The Whole of a World in Your Hands

###The Whole Of A World In Your Hands //An interactive Steven Universe fanfiction by Rubber Chicken With A Keyboard (RCWAK).// --- (set: $rp to 0)(set: $pgemtype to "Peridot")(set:$pgemcode to "5M1L-3YY")(set:$plan to 0)(set: $b to "B33")(set:$fails to 0)The world onscreen spreads out into a beautiful curve, the crescent rim of a sphere too vast to see. You know within a split second of looking: it's *alive*, covered in something lush and golden and organic, and if (*when*) you venture down onto the planet's surface, you'll find more life there that you could possible imagine. It never gets old. You are $pgemtype $pgemcode, or Smiley to your friends you are *definitely not conspiring with to overthrow the Diamonds someday*, and your job today is simple-- no, sorry, *incredibly complex and difficult*: keep this world alive. And the first step is to make sure the galaxy never finds out it's here. You may be a rookie, but you're the one that got assigned the job. The fate of a rebellion is basically in your hands here. So... don't screw up. One of the other, senior gems aboard (Carnelian 5A-B33, one of your aforementioned friends you are *totally not conspiring with*), nods to you in anticipation. [You remember the plan.]<c2|[ [[> You're going to make the whole planet invisible.]] [[> You're about to fake a black hole.]]](cloaked2|(click:?c2)[(show:?cloaked2)]

(set: $plan to 1)More specifically: you're going to say there's nothing of interest in this entire sector, just space rocks and dust, and you're going to run an entire fancy-ass reflection system around this planet to keep up the illusion. So long as nobody flies too close or starts poking, it should work. And by the time you're done here, you're going to make *sure* nobody comes poking. Anyway. It should buy you at least a few thousand years to figure out what to do next. [[>Next.->what to do next]]

You admit it's not the best plan in the permanent scheme of things. But those *things* are changing! You've heard it yourself. The legendary Crystal Gems are still out there, somewhere. On "Earth", you suppose. And the sentiments of rebellion have been stirring for longer than you've been alive. The plan might need scaffolding, but by the stars you'd like to bank on the idea of a better world by the time that day comes. The universe can support gems and organics both. You want to believe that -- no, you *do* believe that. Even if some of your new superiors don't think so. Peridot 2F5L-5XG was on to something, and if the Diamonds won't pursue it, someone else will just have to for them. (It's a real shame you never tried for a kindergarten certification. You were always more interested in the mechanical stuff, though.) [[>Next.->obstable]]

You're the newest gem here, but nominally, you're in charge: your supervisor, Olivine 3-1TC will call in later. The only other gems here are the three quartz gems you were assigned as backup for going planetside. (Y'know. In case of hostile organics or something.) Thanks to a little meddling from friends in useful places, they're on your side. [[> Exposit a little more about the quartzes.]] [[> Skip the exposition. Just get on with the mission.->> Just get on with the mission.]]

(set: $rp to $rp + 1)Your friend (the one you actually, personally know) is Carnelian 5A-B33, A.K.A. Bee(set:$b to "Bee") -- you mentioned her earlier. She's about what you'd expect of a quartz: physical, rough around the edges, but an all-around good friend, and rare to hold a grudge. She's your senior in in the rebellion by only a couple of centuries, and the first rebel you ever actually met, back when you were first all pumped up over the leaked 5XG call and maybe a little careless in your asking around. She flashes you a smile when you look her way, and you return it with eyes averted and... maybe a little blue to your cheeks. Next to her is Carnelian 5A-B41 -- one of $b's sisters from the same kindergarten. They get assigned together all the time. You're pretty sure if *you* were assigned to work with the same Peridots from your home row on every mission, you'd flip your lid by the end of the century, but they don't seem to mind, so you assume it must be a quartz thing. You don't know B41 as well, but you trust her, as much as you'd trust anyone here. Third and oldest is a Clear Quartz whose number you nearly didn't catch (you know it now, 7-3TQ), but the numbers tell you she's *old*. Pre-war old. Older than almost anyone else you know who isn't literally ancient gem history like the Diamonds, really. She says she fought in the war, too, back then -- met *the* Rose Quartz, even, though she won't talk much about the details. She intimidates you more than anyone else you've ever known. (Well, aside from Yellow Diamond. And now that you're literally a rebel traitor to homeworld, you're not so sure about even that.) [[> Anyway. Back to the plan.->> Just get on with the mission.]]

(if:(history:) contains "> Exposit a little more about the quartzes.")[Right. Moving on. ](else:)[Ugh, okay, fine. No exposition for you. ]You have one cycle to make this planet disappear before your supervisor calls in to check on you. You're lucky she's too overworked not to trust you with this job. She can't personally go visit every single planet the Diamonds have an eye on, but you bet she wishes she could. Stars, she's insufferable. Your Era 1 cousins are the *worst*. [[> Ready the telemetry spoof.]]

These shields took a year to procure and stockpile, slowly siphoning off the factory outputs of a homeworld, scraping off the stock and salvaging everything that could be salvaged. You and the crew have dozens of other hardworking gems rebel gems to thank for them, and just barely enough stuff to cover this world from all relevant directions. The shields won't hide the planet from direct visibility up close, of course. Anything within a few light-minutes would be able to spot the bright glimmer of a little planet circling around nearby. But the shields will keep this spot off the maps, indistinguishable from open space to anyone who isn't properly looking for it, and that's the next step to making a difference. (That, and nobody will be looking for it after step three.) [[> Deploy.]]

You've got the hacks needed already to fake readings on your shipboard sensors all set up. There's no cameras onboard (or, none you're obliged to have active at the moment), so being caught on video isn't a risk. Nobody will have conflicting evidence to your claim that the world just totally vanished into a black hole. (Except for the part where it still exists, you guess. But nobody's going to be seeing it.) "You've got the hacks ready?" Clear Quartz asks, in a low voice like you still have to worry about being overheard. You suppose an abundance of caution isn't unreasonable. [[> "A-all good to go, yeah!"]] [[> "Let me just check one more time..."]]

(set: $plan to 3)You all know full well there's nothing you can do to hide this planet from Homeworld as it is. They know it's here. They sent you out to survey it, after all. But if you can convince them that something *disastrous and totally unforseen* happened to the planet between then and now? Homeworld barely has business in this sector to begin with, but if there's no reason to even believe it's habitable, they've got no reason to be poking around. The planet will be hidden from view by then, too -- shielded, as a precautionary measure. As far as Homeworld is concerned, this place will be nothing but empty space and event horizons. It should buy you a few thousand years, at least, to figure out what to do next. [[>Next.->what to do next]]

Eager to please, you nod sharply and hit the button to run your homemade input program. Everything seems to be going well, until-- Well, that doesn't look right. Something's got the wrong sign on it, and the numbers are wildly positive where it should be negative. Which means the quotients will start trying to divide by zero, and... oh, no. The quartzes don't know it's wrong, of course, but *you* can see it, and oh stars, that's not going to look reasonable or real to anyone who can actually read gravity specs. Your panic shows on your face. $b catches it first, sending you anxious glances, but it's Clear Quartz's suspicious look that makes you want to float out through the ship's windows and spontaneously combust, then and there. "*Sabotage,*" Clear Quartz hisses, and you cower. B33 jumps to your defense, but she's picking a losing battle, and B41's already glaring at you. "It wasn't-- that was an error! I'm sorry!" you yelp, trying to come up with any kind of reply at all that's correct, but none of it will help you. You've ruined this. You've ruined everything. [[You're all going to get caught and shattered and--->do-over.]]

"Let me just check one more time..." you say, and hope your voice doesn't sound too shaky. You pull up the screen for diagnostics, then open your hack program and flick through your carefully pre-planned inputs, doing a bit of quick math in your head. You've forgotten a minus sign, you realize, and hastily add it back in. The rest of the numbers seem fine, even when you quadruple-check just to be absolutely sure. Well, *that* would have been embarassing. (And you would have probably been caught and shattered for treason, too. No pressure!) It's a good thing you checked. [[> "Everything is in order now."]]

"Everything looks to be in order now," you report. "Ready to go?" "Just get on with it," says B41. $b elbows her. "S'good that you checked," $b assures you. "Better safe than sorry, ya know?" You nod, trying not to make any distracting eye contact, and press the button. [[> The screen lights up.]]

"Smiley?" $b's voice shakes you out of your spiral. "You good?" You blink. The diagnostics panel is open in front of you; the program, waiting for your input. "Do you need to triple-check or what?" asks B41, raising an eyebrow. Right. Right, okay. You're catastrophizing again, like always. You shake your head, trying to clear your anxiety. What you just pictured? That's what could have happened. You're not going to do that.(set:$fails to $fails + 1) [[> Okay. Here goes nothing.->> Ready the telemetry spoof.]]

Number scroll by, almost faster than you can read them. Everything seems to be going perfectly, until-- *DING. DING. DING. DING.* Oh, no. Of all times for her to decide to micromanage your missions, why *now*?! [[> Open the communications line.]] [[> Ignore it.]]

You take a deep, unnecessary breath, then accept the call, opening the communications line. Your supervisor instantly fills the screen with her presence. "$pgemtype $pgemcode?" says Olivine 3-1TC. By the flickering of her eyes beneath her utilitarian visor, you can see her reading your designation off a second holoscreen just out of view. "You've arrived and been idling at system 41E-11 for the last quarter-cycle. Have you begun surveying yet?" "Yes, my Olivine," you reply, with practiced smoothness and calm. *Surely you have better things to be doing right now than checking in on every planetary mission this side of the universe?* "We're just about to go on ahead. There's been some weird readings, is all." "Have you recalibrated your sensors recently?" she asks, with a barely stifled roll of her eyes. [[> "Yes."]] [[> "No."]]

"Don't pick up," B41 advises you. You've already made up your mind; you agree. Maybe it's not even Olivine calling in. The communications line continues to ring. A bright green notification pops up in the bottom corner of the screen. [[> Minimize the program, quickly!]] [[> Close the notification, quickly!]]

You swipe and shrink down your hacking input program so it only takes up a tiny blip at the bottom of the screen. That won't hide things like how much processing power it uses, of course, but at least now if the screen gets shared by some stupid comms line loophole, your supervisor won't be able to see it. A second later, the communications line forces itself open, and your supervisor appears in a small window in the bottom quadrant of the screen. "$pgemtype $pgemcode?" says Olivine 3-1TC. By the flickering of her eyes beneath her utilitarian visor, you can see her reading your designation off a second holoscreen just out of view. "You've arrived and been idling at system 41E-11 for the last quarter-cycle. Have you begun surveying yet?" "Yes, my Olivine," you reply, smoothing out your voice into something a little less utterly panicked. "Um, we're at the planet and ready to survey! There's been some weird readings, but that's all." "Good," she replies, flicking through some other document with her free hand. Multitasking, as usual. "Was there anything else you wanted, my Olivine?" you ask. *Would you like to do my job for me, since you're obviously not busy enough?*, you don't add. "No. That will be all. Keep an eye on those readings, and I'll check in again in a cycle." With a careless flick of her finger, your supervisor closes the comms line. You all breathe out a sigh of relief. [[> Now for the tricky part.]]

You close the notification with a system command. The incessant *DING* continues, and a second later, the communications line forces itself open, and your supervisor appears in a small window in the bottom quadrant of the screen. "$pgemtype $pgemcode?" says Olivine 3-1TC. By the flickering of her eyes beneath her utilitarian visor, you can see her reading your designation off a second holoscreen just out of view. "You've arrived and been idling at system 41E-11 for the last quarter-cycle. Have you begun surveying yet?" "Yes, my Olivine," you reply, smoothing out your voice into something a little less utterly panicked. "Um, we're at the planet and ready to survey!" "Good," she replies, flicking through some other document with her free hand. Multitasking, as usual. *Please don't look at my screen,* you think. Your supervisor glances up, and her eyes narrow into green slits. "$pgemcode, what *exactly* am I looking at on your screen right now?" Oh, shards. "Uh," you say. You do not have a planned excuse. [[> "Diagnostics?"]] [[> "A side project?"]]

Well, okay, this isn't the trickiest part. (That honor goes to the step after this.) But it's reasonably tricky. (if: $plan is 1)[This is the part where you make the planet invisible.](else:)[You're going to make the planet invisible.] [[> Ready the cloaking system.]]

"Diagnostics?" you offer. "Um. On the planet. Y'know. Like I'm here to do." Olivine narrows her eyes further, if that's possible, and her eyes skim over the visible output in the console. Behind you, you can practically feel the tension in $b and B41's silence, and Clear Quartz's glare from just off-camera feels like it's trying to laser-drill a hole clear through your head. "If that's true, you'd best check your sensors. The output data appears to be feeding into the ship's telemetric sensors." "Ah, huh," you say. "Whoops. Well, you know me. Bottom of the class, and all. Thanks for pointing that out! I'll get right on it." "Please do," she replies, barely bothering to hold back her scoff. "I'll check in again in another cycle. *Do* try to finish the mission within intended time limits. I'm sure with your efficiency you must have a very busy schedule." "Thank you, my Olivine," you say, gritting your teeth a little to keep your smile in place. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind." The comms line closes, and you let out a sigh of relief. It's cut by the disappointment that permeates the ship, and Clear Quartz's glare still burning into your temple. [[> Next.->meh end]]

"A side-project?" you say, as your mind turns totally blank for ideas. "I'm really sorry, I'll just, uh, close this--" "You're on a mission," Olivine warns you. "This isn't the time for passion projects, $pgemcode." She narrows her eyes, reading the output from the console. "What is this project even for?" "Um." "It looks ridiculous. And why is it inputting data into the ship's... telemetry program...?" Welp. This is it. You've been caught in the act, and your excuses have fallen through like sheets of splintering mica. [[You're going to be captured, and shattered as traitors, and--->wrong call.]]

"At least she didn't catch us," $b tries to reassure you, patting your shoulder as lightly as she can manage. It's more like a gentle slap, but you appreciate the effort. "You did good keeping your cool." "That's the mission gone," Clear Quartz snaps. "We can't risk carrying out the plan like this. It'll look too suspicious." "There's more worlds out there," B41 mumbles, but it's half-hearted. "I'm sorry," you squeak out, because your composure from earlier is basically gone now. It's like all the fight and competence leaked out of you the moment the call ended. "It's not great," says $b, "but it's not the end of the world, either." She casts a forlorn eye down onto the golden hemisphere of the planet below. Doomed, now. That life won't last long once the kindergartens are built. You won't be shattered for treason, but this definitely could have gone better. ###THE END...? *[[Or maybe, another chance...->>Would you like to play again?]]*

You open a secret, second comms line you coded and installed from a secret file you downloaded four cycles ago, and ping the sole other participant online: "C". You don't know who, or even what type of gem she is (and hasn't *that* thrown you for a loop), but she's a rebel like the rest of you, and Clear Quartz trusts her, which is what really matters here. *C: WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU?* The message you need to send her is coded, of course. You just need to remember the passphrase... and of course, your mind is blank. It was something about shadows. You can't screw this up! *P:(text-style:"blink")[_]* [[> THE WORLD LIVES IN SHADOW]] [[> THE WORLD DIES IN SHADOW]] [[> Wait, one of the others should know the code, too, right?]]

*P: THE WORLD LIVES IN SHADOW* *C: GOT IT. DISENGAGING.* Oh. Uh. That's not good. "Did you tell her?" B41 asks. "Um," you say. "I, uh." The comms window closes. Silence fills the deck. You're panicking again, and you [[*sent the wrong code*, and--->wrong code.]]

*P: THE WORLD DIES IN SHADOW* *C: UNDERSTOOD. ENGAGING.* A second later, the shields start to move. It's a sight to behold. You're far enough away to still have a good look at the planet as the deployment starts, but you get to the ship's controls and start backing off, readying for stage three. (if:$plan is 1)[(That's going to be the doozy.)] Within minutes, the planet is hidden from detector view. Even the appearance is dimmer, though you're assured the shields will still allow sufficient light and radiation from the nearby star to avoid interfering with the organic life inhabiting it. A bit sourly, you think to yourself that if *you* were in charge of a great big grand space empire, you'd put more effort into telemetry. The extent to which your supervisor relies on your *personal* reports and her own two eyes to track things makes this whole arrangement embarrassingly easy. (Especially when all you quietly rerouted all the the robinoid telemetry two cycles ago, and your homebrew program is writing fake diagnostic inputs for the ship to say you've already surveyed the place.) Anyway. With the shields in place from your friend on the far side of the planet, all that's left is the biggest step. (if:$plan is 1)[ [[> You're going to deploy a fake black hole.]]](else:)[ [[> It's black hole time.->> You're going to deploy a fake black hole.]]]

"Smiley?" $b's voice shakes you out of your spiral. "You good?" You blink. The comms console prompt blinks back, waiting. Right. Right, okay. You're catastrophizing again, like always. (if:$fails is 0)[ You shake your head, trying to clear your anxiety. What you just pictured? That's what could have happened. You're not going to do that.](else:)[You just need a moment to remember the code, and...] (set:$fails to $fails + 1)[[> Okay. Here goes nothing.->> Deploy.]]

"Smiley?" $b's voice shakes you out of your spiral. "You good?" You blink. The communications line keeps *DING DING DING*ing away. Right. Right, okay. You're catastrophizing again, like always. (if:$fails is 0)[You shake your head, trying to clear your anxiety. What you just pictured? That's what could have happened. You're not going to do that. ](else:)[You're not going to do that for real, after all. Just...](set:$fails to $fails + 1) [[> Okay. Here goes nothing.->> Ignore it.]]

The star this world revolves around is massive. It's far away enough to allow for organics to thrive, but it's just the kind of thing that could maybe, *plausibly* go horribly supernova at the worst possible moment. (Or, in your case, black hole.) Fringe systems like these barely get a once-over from preliminary surveys back on the local galactic stations, so all it'll take is a decent cover story, some hacking, and a whole lot of faith in your souped-up fake gravity readings generator, currently sitting pretty in the ship's cargo bay, disguised as a surveying robinoid. You didn't build the generator. It was created by still another member of your secret network, and you don't know her name either, any more than you know C's, but you've heard rumors one of her collaborators was a *Pearl*. $b says Clear's told her stories about a renegade Pearl back in the war who did tech stuff; there's a part of you that almost wishes you could have met her, just to see if it was true. The idea throws you for such a loop you'd have to see it to believe it. [[> Moving on.]]

Right, right. Anyway. You'll need to move the ship around a bit to make sure the whole thing works properly. More specifically, you'll need to make a quick loop around the star to jettison the device close enough by to make it look realistic, and you'll need to have moved on and out of the system before it activates, unless you want to answer fun questions about how you escaped an up-close and personal encounter with a deadly gravity well. Your telemetry hack program is nearly done providing convincing information about how actually quite barren the world below is according to the ship's sensors as you first touch down surface-side, and it's starting on the part about how the craft hovers in orbit while the diagnostic process finishes, before you're called to your next task. Time to get going. [[> You activate the short-range warp.]]

(if:visits is 1)[And off to the star you go. Closer, closer, closer. The light is overwhelming. (Careful, now.) ]You're near enough. This is as close to the star as your ship can safely get. Now just to drop the payload. You just need to hit the button when the aiming reticule (that little "O") is in the middle position. <center>(set:$line to (a:"O","_","_","_","_","_","_","_","_"))(set:$n to 1)(set:$dir to 1)(live:0.5s)[(set:$line's ($n) to "_")(set: $n to $n + $dir)(if:$n > 8)[(set:$dir to -1)](elseif:$n < 2)[(set:$dir to 1)](set:$line's ($n) to "O")`[`(print:$line's (1)) (print:$line's (2)) (print:$line's (3)) (print:$line's (4)) (print:$line's (5)) (print:$line's (6)) (print:$line's (7)) (print:$line's (8)) (print:$line's (9))`]`</center> (if:$n < 7)[(if:$n > 3)[[[> Now!->success]]](else:)[[[> Now!->fail]]]](else:)[[[> Now!->fail]]] ] [[> Slow down a little first.]]

"Yes, my Olivine. Everything appears to be functioning normally." Your supervisor sighs, grumbling something under her breath about *useless Era Twos* and *do everything myself*, and then makes a vague, almost tired gesture at you through the screen. "Keep an eye on them, then, and I'll check back in another cycle." With a casual flick of her finger, she closes the window, ending communications. (You let out a sigh of relief.) [[> Now for the tricky part.]]

"No, I, um... haven't," you admit, still a little off-kilter with an unscripted call. Your supervisor raises an eyebrow. "Then recalibrate them, and try again. Or do you need me to remind you how to do that, as well?" "No, my Olivine," you say, but your mind is elsewhere. If she's asked you to recalibrate, then the fake telemetry will be noticeably off without a stop and restart sequence... which you didn't include. Oh, *shards*. "Then do that, and I'll contact you again in a cycle," says Olivine, still too busy with something offscreen to notice your own distraction. She closes the window with a flick of her fingers, ending the call and cutting off comms. You allow yourself a brief sigh of relief, but it's short-lived. Now you've got a new problem to fix. [[> Pause the fake telemetry inputs, recalibrate, and resume.]] [[> Adjust the code to include a recalibration.]]

It sounds reasonable enough. If all goes well, nobody will be looking closely enough to notice if the data is just a little misaligned. "What are you doing?" Clear Quartz demands, as you hit *pause* on the false telemetry in near-perfect time with *refresh and recalibrate* on the sensors. "I-I need to recalibrate the sensors now, or the data will look off," you explain, running on the same sublime not-quite-panic that carried you through lying to your supervisor yet again. "If I don't, the readings could be called into question, and I don't want to risk that." Clear Quartz hums her approval. "Good. Guess we'll make something of you yet."(set:$rp to $rp + 1) You try not to grin too widely. It doesn't work, so you just turn your whole face to the screen and really hope nobody sees. As the recalibration finishes, you unpause the false telemetry inputs, and everything resumes as normal. It won't look as good as it would if you'd coded them in in the first place, but it should be enough to fool anyone normally poking around. Crisis averted. For the moment, at least. [[> Now for the tricky part.]]

You suppose you could recode for recalibration, but that's not really... ugh. You'd have to recompile and restart the whole program. If you could erase the old inputs, maybe? The telemetry isn't being sent in a continuous stream. That could work in your favor. But has it been long enough for a packet to send and clue them in if the whole thing restarted? Probably. You draw up a copy and start manually arraying up data for the false recalibration anyway, but you're working from memory, and it's not *enough*. You don't think you're going to make it. No, scratch that, you aren't going to make it. Someone will notice. [[One careless word, and you've ruined everything--->said no]]

"Smiley?" $b's voice shakes you out of your spiral. "You good?" You blink. The communications line keeps *DING DING DING*ing away. Right. Right, okay. You're catastrophizing again, like always. You shake your head, trying to clear your anxiety. (if:$fails < 1)[What you just pictured? That's what could have happened. You're not going to do that.] (else:)[Right. Okay. Bad idea. Don't do that. ](set:$fails to $fails + 1) [[> Okay. Here goes nothing.->> Open the communications line.]]

You slam the button (if: $n is 5)[at just the right moment](else:)[without a split second to spare], and watch as the black hole generator spins straight out into space, right where it needs to go. [[> Success!]]

You hit the button a moment too (if:$n > 5)[late](else:)[early], and suddenly all you can do it watch the black hole generator spin off into space. You're off by a backwater mile and you know it. "Uhh, Smiley?" $b asks. "You sure that was the right direction?" "Of course not!" you burst out, before you can help yourself. To think, you've come all this way, only to screw up on the last possible step! You've screwed up this whole mission for everyone, and it's (if:visits < 3)[[[*all your fault*->failure to launch]]](else:)[[[*all your fault*->> Oh, stars. You still can't do this.]]]

Okay, yeah, you can do that. Easy does it... <center>(set:$line to (a:"O","_","_","_","_","_","_","_","_"))(set:$n to 1)(set:$dir to 1)(live:1s)[(set:$line's ($n) to "_")(set: $n to $n + $dir)(if:$n > 8)[(set:$dir to -1)](elseif:$n < 2)[(set:$dir to 1)](set:$line's ($n) to "O")`[`(print:$line's (1)) (print:$line's (2)) (print:$line's (3)) (print:$line's (4)) (print:$line's (5)) (print:$line's (6)) (print:$line's (7)) (print:$line's (8)) (print:$line's (9))`]`</center> (if:$n < 7)[(if:$n > 3)[[[> Now!->success]]](else:)[[[> Now!->fail]]]](else:)[[[> Now!->fail]]] ] [[> Oh, stars. You still can't do this.]]

You whoop and raise your fists in the air, like you could punch the ship's ceiling. (You are not tall enough to punch the ship's ceiling.) "It's done, then?" says Clear Quartz. "I just need to activate it, and we'll be ready to go," you reply. You could float in the glow of your imminent victory. B41 adds her own whoop of excitement (and actually does hit the ceiling. It's a good thing these crafts are so durable.) (if:(history:) contains "> Oh, stars. You still can't do this.")["Told ya you could do it,"](else:)["See? Nothing to be worried about, just like I said,"] adds $b, clapping you on the shoulder. You're not used to the contact -- maybe you never will be -- but the feeling of her hand on you, with the thrill of victory filling your mind... well, the feeling is indescribable, but you've never been so relieved. [[> Thankfully, this next step is the easy part.]]

"Smiley? Are you launching the thing or not?" Your hands are shaking on the controls. "You okay?" $b leans over your shoulder and glances between you and the screen, and you've learned that means she's concerned, probably for you. "I... I can't do it..." you admit, very quietly, although you suspect the others hear you anyway. "It's just jitters, I guess. I'm..." you pause, a little pained, before continuing. "I'm scared. If I screw this up..." $b laughs. You flinch, at first, but remember what she's said before, about laughing with you, and not just at you. It's like the way she pushes and goofs around with other quartzes, off-duty -- she's trying to cheer you on, in her own confusing way, you guess. It brings a little smile to your vaguely warming cheeks, and you crack a weak laugh of your own. "I believe in you," she says. "And if you don't, then I'll push that darn button for you if I have to." "Can you two *please* stop flirting and just launch the thing already?" complains B41, from behind you. You inhale, deeply. Exhale. You can do this. [[> You press the button.->success]]

"Smiley?" $b's voice shakes you out of your spiral. "Everything okay?" You blink. The aiming reticule slides side to side, waiting for you to hit *launch*. Right. Right, okay. You're catastrophizing again, like always. (if:$fails > 0)[It's just a simple launch procedure. You've done this plenty of times before.](else:)[ You shake your head, trying to clear your anxiety. What you just pictured? That's what could have happened. You're not going to do that.](set:$fails to $fails + 1) [[> Okay. Here goes nothing.->> You activate the short-range warp.]]

You punch in a code, and the activation timer is set and ticking down. About two cycles from now, it'll trigger the fake black hole, making it look like the whole system just imploded and disappeared, making your crew the unbelievably (or, not-quite-unbelievably) lucky survivors who got out of the system *just in time* to avoid the sudden event horizon. You prepare to pull the ship into warp and zip back off to near planetary orbit, ready to move on, when-- *DING DING DING* sings the communications line. It absolutely has not been a full cycle since the last call. You are not surprised in the slightest. It must be a slow week for her. "Remind me again," says Clear Quartz, very quietly, "why we got assigned a rookie whose supervisor won't let off her case for half a cycle?" "She's the only fringe surveyor we've got right now," $b points out. "Not her fault that Olivine's got a big old cylinder up her--" "I-I'm sorry," you stammer, interrupting as the *DING DING DING* continues, "I'll, I'll just take this real quick, and hopefully she'll leave us alone after that." [[> Take the call.]]

"Hello, my Olivine," you greet, smiling. "$pgemcode. You're awfully chipper," says Olivine 3-1TC. "Surveying's going well, then?" Ohhh. Oh, that could be a small problem. Your ship telemetry should be saying you're parked planetside, inspecting the surface. You are definitely not doing that right now. "Y-yes, my Olivine," you say, shooting a nervous glance off-camera. "Did you have any other questions, or will that be all?" "You're still onboard the ship," Olivine observes, finally paying attention to the screen instead of the holopad in her hands. (if:(history:) contains "> \"No.\"")[ [[> Tell her the quartzes are planetside right now without you.]]] [[> Tell her you finished early.]] [[> Uh oh, connection issues! You're breaking up!->> Panic.]]

"Yeah, the quartzes are planetside right now, um, doing some looking around.(if:(history:) contains "> \"No.\"")[ I, uh, stayed behind to recalibrate the sensors!]" As discreetly as you can, you gesture to $b and B41 to move out of the camera's field of view. Thankfully, they're already out of sight, and Clear Quartz is, too. Olivine mutters something that sounds an awful lot like *shirking of duties* as she types on a neighboring keyboard, but she asks no further questions. "Will that be all?" you prompt, after a few seconds. "Yes, yes." The call ends a second later. Thank the *stars*. You don't know what you would have done otherwise. (Panicked, probably.) Anyway. With *that* hopefully out of the way, you've just got one task left to do. (if:$rp > 2)[[[> Complete the mission.->best end]]](else:)[[[> Complete the mission.->good end]]]

"We're actually done!" you say. It comes out more confident than you were prepared to expect. "Already?" Olivine raises an eyebrow. "Efficient, for a Peridot. Perhaps..." Her eyes narrow. "*Too* efficient. Are you certain you've done a proper survey of the surface?" "Readings and everything," you chirp. Technically, the fake telemetry included planetary sensor data, but you're still bluffing on the actual report data, and if she checks, you're good as broken. Not for the last time, you curse whatever lucky break gave Olivine idle hands this orbit. "Really," says Olivine. With a sinking heart, you realize she does not sound convinced. She flicks something open on another side screen, and flashes you a disapproving glare. "Then why exactly are all your reports still blank?" "They, um, must not have updated yet?" you offer. "Y'know, database delays and all that." "Your connection is fine," Olivine responds, but it's more grumbling than a real counter-argument. Technically, the databases *do* have the occasional delay in updating their records of the thousands of reports constantly coming in. (A technical issue that's never been vital enough to be worth the server downtime to fix. You've often lamented its pointless inefficiency when the capacity to upgrade is *right there*, but in this moment you find some begrudging gratitude for the trouble.) The soft chime of a standard custom alert rings somewhere on her end, and she scowls. "I don't have time to discuss this further. You're dismissed for now, but I'd better see those reports in the next centi-cycle," Olivine declares, closing the reports window. "You're on shaky ground, $pgemcode. Mind your step." A second later, the comms line shuts off. You let out an unbidden sigh of relief. Right. Okay. Now all that's left is to... (if:$rp > 2)[[[> Complete the mission.->best end]]](else:)[[[> Complete the mission.->good end]]]

"Uhhh, so sorry, I uh, can't hear you!! Everything's breaking up," you babble, all in a rush. You reach offscreen and surreptitiously wiggle a connector with an adaptive limb interface, in hopes of inducing a bit of believable manual interference. The buzz up your arms is unwelcome, but the screen flickers, which helps. "Whoops! Must be a technical issue! Probably on my end! You know how it is. Uh, call back in a cycle!" "You shouldn't be experiencing any equipment malfunct-" You hastily slap the *end call* shortcut you aren't technically supposed to use outside of emergencies, and the call cuts off instantly. Well, that was a disaster. "I've made an awful mistake," you say. "Oh, stars. I've made a mistake." B41 wheezes. "What are you talking about? That was great! The look on her *face*." (set:$rp to $rp + 1) "What if she doesn't believe me?! Oh, stars, what if she's about to call back *right now*?! I didn't even give a good excuse!" "Well," reasons $b, with a growing grin, "now, we've got time to think of one. You bought us that much." (It stings a little less, to hear that from her.) Right. Well. Okay then. You've done what you've done, no turning back. There's only one thing left to do next, you suppose. (if:$rp > 2)[[[> Complete the mission.->best end]]](else:)[[[> Complete the mission.->good end]]]

You pull the ship into warp, and with a snap-pop of space you're gliding into orbit around the shielded planet, slowing to a near stop. Gravity drags the ship into an arc, and you let it for now. (if:(history:) contains "> Tell her you finished early")

You pull the ship into warp, and with a snap-pop of air and space you're gliding into orbit around the shielded planet, slowing to a near stop. Gravity drags the ship into an arc, and you let it for now. (if:(history:) contains "> Tell her you finished early.")["Guess you'd better get to writing those reports," says $b, with a grin. You groan. "I'm going to have to rush them," you admit. "Maybe if I'm lucky, she'll be too busy with someone else's mission to care about the fine details."](elseif:(history:) contains "> Panic.")[The planet's presence is weirdly calming, but your mind remains a jumbled mess. "I still need to think of *something* to tell Olivine when she calls back," you say, mostly thinking aloud. Hopefully, that won't be *too* soon, though with your luck today, it might as well happen now.](else:)[Olivine didn't sound terribly pleased, but at least she believed you, so that's a start. You only look incompetent to her, rather than straight up suspicious.] "It's gonna be fine," says $b, clapping her hand on your shoulder. (if:(history:) contains "> Tell her the quartzes are planetside right now without you.")[Your worry must have made its way on to your face. Her hand is](else:)[It's] gently warm, and you don't flinch away. "We'll figure it out! You're not the only one on board here, Smiley." "Right," you say. "Th-thanks." You're smiling now. (Almost certainly because of her. You'd rank your confidence regarding this in the high nineties, at least.) "You did well for a rookie," Clear Quartz decides. Her voice stays gruff as ever, but you don't think you're imagining the undercurrent of affection, now. "We'll make something out of you yet." "I think this calls for a little celebration," says B41, grinning. "Maybe after all this is over?" "The four of us fraternizing after this would look incredibly suspicious," Clear Quartz points out. "(if:(history:) contains "> Tell her you finished early.")[And I *really* need to start on reports](else:)[And we still haven't done the reports]," you add. B41 sighs. "Worth a shot. Eh, Bee and I'll come up with something." $b laughs. "Yeah, yeah. Sure." You open your holoscreen and get to typing. --- Thanks to you and the crew, a single world stands a chance of survival in the endless march of the Diamond Authority. It's not a lot, by the numbers, but it's more than you used to ever think was possible. You know it can be something better, something *more* than just a kindergarten-hollowed wasteland, used up and stripped and thrown aside like so much space debris. There's a future out there, and maybe you aren't guaranteed to see it yourself, but it's somewhere, waiting. It has to be. (A year later, Steven Quartz Universe comes to Homeworld, and everything changes. This is not a story about him. But it is a story for the future he creates, and it's one beyond your wildest dreams.) ###BEST END --- *[[>Would you like to play again?]]*

"Just to check..." you say, quietly, "it's 'the world *dies* in shadow', right? Unless it's 'the world *lives*', and I'm screwing it up--?" "Thorough, aren't you?" Clear Quartz nods. Maybe it's your imagination, but it *looks* like a nod of approval. (It could also be pity, though.)(set:$rp to $rp + 1) "You had it right the first time. Just send the code." You let out a breath you don't remember holding, and type in the code. [[> Next.->> THE WORLD DIES IN SHADOW]]

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