Microstory 2728: Talking to Yourself

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This. This is why Pribadium doesn’t like to travel through time, because it causes headaches. Just because someone looks like you, doesn’t mean they share your values. Even if you can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that they are a version of you, you might not be able to trust them. They have been through different experiences. Even if you literally split from each other moments ago, one of you was standing on the left, while the other was on the right. That may not seem like much to a human observer, but that can alter your whole perspective, and with each passing second, the differences only compound. Many time travelers recommend not seeing your alternates as that at all, but as entirely distinct people. Trust, but verify, as you would a stranger.

With Sora’s help, Pribadium!One has locked Pribadium!Two in a special holding cell. Since she’s the one who created it, one might assume that she has a way out of it; that she knows its secrets. It doesn’t work like that. Pribadium knew that something like this could happen. It was designed with that in mind, which is why the codes are random. She didn’t think she would ever have to use this feature, but it was always a possibility. She can’t risk the other her finding a way out just by drawing from their memories. One of them is the prisoner, and one of them is the warden. Only the warden has the code, and it was given to her as soon as that door shut tight.

“Are you going to give me the chance to explain myself?” Pribadium!Two asks.

“What good would that do?” Pribadium!One snaps back. “We’re a liar.”

“You used the collective singular there,” Pribadium!Two points out, “yet you’re othering me at the same time. You can’t have it both ways, so to speak. Hear me out.”

“You threatened to kill me, and now you want me to talk and listen to reason? Oh, honey. Our point of divergence must have been more significant than I knew.”

“I was never going to kill you,” Pribadium!Two contends. “I just wanted to shock you for a sec, so you wouldn’t simply roll your eyes and use the communicator anyway.”

“And look where that got you,” Pribadium!One points out, pointing at the cell.

Pribadium!Two shakes her head. “But it worked, didn’t it? Now you can’t use that communicator because you’re wondering what might be worse than me killing you.”

“But you just said that—”

“It doesn’t matter that I was lying,” Pribadium!Two reasons. “You can’t take that risk. You’re too smart for that. So tell me, do you want me to explain why you can’t use that communicator, regardless of whether you calibrate it for the reality that we’re in?”

Pribadium!One shakes her head again. She doesn’t know what to do in this situation. Hearing her out could do damage, even if it’s only words. Still. Even if the only reason Pribadium!Two doesn’t want her to try it is because it might reveal that this is the main sequence, and the rightful reality in the universe, it’s not a great reason. They would work it out. She wouldn’t let the other reality die. They’re not monsters. Right?

“I can practically see the gears turning in your head,” Pribadium!Two muses. “Have a seat, and I’ll explain. It’s not only about the transversal communicator.”

Pribadium!One stares at her alternate self. It probably won’t hurt to hear the explanation, but she can’t give someone who threatened her life the satisfaction. “When we were down on Doma Tertia, Sora left me in a cell alone for twelve days.”

“No,” Pribadium!Two argues, knowing where this is going.

“I will see you in twenty-four.” Pribadium!One leaves.

Microstory 2727: False Convictions

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Sora stares at Pribadium for a moment. “We can’t use your machine to go back in time to stop the Teaguardians from destroying the world, but we can do it to visit my dead friend?” He shakes his head at the apparent contradiction.

“We don’t need a time machine for that,” Pribadium!One notes. “Do you remember how she was talking about other universes; how ours crashed into another?”

“Yes,” Sora confirms.

“I don’t know what universe that would have been,” Pribadium!One begins, “but it’s not the only one—not by a long shot. In fact, a couple of them are our siblings. One of these universes, which are known as branes, was named Fort Underhill. Its, uhh...” She hesitates. She’s not really supposed to talk about this stuff to the humans. That’s an antiquated word, but it just refers to people who don’t know about things like temporal manipulation or psychic abilities. But that ship has sailed, so she might as well go for it. “Fort Underhill is where you go when you die. Actually, you go to a virtual simulation first, but at some point, you get moved to the other brane, which is in base reality.”

Sora stares at her again, narrowing his eyes. “Who goes to this place when they die? Your mind? Immortals like Tertius Valerias and Aeterna Valeria?”

“No, everybody,” Pribadium!One clarifies. She sighs. “You may think you’re undigitized, but you’re not. You were born this way. I can’t explain the biology, I never got much into it, but it’s part of how humans are. We’ve been this way for millennia.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “No! No, it’s not true. If humans have always been digitized, we would know. We would have to.”

“I think we kind of did,” Pribadium!One says. “I don’t know how well you know your history, but when researchers were first trying to figure out how to do it, they made a quantum leap in progress. It was the most apropos use of that term ever. It was when they proved that consciousness existed in the quantum realm, and I think this is why.”

Sora stands, and starts to pace out of frustration. “So my convictions—my refusal to become like all of you—they mean nothing? I can’t die anyway? Elke isn’t dead?”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” she explains. “That was some time ago, and I believe there is a way to die for good in Fort Underhill, but that would be a choice.”

“Yet you have some unique way of contacting the dead?” Sora scoffs.

“I know people in high places.” She’s friends with the people who are responsible for it, but she has never told them that she found a way to access it. She kind of thought they might find out eventually, and when time travel is involved, eventually is synonymous with always. They have never brought it up, though she has had to use it on occasion. There was one time where a man from Castlebourne asked her to reunite an undigitized friend of his with her dead parents. They evidently gave her advice, and now that woman is an immortal flying superhero. So she doesn’t take this for granted.

“It won’t work,” Pribadium!Two says. She’s opening the medical pod, and slowly making her way out of it. “As I told you, this is a parallel reality. Your interversal communicator was calibrated to the main sequence.”

“Good point,” Pribadium!One says. “That would prove if you’re telling the truth.”

“If?” Pribadium!Two questions. “I definitely am.”

“Well, we’ll see about that.” Pribadium!One walks over to the communicator.

Pribadium!Two violently grabs her wrist. “If you try, I’ll have to kill you.”

Microstory 2726: Calm, Patient, and Empathetic

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The alternate version of Pribadium was exhausted, dirty, and hurt. She never got a chance to explain exactly what she went through, and how she came to be in this reality. The Pribadium from this reality put her in a medical pod to recuperate. While she fell asleep, it cleaned her up, treated her injuries, and kept her relaxed.

Pribadium!One has been sitting next to her for the last hour, thinking about what happened. Concurrent realities can exist. That’s how it worked when there were five parallels, before most were destroyed in 2400. But that’s just it—still no one seems to know what caused them to collapse. Keeping this one may prove to be a real problem.

“Can she hear us?” Sora asks in a whisper, sitting down next to Pribadium!One.

“No,” Pribadium!One explains. She eyes him curiously. “You’re a befuddling man, Mr. Shimizu. When we first met, I would have been in the right to call you an asshole, but now you’re calm, patient, and dare I say, empathetic. What changed?”

“Nothing changed; not really,” he says. “I get this way when I’m tired. I’m always so antsy and anxious, but I eventually run out of energy, so I kind of shut down. Plus, you remind me of someone I once knew.” He points to Pribadium!Two. “She reminds me of her even more, with her tattered clothes and worn face. No offense.”

“None taken. She’ll recover.” She pauses. “Have you tried always being nice?”

“Well, sure. When something makes me angry, I try to let it go. I’ve tried everything, short of medical intervention, which I don’t want to do. There was a span of a few years where I intentionally kept myself fatigued so I would be more likeable. I was told it wasn’t healthy for me, so it’s just a trade off. I can be nice or alert, but not both.”

“Is it the woman you wear that scarf for?” she asks. “Is that who the other Pribadium reminds you of, and who told you to be more healthy?”

Sora smiles. “You caught me. I don’t like to talk about it, because it’s...”

“You can be honest,” Pribadium!One encourages. “You can be vulnerable.”

“It was unrequited. I was in love with her, but not she with me. A lot of us Proxima Domanians, you know, are mortals. Organic, undigitized, and bound for death. Many think that it’s crazy. If you could live forever, why wouldn’t you want to? I was probably going to make the transition eventually, but I guess I wanted to test myself first. Our ancestors never had that choice. You lived, you died; that was it. I wanted to see if I could make it, and if I didn’t, then maybe I didn’t deserve it. But anyway, since I grew up with people more like me, that’s mostly all I knew. Until she moved in. I was in my twenties, and so was she...or at least that’s what I thought. I think she was 428 years old the last time I saw her. It made me angry. She looked like a peer, but she saw me as a child. No, she saw me as an ant. But, ya know, one of those friendly ants who you can hang out with. That is what we did, and I fell in love with her a little more every day.”

“What happened to her?” Pribadium!One asks. “You act like she died, but...”

“She did. That stream-blocking tech I used on you? It was hers. She came up with it herself. I didn’t know why until it was too late. Before we met, she systematically murdered every single one of her clones. She was on Doma to kill herself. She spent all that time, secretly under the signal jammer, so even if she was backed up somewhere, it would have been woefully out of date. Then one day, after years of watching me pine after her, she kissed me, went into the bathroom, and slit her wrists.”

Pribadium!One nods and sighs respectfully. “Do you want to see her again?”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 19, 2563

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Monster might not have been the right word to use for them. They were amorphous blobs that shifted their shapes as they moved in unpredictable ways. They were mostly a navy blue, though hints of other colors randomly appear like twinkling stars. They had no faces and no limbs, but they were heading right for the trio. Mateo didn’t know if Romana and Boyd were as worried as he was, so he took his eyes off of the apparent attack to study their faces. They both looked just as surprised as they stood up from the picnic blanket, and tried to back away. This was evidently not normal.

There were more monsters behind them, coming from up the ridge, in the tree branches, and even from burrows in the ground. The landscape and foreground objects, like the picnic supplies, started flickering. The waterfall moved backwards, and then forwards at superspeed. It wasn’t just that there were monsters in this world. It was that the world itself was unstable. The simulation was clearly corrupted. They would have to take it out of Romana’s head. But first, they had to find a way out of it. Any amount of time could have passed in the real world for them. She was not in control anymore. Perhaps she never was.

“We have to get out of here,” Mateo pointed out as they were running through the one gap they found between the monsters. “You leave first, Romy. I’ll follow.”

“She can’t leave,” Boyd argued.

“I don’t know if you’re real or not,” Mateo said to him, “but if you love her like you’re supposed to, you’ll let her save herself. I don’t know where you could go, but—”

“No, it’s not that,” Boyd argued. “The nanites are in her brain and body. She can’t simply log out. Whatever is happening will still be happening, and could still be damaging her. But at least here, she can see what’s going on from the inside.”

“Our friends don’t necessarily know that something has gone wrong,” Mateo reasoned. “We have to leave so we can tell them, so they can solve it from their end.”

“You go,” Romana urged. “Tell Ram and mother. I will stay and maintain the link.”

Mateo stopped, and stopped her by the shoulder. They had covered some ground. “That doesn’t make sense. You need to be able to talk to them about what you’re feeling, and what you’re thinking. They need to be able to ask you questions. I will stay here.”

“Time is different when she’s not here,” Boyd explained. “I don’t have to wait a full year for her to come back, but I do spend some time alone, so I live more like a normal person, instead of a program that she just turns on and off. Whatever these things are...”

“They could be messing with that.” Mateo turned back to his daughter. “That’s why you need to go. Please. We’ll take care of each other. If he were the original Boyd, or if he’s not; it doesn’t matter. I don’t know how to test for that. I have to assume that he’s a conscious being, so I will fight for him like I would anyone else.” He waited. “Now go!”

Romana gave Boyd a hug and a kiss, and Mateo only a hug. Then she disappeared.

“Do you have any idea what these things are?” Mateo asked. “Can we fight them?”

“I wouldn’t know, but I wouldn’t try. They might kill you. Just by touch, they might genuinely destroy your IDCode, leaving your body an empty husk in base reality.”

The monsters were closing in on them again, so they started running off again. “Can we simply shift to a different environment?” Mateo asked. “Anywhere but here.”

Boyd extended his hand, then transported them away when Mateo took it, but no matter where they jumped, the blobs were always in the exact same place, relative to their positions. The blobs could pass through solid objects, so the only way to stay ahead of them was to run. The humans had to keep running for a week before rescue came.

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Extremus: Year 137

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Sable knows that she needs to get back into the mix, and try to figure out how to get Waldemar to marry her. It’s time to fix what he’s broken, and the only way to do that apparently is to act like a friend. She’s just still in a funk, though, due to what happened last year. She has been free from her time loop for months, but it’s still a part of her. She spent entirely too long willingly reliving the same day over and over again. The truth is that she was tired of it long before she put an end to it, but it became part of her routine. It gave her a sick sense of comfort, always knowing exactly what was going to happen, even though it was bad. But she eventually ended it anyway. It was time.

“Thank you for confiding in me,” Silveon says after refilling her tea.

“Well, you were honest about your time travel adventures, I figured it was only right that I do the same,” Sable responds.

“What of the woman—the one who can see across timelines—is she still dead?”

“She’s alive,” Sable explains. “Had I broken the loop after killing her, that would have been it, but I kept going, so she’s fine.”

“Are you sure that she’s fine? Have you talked to her since? She might be traumatized by the experience,” Silveon explains, in the same voice that he uses to condescend to Waldemar. Is that what he thinks? Does he think she’s a psychopath too?

“I saw her a few times in the loops, and a few times since I ended it. During the loops, she remembered that I was going to kill her, but she didn’t remember the death itself. Now she doesn’t even remember most of the loops, and definitely not her death. She only remembers the last one. We have not talked about it, though.”

“Do you think what you did was okay?” he presses. “Do you feel good about it?

“Look, I know you have your moral high ground, and I respect that, but I was going through something while my mother was dying, and acting out. I knew that the timeline woman would survive. You think I tested it on an innocent person first? I was angry and grieving. And don’t start talking about your own parents, and how you never did anything like this. You and I wired differently. I’m wired to push boundaries, and experiment. You are solely focused on the mission. Which I think means we complement each other. Don’t you forget that I helped you. I took you to Verdemus, and let you be present at Audrey Husk’s memorial. So I don’t need your judg—”

“I’m not trying to judge you, Sable, but I do want you to try to learn from your mistakes. I have. I have flaws. I try to look for them, and fix them. You seem to treat life as the warm-up to something else. Even before you could rewind time, you always acted like there weren’t any consequences. Do you regret anything? Anything at all?”

“Of course I have regrets. But I don’t like to dwell on them, because you have to move forward, you know? What I was trying to get to, before we got off on this tangent, is that I’m going to marry him. You two have grown apart. We need someone back in his good graces. I was going to do this on my own, but since I’m the one who asked to be your partner, I figured I would bring you in first. Do you object to this move?”

“Not inherently, no. You’re a lot older than you were before. But again, you’re acting like if you want something to happen, it’s just going to happen. Have you asked him? Have you two discussed it? Have you considered the possibility that he’ll say no?”

“Not really. Have you seen my boobs?” Sable pulls her shirt down a bit.

“No, thank you, though I see where you’re coming from. But it’s no guarantee.”

“Well, what would you propose instead?” Sable asks.

“I think you should start over with him, forming essentially a new relationship.”

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Microstory 2725: When Branes Collide

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The time machine draws a lot of power. If you utilize it, that energy gets used up for the trip, but if you don’t, it builds as waste heat. There is no point in letting it run if they’re not going to be able to travel back in time in the foreseeable future. They have to first find out who this other Pribadium is, and what she wants. So Pribadium!One shuts down the machine while Pribadium!Two gets comfortable. She looks exhausted.

“I did what you were planning to do,” Pribadium!Two begins to explain. “I went back in time, and successfully saved Doma Tertia.” She gestures towards Sora. “We both did. He did most of the talking. But then things started to go wrong. The Teaguardians were asking a lot of questions. They showed us astronomical and astrophysical data that pointed to something being wrong. I don’t know what we thought when we decided what tech we would give them, and what we would hold back. But obviously the government started developing their own tech. They can evidently detect shifts in reality. It’s crude and unreliable, but I saw the data. They were right. So I went back to my lab, and spent time figuring it out. I barely made it here in time to stop you. If you had been allowed to go on, you would have created a runaway domino effect. Infinite realities, piled on top of each other, siphoning cosmic energy, withering away. The destruction of the universe.”

“Wait,” Pribadium!One says. “Are you telling me that you’re from a parallel reality? It’s concurrent with this one; not just a previous timeline?”

“That is correct,” Pribadium!Two confirms. “They finally got rid of all the other concurrents, and shunted the survivors into a new universe. Then I went and made a brand new parallel. There’s no name for it. I think I’m supposed to call it the Ninth Something, or other, but I don’t know what that would be, or if it’s my job.”

“How could this happen?” Pribadium!One asks. “We’ve traveled through time before, and it’s never caused this. Countless timelines are being collapsed and replaced every day, and it doesn’t happen. Why now? Why us?”

“It’s because we are different,” Pribadium!Two claims. “We don’t travel the same way. We access the bulk. And it was a one in a trillion coincidence that we did it today.”

Pribadium always knew that her method was different, but it has never resulted in this. How should she feel about it? As unsettling as it is that the timeline you leave behind collapses behind you, at least the changes you make definitely matter. “What is that coincidence?” she presses her alternate self. “And how long will it last?”

“How long will it last?” Pribadium!Two laughs. “Forever, I think. Had it happened on its own, no one would have noticed, but the proverbial stars aligned, and now we’re stuck. We’re literally stuck against the membrane of another universe. They were supposed to collide, cause a little chaos, then bounce off each other. But we linked them in a way that’s never been done before, and now we’re joined at the hip.”

“So, is that the parallel reality?” Sora asks. “This neighboring universe?”

“No, it’s different.” Pribadium!Two talks with her hands. “Our universe collided with another at the exact moment that you and I used this machine. The universes got stuck together, and in between them is an extra layer of reality. That’s where you are.”

“Wait, us?” Pribadium!One questions. “We’re the ones in the new reality?”

“That’s correct,” Pribadium!Two says.

“What does that mean?” Sora asks innocently.

“I don’t know,” both Pribadiums say at the same time.

Microstory 2724: Report Back

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As far as the Teaguardians—and everyone else, for that matter—knows, Pribadium is dead. She died in the destruction of Doma Tertia, along with the Doma Tertians. That’s quite all right. She doesn’t need anyone looking for her, or watching her as she travels to her secret laboratory. It takes them a long time, since they have to teleport there without a ship, but since they’re about to go back in time, it’s fine.

“If it’s a secret, does that mean no one knows, or just not the public?” Sora asks.

Pribadium looks at him with a side eye. She’s going to be taking him with her into the past. He can’t know about the hot pocket—how she stores up waste heat in another dimension, and purges it periodically, perfectly timed with the transit of neighboring and distant stars. “Only you and I know about this place. Will I have to kill you later?”

Sora laughs. “Honey, if you can travel through time, I’m not stupid enough to get on your bad side. I just thought you were immortal, like Tertius and Aeterna. I had no idea that there was so much more out there. No, you won’t have to kill me.”

Pribadium starts running her preflight checks. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Did you name that planet after him? Was he a friend of yours, or...?”

“It’s a coincidence,” Sora responds. “I didn’t name it myself. Proxima Doma means next home. Doma Tertia means third home. I tried to argue, but I didn’t want to tell anyone about the immortals I met, so I didn’t have a leg to stand on.”

Pribadium nods, then flips the time machine on. She hoped never to use this thing again. She doesn’t take any of this lightly. It’s only for emergencies. Messing with the past is dangerous, which is why she rarely does it. It’s also why she doesn’t spend much time with other travelers. She will manipulate time and space all day, but she would rather do it in the present. The circumstances call for an intervention, though.

“It is exactly as I pictured it,” Sora says. “A sleek, well-lit chamber, about the height of a normal ceiling, wide enough for several people. Like the old movies.”

Pribadium sometimes gets ultra excited, talking about her science. She can’t trust very many people. “This works differently than the ones you see in films, which are powered by radioactive materials or phlebotinum. This is powered by vacuum energy, which means as long as the universe exists, so does this machine. Except not for long,” she explains. “Since you know about it, I will have to destroy it on the other side.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Sora reasons. “I don’t even know where we are.”

“I can’t take that risk,” she says. “You know enough. I shouldn’t even be showing you at all, but I need you. If I try to go back and replay the scenario, it will probably end about the same. The Teaguardians have their own access to certain advanced technologies. Going against their plans requires finesse. Can you do this, Mr. Shimizu?”

“It depends on what happens to the other me when I go back in time,” he decides.

“I can’t describe the exact process, because I genuinely don’t know it, but one of you will simply stop existing. The way I understand it, the one with fewer memories usually disappears, but I’ve heard of cases where they sacrifice for their younger selves.”

“That is not always what happens,” a voice from behind her points out.

Pribadium turns around to find an alternate version of herself standing there.

“Whoa. Did we already do it?” Sora asks. “Did we go back in time?”

“No,” both Pribadiums reply to him simultaneously.

There is a protocol for this. “Report,” the Pribadium who belongs here instructs.

Microstory 2723: Not Part of the Plan

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Pribadium always keeps an excess of nanites for such occasions. She releases enough to encompass Sora in a vacuum suit, as well as herself. When he takes her hand, she teleports them into orbit. The two Teaguardian ships here are powering their weapons, and it will do enough damage to the planet to still kill the two of them. She has cleared the signal jammer, so her consciousness has begun streaming to her backups again, but it will take some time before the update is complete. Besides, she has to protect this dumbass. So she keeps teleporting them until they’re far enough away.

From this vantage point, they watch as the weapons reach critical mass and converge on a single spot on the world below them. They seemed to have been aiming for the settlement, so everyone living there is already dead. The Teaguardians don’t have to keep going. Yet they do. In minutes, it’s quite clear that they’re planning to obliterate Doma Tertia. But there’s a reason Pribadium chose not to do it this way in the first place. It might be quicker, but it won’t last. The gravity well is too strong.

Every celestial body holds something known as gravitational binding energy. If you want to break it apart, you need any amount beyond that binding energy. If you don’t reach this threshold, it may still break apart, but then it will just come back together. Even if it takes years, it will recoalesce because the total mass has not changed. That’s why they constructed a stellar shotgun on Ross 154, because they needed a shit ton of energy to get it done. What the Teaguardians are doing here is only making things worse. The whole point is to get at all of the raw material without having to dig themselves out of the gravity well every time they want to redistribute it. Now that’s what they will have to do. But there’s an even greater problem. It’s all about safety.

You can’t just go blowing up planets without any regard for what else is around. The energy beams are coming from several light years away. They knew exactly when they were going to deploy, and what the Gatewood system would look like when that energy finally arrived. In order to protect the people who needed to live and work here during the blasts, they determined where the safe zones were. For the last several months, in preparation for the demolition, everyone was moved to a handful of little pockets of safety. These were calculated, recalculated, verified, and reverified by literally thousands of independent entities. All of those precautions are no longer viable. If she doesn’t undo this, the entire star system will have to be abandoned for decades.

Pribadium sighs. “I really have never heard of Tertius or Aeterna,” she begins, “but I am not surprised. A number of people were born with the ability to manipulate time or space in various ways. Others became that way later in life. I had to discover the power through years of science and exploration. Time travel is real, Sora.”

“You can go back and undo this?” Sora asks. “You can save my people?”

“No,” she answers. “But you can. The only way to stop the Teaguardians from shooting the planet is by not giving them a reason to. Only you can do that.”

“Was this all part of the plan?” Sora questions. “Was it nothing more than an elaborate ruse? Were you just trying to trick me into changing the past?”

“You think I blew up a planet just to get you to help me undo it? Mr. Shimizu, that makes no sense. I could have teleported you all offworld whenever I wanted. I was going for diplomatic avenues. I never wanted you to know the truth. So how about it? You wanna help me save the world? Or are you gonna be, like, a dick about it?”