Microstory 2299: Panic Attack

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We’re putting the finishing touches on the arrangements for the memorial service tomorrow. It’s going to be a lovely, mostly somber event. But it won’t just be all wails and cursing at the gods. We’ll be playing both of their favorite music; moreso Dutch, since he had more time to develop a taste for what this planet has to offer. I’ll be giving the eulogy, of course, and I’m really nervous about it. I’ve never spoken in front of this many people before. The publicist keeps reminding me that I already have a huge audience, because Nick managed to build one for this blog, and I’ve been posting on it exclusively for days. That’s an interesting way to frame it, and I’m trying to hold onto that. You’ve been listening to me talk for a while now, even before Nick died; it’s just that it’s been through the written word, and now you’re going to hear my real voice, and see my real face. Oh God, I think I’m having a panic attack.

All right, I’m back. That white space between paragraphs is where that panic attack happened, but I’m okay. As a medical professional, I know all the tricks, but it’s one thing to give advice to someone else, and another to follow through when you need it yourself. I closed the lid of my laptop, shut the shades, and turned off all the lights. I sat upright in the hotel bed, and focused on my breathing. Despite the darkness, I could make out enough objects in the room. I could see the television on the opposite wall; the painting hanging over the refrigerator, depicting a frozen ice skating pond with scratches on the surface, but no skaters; the faint outline of the DO NOT DISTURB sign; the luggage I had sprawled out on the other bed; and the half empty glass of water on the nightstand. No, it wasn’t half empty, but half full. I could touch the soft sheets I was sitting upon; my overheated phone that I’ve been meaning to upgrade; the highlighter that I was using while researching eulogy commonalities; and the brass gooseneck reading lamp coming from the wall above the headboard. I could hear the sound of children running in the halls while their mother tried to shush them up; the hum of the furnace; and the ticking of the analog clock by the door to the bathroom. I could smell the half eaten box of cheese crackers on the table in the corner; and something dank that I couldn’t place wafting in through the vents. I could taste the toothpaste in my mouth that I should have more thoroughly rinsed out before I sat down to write this post.

I had to take another break, which is why I’m posting this later than usual. Everything is okay, and I think I’m gonna be okay, but as the memorial approaches, it’s like it’s all happening again. I never talked about it before, and I will probably never publicly go into too much detail, but obviously, I was there when they died. I remember the lurch of the vehicle as we slid on the ice, and finally came to a stop. I remember running out of the car, and one of the security guards holding me back so I couldn’t see the wreckage. I remember seeing the wreckage anyway, and feeling the heat from the flames on my face, which felt like they were going to burn me, yet somehow still could not protect my toes from freezing under the tyranny of the snow as it seeped into my socks. I remember thinking that no one could have survived that fall, even though I was still bleary eyed, and confused. There was no hope, and now these memories are coming back, which will only make the eulogy harder to write, and even harder to give. I need a third break.

Microstory 2298: With All the Snow and Ice

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I’m writing this on the plane. I spent all day at the airport, because my flight kept getting delayed. There’s a big snowstorm in the east that I feel shouldn’t have much impact on my flight up to Chicago, but what do I know? The purpose of leaving one day early was to get a jump in the preparations for Nick and Dutch’s memorial, but it looks like that’s not going to do me any good. Still, who knows what would have happened if I had just stuck to my original flight tomorrow. Anyway, I bought the WiFi, and have maintained contact with the publicity firm and the venue. Everything is fine, and getting set up. A word of warning, we have not set aside any hotel accommodations for this event. People have been asking about that, and I totally forgot to tell you before. You have to work through that on your own. I’m sorry, but this is so last minute, and we have no idea who is going to come. Perhaps if we had taken more time, we could have done a lot more on our end, but at some point, it would have felt like a little too much. Sure, we have money, but that doesn’t mean we’re gonna spend it on frivolity. Nick wouldn’t like that. It’s not a party, it’s not a convention, it’s a farewell. And it will be streamed online, so if you can’t make it, it’s not like you’re missing out. We actually considered that at the very beginning, holding it in a very small venue, and letting other people be part of it from the comfort of their own homes. Thinking back now, he might have preferred that, because then we’re letting it be available passively, instead of expecting a large crowd. But it’s too late now, and I don’t want to dwell on the past. This is what we’re doing, and it’s going to go great. I’ll see some of you Friday. Until then (and even afterwards), stay safe out there with all the snow and ice. Trust me, I know how dangerous it can be.

Microstory 2297: Found a Happy Medium

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Yesterday, I announced that the Kansas City Metro’s response to Nick and Dutch’s passing would be a sort of forum where people could come up on stage, and say whatever they were feeling. I didn’t get into the details before, but everyone who asked to do this was going to have to submit an application at least the day prior, explaining what they were going to say. Then, while each speaker was up at the mic, the next one would be experiencing a screening process to make sure that they weren’t planning on doing something inappropriate, like a striptease, or a racist rant. Of course, they could always lie and switch it up once they got their turn, but we believed that we could have made it work. Sadly, most people online did not take to this idea. They thought it was stupid, dangerous, or just totally irrelevant. We hear you, and we see you, so we’ve changed our plans. We’re not going to be doing that, but we’re not going to be doing nothing either. We’ve found a happy medium. The two of them touched many people’s lives while they were on Earth, and their positive impact could be felt everywhere. We are in the process of contacting everyone that they knew while they were here. It is only they who will be speaking at the event. I appreciate all of you speaking out for your truth, and clearing a path for a better concept than we originally had. This has not set our schedule back. We will still be holding the event on Saturday, the 20th. We’re not yet sure where it’s going to be, though. A sports stadium would have a lot of room, but both of them hated sports, so we are sure that we want to do that. Y’all are good at giving advice. Where do you think we should hold it?

Microstory 2296: To Be a Gathering

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I had a meeting today with the Mayor of Kansas City. She regrets that we’re doing the memorial service in Chicago, but she understands, especially since our two cities have such a great relationship with each other. Still, she would like to do something in honor of Nick, and I think that would be fine. We had a lot of trouble figuring out what that might be. He didn’t like parades, and a vigil seems too depressing. We spent most of the day discussing it, taking breaks here and there so she could manage other needs of the city. In the end, we decided that it’s just going to be a gathering where people can come up to the microphone on stage, and talk about whatever they want. It doesn’t even have to have anything to do with the deceased, if they have something else to say. It’s unconventional, and a little strange, and I think Nick would have liked it. Dutch would have, that’s for sure. That guy danced to the beat of his own drum. Don’t worry, we’re going to be screening people throughout, to make sure they’re not offensive or otherwise problematic. It’s going to be a lot to coordinate, but we think that we can be ready by Saturday of next week. There’s a reason we chose that date. This is kind of going to be a Kansas City thing, so if you’re coming from elsewhere, and have made travel arrangements to Chicago, we don’t want it to be too easy to add an extra thing. You are welcome to come, if you want, but it’s mostly just for us. Thanks for your understanding.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 25, 2477

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Mateo couldn’t move as he was staring up at this young woman who was standing over him, claiming to be his daughter. She looked like a cross between himself and someone in the Nieman family, but he couldn’t run a DNA test just with his eyes. This could be anyone pretending to be a relative for some personal agenda. A cabal may have cast her for the role specifically because she resembled what Romana was expected to grow up to look like. Trust, but verify was the first thing running through his head.

She seemed to be figuring what he was thinking. “You don’t have to believe me. We’ll know soon enough, but first, warm up by the fire. I would like to spend some time alone with my father before we involve the rest of the team.”

Mateo stood up, walked a couple meters away, and sat back down on the rocks to let the heat begin to dry his clothes. He watched the waves splash against the shore, always just out of reach, even with the wind. He wanted to stand yet again, and take her into a big hug, but assuming she was telling the truth, she still didn’t know this man. He was a famous person to her, but more of an idea than a real person. Her impressions would have been built from anecdotes and rumors. Like all his other children, he never got the chance to raise her. Who would he father but fail next?

“You’re not a failure,” Romana assured him.

“Can you turn it off, the mind-reading?”

“Yes, I just...couldn’t help myself. I’ve been waiting for this day for a very long time.” She shakes her head. “So long.”

“Why wait? Were you stuck in a time bubble, or the past?”

“I was in the past,” she began to explain, “but I wasn’t stuck. We went there on purpose. Well, I didn’t have any say; I was only a baby. That’s just where I grew up.”

“Karla left us a message on the mirror,” Mateo said. “She told us to not contact her; to maintain radio silence until things were safe. We respected that. We didn’t even talk about it amongst ourselves. I don’t think I ever mentioned it to Marie.”

“It’s because we were unreachable,” Romana clarified. “Those mirrors couldn’t bridge two points in time, only space.”

“I’ve been at this for several years. If I hadn’t gotten stuck in those time bubbles, and fallen out of my pattern occasionally, it would not have even been two years. If you’ve grown up like this, just as Dubra did, you’ve been doing it for longer than me.”

“Thousands of real years,” Romana confirmed. I was there, in the cemetery. I saw your first jump. I even saw you come back a year later.”

“Wouldn’t we have jumped at the same time?” Mateo asked.

“I can adjust the departure time by a few minutes, like if I’m in the middle of a conversation, or if I’m ready to leave early.”

“How were you there at any rate? It was the wrong timeline.”

“I’ve mostly been living in the Third Rail, which allowed me to enter any timeline I wanted whenever I went back to the main sequence.”

“How is that possible? The Third Rail suppressed powers and patterns.”

“Not for me. I’m a lot like you, but not completely. My temporal metabolism is slightly different. Half of my genes are from the Niemans, and I was carried by many mothers. We call it a mutation.”

“Where’s your real mother, Karla?”

“I’m not ready to talk about her yet. I can tell you about my grandmother, though, Tyra. You met her when she was old. In a different cemetery?”

Mateo thought back to what she might have been talking about. If it was in the Third Rail, then she must be referring to the time when Mateo needed to get away from the group, and decided to take a drive back towards that reality’s version of Topeka. “She said her name was Tallulah, but it always seemed like a lie.”

Romana smiled. “Yeah, she didn’t want to mess with your future. She was visiting her husband, and had no clue that you would show up. Both of them took the serum to be on my pattern. Then they both died, and I left the reality to...visit my past; see where I came from. I’ve watched you a lot, from the shadows, across multiple timelines.”

“I’m not proud of everything I’ve done.”

“Neither am I,” she replied.

They were silent for a few moments, both watching the wrathful ocean crash into the distant cliffs. “I would love to know your intentions,” he finally mustered the courage to say. “Are you staying, or is this just...a gift that you’re about to take away so you can live your own life?”

“I thought about coming to you sooner, like right after you met Baby!Me. But there are people who don’t need to know what happened during my first year on Dardius. I decided to end up here a bit early, so I could make a home for us all. Here’s a hint, it’s not under Castledome. It’s much prettier, and it’s not on the map. I was hoping that...that you could—I know you’ve missed so much, and maybe you just wanna...”

“I don’t wanna let you go. We’ve never really had a home, especially not me after I accidentally erased myself from history. I just keep running around the multiverse. I did wonder if this could be a place where we could put down roots when I first saw these domes. I didn’t know what was going on, or who was in charge, but it felt like we belonged here. Now that we have the slingdrive, we can commute anywhere we want, but return home at the end of the day. I don’t know that I want you going out there, even though I’m sure you’ve seen some stuff already, but...”

She placed a hand on his. “We can make up for lost time. We don’t have to make any decisions right away. I don’t need to join the team if you don’t want me to. I just want a family. I haven’t been alone my whole life, but it’s been lonely in recent days.”

“I’m sorry, I left. I don’t know what they told you—”

“I don’t blame you for that. I know that you had to protect me...from yourselves. That was the bravest choice I’ve ever heard of anyone making. I don’t know that I could have done it. I waited this long because I wanted you to be able to take me seriously. I would have waited longer, until I was an actual adult, but paradoxically, I also want you to still see me as a child. Does that make sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” he promised. He spread his arms open, letting the blanket fall down behind him as he pulled her into a bear hug. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I thought we would have more time. I thought the threats would have disappeared in a few hundred years, and you would still be a wee baby girl.”

“It’s okay. It’s no one’s fault,” she said as she was gently separating herself. “Except for Oaksent. He started to look for me. He dismantled the LIR Towers piece by piece during our interim year so my mother, Auntie Constance, and I wouldn’t have a safe place to land.”

Mateo stopped himself from getting too worked up about that. “What of Silenus?”

“Silenus made the same sacrifice that you did. He drew them away.”

Mateo nodded reverently, but didn’t press the issue. He instead changed the subject. “Well, could I see this dome that you apparently built for us?”

“It’s not quite ready yet,” she answered, equal parts embarrassed and excited. “The automators are still putting on the finishing touches. I was going to wait a year to introduce myself, but then you teleported to the North Pole Ocean, and I felt like I needed to help. You could have called for anyone, but they’re busy, and...”

“I appreciate it,” he said. “I’m glad for this extra time.”

“Matt, where are you?” Leona asked through comms.

“I’m alone for the day. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he responded to her.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I’m in Ancient Rome,” he lied. “All these white pillars and shit.”

Leona took a beat. “Fair enough.”

Romana smiled, then placed her hand on his shoulder. They were suddenly sitting on a stone staircase. All around them looked like Ancient Rome, with all these white pillars and shit. “Now you’re not lying.”

“You can teleport? Is that innate, or was your substrate upgraded?”

Her smile grew twice as big. “I didn’t teleport. I just made you do it.”

“So you’re a metachooser.”

“No. I’m just Romana.” She stood up, and stole his hand from him before running down the steps. “Come on!”

They ran down to the street, and between the buildings. They winded through the alleyways, Mateo having no clue where they were going, until he saw it. It was a replica of the Colosseum, just like the one Saga and Vearden were forced to build on Tribulation Island. Romana led him through the entrance, and onto the main grounds. “Maybe you could do it here. For the symmetry.”

“Do what here?” he asked.

“Get remarried?”

“To who?” He was offended.

“To Leona, silly. You were forced to do it last time. You should do it again, but for yourselves.”

“If we ever renew our vows,” Mateo began, “this is the last place we would do it.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

She teleported them away, or rather she made him do it. They were now standing on Ayers Rock, or this world’s version of it, anyway. Could every geographical and cultural location on Earth be found here somewhere? “What about here?” she offered.

“Do you know my personal history with this place?”

“Good point again,” Romana said. She took him to several other domes, each one either designed to resemble an important spot from Mateo’s past, or which incidentally reminded him of somewhere important. They settled on a desert, which boasted the most magical of starry holograms above. They slept out under the stars that night, and jumped forward together come midnight central. Only then was she ready to meet the rest of the group.

“Who’s this?” Leona asked upon seeing her.

Mateo could not read his wife’s mind, but he did feel a hint of jealousy from her, and it triggered painful flashbacks to his history with Cassidy Long. He met her in much a similar way, alone and on a world that everyone believed to be otherwise uninhabited, yet ready for a population. He needed to clarify the truth right away. “Gang, please allow me to introduce you to my daughter, Romana Nieman.”

Leona’s eyes lit up at the revelation. “Oh. Oh, dear.” She reached over and wrapped her arms around Romana’s shoulders. “I am so happy to meet you.”

“They grow up so fast,” Ramses joked.

The rest of the team began to exchange hugs with her as well, and welcome her to the party. She caught them up on her life between being a baby on Dardius, and her arrival to Castledome, but she left out some of the less fun developments, such as the deaths and sacrifices. Mateo still didn’t know everything himself, but now they had time to get to know each other. Once the pleasantries were dying down, Ramses clapped his hands together. “Well, I was going to announce that we were ready to establish our spatio-temporal tethers, but the machine will need to be recalibrated for the additional member. I wouldn’t exactly call this a one time thing, but if someone new needs to be added later, we would have to sever the original links, and start all over again. Which is fine, so if, Romana, you’re not quite ready to commit...”

“I’m ready. What does it entail, though? Can we never be apart from each other?”

“No, we can,” Ramses clarified. “Here are the properties. We will always know two things about each other. We will always be aware of where we are at this very moment, and we will know where we are according to our shared time gaps. To put it another way, if one of us uses the slingdrive to travel to the Andromeda Galaxy, we’ll all be aware that they’re there right now. If someone instead jumps back to the year 1845, we’ll sense them there based on how long it’s been for us, and for them. So if they stay in 1845 for three days, and then travel to, say, 2024, we’ll know that, but it will take us three of our own days to find out, even though both are in the past anyway. Make sense?”

They all nodded.

“Will we be able to reunite with each other in such a case?” Olimpia pressed.

“Possibly,” Ramses admitted. “The tether keeps us in lock-step, but it’s not powerful enough on its own to allow cross-travel. We would need some other way. We would need a second slingdrive, or a sufficiently powerful traveler. But would still be the navigators.”

“Got it,” Angela decided. “Anything else we should know?”

He waited an uncomfortably long time to respond. “There’s a chance that something will be screwy when the machine is activated. I’m confident that it will work, but in order to power the Livewire in the first place, I had to tap into our quintessence reserves. There’s a chance that we’ll be scattered to the winds, and our first mission will involve finding each other again. Someone will have to use the Ambassador to do that, and I might not be the one closest to it.”

“Why would anyone necessarily be close to it,” Marie questioned. “What if we all end up distant from it?”

“The ship is part of the link,” Ramses said. “At least one of us will experience a strong tether to it.” He presented some e-paper. “You’ll all need a copy of the operator’s manual. It’s obviously mostly automated, but you’ll still need to handle some things.”

They continued to discuss the dangers associated with the Livewire tether, but ultimately decided that it was worth the risk to never be truly parted from each other ever again. Ramses activated the linking machine. Nearly everyone managed to stay right on this ship; all except Romana. And for some reason, they couldn’t sense her.

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Extremus: Year 93

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In New Migration Theory, there is a concept of a “true native”, which is academically known as the rooted generation in order to avoid charged sociopolitical connotations. A true native would be anyone who identifies as such, and can reasonably consider themselves that way. Trying to establish a particular definition would undoubtedly offend people. The rooted generation, however, refers to very specific people born to a given area. The Void Migration Ship Extremus is about to experience it, and the keystone for this species really just depends on who happens to be born first.

When the original passengers of Extremus first boarded the ship, they were leaving their home behind. They knew that they would never see the destination planet, but they didn’t do it for them. They did it for the descendants. Even now, after all this time, not a single person on board is expected to be alive to see the mission realized. It will be up to those who have not yet been born. Until then, the rooted generation will be in reference to a native of the generational ship itself. Again, they don’t for sure know who that is yet, but they know what the trigger was. Naruhito Arethusa was three years old on Launch Day, making him one of the youngest babies to board. He wasn’t the absolute youngest, but lifespans aren’t all the same, so others have died already, making him the last man standing. While he had no intact memories of Gatewood, he technically lived there. He was a Gatewooder. He was 96, and is survived by his children, grandchild, and great grandchildren.

Naruhito being the last Gatewooder is an important milestone in Extremus history. Everyone alive today was born on the ship. He was too young to be able to decide for himself whether he wanted to board the ship or not, but he still had influence on the decision, if only subconsciously for his family. No one else here even had the hope of altering this decision. It had already happened. The first member of the rooted generation is one who will have a temporal gap between them and Gatewood. Of course, knowledge and stories have been passed down the years, so it’s not like this big mystery, but they will never meet a Gatewooder. Everyone who sees this future person will be an Extremusian who never saw Gatewood themselves. The distinction between this baby, and everyone else who was born here, is not meant to cause some kind of generational divide. It’s not there to cause anyone to other anyone else. It is just, again, a milestone. Whichever baby is born first will become the first member of the rooted generation, and its inherent value is enough to warrant some form of celebration. This achievement was never inevitable. A million things could have happened in the last 93 years to prevent its success. Yet through it all, Extremus and its passengers have persevered. The rooted generation is a testament to that. The job isn’t over yet, but this is still an accomplishment. Or it will be anyway, once the baby is born.

The problem that Tinaya is facing today is one which no one thought would happen. It didn’t occur to them that this issue should arise, and cause conflict between otherwise perfectly normal and well-adjusted families. “This is highly irregular, Dr. Cernak.” After Dr. Ima Holmes died, Captain Soto Tamm appointed a new Chief Medical Officer, though Tinaya can’t remember her name at the moment. Whoever it was, they coincidentally retired at around the same time that the captain’s seat was changing butts. One of the last things that Lataran did was appoint Radomil Cernak to the position. “Why are you treating a passenger, and why have you brought me here?”

“I’ll let her explain,” Dr. Cernak replies.

A very pregnant woman is sitting sort of between them in a wheelchair. Her doula is holding onto the handles, and showing no signs that she’s going to say anything herself. “My name is Veta Vivas, and my child’s name will be...” She pauses to create a sense of anticipation. No one is feeling it; they’re more annoyed. “Root. Root Vivas.”

“Congratulations,” Tinaya says politely, not understanding why she should care. If this were an emergency, the tone of the room, and the behavior of the medical staff, would be quite different. “When are you due?”

“Unfortunately, a week from now,” Veta answers. “The Wiegand baby is due in three days.” Back in the olden days, a baby’s due date was only ever the best guestimation. Few babies actually came into the world on time. Some were early, some were late. These days, with advances in medical science, the date is generally spot on, even if it has to be adjusted slightly during the gestational period as development presents a clearer pattern. This late in the process, however, doctors are never wrong.

But Tinaya. She still doesn’t know what this has to do with her.

“I have put in a request to induce labor,” Veta goes on. I want Root to be born now, or his name will just sound stupid.”

“You’re rejecting it?” Tinaya asks Dr. Cernak, not accusatorily.

“I wasn’t the first,” Dr. Cernak explains. “Like you said, she’s not my patient. She...escalated the issue when she didn’t receive the answer she was hoping for.”

Tinaya nods, and looks back at Veta. “You want your child to be the first in the rooted generation.”

“He deserves it. We deserve it.”

“You realize that inducing labor in order to give one particular family this privilege is not only unfair to other parents, but goes against the spirit of the milestone. We don’t get to decide who turns out to be the first to take root. That is time’s job.”

“So you’re rejecting us as well,” Veta figures.

“I’m not rejecting anything,” Tinaya argues. “This is a medical concern. I’m the captain. I don’t understand why you’re bugging me with this.” She’s still looking squarely at Veta. She doesn’t blame Dr. Cernak for seeking help with the problem. She can tell by everyone’s respective demeanor that this is not the beginning of the conversation, but the middle of a long one. Tinaya has so far gone down in history as the least polite captain. Even Tamm was charming and beloved by many until the scandal blackened the lines of his story. Tinaya is the oldest to hold command, and she doesn’t take any shit. People know this about her, and they respect her for it. She’s not losing any popularity contests because of it either. The captain has to be firm, even if that means some people don’t get their way.

“This is Root’s birthright, literally,” Veta insists. “We were trying to conceive for months before we sought medical assistance.

Tinaya is flabbergasted by this response. “First off, if you had successfully conceived earlier, then you would be having a different child, rather than the one you’re having now. Secondly, and more importantly, Naruhito Arethusa died yesterday. This other hypothetical child would not have had any hope of being the first in the rooted generation as they would have been born months ago.”

“We don’t see it that way,” Veta says matter-of-factly. “My husband and I were really close to conceiving 280 days ago today.”

Tinaya sighs. “Dr. Cernak, I’m asking you one last time, are you rejecting Mrs. Vivas’ petition for the inducement of labor?”

“I am rejecting the petition,” Dr. Cernak confirms.

Tinaya studies Veta’s eyes. “Please place Mrs. Vivas on safety watch for the remainder of her pregnancy, and clear your schedule to perform the delivery procedure yourself once the time comes.”

Veta is fuming. “What the hell! You can’t do that! I’m not suicidal!”

“Safety watch is not about suicide alone,” Tinaya begins. “It’s about the risk that you pose to yourself, and-or to others. “You have exhausted all of your legal options for the inducement of labor, and I can tell that you are willing to explore alternative methods, which would not be safe for you, nor your baby. If you don’t already know what they are,” Tinaya says before looking up at the doula, “she surely does. You will stay in quarantine until you have the baby. Should something happen to delay the Wiegand baby’s birth, you may get your wish, but we will not be assisting in this regard. My word is final.” She turns around to leave, suddenly realizing her grave error.

“You can’t do this!” Veta screams. “Root is the root! Root is the root!” She sounds like she’s thrashing about. The security guard posted in the infirmary runs over to help.

Tinaya teleports to the passenger hospital, and approaches the reception desk. “I need to look up a patient. I don’t need any medical data on her, just the name of her obstetrician.” She submits the name, then proceeds to Dr. Causey’s office.

“Captain, this is quite the surprise, and an honor. If you are looking for discreet treatment, I promise you that I can offer it, no questions asked.”

Tinaya has never heard of a member of the executive crew seeking medical attention from someone who enjoys a distance from scrutiny, but perhaps it’s happened. If it’s true, it’s none of Tinaya’s business. “That’s very kind of you, but it won’t be necessary. I need you to place a patient of yours on safety watch. A...rival of hers is determined to predate her date of delivery.”

Dr. Causey nods. “Veta Vivas; I am aware. Lena has already expressed her concerns to me regarding this one-sided conflict. You believe she is in danger?”

“I made the mistake of telling Mrs. Vivas that her child may end up winning if something happens to Mrs. Wiegand. I meant it innocuously, but immediately grew concerned that she might encourage someone to force a delay...or worse.”

Dr. Causey nods again. “That is a scary thought, however, my patient is willing to trade delivery dates to avoid any social unrest. She has no strong feelings about her child becoming the first rooted descendant, and recognizes that it’s evidently quite important to this Veta Vivas.”

“That will not be happening,” Tinaya contends. “Perhaps if you had made this arrangement sooner, it might have worked, but now it’s too late. I cannot allow you to reward Mrs. Vivas’ inappropriate behavior. I’ve already placed her on safety watch. If I backpedal now—”

“I understand,” Dr. Causey interrupts. “We should have dealt with this internally. There was no need to bring the Captain into this. I apologize for the inconvenience, I’m sure you have more important things to attend to.”

“So you’ll place Mrs. Wiegand on safety watch?”

“Might as well,” Dr. Causey agrees. “We’ll take good care of her, and protect her from any interference. She won’t complain; she’s very laid back.”

“Thank you.” Tinaya taps on her watch. “I’ve placed you on my priority access list, so if you need to contact me, you’ll be able to circumvent the communication filters that shield me from every rando who wants to talk to the captain.”

“Great. I’ll be sure to call you every hour, on the hour, to ask you your favorite colors and foods.”

Tinaya chuckles. “Good day.” She disappears.

When Tinaya returns to the executive infirmary, Dr. Cernak is locking the door to the safety watch room. Tinaya watches through the window as doula is helping Veta into the bed.”

“She staying in there with her?”

“She’s a tethered doula,” Dr. Cernak begins to explain. “She literally can’t leave her client’s side. Time will teleport her right back if she tries to walk away.”

“She consented to that?” Tinaya questions.

“It’s her whole job. She takes a new one every year. I believe she only gives herself a week or so off, depending on who commissions her next, and when they need her.” They stand in silence for a moment, watching to make sure the mother is okay. “We’re getting her her own bed to put in the corner.”

“I’m sorry you had to do this,” Tinaya says to him.

“Me too, but this is what these rooms are for, even if this is the first time anything quite like this has happened. I would rather be safe than sorry. Though...you do realize that the other mother—”

“I just spoke with her doctor. She’ll have to go into safety watch too, in case the father gets any crazy ideas put in his head, or someone else close to Mrs. Vivas.”

They’re silent again before having to flatten themselves against the wall to make way for the trundle bed. “I kind of like the name Root,” He decides. “If this hadn’t become a whole thing, I might suggest it for the actually rooted child.”

“Yeah, maybe. Listen, I gotta go pick up my own kid, but call me if you need me. Maybe consult with Dr. Causey about the situation too. After both children are born, they’ll probably all need some counseling. I, for one, would like to see them become friends one day. There’s no need for all this hostility. This is no one’s fault.”

“Will do, Captain. Thanks for comin’ by.”

Tinaya jumps back to her stateroom, and plops herself on the couch.

“Can you talk about it?” Arqut asks respectfully from the perpendicular loveseat.

Tinaya stares forward into space. “I’m gettin’ too old for this shit.”

“You’re just as beautiful today as the day I first saw you at graduation.”

She furrows her brow, and cocks her head towards him. “You were at my graduation? Why didn’t you ever tell me that?”

“You were only a little baby at the time, I’m a few years older. Seems creepy, looking back.”

She scoffs. “You couldn’t have known that we would end up together. Besides, because of my time travel, I’m actually older than you.”

“Well, I’m telling you now.”

Tinaya kisses the air in his general direction as he does the same towards her. “I better go get Silvy from school,” she determines.

“I’ll take care of it. I didn’t do anything today.”

“Thanks.”

 Tinaya’s watch beeps with a text message from Dr. Causey. That whole every hour, on the hour thing was a joke, right? It reads, I just received word. The rooted child has been born. A different OB agreed to induce labor for the Hearn family.

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Microstory 2295: Stress Out of the Process

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What I’ve learned is that the publicity firm that Nick was using to protect his life story from rumors and lies is no stranger to memorial services. A few of their clients have died while they were working with them, and their survivors can purchase a new package to help with arrangements. Some clients even purchase it ahead of time in anticipation, like one would reserve a burial spot in a cemetery because they know they’re gonna die eventually. Nick didn’t do that, because he didn’t even think to hire anyone when his health started to decline from the prion infection. Well, I think he did consider it way back then, but he didn’t have the money, and didn’t follow through until later. Anyway, I purchased the memorial package, so they’re handling everything. I’ll be signing off on all decisions, but I won’t have to think them up myself, which takes a lot of the stress out of the process, so I’m grateful for their help in this matter. Or perhaps they should be thanking me for my help, if they’re the ones taking point. I did secure a reservation for the Causeway Center in Chicago, though. It’s so last minute that someone already had the auditorium booked. Homes for Humankind and CauseTogether.hope have assured me that whoever it was was happy to push it back to another day, but it’s hard for me to imagine how that’s possible. That room can accommodate hundreds of people, which means that they have to contact hundreds of people to alert them to the change in dates. I suppose that’s not necessarily true. Maybe they booked the whole place for an audience of eleven. I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure out who it was, and if they’re really okay, but I can’t seem to find any information. You would think that an event like that would be advertising somewhere so customers could sign up for their thing instead. If you know what was supposed to be happening in the auditorium next Friday, shoot me a message. I feel that I owe them a thank you. In the meantime, I’m flying up to look at the venue this weekend, but I’ve already seen photos, and it looks great.

Microstory 2294: Mostly Long and Narrow

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What Nick’s publicists and I determined is that people from all over the country, and indeed all over the world, are interested in coming to his and Dutch’s memorial service. Because of this, we decided that it didn’t have to take place in Kansas or Missouri. If you’ll recall, there were some issues months ago when someone created an unauthorized CauseTogether.hope campaign for him. Despite the issue, he’s maintained a healthy and amicable professional relationship with the website. At the same time, he was working with Homes for Humankind. As it turns out, the house-building organization and the charitable fundraising platform teamed up some years ago to build a sort of convention center. It is here that charities come together, and reach out to their donors, volunteers, and beneficiaries. It’s located in Chicago, which is fitting, since the three of us went there one time on the Heartland Expressway, and Nick visited the city many times in his home universe. The Humankind Causeway Center is mostly long and narrow to fit the theme of its namesake, but there are two larger buildings on either end. One contains a large ballroom, and the other boasts an auditorium that can fit about 900 people. I can’t imagine that quite so many mourners will sign up to attend the service, but it should be great for our needs. We’re still working out the dates, but I’ll keep you updated as needed. Gratitude for all your words of love and togetherness during this difficult time.

Microstory 2293: Hits Some Harder

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New plan. Dutch has been presumed dead as well, so I’m planning a single memorial service for the both of them. They were good friends, I think they would have liked that. People have been commenting on social that it’s some sort of money-saving scheme. Trust me, we don’t need to save money. We’re millionaires, remember? Well, I am, anyway. I’ve not spoken with the lawyers yet, but I believe all the money goes to me. Yay, I’m rich! I’ve always wanted to lose my best friends so I can live alone in a big empty house. In case you can’t tell from the written word, that’s sarcasm. I hate this. This was never the plan after Dutch opened that door, and cured Nick with space magic. Nothing will be changing. Nick decided where he wanted to regularly make donations, and I have no reason to alter that plan. We invested some of it, to make it grow, so we can keep donating beyond what we already have. That’s why we didn’t just disperse the lump sum, and walk away. All right, I better get back to work. It takes me a long time to get anything done, because I often have to stop and cry. I can’t provide you with details about the memorial service right now, but I’ll make an announcement shortly on my own social media account. We need to gauge how many people will want to come. He wasn’t the kind of person who needed a lot of people to attend, but he told me that it’s not about him. If a large crowd shows up, then whatever, so I have to make sure the venue can accommodate them. We all have a different relationship with death. Most people obviously don’t like it, but it hits some harder than others. They can feel grief for those they’ve never met. Some even feel it when they learn of a person’s death who they had never even heard of before. Who are we to judge their reactions? I’m getting a lot of messages from people who are interested in being there, so I think we’re gonna have quite a large audience. I’ll let you know when I can. I’ll probably have to get our publicity firm involved since I’m sure they have experience with this stuff.

Microstory 2292: Laws of Life and Death

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I still can’t let my emotions get the best of me. I have to plan Nick’s memorial service. I know it sounds like something that can wait, and maybe it can, but I’ve got it in my head that we have to do something special for him. Weeks ago, I remember him telling me about his stories. He had all sorts of aliens and “supernatural” creatures (who weren’t really supernatural, just higher level science). You know his fascination with immortality, right? Well, the pseudomortals were his very first attempt at that kind of plot device. Or no, it might have been his second, because Gavix may predate them. Anyway, pseudomortals could die, but after four days, they would come back to life in new bodies. The exact mechanics of this would not be apparent when you start reading, but over the pages, you would learn more about why this is. It isn’t random. Evidently, while the pseudomortals were a relatively short-lived subspecies of humans, they sort of opened the world up to the idea of the four day gap. It became a key tenet of multiple fictional religions—which we now know actually weren’t fictional at all, but his Earth believed them to be. The pseudomortals merely tapped into the laws of life and death; they didn’t create them. The basic idea is that after you die, you stay in a parallel dimension for four days before moving on to the true afterlife, and these religions formed rituals and conventions based on this concept. So even though Nick never lived in a world that had these religions, or even had the four day rule, I thought it would be nice to honor him by laying him to rest on the fourth day after his death. The problem is, none of his writings came with him on his multiversal adventures. Everything he was ever able to tell us had to come from his memory. So even if I’m remembering everything he said correctly, he might not have been remembering it exactly how he wrote it years ago. He admitted that he couldn’t recall what the religious rituals were like, but he knew that they were more involved than just having a funeral after four days, and then going home. There’s a part where you’re supposed to enjoy the deceased’s favorite activity? And he thought that the memorial and burial were on different days?

I’m freaking out about this, and I keep forgetting for a fraction of second that he’s gone, so for those brief moments, I think that I can just ask him to try to remember, because he’s the expert, but of course, that won’t work, because the whole reason we’re doing this is because he’s the one who’s gone, and I’ll never see him again, and I’ll never find out if Dimitri Orion ever gets his job back, or how the crew of the Atom Ship escapes the supervoid. And I know none of this means anything to you, but I think my emotions are breaking free, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get them back in the bottle. They’re still searching for Dutch, but I can tell that their hearts aren’t in it anymore. At this point, they’re looking for a body, not a person. So actually, I have two memorials to plan, but I don’t have any clue what Dutch would have wanted. We didn’t talk about this stuff, because we’re all so young, so why would that have come up? Because our lives have been in danger all year, that’s why. We were so naïve. We thought it would be some psycho who wanted to test their immortality or portal opening powers, not just an icy road. The edge of a mountain switchback? After all this, how is that what finally took him out? He would be so disappointed if he were here to find out about his death. Okay, I’m getting too morbid. I gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow. Or not. I promise you nothing.

Microstory 2291: Went Over the Edge

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This is a hard post to write, for obvious reasons. If you read Nick’s blog, then you must already know that he’s dead, and Dutch is missing. To throw you off the trail, and preserve some privacy, he told you that we had gone to Florida, and that we left Thursday evening. In reality, we left mid-afternoon, and went to San Francisco, California to enjoy one of the amusement parks out there. You know the one. We decided to drive all the way there in order to avoid all the airport hustle and bustle, and the fan scrutiny. We never stopped, except to use the facilities, or fill up the vehicles. That’s the benefit of having a security team. They could share the driving responsibilities, and we were able to sleep whenever we needed to. We had a great time on Friday, Saturday, and a little on Sunday morning. I’m grateful that he at least went out on a high note. On our way back, we were driving through the mountains of Colorado when Nick and Dutch’s SUV slipped on some dark ice, and went over the edge. I was in the other car at the time, so I could sprawl out to sleep. I believe that Nick and Dutch were both asleep at the time as well. At approximately 4:00 in the morning today, rescuers discovered Nick Fisherman IV’s body. They were actually working for our security firm, who has an office in Glenwood Springs, which wasn’t too far away. Both drivers were found dead as well, and the search for Dutch continues, but in this freezing cold winter weather, it’s not looking good. You may have noticed that this post is very straightforward, and unemotional. I can’t let my emotions out, or I’ll explode. I just needed to give you the information. I’m sure I’ll be a wreck once the truth really sets in.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 24, 2476

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They broke into two teams, but they weren’t ready to split up just yet. While Leona, Mateo, and Olimpia were preparing a block of the domes for the arrival of anyone from the Goldilocks Corridor who wanted to escape the Exin Empire, Ramses, Angela, and Marie were planning to figure out how to ferry those refugees. Ramses still didn’t know how to properly navigate with the slingdrive. He was starting to worry that it was impossible, which could explain why apparently no one had ever managed to use dark matter for anything before. They couldn’t just go off and run their tests, though, because then they could end up just as lost as they were the first time. There needed to be some way for them to return home, even if that was the only place they could ever go.

Leona was presently examining the Livewire. She wasn’t using any tools or instruments; just looking it over with her eyes. “Hm.”

“Hm, what?” Ramses asked.

“Look at this.” She set the wire on the table, carefully reaching for a particular spot with both her thumbs and index fingers. She slowly pulled them apart while Ramses watched closely from the other side of the table.

“Oh. Huh.”

“What is it?” Mateo asked. “What did I miss?” He wasn’t as close to it as they were.

“It can grow,” Ramses replied.

“Hold on, wait.” Leona reached for two more spots, and did what she did again, but this time in reverse.

“Interesting,” Ramses noted.

“Did you just make it shrink?” Mateo guessed.

Leona nodded. “When Vearden first pulled this thing out of his much smaller necklace, I thought that it was just being stored in a pocket dimension, like a really narrow bag of holding. But this suggests that the wire’s size-shifting ability is an innate property. When we’ve used it, we’ve had to figure out how to make it reach where we need it to, but that’s because we didn’t notice these...expansion points.”

“Will they help do the thing that we need it to do?” Mateo pressed.

Leona sighed. “Probably not. I mean, they’re nice to have. They’ll certainly make it easier to do whatever we end up trying with the six of us, but it doesn’t help us understand what that’s going to be. Did this Arqut fellow say anything else?”

“He just said that this thing can help protect us from Buddy’s summoning power,” Mateo replied. “I don’t know if it can link us to each other, it just seems like a natural secondary use.” The slingdrive testers couldn’t leave until they were sure that they would be able to come back here, or rather back to their friends. That was the point, really, to not be permanently separated from each other. The wire may or may not be that solution. If they could crack the code, the idea was to form multiple spatio-temporal tethers between each other. Basically, the Livewire was meant to serve as a connection between each pair in the group, so that no matter what, they would always be able to get back to each other. “I don’t know how to do it, though. Is it psychic?”

“I’m not sure,” Ramses said. “But it must be, right? When we used it before, we told the wire when and where to transfer the consciousnesses. They didn’t end up way off course, like my slingdrive, or something stupid like that,” he started to mumble.

Leona smiled softly, and patted him on the back.

Mateo nodded. “So we essentially need to quantum replicate the Livewire fourteen times, so each one of us is linked to all of the other five. Or we don’t replicate the wire itself, but the power that it holds.”

The two geniuses gave him a look.

“What? We studied the Handshake Problem in my stupid people’s high school math class. I know some things,” Mateo insisted.

“I think if we just successfully form fifteen total links,” Ramses began, “we’ll have our fix. The issue is that I have no clue how to do it even once. We still don’t know what this thing is, or where it came from. We wouldn’t want us accidentally swapping bodies, or erasing our memories. We have to somehow program it to generate the invisible tethers without doing anything else to us.”

“How do you program a unique temporal object?” Leona asked rhetorically.

Mateo took the wire from Leona, and walked aimlessly around the room while he was holding it up to the light, and covering it in shadow, and thinking. “Rambo, didn’t you figure out how to make your own pair of HG Goggles?”

“Uh, it wasn’t technically me. It was my alternate self who we left on Ex-324.”

“You’ve maintained contact?” Leona questioned. “What does he say? What’s happening there? Is he okay? Are the Welriosians okay?”

“That is a lot of queries,” Ramses said in a robot voice. “Not enough memory to compute.” He went back to his regular voice. “He’s fine, they’re fine. It’s a pretty peaceful planet as far as the Corridor goes. We’re lucky, though, because it’s not all that important to Oaksent’s needs, so he doesn’t pay much attention to them.”

“The goggles?” Mateo reminded him after a moment of awkward silence.

“Right.” Ramses went over to a filing cabinet, and pulled out the goggles. They looked fairly similar to the original pair, though they were distinguishable.

Mateo accepted them from him, and put them over his face. He started to look the wire over again. The whole thing was glowing green, but some bits were shinier and white. He was able to pinch and zoom to get a closer picture.  “Yeah, I can see the expansion points more clearly. They’re not everywhere, so there’s likely a limit to its scope. Hopefully that’s not a problem, or we’ll always have to stay within a few meters of each other.”

“What are you thinking?” Leona asked him.

Mateo looked up at her with the goggles still on. Other objects in the room were glowing as well, different colors, to varying degrees. Ramses and Leona’s comms discs were quite noticeable from here, even though they were embedded under their skins. “Just what I suspected.” He pointed at the two of them, back and forth several times over. Then he handed her the goggles so she could see for herself. “Here,” he said, taking them off, and offering them to Leona.

“She put them on, and looked around as well, particularly at the boys. She nodded with understanding. “We’re already linked through a quantum network.” She tapped at her neck behind her ear.

“Oh,” Ramses exclaimed. “Yeah, I think I can work with that. If I can convert the quantum frequency of our discs into something that the wire can interpret, I might be able to resonate them until they become entangled.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Mateo joked. “I’ll leave you two to do it to it.” He left the room, and closed the door behind them. “Pia, where are you?”

“We’re in the 3D maze!” Olimpia shouted back. It sounded like she was running.

“Hey, gang, stay off comms for the rest of the day, please. I’m messing with them,” Ramses requested.

If the other three were in the dome that was literally a maze, and they could no longer communicate with each other remotely, then there was no way that he was finding them. He was just gonna have to come up with his own way to pass the time. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out his handheld device, where he had downloaded the dome brochure. Since there were people here now, Hrockas had gone through, and highlighted the domes that were actually ready to be tested. That was what he was busy with right now, further developing the unfinished themed domes, so they would be ready for his customers twenty-four years from now. He wasn’t actually going to charge anyone for anything, of course. The bragging rights of being the most popular planet in the galaxy would be payment enough, if he succeeded. Varkas Reflex and Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida would sure give him a run for his money, though he might have an edge with all of this paraterraforming. Almost the entire surface was habitable, giving potential visitors and residents an amount of freedom that none of the other destination worlds could yet match, even with their time and proximity advantages.

Mateo checked the list once, twice, three times. Nothing was speaking to him. Zombedome wasn’t finished yet. Hrockas imagined that it would be one of the most popular, so he was spending a lot of time perfecting it, and didn’t want anyone to see it until he was satisfied with the results. Mateo decided to switch to the map, which showed where each dome was in relation to the others. Something here caught his eye. There were two giant black spots that were on the exact opposite sides as each other. He guessed that these were the poles, and that there were no domes there at all. He was terribly curious about what they looked like, whether they resembled Antarctica and the Arctic on Earth, or if they were wildly different. He laughed out loud. Hrockas expected people to come here, and have to be transported to each dome using Vendelin’s hyperloop network, which could easily exclude these poles. But Mateo could jump there in seconds. Nothing was off limits to him.

Boom. Splash. He was in the water, and it was freezing cold. If he weren’t an upgraded posthuman, he would probably be on the brink of death by now, even in this short span of time. Before he left, though, he spun himself around. He could see no land anywhere, nor anything else. The sky wasn’t what he expected, however. He wasn’t just looking at the blackness behind a very thin atmosphere. It resembled what one would find on a fully habitable planet, with clouds, and blue scatter. It was likely a hologram. Was this whole thing just another dome? One last thing, he took his device back out, and concentrated on the edge of the black zone, so he could teleport there, instead of back to Castledome. He made the jump, and landed on a rocky beach. The hologram was still here, but now that he was closer, he could also detect the curve of the dome over his head, and the faint imperfections of the image on the opaque surface. If this entire pole was covered by one giant dome, it would have to be hundreds of kilometers wide.

“Here, take this.” There was actually another person here; a teenage girl. She was holding a large blanket up for him. It was ombre striped, of varying shades, but mostly in the greens. She had evidently built a fire nearby too. Had she been expecting him?

“Thanks.” He took it graciously, and wrapped himself in it, rubbing his shoulders to warm up. “I don’t know how you got here, but it’s nice to meet you. I’m Mateo.”

“I know.” She paused for a good long time. “It’s Romana, your daughter.”

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