THIS PROGRAM HAS BEEN CANCELED [S!1][ROUND THREE: PORT CERIDWEN]

Cold iron, silver tongue, the beginning and the end of all Aaron’s psychopathic education could not possibly come to bear to begin an understanding for this. Dead people? Dead people? Murdered? He wasn’t responsible for this, was he? He didn’t do this, did he? He stared at the remains of the nightmare thing. What did life matter, unless it served its betters, he remembered, an old lesson half-surfacing in his mind as his practicum tutor slashed a knife across a slave’s throat, and he almost went back there, if it weren’t for the little golden thought missing at his side. Change would have urged him to kill or leverage their lives somehow against a further goal, but…

He’d had a little shop, where he sold little dreams. That had been all he’d ever wanted, right then in that moment. He’d lived that little dream of his own. A life free from managing an economy, a life free from cruelty and strange anachronisms and a world that didn’t just loop around in every direction if you didn’t want it to… oh, how he missed that little shop. He sighed. But it was never to be. He saw his future laid out in front of him: he would tear his way across the worlds the strange and twisted authorities above brought him, just as he used to trek from town to town, rebalancing books and deleting debts.

Change had been his friend then, a trusted companion, an advisor, and an ally. Now, Aaron wasn’t sure if he could ever make things right.

“M’Sir?” Shapiro was saying something. “Mister Abstract, sir?”

“AARON” Tschic yelled bigly, “YOUR DUDE IS TALKING TO YOU”

Aaron moaned, covering his ears. “I heard, Tschic,” he began, but didn’t bother to finish. “Could I get a little quiet, please.” The librarian clones nodded in agreement. He clutched at a bookshelf for balance, but the feeling of guilt kept coming, not going away like dreams usually did. Slowly, he realized it was no dream. This was coming from within. He’d always been taught as an aurumancer not to feel guilt, especially since all events were consequences of market forces, but it kept coming, it kept coming…

Unbidden, the image of Nizzo came to mind.

There was a commotion at the door.