The other major aspect of my fight against BuyMort was the knowledge gathering mission I had the Knowle Institute of History working on. They collaborated with the Knowle Institute of Record to trace BuyMort through the years.

Our iteration of civilization within BuyMort was only the most recent. I had entered BuyMort at a critical tipping point, and helped ensure there was some civilization left after the Church’s long overdue fall, but that was far from the only time everything had fallen apart. Our civilization lived on the bones of many more that had come before it.

The Church had ruled for roughly seven thousand years, give or take. But BuyMort had existed before the Church’s rise. Records from any time before my first rise to power were spotty at best, and I was looking for information dating far before that. BuyMort kept its sales records and made them available to interested parties. The only problem was how many of them there were.

It was like looking for a receipt in an unending pile of receipts. A needle in a haystack if the haystack was infinite and you had to pay to look at each piece of hay.

Seeking information on previous iterations of BuyMort civilizations was referred to as ‘relic hunting’ because most who did it were trying to data-mine their way to a relic storefront, with expensive or powerful goods. Starfish suits were a good example, but relics ran the gamut. Some were more powerful or useful than others. All were rare and therefore worth morties.

But my purpose was different. I wanted the relic storefronts too, though most of them were far less intentional than Specter’s had been, they often still held treasure. Specter was my ultimate research goal. He had built his affiliate near the end of BuyMort’s original civilization. The rogue system had continued its programming even after it had destroyed its creators.

Specter had seen the writing on the wall and knew that while he himself could no longer take the machine apart, he could leave behind the means to do so. Unfortunately for me, he seemed to have cleaned his own record from the registry somehow. While I could point my researchers to his storefront, it was like a single snapshot from an entire era of history taken without context.

I needed to know how he purchased his materials, who he did business with, and what his society looked like when it gave birth to BuyMort. I needed to find his home, in essence. Not just the black hole storefront his digital ghost operated out of, the entire society he had been a part of.

To that end I set my archaeologists to find out whatever they could in order to track down the physical location of the storefront. Ever since our last interaction, the storefront had been marked as sold out. But I knew there were more relics there. Specter's ghost wasn't helping us at all. It had self-destructed the instant I had fulfilled its programming requirements, shutting down and erasing itself. All that remained was the basic storefront AI, and it was limited to information about its available products, all of which were labeled as coming soon or temporarily out of stock.

The slow realization that I was going to have to come clean about my secret perk patches hovered in the back of my mind, but I couldn’t do that until I had stabilized the multiverse, at the very least. My perk patches gave me a massive advantage over literally every single living creature in the BuyMort system, including other starfish suit users. I had to wait.

But because the AI wouldn't speak without products to speak about, the sold out storefront was useless until I unlocked the patches.

My Buymort archeologists worked without that information, and started piecing together the various levels of fallen civilizations that came before our period of peace and prosperity. Chief among them, the Church.

Morties poured into the Knowle Institutes, but I was able to handwave any concerns away by claiming that I was funding an ongoing hunt for relics. To my business-minded underlings, I was simply seeking more morties.

Many of them played it off like it was a minor gambling habit. So long as I didn’t over fund the project, none of them complained, and certainly not to my face. My days were filled with mundane projects, keeping the affiliate moving and melding the way I wanted it to while keeping my detractors ignorant to my designs. Violence was rare, and with only the occasional dream storm or out of control BuyMort bug to deal with, my days drifted together more and more.

I was surprised when the second anniversary of my election victory rolled around, and the media started asking questions about a fresh electoral cycle. Instead, I sat down with Hris C’aze of SNN for an interview.

The studio in Prescott was dimmed, with lighting focused only on the table between me and the Nah’gh woman across from me. Everything was designed to make it feel comfortable, casual, non confrontational. I sat back in my chair and smiled at the Nah’gh woman across from me.

“Good evening BuyMort,” she started. “Tonight, on the eve of the second anniversary of his electoral victory, we have the CEO of Silken Sands. Mr. Dawes, I’ll lead with the most popular question in our polls, why have you decided to forgo the traditional election this year?”

I shrugged. “Didn’t seem like it was necessary. My approval numbers are pretty high and I’m right in the middle of several delicate projects. Storage alone is going to be a century-or-longer endeavor, I really can’t afford for all of that to be put at risk over an election. Lives are literally at stake.”

“Okay, follow up question then,” Hris C’aze said, glancing down at her mandatory sheet of paper. I frowned to see it actually had notes on it this time. “Does this mean you intend to do away with the election all together?”

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I smiled softly and nodded. “I see no reason to continue the tradition. It was only ever a show at any rate. A way for Axle to play up his accomplishments, make the public aware of the affiliate machinations he wanted them to be aware of.”

“Yet he did step down when you won the count, two years ago,” she countered.

“He stepped down before the count was finished,” I corrected. “He was ready to retire, to pass on the mantle. My return was simply good timing.”

“This affiliate has been a functioning democracy for decades. Are you telling us that the right to vote is no longer a foundational aspect of the Silken Sands affiliate?” Hris C’aze asked pointedly.

I nodded once more. “It was never foundational,” I corrected, sitting forward. “Back when it was just me selling spiderwebs and trying to take care of my friends, there was no voting. I gave orders, and they were followed. Today is no different, and that’s how an affiliate is successfully run within BuyMort. Look at my ongoing projects.”

“Tell us about one,” she said.

“Let’s talk donuts,” I replied. “One would think that Midnight’s sudden interest in donuts would be an easy desire to fulfill. Yet, our associate Another Donut Hole has no flour provider on the planet. In order to get the flour their new franchises need, we have to import it from here on Nu-Earth. That drives costs to the point of inaccessibility, even for the relatively wealthy folks on that planet.”

“What’s the tie-in to your decision not to have an election?” my host asked.

“I’m in the process of lowering costs through the seeding of various technology-based affiliates. Grow-houses for the flour, specifically. But each grow-house comes with a list of parts. Each part has its own cost, its own complexity in the acquisition process,” I rattled off. “In order to provide donuts as desired by the customers on Midnight, I’m having to provide an entire infrastructure system for the affiliate that makes the donuts. If I stopped to pay attention to a popularity contest, my work would never get done. That’s just one affiliate, out of thousands I’m currently working with, on various levels of various projects.”

In reality, the process I discussed was being laid out to eventually ensure each planet in the BuyMort system could stand on its own once I killed the network connecting them.

“I see,” Hris C’aze said, tapping a claw against her lower lip. “You’re saying the stability we’ve enjoyed the last couple of years is reliant on you staying in your position as CEO,” she stated. It wasn’t a question, but I nodded along anyway.

“Yes. I’m currently managing fourteen armed conflict zones across the BuyMort network. Down from forty-nine two years ago, but still something I need to keep my attention focused on. Peace and stability is more than a two-year project,” I explained. “And BuyMort is not a democracy. I find the act dishonest, the people of this great system are strong enough to accept their reality. I run Silken Sands and will continue to. I don’t have any motivation to step down, and don’t foresee myself ever developing that motivation.”

“Because you have a lot of work to do?” she asked, feigning disbelief.

“That’s exactly right,” I said. “I am answerable to my people, and so far all I’ve done is their bidding. Dream Crime is gone, a phenomena we can all remember, but no longer have to deal with. Military atrocities are being punished, BlueCleave is being reformed into the tool it was always meant to be. Affiliate profits are up, even my relic hunts have all paid for themselves.”

“But Save the Cubes remains a large draw on Silken Sands finances,” she interrupted. “A non-profit organization with a history of mismanaged funds, yet you seem to give them anything they ask for.”

I shrugged. “We can afford it, and it’s a good cause. What are morties for if not spending? I’d much rather spend my fortune on improving the system around us. Just look at the numbers coming out of Storage.”

“To put that statement in context for our viewers, Mr. Dawes is referring to a single digit reduction in the overall mortality rate for those sent to storage,” the Nah’gh host said to the camera.

“Yes, a single digit reduction in a megastructure that houses trillions. That’s a significant improvement to a massive population. It is important to remember that I have also reduced entrance rates to Storage. Fewer people than ever before are falling through the cracks, fewer people are becoming so desperate that they end up in Storage in the first place. Our prefabricated tunnel cities are also working, we’ve made each a safe place for Storage residents to try and work their way off the gas giant,” I explained.

“There’s a lot of context that goes along with that statement,” Hris C’aze rebutted, one claw raised. “Including the overall reduction of population within BuyMort. We’re at a record low for population numbers in general.”

“Yes,” I nodded. “The Church collapse was not an easy thing to survive, but my archeological teams are uncovering more and more of the civilization that came before the Church, a record contraction of the BuyMort system led to a population of only a few hundred million, scattered over a few universes that didn’t even trade with one another.”

That wasn’t true, strictly speaking. The civilization that predated the Church was assumed to have been massive, based on sales reports. It only contracted at its end, where a small handful of wealthy landowners formed the Church of BuyMort in order to control their own associates. From that system of noble houses another giant civilization had spawned, albeit one with structural issues that led to its downfall.

But the people at home didn’t need that particular bit of context. The last thing I wanted them to do was start pining for the good old days when BuyMort had been worshipped as a deity.

“I’ve been putting out fires and establishing long-term investments since I took the affiliate back,” I explained. “I’m not sure anyone really wants to interrupt all of that.”

“No, of course not,” Hris C’aze said.

The media’s support was unwavering. I was great for ratings, which was great for ad buys, which was great for the people who ran each media affiliate that profited from them. Their support ended up being structural. They profited from me, of course they propped me up in public.

“Tell me more about Another Donut Hole, are any further expansions expected? I’d love to see a franchise in every spaceport,” she beamed.

The rest of the conversation presented me as a busy yet relatable leader, exhaustively explaining the nitty gritty details that meant democracy was simply not profitable. By the end of the episode, desire for an election had faded by nine percent on Nu-Earth. A couple days later that number had grown by a healthy thirty-five percent.

People gave up what little stake they had in our power system, desperate for safety and stability. I promised both, while actually delivering in substantive, measurable ways, so they stopped caring that I was unwilling to give up my power.

Two years had passed in relative calm and quiet, while business chugged on ahead. The death of democracy was simply another cost of doing business. Quietly sacrificed and left behind.