Lars tapped his foot, nervously, under the glossy red table. He was back in that hateful red room with Tertiary: red walls, ceiling, floor. The whole thing set him on edge but he was required to sit there while the damn Cogitare lawyer paced.

The stocky, robed man walked his circle around the small room, hands clasped behind his back with a plasti-sheet dossier. Lars caught a fluoresce of the purple symbol on his sleeve as the bearded man rounded to the right. He really wished he would sit down.

“My staff believe our best strategy will be to emphasize the primitiveness of the population,” Tertiary said. “I’m inclined to agree.”

“Okay?” Lars studied the streak of light reflecting across the rectangular red tabletop.

“This is serious,” the lawyer said sternly. “We have a potential citizen rights violation, a hefty financial debt, and significant future costs to account for.”

“I know,” Lars said quietly, not looking up.

“We can’t refute that the incident happened,” Tertiary advised. His robe passed in front of Lars, becoming a dark backdrop to his study of the table. “The planet is gone. Their avatars exist. I would be laughed out of the courtroom.”

Lars pushed a hand against his thigh to steady his tapping, then lifted his gaze to the red wall ahead. The lawyer left his peripheral vision.

“If you can support FRC in this,” Tertiary intoned, “and we can lower their penalties, then they may have less cause to go after your government, which may then go easier on you.”

“Sorry, what?” Lars asked after a moment. What the hell kind of strategy was that? The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. His mind felt fuzzy. He scrunched his face towards the middle, trying to make it work better. “That sounds like a lot of maybes,” he said.

Tertiary paused in front of him and adopted a sage expression. “The tiku tiles fall one after another.”

Lars had never liked that game. He’d never understood the Cogitare obsession with it—or why they needed gaming houses in every Continuance city. Why would anyone want to play such a basic old game, when the entire Continuance is an option? At least the man had stopped pacing.

“Isn’t the population on FRC servers now?” Lars asked. He’d seen it on the news feeds and if they were, then maybe the fees issue…

“Oh, you heard about that?” The stout man stroked his short black beard. “FRC still wants licensing fees for the time on your government’s server. And then there’s the matter of ongoing user fees. Who’s going to pay those?”

Lars winced, then regretted the transparent expression.

“So, let’s get into the details.” Tertiary dropped his plasti-sheet onto the table and splayed his hands beside it. The clear plastic picked up the red of the surface and the text on it softly glowed.

“You wouldn’t want to sit down, would you?” Lars asked meekly.

Tertiary pressed his lips together as if chewing on the idea. Then he pulled out the empty red chair. It scraped as it moved. Finally, the man sat. He picked up the plasti-sheet, tapping the table with its edge, and then set it back down flat.

“So,” Tertiary began, “here’s what we’re going to do.”

Apparently, FRC was keeping records of everything the population was doing for use in the trial. Like the red room, as a partitioned instance, the usual privacy rights and protections didn’t apply. FRC had only had access since the server transfer, but Tertiary seemed pleased with how it was going. Lars was to corroborate some things when prompted.

“The Conglomerate is an advanced, peaceful society, spanning several planetary systems,” Tertiary preached. “The more they fight each other, the more they show their primitiveness. We can’t have that in The Conglomerate, now can we? And if there’s no place for them here… Well, you see where I’m going. It really is quite an elegant solution.”

Lars nodded slowly and stayed silent. He schooled his expression, feeling sick. No one deserved that. Whomever these F-311246.3 people were, it wasn’t right.

“Now, let’s talk about your pre-trial interview.” The lawyer rolled smoothly from one topic to the next. Lars could see why this man did well in a courtroom. “Discovery interviews will take place over the next two weeks and then we’re right on to trial. FRC wants this wrapped up quickly.”

Two standard weeks? Lars balked in his head. Whenever he’d heard of trials, they’d been scheduled seasons in advance. He knew FRC was powerful, but this was unprecedented.

Once, years ago, his uncle had gone to Conglomerate court over a business claim that Lars still didn’t fully understand. It wasn’t as big as this, but it had involved parties from another member-world and had still made the feeds. Uncle Aurilius had waited six seasons for it and, in the end, had only gotten half of the damages he’d been expecting.

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His uncle had kept assuring them that he’d come out on top when the case was over, but it was all a farce. Maybe the lawyers had misled him. His mother had always said lawyers aren’t trustworthy. Everyone knew that. And here Lars was, face-to-face with one too.

After the legal fees from Uncle Aurilius’ case, their family wasn’t left with much. Sure their compound looked grand, with its white columns and frescoes, but it had been that way for generations. No one could afford to build like that nowadays, even if they were doing well—no one on his planet, at least.

The family had been scraping by for years. So, in a way, that trial was what had led him here—from one Conglomerate trial to another. As was traditional, Lars routed most of his salary into the family accounts. His short-haul runs brought in a pittance compared to what FRC had offered for the Harvester run. No wonder so much of their labor force was from his world.

“Understand?” the Cogitare asked.

Lars stared back at the lawyer. He couldn’t help it. His mind glazed over whenever the legal jargon hit a certain threshold. He’d tuned out. “Can you send me a list in a transmit?”

“Very well,” the lawyer grated. “Do you have any questions?”

Lars shook his head.

###

Lars sat up in the immersion tank to find Grog staring down at him. The scaly creature watched him from the vanity, perched atop the white towel he’d laid out. Lars wiggled his shoulders, fingers, toes. He extended his arms and flexed his feet, finding where everything was in real space. Then he removed the sense gloves one finger at a time.

“Were you waiting for me, little buddy?”

Grog slow-blinked, tail curled around his plump scaly body.

“I’ll be out in a moment.”

Lars sighed, thinking about how he used to feel in this room. It was his portal to friends and family—the rest of the universe, really. Sure he was traveling across the stars with this ship, but its narrow gray hallways confined him. He was locked onto his destination. He might as well be stuck at home.

Lars itched to explore, having seen nothing but gray walls and red for two standard weeks. If he’d known his last time under was the last… Well, he wouldn’t have spent it in the city. Sure, it was nice to feel like you were eating actual food and it would have been tough to ditch his mother, but she would have gotten over it eventually. What he wouldn’t give to get out there one more time.

“I spent 50 million credits on the dining upgrades for us,” Lars imagined her lecture. “You won’t spend time with your own mother?”

Lars wondered if his cousin had been questing without him. He probably had. It had been two weeks. He and Amu had had a video transmit a few days back, but Lars didn’t have the heart to ask. They had been exploring the night zone. It was Amu’s pick. Lars really wanted to check out the newest one, but they weren’t high enough level yet.

Going under used to be the highlight of his day—except for the day sensors picked up F-311246.3, maybe. But that had backfired. Lars sighed and hoisted himself onto the floor, iridescent e-sol puddling.

“Sorry, Grog, I need that.” Lars gently encouraged the creature to move to the side. Damn thing was being stubborn today. “Good thing you’re cute.” Lars chuckled and transferred Grog to the floor.

“Rah.”

“I know.”

Lars began drying off.

“There might be a pet interface next release.” Lars switched to a baby-talk voice, “You going to come explore with cousin Amu?”

Grog slow-blinked.

Lars wondered how they would handle that. Level cap was the total population’s average +20%, rounded down to the highest increment of 10. The teaser had hinted that they’d be different from generated class pets, and even those had levels.

There’s no way they can treat them like travelers, right? Lars reasoned it out. People might actually riot if it impacts the average too much. There was no way they’d count against that like people.

The boards estimated that the next release would happen this year. Lars had spent a lot of time reading them over the last two weeks. He was partially restricted, so he couldn’t post anything, but it was something to do. FRC had dropped hints, like the pet news, and there would be one new zone at minimum. Whether there would be another specialization at 100 though—that’s what had the boards on fire.

Lars needed to get back out there. Beyond scratching the itch, he had a ways to go to Level 99. He could understand why leveling was designed to take so long, but wished he was at cap already.

Rumor was that nearly half the early Operators got isolation sickness. Once they introduced The Continuance, that all changed. With the early version, the risk dropped to 6%—that was a widely publicized stat—and then when they lifted the sensory feedback dampener it shot down to a fraction of a percent. As long as there was more content and it felt real enough to trick his brain, Lars had nothing to worry about—if he could get back out there.

“Rah.”

Lars went cold. His stomach dropped. He hadn’t moved Grog. Was the ship beeping again while he was under? He strained his ears.

“By the five,” Lars cursed and scrambled to put on clothes.

He dropped the towel and hurriedly stepped on it, leaving it to wick up e-sol. He scooped up Grog and, cradling the creature under one arm, traipsed into the narrow hallway. His bare feet pushed against the grit of the anti-slip flooring, propelling him towards the cockpit.

“Report,” he commanded the AI.

“Harvest elements stable,” the dry female voice responded. “Power consumption within optimal range. All systems nominal.”

Lars scanned the panels of switches, buttons, and mini-displays for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing flashing. Nothing out of place. He searched the large upper displays. He’d left an exterior feed running, like usual: blackness pinpricked with stars.

Lars shifted Grog to his front and slumped down to the swivel chair with relief. He turned to face forward. Grog had somehow gotten a streak of e-sol on his head; it glistened as he nestled closer to Lars’ torso and more body heat. Lars attempted to wipe it off with his sleeve.

“Come on, doofus,” Lars chided as the creature squirmed.

Grog jumped away to the dash with a muted thwump.

“Fine, I didn’t want to sit with you either.”

The stars looked so peaceful in the exterior feed. Lars watched them for a time, thinking.

“Initiate secure video transmit request,” he finally said.

“Please clarify. Would you like to initiate a transmit or initiate the approval process?”

“Approval process.”

“Stand by.”

Lars reached up and stroked Grog down his back with a finger. The creature leaned into it happily.

“That’s right, little buddy. We’re going to get our own lawyer.”