Vulcan, the first planet in the TRAPPIST-1 system, was harsh and desolate, with temperatures reaching 1,200 degrees calciums. When the first colonists had arrived to the system, terraforming of Vulcan had been deemed too difficult and costly, and so people had settled on the core worlds; Dominia, Icara and Aqra. From there, and for any number of reasons, people gradually spilled outwards to set up lives on the outer planets. They made their way towards the star in the center of the system, settling on Marona, Rodite and then Vulcan. Frozen Frigus, sitting at the outer rim of the system, was the last to see any permanent residents, and mostly served as a way station for ships passing through the system. Now, tens of generations and thousands of years later, Vulcan was home to around half a million people. Almost nobody lived on the surface, only the scrappers braved the magma oceans and constant radiation. Most everyone lived in subterranean settlements on the dark side of the planet, built deep to avoid solar winds. The settlements were built in clusters, generally two or three settlements in a 25 kilometer area, with long distances between the clusters. The clusters had originally been independent, and had developed a clan system, but the costs of maintenance had been too high. This had allowed galactic companies to come in ‘sponsor’ the clusters. The arrival of the companies had changed life on Vulcan. Before, people had cooperated with each other, survival and providing for their families had been their only concern. Now, the companies pitted the clans against each other, vying to prove their superiority over each other.

Red was tired, like really tired. Six months ago, her clan had received word that a new settlement was set up on the light side of the planet. It still astounded her when she thought about it. Things had been the same for generations on Vulcan. Yes, the clans were always fighting, but there was a sense of stability. That had been completely thrown out in the past few months. Her clan was in a cluster that was the nearest to the new settlement, and so had been the focus of their raids. They had lost a lot of surface infrastructure, the tech the newcomers had was just superior to what Red’s clan had been given by their sponsors. It all just felt unfair, their life had been hard before, but now it felt wrong. She stood in an elevator cage as it descended from the surface bunker to the settlement. The cage was wide enough for four people wearing surface suits. It had a solid floor, but otherwise only a metal mesh separated her from the walls. She leaned against one of the mesh walls, mind drifting as she spoke with her brother through the voice system in her suit. The members of Red’s family all looked similar. They all had some shade of auburn hair, button noses, brown eyes and pale, usually dirty, skin. Red’s brother stood a hand taller than her, but neither of them would be considered tall. Most Vulcans had similar builds, relatively compact thanks to the high gravity, but wiry, as if their bodies were built to be functional rather than aesthetic. They had been talking about nothing at all, passing the time, and after a while a silence had settled. They still had a few more minutes before they reached the bottom, and it was Red who spoke up. Her voice sounded raspy, thanks to the comm system “You know we cant keep doing this, Leon. It’s not fair, they aren’t even one of the clans.” She couldn’t see her brothers face through his suit, but he turned towards her and shrugged “What choice do we have? We either defend what is ours, or we let them take it.” Her brother had just turned twenty, two years her elder, and his voice was rough and deep. “That they aren’t of the clans is exactly why we must defend ourselves. We can’t let outsiders take from us.” “We could contact the other clans,” she replied, “This will eventually affect them too.” Her brother snorted in reply “Do you really think those radiation-baked fuckers will actually come and help us? They will be laughing at our misfortune right up until the shadow lands on their doorstep.” She knew their sponsor, an asteroid mining company from the Kepler-90 system, would be of no help. The clan head had contacted them, but as far as they were concerned, it was not worth investing any more money in the clan. They were alone, only able to rely on each other. She wouldn’t, couldn’t accept this. She would find another way to protect her clan, whatever it took.

Imperial Secretary Harding was considered by many to the second most powerful person in the empire, behind only the sovereign. In truth, he was the cog at the center of the machine, the true driving force of the Galactic Empire. Only seldom did he confer with the sovereign, leaving them to handle the hand shaking and smiling that he himself did not have time or patience for. Irritation mingled with curiosity as he awaited the commencement of the meeting with the Reseed representative. That she could demand a meeting on such short notice displayed the influence that the Reseed held across the systems. He sat in his mobile office aboard his system hopper, a small ten person craft roughly fifty meters in length. The ship was designed to be able to quickly travel long distances, in order to carry him to wherever his influence was needed. His office was nothing more than a perfectly square room, and looked like the inside of a black cube, straight walls rising on every side. In the center sat a massive mahogany desk, and behind that, in a brown leather chair, sat Harding. He had allowed himself to age, permitting gray to speckle his void black hair. His jaw sat strong and square, with a prominent nose and blue eyes under thick black eyebrows. He was dressed cleanly, a black dress shirt over black dress trousers, the clothes fitting his strong build perfectly. He had a dizzying number of virtual screens opened up around him, visible only to his eyes via his implant. Each held information and state secrets that would boggle the mind of the average civilian, but to him, it was all absolutely mundane. He worked that way, taking in and reacting to the information around him, giving orders to all sides of the empire, right up until the Reseed showrunner appeared in the middle of the room, the image beamed there from her capital ship which was headed to the TRAPPIST-1 system. The virtual screens pushed to the sides of the room, leaving him to look upon his visitor.

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Elizabeth Anderson was a direct descendant of the creator of the Reseed, and had been trained for the role of showrunner since she was a child. Harding knew that the role was more complex than just organising the games, involving the handling of all finances and business decisions related to the estate of the creator. It was a role of no small political importance, a position that had been hammered out as the Reseed’s popularity grew across the systems. She looked to be in her mid twenties, but he knew she had been showrunner for the last thirty years, and in that time her appearance hadn’t changed at all. The woman was attractive, same as anyone of means with access to gene editing and advanced cosmetics, but as he understood she had kept her image roughly original. Her black hair was cut to her shoulders, and her blue eyes were highlighted by her olive colored skin. She wore a gray jumpsuit, and her hands flicked as if across an invisible keyboard. He knew she probably had just as many screens open as he did. She inclined her head to him “Imperial Secretary Harding, thank you for meeting with me. I know you are busy, so let’s keep this short.” He sat up in his chair and opened his hands in a welcoming gesture “Miss Anderson, what can I do for you.” He didn’t have time for pleasantries, but then neither did she “Let me be direct. There will be changes to the event this year. We need to adjust some things, people want something new.” She pushed on, words concise. “In accordance with the original contract, this is me telling you that major changes will be made to the format of the Reseed. I am also confirming that the shard has been consulted, and he has given his assent.” Harding felt his annoyance fizzle out, curiosity completely winning him over. “In accordance with the original contract, I stand as witness to your words. The sites for the application process have been prepared for you on each planet in the system. You should have already received all of the necessary clearances,” he said. She nodded at his words. “Thank you, Imperial secretary. Yes, we received them and my team has everything ready to go,” then added “Full disclosure, we will be allowing the sponsors to have more of a hand in the event. This may result in some,” she paused briefly, as if looking for the right word, “escalations. I apologise in advance for any problems this may cause for you politically,” So this is why she had wanted to meet him, intending to broach the subject before it caused any issues further down the road. Frankly, he was shocked, the Reseed had always operated according to strict guidelines set by it’s creator, though he knew that their profits had been trending down the past number of years. Why would the shard have agreed to this? He pondered the thought for a moment, before nodding to her “Thank you for your candor, miss Anderson, and thank you for your concern.” He offered her a smile. “But I believe I will be able to keep the children in line.” He thought for a moment, before pushing on “Let me also be direct with you. How did you convince him?” Uncertainty flickered on her face as she pursed her lips, and crossed her arms, before answering, “I didn’t have to, he agreed to it almost immediately.” Outwardly he remained composed, but internally Harding scrambled. This was big, a red flag impossible to ignore. The shard had not deviated from the guidelines since the Reseed had launched, and the guidelines were strongly against letting outside individuals directly affect the games. What was it that he didn’t see. Their business concluded, the meeting ended, leaving Harding to consider why the consciousness of the creator, the AI shard, had changed it’s mind.