Extremus: Year 79

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It took a long time for the medical staff in the Gatewood Collective to realize that there must be something quite unusual about the planet that Tinaya and Aristotle were living on, and even longer to realize that Tinaya’s whole glass skin condition was making things worse. As it happens, Verdemus emits an unusual form of radiation, which sticks with everyone who steps foot on it. It doesn’t appear to be harmful, but the Gatewooders—is that what they’re called?—didn’t want to take a chance, so they needed time to remedy the issue. It appears that it will happen on its own given enough time away from the environment, but in the interest of expediency, they found a way to dissipate it quickly, but still safely. The primary physician postulates that it’s the result of a form of communication. The plant and animal life on Verdemus have indeed been noted to enjoy some level of harmony. It’s nothing quite as dramatic as Pandora from that one franchise, but it does seem to be there to support its idea of homeostasis. If true, it’s the Gaia Hypothesis made real, just not for Earth. The doctor is fascinated by this possibility, and is very interested in visiting Verdemus to study it.

Captain Kestral McBride is not okay with that. “Doctor, the deadline to apply for passage on the Extremus was weeks ago. You’re not getting on that ship.” It’s July of 2270, and the TGS Extremus is days from launch.

“What are you talking about?” Dr. Norling questions. “I’m not asking to get on the ship. I want to go to the planet, and I have to do that seventy-eight years from now. I have to go back with Miss Leithe and Mr. Al-Amin.”

“That’s not how I’ve made the new recall device work, Vaska,” Lieutenant Ishida Caldwell tries to explain. “It will send the two of them back to where they were before they traveled through time. They can’t take someone with them.”

“Well, then modify it so it can,” Vaska suggests.

“That would be a supertemporal transporter,” Ishida argues. “That’s so much harder, if not impossible given the parameters. Now, you give me a collapsar, and I’ll send you into the next galaxy, but—” She interrupts herself to stare into the corner as if she’s just given herself a new idea.

“You don’t have to worry about all that,” Maqsud contends. “I tried telling you, I’m just having trouble with accuracy, but the power is in me. All you have to do is devise a device that taps into my temporal energy. I certainly can take people with me.”

“That will not be necessary,” Kestral insists. “Dr. Norling will not be going anywhere.” She faces the doctor. “We need you here.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. I’m not the only doctor here. But I am the foremost expert in Verdemusian radiation.”

“Oh, you are, are you?” Kestral asks sarcastically.

“Name one other.” Expert is a definite exaggeration in this case, but she is indeed the closest thing they have. The problem is that Keshida doesn’t care. They don’t need to know how the planet works, so they’re not properly incentivized to sign off on this mission. Vaska has to come up with a good reason why anyone should go, not just that she should be the one. That’s probably going to be a pretty tall order.

“I’m sorry,” Kestral says simply.

Vaska steps over to gaze out of the nearest viewport. Many stars can be seen from this angle, but they fade away closer to the edge where just a hint of the sunshine from Barnard’s Star peeks out from behind the hull. “Do you remember what your lives were like before we came to this universe as refugees...before every moment—waking or unwaking—was consumed by your responsibility to our health and safety? Do you remember what you were doing, and why? Do you remember your dreams? Why are you such brilliant scientists?” She turns back around. “Did you study because it was easy? Because you were bored? Or did you do it because you wanted to learn, to discover? In the last couple of centuries, humanity has encountered a handful of exoplanets. We’ve gone right to them. Each one is special in its own right. Proxima Doma is the closest. Bida is the most Earth-like, albeit naturally a deathtrap for all Earth-born organisms. Hell, even this system right here, with no fully coalesced planets, is interesting enough. But Verdemus sounds like a paradise. It’s like nothing we’ve seen before. And you just...couldn’t give a shit? What would Past!Kestral and Past!Ishida have to say about your attitudes?”

For Tinaya’s part, that’s a pretty decent argument, but it doesn’t have to resonate with her. It has to change Team Keshida’s mind. The two of them exchange a look, and then they gently press their foreheads together. It looks like more than just a familial bond, but a genuine means of communicating with each other without other people hearing, or having to leave the room. This is all but proven when they separate, and suddenly agree to Vaska’s request. Ishida retires to her lab where she modifies the recall device. It was originally designed to send Tinaya and Maqsud back to a place where they had already been, but since Vaska has never been there, that plan will no longer work.

Six days later, they reconvene to explain the new situation, and give them a chance to back out. Ishida holds up the device. Unlike the first one she created, which was only a relatively small sphere, this is three hoops connected to each other by a larger sphere. “Interstellar teleportation is very difficult to accomplish. It’s hard to do it at large scales, and it’s hard to do it at smaller scales. Recall technology, like homestones, get around this using a branch of mathematics that even I don’t understand. But basically if your quantum signature has already been to a place, it’s easier for it to get back there. Going somewhere new that’s so far away is a whole different ball game. I think I’ve figured it out for a one time trip, but I cannot guarantee the results. It’s still based on your recall point,” she explains to the Verdemusians. “And Vaska is still a hanger-on. Most of the time, when something goes wrong, navigation is what gets thrown off, rather than, say, coherence. This is actually a good thing, because while you may end up in the wrong place, at least you end up in one piece. Or three, as it were.”

“What’s the margin of error?” Tinaya asks.

“A few years, plus or minus. Though, from where I’m standing, due to the added mass of Vaska’s presence, my guess is that you’ll be late instead of early. It’s up to you to decide which is preferable.”

Tinaya looks over for Vaska’s guidance.

“No, no, no,” Kestral says. “She doesn’t get to decide this for you. Since this affects all three of you, it must be a unanimous decision. She’s not the only one taking a risk here. If even one of you doesn’t want to take that risk, we go back to the original plan, and Dr. Norling will have no choice but to return to her pathetic job as the Primary Physician for billions of people.”

“I’m in,” Tinaya agrees with no hesitation.

“For what it’s worth, so am I,” Vaska confirms sheepishly.

They all turn their eyes to Maqsud, who waits a moment. “I still think I can do this myself.” He doesn’t look as confident as he wishes. Verdemus is 16,000 light years away, and they’re trying to get there eight decades in the future. Those numbers do not match up with each other. A Trotter can travel through time given the right conditions, and these aren’t them. It’s clearly possible for him, since he’s the one who got them here in the first place, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to transport them in that way intentionally, and accurately. “But this sounds like a safer bet. Let’s do it.”

Ishida holds the sphere and hoops in front of her. She presses four buttons on the sphere, which release a single leg that extends to the floor, holding it up. “It’ll be here when you’re ready. Its range is unpredictable, so I’ll activate it remotely. Take the suits on your back, and one carry-on. That’s all it can handle. Any questions?”

“We’re ready now,” Tinaya decides, seeing Vaska with her carry-on. She’s the only one with any belongings.

“All right. Give us a minute to get out of here,” Kestral says. “Goodspeed.”

As Team Keshida are leaving, the three passengers get in place. The hoops open, and allow them to step inside to wrap around their torsos. Since they’re not perfect circles, the only way to fit into them is to either face the center, or the outside. The former seems more awkward, so they all end up looking away from each other. A couple of minutes later, they feel the power vibrating through the metal. They instinctively grab onto their respective hoops as the leg retracts itself. A translucent bubble forms, and expands around them, then a few meters beyond. But its borders are undefined. The Captain and Lieutenant were right to bug out.

Once the power reaches critical mass, the bubble suddenly collapses again, and zaps them with a painful—but not overly painful—electrical shock. The room they were standing in disappears, transplanting them to a different one. Tinaya recognizes it immediately, even though she only saw it for a second years ago. This is the mess hall on Verdemus, which exploded when Tinaya unwittingly triggered it by teleporting Ilias away from the hostages that he had taken. Ishida was wrong. They didn’t show up a little too late, but way too early. They’re at risk of changing the timeline. Then again, maybe they should. Then again, how could they have any hope of doing that? This isn’t a few days prior to the tragedy. This is that very moment. Ilias is here, as are his hostages. He’s holding onto one of them tightly. That’s as much as Future!Tinaya is able to garner before Past!Tinaya appears out of nowhere, and takes hold of him. She teleports him out of here, and into the woods.

In one more second, the deadman’s switch is going to obliterate this entire settlement. Dozens of people are going to die, leaving only one survivor who was graced with phoenix resurrection powers. There is not even enough time for Future!Tinaya to remove her suit’s gauntlet to reach her watch, which is the only way she can teleport out of here herself. Even if she did, at best, she can save the other two travelers. Everyone else is still going to die. They’re going to die all over again, and she’s going to have to relive that pain, that loss.

Something is happening. An energy is surging through her again. A bright light is breaking through her suit, melting it along the way. Time appears to slow around her. Only Maqsud and Vaska are moving at a normal rate. The hostages are standing up to run away, but have barely made it to standing positions. The suit slips all the way off of her, leaving only her shining naked glass body. The light expands faster than the bomb explodes, and they begin to battle each other. The glass light wins out, and fades away. Everyone is alive. She has just successfully changed the past. Or has she?

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Microstory 2225: All Sectors of All Fields

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Nick wrote the social media post that he just sent out. And I do mean that. He was able to stay in control of his arm movements enough to type it out on the computer, and even click the submit button. I’m so proud of him. He tried to write this one up himself too, but it proved to be too difficult, and we’re low on time. We ended up staying in the hospital far longer than we wanted, and I’m not a happy mama bird. I told them that we had a maximum time of five hours, and the researchers who are studying his condition did not adhere to that. I mean, it’s not like they locked him up in the lab, chained him to the table, and started poking him with needles while they laughed maniacally. They just kept wanting to conduct more tests, and asking him questions. There was always just one more thing to try. There was also a lot of hurrying up and waiting. This happens because people will typically not take that into account when estimating the amount of time they need to finish working on something. This is true for most people in all sectors of all fields. Anyway, I don’t want to complain too much, but I am going to seek legal counsel for Nick. We need to get the agreement in writing, so this sort of thing doesn’t happen again. Until then, he’s not going back to that facility unless it’s a medical emergency, or some other issue that I can’t handle myself. I’m sure we’ll get it all worked out. I know that no one made this happen on purpose. But he’s very tired right now, and I have to get his dinner prepared so he can get some rest. Until next week!

Microstory 2224: Done With My Remains

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I’m back at the hospital. We thought that this was going to be a weekly thing, but it appears that I’m going to have to incorporate it into my daily schedule. It’s a lot of work for Kelly, so I’m giving her a raise. It’s not like I can’t afford it. I’ll be dead soon, and any money left over is going to go to charity since I have literally no next of kin on Earth. Researchers want to poke and prod me as much as they can before I kick the bucket. I have always been a supporter of science, so if I have to suffer for a few weeks to help the world better understand how prions work, then I’m gonna do it with no complaints. I do have a line, though. I’ll still be living at home. That is nonnegotiable. I recognize and appreciate the importance of this research. Nonetheless, I’m entitled to die with at least a little bit of dignity, and some approximation of comfort. Kelly and I agree to go into the facility once a day for a minimum of two hours, but a maximum of five hours. Anything beyond that is too much for me to handle. However, like I said, I’ll be dead soon, and when that happens, they can do whatever they want with my body for however long. The hospital will be in charge of however that works. But it has nothing to do with me; I don’t need anything special to be done with my remains. I know, this has all been so depressing. Maybe I’ll try to write something a bit lighter tomorrow. Maybe.

Microstory 2223: Goodbye

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People are evidently fascinated by my story, and have a morbid curiosity for my terrible prognosis. They want to know what it’s like, living with this day to day, and knowing that my life will be over soon. Well, it’s actually kind of boring. Since I don’t have the freedom to move around where I want to, and everything I do need to accomplish has to be planned out in advance, I mostly just repeat the same routine every day. I wake up at 07:15. For now, I can brush my teeth on my own, because my arm tremors don’t prevent me from doing it, especially not so early in the morning. It gets to be problematic later in the day, when my arm starts to kind of flail about more unpredictably. I guess the prions need time to wake up too. Anyway, after I take my first round of medicine, Kelly helps me with some physical therapy exercises for about an hour. After that, I need a break, so she plants me in front of the TV for maybe a couple of hours. At that point, I’m getting hungry, so she makes me something simple for lunch, usually a sandwich or a wrap, along with fruit and vegetables. I’ve never eaten so healthily, but that was always my problem, having to be inconvenienced by preparing the food myself. I’ve never cared that much about the taste or quality, it was always just easier eating something prepackaged, or delivered right to my door. That’s probably the best thing about having an assistant, be it a medical professional, or no. Then after lunch, Kelly takes me for a walk in the wheelchair, or if she’s being a big meany, the walker. I’m joking, I know that it’s good for me to stay active and mobile. There will come a day when even sitting in a wheelchair will feel like too much. The walk takes as long as I can handle it, because I’ve always needed a nap right after it, and in some cases, during. She usually has to wake me up to take more pills, and then I just stay awake for more TV, more physical therapy, dinner, more pills, and more recently, writing these posts. Finally, it’s time for bed. That’s pretty much it. Exciting, I know. It’s so interesting, in fact, I think I’ll start a vlog about it, so a company can offer to sponsor me, then get mad when things don’t work out (probably because I’ll be dead). So. You’ve all been writing me letters, and that’s a very lovely thought, but I’m not going to tell you where I live, I do not have a publicist, because it’s a waste of money at this point, and the jail shouldn’t be worrying about them. They have enough on their plate. Here’s the deal, if you send more letters addressed to me, they have been instructed to literally throw them away. They’re not even gonna open them. So please, stop killing trees for no reason. If you want to say something to me, you can send a quick message below, or catch me on social. I still might not be able to read them, though, because it’s getting harder and harder for me to keep my eyes open in front of screens. And my lifecare assistant isn’t getting paid for all that extra stuff. Thank you for understanding. Goodbye.

Microstory 2222: Magical Light of Some Higher Being

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Yes, it’s true, I’m back. Hello, my name is Nick Fisherman IV, and I am not from this world. I came here against my will, but I have since given up on any attempt to escape. I’ve suffered from infections, infections, and more infections. I’ve been homeless, on the run, in jail, set free, and hired for a huge job. I’ve gained everything I ever wanted out of my career only to watch it slip from my hands as my tremors got worse by the day. I’m not even typing this out myself. My lifecare assistant, Kelly has to do it for me. Some might not believe it, because she could theoretically write whatever she wants, and I wouldn’t be able to stop her, but I assure you that this is really and truly me. She’s been instructed to transcribe everything that I say, word for word, whether it makes sense to her or not. One day, this disease might start taking over my higher cognitive functions, but for now, my symptoms are all irrelevant. Well, they’re not irrelevant, of course, but they don’t prevent me from thinking, and my thoughts are all that I have ever been. So as long as I still think like me, I’m me, and as long as there is a chance that some part of me is still in there—even everything else is dead—then I still consider myself to be alive. I’m full code, so keep my heart beating until the money runs out. I’ve always felt this way, even before I had heard of DNRs, and all that stuff. My life is defined by a resting state of suffering and discomfort, with a little bit of happiness sprinkled in occasionally. So don’t worry about how I’ll feel about it when I’m hooked up and reliant upon life support machines, and hanging by a thread. I still want to stay in this world, even though it’s the wrong one. I’ve never believed in the afterlife, because honestly, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of. Death is about the most ridiculous method you could use to be transported from one plane of existence to another, and anyone who believes in life after death is only fooling themselves. When we die, our bodies decompose, our consciousnesses lose coherence, and our souls recede. We don’t “go” somewhere else to start over, or even more absurdly, to live for eternity in the magical light of some higher being. You only think that that’s possible because someone with a grand imagination dreamt it up, not because we have any evidence that anything like that exists anywhere. The arrogance you must have to not be able to tell the difference between reality and your headcanon. I better end it here. Kelly is scolding me for not being nice. I’m told that people are entitled to their beliefs, as if stupid beliefs only affect the people who are clinging onto them, and haven’t caused all kinds of violence and pain in the world. Maybe tomorrow I’ll tell you about what I’ve been up to, instead of depressing you with my unglamorous philosophical position.

Microstory 2221: Advocating For My Patient

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We had an uncomfortable meeting at the hospital. Some people who will not be named have expressed interest in keeping Nick there for the duration of the rest of his short life. They believe that I will not be able to provide him the care that he deserves to be safe, healthy, and happy. Let’s start at the end with that. Nick is happy where he is, and he’s the only one in the world qualified to determine what will keep him that way. He’s not healthy, and he’s never going to be healthy; he’s dying! I know, they’re worried about secondary infections, but let me tell you, that apartment is clean. He kept it clean before I got there, and I keep it clean now. Both of us understand the importance of sanitation, and avoiding cross-contamination. Hospitals are full of other sick people, many of whom can’t do all that much to keep themselves and their spaces clean. I would argue that the apartment is better than that, because we can keep him contained, and separated from anyone who isn’t up to our standards. There are too many others in a facility. Lastly, safe? What do you mean, safe? I know what they mean. They think that his fans are going to come clamoring to see him—for autographs, selfies, or just to get in the way. But you wouldn’t do that, would you? You respect his safety, his privacy, and his need to keep his distance, right? Anyway, I argued my little heart out, advocating for my patient to the best of my ability, and in the end, we won out. We won, because this is the patient’s decision, and he wants to stay where he feels comfortable. At this point in the progression of this awful disease, that’s pretty much all he can ask for. As I’ve been saying, this is terminal, and the prognosis is short. Even if he succumbs to a new infection, it’s not like he was going to live a long and joyous life without it. Now I have another fight ahead of me, but it may not be up to Nick, or he may not care anyway. As you know, he’s my first patient since graduating from my Lifecare Assistant class, and passing the exam. The hospital, and the agency, are considering replacing me with someone with more experience. I can’t say that I can blame them for believing that I’m not ready for this kind of responsibility, but I one hundred percent am. I want to see this to the end, and I hope that Nick feels the same way. We’ll have to see how that goes.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 10, 2462

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Three years ago, Leona and Marie finally escaped the Angry Fifth Divisioner’s ship, and returned naked to the kasma. Leona asked Marie to insert the data crystal into the interface drawer on her PRU, which allowed her to download the information, and display it on her HUD. She began to look through the technical specifications for the machine that could thicken the membrane of a universe, and also the skeleton key that would allow a ship to pass safely through it, despite its great thickness. She had spent the last three days studying the manual. They were surviving on the recycled air and water contained in the pocket dimension inside of their PRUs. They were just stuck here in the equilibrium of the kasma for now, because there was no way to travel to one universe, or the other. She had the means to understand the skeleton key, but no way to construct one for themselves. “Quintessence!”

“Eureka!” Marie replied. She had spent this time reading some of the books stored in her helmet, because there was no way she was grasping the high level mathematical concepts that Leona was working on. It was taking her longer than it should have to finish Rules for Fake Girlfriends due to all these interruptions.

Leona laughed. “Sorry again. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. It’s just that Ramses is gonna love this stuff. Up until now, we’ve just been thinking of the universe as being contained by a membrane. That’s how brane cosmology works. But we never really knew what this membrane was made out of, just that you have to break through it if you want to travel through the bulk. Now we know that it’s called quintessence. For centuries, scientists have referred to it as dark matter, because we didn’t know what it was. But here it is. It’s what’s responsible for the repulsive fifth fundamental force, and explains why bulk travel is so difficult. It’s like trying to place two positively charged electromagnets together, except instead of being separated by an EM field, it’s a quintessential field.”

“Oh, that?” Marie began to joke. “I’ve always known about quintessence. You should have just asked.

“Lol. Some have theorized that quintessence is what explains dark energy, instead of dark matter, but we know that dark energy is just bulk energy that has leaked into our universe to become vacuum energy, and the work that it completes is what explains the accelerating expansion of the universe. These three things are just the same thing in different states, like the difference between a meteoroid, a meteor, and a meteorite.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t matter how much you try to explain it to me, or how many analogies you try to use, I’m not gonna understand it. All I need to know is can it get us out of the kasma?”

“Yes,” Leona replied.

“What? Really?” Marie didn’t expect to get such a good answer.

“Yes, because quintessence repulses baryonic from within its field. We may not be able to get out, but we can go back in just fine. That’s what lets bulk energy leak inside in the first place. If it didn’t, the universe would be static.”

“Oh. Well, then...let’s go.”

“We can’t.”

“You just said that we could,” Marie reminded her.

“We can’t...yet. What is the one thing that’s more powerful than bulk energy, or quintessence?”

“I’m sorry, why do you think that I can answer that question?”

“The answer is temporal energy. Now, a normal person—or even a choosing one—will not usually ever have enough temporal energy to disrupt the quintessential field in order to pass through the membrane, but you and I are special. Every single day, for a few seconds, our bodies overload on the stuff, and generate a burst of energy that sends us forward in time. That’s one advantage that salmon have over choosers. We don’t have to build the energy ourselves. It always comes to us.”

“But you’re not a salmon anymore. Tamerlane Pryce just recreated your pattern.”

“I was never technically salmon, but the fact holds true for us, even after what Pryce did when he gave us our new bodies, and what Ramses did when he upgraded us twice after that. Come midnight central, we’ll release enough temporal energy to break though. Now, if we don’t actually try to break through, then we won’t. It would be like being strong enough to open a door, but still not reaching for the doorknob—”

“What did I say about your analogies?”

“Teleportation. At exactly midnight, teleport into the universe. That’s what we’ve been missing; timing.”

“Okay. Good.” Marie looked at her wrist display. “That should be just enough time to finish my book.”

“All right.” Leona closed her eyes, not to sleep, but to give her brain a short break from all this research.

“Wait.” Marie stopped reading. “Which universe are we going into?”

“Whichever one is closer.”

“Which one is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t?”

“There aren’t any landmarks out here, it’s easy to get turned around. Based on Ramses’ modifications to our onboard sensors, I can tell you that we are sufficiently near the outside of the nearest membrane, but I couldn’t tell you which one it is. It’s our only hope, though. If it’s not the one we want, we don’t have time to teleport to the other side of the kasma, even if we knew which direction that was. Besides, which one do you wanna go to? They both contain friends who can help us get back to Stoutverse, but this task will be no easier from one than the other.”

“True. Okay. Back to my book.” She literally turned herself away to concentrate.

About an hour later, midnight struck, and they jumped to the other side of the year, and the other side of the membrane. Now they were in a vacuum, rather than the kasma. They could feel themselves in freefall, and could see stars all around them. They still had no clue where they were, but they could see a host star relatively close in the distance, so they began to teleport towards it little by little, hoping to spot a rocky celestial object to land on. The armor module of the IMS was equipped with mechanical assistance, which made movement less fatiguing than earlier models of spacesuits, but they were still tiring to use for an extended period of time. They were both ready to be locked down by gravity again. That was how humans evolved, and not even Ramses’ upgraded substrates were immune to the negative effects of microgravity, or equilibrium.

There it was, a planet, but there was more to it. Their suits also detected friends nearby. Mateo and Angela were here already. What a lovely coincidence. Leona pinpointed their exact location on the planet, and made one final jump. “Boo!”

“I saw you coming,” Mateo said. That made sense. His suit had its own sensors.

Marie and Angela tried to give each other a hug, but it wasn’t particularly satisfying with their armor modules on. “Report,” Angela said after they gave up.

The two parties caught each other up on everything they had been through since they parted ways for their respective missions. They hadn’t known how they were going to come back together, but they had been confident that it would turn out to be something like this; totally coincidental, and barely within their control. Well, this was only the first step out of three, and the easiest one, at that. Their next order of business would be figuring out how to get Past!Mateo back to where he needed to be. Only then could they find a way back to their own place in Stoutverse. But first, one of the Maramon had something to say about it.

“Now that you’re here, you can help us.” It was the guy who had genetically engineered the new human-Mar hybrids. He was still not happy that Mateo had spirited him away to this planet without even trying to transport his gestational pod too.

“Help you with what?” Leona asked.

Mateo smiled, glad to have their group’s leader back, if only to be the bad guy in situations such as this.

“My equipment. Your husband made me leave it on the moon. I must have it returned to me. I am to understand that your carrying capacity is roughly 300 kilograms. Being 800 K-G in mass, the four of you should, therefore, be able to teleport it together, even with your suits.”

Leona stared at him for a moment. “I’m not doing that.”

“You must!” the Maramon insisted.

“Actually, I must not. This is not my universe, it is not my decision. If you would like help in this regard, you will have to take it up with Hogarth Pudeyonavic, or perhaps Ellie Underhill. It has nothing to do with us. You don’t need teleporters, you need authorization. I’m afraid that this conversation is now over, so speak of it no further.” She knew that he was just going to keep hounding her about it, so the longer she waited to put her foot down, the harder it was going to be to land it flat upon the ground.

“I have what you seek,” the Maramon claimed vaguely.

“What does that mean?” Leona asked.

“Well, the truth is that I do not have it in my possession, but I know where you can find it. If you retrieve my pod from the moon, I will tell you where to go.”

“Where to go...for what?” he obviously could be lying, so in order for her to even consider trusting him, she had to know that they were at least on the same page.

“The timonite. That’s what you came here for, right? You expected to find it in that cave in the Third Rail, but it was nowhere to be found, was it? That’s because you weren’t looking in the right place.”

Past!Mateo took a step towards him. “Are you lying just to get what you want?”

He laughed. “I could never. You’re Team Matic. You famously don’t take kindly to betrayal. I could never send you far enough away from me that you could not find a way to return, and exact your revenge upon me. I speak the truth. In fact, as a sign of good faith, I will give you a hint.”

“Okay, go ahead,” Future!Mateo urged.

“No. The hint comes after you agree, but before you get me my pod. Once you do get the pod, then you get the exact location.”

Past!Mateo gave the rest of the team puppy dog eyes. “Please.”

“You don’t have to convince us that you need it,” Marie told him. “We already know that you do. We were there, remember? Our reluctance in this is helping him, and in trusting that he’s telling us the truth.”

“I am,” the Maramon said. “If I didn’t have this leverage, I would probably just threaten one of your lives to coerce the others.”

“Fair enough,” Leona decided. “We agree to help. Where is the timonite?”

He took a breath, and prepared for the big reveal. “Verdemus.”

“Is that a band, errr...?” Past!Mateo joked, but then he looked at everyone else’s face. No one was surprised to hear this. “Oh, you’ve heard of it?”

“Yes,” Leona answered. She took Past!Mateo’s hand in hers, and Angela’s in the other. Angela then took Future!Mateo’s, who took Marie’s, who took Past!Mateo’s to complete the circle. They did the same thing around the gestational pod once they were on the moon, and transported it down to the planet.

“Okay, you have your little pod,” Future!Mateo said to the Maramon. “Now where exactly is the timonite on Verdemus?”

“The Miracle Plains,” he replied, almost as if it should be obvious. “Don’t worry, the locals will know what you’re talking about. But you better hurry, they’re set to abandon the whole planet soonly.”

Angela sighed. “How the hell are we going to get all the way to Veremus? We can’t even get out of this universe.”

“Quintessence!” Marie shouts, echoing Leona from earlier.

Leona chuckled. “I’ll need time, but uh, I’ll build something. It could take a couple of years to complete construction.”

“There’s no way to be sure that it remains undisturbed during our interim years,” Future!Mateo lamented

“I’ll set up a lab in secret.” She reached over and took a dish of starter nanites out of Marie’s PRU. Then she looked up at the Maramon. “If any of you find it, and disturb it, while we’re gone, I cannot guarantee your safety.”

“We’ll leave it alone,” he promised to the best of his ability.

While she buckled down to make a plan to build a temporary ship equipped with what could now be called a quintessential skeleton key, the rest of the team started to teleport kind of randomly around the planet to search for a good spot to set up a new lab. It had to be rich in minerals, so the nanites would have a lot to feed on, and preferably somewhere beautiful, so they could return to a pleasant scenery. But of course, it had to be remote, and hard to find. They could not trust the Maramon, nor their hybrids. They returned with several candidates each for Leona to inspect for herself. She ultimately chose one of Past!Mateo’s picks. It was inside of a sea cave that looked like something that could be found on the rocky beaches of Iceland.

Leona programmed the nanites to begin building the ship, as well as the deuterium harvester in the ocean to power it. The design of the vessel was based on the shuttle that was already built for the Iman Vellani proper, since it was readily available in the database, but with less cabin room, to accommodate the skeleton key. When they came back a year later, it was done, but occupied by one of the hybrids.

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Extremus: Year 78

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Tinaya and Aristotle are wearing their Integrated Multipurpose Suits. He’s been transporting himself, and sometimes his mother, to other celestial objects in the solar system, which is a power that his own father did not even have. Maqsud Al-Amin was a long-range teleporter. He could jump from one star system to another, but very imprecisely, and he couldn’t jump to different parts of the planet that he had landed on, or to neighboring orbitals. Aristotle, it seems, is much more powerful than his dad was in a lot of ways, but he still has his limitations. Some teleporters can, for instance, make a jump to the other side of a locked door, but that’s impossible for him. In fact, he has to be outside in order for it to work properly. He once blew the ceiling and roof off of a building when he was overcome with emotion, and uncontrollably transported himself and everyone else in the room light years away. That’s his main issue. He has very little control over it, and Lilac believes this to be a psychological problem. This means that he can learn to move past it.

Aristotle’s dream of sending everyone on Verdemus back to Extremus is loftier than it might sound. It’s certainly far enough away, but precision is non-negotiable in this case. Since the ship is currently traveling at maximum reframe speed, there is no close; only right on target. Even if they were to be all wearing suits, it could prove fatal. Perhaps they end up in the path of the ship, or halfway through a bulkhead. They can’t afford to—pardon the pun—jump hastily into this endeavor. Aristotle believes that he’s ready, but Tinaya isn’t so sure. He’s been spending a lot of time making his jumps, and coming right back, and so far, he hasn’t experienced any issues. He even went to a meteor in the next solar system over, and managed to return unscathed. And that’s all well and good, but she needs to see it for herself first. There are too many variables here, so unless Aristotle can be a lot more specific about what he’s done in his past to practice this power, he’s only going to work on her timeline. He still won’t even tell them exactly how old he is, or what he was doing before he finally found Niobe in the Goldilocks Corridor. That could be the key to solving everything.

One other major problem with Trotting, as it’s called, is the time issue. Teleportation is inherently time travel. In a vacuum, light moves at a constant speed. Temporal manipulators regularly break this speed, whether the result is that they end up backwards or forwards in time, or not. The reason a light year is called that is because that is the distance a photon of light will travel in the span of a year. So when one looks up at a star, they are not seeing it as it is in the moment, but as it was in the past. The light that is hitting their eyes first left its point of origin exactly as long ago as the distance to that origin in light years. When a Trotter pinpoints a destination in the stars, he can choose to tie himself to the original photons, or to the new ones. If a star is, say, five light years away, he can go five years backwards in time, or he can land there only moments later from when he started. But this is not a simple intuitive trick. Maqsud evidently took years to learn to master this skill. Sure, he was a free spirit with no roots keeping him from leaving, so he wasn’t deliberately trying to figure out how to do anything perfectly, but it still isn’t a simple matter. Aristotle is a long way off from achieving this as well, and even longer from proving it to Tinaya.

Today, they’re leaving their friends behind, and going on a test run. According to data that they managed to pull from a galactic mapping program called Project Topdown, there is a star within Aristotle’s range that hosts a planet with a possible breathable atmosphere. Even if the readings aren’t accurate, it’s certainly a terrestrial world. For now, Aristotle either has to see where he’s going, or know where he’s going, based on other information. In this case, he has both, because they specifically chose it for its relative proximity to their current location. It’s not in the direction of Extremus, but it’s not in the direction of the Goldilocks Corridor either, and that’s important right now, because they have no interest in running into any trouble. Again, this is just a test. Tinaya wants to see what he’s made of, and if he fails, only their own lives are in danger. Everyone else will be able to live on, even if they die of old age of Verdemus.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

“I am.”

“Am I ready?” he pushes, realizing what she means by that.

Tinaya looks over at Lilac, who nods, confident in her son’s ability. She’s already given her approval for this mission. He’s an adult now, but he still relies on her. Tinaya thinks it over for a moment. “Okay, you have a go.”

“We have a go,” he corrects. For the most part, starting in a body of water makes it easier to activate the power, but he’s been practicing without this crutch, because if he can manage without, then he can definitely manage with. He spreads his arms out before him to welcome the light from his destination star, kept in focus by the heads-up display on his helmet. “Yalla.”

They fly into the air, and then out of the air. They soar out of the Verdemusian solar system, and past dozens of stars. Their visors turn opaque as the doppler glow attempts to blind them. There’s no turning back now. He saw where he wanted to go, but now he can’t see anything, so he has either succeeded, or already failed. Either way, they’re going somewhere. A couple minutes pass, which is highly concerning. The target star is only 78 light years away, and it shouldn’t take this long to get there. Then again, they’ve not had too much time to calculate travel time for his other jumps. They don’t have a lot of data and experience yet, and neither Aristotle nor Lilac is a notable mathematician. Finally, the glow recedes, and they see the star coming at them. There’s something wrong here, though. This far out in the galaxy, it should be uninhabited. But they’re headed for what looks like a ship. Shit, the Exin Empire must have spread farther than they realized. They’re going to be landing in enemy territory, and there is nothing they can do about it.

They crash through a giant glass window, fall through the cylindrical habitat that they’ve found themselves in, and splash into what’s either a lake or a pool. No chlorine, it’s probably a lake. A crowd forms around them as robots begin to repair the damage from above. A few people hop into the water, and help them out. They ask if the two of them are okay, but they’re not surprised to see them, nor upset. That’s a good sign. Maybe not all Exins are bad. Some of them look like they’re using communication devices, probably to contact the authorities.

One of them steps forward. “Get them towels, and escort them to guest quarters.” He looks upon Tinaya and Aristotle. “There will be showers there. I’m sure that Team Keshida will want to speak with you soon, so do not waste time.”

“Of course,” Tinaya answers before Aristotle can question what the man just said to them. This is not a good place to be. Well, it’s fine, but it could be dangerous. They don’t even know what year it is.

They follow their escorts to the train, which transports them down to the far end of the cylinder. After their showers, they find new clothes waiting for them on the bed, and a note on the smartmirror that their suits have been taken in for service. When they open the door to leave, lights guide them down the hallway where they find an airlock. A small pod flies them thousands of kilometers away, to a different cylinder. When the hatch opens, none other than Captain Kestral McBride, and Lieutenant Ishida Caldwell are waiting for them. These are two of the most famous people in Extremusian history. Everyone knows Team Matic, and they’ve learned about the violent exploits of Anatol Klugman. They’re aware of the Preston family, and the powers that be. But Team Keshida is directly responsible for the successful launch of the Extremus mission in the first place. No two people are more important to it. They’re in Gatewood Collective, which is thousands of light years off course.

“Report,” Captain McBride says.

“Could you tell us the date first?”

“It’s August 24, 2269,” the Lieutenant answers.

“We’re Extremusians, from 78 years in the future,” Tinaya answers.

“Did you use the recall device to return? How come it’s just the two of you?”

“I am Aristotle Al-Amin,” he replies before Tinaya can stop him this time.

“I see,” the Captain says. “There is probably a lot that you should not tell us.”

“There is only one thing that maybe you can tell us?” Tinaya asks hopefully.

“We might be able to send you back to the ship,” Lieutenant Caldwell says, assuming this to be the question they were going to ask.

“That’s a problem,” Tinaya begins. “We weren’t on the ship. We’ve...found planets along the way. We do indeed want to return to Extremus one day, but it’s complicated. There are those we left behind on our outpost. We would have to retrieve them first, and would rather never see Extremus again if it’s the only way to reunite them.”

Captain McBride nods. “I may be able to rig up a sort of homestone that takes you back to the place you last left, rather than the place you were when you first time traveled. It will take us some time to figure out how to do that, though.”

“We would be eternally grateful,” Tinaya tells her. “In return, we would be willing to brief you on matters of the mission for the last eight decades.”

“That would not be wise,” the Lieutenant contends. “Extremus has not even launched yet from our temporal perspective.”

“Perhaps we can brief the archives, with a temporal firewall in place, which will only unlock a file once it becomes the present day for you.”

“Hmm,” Captain McBride says, considering it. “We would have to invent that too, but it would be acceptable.”

“It would be nice to be able to keep up on your progress,” the Lieutenant agrees, “even if there is nothing we can do to help you while you’re out there.”

The Captain nods. “In the meantime, you will report to the medical wing for a physical, and an adaptive quarantine.”

“Adaptive quarantine, sir?” Aristotle asks.

“It starts with eleven hours,” Lieutenant Caldwell begins to explain. “At that point, the medical staff will reassess. If the sensors detect an issue, and you need longer, it will jump up to twenty-four hours total. Then forty-two, then fifty-six, and then eighty-three. After that, we start measuring it in days, starting with eleven again. Let’s hope it doesn’t get that far.”

They end up staying in quarantine for eleven months.

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Microstory 2220: Rule It

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We have more information now. The prion has been identified. It’s called Neurodegenerative Artiodactyl Acquired Prion Disease, and it is only passed to humans through tainted meat. And since there has only been one time when Nick ate meat of any kind in the last couple of decades, he knows exactly how it happened. He knows what restaurant he went to, he knows precisely what he ordered. He has all sorts of information about the incident. Now, I’m sure the restaurant will claim that it couldn’t possibly be from them, but there can be no denying it. Because even if you don’t believe that Nick was once immortal, and from another universe, you have zero evidence that he ate meat at any other place. That doesn’t mean that there’s going to be a lawsuit, I honestly don’t know, because this is just the beginning of this chapter of the story. At this time, I do not believe that he’s considering taking legal action against anyone, but that doesn’t mean he won’t change his mind in the future. As I’m only his lifecare assistant, I have nothing to do with the decision, but I wouldn’t rule it out. He’s preoccupied right now, but once we get back into a routine, he may start to develop some harsh feelings for who did this to him. At the very least, they need to open an investigation into that restaurant, and into whoever provides them their beef, as well as any other possible victims. He’s obviously not the only person who ate that steak. His would-be business partners ordered basically the same thing, so they could be sick too. I know that there was this whole other legal thing about them claiming that he defamed them. He never told you the name of that company in the first place, but because of all this, it may end up finally coming to light. Like I said, we’re still in the early stages. My job has not changed. It’s still my responsibility to make sure that my patient is safe and comfortable. I have found him a new therapist. She’s experienced with treating the terminally ill. Even though we didn’t learn the prognosis until yesterday, it was rather clear to the both of us—and probably most of his hospital staff—that he was not going to get better. It’s just that now it’s been confirmed. So she’s already ready to go, and will be available to meet with him next week. I’m hoping that she will be able to convince him to get back to his website. I think it would be really important for him to express his final thoughts, so people can continue to read it after he’s gone, and maybe learn from his experiences. As I told you yesterday, not a lot of people are even aware that prions exist, but they are a real danger to your health, and should not be dismissed just because they’re rare. They do happen.

Microstory 2219: It is Always Fatal

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I might try to say more tomorrow, but today is not a good time to spend a lot of time curating a good post. We’re reeling from today’s news. We knew that it was bad. I mean, just look at him; it had to be bad. But we didn’t know quite how bad. There are five types of infections. When Nick first arrived in this universe, he contracted a virus, and shortly thereafter, he got a bacterial infection. These might be the two most common. There are some people who just get the cold every year, whether they take a vaccine for it or not. Fungal infections are fairly common too, and they often go untreated, because symptoms are sometimes rather mild, albeit fairly gross. He also managed to suffer from a fungus when he used some unclean showers in Iowa, but before that, a parasite took hold of him when he was exposed to the wrong plant at the nursery where he worked. All of this happened during the first quarter of this year, and he thought that he was out of the woods for a while. Sadly, that has turned out to not be true, though we didn’t know until today that the disease that he has is yet another infection. You see, all four of the types of infections that you’re familiar with can potentially be deadly. None of them is totally safe. But there is a fifth type that you have probably never even heard of, and the worst part about it is that it is always fatal. It’s called a prion, and while some prion diseases can be treated to some degree, they are the least understood class. The good news (or bad, depending on how you look at it), is that everything I’ve been doing with him has been everything that the doctor would have ordered had he diagnosed this before. Managing symptoms is the only possibly helpful course of action. Now that he knows that it’s there, he can study it more, and tweak some of Nick’s medications, but that’s about it. The horrible truth is that he is going to die from this. He may have a few months to live, but the doctor doesn’t see him making it through the New Year. I’ve written more than I planned on. I better end it here, so I can get back to taking care of him. We’ll see how much time I have tomorrow, or if I’m even emotionally up to it.

Microstory 2218: Each Glass That it Fills

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I made sure that Nick got a lot of sleep last night, because I knew that he was going to need his energy today. A bunch of his former team members wanted to see him, including one who he had never actually gotten a chance to work with before he fell ill. If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll know that Nick doesn’t love crowds, and he doesn’t like being the center of attention. Like the candle that does not lose its fire when it lights a second candle, extroverts feed off of each other. But like the pitcher that loses its water with each glass that it fills, an introvert can only be drained of energy. They give without taking. Even still, Nick did want to see the people who he had hired, so I coordinated times for them to be there for short visits. He needed breaks in between the batches, but we also couldn’t have the ordeal last all day long, so it was a very fine line. I’m not going to relate to you what they all discussed while they were in the apartment. Not only was I not there for all of it, but it’s no one else’s business. I can tell you that they did not talk about what’s going on with the jail. Nick’s position at the company, and as a contractor to the county, has been officially terminated. He received three separate final bursts of income. First, they paid out all of the sick leave that he had accrued, even though he wasn’t technically using it all while he was still technically employed. Secondly, he earned a bonus just for being a swell worker. Lastly, he was entitled to severance pay since it was decided that none of this was his fault. His bosses pretty much knew all of this was going to happen, but he had to wait for all the legal questions to be answered. He’s set for now, but this money won’t last forever. We’ll deal with that later, though.

Microstory 2217: He Only Watched

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We’re at the hospital today for a check-up. There’s a lot that I can do for him. I can take care of his basic needs, help with physical therapy homework, and draw blood or run an IV drip. There are still things that a nurse or doctor needs to perform, though. He’ll probably be at the hospital about once a week from now on. While I was on their website to make sure we would park in the right lot, I found out that the hospital was putting on a little talent show. It wasn’t this grand, expensive affair, but the staff like to keep their patients active and in high spirits, so they do things like this sometimes. No one was being judged or ridiculed. Some of the talents were unimpressive by most people’s standards, like one elderly woman who just sort of slowly twirled around while she was looking up at the ceiling, waving her arms around occasionally. One of the radio techs beatboxed. It was a safe environment for people to be themselves, and maybe forget about why they were there. I don’t think that it worked for Nick, but it was worth a shot. He only watched, of course. There was no way I was convincing him to get up on that stage. He says that he wouldn’t have done anything like that on his best day. He’s not much of a performer, and has hated having to do things like that in the past, like for school. Lots of teachers told him that he would get used to it the more he tried it, but that never happened. Evidently, in his world, the culture assumes that everyone can do anything if they work hard enough at it, and obviously, that’s not true. This site was his way of reaching out to the world, and when I pointed that out to him, it actually seemed to resonate, so I’m hoping that means he’ll soon decide to inject his own thoughts back into it, even if that means he dictates what he needs me to type for him. One can hope.

Microstory 2216: Him to Survive

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Nick is catatonic today, not in the literal sense, but in the faking sort of way. I know that he can hear me, and that he’s processing information just fine. He’s anxious about the results of the latest test, which are said to be coming by the end of the week. The diagnostics doctor doesn’t want to say beforehand what he’s thinking, or what specifically the test is for, but Nick says that he has this feeling that the answer is on its way. He believes that we will know what we’re dealing with on Friday. The anticipation is killing him faster than the disease probably could. So he’s refusing to eat or communicate, or even sleep. He just lies there, staring up at the ceiling. I’m taking care of his bodily imperatives, but there are ways for him to still handle some of that himself, so I will not continue doing it all for him for an extended period of time. It’s okay for now, but he’ll have to get back to work on his own recovery tomorrow. This is a home care program, so if that’s not enough for him to survive, then I’ll have no choice but to check him into a facility full time. I don’t think he wants that. He’s gotta meet me halfway. I think he thought that he would be a pro at this, but his reaction to all this change is perfectly normal. We will get through it. Together.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 9, 2461

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Ramses had it figured out. Through a lot of experimentation and trial and error, he was able to come up with a device that measured an individual’s cosmic frequency. This was all taking place on the quantum level. Normal samples, like blood, did not give him any useful information about them in this regard. They needed an EEG. He theorized that every brane in the bulk vibrated at a unique frequency of its constituent particles and waves. Each one had some form of the cosmic microwave background radiation left over from its inception event, and the collection of subatomic particles that made up any individual or object from that universe harmonized with that radiation. When something was removed from its universe, and placed in another, it exhibited a disharmony with its environment. By sampling the brainwaves of thousands of people in Stoutverse, Ramses had been able to come up with a baseline, and then write an algorithm which compared that baseline to visitors, such as himself and Olimpia.

The three men who came through the Westfall doors each disharmonized with the environment in a different way, as did their current group of Ochivari prisoners of war. By comparing the three men’s cosmic frequencies to the Ochivari, Ramses was able to determine that they were not from the same universe. Unfortunately, that wasn’t inherently good enough as the human allies were suspected of originating from somewhere other than the Ochivari homeworld anyway. He needed more data, and more time, to dig deeper into the subatomic properties. He now believed that he could also determine whether an individual had ever been to another universe, even if they had only stayed there for a few minutes. Each brane evidently left its signature upon their quantum consciousness. A cosmic imprint, he called it. It didn’t seem to work with inanimate objects, but he was able to detect a number of these imprints on himself and Olimpia, as well as the Ochivari. They were not present in the other three visitors, nor the natives of this universe. They were probably not spies, or they likely would have traveled to other universes before.

It was now required for all residents of this version of Earth to submit to a cosmic frequency test to make sure that they were all from this brane, and had spent their entire lives here. That was beyond Ramses’ control. He invented the machine, and the local researchers had reverse-engineered it while he was out of the timestream. Primus Mihajlović probably would have told them if they had discovered any spies using the new test, but his mind was preoccupied with something else. After using other interrogation and investigative techniques to decide whether the three Westfallers had good intentions or bad, an attempt was made to assimilate them into society somehow. It did not last very long. Last year, Dutch Haines—the gardener who was rather apathetic about all this—was bored enough to ask to meet one of the Ochivar in person. Naraschone granted this opportunity. If he turned out to indeed be an evil spy, seeing how he interacted with the POW would only give them more information.

Shortly after Dutch left the prison, the Ochivar fell ill, and ultimately succumbed to a mysterious disease that doctors could not explain. It was apparently airborne, so the rest of the prisoners contracted it too. The first one to get sick was the closest to Patient Zero, and the last one was the farthest, but they all suffered from it, and they all died. Dutch was carrying some kind of pathogen, even though he wasn’t exhibiting any signs or symptoms himself. Other humans appeared to be just fine too, for he had been free to move about the world before they placed him back in quarantine. Several months ago, another Ochivar came through a portal to complete his nefarious tasks. They sicked Dutch on him, and he too died. They had all but proved the viability of a new weapon against this multiversal threat. A biological weapon. They began to research it.

“We could wipe them all out,” Elder suggested.

“You can do what?” Ramses had heard him, but he couldn’t believe it.

“All we have to do is infect one Ochivar, and then let them try to go home. The pandemic will spread from there.”

Olimpia shook her head. “You can’t do that.”

“Oh, but we can.” Elder was apparently the biggest proponent of this project, believing that it would save human lives, and render the Transit Army obsolete. His reasoning was not without its merits. The Ochivari operated by intruding on other people’s universes, making judgments on their lifestyles and cultures, and deploying their own virus, which sterilized the entire population. Fighting fire with fire was how he justified this plan.

“Did Primus Mihajlović agree to this?” Ramses questioned.

“This is a military operation,” Elder explained. “It would not be completely out of her hands, but the Generals can override her decision in such matters, especially since it’s not taking place on her world.”

“The hell it’s not,” Olimpia argued.

“The initial infection is, but the latter deaths will happen on the Ochivari homeworld,” Elder explained. “It’s foolproof. Humans are totally unaffected.”

“You don’t know that,” Ramses contended. “Pathogens mutate. If you were to dispatch this to the major Ochivari population, it could change and evolve, and eventually maybe become a threat to humanity.” This was wrong; probably a war crime. They had to do everything in their power to stop it, which was easier said than done. They were powerful, yeah, but they still didn’t exist most of the year. That gave this new program a lot of freedom to continue. If Naraschone didn’t know about it, then it was his responsibility to tell her while he still had the chance.

This actually seemed to resonate with Elder a bit. “Well, we can’t stop it now.”

“Yes, you can. Don’t let Dutch infect anyone else. It’s immoral,” Olimpia began. “There is a reason that biological weapons were declared illegal worldwide where we come from. Besides the logistical issues with targeting and containment, they are a profound human rights violation.” She dismissed Elder’s argument with a waggle of her finger. “It doesn’t matter that the Ochivari are not humans. We are. Humanity is not about how you’re treated, but how you treat others. This. Is. Wrong.”

“You don’t understand. Dutch has already infected two more Ochivari, and they’re about to leave. I wanted you to watch.” He pressed a button underneath the window, which raised the curtain. Two clearly weak Ochivari were heading towards each other, coughing and heaving. Each one was being escorted by a human in a hazmat suit, forcing them to keep walking using cattle prods. “We asked Carlin to just send them back for us, but he refused. He said that you would not condone it,” Elder explained. “He appears to have been right about that.”

“The torture devices alone are immoral,” Olimpia pointed out.

Ramses lurched, but Elder took him by the wrist. “If you’re really worried about the disease mutating, then I wouldn’t teleport in there if I were you. That’s why they’re wearing suits. We’re careful.”

Ramses was still angry, but he recognized how powerless he was here. It didn’t look like it was going to work this time, but these people were going to try again, and they just had to wait a day. Someone had to be here to talk them out of it. The Primus was their best option for that. He did teleport away, but not to stop the Ochivari from trying to return to their home universe. He instead retrieved Naraschone from her meeting in one of the South American bunkers, and brought her to the observation room.

She looked at everyone present. “You told me you would wait until I could be here,” she said to Elder.

“It was too important to wait a year,” he replied. “I wanted these two to see it too.”

“I thought she didn’t know,” Olimpia complained.

Elder shook his head. “I never said that.”

“Madam Primus, you cannot let this go on,” Olimpia begged her. “Put a stop to this. Please.”

“Pia. Trust me, it’s fine,” Ramses said calmly.

Naraschone narrowed her eyes on him. “What do you have planned?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I don’t have to do anything. This isn’t going to work.”

“Why not?”

“Just look.”

They watched as the two Ochivari drew nearer to each other. The hazmat prison guards grabbed them by the shoulders, and turned them around, slamming their backs against each other until they were locked up. At first, they seemed to be refusing to open their portal, but the cattle prods came out again. So they relented. Their skin rippled, and glowed with a slight increase in temperature. Their wings stiffened up, and they began to struggle against each other in a battle of wills and biology on a level that the humans could neither see nor truly fathom. After a few minutes of this, they both disassembled, with their body parts falling to the ground. According to the research, when a group of Ochivari wanted to create a brane-hopping portal, they would perform this back wrestling ritual, and it would end with one of them exploding into a million pieces while the other was pulled into the resulting portal. This time, no portal formed, and they only exploded into maybe a couple dozen pieces. Ramses was right to believe that it wouldn’t work. The infection was just too much for them.

“What happened?” Naraschone demanded to know.

“They’re too sick,” Ramses figured. “You need strength to form a portal, whether you’re an Ochivari, or a human choosing one. Neither of them had it. You and Dutch made sure of that.”

A few hours later, they tried the experiment again, but instead of waiting for the subjects to exhibit symptoms, they made them do their wing fighting right away, and just hoped that they did end up getting sick, and eventually began to spread the disease. But it didn’t work either. They were too sick and weak immediately upon infection. The fifth subject died in this universe, same as all the others. Ramses and Olimpia were pleased, but they should not have been, because Elder and Naraschone came up with a new plan. Instead of infecting an Ochivar here, and then sending them home, they would just send Dutch there. That came with its own questions on morality, so Ramses had to stop it this time. He teleported Dutch away, and hid him somewhere on this planet where hopefully no one would find him.

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