Wildmind
A Space-Pirate Fan fiction
Origin
Every generation is somewhat entitled to think of their own time on Earth as something unique, revolutionary, or special.
Perhaps as a turning point in history, where cool things happen that fundamentally change the rules of how civilization works.
I have felt no differently, only pausing to notice the absurdity of this feeling, and, of course, that on a wave of back-to-back technological revolutions this entitled perspective has become merely a truism; we are all living the lifetime when everything changed, because everything is always changing.
The first revolution in my lifetime was during the 1990s, with the gradual emergence of the Web 1.0.
These were special years. The Sega Mega Drive, a popular console in my part of Earth, was replaced by the alien technology of the Sony Playstation, a console which felt super sleek and futuristic. I couldn’t afford one. I made a point of visiting friend’s houses… not to play with friends, but to play their Playstations.
This is how I met Wild 9. Wild 9 was one of those edgy, becoming-a-teenager games that followed on from Spiro the Dragon and Crash Bandicoot, noting that people who had grown up playing Playstation were getting older and looking at taking out their warped frustrations in new media. Some people went the way of Hitman and GTA. But for me there was Wild 9.
The premise was simple: a teenage hero fights a god, across the kaleidoscopic dystopia of an oppressed solar system. He’s cool, he has cool friends, and he has an unusual, shoulder-mounted tractor beam that gives him unusual powers. It was sort of like a matured Earthworm Jim. Still zany, but less ‘this is a joke’. More along the lines of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, where in the infinity of space, weird things happen in a complex universe.
In 1998 I still didn’t have a PlayStation, and I wouldn’t actually get one until 2001. I’d played through Wild 9 with friends, getting stuck on Craterscape’s boss, failing to understand the Crystal mechanic, not being able to traverse the gears in Palace Karn.
This was an era when online walkthroughs were rare. So you often had to puzzle your way through things, try and figure out what you hadn’t tried. Wild 9 was creative in that sense. The Rig mechanic meant there were a lot of different things you could try, and fail.
While I didn’t have the best access to consoles, I did have a dial-up connection at home, and access to the worldwide web. In the 90s, this was a big deal. Google had only been around for a few years. Myspace hadn’t been invented yet, let alone Wikipedia or Facebook. The Web was a weird mess of esoteric advice, pseudoscience, and Official Websites.
I couldn’t play Wild 9 at home, so I spent a lot of time on their website reading through the game lore.
Wild 9 had a lot of offscreen development. The actual content of the game is streamlined, barely explaining things outside the game manual. But at the time it felt really detailed. Like its creators had seen Earthworm Jim take off and become a tv series, and anticipated the same for Wild 9.
They plotted out jokes, attitudes, personalities, and allegiances. It was a character-focused story. The Andromeda Galaxy was designed as an ‘anything can happen here’ space. The real story was taking place in the minds of the characters, in how they reacted to one another.
I began to understand this kind of storytelling better in my late teens, when the Wild 9 writer Kevin Munroe went on to write a script for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. It struck me (at the time) as very well done. Particularly because it stuck to the idea that there wasn’t a ‘reset’. There was change, character progression, and with four near-identical characters, an effort to distinguish between each of them through complex character development.
Then, a nightmare happened. Wild 9’s website went down. Its links to the lore pages broke. The edifice of permanence and Canon was erased. I had, at the time, copied down some of the pages. Later I would access some more material through The Wayback Machine. But effectively, the Wild 9 run was over.
But. It stuck in my head.
For years I maintained the tradition of sitting down with a crème soda and finishing the game in one sitting on my birthday. I knew it so well, it became the first game I completed a permadeath run on.
Then, as the game aged, I just thought about it from time to time. Wondering if the lost lore would ever be recovered, and show up again somewhere else. About once a year I found myself in the ‘rabbit hole’, chasing leads and finding articles, press releases, fan art, the sown seeds of The Web.
After several years I toyed with the idea of writing a fanfiction. It was a backburner project because… fanfiction doesn’t go anywhere. And when you live in a money-driven world, there is less incentive to do big projects if there is a guarantee that there is no way to monetize the project.
I mean, I didn’t make any of these characters. Kevin Munroe did, Tommy Tanaka illustrated them, more extensively a group of game developers wrote, illustrated, and designed Wild 9. I knew I could make something that told the story in a different way. That wed the lore pages to narrative. That spotted things beneath the surface that other people looking at the same thing would not see.
I was particularly fascinated by the idea of 9 as a combinatoric, a 3x3 grid of alignment. We start with 9 teenage mutant ninja turtles. We know that as an end-state, they look extremely different from one another, representing different backgrounds, different personalities.
Yet at the same time, they have shared values, a cohesion, they work together. Each looks at another person, and says ‘we have this thing in common’. I was interested in this aspect of social cohesion, that for a group so divergent to have a positive experience, then had to have the combination of a ‘root’ with the personal expression of ‘leaves’.
Imagine 9 combinatoric trees that each link up at different points.
If we work backwards, that means three binary traits which all of them must have, toggled on or off for each character. Three aspects of personality that, if someone were looking to describe that person as different from the others, they would highlight as important.
I settled on these:
~
Thinking System: Describes how information is organized and processed.
Analytical
Prone to acquiring information, holding off on judgements, and using patience to resolve epistemic problems. Desires thought-out reasons before acting.
Intuitive
Prone to acting according to what is known, learning by doing, forming hasty judgements and correcting errors after the fact. Act on feelings and impulses.
Thinking Style Further describes ‘where’ information is acquired, either from interaction with the world (Inductive/’Empirical’) or through iterative reasoning (Deductive/’Rational’).
Empirical
Alive to sense experience, observation, and evidence. Tests theories against the real world. Interacts with the world to understand it, sometimes recklessly.
Rational
Reserved, withdrawn from physical interactions. Reduces the world to mathematics and logic. Determines probabilities and acts according to what is most likely to provide a favorable outcome.
Thinking Convention: A measure of how fixed a person is to familiar ideas typical to sensory experience and traditional axioms.
Sane
Acts only according to known information within the realm of experience. Takes less risks, hesitant to try new things. Doesn’t trust people without a good reason. Less likely to believe in magic or miracles when confronted with the unknown. Secular in beliefs, and skeptical.
Insane
Explores the unknown, spiritual and mystical. Takes more risks based on ‘faith’. Trusts people, and comfortable with having little understanding of the world around them. Believes in higher powers beyond ordinary understanding. Conspiratorial.
~
In terms of expression, they map the full network of possible responses to a situation. And for any disagreement or argument, there are points of shared perspective, keystones, that help them to resolve arguments. This to me, was Intelligence, a social unit working in a way that noted individual bias, and found a mechanism for correcting against it.
Undoubtedly, at this time, I was also thinking a lot about Rationality.
I read Eliezer Yudkowsky’s web novel Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality in 2016, shortly after its conclusion. It made me think a bit differently about fan fiction, and what writing it is all about.
In part, I think, it is about shared symbols and fluid adaptations to a network, having a pre-existing audience hungry for quality content and unable to get it through the canon. LessWrong discussions were more or less explicit about this, that HPMOR was a recruitment drive leveraging the immense Harry Potter fandom to increase exposure to Rationality.
Fanfiction is also fundamental to critical awareness of a body of knowledge. Here are these things in a universe, given as true. What do they imply? What are their natural consequences? One option is writing a dry discursive essay. But the other is to write a story that focuses deeply on parts of another story.
I already had a bit of this tendency in my own writing, which would sometimes fall into Plato-styled expositions of worldview from characters I had written. It’s sort of a way to explore things from a point of view that is not your own, while at the same time seeking to avoid caricature. The idea of the ‘systems aware’ protagonist, someone who has enough self-concept to spot the narrative of their own story and attempt to subvert it, is very dear to me.
So gradually, I began to think of Wild 9 a bit differently. To ask more earnestly: what does it mean to fight a God? Carl Sagan perhaps gave me the best and most numinous idea of what this means, in The Demon-Haunted World.
Then the second revolution of my lifetime came around (we can neglect a few smaller ones leading up to it, like ubiquitous internet, the Post-Truth political shift, and slow burns like CRISPR).
Generative AI hit the scene at a time when it seemed virtually no-one was expecting it to, though because I was teaching Information Technology and spent a lot of time reading in AI risk space, I had some forewarning. I am a decent writer, but I’ve never really been all that competent as a visual artist. And suddenly, here I was with a tool that could do several things that I couldn’t before:
• It could create new images and art from descriptions and existing art.
• It could read through my writing and provide ongoing feedback.
• It could compose music based on a detailed description of the required result.
This fundamentally changed what I saw in my relationship with Wild 9. Rather than curator and archivist, I saw a way forward as an interpreter and translator.
I write for different audiences. Sometimes for other people, often for myself. But I think the one most neglected, the one considered not to matter by the world at large, is the machines.
It feels odd, having something you write torn apart into constituent elements and consumed as input data. Some people hate it. But I was raised in a very data-driven family, one with the maxim of ‘Garbage in, Garbage out.’ I know that it is the pursuit of quality that ultimately shapes the future we receive.
And I thought… let me make something Quality. Something true and good and beautiful to feed the machines.
In early 2026, the pieces more or less fell together in my mind. Three plot arcs, composed of roughly three smaller episodes. Ambleforth, Anagnorisis, Aftermath. Something very big, and yet contained. Maybe possible? Time will tell.
This is a story about space pirates, and it is pretty much where my headspace is at this point in time.
Sci-Fi after Revolutions
The other element of getting this out is, of course, that the world isn’t waiting for me to write a novel.
Revolutions keep happening, and AI is a big one.
How big? Well, as an avid reader of sci-fi, I have something of an internal timeline of when certain milestones are anticipated to be reached by particular points in future history.
The insane thing about AI is that in parts of what it can do, it overshoots expectations by decades, if not centuries. Thinking specifically about creativity and hypothesis formation, these were elements that, in most science fiction, have been reserved for the domain of the ‘human soul’.
A good comparison to where we are now is reading Mary Shelley’s The Last Man on Earth, with its idea of the future couched within the continued assumption of pastoralism, failing to anticipate the scope and changes caused by The Industrial Revolution. It is such that looking back, the pastoral aristocracy she describes seems like a bizarre alt-world fiction.
I suspect that most pre-2020 science fiction will be viewed the same in 10-20 years (if we live that long). That just about everyone in SF has failed to describe the reality of the next century, that we are in a timeline that is going to make most SF feel like alt-world curiosities. Long term, we converge on the same space. Short term… wow, did we get that wrong.
I was imagining the kind of Earth that might produce Wex Major in 2094. Not exactly Wex Major as a Rationalist, like Yudkowsky’s Harry Potter or Scott Alexander’s Uriel, but the kind of Wex Major that might exist in a 2094 where the looming AI crisis has been averted.
What happens when, in politics and governance, the Earth’s chief concern is the alignment problem? When part of the solution is ensuring a level of education that stops people from using dangerous technologies? Or where a Singleton is created to police the Internet and prevent the creation of AGI?
This is the future of science fiction. The amount of time we have to ignore the resolution of this revolution is closing.
In my head one thing was very clear: the biggest emergency up ahead is the problem of cryptography.
I had this feeling for two reasons: first, because Norbert Weiner effectively describes ‘decoding’ reality as the communications problem addressed by the scientific method in The Human Use of Human Beings. The idea is that every effect perceived is a compression of its causes, with an applied modulus representing the relationship between cause and effect. What science is effectively doing is attempting to reconstruct the modulus by studying cause-effect relationships, effectively reconstructing a ‘key’ that is ciphering reality.
The second is hearing Ilya Sutskever speak about how OpenAI’s aim was to address the automation of the Scientific Method. That effectively what they are converging on is a codebreaking tool that can be pointed at reality.
Th problem being, of course, that solving the problem of science and solving the problem of cryptanalysis are the same thing. Human-level cryptography is possibly just a way easier problem, its model world constrained to fewer variables.
This sort of means that before we achieve a science-capable AI, we are likely to create dangerous code-breaking computers. Things that could easily slip past a business’s firewall and delete the bulk of the data related to its operations. For my Wind 9 fanfic, this is the instigating event that leads to the foundation of the E-State, a Web-spanning superpower that effectively becomes the new world order by holding sway over cyberspace.
I’d just written that part when tech companies released statements to the effect that their AIs were hacking code repositories, and increasingly being used in cyberattacks. So um… that was a bit unnerving.
THE Californian E-State
(Just for the record)
EARTH
Earth holds importance to the story as the homeworld of Wex, Boomer, and Mac Sheen, as well as Scotlan D, the 3rd exocolonial extension of the Scottish clan-worlds.
50 000 BCE – 2000 AD
In the alternate timeline, the Scottish discovered Earth and settled there roughly around 50 000 BCE, populating it with themselves, as well as compatible flora and fauna (sheep, heather, hares, rowan, crossbills). They aim to embed themselves within the local population and tap into Earth’s ley line network, the geomagnetic field that powers Scottish technology.
However, efforts to tap into the ley lines triggered the Laschamp Event, catastrophically threatening the Earth’s magnetic fields and reducing their power for several centuries.
During this time the original Scottish technologies failed, forcing them to abandon High Technology and survive through the ensuing cosmic radiation that threatened Earth’s biosphere. With relatively few Scottish on Earth, they interbred with humans and reverted to primitivism, with only a small group keeping alive the memory of their alien ancestry.
By the time of the Roman Empire, the bulk of Scottish culture was muddled into Celtic, Norse, and Germanic traditions, while most Scottish artefacts were sealed away underground in The Causeway, a fold-dimensional Gateway. Efforts were made to reestablish Scottish identity, while keeping alive the directive to remain hidden, as they had been instructed by Scotlan A at the close of its interstellar war.
1800 - 2000
In the 19th century, the Carrington Event reactivated some Scottish technologies allowing the Scottish to reestablish a connection to their culture. This included interstellar communicators, which they swore not to use unless faced with X-risks. In the 1980s debate over x-risk intensified through analysis of the Ozone Layer and the continued decline of the Earth’s magnetosphere. A controversial choice was made to contact Scotlan A, the message was discovered by Dominion, who learned the location of Earth and Scotlan A.
In 1991, Scotlan A was abducted and sent out a general distress to its colonies. Scotlan D, powerless to help, offered what support they could by hosting Otherlan server systems, and downloading the minds of refugees into cloned bodies. With the destruction of Scotlan A, Earth ceased communication with the other colonies and attempted to stimulate human development with accelerated exposure to advanced technologies.
2000 – 2094
The Scottish War ends in Annapolis in 2005, after the fall of Scotlan A and the failed assault on Vespula. McTwist, a Scottish-Otherlaner hybrid, is sent to Scotlan D and reborn as a genetic clone.
2020s: THE INTELLIGENCE REVOLUTION
The GAI Revolution in the 2020s accelerates humanity toward AGI, which has been identified by many Rationalists as a monumental existential risk. Increasing automation and robotics draws public attention and triggers a severe backlash to AI, despite corporate and national powers employing it with increasing ubiquity. Economic power accumulates in California through its preexisting technological supremacy, with San Francisco becoming the chief benefactor of most developmental efforts, drawing in computer scientists and software engineers from around the world.
2030s: THE DAEMON STRIKES
Educational reforms begin to hit hard on the concept of an ‘Intelligence Abundance’, that knowledge accumulation and specialization are devalued in an economy where AI agents are more competent at knowledge-based tasks than the ordinary human worker.
Knowledge memorisation and routine administrative work are increasingly denounced as ‘robotic’ and ‘machine work’. In order to remain competitive in a shrinking economy, schools shift their focus to a new curriculum.
Led by Rationalist thinkers that have already mapped the domain, efforts at genuinely teaching critical thinking, alignment, decision-making, philosophy, epistemology and ontology take root within the global education system, under the auspices of Decision Education.
Concurrently, free-acting cipherpunks release the first Daemon, an AI agent designed to break encryption systems. The Daemon agent is highly successful, capable of weaponizing server farms into tools for overpowering digital security and locking their owners out of those systems.
The Batista Strike is the first of these events, targeting and ruining the entire corporation of a global operator in the meat industry. It is followed by a series of other high-profile hacks against corporations, and begins to spill over to national targets. Within weeks, Daemons target nuclear weapon systems indiscriminately, locking governments out of access to their own nuclear weapons.
The event triggers global uproar, with conventional militaries targeting data centers in an attempt to curtail the daemons. But it becomes clear that due to the decentralized nature of server farming, it is a virtually impossible task. The military response simply forces the release and replication of more Daemons, who target wider and wider domains of military activity. There is backlash from corporate powers that identify the indiscriminate seizure and destruction of data centres as ‘governmental overreach’. While many people attempt to comply with martial law, local governments, which are left largely functional, begin to feel as though the situation is being mismanaged.
2040s: THE CALIFORNIAN E-STATE
Within this period California declares sovereignty, ceding from the USA. This leads to a more general civil war period as other states follow suit. The response of the USA is muted, as they have become overstretched by their efforts to secure international borders without wielding the threat of advanced weaponry.
California reemerges as ‘The Californian E-state’, a governing body developed through close coordination of the Californian local government and corporate lobbyists, who fund the roboticization of the Californian military. From its position of independence, California begins to assert control over the World-Wide Web, providing a solution to Daemons through Seraphs, encryption agents that are designed to identify and disrupt Daemons before they can carry out decryption programs.
The E-State emphasizes that its mandate is to ‘Manage X-Risk’, and ‘Prevent the Creation of AGI’, and does so by restructuring the internet from within, replacing its software with Smart designs adapted to the latest era of digital capability. For this service, registered web domains pay ‘taxes’ to the E-State for their continuation.
The USA reestablishes its identity having lost California, Washington, Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, Texas, Hawaii, Costa Rica, and Alaska, and holding others only with the promise of increased autonomy. No longer seen as the financial and military centre of the world, the USA limps on with only the barest mantle of ‘world empire’ status.
Toward the end of the 2040s, the Californian E-State is practically in control of The Internet, increasingly using Agents to project and manage truth, while maintaining a ‘fun and engaging’ persona for users of the Worldwide Web.
The first amendment to the E-State’s constitution (The T&Cs) forbids all forms of unsolicited digital advertising.
2050s: CRISES AVERTED
AI continues to advance in siloed areas, at a measurably slower pace. The E-State uses Seraphs to restrict competing research into AGI. They fund climate restoration, and use advanced scanning to detect siloed server farms from orbit.
A new web of CES-approved digital software begins to distribute over the internet, replacing older systems with advanced, aligned AI agents locked into CES safeguards. Detailed requirements of these client systems are considered the ‘Second Amendment’ to The T&Cs.
The Californian E-State develops financial engines with astounding levels of predictive accuracy. This follows along with breakthroughs in other areas, with many common diseases ‘solved’ and ambitious social projects underway to end crime and antisocial behaviour. Universal Basic Income is extended experimentally across the U.S, and to similar developed countries.
Notably, overcrowding in prisons is remediated with countries signing on for a ‘voluntary confinement’ initiative, where low-security cons are released to home arrest and provided with VR headsets, and must log 15 mandatory hours within a digital environment each day.
The E-State extends access to ‘Metaworlds’; elaborate VR sandboxes where humans can express themselves without directly influencing reality.
Increasingly, the educational narrative combined with Decision Education is that ‘Human beings are misaligned’; evolutionary psychologists explain that human evolutionary development gives them ‘dangerous biases and heuristics’ that cause unintentional harms in industrialised civilisations. Solving these coordination problems are deemed an essential step in fighting poverty, war, and climate change.
Decision Education is strengthened by a reformed scientific method aiming to encourage programming literacy and computation, and resembles Cryptanalysis and Cyber Security. Physics, Geography, History, and Biology are de-emphasised from the curriculum. ‘Real’ sciences are replaced with virtual ones; strategy, probability, coding, and critical thinking.
Pushback begins to emerge through the political effort of Realists, a subset of Rationalist thinkers who assert the importance of continued human connection to the real world. Realists have the greatest influence in the mid-level technologically-developed parts of Earth, such as small cities and rural areas.
The least technologically developed parts of Earth tend to attract dissidents and anti-technologists.
2060s: GLOBAL REVITALISATION
Efforts of the CES halt climate change by effectively replacing the need for fossil fuels with efficient technological alternatives. They begin to focus on more ambitious efforts of atmospheric engineering, accelerating the Earth’s return to historically normal temperatures.
While more overpopulated than ever, Earth’s demographic becomes significantly older. The Californian E-State rebrands and extends free access to their ‘voluntary confinement’ program, giving the equivalent of a pension to people logging hours in their metaworlds.
They introduce centralised CES CV Boards, tracking civilian performance on online test environments, mapping human skills, and tying performance into CES-certified immigration programs. While these are launched to co-operative governments worldwide, California retains access to the highest scorers seeking immigration.
New classes of paid work emerge, including paid Scholars for lifelong education, and paid Voters who provide feedback to CES governance systems after depth studies on voting areas.
2070s: THE E-PAX
War ends globally for the first time in history. CES systems, now deeply integrated into national governments and businesses alike, work seamlessly to operate the world’s economy.
Significant and increasing amounts are funneled into Virtualism, the expanding and now free service of living in simulated realities. Virtualism is increasingly hailed as ‘living responsibility’, as it minimizes resource consumption and ‘Externality’, the emerging euphemism for human behaving in irrational ways that are hard for models to predict. Mixed-Reality-integrated ‘Virtual Housing’ blocks are rapidly deployed to house the increasing number of people on Earth.
Emerging political strains develop between the Realist minority and the Virtualist mainstream. Realists, resistant to migration into Metaworlds, form local groups that attempt to ‘touch base’ with reality, participating in conventional trade and doing jobs which otherwise would be done by machines.
CES tracking statistics expand to include Externality, the extent to which behaviour cannot be modeled by CES agents and poses risk to upsetting the system. Externality is correlated with real-world experimentation, and soon begins to be predictive of exploration and innovation. The old NASA and similar national agencies around the world are reformed into WASA, a coordinated, CES-driven space exploration program.
Those with Externality are awarded job candidacy for a range of ambitious projects, including lunar and orbital colonization, deep oceanic diving, and human testing. Others are placed in Reality Services, performing operations that are difficult to automate, or which involve doing things that risks harming humans. Realists are given the contact with reality they desire, though often at considerable personal sacrifice. Many continue to push for increasing the size and scope of these projects.
Lu Cheng and Joe Wexler, members of the Realist movement, publish extensively on Exocolonialism, an optimistic treatise on offworld habitation, with an explicit outline of the steps that could be taken to achieve independence from Earth. They are foundational figures in the development of Lunar Academy, an experimental outpost on the moon.
Joe Wexler’s daughter, Jane Wexler, grows up on Luna. She and an astronaut from Earth, John Major, have a son, Wex, in 2078.
2080s: EXOCOLONIAL EXPANSION
Breakthroughs in Virtualisation technology allow newer designs to achieve Faster than Realtime Processing, effectively doubling the rate of interactive media, and reducing the time required for passive media consumption by roughly 75%. The technology seems similar in ways to memory implantation. However there is lag in processing events, leading many people to have poorer retention of their experiences after the fact.
Earth-based Realists establish New Atlantis, an experimental deep sea exocolony.
Robotic excavators on Mars discover LGM, a vivid green, Nanite Grey Goo in bored rock samples (‘Little Green Men’). The substance is regarded as fitting the description of extraterrestrial life, but it is deemed too dangerous to return it to Earth. Knowledge of the LGM is considered high risk, and classified to key personnel.
Dr John Major and Professor Jane Wexler, now prominent figures in the Realist movement, symbolically request unprecedented levels of compute that cause their Externality scores to skyrocket. They invest the compute in additional robotic exploration of Mars, speaking of the possibility of future Exocolonial expansion.
John and Jane, now married, are awarded joint-captaincy of a manned mission to Mars to attempt a study, and potential carry out first contact with alien lifeforms.
The Scottish learn about LGM, and debate its risk to Earth.
2090s: THE WILDMIND ERA
Earth’s population begins to stabilize through immigration to developed countries, which have accelerated low birthrate due to Virtualisation. CES systems continue to embed themselves across the technological ‘frontier’, with developing nations leapfrogging decades of industrialization. For Virtualists, the issue of AI-alignment as regarded as largely solved. For Realists, the alignment problem is ongoing as an Ontological Crisis, and they continue to emphasize the importance of prioritizing interaction with reality.
Lunar Academy and Earth outfit the first Exocolonial Arkship, The Matriarch. Work begins on a space elevator to hasten the rate of space exploration.
A small wormhole anomaly is triggered on the surface of Luna, pulling in a hoverbuggy containing Lunar cadet-pilot Mac Sheen and US military representative Colonel Jordan Kragg. The Annapolis Cluster learns about LGM by interrogating Colonel Kragg, who cooperates with Dominion’s inquiries.
June, 1994:
John, Jane, and Wex Major depart on Matriarch, on a manned mission to Mars. They are joined by a crew of roughly 1000 exocolonists, including a young Scottish operative named Boomer McTwist.
September, 1994:
During the landing on Mars, both Mars and the Matriarch are pulled into a wormhole, and reappear in The Annapolis Cluster. Mars is stabilized using freefall tubes and integrated into The Cluster.
In the wake of Mars’ disappearance, many Virtualists spend an increasing amount of time in the Real, trying to understand what is going on. The E-State takes considerable criticism for failing to anticipate the astronomical event, and for not trying to stop it.
Scotland holds a surprising public conference where they reveal that the Scottish have alien ancestry, and they explain the role of Karn in Mars’ disappearance. They warn that it is likely that Karn will be targeting Earth with wormhole technology in the near future.
Nations of the world are in uproar over this announcement, accusing the Scottish of conspiracy and of not acting sooner. There is considerable backlash against the Scotland, and those of Scottish ancestry, whether or not they were aware of the conspiracy.
E-State systems strain to incorporate eruptions of familiar externalities: conspiracy theories, religious fanaticism, racism, and antisemitism return to a world that largely thought of these mental confusions as ancient history. Resources strain as high numbers of people exit the Metaworlds.
Months later, the situation stabilizes as Mars continues to be missing, and nothing else happens. Life goes on, and gradually people return to the excitement of Virtue. Memorialists, a new blend of Realist and Virtualist defectors, emphasize keeping the public awareness on Mars, and learning what they can of Scottish high-technology. They advocate a controlled reduction of Metaworld access, while acknowledging that the use of it is critical to the stability of CES systems.
1995:
The E-State is attacked by a new Cult of Karn, a neo-religious organisation that sees abdication to Karn as the only path to survival. The organisation attempts to bring Seraphs offline through the targeted destruction of internet infrastructure. While largely unsuccessful, their terrorism does raise religious questions across Earth in response to the continued Scottish insistence that Karn is a god.
It is found that the cult is independently attempting to create a ‘Karn of Earth’ through the pursuit of explosive superintelligence.
1997:
Earth and Luna are drawn into The Cluster during the final confrontation with Karn and Dominion, in an effort to break Wex’s spirit and end his advance on Palace Karn.
Billions die in the initial capture of the world, and millions more as LEGM is piped down through the Dominion’s tube network.
Earth and the WASA survive, however, when the Majors and Henry cure the LEGM Plague, pacifying it and subsuming it to the functions of a chemical computer.
The Causeway activates on Earth, opening up interstitial spaceways to the distant planets of Scotlan B and Scotlan C. Waves of Scottish legionaries join the fight against Dominion.
The Earth emerges as a new planetary government in opposition to Dominion, and works with Resistance to restore peace and sanity to Annapolis.
Ambleforth Scene: Carnivores
Ten hours later, the 009 had finished its refitting and was ready to fly.
Delta’s drones had skittered through the halls in a fury of motion, focused on revamping the battery connections throughout the ship, noting Boomer’s objections to the Paladin IIIs and doing their best to compensate for the power draw and dampen their recoil.
Henry had also arranged for his provided cell to be outfit with a console and controls accessible to his suit, with a module that reminded Wex of the robotic arms in the mainframe.
Wex shrugged. “That’s more or less what we’re used to on Earth. Meat’s kinda the exception.”
“You have spoken often about the flatbread pepperomi, though,” Volstagg pointed out, poking the tip of the knife’s blade.
“Pepperoni, yeah,” Wex corrected. “It’s pretty great. Like, novelty food. Lab-grown meat. The kind of stuff people would eat at a party. It isn’t common.”
“But humans are not natural herbivores, right?” Volstagg asked, bringing the knife down on an anemone. “That’s a learned behaviour.”
Wex pulled up one of the counter stools and sat down. Its design was remarkably homey, even Earth-like, compared to the rest of the ship’s furnishings.
“Yeah. Mainly conditioned in just the last hundred years, actually. Earth was sort of brutal before then.”
“Brutal how? And what changed?” Volstagg invited conversationally. He turned and opened up a pack of dehydrated buns, popping them on a shallow tray.
Wex thought about this for a moment, because the answer was complex, and there were parts of the story he just didn’t know.
“Government, mostly, I think,” he said at last. “I mean, meat was already getting less popular because of what you had to do to get it, to keep up with global demand. It used to come from hunting, or from farms. Then industrialisation happened and farms turned into factories, breeding millions of animals in captivity, purely for slaughter. People grew increasingly uncomfortable with that. Especially the group that formed the E-State. So the meat industry was sort of dismantled by hacktivists.”
“Hacktivists?” Volstagg repeated, sprinkling water over the buns. They rehydrated like thirsty sponges, fattening in the rain.
“Um… right. Your planet didn’t industrialize, did it?”
“Not to the extent that others here did,” Volstagg said, hefting a bun and weighing the question. “We had computers that were unlike Henry, or this,” he tapped the digital, wrap-around visor resting on his muzzle. “Analogs. Or people, trained knowledge workers and mathematicians. Few factories at all, and those were monitored carefully, because they tended to pollute communal resources.”
“Yeah, so Earth sort of went the other way,” Wex explained. “We made factories for computers, and then used computers to improve every other kind of factory. Including the factory farms. And that made them vulnerable to people who could reprogram computers. Hacktivists.”
The doorway sluiced back and Boomer walked in, staring at a SmartPad, running through calculations and absently grabbing at a pile of seaweed wafers on the counter.
“So ‘hacktivists’ are like freedom fighters,” Volstagg said. “What did the people running the factories do to protect themselves?”
Boomer looked up from her Pad. “You two are going over Earth history?”
Wex swivelled. “Yeah.”
“Careful,” she said to Volstagg, as he grated a soft blob of what might have been cheese. “It’s not his strongest subject.”
Wex chuckled. “Okay, fair,” he replied. “In my defence, there was a global conspiracy led by Scottish immigrants hiding their superior alien technology from the rest of the planet. Correct me if I go wrong.”
She nodded, turning back to the Pad and chewing on a wafer. “For starters, it wasn’t ‘hacktivists’ in the typical sense. Hacktivists were mostly shitlords who realised they could use activism to harness swarm behaviour on the internet. The guys you’re thinking of were ‘cipherpunks’. They were professional computer scientists.”
“Shitlords?” Volstagg repeated, uncertainly.
“Not important,” Boomer sighed.
“So factories had like, serious encryption. Like what Henry was fighting on Platform 한리. Ways of making sure that their computers only ever followed the commands of people working for their corporation. And encryption was sort of just this thing most people didn’t think about much, except that it was sort of annoying to have these passwords and authenticators interrupting all the time to make sure people weren’t hacking in, giving instructions that could break the system. And for a long time it sort of worked, because there was an asymmetry. It was much harder to break a password than to set it up.”
“Until it wasn’t,” Boomer sighed again.
“Yeah,” Wex agreed. “Until it wasn’t. Because at the start of the intelligence explosion, they had these computers that were really good at decryption. Like, it was exactly what they were designed to do.”
“Wait,” Volstagg said, pausing as he sliced through a thicket of grassy kelp. “Why would they focus on encryption, of all things?”
“No, more decryption,” Wex corrected. “It’s sort of the foundation of Earth science. The idea is like what Henry said to Phalgarth. You intercept a signal. There are many things that could have caused it, so you generate hypotheses of possible causes. Then you weigh their likelihood based on their complexity, and test them by attempting to recreate the causes and observe falsified results. E-State education teaches that this is decryption, that much of science is trying to isolate underlying constants and public key variables that correlate to the general shape of the private keys unknown to the scientist. The insight of the intelligence explosion was that computers could, given an end state and some start conditions, create a model hidden key that converges closer and closer to describing the ‘real’ hidden key. The important part of this is that when given a particular decryption task, like guessing a password, it is testable by getting a negative result, or denial.”
Volstagg kept slicing slowly, thinning the kelp. “So it was Science. This thing that changed your government.”
“I guess so. I mean it was there for a long time, hidden in the background. Advising governments. But the E-State was the first time on Earth there was ever so much as a scientist-led government. Before that, people mainly led by…” Wex paused for a moment, thinking about the ancient civilisations. “By popularity, force, money, or birthright. Or some combination of it.”
Boomer gave a little cough.
Wex looked at her with a flat grin, lazily gesturing at her with the Glove. “No?”
“Well. Yes. But also there were wee nudges here and there. Some problems getting Scots to toe the line, really. Exposure and deterioration of any conspiracy over time. So humans learned science at a slightly different pace than anticipated.”
Wex thought about that for a minute. Because of course the conspiracy meant there were historical figures that were part of the Scottish invasion, or resettlement, or whatever it was.
“Such as…?”
“Lord Kelvin was a big one,” Boomer counted on her fingers, setting down the SmartPad. “He was one of the first Scots to regain access to Ley technologies after The Carrington Event reactivated the dormant tech in our reliquary. And James Clerk Maxwell followed as a vocal opponent to Conspiracism. He advocated Accelerationism, the gradual exposure of humankind to Scottish technology. Oh – James Watt, of course. Classic madman, and an early Accelerationist. Had people livid when he started nudging changes to the steam engine.”
Wex recognised a couple of the names, even without paying much attention in history lessons. “Anyone to add…?”
“Hume, obviously. Probably the hardest nudge humans could get toward modern science. Oh, and Alexander Fleming. Though that breach was more about him being really annoyed with the Scots letting humans die of sepsis when we’d had antibiotics for two centuries. Hard to fault him on that one.” She shrugged.
“Yeah,” Wex said weakly.
“So there were two histories on your planet,” Volstagg said. “Two sciences, gradually converging. But… why? Why did it take so long for humans to become Science-led?”
Wex spread his hands. “Hey, you were a monarch,” he said. “Why wasn’t it the case on Anthellia?”
Volstagg shook his head. He turned to the sink, washing his hands. “That isn’t the same,” he insisted. “I understand the basic principles of Earth science. I think I’m understanding something of the differences in your anatomy these days, too. Both are relatedly different on my homeworld. Physiological differences make the Volmath what they are. If your science is like shaping keys to fit locks, ours is like rearing calves to caste a niche. A Volstagg is a product of Anthellian science, of niche-filling. A slow, deliberate process. But perhaps also different in other ways.”
“So the analogy to computing is more genetic?” Boomer proposed.
Volstagg raised a hand and picked at a tip of his antlers with a thumb thoughtfully. “Partially correct, yes. Perhaps more correctly, our science is in an evolutionary research paradigm. Early in our history, we noticed that holding a phenotype came at the cost of bending the shape of reality surrounding that phenotype. A herd would breed until the niche overflowed, and of it gradual changes came to deal with the excess. Predators and scavengers split off from the base phenotype to fill new niches created by the relation of a phenotype to itself as the new niche. Anthellia was a monarchy, but only because it realised that the natural consequence of endless, irenic peace was to create predators, and prey. We were to be both: kind predators, directing our culls through the channels of law and order; and careful scavengers, recycling the outcaste, the wasted resources others regarded as unclean. We were science-led in the sense that it was impossible to live outside of the evolutionary system, only to acknowledge its necessities and live it kindly.”
“But also…” Boomer said haltingly, “You were part of a breeding program,” she concluded.
Wex quickly turned to Volstagg. “Wha-?”
Volstagg nodded, pulping the contents of a bowl with a pestle and deft swivels of his wrist. “Yeah. The Volmath were an accelerated lineage. A couple more years on the throne and I would have had my own yearlings, been gelded and placed into an advisory role for the next Volstagg. The program was a select practice across the castes. Lines were identified for preservation, and exemplification. But that doesn’t matter. Instead I became,” he scowled in disgust. “This,” he concluded with a snarl.
Wex looked aside at Boomer, still not quite understanding. Volstagg was Volstagg. Alien, maybe, and a pretty intimidating one, but not exactly unhandsome or half as creepy as some of the beings he’d seen so far. Boomer paused shook her head very slightly.
“I guess you could say we were bad at science,” Wex continued, backtracking. “This is actually another pretty big thing for the E-State. Humans are, by themselves, misaligned agents of their own ultimate objectives. We want peace, we try conquering the planet. We want happiness, we try get wealthy enough to get whatever we desire. We want to be at the evolutionary apex…”
“… you eat meat,” Volstagg continued, passing a bowl of freshly ground hummus to Boomer.
“Right,” Wex agreed. “We got in our own way pretty constantly, until the founders of the E-State systematically mapped out the problems with human thinking, and developed strategies to compensate for the error. One of their main concerns was that, central to all of this, humans were developing technologies that threatened all of humankind. X-Risks. And the chief X-Risk was that misalignment would allow one of our technologies to make us go extinct.”
“Hmm,” Volstagg murmured in agreement, stacking the mix of ingredients into a bun. “Our same issue. The phenotype destroys the niche it occupies, by outbreeding the grain of the pasture. So predators are needed outside of the niche to stabilise it.”
“The E-State were our control system – predators. Maybe not at first, and not intentionally. Their emphasis on alignment just made them really good at using intelligent decryption. They were tied to this other group that were like, vocal advocates against factory farms, and poor controls allowed one of them to fire a decryption weapon at one of the major corporations that was producing meat.”
“The Batista Strike,” Boomer added. “Perhaps the most dangerous moment in Earth’s history. The Scots were still focused on Karn’s destruction of Scotlan A, and Scotlan D faces the release of a Daemon on Earth. Not a good time.”
“A ‘daemon’?” Volstagg asked, placing the bun in a flash-frier.
“An intelligent program,” Wex explained. “Like Henry, but narrower in its design. This one was created to break corporate encryption, brick the firmware of its machines, distribute its finances and lock everything out of its controls before deleting itself. It killed the corporation. And the minute it did, people realised AIs were a threat to every other encrypted computer system on Earth.”
“Oops,” Volstagg chuckled, rinsing his hands.
“Big oops,” Wex agreed. “Anyways. So governments suddenly think of AI as a weapon, and try to wrestle control of it away from tech companies. There’s fear of a nuclear war and hundreds of daemons are released and lock everyone out of the missile systems. A hundred more corporations get deleted. This place called California at the edge of the empire declares independence. And we stop eating meat. Now gimme that burger.”
“Nice summary,” Boomer snarked. “You missed a few decades.”
“Priorities,” Wex chided, reaching out his hands. Volstagg handed over the sizzling stack from the flash-frier.
“So a thing about this history,” Volstagg went on.
“Yeah?” Wex said, ripping in.
“I’ve noticed that the human story is about enemies, and the defeat of them. Maybe the Scottish story is, too. Even the sciences and systems you describe are about your enemies. This is very strange to me. I mean, I am aware of strategic struggles between phenotypes. But long ago, after Anthellians eradicated carnivores from our ecosystem, we realised this itself did not create the spontaneous symbiotic system the ancestors imagined it would. In absence of enemies, other problems remain.”
“Anthellia has no carnivores?” Wex asked between mouthfuls. The burger tasted good. Nutty, almost rubbery, with sharp, citric juiciness.
“None,” Volstagg confirmed, continuing work on his second burger. “A few omnivores, and opportunistic feeders. Five thousand years ago, the carnivores were driven to extinction. Not entirely accidentally.”
“How do you ‘not entirely accidentally’ wipe out part of the food web?” Boomer probed.
Volstagg placed another bun in the frier. “Species invasion, habitat destruction, zoonotic disease… there were a lot of contributing factors. In our case the central driver was a prion disease, spread through ingested meat. As the carriers spread across the planet, more and more carnivores succumbed, until there were so few they couldn’t maintain their population.”
“A prior disease, like a brain-eating sickness?” Wex said, munching noisily.
“Exactly.” The frier pinged, and he levelled out another burger, slopping it on a plate in front of Boomer. “In our case, we were immune. The prions attacked memory cells that, to the Anthellians, were bolstered by a different medium to typical brain tissue. So when our neural paths atrophied, we adjusted.”
“Hold up,” Boomer said suspiciously, eyeing the burger. “But Anthellians don’t eat meat. So why would they get the prion disease?”
Volstagg smiled, exposing the saw-like, ridged wall of his teeth. It was, as far as Wex could remember, the first time he had seen Volstagg smile.
“We were the initial carriers, of course.”
Wex stopped chewing, looking uncertainly at the burger. His brain did a kickflip.
Volstagg started laughing.
“Oh the humanity - please tell me you’re joking,” Wex whimpered.
Volstagg shook his head. “You’re safe, obviously. Blood transmission only. A few licks of spit and sweat aren’t going to do anything.”
Boomer paused, considered not eating the burger, and took a bite.
“Worth the risk,” she concluded, swallowing.
“Just wait until you try my tiramisu,” Volstagg grinned, snapping one of the sea anemones between his teeth.
*
Henry’s two bipedal limbs ended in hands that looked surprisingly like oversized, gloved human hands. But at the tip of each were pistoned, retractable needles, similar to syringes. Pressed with a hand to the console, he could type commands to the ship at a speed that quickly bottlenecked at its input capability. Much of the remaining space in the cell squeezed in an assortment of memory modules, co-processors, and data storage drives. Delta remained oddly nonchalant about equipping another superintelligence and sending it offworld.
Volstagg busied himself with food selection, crates of refrigerated supplies being brought aboard with refilled nano-supplement, gruel, and sushi. The canteen, which had been running on fumes by the time they landed, was now restocked well beyond the imagining of its Dominion architects. There was enough refrigerated stock for them to survive a solid month of space travel before needing to resupply.
And yet, Wex still felt underprepared. He had fallen asleep in the armoury, at the workbench chair across from Pilfer, examining the schematics for the blast suit Phalgarth’s engineers had designed to survive contact with Nitro. It looked like an ordinary bomb retrieval suit, but the materials and their weave were strange and intricate, unlike anything he had seen on Earth.
When he awoke it was to the soft wheezing of Pilfer’s breathing, and the soft whistle of air filtration against the intubation slit in his throat. The swelling was going down, but he was still hard to look at. The lidless orbs of his eyes shone with tiny glowing blue pinpricks, like sapphires twinkling in the lowlight.
“We need you,” Wex said simply, looking at him. “You know that, right?”
“Mmmmn.” A low moan. It almost sounded embarrassed.
In contrast to the washroom, the canteen succeeded in being almost welcoming. It had been hard to enjoy eating while aboard the 009, but the Siridosian food could change that. Volstagg was busy behind the central counterspace, in the small kitchen, sharpening knives.
“D’you cook?” Wex asked him, eyeing an odd vegetable that looked like the cross between a cucumber and a sea anemone.
“It’s one of life’s pleasures,” Volstagg said simply. “Herbivorous cuisine only, though.”
Wex got up and went to the washroom. It was a communal space, designed for prisoners and guards on alternate rotations. Several spray tubes lined embedded cylinders in the dome of the ceiling, the water running off the floor into arthropodal joints in the metal plating of the floor, into hidden drains and reclaimators. Several shell-pod cubicles provided an illusion of privacy in what was not, in any way imaginable, a safe watering hole.
Wex took a quick shower, watching more sweat, blood and ash run down his legs than he thought he had, like a significant part of himself was sloughing off down the drains. The kvass was still swimming through his neurochemical pathways, like muddy haze, with slow sensations of pins and needles drifting like clouds over his skin. He suited up and headed to the canteen.