Once upon a time, Cato had been a scholar.He’d spent much of his time on exogeology, puzzling out the ways that non-terrestrial planets were put together. Partly just for pure knowledge, partly to be able to find resources, and partly just because he found alien planets fascinating. In that sense, being able to disperse throughout the System had been a delight, because he had access to more alien planets, at a closer vantage, than any other human ever had. Or would.

    It wasn’t just geology that he had to study now, but also the processes of the System. Not simply for the goal of knowing the enemy, but also for figuring out the people within it. Cato didn’t really believe that he’d be able to crack the fundamental basis of how it worked – that kind of esoteric physics was well out of his purview – but he could at least discern a few things that hadn’t been revealed back on Sol.

    One of those findings was the topic of his presentation, a word that took him back to far in the past, when had expounded to fellow academics on details extracted from icy interstellar bodies. The audience was the same, too; interested and not quite skeptical, but more than willing to challenge him. The venue, of course, was entirely different.

    Technically it was two different audiences; he was talking to Initik and Harik Lim, on Uriv, and Mii-Es and Yaniss, on Ikent, the pair of relevant Catos integrating their experiences for the moment. Neither audience was directly aware of each other, as secrecy still held, but he was amused that he was talking to people on planets thousands of light-years apart by way of a fungal communications network broadcasting through magical portals. Even better that the topic of discussion was, essentially, the magic itself.

    “Unfortunately I don’t have any of the more robust images I normally use,” Cato said, since he was speaking through ordinary remote frames. “But I have the analysis of the neural frameworks here.” He tapped a thick packet of polymer print on the table he shared with his respective corporeal counterparts. Yaniss immediately leaned over the table to snatch hers up and began reading it. “The basic summary is that the Bismuth cornerstone Skill phenomenon changes a person. Quite a lot, in fact.”

    “It’s well known that the Bismuth cornerstone matters,” Mii-Es said, unimpressed. Though of course she didn’t have the data, the before-and-afters.

    “It’s more than it just mattering,” Cato said. “From the perspective of my technology, the changes are incompatible with prior versions of the neural structure. Essentially, it changes who you are — motivations, drives, interests, even habits of thought. Not dramatically, but still enough to be serious.” It was something he would have figured out much earlier if any of the other Lineages had tried for Bismuth themselves, but he was glad his fear that it had completely compromised the Sydean Lineage had kept him from that experiment.

    “There is a very specific reason for this, however,” Cato continued, glancing from technically-mortal representative to System-god, the same gesture in two different bodies. “It goes back to the anti-entropic nature of essence. Now, this is just a hypothesis, but at this point I’m fairly well convinced it’s all related to immortality. Most people are not cut out for it, but the neurological alterations combined with the resistance to change introduced by replacing the entire cellular structure with anti-entropic, well, , puts people into a state where time doesn’t much matter.”

    “Time certainly does matter,” Initik objected. “I haven’t just let a thousand years slip past without any action on my part.”

    “I’m not talking about a mere thousand years,” Cato said not just to Initik but to Mii-Es and Yaniss as well. “Nor a mere million years. Radical longevity is one thing; people living a few hundred generations is not unknown among my people.” The only ones who had that amount of subjective time obviously used framejacking or Summer Civilization technology, and that was ignoring the vanishingly rare true AIs whose subjective time didn’t correlate at all to human experience.

    “A million years?” Mii-Es sounded amused, but Cato nodded to her.

    “Billions and trillions of years hence, the stars themselves will burn out, their fuel exhausted. The universe will go dark, but any individual in the System endure that long, and then even longer. Even normal, technological civilizations have ways to persist into that deep dark era of the universe, living on so far into the future that those very same billions and trillions of years are barely worth noting, an anomaly from the earliest days.” Cato took a moment to consider how to convey just how great the gulf of eras could be, something that nobody had the actual experience to understand. Even to him, it was just numbers.

    “I think the entire point of the System is to create and sustain immortality. Every other part of the universe, every non-System person, will change over time. I have the knowledge and means whereby a person could live a hundred lifetimes every second, for as many years as there are grains of sand in the entire System. are the scales of time I’m considering, and in that all that vast possibility, there is no telling what might result.” Cato sighed. “But the System? It could be truly . An infinity where even those vast numbers are meaningless. Except, it’s an eternity without any of that possibility, just one of fighting the same way as you always have.”

    “If you are correct, I can see why you might object,” Mii-Es said slowly. “But isn’t it better that things continue? Endings are so very final.”

    “Just because something lasts doesn’t mean it is ,” Cato objected. “Would you rather spend eternity at peak Copper, or a single lifetime without constraints? Forever is a very long time to suffer under a yoke, no matter how comfortable. While I concede that some people might choose different than me, that should be something chosen with a full understanding of what they’re getting into. Not foisted upon them sight unseen.”

    “So what happens when we leave the System,” Initik half-asked, half-mused. “Do we instantly feel the weight of years?”

    “As I said, the mental alterations are permanent,” Cato assured him. “Everyone that’s currently post-mortal within the System can handle radical longevity outside it. The resistance to change is something else, and it can be reproduced to some extent, but exactly how much is something I’d leave to you. Your mind, your life.” ?А?ò?ê????

    “So what does this mean for — the other me?” Yaniss said, glancing at where the radio-lizards lay sprawled out in the sun.

    “The divergence is slow right now,” Cato said. “Given your talent at reconciliation, you shouldn’t have any problem for the next few decades. Barring something drastic, anyway.” She could work out the details with herself; it wasn’t really his business whether she kept putting it off, remaining as a Bismuth on Ikent, or decided to abandon the System altogether.

    “All well and good,” Initik said, ignorant of the byplay with Yaniss. “But it does not seem immediately actionable.”

    “It may not be,” Cato agreed. “But it’s what has been done to you, and our discussion has a bearing that, no matter what form life after the System takes, there will be fewer immortals unless you’re willing to impose it that way yourself. Something to consider now, before your hand is forced when the System falls.”

    “That seems a bit disingenuous, since you’re the one forcing our hands,” Initik murmured.

    “I’m giving you plenty of time,” Cato said, not bothering to argue further. He was hardly going to balk at this stage, and he was being as generous as he could manage. “And now you know. Perhaps it is not as objectionable to you as it is to me, but I could not in good conscience leave you ignorant of my findings.”

    “Not exactly the best news,” Yaniss said, sounding a bit troubled. As well she might, considering she and her out-of-System version had been discussing permanently leaving the System for some time. Of course, the question of how different that was from just dying was still open.

    Cato fielded a small number of questions — both gods and the System folks with them simply didn’t yet have the context for greater ones — but eventually things wound down. Cato split back into Cato-Uriv and Cato-Ikent; the former could handle Initik himself, but the latter had news for Mii-Es. It was just a matter of how to broach the subject.

    “A moment, if you would,” he said to Ikent’s System-god, who gave him a sharp look as she recognized the change of tone, and waved Yaniss away. The Bismuth clicked her beak begrudgingly, but went off with the information packet to give them privacy.

    “What do you have for me?” Mii-Es leaned forward in the pickup, eyeing Cato’s puppet frame.

    “Well, you’re not the same species as the Ikent natives,” Cato said. “And while I’m certainly not omniscient, I haven’t seen any of your people anywhere in the System. Your homeworld is gone, isn’t it?”

    “A long time ago,” Mii-Es said shortly. “It was fine when I was a Copper — or I thought so, at least. By the time I ascended from Alum, there was nothing left. Just Clan holdings. I don’t think any others of my race ever even got to Bismuth.”

    “That was my suspicion,” Cato said. It was probably not too uncommon; some places the initial apocalypse might have wiped out . Other places, the interests of powerful inner-worlds types could easily have resulted in displacement or genocide. But he was asking more in a rhetorical fashion, because he’d already located what he was pretty certain was Mii-Es’ home world, and what remained of her people.

    Despite the wealth of data he had, and the sheer number of places he’d been, it’d taken a bit of effort by all of his various other selves to actually find it. One of the many background projects was a full catalogue of every single species and genetic profile in the System, to try and track down the origins and fates of every living thing the System had touched. The populous clans were easy enough to profile, but there were millions of niches and out-of-the-way spots with unique samples. Sear?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

    This discovery in particular had come from a dungeon, where one of the Lineages had found monsters that looked like Mii-Es. Remembering the monsterized versions of Sydeans that Cato had discovered, the sisters had tried some reconstructions from the samples they’d collected. It was still very preliminary, but between the genetics and what he already saw from the System, he was almost certain it was a match.

    But almost wasn’t good enough. To close that final percent of uncertainty he’d need a sample from Mii-Es — and even if her genetics filled in the missing pieces, creating new people from the gene samples was no guarantee. But it was a possibility, especially with Mii-Es to provide oversight to the project.

    In a way, he was glad Mii-Es had approached him before one of the Lineages had stumbled into that particular dungeon. It would have been too tempting to offer, and that wasn’t the sort of thing to hold over someone’s head. Especially when he couldn’t guarantee success the same way he could with Initik’s project. Tampering with an extant, accessible genebase was one thing. Synthesizing healthy individuals and genetic diversity from partially degraded samples was another.

    “There’s nothing I can do about the world, but I might be able to bring back your people,” Cato said, watching as Mii-Es framejacked herself to keep control of her reactions. “A drop of your blood would much help with that, at least in determining how good the chance is. A full scan would be better, but I’m given to understand that gods don’t come down to normal planets very often.” There was no telling whether any gut biome or other symbiotic ecology had survived Mii-Es’ ascension to godhood, especially since the Bismuth transition made such things unnecessary, but the more information he had the easier things would be.

    “That is an expansive promise to make,” Mii-Es said, her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. “Conjuring people from nothing and nowhere. And what, pray tell, would you with that drop of blood?”

    “It’s part of the same process as I used to make a new body for Yaniss, and the one I told you that I would use for you,” Cato told her, having no need to delve into the mechanisms of genetics tools that he, himself, didn’t fully understand. “It will also speed up the process of rehousing once the time comes. But there isn’t a deadline for this; the information will keep.”

    “Hmm.” Mii-Es said, staring at Cato for a long moment. “I’ll get you the blood.”

    ***

    Marus Eln did not trust the path things were taking.

    Even if he wasn’t responsible for the losses to Cato, he certainly hadn’t gained much favor within the Clan. His reputation was in tatters, his essence reserves were only just holding steady, and his technical promotion was anything but. Aunt Misse was terrifying.

    Unlike him, Misse was a , a two full steps up from his own Deity rank and the direct daughter of the Clan’s Patriarch, Keppel Eln. It should have been an honor to work for her, but her stringent demands and miserly rewards meant that it was effectively a punishment and everyone knew it. Even if nobody would dare say it to Misse’s face.

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    “Are the world upgrades finished?” Misse asked without looking away from the scrying window, or rather windows, monitoring as she was a half-dozen candidates at once. The rest of the office was scrupulously arranged, the tables and chairs seeming to be more for show rather than for use. He certainly had never sat in any of them, and he could swear that the Alum-rank trophies on the walls had been there long enough that they’d become part of the room’s own essence. “We have a certain surplus, but it’s my time you’re wasting, not yours.”

    “Yes, Greater Deity Misse,” Marus said, schooling his voice to be level. Ensuring that some of the more promising worlds received sufficient essence to expedite the infrastructure upgrades was a child’s task, nothing challenging or taxing, and if it weren’t for the trust involved it would have been actively insulting. “Both the infrastructure upgrades and the new defenses.”

    The particular trick that Initik had created and gifted to Marus had become unexpectedly important. Most of the application of that tool came in the form of fitting in specific filters to portals and cities that would destroy any of Cato’s tools — but that was really a desultory effort, a minor budgetary expenditure for show. Most of its importance was in selling that self-same defense to other Clans, even knowing that it was barely effective.

    Marus didn’t mind , as Greater Clans hadn’t become so by coddling their opponents, but he did wish that there was some effective weapon following behind. If Cato were to seize the planets of some other Clan, it would certainly weaken them — but those planets wouldn’t be ones that Clan Eln could eventually add to its own strength. Which was something that Misse didn’t need to care about, for she was already at the top, but for Marus it meant there wouldn’t be new planets where he could finally reign as the Deity he was.

    And they might continue to lose planets, as Gyvestral had showed.

    “Excellent,” Misse said, though her voice conveyed more boredom than anything. “There will be a meeting in the Forsythe Courtyard in an hour. Be there.”

    “Yes, Greater Deity Misse,” Marus said, and withdrew from her presence. He trod through opulent halls filled with faint, sweet music from the dozens of mortal servants scattered throughout, and arrived at the Forsythe Courtyard well ahead of the deadline. Not only did he not want to be late, there wasn’t anything he could possibly do in that short amount of time to make it worth returning to his own Estate.

    He summoned a chair from his connected inventory, taking a seat among the sprawling flowers and climbing vines in the Courtyard, poking at his Interface as other gods filtered in. All of them were from Clan Eln, of course, various deities under Misse’s direction. Each of them was in charge of some small aspect of the Clan’s operations, its essence income and expenditures, its people and its properties. Some of them were older and more respected than he was, which didn’t bode well for Marus’ future prospects.

    When Misse arrived, sweeping in like the ruler she was, Marus saw that she had the [Crusader] in tow. A Sydean, which had given Marus a start when he’d first been introduced. By now [Crusader] Muar’s story was public knowledge, though Marus suspected most people didn’t fully believe it. Not that they needed to, as all that mattered was what Misse she believed.

    Many of the gods there were offended by having a mortal in their ranks, if not outright furious, but Muar was a rising star. From nothing to Azoth in twenty years was an absolutely meteoritic rise, and might reach Alum if given even a hundred more — utterly unheard of. From there he could make a play for godhood, and with the support of someone like Misse, it was a foregone conclusion. And Muar had the blessing of the System. His origin didn’t matter at all, given his acceptance of Clan Eln’s patronage.

    Most annoyingly, Muar was the one seated at Misse’s right hand, the favored position, rather than any of the gods who had worked so hard. The place that someone from the Clan should have been, perhaps even Marus himself in a few centuries. Instead it was someone who was, to most gods there, an up-jumped mortal from a backwater race, someone who probably shouldn’t have even made Bismuth. Yet nobody would dare to complain, especially since he was likely to topple from favor soon enough. Misse was well known for her caprice.

    “The foreign threat has surfaced again,” Misse began, looking over the assembled bureaucrats. “Most of you likely know about Gyvestral, which was purged very recently. The events there show that a certain degree of patience and thoroughness is going to be necessary to address our concerns. Each world will need to be audited and considered — both our own and those of other Clans.” Misse smiled, a thing of hunger and satisfaction. “[Crusader] Muar will be Our Blessed among the mortal worlds, ensuring that Planetary Administrators and Temples coordinate and take the charge seriously.”

    Muar nodded seriously, but Marus wondered if he realized he was merely being used as a tool to extend Clan Eln’s reach. As the leader of the [Crusade], Muar had a certain special influence, which Misse could use as leverage against other worlds. What worried Marus was the of that leverage.

    “For those worlds that might be unacceptably compromised, we are working with the other Clans to properly condemn anything that might be affected. In the current climate, we may have to take stronger steps than would normally be allowed.” Misse sounded pious, but nobody was fooled — except perhaps Muar. Or maybe he understood the calculus of power just as well as anyone else. “For those which may still be saved, [Crusader] Muar is allowed to dispense certain divine gifts on our behalf, which will let those of Azoth rank and above take the fight to the enemy.”

    Misse flicked up a scry image, showing a small Nexus-crystal set into a chain. It was clear that it could be used to project the System around anyone who might venture into the darkness beyond a world to contest Cato’s creations. Mostly Azoths; Alums didn’t tend to listen to World Deities, but they could surely be enticed with sufficient rewards.

    “Of special note are the worlds of those outside the Great Clans, who cannot be trusted to act in accordance with what the Core deems necessary.” Misse flicked up another image, this one a map of the System — or at least, part of the System. It focused on the independent polities within the Inner Worlds and on the closest frontier, a few dozen gods that had refused to join the Nine Great Clans and come under proper management.

    “These are the ones that will mostly likely require the harshest approach,” she continued, quite unconcerned. “Given the serious nature of the invader’s threat, even those without any obvious activity will have to be brought into line with the Clans. We will approach each individually, in stages, so as to avoid prompting any kind of unified response, but the preparatory work can begin immediately. Now, assignments.”

    Marus kept his expression neutral as Misse began giving orders. It was one thing to conquer other Clan’s worlds, or to take control of a new annexation, but it was another thing to remove worlds entirely. Yes, expunging Cato-controlled territory made the System safer and – if those places were not Clan Eln’s – weakened their enemies, but it also meant there were fewer worlds to administer.

    Every victory put Marus’ dreams of ruling a true world, of being genuinely important, further out of reach.

    ***

    “The Nine Great Clans are starting to press,” Neyar said.

    Mii-Es just nodded. Initik grunted, and she glanced over at him, but he didn’t have anything further to contribute. Even if he was technically an advisor to the alliance of independent gods, Initik didn’t exercise much control over either discussions or policy. It was a shame, because he certainly wasn’t useless, but he just didn’t have much interest in other worlds.

    “My contacts in the Inner Worlds have said much the same, but I haven’t heard any particular details,” Mii-Es said after a moment, glancing around the various scry-views that held the dozen or so gods that could make it to the meeting. There were more than that in the loose coalition that she had put together, and more were joining, but most of the deities were not yet concerned enough to take the time out to talk. Or not brave enough to show their faces.

    “Nobody has approached me directly yet, but that Eln clan viper has started sending out messages.” Neyar flexed his claws, drumming them against the dark wood armrest of his chair. “Some to the other clans, but some to the other Inner Worlds independents. What she’s saying to the independents is all vague nonsense, but her comments to the other Great Clans make it clear the ultimate goal is to force everyone to fall under the purview of the Nine Great Clans — preferably the Eln Clan, of course,” he sneered. “And she’s using the threat of Cato to do it.”

    “I wasn’t aware that Cato had been seen in the Inner Worlds,” Mii-Es said, though that was at least half a lie. It was his agents coming the Inner Worlds that had caused the purge of Gyvestral, and with her blessing on his agents she knew they were gallivanting about the Inner Worlds as they spoke. But that wasn’t the same as the kind of presence that was obvious enough to condemn an entire world.

    “Since when does something like the truth matter?” Neyar replied with a snort. “Cato is only the most current excuse. Though a far more dangerous one, if the Clans are willing to countenance purges of entire worlds rather than just the usual jostling. That’s what they’re going to hold over us, since none of have access to the True Core. What worries me is that Misse Eln. I know her, I remember when she was rising up the ranks, and she is just vicious enough to follow through.”

    “And if she does, we need to have a counter-strategy,” Mii-Es concluded.

    “Other than personal power? Most of us have more than enough essence that the Clans would never spend the resources to displace us,” Neyar said, though it was clear he wasn’t dismissing Mii-Es with his argument. “And unfortunately we’re a bit widely spread for direct support.”

    “I do have an ally who needs to remain anonymous,” Mii-Es said, pulling up some of the information Cato had given her. Of course, she’d made sure to take the ideas and concepts and make sure the code words and similar ideas were rather than. “For anyone who is targeted by the Nine Great Clans, this ally is a last resort. I’m sure none of us want to see our worlds destroyed, but that is what we face if they target us — and even if we can resurrect, I don’t think any of us wants to face that.”

    Everyone there had risen to godhood the hard way, rather than being born into it like the Nine, so they all had earned the ability to resurrect from death. How many of those were left after the tough climb to Alum was not public, but it was more than none. Many of the younger deities believed that gods couldn’t die, and while that was almost entirely true, nobody who had clawed their way up from Copper took their backup plans for granted.

    She flicked out a set of code phrases and instructions to each of the waiting gods, who all studied them with interest. They were the second set to get the information; the first set had been the ones closest to Gyvestral, the ones Mii-Es had thought were most at risk. Now, it was time to start expanding that circle.

    It wasn’t without risk. She could accidentally expose her connection to Cato, or he could expose his connection to her, regardless of the instructions and safeties built into the protocols. If she believed his claims, that actually wouldn’t be irrecoverable, since he claimed he could actually save the people on a planet from a purge. But it wasn’t something she wanted to test if she could avoid it.

    At the same time, Cato had made it entirely clear that in the end, there was no choice. He had the capability and the will to sever a world from the System and bring it into what he termed , but that willingness was tempered with an interest in doing so as painlessly as possible. The lack of animus toward her, personally, even when he obviously hated the very of a [World Deity], was an odd dichotomy but one that she was willing to use.

    “You have friends among the Core Elders?” Meshan asked, squinting at her with four beady eyes set into an overly-broad face. He was, on balance, one of the independent deities most exposed to the Core Worlds machinations. His planet was wealthy and successful enough to stave off the slow encroachment, but not enough that Meshan could buy off his neighbors in the way that Neyar had.

    “The risk is high enough that the less I say about this backer, the better,” Mii-Es demurred. “I realize that I am asking you to take my word for this, but the counter-passphrase will unlock the memory crystal I gave you.”

    “I mislike this,” said another of the gods. “If you have such a powerful backer, why aren’t they helping ? To stop this before it gets started? A last resort is better than no resort, but it smacks of predation and opportunism.”

    “Did anything I say imply my backer is applying pressure where and how they can?” Mii-Es demanded, which was still somewhat true. “The strongest defense against this is still maneuvering the Clans away from deploying their weapon in the first place.”

    “And an open opposition would be that!” The god continued to argue. “If there is someone who will argue our case a Core God, then we should line up with them , and not later.”

    “I can vouch for Mii-Es’ backer,” Initik said suddenly, and Mii-Es had to suppress a twitch at his words. “As she said, it is a delicate matter, but this contact can be trusted in an extremity — but an extremity.”

    That didn’t quite satisfy the curiosity of the other gods, but Initik’s word was, in some ways, better than hers. He probably didn’t realize it, but he had a reputation for being standoffish, insular, and untrusting, so if he was cooperating there was something to it. Mii-Es didn’t really listen to the replies, too busy wondering when and whether Initik had figured it out — or if the Urivan Deity was playing a different game entirely.

    “What leverage we use against the Core Worlds?” Neyar asked, getting her attention again, though he seemed perfectly happy to accept the contingency information from Mii-Es. “The only thing I can see being at all useful is trying to bribe one of the other Great Clans to oppose the push.”

    “Take some nearby worlds,” one of the other gods suggested. “Or threaten it. If they’re going to push against our worlds, we can push against theirs. And I’d bet on any of us when it comes to a fight.”

    There was general agreement at that, though Mii-Es wasn’t so sure. If it was just brute force, that would be one thing, as none of the Clan gods had the stomach, spine, or skills to deal with being individually confronted. But the Elders of the True Core wielded the greater powers of the System, and it wasn’t a decision by individual gods whether a planet was purged or not.

    Discussion continued for a little longer, but soon the various gods dropped out of the meeting, one by one. Only Initik remained behind, regarding her silently, while Mii-Es looked back. As a god she should not be nervous, but Initik was the one who had pioneered many of the anti-Cato approaches being used even now. If he had figured it out, there was no telling how badly things might go.

    “I’ve been working with Cato for nearly a decade now,” Initik said abruptly. “You?”

    “No more than a month,” Mii-Es admitted slowly. “But he has impressed me favorably — under the circumstances, of course. I have no wish to be dictated to by anyone, but between Cato and the Great Clans, he at least has the decency to grant me respect.” She didn’t mention the potential of bringing back her people. That had been something so entirely unforeseen – and unforeseeable – that she didn’t know how to bring it up.

    “It’s an odd thing,” Initik said meditatively. “We don’t matter to either of them. Cato or the Core Worlds. Not really. But for the Core worlds, it’s because they simple want to take what we have. For him, it’s because we have nothing he wants. I don’t like either choice, but I can at least believe Cato will . Though I’m not sure I would have trusted him with the safety of others.”

    “You backed me,” Mii-Es challenged him, and Initik clicked his claws softly.

    “I have seen what he can do. Did you ask for details on Gyvestral?”

    “Not beyond what he had claimed to do, saving those people,” Mii-Es replied. “I have been somewhat preoccupied.”

    “You should do so. The details are difficult to believe, but also difficult to imagine he would bother to falsify.” Initik sighed. “I believe that he save worlds, but even now I struggle to believe that he do it.”

    “I would like to understand better, myself,” Mii-Es agreed. “But knowing that he help us will have to be enough.”