Prologue: Frontier of the Spirit

It was the year 2222, and Spiritual Technology (SpirTech) had given humanity its first foothold in other dimensions. Lumina Dynamics was the trailblazer, aiming to democratize what was once the domain of sages and philosophers. Their Sedona Nexus tapped into the Spirit Bazaar, which teemed with beings who bartered spiritual energies. People who could access it were called “tuners.” Mystics who worked on commission, executing trades on behalf of eccentric seekers.

The Nexus was both a physical marvel and a symbol of humanity’s ambition: crystalline towers that sparkled against the deep red canyons, while holographic projections flickered above the skyline like an aurora. Lumina promised a gateway to enlightenment, audited quarterly. It was a magnificent vision until you noticed the nervous lawyers hovering around the edges, drafting clauses like “Acts of Vibrational Negligence.”

Soren Vale was a tuner for Cyllene Trading, which operated on Lumina’s Nexus. Today, he was unloading somebody’s memories. Memories he liked knowing nothing about.

The enigma across from him appeared as a tangle of glowing threads. Neither of them wanted to walk away with what they had brought to market, and both knew it.

“Client wants them gone, and I mean completely. No trace.”

“No trace? I’ll have to wipe the memories of half the people on your little planet for that.”

“Just his. But none of this comes back as nightmares.”

“I can make him pass the polygraph, but sweet dreams are tricky. What’s your offer?”

“What are you holding today?”

“How many would you like to pick up?”

“He’ll host ninety plinthrops for your trouble.”

Ambition leeches, basically.

“I can make it work if the habits get to stay.”

“How much for you to take the habits?”

“One lot, and I’ll clear it all in half a year.”

“Same kind as last time?”

“Yes, the two-dimensional sort. A mild case of apathy, a touch of inertia. Nothing serious.”

“No insomnia?”

“Rarely.”

“No impulsivity?”

“He might buy a yacht, but no new islands.”

“And the lot better be cold. No new feelings.”

“He’s not one for empathy? Don’t worry, this vintage is pure ice.”

“Can you do it in three months?”

“The man wants conscience of a newborn in a quarter.”

Soren waited for a counteroffer. None came.

“So, you clear the memories and habits in three months. He hosts the hundred two-D plinthrops, all cold. And he never has nightmares about any of it.”

“It is bound.”

Soren felt his brain getting sucked out from behind his eyeballs, and he was back in the tuning chamber. He took a couple of minutes to come to his senses and exited.

“What happened?”

“Lumina called it off. The client’s vitals were off the charts. It’s a bust.”

“I closed right before the hook. All that work for a donut.”

The exchange aborted the paper trade, and Cyllene refunded the client’s escrow. But the Bazaar trade bound before the tuner got pulled, and the enigma’s deal stood.

“What did you end up binding, anyway?”

“Peace for a lot of plinthrops.” ⬤