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# Codrin Bălan#Pollux --- 2325
# True Name --- 2124
As happened about once every six weeks or so, that boundless energy within Dear became too much for the fox to control, and it would go tearing through the house, working on several projects, forking here to clean, there to make a mess, now to request affection and then to holler about how badly it wanted to be alone.
It was Jonas's time to pick the location for their meeting, but as he had scheduled it for a few hours from the time of the message, The Only Time I Know My True Name Is When I Dream decided to spend a bit of time exploring fanciful cocktails at the Kowloon Walled City/central corridor mega mall/parking lot rooftop bar.
The first time that this happened, Codrin had been quite startled, opting to lock emself in the office that ey still kept out around the back of the house. One of the many instances of Dear quickly fell into a sulk, and sent em carefully spaced out sensorium messages to make sure that ey hadn't left.
Her first drink was a total wash. Someone had decided to explore the utility of sulfurous odors in drinks by combining the smoke of a newly lit match, a slice of preserved egg, and some smokey mezcal, sweetened by a few squirts of over-ripe apricot puree.
Eventually, Dear's partner had knocked on the door to eir glass-walled office, and Codrin let them in, where they leaned back against the edge of eir desk.
There was, True Name discovered, essentially no place for sulfur in a cocktail. It was a drink that was *almost* good, so long as one didn't breathe in the scent. The first heady whiff that she got had burnt her nostrils and she only managed a few sips after that.
"Do you know of any wild restaurants?" they had asked.
Her next drink was some bracingly strong lime-and-bitters-and-liquor deal with a float of foam made of egg whites and pork fat. There was a dusting of star anise and cinnamon on top. Her final assessment: pleasantly disgusting. The lime, egg whites, and spices all worked quite well together, she imagined, but the added porky fat clashed with it in such a savory way that she suspected it would've gone better with some brown spirit.
"Wild?"
Still, she drank it all.
"Yeah. You know, crazy experiences, or maybe they're really busy or raucous. Some sort of theme. Anything like that."
Her final drink was a weak, British style ale that, she was informed, used a mixture of herbs rather than hops as the bittering agent. Spruce and henbane, the first of which left her with an almost-unpleasant subdermal itching and the latter of which left her vision tinted red and her intoxication higher than it might have been otherwise.
Codrin had searched through eir memory, then shrugged. "Does a back-alley food court work?"
Terrible. Delightful
They laughed. "How in the world do 'back-alley' and 'food court' work together?"
She let that intoxication linger as she prowled through one of the mall sections of the solid block of building. She paced along balconies, fingering wilting leaves of variegated plants, scratching a claw through the grime of countless hands accumulated on faux-wood banisters. She peered through grates at shelves still speckled with abandoned gadgets and folded jeans. She sat in the food court, still smelling of rancid grease and sanitizer. She breathed in the stale, over-conditioned air, and wondered for the thousandth time just who had thought to create such a sim, and what sort of twisted nostalgia had led them to do so.
"I have no idea. You walk down this street, and there's just this awning sticking out over a narrow alley. Smells like hell, but when you get through it, there's this courtyard, and all of the walls are various stalls of different food. Most of it's dumplings and buns and stuff like that, but I found it because there's a place there that serves, of all things, really good tacos."
It was as she stood in front of a quiescent fountain that it occurred to her that this place --- the mall, the dingy city, the parking structure and its shoddily crafted drinks --- was all a monument to the imperfections of mankind's countless attempts to provide for itself in so many imperfect ways.
"Sounds about right. Come on."
They were here. They were immortal. They *could* build perfection. They could live their lives in eternal bliss, and yet they still got their kicks out of the temporary and the imperfect. They were, despite the arguments, still human in so many delightfully crazed ways. The cracks still shone through, even when presented with the opportunity of perfection. They were the futurological congress of yore, where even the idea of queuing had been romanticized and pushed into the realm of the transgressive. Even these poor fools who had the limitless expanses of the mind before them knew that, in some ways, it was their origins that made them complete.
They had walked back around the patio and into the main house and Dear's partner surveyed the scene of various foxes in various states of activity or various moods, then walked up to one scribbling on a notepad at its desk, grabbed a fistful of fur and loose skin at the nape of its neck in their hand, lifted the fox to its feet, and shook it gently. All of the forks that had been littering the house quit in an instant.
And it *was* intoxicating.
*"Oh, is it dinner time?"* It had looked bedraggled, limp, unsteady, and a glint of some intensity that Codrin had never seen before hid in its eyes.
It was intoxicating in such a way as to leave the skunk feeling somehow more complete than she had expected. There was no speciation. She was complete in all her humanity, as were all who uploaded. By her very imperfections, she was complete.
"Yeah. Come on. Codrin knows a place."
What, then was the difference?
There had never been a full explanation of what it was that happened, but as they dined on plates of dumplings, steamed buns, noodles, and tacos, the fox's hackles began to lay flat, and the erratic twitching of its tail slowed to a more familiar calm. It had spent most of the dinner peering around curiously and talking their ears off.
She picked at a coin that had cemented itself to the rim of the fountain in a layer of slimy algae, winced at the unpleasant sensation, and then flicked it into the murky-green water that still stained the basin of the fountain.
*"Sometimes I overflow,"* is all the fox had said when pressed.
There was a part of her mind that was tempted to consider those who lived sys-side as some how more perfect beings than those who remained phys-side. But no, that wasn't quite correct. They were different, yes, but they weren't some greater form of perfection --- or perhaps not entirely.
Even after nearly twenty years, though, Codrin had yet to gain the knack of telling the original instance of Dear when that many were running around, and so when the fox began to 'overflow' once more, ey sought out its partner in their own workshop and waited until they reached a stopping point before saying, "I think it's time for dinner."
Were there perhaps some core difference in ideals? Obviously, given the cost of uploading, there was a natural barrier, but even among the upper-middle and higher classes, there were some who simply chose not to upload. What was the difference? Was it aspirational? Were those who uploaded on some different wavelength from those who stayed behind? There were certainly many who found the whole process abhorrent on a physical level, yes. Of those who found it distasteful on intellectual, emotional, and spiritual levels, what did the prospect of continuing to live phys-side provide that living sys-side did not?
As usual, they were able to hunt down the root instance and shake it back to reality. Whenever the fox was grabbed by the scruff, it went limp, and the shake was usually something of a rag doll affair. At first, Codrin had worried that its partner was hurting it, but as ey was welcomed into their relationship, ey learned that the fox counted it as a pleasure.
She couldn't decide, but there was the logical fallout of that situation, that the two should be treated on a fundamentally different level, when it came to politics.
Today, they found themselves at what Dear promised them was a pitch-perfect simulacrum of a late 2000s diner. While ey could not speak to the accuracy, nor even the quality, something about the sheen of lingering sanitizer on the counters that left streaks, the smell of truly terrible coffee, and the sizzle of grease all added up to a cohesive whole.
There was a slight twinge of a sensory alarm, and she knew that it was time for the meeting with Jonas.
Codrin ordered a large plate of fries, Dear a vanilla milkshake, and its partner a slice of pie. They shared all three, and Codrin learned the delight of dipping fries into milkshakes.
He had chosen a war-gaming room for the meeting. There in the middle of the room was a backlit map of Earth at least five meters long, and scattered across its surface were dozens of chess pieces --- knights, pawns, queens --- which had been pushed this way and that by long sticks that still rested along the edges of the table.
*"Thank you, my loves, as always,"* Dear said, once it calmed down. *"I am honestly surprised that it took this long after Launch for the mania to hit."*
A smile quirked at the corner of her mouth. *How very like him.*
"Maybe you were less focused on one thing?" Codrin said around a mouthful of melting shake.
Jonas was sitting at the other end of the table, eating small hors d'oeuvres from a paper plate. Cocktail weenies spiked with toothpicks and finger sandwiches.
*"Perhaps. I do not have a single project to dump my attention into, so that singular energy does not build up in quite the same way."*
As soon as he noticed True Name standing at the edge of the light that lit the table, he grinned and gestured with his plate toward the hot-and-cold buffet lining one of the walls.
"The news from Castor and Ioan isn't enough to keep you focused?"
*Oh well, why not,* she thought, willing away the drunkenness and instead loading up a plate with bruschetta and pita crisps with hummus.
*"Not particularly, no."* It grinned and poked a fry at Codrin. *"You are the historian, my dear. That is your job, not mine."*
"You're looking well today," Jonas said, once he had finished his mouthful. "Have an exciting jaunt?"
Ey rolled eir eyes.
She laughed. "Why? Were you watching me?"
*"Still, I really must find one soon. I am aware that it is not pleasant for you two when this happens, but it is also unpleasant for me when I do not have direction."*
He shrugged.
Dear's partner shrugged. "We just need to get one of those loose clamps for holding bags shut or hair back in a bun so we can just put it on your scruff when you start getting out of hand."
"Well, it was exciting as could be expected. I got a lot of thinking done. A lot of planning. Which one of you are you, by the way?"
*"Do you promise?* I *promise that I will do everything in my power to deserve it,"* it said, grinning wickedly.
"Jonas Prime, today."
"Dear, I swear to God."
True Name nodded a greeting and focused on her hummus for a few minutes.
*"If you threaten me with a good time, you will win precisely the prize that you deserve."*
Once it was clear that she had reached a pause, Jonas spoke up. "Tell me about your thoughts and plans. I'm curious what it is that required alcohol to understand."
Codrin laughed. "You're right. We deserve peace and quiet, sometimes."
"I was thinking about the difference in politics phys-side and sys-side."
Ey received a fry to the face from the fox, which ey dunked into the shake. "What is this place, anyway?"
He sat up straighter, nodding for her to continue.
*"It is the restaurant that--"* It hesitated for a beat, during which the noise around them dimmed as a cone of silence fell. *"It is the restaurant at which the clade celebrated Secession Day."*
"I think that it is a matter of aspirations. We who have uploaded have different goals in life than those who remain behind. Perhaps it is worth approaching them in different ways.
Codrin stifled a yawn from the ear-popping sensation that always came with the silence. "You weren't there?"
"That's true." He looked thoughtful. "We've already been doing that, to an extent."
*"I had not yet been forked, no, but Praiseworthy was there. I remember it through the words and sensorium of another."*
"Yes, but out of instinct. Perhaps it is time to do so intentionally. If the goal of politics is to steer groups of individuals, then perhaps it is time to figure out the different ways in which to steer them. The motivations of those on the System are highly independent, surrounding whatever brings them the most freedom to accomplish what it is that they want. Them in particular, rather than large groups, though smaller groups may have goals that are aligned as well."
"What was it like back then?" ey asked.
Jonas frowned down to his remaining weenies, then set the plate aside. "And phys-side?"
*"Mx. Codrin Bălan, are you working?"*
"Larger groups. They may feel that they have individual goals, but, whether or not it is in the fore of their thoughts, they know that the best way to accomplish them is to band together with those who share similar enough goals."
"Not particularly," ey said. "I really am just curious."
"An astute observation."
*"Well, you will still need to be more specific. 'Back then' covers a large swath of time."*
True Name let the non-compliment slide over her, continuing. "If we are to steer the council, then we must approach it with an eye to the goals shared by dreamers, and if we are to steer affairs phys-side, then we must approach it with an eye toward something broader, offering sugar-coated compromises that feel like wins."
"How about a year to either side?" its partner suggested.
Jonas's frown deepened. "You're a bit further along in this than maybe I gave you credit for."
*"That still encompasses a good amount of history. I will tell you some of them, but you will have to--"*
The skunk leaned forward, resting her chin on folded hands. She refused to rise to the bait offered, choosing instead a thoughtful expression. "Your forks. Do they work on a similar dialectic?"
"Find the rest on my own, yes."
He nodded.
The fox gave a hint of a bow. *"Thank you in indulging me in this, Codrin. I cannot be the one to share everything."*
"Then perhaps it would be smart for me to do similar. I do like your idea of continuing to be seen as a single individual to the council. I am not sure that I am willing to cycle through my forks for that, however, so perhaps I will continue to act as the point of contact that the other council members see, and simply consult with my forks via regular merging."
"So what was it like before Secession Day?"
"It's not a bad idea, no, and with a small clade, some of whom already look like you, you can probably get away with it easily enough. I have to make sure only one of me is out and about where people might see me at a time." He grinned, adding with a wink, "At least, while working. Ar is out drinking."
*"I do not think that the hoi polloi thought about it all that much. They were concerned about the prospect of others deciding that they did not have rights, to be sure, but it was all very abstract. Even from the point of view of the Council, we could not quite understand what a lack of rights would look like.*
The skunk laughed. "Of course. Hopefully he has better luck with drinks than I did."
*"I think that is why secession seemed to come so naturally to us. It took far more effort for those phys-side to comprehend what secession would look like than it did for us. From our point of view, we were separate from the rest of the world, such as it was, in a way that already seemed to preclude citizenship to any other political entity."*
There was a lull in the conversation as True Name crunched her way through the bruschetta on her plate.
"And you --- Michelle, that is --- were still on the council at that point?"
After she finished, she spoke up again. "The only problem that I see is that I will need to save up reputation, and then hide the expenditures as best I can. Do you have experience on that?"
*"That is a complicated question."* It poked at the last bit of shake with its spoon. *"We shall say yes. Elements of the clade were still on the council at that point. This sim is where we celebrated Secession. One of the Odists, Debarre, Zeke, user11824, the Russians, Jonas--"*
Jonas visibly brightened. "Oh! There's no need to do that. You can push some reputation into your name by having the members of your clade vote you up. Make something silly. Take up poetry. Release it out into the world whether it's good or not, then have your cocladists build it up higher."
"Jonas?"
"Cocladists, huh? Is that the term we are going with?"
Dear tilted its head inquisitively.
He shrugged.
"Ezekiel talked about a Jonah. Is that someone else?"
"Well, alright. I will put on some monologues I remember from phys-side."
*"Oh, yes. Same person. Jonah is a name that fits Ezekiel's current mode of thinking better, I suppose. We were all there, along with our phys-side accomplice in the campaign for secession and the L<sub>5</sub> launch, Yared.*
"Alright. Let me know when you do, and I'll upvote them, too. It's not like there's no reason to, we talk often enough as council-members and the market doesn't care who upvotes."
*"The mood was very celebratory. The council sat in that booth--"* it said, nodding toward the corner booth. *"--and counted down with everyone. It was all very exciting. Everyone was giddy and laughing, and there were fireworks outside."*
True Name laughed. After a moment's concentration, two additional versions of her appeared behind her chair, waved to Jonas, and stepped out of the sim. "I had just enough for two, and I figure two ought to be enough for now."
"How crowded was it at that time? I imagine there were far fewer people in the System than there are now, if you had to pay to upload."
"Do they have equally silly names?"
*"Of course, yes. Still, there were a few common public sims that individuals and instances would frequent. This was one of them. There were a dozen or so others here in the diner along with the rest of the Odists, and several hundred along the street, either on it or in restaurants along it. All were cheering, as far as I could tell."*
Once more, she resisted the urge to bridle at his comment. Instead she smiled sweetly. "Why Ask Questions, Here At The End Of All Things and Why Ask Questions When The Answers Will Not Help." After a pause, she added, "Why Ask Questions and Answers Will Not Help."
"I imagine there was some of that during Launch day, too," Dear's partner said. "Beyond our party, that is."
The man froze, the last of his cocktail sausages halfway between plate and mouth. That mouth now slowly formed into a devious grin. "You continue to surprise and amaze, my dear."
*"Perhaps. I do hope so."*
After they had both finished their plates of appetizers and enjoyed a moment of silence, they each began pushing around a few chess pieces off the map.
"So, after all of the celebrations died down, was there any real change?"
"We have Yared in NEAC," True Name said, pushing a pawn over to Addis Ababa. "And you said you know some in the Western Fed, yes?"
Dear shrugged. *"Some residual excitement, I suppose. There were some little things that lingered, however, and stuck around. Secession Day, of course, but that is also the date that we started using systime in earnest. The actual number chosen as year zero, day zero for systime is a bit more than a year before Secession, and was tied to the creation of the reputation market, such that there was always a time to which it could be synchronized. Before Secession, we still commonly used the calendar they were --- and presumably still are --- using phys-side, but after, almost everyone switched to using systime. It made logical sense, yes, what with sims not being tied to any particular schedule bound by Earth's rotation or procession around the Sun, but also it felt like a sign that we were becoming our own nation, our own people."*
Jonas nodded, pushing two queens, two pawns, and a bishop over the chessboard. The bishop in the British aisles: "A judge. He's easily bribed. We can't do it ourselves, of course, but we can find those who will. He'll be useful for influencing some legislation whenever cases regarding uploads come up."
The table grew quiet after this explanation, as the last bite of pie was eaten and the last fry dipped in the last bit of shake.
One of the queens wound up in Germany, the other on the east coast of North America: "Two representatives. Both were good friends. Both too sly for their own good. I'm surprised they haven't gotten flushed out, yet, but we can keep using them until they do. I think they'll be useful in pushing for the legislation --- both the core bill, and the launch amendment."
"Feel free to tell me to stuff it, but what was your stanza's role in the whole affair?" Codrin asked.
"How about the secession amendment?" True Name asked.
*"You do not need to stuff it, my dear. Each first line had a role to play, after a fashion, and that often informed what the rest of the stanza focuses on, as we are formed from that instance as a template."*
"Probably, assuming there is one."
Ey nodded, waiting for the fox to continue.
"I think there will be."
*"Actually, my dear, can you guess? I am one who plays with instances, who finds ways to make others mad and happy and fall in love and get in fights, who guides and shapes sentiments, all by just being myself, and I am one who has turned that into an art."*
Jonas gave her a strange look, but instead of replying, pushed one pawn to the toe of Italy's boot and the other to the northern end of the central corridor: "Two other friends. DDR junkies, mostly, but very loud ones. This one--" he said, tapping at the one on the central corridor. "--is reactionary and easy to influence, if you feed him the right information, and this one--" He tapped the one on Italy. "--is one of those calm-voice-of-reason types. He would be harder to influence, but it sounds like he's already mostly in agreement with our dear Yared."
"I know I've met Praiseworthy, but I don't know much about her. I know Serene built the house and prairie. I think you mentioned that you two were forked when Praiseworthy's up-tree instance wanted to explore the ramifications of both instances and sims."
True Name noticed the lack of names for each of the figures, but said nothing. *It is probably for the best. Leaves me some plausible deniability, and keeps me from interacting with his pawns.*
As it waited for Codrin to piece together what ey could, the fox scraped the bottom of the shake glass for the last spoonful of ice cream and fed it to its partner. A small affection that made em smile.
"Now, how about sys-side?"
"Can you give me a bit of a hint about Serene?"
Jonas shrugged. "The council, of course, plus the owners of some higher-profile sims, and a few perisystem architects."
*"You get one hint, and it will be small. What emotions come to you when you walk the prairie?"*
"Alright. I suppose that on my end I don't have anyone other than the council," she lied. "And all of my various selves, of course."
Codrin sat up straight. "A politician? Was Praiseworthy a politician? All this talk of shaping sentiments and expectations. Or, wait. No, that's not it."
"Right, you have Debarre in your pocket, and Zeke likes you plenty."
Dear urged em on with a little twirl of its spoon, looking pleased at the response.
He kept throwing her all these little comments that seemed to tempt her to respond emotionally. Was he testing her? Was he watching to see just how much power he had over her?
"A speech writer? Did she come up with the speeches that whichever one of you was on the Council at the time used?"
Not the best tactic for someone who taught theatre to teenagers.
*"You are thinking too narrowly, my dear. The Council had little need for speeches for itself, and, as a body created to guide but not to govern, there were few enough speeches given outside of the council. After all, where would it give them?"*
"I think we've got the council mostly locked down when it comes to the idea of independence," she said, setting down her stick.
"Too narrow, hmm..." Ey frowned. "Was she...did she come up with propaganda?"
"And your clade?"
Dear laughed, reached a finger into the shake glass to swipe up a little bit of sticky vanilla shake, and dabbed it on Codrin's nose. *"Well reasoned. Praiseworthy was the propagandist among the first lines."*
"I have plans for them. Nothing that will get me in trouble with the council, I think."
Codrin rubbed at eir nose to get the melted ice cream off before it congealed further. "What exactly goes into being a propagandist, when the role of the Council was to guide but not to govern?"
"Will you tell me some of those plans?"
Without falling, the fox's happy expression somehow became a fraction less earnest, just that much less directed.
She smiled. "Why not? We are working together, after all. They can use our background in theatre to work the propaganda angle."
Before it could respond, ey held up a hand. "It's okay, Dear. One of the Bălans will figure it out."
It was only a portion of the truth, but she also suspected that Jonas knew this. He accepted it easily enough.
*"Thank you, Codrin."*
"I'll send Ir to coordinate with you, so that we don't step on each other's toes. That's what he's been working on."
Ey reached out to pat at the back of the fox's paw. "I hardly want you to resent me, if that's the result of me pressing you on this."
"Did you not say he looked nothing like you? You certainly have the face for a propagandist."
*"You are a ways off from making me resent you, my dear."*
Jonas laughed. "He arguably looks better. Just different. On that note, will you have your, uh...human self do the propagandizing?"
Codrin nodded, watching Dear's gaze slip away, scanning the street outside the diner, quiet in the late evening. Ey could not quite figure out the emotion on display. Its ears were tilted back, but it did not look angry, nor particularly sad. Pensive, perhaps?
She waved the question away. "I will work it out. For now, do you have any more news on Yared and his handler?"
"Dear?" its partner asked.
"Not too much more. Demma has been heard to mention the System as a country, but so far hasn't mentioned the word secession. Yared's latest post is along similar lines as his last. Fluffy, if you'll forgive the metaphor. The little bit of us teasing each other went over well, and there were a few comments elsewhere on the 'net that others caught talking about the fact that at least the System still seemed to have fun in it."
*"No, you are a ways off from me resenting you, but you are perilously close to me lying to you."*
"Any other comments about secession that you have seen?"
He shook his head. "Same little blips from some of the crazier people. More of them, perhaps, but it hasn't bubbled up too far. There's a bit more chatter about the legal status of the System independent of other nations, but the S-word hasn't come up yet. You heard any here sys-side?"
"Not except between us," she lied again.
Jonas needn't know all of her plans, nor that the propaganda work had already begun. Nor, for that matter, that she was still in contact with Dr. Carter Ramirez, phys-side, who still had reputation of her own, her own knight in the British Isles. After all, if he was going to continue to maintain some of his leverage of the situation, oughtn't she do the same?
"Alright, well." Jonas frisbeed his plate into a trash can by the buffet tables. "I guess we're in a holding pattern on that front until the news breaks elsewhere. Until then, keep kissing babies and shaking hands. Or shaking babies and kissing hands. Or whatever it is that not-a-politicians do."
Before she could respond, he winked to her and blipped out of existence, likely back to his home sim.
True Name remained a while in the sim, falling back into the habit of planning and rumination, memorizing the pieces and their locations that Jonas had pushed onto the board, and thinking about all of the lies she had told today.