this is approximately a 42 minute read.

On the Rise of Neo-CapDems

It was an international political shift when the – then called – “homeless” population was designated a protected demographic in 2067. As the climate wars were winding down, protectionism was becoming vilified worldwide, and the global multitude of small communities began generally condemning Capitalistic Governance as a failed system; the remaining governments – which were almost universally still under their influence – were pressured by public demand into using the state power to institute significant protects for the economically destitute. This was in stark contrast to the mindset of decades before in which they were only to be seen as a blight on corporate interest. For many in society, these protections for the exceptionally poor were the first official recognition that economic influences ought to be treated as foreign adversaries; shifting allegiance of the “monopoly on violence” to those that targeted exploitation rather than corporate disruption.

In hindsight, this was damage control. There was a fear at the time – due to a genuine threat of realized revolutions – that without taking extreme actions such as this and instituting a baseline living standard for the world population, the traditional governments would have been entirely overthrown (similar to what happened with the federal US Capitalist Democrats).  The term “urban nomads” replaced the designation of “homeless” a few years later as a way of using postmodernism to separate the negative stigma of the group from the new status. While this quickly caught on worldwide, the origins were in France (“nomades urbains”), Palestine (“البدو الحضريون”), and China (“城市游牧者”); all of which implemented the new names into their regulations independent of one another.

The Fall of Babylon – Lequain Keitel – published February 14, 2072

In the 2050s, when the climate wars were tearing cities apart and the population was at the most destitute, some of the urban nomads used a chain of abandoned office suites as an egalitarian neutral ground. They shared food and stored what excess they could manage for anyone that came after. The constitution of the location was born around one key idea: selflessness, even in a time of absolute protectionism. Being a manifestation of the Blanket Noria – which itself was the intersection of capital distrust, rejection of institutional dehumanizing, and the rise of Otherness Supremacy; the small portion of serenity in a world of carnage was embraced by all.

This location – as many other safe havens around the world –  continued to grow creating a culture around it. The influx of the community necessitated a different type of space and – around 40 years ago – the offices were gutted to make room for a vast dining area. The Kitchen had proven itself and it became integrated as a continued place of diplomacy, common ground, congregation, and a steady supply of donated meals. When it became too contained for continued population growth, the side wall was torn open signifying that the idea was no longer to be “contained”. The staff has since been negotiating with other similar efforts in other cities to create vast network chains to ensure that local shortages aren’t a long term issue. The rotating staff, constant outreach, and community support all constantly come together to ensure it remains a monument to the ideals for which it formed while adapting to the changing environment.

Even being an hour and a half early for the official start time, there were already over 20 people starting to clean and prepare food. The space could easily accommodate a few hundred at a time to enjoy a meal given the seating arrangements, but – with large gatherings – the open side is expanded and the surrounding area is incorporated as well. The expected crowd for this evening will be no different and I lend assistance, helping to set the overflow tables and seats along with the overhead tarp to protect for the elements in case the weather doesn’t agree. Empty space is accounted for enabling people to inevitably bring blankets or their own small setups.

At 1638 hours, everything is set and all double checks are made, allowing for 20ish minutes before the official start time. I walk inside to see the last few beneficiaries arriving with their prearranged meals. Tess and – from the posture I assume – Lilith carrying in two massive pots, both being helped by some others. I could only imagine how they managed to transport it here. They both catch my eye and give me a smile (unable to wave hello) in recognition. I make the excuse that they are currently occupied and move to see if I’m needed elsewhere (trying to ignore the earlier memory of the encounter with Joshua). Despite my attempts, all positions seem to have been managed by CoDaS causing any additional hands to be excessive.

Near the end of my attempt at offering assistance, I receive a message from Aspen: are you here? I initiate a chat which also prompts an avatar to arrive on the AugRel. The virtual representation typically assists in relaying body language so the micromovements won’t be lost on the audience, but in Aspen’s atypical fashion, the physical 173 centimeter pear frame I saw this morning isn’t used; instead, a copper shetland pony with a mane that covers its eyes appears start talking to me as if nothing is out of the ordinary. The absurdity of a meter tall horse walking through the kitchen filled with upwards of 30 different sanitary stations causes me to grin like a fool; a result which typically seems to be the point with Aspen.

We talk for a few minutes about what they’ve been doing and where they are currently. Aspen has been here for around 20 minutes helping with the prep-work. Sazz and Harper had been socializing with people from the community, eventually finding themselves sitting down with the curator on call, Tim, in the main dining area. Aspen met up with them while Harper started playing with another slightly older kid in the same area where they still remain. It’s always impressed me that Aspen can hold multiple conversations at the same time. Even after I meet up with them, the pony avatar still stands beside Aspen – begging for a scratch while Aspen “ignores” it. After causing me to audibly chuckle, Aspen gives a mischievous smirk while dismissing the avatar; it dances – synchronizing all four legs into some fancy footwork – while it gets blown away on a virtual wind. 

The sitting area is located just past food bars, organized with various different tables which are themselves littered with a handful of helpers that are socializing before the activities start. “…around 30 people helping prep! This is an amazing turn out. We tend to only have 20ish at the most. I don’t know if it’s the weather cooling down, the shortening of days, the upcoming holiday seasons, maybe it’s people getting nostalgic for nationalism from 9/11… maybe it’s a bit of all; but this time of year is always a bit more busy.” As I approach the smaller wooden table where my party is located, Tim stands briefly and offers me a firm handshake. It’s a traditional greeting that isn’t seen much in the consensus, but the customs of the past are still fairly prevalent for those that are on good terms with the CapDems. The manager is best described as stout: balding, short, but confident and sturdy; reminding me of a small kindly furnace. “Kyle, always good to see you!”

“Same as always, Tim. Did you make all the arrangements with the East coast branch?” We both sit, while the pony avatar does its thing and makes me laugh.

The question catches Tim off guard and is confused for a moment while remembering the context, the jovelant expression renews after the revelation, “Oh! Yes! They… it took some work but our networks have been connected ever so tenuously. I’m sure after some time we will have an easy and dependable way to get additional food to needy people when there are local shortages. And vice versa of course!” It’s an impressive achievement to pull the East Coast in. From what’s been indicated, they have had their hands full with overseas distributions. Multiple times in years past, there have been attempts by the CapDems and the Consensus to connect the two logistic networks. To their credit – the capitalistic profit motive has always been a benefit to bring in foreign resources, but they tend to only work when it is built off exploitation. The international community is easily one of the most stable and well established economic webs, so the pride of the CapDems won’t allow a purely altruistic deal to be struck. Being that Tim’s community might succeed while they couldn’t is the type of existential evidence which justifies that – all things being equal – cooperation is always more preferable than competition.

Sazz is less engaged in the conversation, slouched and watching Harper while we talk, but pitches in typical cynical fashion: “And that won’t affect any of the local branches? They aren’t going to demand resources that we can’t afford?”

“It doesn’t seem that they have a reason to, we’ve always had a history of being able to produce more than them because of the Ogallala Aquifer. That continued well past the point at which industry farming socialized so the free market wouldn’t create another dust bowl. So I think we have enough to offer them as long as we can import the water we need to keep all that stable. This is a win for everyone!”

Sazz nods in agreement and responds and smiles in approval before looking back to Harper playing a few tables away, “Well done.”

Tim follows Sazz’s gaze and the jovelent host’s smile fades a bit, “Although we still have some local issues. Not all people trust our facilities enough to let kids explore without helicopter parents being right beside them.” The reference is to the parent that is with Harper and the other child. Taylor, the one from the trolley earlier, is sitting with them both and watching them build towers and cities with blocks the Kitchen has provided. “This place is so people could make friends. There is no reason she has to be that protective. Everyone here is invested in them being taken care of.” This draws each of us to look over at different times to see if the critique is warranted.

Before I can ask for clarification, Aspen is quicker: “Are you talking about Taylor? Taylor goes by ‘he’. But I don’t think that should be taken as an insult. He’s always been a bit more comfortable with his kid and their friends than people his own age.”

“Oh… he just looks like a girl.” For the brief moment before Tim moves on I consider how ludicrous that statement is. Taylor’s profile clearly indicates “he/him” and every possible gender norm would indicate that the presentation is that of a male. Loose shirt to cover any indication of breasts. Lack of makeup or niceties that are still used for some people. Utility clothes which a manual laborer which women tend to stay away from. Hell, I probably look more feminine than he does. To make sense of it, I audaciously form a personal hypothesis: Tim likely feels a bit insecure in the masculinity which he is prideful of and Taylor’s presentation may threaten that vulnerability. While fully aware that I’m continuing to strawman the event manager, it wouldn’t be a surprise; his short stature and increased age could be causing some internal doubt presenting strength. My theorizing is broken when he moves on, turning his attention to us. “I thought that people from the Consensus don’t look highly on overprotective parents.”

Sazz ever so slightly indicates that he is offended by the question while the brow furrows slightly then relaxes again without anyone else noticing. I clarify the common misunderstanding, “As long as there is no insulation of the child towards others, we don’t really care that much. People can be who they want as long as those around them can continue to grow. As for overprotective parents specifically? There is a risk that they want to push harmful beliefs onto the younger generation, but that is rarely the case and everyone is expected to question any truth they are told… even when it comes from someone they trust.” I roll my eyes when I say “truth” to emphasize the absurdity of the word.

Aspen pitches in, still not completely finished with the previous topic, “Also… I would just like to say. From a woman’s perspective, I can see why he would want to abandon the gender. While the differences are subtle and most men don’t notice it, women still do have harsher expectations set on us. It’s not like the past critiques aren’t still…” Aspen will reference the history of feminism if time allows. Chances are this will only last for a moment or two but I’m sent a message that distracts me.

Lenord: Can we talk?

I look up the name and there is no record of it using a simple search, and I’m still not going to rely on CoDaS. I respond back: “Do I know you? I don’t remember this name.”

After a moment where the others have moved onto a debate between the difference of indoctrination vs education (Tim – being the outsider – thinks that both the Consensus and CapDems indoctrinate our kids equally): Lenord: We talked earlier today. I’m near the entrance. I look to where people are about to be let in for the low key celebration of coexistence. The older rebel who I talked with less than 2 hours ago in the insulated “war room” is standing there with hand raised to draw my attention. The pop-revolutionary clothes don’t draw much attention in the middle of so much other diversity, but it does lead me to question how many other uniforms are being worn right now which are blending in.

I point to myself and then to the door to begin a silent – hand based – conversation: “do you want to talk now?”

The rebel’s subtle hand movements indicate, “Not right now. You stay there.”

I shrug: “What do you mean? When?”

The elder looks around for an answer that hasn’t presented itself yet, then looks back at me giving a signal, “Just a moment” then exits.

Tim is about to leave as I refocus on the table I’m at. He’s looking at me and I apologize, “I’m so sorry.”

The smile has returned but seems slightly drained from having a bit more intense conversation that he may be used to. “No need. This was great talking to you again, and with all you! I didn’t want to interrupt your other conversation, but I do need to start seeing people in.” We all join him in standing and we all take turns shaking his hand and thanking him for the conversation while seeing him off.

Aspen takes the optimistic view of the conversation, “It’s so amazing the work they all have been able to do here. It seems like they may have fixed the majority of our water shortage problem!”

Sazz gives a short, “Yep.” Then walks in the direction of Harper’s table.

Aspen watches as Sazz talks with Taylor at Harper’s table, “Is Sazz mad at me? He’s been a bit silent.”

“I think it is more an issue with Tim than you.” I start to look back at the door as people start to pour in. I don’t see Lenord anywhere, but Aspen surprises me with a slight hand on the shoulder and I look at her.

She is trying to pry into what I’m thinking with an intense stare and her head slightly tilted. “Are your social cues off? This is a moment for eye contact.” I realize that since cutting off CoDaS, I haven’t been getting hints on how I should be acting. Shit. I’ll have to remember to make an effort for that.

“Sort of, we can talk about that later, but right now I need to find someone.”

“That person you were signaling to? Who was that?”

“I’m not sure, we can discuss that later too. Hey. If you want to know what Sazz is thinking, I would suggest you ask.” Then I kiss her on the forehead and we give each other a hug. I then move past her to do the same for both Sazz and Harper who are standing just behind Aspen. “I’ll meet up with you all in a few minutes.” As I start walking against the flow of people coming in, I hear them talk about how Sazz is feeling.

I start to message Lenord before seeing a message I missed from a minute ago: I’m just outside when you have a moment to spare. I’ll wait for you. Let me know if you can’t make it.

As expected, there are still a handful of groups lingering around the entrance. Even if there was a benefit to going first, these people have resigned to letting that privilege go to others. The only one that isn’t in a group is Lenord, waiting uncomfortably. Outside the orange glow of the bunker where we first met, the “aged” description no longer works. Leonard’s gray hair that stood out against the rest of his peers isn’t exceptional in the broader public. Even the tired wrinkles that are starting to form around the eyes are typical. We casually walk to each other. I speak first: “Lenord, is it?”

“It is. Thanks for making time.” I find myself starting to let my focus drift and I remember to focus on his eyes. Or – when that starts to feel awkward – the middle of his nose.

“What’s this about? I expected if anyone was going to reach out it would be Beth.”

There is a nervous chuckle. “There is a claim and a desire that we are building a communist ideal: horizontal leadership, everyone with an equal voice, everyone with shared ownership, all that stuff; and we all believe in the idea. But there is a potential wedge growing that I think you can help with.”

“I’m going to be completely honest with you, your group scares me. If it gets enough support it could rival what we’ve built here making way for the CapDem’s authority to be more convincing. I understand your want to destroy CoDaS – I sincerely do…” the entire demeanor of the semi-stranger shifts – looking down, waving hands, closing a bit of the gap between us – to indicate that I’m misunderstanding and the issue is more sensitive than this.

“That’s not what the majority of us want. Those that spoke up while you were with us were… passionate, but they don’t represent the whole group. Beth and a smaller fringe understand the risk of CoDaS and they think that the Consensus has been corrupted by it. Most of us know how absurd that is though. The CapDems would have complete control if that was the case, and they don’t… so she isn’t. The rest of us want to separate the two fights and work with the Consensus, not against it.”

“You realize this is exactly what happens when authoritarians find a populist appeal, right? They rile up everyone against a common enemy to gain control of the group.”

“That’s my fear as well. But I think you can keep that from happening, or at least you can. By advocating to the right people, by making the right changes we can find an avenue for communication.”

“Which would be?”

“The group is isolating themselves. You’ve seen the repercussions of that with Jackline.” He responds to my apparent unasked question by clarifying. “Jackline was the mom that described the need for more water.”

“Your group has access to water. I don’t know why they wouldn’t take it. There are no strings attached.”

He raises a finger, slightly out of frustration with a desire to tell me off, but holds back. “You know as well as anyone that there are always strings attached. But that’s not the point. The point is that this could either be an opportunity to bring our groups together or to drive them apart. Would you be willing to put Jackline on an advisory board?” I give an inquisitive look. I know where the idea comes from, but usually careful consideration of the census data is used to identify the intersectional demographic needed to best represent overlapping issues. The questioning continues, “Have you ever wondered why there are so few moms in positions of influence?”

This has been a topic of study for a while. For the past 50 years there has been a substantial push to dissolve all the identities as they became unnecessary to focus on. But there are some that necessitate recognition due to the environment that cannot be avoided. “Parent” is one of these: finding a connection to a child and becoming a direct provider. In other situations, this would almost be servitude, so the logical thing is to make this service as easy as possible and to relieve the burden where society can, but it always exists. One repercussion is that they are less likely to complain, both logic and statistics bear this out. They always tend to score higher than the average on stability, which leads to question if they are answering honestly or just deluding themselves because they have resigned to being second. I sigh. “Yeah. We’ve noticed this.”

“Consider that Jackline may be a perfect candidate to fix this. She could help to identify if this is even an issue. Unlike most parents, she’s a revolutionary so she’ll be willing to speak up to identify any unique perspectives. And by bringing her on, it would undermine the idea that the Consensus is the enemy and Beth’s faction wouldn’t have the influence they do.”

“I assume Beth would take issue with this?”

“Of course. Her entire group will. Heck, if they saw me talking to you now, it could actually be seen as treasonous. But let me handle that, it’s still at the point where she won’t be able to turn down cooperation. But that opportunity is closing. Will you consider it?”

“Absolutely. I actually think it’s a really good idea, but I’ll have to make the case. I’ll likely be able to, but it may take a week or so.”

“Hm. Especially after this morning Beth is gaining more support, so – if it’s too long – it won’t go as smoothly. But a few weeks would probably be OK. I do need to go though to avoid any potentially prying eyes. Thank you for listening.”

“Thanks for speaking up!” In the split second before we start to move on, a thought comes to mind: “Why didn’t you advocate for yourself?”

The question is a shock and a small fit of laughter escapes. I’m slapped on the shoulder as Lenord walks past into the Kitchen, “I think we have more than enough voices continuing to advocate for the US Aristocracy. The legacy of the white male land-owner authoritarian doesn’t need another champion.” There is a wave before disappearing into the building. It was hard to tell how much of the last part was a facetious jab at me and how much was a genuine desire to avoid the spotlight.

******

While tradition and expectation helps ensure they are regular, and the Kitchen itself helps to promote them to add to it’s own validity, these are just helpful assurances that they continue. There are various benefits to these social gatherings – even though I want to forget that sometimes. Giving people a much needed break from the drone of expectations would be enough to justify the community effort. On top of that, the most meaningful benefit is bringing people together in a neutral setting so suppressed disagreements can be addressed. There is also the natural outreach which passively advocates for the benefits of the Consensus philosophy and allows us to influence more people.

The next few hours go smoothly as can be expected. There is a variety of food ranging from gumbo style soups, to traditional curry meals, to pastas and salads, to a few modern adaptions and alterations that hadn’t been named yet. As always the sweets that are typically saved for desert run out fast and most are enjoyed by the kids.

The engagement and discourse has its hiccups as always when large groups are involved. A few heated disagreements – some resorting to small scuffles – but they die down fairly quick. There are some people who are used to more civil gatherings that take issue with it and leave, but – for the most part – everyone finds a place to feel welcome. I do my part: trying to rekindle relationships I’ve let fall by the wayside and try to welcome new people that haven’t shown up before and point them to areas of naturally occurring cliques where they might find easy conversations. It is a challenge to do that without access to CoDaS’s profiles, but it’s a challenge that I impress myself with pulling off fairly well in spite of the lack of resources.

The self imposed duties don’t occupy a substantial amount of my time, so I find myself reminded that – although everyone seems to know me – the only people I care to hang out with are gifted with having large groups of friends. So I spend most of the time awkwardly lingering around as Sazz and Aspen (and Harper until all the kids start playing together) to fraternize with others. 

Near the end, I notice Ralph hanging around the group of kids that have been bouncing around from location to location finding and making up games to play. Based on the conversation I misinterpreted earlier, I assume that some of the kids playing are his own and I strike up a conversation before he can avoid it. “Which are yours?”

I continue to look at the kids playing some type of “freeze tag” alternative. Within the delayed answer, I feel the irritation and animosity as the situation is evaluated. Ralph’s response finally comes through a tone of frustration: he points to a few “frozen” on the edge of the playing zone. “That one and… that one. You said you had one of your own?”

“Yeah.” I chuckle and point him out, “He’s the one that keeps moving even though he’s been tagged.” We watch for a second more before I apologize, still watching the two groups freezing and unfreezing each other in a continuous flow of play. “I was out of line earlier. I’m sorry about that. I was not in the best mindset and I took it out on you.”

His tone is still slightly hostile as he fairly criticizes me, “You could have fooled me. You seemed in control of yourself.” This isn’t the first time that people have implied that I seem “robotic” in my engagements. It’s cut down a lot because of the social cues… which I’m currently lacking.

I turn to look at him realizing that this is something I should have been doing from the beginning of the apology and attempt to have my face reflect my sincere regret. “I’m not the best at displaying my emotions when I’m not thinking about it. It gets me into trouble.” I shrug to indicate what I would hope is apparent: that I’m trying to get better but I’m still failing. “Our conversation was more about me feeling like I needed some control in a situation. It shouldn’t have been about you.”

He gave me a side eyed glance with continued defensiveness before his face fell into a bit of shame and sighed. The response is quite to ensure others won’t overhear, “Well you weren’t completely wrong. I thought about it after you left; if the therapists aren’t being won, but do everything because they are trying to help, maybe it’s a perspective that I should be considering. It does make the whole thing less fun though.”

I don’t say anything. He seems to be having a revelation that doesn’t need my input. And we stand in silence for about 10 seconds before I ask about his further plans for tonight. “Are you coming to protest the house?”

“I am. When is everyone leaving?”

“It seems about time now. I think some have already started walking over there.”

“1751 isn’t too late?”

“No. It is going to start at 1830 according to what we’ve heard.”

“Where do you get that from?”

“We’ve got people who have access to the CapDem schedules. That and the agreement with them forces a forewarning so we have time to reach out before action is taken.”

Ralph nods with an impressed understanding. “I told a few people on my street as well. I’ll make sure they know too. Thanks for the heads up.” He holds out his hand and – for the second time today – I engage in the superficial handshake to confirm we are on good terms before he goes to retrieve his kids and sends the personal messages about the time. After a few minutes, the kids’ play starts to dissolve as guardians start collecting them and moving the get-together for the “afterparty”. Harper and I join up with Aspen and Sazz to take the 15 minute stroll together.

There is already a large gathering of people standing in front of the poorly maintained split story house when our group arrives. The group continues to grow – some counter protestors as well – until the demolition equipment (two of the handful of heavy vehicles that are still in operation) shows up. There is an optics show of condemnation ensuring the vehicle operators can’t be accused of split loyalties, some authentic and some – like me – is just for show. I know that the only operator I notice – Pater – is one of our sources for when these are going to happen. I always feel bad when we are on opposite sides, playing these parts; but according to what I’ve seen of the encrypted exchanges, it is something that all in-the-know understands is necessary.

After 45 minutes of back and forth accusations, insults and chants; it is well after astronomical twilight when the threats of physical harm start up from some of the rare CapDem supporters in the sparse opposition. The last time someone was injured during these protests, a person died after refusing to move 10 years ago. I was still too young to understand the extreme backlash that the CapDems received for putting “justice above innocent life”, but it was one of the inspirational conflicts that ushered in the “Consensus-debt Agreement” to be accepted. The threats are never taken seriously; just an indication of a last resort before the operators give up and go home. It is a well expected transaction in the negotiation between continued community repayment backed up by punishment vs a need for and collective bargaining. We all understand and agree with the hypothetical risk.

That means little when the hypothetical becomes real.

The advancement to the death threats is faster than expected, and with that comes an air of desperation, short tempers, and urgency from the dominating machines. Then we hear something that sends a shock through the crowd: one of the vehicles turns its engine over and makes a quick jolt forward closing the gap between it and the human barrier.

The movement of the 15 megagram bulldozer is terrifying and horror ripples through the line as most of the protestors react. Spontaneous jolts forward continue and become more frequent and sustained as more fall back or abandon the line entirely. Additionally, the operator includes blasts of the airhorn as warnings before every advancement to build anticipation for each round of movement. The two-thirds of the original 200-ish are still standing firm when the machine is 10 feet from us. Many are likely in shock, convinced that this can’t be happening, others have committed to the standoff regardless of the outcome.

A majority of the guardians start to leave – keeping their children from witnessing a potentially gruesome end. I can’t help judge them for their discomfort. This is exactly what children need to see: the bloody cost of putting “capital interest” above that of human lives when people stand together. This prioritization has always led to death and suffering; it has been talked about in media and fiction for ages and with that discussion comes a deluded sense of reality. It is a farce that inspires sympathy and loose solidarity, but fractures when put under pressure. Until we force ourselves to witness it first hand – we do not have the disgust needed to evolve the sympathetic support to empathic dedication.

Everyone will engage in self preservation when threatened. In addition to perception bias, this is something we can depend on from all living things. So to stand against potential death, one has to inherently know that unity is the only means of survival.

The machine operator gives a blast of warning longer than it has previously. The foreshadowing is deliberate: “I won’t stop this time. You will be run over if you are still there.” A few people break line as one of the more official looking CapDem sympathizers talks to the operator that hasn’t yet advanced forward. I’m at the edge of the group, not directly in the path, but close enough to see the terror in the eyes of those that are holding firm. Harper is standing with Aspen beside me, and both are terrified of what’s to come. I smile at them as I break line to stand between the crowd and the metal monolith screaming a final warning.

While I’m not the only one that has made the move to increase the body count, more start to follow our example. By the end of the blasted warning, another line has formed to add an insulation of meat and bone and soul between the house and its destruction. It is apparent that the authority imposed onto the commander of the second juggernaut (Pater) is enough to make an impact, after a brief and impotent honk when compared to what we just heard, that one starts advancing onto a different portion of the thinned out chain. My stomach drops as I – and likely the rest of the line – understand that this is no longer one person’s bluff.

The tension explodes and dissolves in an instant: the monster of motor and metal springs to life matching the movement of its mechanical sister for a mere moment before the world goes dark.

There is no pain. No sound.

Just the wind. I feel the hands still holding mine in solidarity. The dirt becomes still and the rumbling subsides. All the artificial light has been cut, and – when my eyes adjust to the starlight – it becomes clear that the massive scoop has halted – raised to knock us down rather than catch – a decimeter above my head. People on both sides of me start breaking down in relief. Cries of joy and a few praising CoDaS or Azathoth for grace.

I’m still in shock staring at the metallic grim reaper that halted mid stroke while cutting me – and everyone else here – down, “What happened?”

I feel someone’s hand on my shoulder beside me and – in the dim light – I see a teenager more than a head shorter with tears in their eyes, “CoDaS cut the power! She saved us!”

“What do you -?” but they already have turned to embrace the rest of their group in relief. I make an exception and re-engage with the untrusted network. Immediately a notification appears:

There is an excess of energy spending with both the repair of the train network and water generation, to account for this there will be an unexpected 30 minute local blackout to optimize operations. This will happen immediately (1720-1750).

In the brief time I have access to the network, the auras appear again in the darkness. The population is partitioned. Everyone is either in near total alignment with the Consensus ideal or they are completely opposed to it, standing prominent against the backdrop of the hidden night. But then I disconnect again and the layer of reality I’m no longer privileged to fades into the aether.

There is now the question of why CoDaS would take action at all. According to its declared operating procedures, it can interfere with human desires if it is required to perform necessary maintenance. But during that time it will optimize convenience across all those affected. The energy was within normal parameters earlier, we checked it for the congregation to ensure nothing unusual would happen. No one seemed to be caring too much about that issue being that the blackout also caused the electronics in the machines to lock down.

Looking around, there were two categories of people. The majority are still recovering while others (which were steadily growing at an alarming rate) are starting to look for vengeance on those that – just moments prior – were intent on murder. They advance into the dark towards the two inert husks of metal and glass. I hear the operator of the one further away (Pater) flee from the scene. I can’t help but have a mixture of relief that he’s going to avoid the repercussions while also hurt that he would allow himself to be bullied into causing the current situation.

I duck under the scoop, anticipating the sociopathic brute that was about to snuff the life out of at least 70 of my tribe. It is to be a hulk that we are going to have to collectively tear apart. A goliath that not even David could defeat on his own. It will be a justice that only can be taken out with a united democratic effort.

What I see is not that.

A gangly child. No older than 17. Crying. Begging for forgiveness. Bracing both sides of the meter wide box. Temporarily safe from the terrifying environment along with the rest of the powerless controls. Terrified of the mob outside the frail locked door that is slowly losing structural support. This is our monster. A child.

“STOP!” The words slip from somewhere other than the anger and fear that is consuming me. It’s from a disassociated piece of the alternate reality in which I died, absent of the pains which can still plague me. “He’s a kid. Look at him!” Half the people hear me and get pulled out of their collective bloodlust. They in turn start to get others to take pause as well.

A disembodied voice aptly reframes the situation and tries to rile everyone up again, “this little shit is going to try to murder us again in less than a half an hour unless we pull him out of there!” and a cacophony of voices start pitching in their own perspective. The entire group is split: about half in the frey and half standing to watch the chaos unfold (I barely notice Tess in the darkness), and a few have bypassed the discussion to attack the door and pull the twig of a person just edging on adulthood out to meet their fate. The rest of the counter protestors seem to have fled the unfolding chaos.

I try to reiterate my own authority, which only adds to the meaningless noise. For about 20 tense seconds it seems the mob will have their way, but then a shadow in the dark sits on top of the demolition cab. Slowly the mob looks at the dark profile – confused and in anticipation – as the form does nothing but sit cross-legged and stare up. Some people start to try and revert back to anger and force, but they are quickly suppressed as they too start to take notice of the heavens.

The sky, which is usually deaf with light pollution, displays the brilliant presentation that can only be seen in darkness. The Milky Way spilling against the sky is so rarely seen that the world seems foreign from what it was a moment ago. The innumerable points of light that potentially hold their own inconceivable enigmas force us all to embrace the serenity of the moment. Even with tempers running high and a want for justice, we can’t help but look.

Then the voice from the silent guru on top of the metal threat asks a question. “I wonder what you would do, Ufflo?” It was Joshua. The voice of Charline’s DID system, supernaturally unemotional with an uncanny calmness that can only come from someone that is still learning about life, death, and the complexities of reality.

A voice from the crowd (I assume it’s Ufflo), calls back, “What? What do you mean?”

“If you were 16 and brainwashed into thinking that your only purpose was a tool to be eventually discarded. A bolt or gear that had no use beyond being part of the CapDem system that you grew up in. Taught to fear and hate the crowd standing against what you have been told is a just and necessary action. What would you do?” Joshua’s shadow looks down at the crowd. “My guess is you would have killed us all without caring.”

Everyone looks slightly lower at the kid in the cab, still terrified of the fate that lies at the end of this discussion. Someone else speaks up, “So we are just supposed to let him run us over?”

Joshua’s shadow looks back at the stars. “I don’t know about you, but this thing isn’t moving for another 20 minutes. I’m going to take 10 to appreciate this view. I’ve never seen it before. I’ll revisit the problem after, but I’m guessing it will resolve itself without us.”

No one else talks, and for a few moments everyone wonders if someone will resume the attack. The question is answered as the crowd starts to disperse to different points of the glade so they can get lost in the stars, and everything else seems to melt into the darkness. After about 3 minutes, the void above us begs us to forget the impending conflict. After about 5, the zen of meaningless merges with a self awareness that is hard to replicate without the organic sounds and celestial lighting. It seems that all of existence is one as we look up at the firmament: rocks billions of light years away separating from each other at superluminous speeds seem just as divine as the whispered discussions and heavy breathing from others across overgrown landscape or the harvesting of asteroids which race above us. Sazz holds me close just as I hold Aspen who I’m sure is embracing Harper, and the serenity washes over me as I hear the cab hesitantly open followed as the occupant – with an unbridled desperation – flees to the west.

After ten minutes, no one dares to break the divine silence. The only indication of the flow of time are some of the small groups getting up to leave, attempting to find a more private location for the remainder of the blackout. There is no reason for the four of us to look for anything more meaningful than this, so we stay. The only threat to the timeless sabbatical are the forbidding clouds that are crawling in from the west as well as the wind that is politely informing us rain is on its way.

Half the sky is covered when people laying around stir and start to resume the protest lines in the darkness. When the lights drown out the sky again, everyone is prepared for a round two. But the threat is absent; all the opponents fled while the majority had the monopoly on violence. One of the protestors has already entered the cab of the vehicle that is further away, but – when trying to start it up – the engine is bricked. An unnamed saboteur went to work in the dark on the old and irreparable technology. And it seems they did the same for the second when tested.

As I look at the heaps of metal that used to be powerful machines, I come to the belief that these will stand as a monument of averted crisis for decades to come, and Joshua’s legacy will go down in history as an unnamed savant that tamed the mob with the stars.

******

The rest of the night we ride the high of escaping Hades’ grip via collective action and literal celestial intervention. Our attempt to outrun the rain fails in the last minutes and we end up entering our apartment soaked. Harper is already tired, and the damp clothes sour the mood of the youth. I let Aspen and Sazz relive the night while I help our charge turn in. Except for brief outbursts of discomfort when the waterlogged garb doesn’t want to come off or the standard daily pushback of not wanting to try one last time to pee so the bed isn’t soiled overnight, the task goes relatively smoothly. In less than a half hour, the covers are pulled up and I kiss the child good night with the other two joining in as well.

The rest of us talk well into the night, reminiscing of past times with other efforts we’ve been in; some for a collective effort and – mostly with Sazz – some youthful pranks. We all engage in a bit of gluttony, making an after-dinner snack on some of the leftovers that Aspen grabbed leaving the Kitchen. Apparently there was more than enough to spare. At one point Sazz chokes on a bit of bread and dip and overzealously hawks it up fleeing to the bathroom where there is a minute of unsavory snorts and retching sounds.

After rejoining us – face a bit more pale than usual – I ask “you alright? That sounded uncomfortable.”

Pointing out the back of the head, near the ear. “Yeah. When getting it up, some went too far into my nose. It took a bit to get it out.”

Aspen overemphasizes disgust, “Damnit Sazz. You can leave some stuff out you know!”

“Well I wanted you all to know how hard it was! This must have been on par – NAY WORSE I SAY – than giving birth!” As Aspen playfully slaps Sazz’s arm, the joking banter continues, “Seriously! I should be treated like a hero for that one!”

In the midst of the discussion, we all get a notification that there was a death during the protest. Around 100 meters into the woods, a body was found. It was the CapDem that was talking to Petar before the second bulldozer started advancing. It could have been an accident, but the head wound seems to be caused by a blunt instrument from behind. The person seemed to have no connections to anyone that we respected and was ultimately the source of a potential mass killing today, so none of us felt very bad. We all theorized about what could have happened, but under the facetious jokes and comments was the acknowledgement that this could have major repercussions.

We continue talking for a bit more about our past tales and triumphs embracing the increasing affection we all feel for each other. The further the night continues, the more we shift to shared kisses and mutual foreplay. Aspen – declines to go further and stays up while Sazz and I escape to the bedroom. The walls are thick enough to block some softer noises and we try to be respectful to the other inhabitants of the apartment: embracing our lust, exploration, and ecstasy with suppressed outbursts. After we finish, we clean up, and retire – exhausted from a long day. I hold Sazz as we drift off, and I realize I hadn’t had a chance to visit the food court in the Consensus today; my 3rd place. My initial unrealized dreams wrap around the question of whether the potluck serves the same social purpose.

I barely wake back up when Aspen comes in and we all shift over to make room. I feel the lips on my neck and the arms around me while we all wish each other a good night.