I am sitting cross-legged upon the white edge of the vast Tower roof at night, the dark lands of The Master's Domain spread outwards kilometers below...
Given what is upcoming...
Running a hand across the Id EIS scalp, which is now smoothly bald again, I give a long sigh before picking up the utterly byzantine Rulebook of Twelve from a place on the rooftop beside me, set it upon the crossed Id EIS legs and firmly open the huge tomb back up, halfway.
(Again.)
Prior Rulebook of Twelve chapters had ably outlined the seemingly endless basics constraining the progress of their only superficially unfettered immortal existence, including: complete Domain autonomy, Guest Right, the guidelines for semi-compulsory Meeting attendance, a detailed list of Meeting Delegate inviolability clauses, biosynth/automata Attendant propositional criteria for presentations, complex codas governing the process of Debate and Voting...
However: this current section of the Rulebook solely concerns an exhaustively comprehensive list of the social procedures for every Technological Presentation, public exhibit and social gathering in that freshly built current Iteration of a shining metropolis resurrected endlessly by The Master's, called Dream City.
I am scanning...
(But why....)
Turn a page, scanning, turn a page, scanning, turn a page, scanning, turn a page...
(If The Master has nothing planned and I have also been constrained so as not to offer anything...)
A frown.
(An oversight?)
Scanning...
(Impossible.)
Turn page.
(So why?)
And continue...
...
A quarter of the Rulebook remains when I close it yet again in frustration, then leave it upon the Tower roof before bonelessly rising back up to standing, above it all.
(There is other work yet to do.)
I walk from the edge of the Tower, stop, and begin descending smoothly upon a circular white platform into an oval cell, white and bare. The ceiling portal irises shut. Successive blue waves of light PULSE downward. A portal irises open, I step out of it and stride through dark, low-walled Stations receding out in great number across the Workstation Level, and into the dim, until one particular Station ahead births a subtle building glow, smartmatter dripping up, via gravimetrics, into silver display screens, brightening. I enter the Station, calling out: "compile list of service biosynths on 1, list of service automatons on 2, and Meeting estate schematics from previous bookmark on 3." The Station ergo rises behind me, so I lean back against the comfortable ergo-surface conforming until it fit snugly against me along the entire length of the Id EIS body...
Ok.
A gesture causes floating display screens to near me in response, surrounding closer. Scanning...
(Now...)
...
(And...)
"I received a message," a feminine voice says, behind me.
The ergo gently swivels around smoothly then brings me up, to standing. "Thank you for coming."
YOU ARE READING
Übermensch (3rd Edition)
Science FictionEarth, 4417 AD: The human race has been wiped out by the godlike Masters and replaced with genetically engineered slaves. Id wakes up one day with no memories, lying in a blank white room. A voice tells Id to attend, artificial memories bloom within...
