Ambresia

In a world where populations were separated by different work/sleep cycles and ship levels, the alpha prework news flash provided a lone semblance of unity for the denizens of the Pearl Gondola. It marked the start of a new "day," with the official morning tallies for commodities, hydroponics, and politics.

But nearly everyone skipped that part, or got a summary later. Only the final arts section forced everyone to actually watch live. Even the delay of a few microseconds between the story airing and being published could mean all the difference in knowing what was in and what was out. Just the previous year nearly everyone had filled their rooms with ceramic pottery; before that, the more eclectic bunch who could afford it decked themselves in sweaters made from (of all things) actual animal fibres.

People drank down their nutrient-rich breakfasts and watched with rapt attention as the handsome face of leading culture critic Paulo d'Wilt filled their screen. "If you're just finishing a delicious round of protein shake, than you're out of luck to keep up with today's kids. Here's Tylah from down on 15 with the sensation that's sure to be headed to a level near you."

Tylah came into view and smiled with obvious delight, brown cheeks aglow. "Ya, we're jetting some real stuff down here, and it's hot dish." She held up an enormous cup with elaborate, mythic designs, alien to anything the current generation had ever seen. It actually had a straw which Tylah sucked on with gusto, gasping as she came up for air. "Drink it hard and strong. Suddenly you're all neal-G in the head. Best is at Mica's shop uplevel on 10, by the tubes. Chow!"

Within minutes Mica had more customers than he could possibly handle. The leading commercial movers and shakers of the core levels moved to capitalize on the trend at once. Soon news programs were filled with medical pundits debating the health risks, media personalities extolling the spiritual benefits of a "freeze trip," and politicians discussing productivity and income variations from this new group.

The biggest fans of the phenomena coalesced around Pursa, last of the Lodes clan (an original Gondolian launch family), and, not coincidentally, heir to a vast fortune of interests across the market. She owned apartments in every level, from the outermost ones touching the ship's hull to the inner ones up close to the leading movers and shakers. It was on the "Saving Time" chat forum that she actually named her own sect.

"We don't think of it as just an empty way to fill the hours," she'd said, breathlessly, text and audio echoing to hundreds of kindred spirits. "It's a special way to spend our time, which we have so little of, really. It's not just a sense of power, but of bursting into the past, experiencing short gasps of an immortal history we've never known. Maybe our ancestors never meant for us to reach their dreams, but to live and explore our own. Is there a world beyond walls, a sky seen without cameras, or anything beyond this present reality? Who can say? We don't concern ourselves with such questions. It's a matter of living our own lives, here, now, and forever."

She took up the now fashionable cup. Her's was a far superior model than Tylah's, replicated from extensive research by the better manufacturers down to its packaging.

"They once called this delight a 'slush-ee.' That's a guttural, awful sounding thing for something so sweet and beautiful, but it was a harsher world, I suppose, one where pain and horror mixed with the everyday pleasures of life. I've been told they had to buy these things at fuel stations, and as you can see, then as now, the commercial mixed with the sublime." Pursa laughed, rotating the cup to reveal a a long-forgotten mythic figure, cape flapping in the breeze behind him. The printed slogan had even been translated to contemporary Gondolian: Win Cheap Tickets to the Newest Art Sensation.

"I think it's time to rechristen this beverage for the age we live in. They had their gods, we have ours, but time and tide wait for none. I salute all my fellow travellers on this road to Ambresia."

Before two ship's cycles passed the Ambresian cult had gone mainstream, complete with religious registration, commercial interests, and a candidate for higher office. The group even suffered its first schism as purists continued to drink their chosen nectar as a supplementary diet and moderates started integrating into other foods and beverages, even forgoing the drink entirely in favor of the aesthetic now surrounding it. The first elected Ambresian teacher worked with the true leader Pursa to develop a constitution and doctrine. Assemblies met, conventions were held, acolytes accrued.

The rise of Ambresia appeared unstoppable.

Then one faithful day, Paulo d'Wilt returned to the screens and announced, "A reputable source on the inside of negotiations for the water crisis has revealed a shocking secret: Ambresia, the leading commodity and movement, is allegedly made of actual ice. We've contacted a member of the Science Council to answer questions."

Scientists soon confirmed the rumor. Those few unswayed by Ambresia's thrall came out of their hiding places with a vengeance. Protests sparked as ship levels with water limitations demanded to know where the ice was coming from. Politicians scrambled to provide explanations, and many a company manager was fired over the scandal.

In all the upheaval only one person thought to return to the source of the craze. Tylah, now a modest downlevel news supplier, secured an interview with one midlevel shopkeeper Mica. "Of course I knew what was in it, I don't sell anything I don't test myself. Good way to get shut down."

"So how come you sold it, when it was just water all along?"

His smile crinkled his leathery cheeks. "It was labelled a candy. Meant I could sell it downlevel no matter how the official water rationing limits changed." He shrugged at his own cleverness. "Some things just don't change no matter what fancy labels you put on it. People want stuff, and I get it to them. That's just good business."

His simple logic didn't carry enough penahce to reach Ambresia-level news saturation. But he wasn't concerned. Orders for colored glass bottles, the newest craze to hit the disposable income crowd, were already coming in quite nicely.

The screen time his interview with Tylah netted was just enough to form some important uplevel connections, those who were desperate to rid themselves of a suddenly unsalable commodity. Mica assured them he'd take the stuff off their hands.

And since there were no regulations on glass bottles whatsoever, it only made sense to fill the product with extra water rations a la Ambresia for downlevel consumption. Gondolian gods had short attention spans, after all.