I would like that, I will say yes. If ey does not, I will still be content to be eir friend.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} And if ey does not know one way or another, as I suspect, I will ensure that ey makes the decision on eir own terms.
\textbf{Douglas:} You won't ask em yourself?
\textbf{May Then My Name:} No.~It is quite important that ey ask me, and not the other way around.
\textbf{Douglas:} Why, though?
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Two reasons. One: the one with the greater restrictions in a relationship wins out, and I will say yes to almost anything and anyone. Ey would not. It is thus on em to make the choice. Two: if ey really does not know, I will gain an absolutely enormous amount of satisfaction out of teasing em afterwards.
\textbf{Douglas:} Of course you would.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} I am pleased that you have come to understand me so well.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Now, I am getting froth everywhere, so I will have to run.
\textbf{Douglas:} Alright! Have fun, say hi for me, don't stay up too late.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Lame.
\textbf{May Then My Name:} Bye!
\end{quote}
\noindent Douglas pushed back from his terminal and stretched his arms up toward the ceiling, leaning back in his chair.
Every time he talked with Ioan and May Then My Name, he was once again faced with the realization that he had hardly needed Ioan to convince him at all. The two were the first people he could call friends that he'd had since school. He liked them immensely. Beyond that, though, something about May Then My Name seemed as though she was simply built to be liked, as though whenever he talked with her, he had no choice \emph{but} to like her.
It wasn't quite charisma, as, whenever he tried the word on for May Then My Name, it carried far too many implications of manipulation, and the last thing he could picture her doing was being manipulative.
She was weird, yes. Goofy, even. But there was nothing about her that was calculating or cold. Perhaps that's what she'd meant about it needing to be Ioan's choice. Perhaps she knew just how easy it would be for her to manipulate em into a relationship.
\emph{One more walk around the station,} he thought. \emph{Then I'll get to bed. January can't come soon enough.}

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The arrangements required for this surprise for May Then My Name quickly began to feel overly complicated to Douglas, but, as Ioan kept reminding him, she was a very complicated person. She was also very perceptive, so there was apparently much secrecy required to pull it off.
The lead-up to uploading, however, was easy. He supposed that much of it was that so much excitement combined with so much anxiety eventually left him feeling more numb than anything, some protective emotional reaction that kept him from simply exploding on one of his many, many walks.
But anticlimax is ever the way of the world, and so the night before the one-year anniversary of the Launch arrived, he simply signed a waiver, walked to the clinic, answered a few questions, and then underwent the procedure. It was dizzying, disorienting, and, were he pressed to pick one, the worst physical experience of his life, but at that point, he was well past any point where he could turn back, and even then, he knew he wouldn't.
There was a brief---or perhaps impossibly long---discontinuity, and then he was standing in a grey cube of a room, naked, vertiginous, blinking at a light that seemed to come from nowhere.
Anticlimax indeed.
A quiet voice came from behind him, a soft tenor that contained an accent that he couldn't place. ``Good evening, Douglas. I'm facing the wall, if you're concerned about your nudity, but I'll talk you through fixing that.''
He crouched down, covering himself with his hands, and turned slowly. There was a person standing in the corner of the room, shorter than him, hands clasped loosely behind their back while they faced the wall. They were dressed in a sweater-vest and a pale yellow dress shirt. Nice slacks, nice shoes, tousled hair. ``Wh-who\ldots{}'' he croaked.
``Can you guess?''
Douglas swallowed a few times, working up enough saliva to un-parch his throat. ``Ioan? Is that you?''
Ey laughed, nodded. ``Well spotted, though it is pronounced \emph{yo-ahn}. Now, do you want to get dressed?''
``Please,'' he said, looking around for clothes. There was only the gray floor, gray walls, gray ceiling.
``Okay, bear with me. I had to look up the script for this, so I hope it makes sense to you.''
Ioan spent the next five minutes talking Douglas through the process of clothing himself, breathing in a thought and breathing out an intention, willing into being that which he wanted.
Once he was dressed, Ioan asked, ``May I turn around now?''
He looked down at himself, along his arms and legs, seeing that the oh-so-familiar jumpsuit was just as he remembered, then said, ``Sure.''
Ioan nodded and turned to face him, smiling. Ey looked over him searchingly, then laughed. ``Is that your work uniform?''
``It's my only outfit,'' he said. ``No other clothes aboard the station. Too much risk of them getting in the way.''
``Well, okay,'' the historian said. Douglas could see now that the sweater-vest was patterned in a dusty gray argyle and that there was even an understated bow tie to bring the look together. Ey stepped forward, hand extended. ``Douglas Hadje, it's nice to meet you at last.''
He was surprised at how relieved he felt, even laughing as he accepted the hand to shake. ``Wonderful! This is really strange. After a year of talking, it still feels like we're meeting for the first time.''
``Didn't you say you had a long distance partner? Isn't that close?''
``Well, yes, but we talked over the 'net in sims. That's like proximity.''
Ioan blinked, then nodded, grinning. ``Right, right. Well, how're you feeling? I remember I was pretty disoriented for a while after uploading.''
Douglas looked around. The walls offered little but more gray and a faint grid of darker grey, as though made of panels a meter on a side. Ioan looked\ldots well, ordinary, is all he could think. Ey looked like a normal person of Eastern European stock. Eir clothes looked as detailed as could be expected phys-side, and eir hand felt as much like a normal hand as any.
``It's so\ldots normal,'' he said, finally.
``Yeah, I guess it is. I'm nearing a century here, so I'm used to it by now. It \emph{is} normal to me.''
``You still look like you're in your twenties or thirties, which I guess that's kind of weird. Is that how you looked before uploading?''
``More or less,'' ey said. ``I didn't dress as well. And I was skinnier, too. I guess this is how I saw myself after a while, though.''
Douglas looked em up and down. ``You can gain weight, here?''
``No, no. Or, sort of. Just that as your image of yourself changes, when you fork, those changes have a tendency to show up.'' Ey grinned wryly. ``You'll see with May. She's far more adept than anyone I've met, except perhaps her cocladist, Dear, at shaping how she looks when she forks.''
``And I can fork, too?''
``Sure. Would you like to? That's part of the intro script, as well.''
``Uh, I guess so,'' he said.
They stood in silence for a while, once Douglas had learned the ins and outs of forking and quitting. His mind was churning---so much new information---while Ioan waited patiently. There was so much to take in all at once, he could easily see how one could get overwhelmed.
``Alright,'' he said. ``What's the plan from here?''
Ioan straightened up. ``Well, let's go somewhere less dreary. I want you use that same exercise of intent and \emph{want} to be at The Field\#002a0b1.''
``These numbers are going to be difficult to remember,'' he said.
``You'll get used to them. You'll, uh\ldots you'll find that you can't actually forget anything, here, but that's a problem for future Douglas. Ready?''
He nodded, deciding this time to try keeping his eyes open. As he breathed the intention, he was, without transition, standing in a sprawling field. Green grass speckled with dandelions as far as he could see in every direction, all lit by a salmon-colored sunset.
A memory tugged itself loose, something May Then My Name had said, a story she had told months ago, and he quickly bent down to pluck one of the flowers. ``Ioan,'' he said shakily. ``Is this\ldots I mean\ldots{}''
``Michelle's old sim, yes. I wanted the first place you saw to be one that was important to you. I hope that's okay.'' Ey paused a moment, then said, ``If it's alright, can I ask how you feel about that?''
``Is this for your history?''
Ey nodded. ``If you consent.''
``I suppose so.'' He sat down on the grass, hardly daring to breathe in through his nose, lest he figure out just what it meant for something to smell like muffins. Tears stung his eyes, and it took a while for him to be able to breathe deep enough to speak. ``I feel overwhelmed. I feel like I'm home, but also not where I should be at all, like I'm intruding on somewhere that should've been left pristine.''
Ioan sat down next to him. ``Are you worried about that? Would you like to go elsewhere?''
``No, no. I like it here, I'm just overwhelmed. I've been\ldots{}'' He rubbed tears away with his sleeve. ``I've just been thinking about this for so long\ldots I don't know.''
``And do they smell like muffins?''
Wrong-footed, he stared at the historian for a moment, then plucked another dandelion and slowly lifted the yellow flower to his nose, struggling against the urge to keep that knowledge a dream rather than a reality.
Then he breathed in the sweet, vegetal scent, and began to cry in earnest.
Ioan sat with him in kind quiet. As ey had so long ago, ey didn't say anything, didn't try to comfort him, didn't touch him, just sat and remained present. It was as though ey was there simply to witness those emotions and give testimony to them, and that, more than anything, made him feel welcome here. Welcome with Ioan, welcome in the field, welcome in the System.
After the wave crested and then passed, he said, ``Alright, so, what's the plan?''
``You just stay the night here. You can think up a mattress or anything else you need to be comfortable. You've been granted ownership of the sim by the\ldots{}ah, temporary owners as next of kin.''
Tears stung his eyes once more at the implications, but he nodded all the same.
``We'll be by tomorrow mid-morning for a picnic. I'm happy to stay, too, if you'd like, or give you space.''
``Won't May Then My Name miss-- oh, right. You're a fork, aren't you?''
Ey smiled, nodded. ``Of course. Ioan\#Tracker is back at home getting pestered by her.''
``Did you two wind up hooking up, then?'' he asked, grinning.
Ioan laughed and hid a blush by looking down at the flowers, poking eir fingers amid the grass. ``Yes. Thank you for the nudge.''
``Good. Why don't you go focus on her, then, and I'll sleep here. I'm assuming the same trick I used for clothing and such works for food and drink, right?''
``Yes, but start with small things. If you don't remember well enough what something tastes like, you can wind up with some really disgusting stuff. That's why there's still restaurants and cooking.''
After Ioan had hugged him, said goodbye, and quit, after he'd had a simple sandwich and some water, Douglas sat on the low rise he'd initially appeared on, watching evening dim to twilight, then twilight to darkness. He'd never been camping, but he'd learned enough about it that he was able to come up with a sleeping bag and pillow, laying awake long into the night, looking up at a dream of stars.
Morning came slowly, and it was the heat rather than the light that woke him. He started as the sudden anxiety that he'd missed the deadline hit, but he was still alone, there in the field.
A wish of eggs and coffee went well enough, though neither was particularly tasty, and he was able to will the sleeping bag and dishes away easily enough. He didn't know what time it was--
No, wait. He did. It was systime 202+21 0921. One year, nine hours, twenty-one minutes after launch.
He put aside the fact that he knew that fact, and instead went for a walk.
He didn't walk far, not wanting to miss the arrival of Ioan and May and not knowing how big the field actually was, but it was enough to stake out the area. It was rather boring, really. Grass, dandelions, the occasional fat bumblebee drifting lazily among the flowers.
Boring, but meaningful. Boring but home.
Eventually, he found the patch of tamped down grass where he'd slept the night before, sat down, and waited.
Eleven o'clock arrived and then, a few minutes later, so did Ioan and one other.
They were facing the other way, so he had a few moments to drink in the sight. Ioan was as he remembered, excepting a basket that was likely full of picnic goods, and May Then My Name was wholly unlike anything he expected.
She was a furry, he could tell that much. There were plenty on the 'net; his erstwhile girlfriend with the cat av was one.
He didn't recognize her species at first. Black, rounded ears, a spray of longer white fur atop her head, simple tee-shirt and shorts, and a long tail with thick fur that looked luxuriously soft. \emph{A skunk? Really?} he thought, and shook his head.
The pair were still talking, hand in\ldots well, paw, he supposed, so he stood up and cleared his throat.
May Then My Name reacted with a speed he'd not expected, whirling around and clutching at Ioan's arm tightly, ears laid flat against her head. ``Who the fuck are you?'' she growled, feral. The words were perfectly intelligible, he was pleased to note, and spoke of a central corridor accent.
Remembering Ioan's words from the day before, he grinned. ``Can you guess?''
She straightened up and frowned, head tilted, then turned to Ioan, who looked to be holding back laughter, and punched em solidly in the shoulder. ``You\ldots you piece of shit! \emph{You} organized this! I know you did! Mx. Ioan Bălan, I am absolutely putting sand in your shoes.''
Then the skunk began running, and as she did, dozens of other versions of her flickered into and out of existence around her, a confusing rush of skunks that obscured which was the original, all grinning madly. She leapt at him and, before he could react, nearly tackled him to the ground, her arms tight around his middle. ``If you are not Mister Douglas Hadje, master of spaceflight and doctor of something incredibly boring, I will be quite embarrassed. Please tell me you are.''
``I am, I am,'' he said, laughing and returning the hug. She was short enough that the top of her head barely came up to his chin. Her fur was incredibly soft against his neck, and he had to restrain himself from outright petting her. ``It's nice to meet you at last.''
``Douglas, holy shit. Holy shit! This is absolutely delightful,'' she said, voice muffled against his shoulder and obscured by tears. Without letting go of the hug, she forked off a copy of herself to hurl at Ioan, who was laughing openly now. This time, she did manage to throw her target to the grass, and the two wrestled around for a moment, shoving at each other, before that instance of May Then My Name quit, leaving Ioan to pick emself up again, dusting grass off eir clothes.
Eventually, after she'd had her cry, she released her grip on him and stepped back, holding onto his upper arms and looking him up and down. She nodded approvingly. ``Every inch a Hadje. Sort of. You are very tall, and you have lost the round face.''
``I have? I mean, I guess that makes sense. Michelle lived two centuries ago. I've seen a few pictures from the news archives, but they took a while to dig up, so I can only guess.''
``Like this?'' Her expression grew wicked. She forked, and this fork was completely human. Shoulder-length curly black hair, round of face, short, the spitting image\ldots{}
``Wait,'' he stammered. ``You can just look like her? The pictures\ldots I thought\ldots I thought that'd be frowned on.''
``Oh, it is,'' the woman said. ``Come on, Dr. Hadje. Do keep up.''
All of his blood was completely replaced with ice water. His voice failed him. A hatch in the field opened beneath him and he began to fall. Or, at least that's what his mind told him was happening. When the world finally stopped spinning and he finally reconnected with his body, he found that he was sitting on the grass.
``You're\ldots{}''
The woman---Michelle?---came and sat on the grass next to him to hug an arm around his shoulders, her expression softening. ``I am May Then My Name Die With Me of the Ode clade, Douglas. \emph{Michelle's} clade.''
``So\ldots{}''
``I was forked from her two centuries ago, and while it would be more accurate to say that I am \emph{of} her than Michelle herself, I remember being her.'' She rubbed her hand against his back. ``Douglas, please keep breathing. You are going to pass out if you keep that up.''
He gulped for air, shaking. ``You lied to me, then? You\ldots{}''
``A small untruth,'' she said, voice calm and soothing. ``Michelle herself did quit some time ago, but I am of her clade.''
``Why didn't you tell me?''
She winked. ``A story such as ours deserves a grand conclusion, does it not?''
He laughed. It sounded manic even to his own ears, Crazed. ``Tell me everything! I need to know about you, about her, about--''
``Patience, patience!'' May Then My Name ducked one of his waving hands, laughing as well. ``We have all the time in the world, my dear, and today is a day for many celebrations. You will learn all about us, cousin. You will learn about me and her, about individuation and intracladal dynamics. I am as much a relative of hers as you are.''
He nodded. All that she was saying was swirling around in his mind, wrapped up in the strange, fluent-yet-stilted language that he'd gotten used to over text but now had to get used to in person. He couldn't tell if he was ecstatic at the news, mad at her, or simply overwhelmed, but so earnest was May then My Name's expression that any heat of anger quickly cooled.
``Everything feels like it needs to be done in such a rush, though,'' he admitted. ``Like if I don't do it right now I'm going to explode. You really look like her? Exactly? And\ldots{}but you're a skunk.''
May Then My Name---the one that looked like Michelle---kissed him on the cheek, smirked, and disappeared, having apparently quit, leaving the still giggling skunk to help Douglas up.
``Later, I promise.'' She pulled him over to the picnic blanket with her so that she could sit next to him, tasking Ioan with setting up the food while they talked. ``Douglas, my dear, what are you most excited about, now that you have uploaded?'' she asked earnestly, paw resting on his knee.
``Well, I was going to say meeting you two, but now that that's over, I guess getting to know you. Like, actually know you, instead of just chatting over text. Getting to know the System, too. I spent years imagining how it worked in here, and now that I'm here, I'm a little overwhelmed with how little of that feels accurate.''
``It is difficult to explain in words how it all works, so many phys-side do not know.''
``I guess I want to try some real food, too. We get chicken once a month on the station. Or got, I guess. Otherwise it was all vegetarian. No complaints, really, but it gets a bit samey after twenty years. There's a lot of catching up to do. Chicken and bread and fried things.''
The skunk nodded, leaned over, and dotted her nose against his cheek. ``There will be plenty of time for that. We did bring muffins at least. Is there anything you will miss from phys-side?''
``No.'' The answer came quickly. ``Not a thing.''
She grinned. ``Well, that is good, is it not?''
He nodded.
``And anything you regret?''
``I sort of regret not being on the launches, too, but there's no helping that, if I was also to be the phys-side coordinator. It's one of those things where I couldn't do both, and I certainly can't go back and change it.''
``There is no going and there is no back,'' May Then My Name said. ``You are here and that is that. It is a decision you cannot reverse.''
Ioan, fishing plates and containers of food and a bottle of the champagne out of the picnic basket, said, ``She and her cocladists are very fixated on irreversibility these days. You'll hear a lot of it.''
The skunk nodded. ``Yes. It is fascinating, though, and we are helpless before fascination. Is there anything else you regret about leaving? Not uploading sooner?''
He shrugged. ``Not really. It's like you say, there's no changing the past.''
``May's interviewing you for me,'' Ioan said, chuckling. ``Those are all my usual questions. She's getting the hang of it, but needs to work on drawing more out of you.''
May Then My Name rolled her eyes, saying to Douglas, ``Do not listen to em. Ey is just gloating over the stunt that ey pulled.''
Douglas grinned. ``\emph{We} pulled, you mean.''
``Wait, both of you?'' She shoved at him until he fell over onto his side, laughing. ``Beaten at my own game, is that what you think? You think you can out-manipulate an Odist? Out-Hadje a Hadje?''
``I think we can out-manipulate \emph{you}, dear.'' Ioan popped the cork on a bottle of champagne, then poured a glass for each of them. ``You're easy. All we have to do is play to your hopeless romanticism.''
``Yes, well, fuck you too. Give me my champagne.''
The rest of the day from there on was, beyond any shadow of a doubt, the happiest that Douglas had ever had. He learned of the Ode and of the Name. He learned of Codrin and Dear. He learned of all of the vast vagaries of the System, of the new arts and the subtle sciences that could exist only outside of the physical world. He learned, watching the way Ioan and May Then My Name looked at each other, spoke to each other, touched each other, what happiness even was, and that he was a part of it lent more of a sense of completion than any celebration could.