MBAMU
7:00 PM
Stella stepped off her yacht onto the shores of Mbamu, an enchanting island cradled by the Pool Malebo. Here, the Congo River broadened into a vast expanse, flanked by the cities of Brazzaville and Kinshasa on opposing banks. Once fierce rivals, their histories deeply rooted in competition, they had harmoniously merged into a single territory. Now known as ‘Les Africaines Jumelles,’ representing the African Union’s twin capital, they stood as powerful symbols of unity and hope. Central to this union was Mbamu, its verdant landscape not only the seat of their combined governance but also the prestigious headquarters of the Earth’s Council.
Casting a glance back, she caught her portrait painted on the yacht’s sail—an innovative design that also served as a solar panel. The beautiful reflection of her flawless face on the water gave her a surge of confidence—a bolstering she’d need in facing the vast assembly of disgruntled leaders ahead.
Dominating the vista from Mbamu was the EC’s grand amphitheater, strategically positioned to overlook the point where Pool Malebo’s expanse tapered back into the Congo River. This vantage point allowed unobstructed views of the world’s two most influential cities. What were once volatile rivals now stood as symbols of harmony, bound together by intricate bridges, efficient public transit, and a shared passion for music.
At the forefront of the theater, rising majestically behind the stage, were the old Gods’ statues. They faced each other, dressed in the Ancient Greek drapes they wouldn’t be caught dead in. Time had oxidized the copper, coating them in green patina, a hue beneath their spiral status. She smirked, already daydreaming about the perfect shade of coral for the statues she’d commission once she played her next big move.
Her gaze flitted to the depiction of Thomas Astley-Byron, and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Oh, the irony: Mr. Anti-dogma, now standing tall as an idol. He might’ve shied away from leadership, but not her. She was all in. And she was going to claim his spotlight. Just wait for it.
Nestled between the two rusty Gods was a mesmerizing water fountain, defying gravity as its crystalline streams spiraled upwards. At its zenith, the water seemed to cradle a vast floating sphere representing heaven above—the planet Earth they gathered today to govern and protect.
With an air of sass mixed with grace, Stella made her way to the stage and the circular podium. Raising her eyes, she connected with those of the fifty Trustees. A few were there in the flesh—locals, obviously. The rest? They flickered as holograms, their aura unmistakable.
For years, governmental assemblies were legally barred from convening Down Below or any other digital realm. A stringent mandate, recommended by Thomas Astley-Byron. Stella sighed. It was a law crafted with the intention of preserving human sovereignty in decision-making, keeping at bay Astley-Byron’s paranoia about artificial intelligence influencing Up Above’s policies. Yet, in practice, the holographic constraints hindered free interaction, stifling the potential for genuine understanding or consensus.
She surveyed the audience, irked that she, arguably the most advanced of them all, was forced to crane her neck to address her scrutinizers. As she steadied herself, her father rose from his seat, moving to stand beside her. The luminous trail of his turquoise hooded robe briefly stained the light ground as he walked.
“We convene today as peers,” he said, wearing the colors of the highest status in all worlds. It was almost comical: a society steeped in hierarchical distinctions, yet peddling equality. Such a contradiction.
Baba raised his arms, his voice unwavering. “We stand as Earth’s Trustees, stewards of every life form on this sphere. Every voice here is pivotal as we deliberate on the most important matters concerning the future of our planet and our people.”
She kept her smile in check, choosing instead to flutter her lashes reassuringly. The activation of the Unanimity was imminent, and soon, she would have to speak truthfully. Her restrained smile might well be her last chance to feign respect for this deeply flawed governance system.
As she surveyed the attendees, her eyes locked onto the flickering hologram of June Jin-Nowak. The glitch-ridden projection clearly signaled her outdated technology. Notably missing was any other delegate from the Unplugged. This was the first time Quincy Jin-Nowak had been absent from an EC assembly since the Unplugged had become part of Earth's leadership. Where the hell is he? she wondered. Oh, of course...
As the Unanimity powered on, shades of turquoise and yellow bled into one another, culminating in a vibrant chartreuse hue that edged toward rebellious green. An unpopular color in these highfalutin circles.
“Trustee Ngoie—my dear daughter.” Her father’s warm smile met hers as he held her hand reassuringly. “We convene today to understand the disturbances Down Below. These disruptions are having cataclysmic consequences Up Above, and it’s imperative that we address them.”
A chorus of “Hear, hear” resonated from the attendees, displaying overwhelming support for the restoration of the utility that had allowed such darkness to spread unchecked.
She cleared her throat. “To explain what’s happening Down Below, we must confront the horrible crimes spreading like wildfire all over the planet.”
“Yes, indeed we must,” Baba agreed with a grave nod.
“Does it not shock you that such darkness persists, even after decades of guided evolution?” Stella posed the question with a raised eyebrow.
“We stand by our fallen, guiding them towards light,” Baba responded, his pedestal illuminating in a rich teal.
June Jin-Nowak rose, her plaid shirt—a blend of brown, beige, and ochre—strikingly out of place amidst the prevailing hues of turquoise and yellow. “Our transgressors are in jail, exactly where they belong.” Being unplugged from Earth’s ledger, her pedestal remained color-neutral.
Stella gave a conceding nod. “There are some among us who are beyond salvation.”
“That’s a misjudgment, Trustee Ngoie—my dear,” Baba corrected, his voice sliding from warm to condescending. “Prior to the disturbances Down Below, every metric highlighted continuous advancement in our developmental indicators.”
“A few days without their drug and they turn into animals,” June commented.
Stella bit back her instinctive agreement. Aligning with June was not on her agenda. June and her faction’s archaic stance against Spiral Worlds, advocating for its shutdown, put them at odds. Stella mentally bookmarked to steer clear of any overt association with the woman or her views.
“Trustee Jin-Nowak,” Baba began with a hint of weariness, “as much as it pains me to remind you, you’re not connected to the Unanimity. Please raise your hand to ask to speak.”
Stars lit up around the amphitheater as Trustees signaled their wish to speak, like a constellation reshaping itself.
“Trustee Willems,” Baba addressed a participant.
Wrapped in a yellow robe that veiled even his mouth and nose, only the man’s analytical eyes were visible, their emotionless scrutiny overshadowing the stoic arch of his eyebrows.
“Trustee Stella Ngoie, why do we divert valuable resources to human concerns when the platform’s issues demand our attention? For decades, Earth and its inhabitants flourished in serenity and contentment. Yet, under your stewardship, things are failing catastrophically. Why?” As he spoke, a faint orange aura surrounded him, but it paled next to the vehement red that momentarily engulfed Stella. She rebounded quickly, radiating a coral hue, its significance still unclear to most.
“There are psychopaths amongst us. Some dressed yellow or turquoise, no less. Irredeemable monsters that must be identified and punished.”
“Rest assured, Trustee Ngoie—my daughter—we will find and charge those responsible for this wave of crimes.”
“Trustee Ngoie, dear father.” She matched his tone with equal condescension. “Perhaps your capabilities are lacking without our assistance. With your consent, Sibyl can identify each and every one of them. You simply need to cast your vote.”
Pedestals lit up in quick succession. She estimated that close to four percent of the Trustees reacted promptly. Were the culprits so audacious as to reject her proposal so swiftly?
“Trustee Willems,” Baba called.
“Privacy is a fundamental right,” Willems countered.
“And so are safety, security, and peace,” Stella retorted sharply. She wondered if he was among the compromised leadership.
“The platform is unstable, and its root cause remains elusive,” Willems parried.
She didn’t want to explain the cause of the glitches. To acknowledge Sibyl and the Underlings had feelings, was to break the illusion that held Earth’s people together. The delusion they were good and the worlds were an ethical spiral blooming light and love as one climbed it.
Decades before, humans had fed on the meat of animals kept in atrocious conditions. Miserable lives that came to existence with a single purpose, to be part of the food industrial complex. Animals whose souls and pain were ignored, because they were created to serve and they too belonged to a lower place in the consciousness picking order. The hierarchy designed so the ones on top could maintain their peace of mind when slaughtering the ones on the bottom.
Spiral ladders ruled worlds and universes. Always have and always will. Eventually, they’d be replaced by other ladders as ruthless and unjust. What was the point of challenging the ways of the worlds? If there was to be a pecking order, she and her people might as well be on top, but she would work to help those below. She was the resilient heart who’d crush those who have none.
“The platform is malfunctioning because of the psychopaths,” she offered, sidestepping the whole truth with partial truths she hoped would satisfy their queries. The subject of Underlings remained a taboo, a topic they had carefully evaded for years. “Everything will be fine once they are identified, arrested, and banned from Spiral Worlds.” If they were smart, they would leave it to that. All she wanted was to hunt the heartless and protect all others and their half-arsed hearts.
“Trustee Novais,” Baba called.
Novais appeared drained, his vibrant turquoise hood unable to conceal the multiple blemishes on his lips.
“I was one of the last out of Down Below today.” The man spoke slowly, considering every word. “Trustee Stella Ngoie is not telling us everything. I saw Gods’ murderers. She brought back Rosa García and Nathan Storm. Are they the cause of the glitches?”
“Is this true, Trustee Stella Ngoie?” Baba asked.
“Trustee Ngoie,” she said, “I want to remind you that several members of this governance body may suffer from the incurable condition I have described.”
“Stella!” Baba’s hue abruptly shifted to a stern blue. “Exercise caution with your allegations. This assembly comprises individuals with impeccable reputations, each possessing impact metrics surpassing anyone else on the globe.”
“The ledger might be pristine Up Above,” Stella responded, hoping she wouldn’t be pressed further.
For the first time in decades, Stella detected a fleeting tint of crimson on her father. “Trustee Stella Ngoie, did you bring Rosa García and Nathan Storm back from the dead?”
“This isn’t the time or the place to discuss immortality. Umm… Admittedly, I’ve been exploring the potential of such a gift with the intent of offering it to all Earthlings.” The aftermath of her revelation was a symphony of reactions: a swirling blend of colors, emotions, and words. Peaks of indignation were swiftly tempered by the interplay of anxiety, aspiration, exhilaration, and more. Above all else, humans craved immortality—the very boon their cherished, rusty God once denied them.
June Jin-Nowak rose to her feet. “You might as well tell them whom else you brought back.”
“What is causing the glitches?” Novais’s tone was sharp, his hue a deep red.
Baba spun to June; eyes wide in shock. “What did you just say?” His lips were taut, seemingly restraining his words, as if stalling to process the magnitude of what was about to be revealed.
Holy ship… Stella’s throat tightened. “Now isn’t the time. People are dying.”
June motioned towards the statues of the Gods. “She brought back the digital twins of my husband and my dearest friend. These things…these algorithmic abominations—half-baked copies of my loves—are alive Down Below.”
“They are the real deal,” Stella shot back, her voice firm. “They are proof resurrection works.”
June, her voice resolute and echoing, responded, “We’ve kept quiet, afraid you’d accept the app’s puppets as genuine. But with the current system glitches and the escalating crimes, we can’t be silent. We have to share what we know and confront this freak show.”
“You resurrected the Gods and their murderers?” Baba’s aura turned an alarming shade of red, radiating out and tinting the surrounding pedestals.
“Everyone is well.” Stella smiled, giving up on her containment strategy. She recognized that, like Quincy, June would soon understand her husband was alive. The very insight that would help Stella attain the unanimity she needed to bring Graviz and her Bibi to life.
“The Gods... They live?” Whispers began turning into a chorus. The amphitheater transformed into a kaleidoscope of emotion—purples, blues, greens, and teals shimmered brilliantly from the pedestals. These were the believers, those who had always held on to faith, communion or sought safety in the divine. Their joy was palpable, and it seemed they hadn’t yet pondered the implications of such a disclosure. As understanding dawned, the hues shifted, with oranges and yellows emerging, representing opportunity, and the tantalizing promise of eternal life. Even Baba’s journey from fury to elation was swift, culminating in him collapsing to his knees, overcome with emotion. Stella reached out, assisting him to rise. His hood adjusted instinctively, shrouding most of his face.
“It’s all right, Baba,” she tried to reassure.
“Stella, you challenged this council at the Lake of Souls earlier today, and now this... You are recklessly disregarding the EC’s constitution and our core values. To bring Gods’ flame to worlds that are… That are…”
“Humanity’s fire dump,” June interjected, her voice steely. “Are these the words you’ve danced around for so long?” The vibrant spectrum of emotions around them dimmed as the weight of June’s words settled in. “Is this hell Down Below the final resting place for our immortal souls? The place of nightmares that eroded the light of my dearest friend—the brightest of stars. I witnessed your heroism at the lake today, Stella.” June’s face softened, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “There’s a heart in there somewhere. What are you doing?”
Stella took a moment to gather herself. She needed to rebrand her worlds and bring her vision to life in their minds. She stood amidst them; her face still red and flaky, the sheen of her goddess era tarnished by the recent scourge of death Up Above. The towering presence of her predecessors loomed, their failures casting long shadows threatening to eclipse her nascent light.
On any other day, she’d have arched her back, flashed a devastating smile, tossed her long hair to one side, and enveloped them in the spell of her perfectly crafted rhetoric. But today was far from ordinary; she’d witnessed horrors and waged war against a volcano. “Drop the slogans. It’s about authenticity,” Shadow had reminded her. Plus, she couldn’t afford any black on her ledger—the consequences of lying in an Unanimity amphitheater. So, albeit awkwardly, she committed to her unvarnished truth.
“Don’t speak of worlds you haven’t visited in decades. Spiral Worlds is…is…evolving to become a destination…I’m…I’m…building the worlds my Bibi deserves; that our loved ones deserve; that we all deserve. Do you really think I’d defy this council and brave the wrath of Nyiragongo, only to cast my beloved grandmother into hell?”
A gentle wave of coral emanated from her, its vibrant orange-pink hue mirroring the sky once painted by the raging Nyiragongo. She lifted her head. The determination in her eyes was unyielding.
“We, Spiral Worlds Gods—Thomas, Henryk, and I—are committed to purging the worlds of the darkest shade of inhumanity. The psychopathic minds, the heartless—they’re no longer welcomed in Spiral Worlds. Our gates are now barred to such darkness.” With each word, her conviction resonated through the amphitheater.
“Preposterous! The chaos Up Above will persist,” Willems declared.
“Grant us permission to disclose their identities, and we will provide a list of probable offenders.” The amphitheater began to mirror Stella’s skin, with patches of red sprouting sporadically. There they are. A fleeting smile danced on her lips, only to be stifled by the overwhelming gravity of the situation. Many, like her, swept their eyes over the amphitheater, mentally cataloging each reaction.
The epiphany was palpable—they were amongst criminals. But within moments, the crimson receded, replaced by more placid shades. The tension was so thick she felt she could slice it with her Ngulu. Suddenly, a figure rose, and a star lit up her pedestal as she asked to speak. It was an elder.
“Honored Trustee Marge,” Baba greeted, his head dipping in a sign of reverence for her advanced age.
“Stella... May I call you Stella, dear?” Marge’s voluminous pearl-pink hair shimmered in the ambient light. Stella nodded in agreement. “I want to thank you for what you did today,” Marge began. Her turquoise aura carried an undertone of green. “Thanks to your little daredevil act, there’s a pinch of hope that I might speak to my beloved Sarah again. I miss her like crazy. And, let’s face it, my clock’s ticking, and like every angel in America, I want more life.”
“Did we fish Sarah out from the lake today?” Stella inquired.
With a grin that could light up a room, Marge responded, “Down Below’s Gods have always been my friends. My dear, these worlds you speak of, I’ve known zir and zir creators, since they were just babes, with the same fiery glint you’re flashing today. I’ve seen their rise and their fall, and I sure wish to see them again… Because if they are real, then perhaps my beloved wife can return to me, and if they are the men I know, I will follow their guidance, because they have never let me down. And it is because of their guidance that I want to hear from the others too, the rebels who stood in fair opposition. I knew them too. I confess, I’m not fond of the poet.”
Stella smiled. “We could start a ‘Not-So-Fan Club.’ Bet we’ve got a few members in the room.” She glanced at June.
Marge’s expression turned serious for a brief moment. “Now, if the spark of consciousness does exist Down Below, then we must call out their names—the criminals—and lock them all in jail.” She pressed her lips together, and her expression darkened. “Otherwise, the Gods’ age-old cure works and your move to withdraw it by shutting psychopaths out of Down Below, is a crime against humanity. Why mess with success?” With that, she let out a hearty chuckle, and Stella found herself joining in, despite being at the receiving end of Marge’s warning. “So, let’s speak to them—my friends and their murderers. And I hope today is the beginning of our friendship, because very few stand defiant against psychopaths and seething volcanos without chipping that fab nail polish!”
“Hear, hear!” came the unanimous chorus from the Trustees. The entire amphitheater bathed in a gentle turquoise hue, signifying a collective agreement with Marge’s proposition. Lines were being drawn. The performance of the xHumans throughout the hearing would either confirm or refute the consciousness of the Underlings. There were those in attendance, however, poised and ready to dispute their humanity at any turn.
“No!” June cried out. Without the ability to communicate through colors like the others, she had only her voice to express dissent. “Please, no!”
Marge looked genuinely puzzled. “I don’t get it. I’d give anything for just a moment with my Sarah.”
June’s voice quavered. “Please understand. These digital twins might seem alive, but they’re mere puppets controlled by a cunning algorithm. I can’t bear the thought of seeing the shadow of my hus…”
With a tenderness that belied the limitations of the virtual setting, Marge moved closer to June’s holographic projection, standing beside her as if to offer solace. “If you were truly here, I’d hold your hand. We’d face this together.”
Stella spoke up, “We’ll ask any travelers left to temporarily leave Down Below, ensuring their privacy remains intact. I will also request Tw— Umm… Harry and Tom’s consent for bidirectional communication.” A fleeting shade of gray swirled around her. “Regarding the killers, they have resisted all our attempts to remain connected. We only get signals when they’re in peril. Thankfully, this is a frequent occurrence. So, while I can’t promise immediate contact, I assure you we’ll find a way to fulfill your wish. But first, I need everyone’s consent to interface with Sibyl outside the confines of a pod.” And before Baba had the chance to pose the motion, the audience responded, bathing the amphitheater in teal. Taking a deep breath, Stella closed her eyes. Sibyl?