Round of 8 - Smackdown: The Second Coming by  
( Prompt: super-human story feat. a non-earth civilization; approx. 2,900 words)

Klaxons blared across the crumbling structures of the Jetstadt arcology.

"Peacekeepers to base! This is PK-VII Aura Rocketsdottir, in hot pursuit of rogue dropship Biota Epsilon!" she said into the commlink. "Repeat: unauthorized offworlding attempt in progress. Send out an Omni-Points Alert now!"

The dropship made a sharp, desperate turn in the narrow space between the crystal spires that marked the outer edge of the arcology. It was a chancy maneuver but most of the Peacekeepers didn't seem to expect it. That gave the crew just enough time to gather the velocity needed to escape the territorial limits of the world-ship Gaea Prime.

Inside the Biota's over-crowded cabin, many unrestrained passengers were flung about, their bodies hurtling into each other. Most of them just accepted the pain. They understood grave injury to be part of the risks.

"Mea culpa," said Captain Lana Alphard over the ship's public address system. "But that move was our only real chance."

Just a little higher and the air would be too thin for the Peeks to catch up without auto-respirators.

Alphard put on her dark-tinted pilot's visor and checked the heads-up display – seems like she'd ditched them. "Damn, I'm good!" she said proudly, as she took a drag from a celebratory stick of Escrivain's Specials. The coolium released by the burning spices granted her instant awesomeness. [ vis. prompt #9]

Suddenly, a warning blast passed in front of the cockpit. It was Rocketsdottir, shooting from just below the dropship. She appeared to be nearly out of breath but she kept her balance atop her tricked-out hover-platform.

"Stand down," she ordered, launching another volley of suppressive laser beams from her ray-gun. [ vis. prompt #6] "I've got enough juice to keep you here until reinforcements show up."

"Oh, Aura... Always trying to hold me down!" said Alphard, over the dropship's hailing frequency. "Feels just like old times, huh?"

"Captain Alphard, this is not the place for this conversation," said Rocketsdottir. "I know this is probably just another quick score for you but the Administration has a system in place to bring those folks planetside. I acknowledge it's not perfect right now, but everyone is doing what they can to keep things in order."

"Aww... Look at you role-playing the law enforcer. It would actually be quite cute if it weren't so obviously fake," said Alphard. "Now, listen... I know you're going to let me go for two reasons. One: you know that what I'm doing is right – even if, yes, it means quite a hefty payday for me."

Then she paused for a moment.

"So what's number two?" asked Rocketsdottir.

"Because you're in wireless range."

The Peek didn't need Alphard in her line of sight to imagine her usual trickster's smirk.

She let out a heavy sigh. "Okaaay... What do you mean by that?"

"You used your go-to password for the admin controls on your platform."

The micro-nuke propulsion on the hover-platform shut down, as grav-stasis mode kicked in, stranding her in mid-air. She mouthed a curse aloud but it was muffled by the thrusters of the dropship as it blasted off towards the surface of Nu-Gaea.

* * *

The spherical world-ship Gaea Prime had loomed over the planetoid Nu-Gaea for almost octo lunar cycles now, blocking out the sun to a portion of the surface. The outer edges of its shadow fell on parts of the Utopolis metro area. The darkest region of the shade fell several deca-leagues beyond city limits, which had now been termed 'Shadowlands' on the feed updates.

Gayatri Astrovorty always thought 'Shadowlands' was a dumb name. She was determined not to use it for work but her Senior Rhetorician insisted that she had to mention it, or else they wouldn't feedcast her report. She gazed at the valley below the cliff's edge, before positioning herself on a craggy outcrop. She wanted to be sure that Gaea Prime was visible in the background. [vis. prompt #8] She gave the signal to her operator Stellarowicz to run the magnolux.

"Utopolis' citizens are mostly descended from the pioneers who settled this world, nearly one kilo-annum before. But out here in the Shadowlands, the population is quite different," she said. She did her best not to grimace as she said the word. "A growing number of transplants have fled the dilapidated conditions aboard Gaea Prime. Every day, about quadro-kilo new arrivals go through the Reintegration system, jointly managed by Gaea Prime's Administration and the Terrestrial Directorate here on Nu-Gaea."

She paused briefly, letting the magnolux scan the harsh, blighted landscape. "But far more transplants land out here, without permission, via dropships packed beyond their capacity. A literal shadow economy has developed around unsanctioned landing sites, as enterprising builders set up makeshift ports to facilitate the arrivistes. Many of them end up over there, in Bradbury Valley, in the settlement now called The Umbra."

On cue, Stellarowicz zoomed in the magnolux, focusing on the sprawl of improvised huts, cinderblock igloos, and other ramshackle structures on the distant valley floor.

"You've watched the policy debates at the High Potestarium. You've read the arguments in the op-feeds. Now we give you an exclusive look at the controversial transplant site, to bring you the complicated stories behind the ongoing displacement crisis," she announced. "Join me, Gayatri Astrovorty, as we take you Inside The Umbra."

* * *

The entire Innovetti kin-unit stayed in a bunker near Gaea Prime's reactor core. Their place wasn't very well-maintained but it was comfortable enough, which already made it a luxury, compared to the rest of the run-down world-ship.

Connor Innovetti lay prone in his sleep-pod. The neural interface of his V-Specs had broken, and there was nobody left aboard who knew how to repair it. (And even if there was, chances are they wouldn't have time to do it.) Instead, he used the manual controls on the side of the headpiece to check his V-Bulletins: Tinkerer's Guild subscription, holopr0n spam, renewal of his Honorable Discharge notice from the Peacekeeper Academy, more holopr0n spam, some message board announcements... Meh.

He tried looking for anyone he knew on the commlink but most of his peers – young, well-born, and clearly able-bodied – had been among the first to resettle on Nu-Gaea.

This idea unnerved Connor, and whenever his mind was ill at ease, he began to hear the voices again. Mostly they seemed to belong to people aboard Gaea Prime: doubts for their chances planetside, fears about losing their sense of identity, bittersweet relief at the opportunity to start over from nothing. But when he felt really out of sorts, he could sense thoughts all the way on Nu-Gaea's surface. And what he picked up frightened him: confusion, xenophobia, neuroses, even pathological rage.

He took a few sharp breaths before he recognized what was happening and started regulating the flow of air to his lungs. With presence of mind, he switched on the meditation app in the V-Specs. Within moments, his brain was set at ease by the void-inducing crackle of static. Fractal patterns took over his field of vision, the blurry cerulean fractal patterns realigning his synapses. [ vis. prompt #2]

To refocus himself, Connor began to recite the Analects of the Gaean World-Mind:

{{ Conflict is natural but we are beyond nature. }}

{{ Thus we must always act to resolve conflict. }}

His felt his sense of purpose returning with each axiom.

{{ A loaded weapon is the greatest instrument in conflict resolution. }}

{{ A loaded weapon pointed at an enemy brings understanding. }}

His psyche was once again attuned to the will of the people.

{{ To take aim at an enemy is the highest form of communication. }}

{{ To pull the trigger is to lead the conversation. }}

Just as he was about to start another mantra cycle, he sensed the main hatch of the bunker opening up.

"Mater, is that you?" he asked.

"It's just me, nepos!" said Brock.

"Avus!" said Connor. He got up to hug his grandfather. "How are the negotiations going?"

The old man just shook his head.

"Why can't we just stay up here?" asked Connor. "I was born here and so were you. Gaea Prime is the only home we know. There's gotta be a way to save it."

"Kid, we've been through this a million times," said Brock. He wiped away the layer of mildew that had settled onto the wall near his cot during the quadro days he had spent planetside. "This place is one real tough sonuvabitch but it ain't never meant to be perma. It's a miracle this hunk of junk made it this far at all. Now, the sooner you learn to accept that, maybe you'll stop having them episodes."

Brock sniffed at the musty air. "How long have you been cooped up in here, kid?" Brock threw away the pile of empty meal ration delivery boxes. Then he picked up Connor's crutches and rested them next to boy's sleeping pod. "I want you to go up to the mess halls and get yourself some real food. And once your belly is full, you need to start making peace with the fact that Gaea Prime's a goner."

* * *

Even amid the towering arcologies of central Utopolis, the High Potestarium building had pride of place. Its architects had designed an outer support frame resembling an RNA strand. The session hall itself was housed in disc-shaped perch atop the tower structure, giving it a 360 degree vista of the city. [vis. prompt #7] It was meant to remind the law-bringers inside exactly who they were meant to be serving.

During a thunderstorm, its upper levels would disappear into the ominous cloudline. It was a strange harmony between the natural and developed realms, as the blustery debates inside matched the tempestuous conditions.

"Our predecessors came here using interstellar arks, built from the same engineering principles as Gaea Prime. It was our common forebears whose star maps guided us here from Ex-Gaea. We practically owe them our existence," said Proctor Ivelisse Sirius. "Are we going to punish them, just because their ancestors had the misfortune of going starbound before faster-than-light warp engines were invented?"

"This whole common lineage argument is warm and fuzzy but it ignores one basic reality: their civilization has elements of the same qualities that lead to the fate of Ex-Gaea," said D'Armand Galaxetti. "They went offworld prior to the Handmaiden Conflicts; before the Armistice of Moebius; ahead of the Great Tunneling, and the Zelazny Amnesties. Those events may have taken place in an infinitesimal blip of cosmic time, but they defined the fundamental basis for Gaean society, as we know it today."

"Then we will learn about it," said sapiologist Starla Innovetti, one of the few Gaea-Primal delegates at the session who didn't work directly for the Administration. "Cultures shift, Prefect. We've had generations to learn from the errors of our progenitors."

"And yet they couldn't figure out how to produce enough resources to keep up with their demographics," said Aquila Holopainnen. "Tell me, fellow citizens, are these the kind of people we want to welcome into our space?"

"To that, I say, yes, Promulgator. For the most part, these transplants can breathe our air, speak our languages, and use our tech. That means they can do our work, as productive members of society," said Prelate Lee Centaurisson. "If we can eat with them, communicate with them, heck, even mate with them, then I don't see why we can't live among them."

"With all due respect, I believe the good Nobleman from Rigel misses the point," said Alderwoman Orionne Wu. "These are sapient people's lives we're talking about. We can't just set up committees to rule which of them are useful enough to be worthy of living."

"Damn right we can! And we should!" said Kax Andromedoffski. "Can someone here please just review the data?"

"The Legis is right," said Plutarch "Our production schedules for the next deca annos were based on demostasis. You can't just add hecato-kilos of mouths to feed without disrupting the equilibrium."

"Do you want us to experience another scarcity?" asked Holopainnen. "Because I'm aged enough to recall what that's like, and I don't plan on ever letting that happen again."

Near the outer edge of the session hall, Polaris Guerra rubbed the sides of her head. Her colleague Amadou—a fellow Paralegis for Alderwoman Wu—took notice.

"It's a real clusterfig, isn't it?" he said.

"Wha—?! Oh... right!" said Polaris. "The hearing..."

"Are you sure you don't need to take the rest of the day off?"

"No, I'll be fine. I just need to clear my head," she said. "We all have to stick together if we're gonna finish that brief in time for the conclave on Lokisday."

"You still having those freaky nightmares?" asked Amadou.

"Even worse! I get similar visions when I'm awake now," she said, "Just quick flashes but enough to space me out. It happens whenever I get too stressed."

"Daaaamn... What did your alienist have to say about that?"

"Haven't told them yet. I probably should, huh?"

Amadou nodded. "What's it like?"

"Believe me, you don't wanna know," she said. "It's pretty grim stuff."

"Try me," he said.

"Planet-wide EMP. The heavens in flames," she said, all matter-of-fact. "Cruisers and drones falling out of the skies. Seraphim as large as tower buildings, raining napalm from above, as the streets run crimson with plasma."

"Well... If this whole policy thing doesn't work out, at least it sounds like you might have a career writing anime."

"You are such a cul-cav, A!" said Polaris. "Do you know what kind of psychic strain this has on me?"

Amadou had stopped paying attention. He seemed to be focused on something happening outside the windows.

"What the fig is that?" he asked.

In the distance, a person-shared figure rushed through the air towards the Shadowland.

* * *

Captain Lana Alphard was unfazed when she heard the first boom. She guessed that the Peacekeepers might have alerted the planetside authorities, with enough time to blockade their pre-arranged landing at Tenebrae Field. She checked the Biota's systems – whatever that noise was, it had blown out the auxiliary float capacitors. No big deal – this was nothing she hadn't dealt with before.

The next two bursts confirmed what she had really feared: sabotage. The dropship's guidance program had been cut off, and the louder blast appeared to be the rear central thruster going haywire. Meanwhile, there was now a person-sized breach in the hull. With the over-stuffed conditions, there was serious risk of losing passengers.

The dropship barreled counter-clockwise – mercifully, in the opposite direction from the breach. But casualties now seemed inevitable.

Alphard and her crew hurried to stabilize the dropship. Her first mate Shalini tried to manually override the compromised guidance program but there didn't seem to be enough time. That's when they felt something or someone attempting to smooth the craft's descent.

The Captain pulled up visuals from the scanners beneath the ship. It appeared to be a person wearing the kind of bulky antique spacesuit that the predecessors used, complete with tinted headpiece, reminiscent of a beekeeper. They had no visible jet-pack or any other means of personal air transport. Even stranger, they appeared to be exerting enough force to control the ship's descent.

Inside the main cabin, the passengers whooped and hollered. Many had fainted or been knocked unconscious but those who remained lucid shouted praises to the Improbable.

The Biota's commlink buzzed – it was the secure channel used by the ground staff at Tenebrae. They had been observing the whole incident from planetside and they had cleared the landing strip, just as planned. Ground control illuminated the landing beacons, hoping the mysterious rescuer would notice.

Sure enough, the dropship was redirected towards Tenebrae. The enigmatic savior eased the Biota onto the landing pad, as emergency personnel rushed to the ship. The inscrutable figure lingered near the landing site just long enough to make sure the crew and passengers were accounted for. Then the person offered a brief salute to nobody in particular, before leaping into the air, then floating off in the direction of Utopolis.

* * *

Gayatri and Stellanowicz were en route to The Umbra when the Biota Epsilon incident happened. By fate or happenstance, they were in just the opportune position to record magnolux footage of the spacesuit-clad hero rescuing the dropship. It wasn't very clear, given the distance involved, but it was enough to make out the distinct outline of the figure against the overcast skies.

By the end of the day, the feeds were jammed with speculation about The Silhouette, the unknown champion of the Shadowlands. Who was inside the suit? Were they acting on their own? Was it an off-the-chronicle government operation, or the handiwork of a secretive private organization? And whose interests did they represent: Gaea Prime, Nu-Gaea, or something else entirely?

* * *

The following daybreak, the Prognosticator – the final disciple of the Stochastic Variable Heresy – sat alone in their chamber. They pored over the evidence displayed on the touchscreen wall: hand-scrawled formulas; maps of Nu-Gaea dotted with coded markers; reconstructed copies of ancient Ex-Gaean tracts with occult passages highlighted; posts clipped from newsfeed items over the last tri-deca annos; annotated schematics of eldritch technologies.

The Seer and the Feeler had already made their presences felt. Now the Doer had revealed themself. If the Prognosticator was truly the Thinker, as they hoped to be, then it meant the next Eschaton was soon upon the world.