Extremus: Year 118

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It’s the end of the year, and the end of Tinaya and Arqut’s lives. The whole ship is in mourning, even though they’re not quite dead yet. They’re in the same room that they’ve slept in for years, but it has been modified to accommodate their new situation. The bed has been pulled out to be replaced with two hospital beds. People have been coming all month long to say their goodbyes. The doctors don’t let too many people in over the course of only one day, so they have to spread it out. Audrey, with nothing else to do, is in charge of maintaining a healthy and comfortable schedule. Captain Jennings has his turn now, as it is nearing the couple’s final days, and he should be one of the last. His relationship to the two of them hasn’t always been perfect, but they have a mutual respect for one another, he will still be saddened by the loss. That’s not the only reason he’s here, though. There is some final business to take care of. “You must appoint your successor.”

“Ask me in a year,” Arqut quips. Gallows humor.

Oceanus tries hard not to smile. He doesn’t know that it’s fine. They’re in their nineties, for God’s sake. “Please. I want them to be as good as you.” He looks around in paranoia, like someone might be watching. “Things have been changing. Waldemar is gaining popularity.”

“We knew he would,” Tinaya says. “He’s a populist.”

“Yeah, but...please,” Oceanus begs.

“Who is in third place?” Arqut asks him. “If Waldemar is number one, who is number three?”

“That would be Détha. Why? Are you considering her for the role?”

“I can’t just say, whoever loses becomes the Superintendent instead,” Arqut explains. “I have to choose a name, and it will take that person out of the running. They obviously can’t be both the Captain and the Superintendent.”

“We all know that neither one of them is going to win,” Oceanus says, “Détha nor Pronastus.”

“Right, but second place will become lieutenant, won’t they?” Arqut presses.

Oceanus frowns. “We weren’t telling people that.”

“You don’t always have to tell me something for me to know,” Arqut clarifies. “Well...you don’t have to tell my wife.”

“It’s a little bit of padding,” Oceanus explains. “If that man has to become captain no matter what, at least we can put someone at his side who we can trust. If it can’t be Silveon, let it be someone we know and like.”

“Détha is the same,” Tinaya says. “I didn’t know her before all this, but I’ve been watching her. She would make a good superintendent or lieutenant, but let’s have her as the former. Pronastus has work to do when it comes to policy, not just staffing.”

“So we’ll have two good people in power, and one not so good,” Oceanus determines. He breathes a sigh of relief. “I was hoping you would say something like that. She has to be informed first, though. She has the right to decline, and move forward with her bid for the captaincy.”

“Well...” Arqut begins. “Bring her to us.”

“She’s not on the schedule,” Audrey warns from the corner.

“Who is?”

“Head Councillor Crusan,” Audrey answers. “After him, you’ve hit your quota. You’re not allowed any more visitors, besides me and your son. Doctor’s orders.”

“We’ll see him tomorrow,” Tinaya decides.

“Tomorrow is a day of rest,” Audrey reminds them. “They’re all days of rest after today.”

“Then push it back. The day after that will be the start of our swan songs,” Arqut insists. “He’s right, I should have picked a replacement sooner. I just wasn’t thinking, and honestly, I forgot whether I had the authority to do so or not. There was a time when we thought I didn’t. I have the power to move staff around as needed, but does that include my own position? Anyway, please retrieve her for us. But maybe wait an hour or two. We both need a nap.”

Oceanus looks up at Audrey. “Just let me know when they’re awake and up for it. Détha will jump when I say so.”

Détha ends up not being able to come until nighttime, when her watch as active Vice Captain is over for the day. Technically, once she’s on break, she’s free to do whatever she wants. It’s kind of the point to transition to the next Vice Captain three times a day, so none of them has any sort of help from the others while they’re active. During each watch, they are expected to be the one and only. This is a different situation, though. She’s not in command at the moment. “You wanted to see me, sirs?”

“There is no time to beat around the bush,” Arqut starts to tell her. He’s sitting up now, feeling better than before, but he knows that he’s going to have to go to sleep again soon. “Are you aware of your place in the competition?”

Détha is a straightforward person. She recognizes the value in lying, but is very good at seeing what others know, and what they don’t, so when lying is pointless, it becomes counterproductive. She knows that Tinaya and Arqut already know the answer, so any optimism or confidence will come across as unearned, even though she got to where she is due to all that confidence. Fake it ‘til you make it, expect unfortunately...she’s not gonna make it. And she knows that too. “I’m losing, sir.”

“Do you know why that is?” Arqut goes on.

Now she’s hesitating.

“Be honest with us about your perspective,” Tinaya encourages her. “We’ll take it to our grave, which is coming up soon.”

Détha clears her throat, and tries to straighten up, but really, she was already standing at high attention. “It’s a boy’s club sir. It has been for over twenty years. I’m sorry if that offends.”

“It doesn’t,” Tinaya assures her. “You’re right, but that’s not the problem. I’m guessing that you would be happier if Pronastus won. Not as happy as if it were you, but better than the alternative?”

Détha hesitates again, but pushes through it. “He should be in first place. He’s clearly the best, I’m not sure why he’s not. He understands people. He knows what they need. He has literal superpowers. Waldemar, on the other hand, is...”

“Incompetent? Reckless?” Arqut tries to guess.

“Inhumane? Dispassionate?” Tinaya adds.

“Lost,” Détha contends. “Sirs. He gets confused about why he should care what others are going through.”

Arqut nods. “As Superintendent, when active, I don’t have the power to relieve a captain from duty, unless under extreme circumstances, and even then, I would need a lot of people backing me. I wouldn’t be able to just do it.”

“Sir? Is there a problem with Captain Jennings? Is he corrupt?” Détha asks.

“No, not him. It’s Kristiansen. He’ll be a problem.”

“Apologies, but it appears that you won’t be the Superintendent anymore, sir.”

“Exactly,” Arqut confirms.

Détha winces a little. She’s not quite connecting the dots, but she’s close. Or maybe she’s there, but she doesn’t want to assume.

“We need you,” Tinaya says. “We need you to take his place, so you can be in a position to help when the day comes that this ship requires an active Superintendent again. As he said, you can’t  remove a captain, but maybe you could move enough other people around, and gather enough support.”

“You’re planning a future coup,” Détha argues. “You won’t even be around to suffer any consequences.”

Tinaya sighs. “There are things we know about the future. I’m breaking laws just by telling you that, and I won’t say anything more, except that you are a variable that we didn’t see. Perhaps...you can make things better. Based on your track record, I don’t think you can make it worse. You and Vice Captain Kegrigia are the only two people who might have a chance of keeping Extremus in one piece. One of your should be lieutenant, and the other the new Arqut.”

Détha considers the offer. “You don’t think I can win?” she asks. “You don’t think something can change within the next two years?”

“You deserve it,” Arqut says to her, “but no. Time is usually fluid, even for time travelers who have knowledge of future events, but sometimes, there’s nothing you can do. We believe that this is the best course of action to take right now. It might be the only one.”

Détha nods respectfully. “I accept the position. I will take on my new responsibilities with honor and grace.”

“Now, you understand that you won’t have power over the vice captains either, right? They’re just like the captain in this regard. If we were still doing things the old ways, you couldn’t veto a candidate. They’re insulated, by extension of the captain. So even though you’ll be starting by the end of the competition, you won’t be able to change the outcome.”

“I understand,” Détha replies. “With all due respect, I can promise you nothing when it comes to my future decisions. I will have to be my own Superintendent, and if I calculate that Waldemar Kristiansen is the absolute best thing to happen to Extremus, and its mission, then I will support him appropriately. If you’re looking for someone to carry a set of instructions that you write down before you die, you’re looking at the wrong girl.”

“We would never expect that,” Arqut says sincerely. “I would not be choosing you if I thought I could. That’s the point.”

Détha nods again. “Then once more, I accept.”

There are a few minor details to iron out, but there’s very little that she needs to know before she starts her job. They won’t announce the decision for another few days, and she won’t actually start anything until Arqut dies, or if he’s declared mentally unfit to continue. They are considering asking the doctor to do just that so she can go ahead and get started. It’s not like they would be lying. He gets tired all the time, and he’s on his actual deathbed. Technically, he’s mentally stable enough to make decisions, but in a practical sense, he should also be able to attend council meetings. Even sitting up in a chair has become difficult. They don’t get the chance to do any of this, however. A couple of days later, Détha is found dead in her stateroom.

It was clearly murder, but they have no evidence that Waldemar was involved. It doesn’t even kind of look like he might have done it. Only a few people understand his full motives. Since he was winning the competition for the captain’s seat, to outsiders, it doesn’t look like he would have much reason to feel threatened by her. If anything, he should have killed Pronastus to secure his own win, but that’s not what happened. Their best guess is that he found out that Détha spoke with Tinaya and Arqut, even though she doesn’t know them, and wouldn’t have been on the list of visitors unless it was something that wasn’t in Waldemar’s best interests. Murder is wrong, of course, but he’s not crazy to hold these fears. They are plotting against him, just probably not in the way that he thought. Or she confessed to him, either beforehand, which led to the murder, or during the violent act, as a desperate plea for her life. So they don’t know what he knows. It doesn’t matter for long, though, because Arqut and Tinaya die at the exact same time just a few weeks later anyway. They never found a new superintendent.

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Extremus: Year 100

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After months of investigating and compiling data, Tinaya and Lataran had to put the inquiry on hold for a bit while the latter gave birth. She named her daughter Sable, and obviously started to focus on her while Tinaya continued. It was months more before she realized that she trusted the wrong people, and a few months after that before anyone agreed to sit down with her to explain the situation.

They’re in this meeting now, in the former mirror room, of all places. This operation is clearly completely off the books, but it goes pretty high up the food chain. Tinaya still doesn’t understand why. A representative from the Bridger Section is here. She hasn’t ever met him, and doesn’t know what his role is. Also present are Doctors Cernak and Gunnarsson, proving that she was right to conscript a third party physician from Verdemus. The current Consul, Head of Security, and some woman that Tinaya doesn’t know either are all sitting opposite her, but still separate from the others. They’re apparently waiting for someone else, and being very quiet while they do.

Finally, Captain Jennings walks in. “Oceanus,” Tinaya exclaims, standing up. “You’re in on this too.”

“Whatever this is,” Oceanus replies, “decidedly no. I’ve been told something has been happening under my nose, and it has to do with you and Lataran, but I do not yet know what it is. Explain, Darling.”

Consul Darling clears his throat. “It’s not my place. I was only recently made aware of the project when it became clear that Admiral Leithe was getting close to figuring it out on her own.”

“It’s not a project if no one knows about it,” Tinaya argues. “It would be an operation. But I just call it a conspiracy.”

No one responds.

“Who is in charge here?” Oceanus demands to know.

The Bridger stands. “Please have a seat, Captain.”

Still seething, Oceanus sits down next to Tinaya. They take each other’s hands. They’ve grown close over the course of the last year, having spoken nearly every day as he’s gotten better at seeking her counsel. She didn’t read him in on her side mission because she didn’t want him to be distracted from running the ship.

The Bridger makes one step away from his seat. “As you all know, Bridgers have access to future knowledge. We use this knowledge to guide Extremus on its mission, protecting its mandate at all costs.”

“No,” Tinaya interrupts.

“No...what?” the Bridger asks.

“No, your job is not to protect the mission at all costs, but to a reasonable and ethical degree. Your predecessors understood that. Why don’t you?”

“I misspoke,” the Bridger claims.

“I don’t believe you. You’ve been violating people’s bodies on a repeated basis. I don’t care what reason you think you had for this, it’s wrong.”

“You might not agree once you hear those reasons,” the Bridger claims.

“Well, get on with it, then,” Oceanus spits.

The Bridger sighs. He kind of looks like he wants to sit back down, but he has the floor. “As I was saying, we are aware of future events. Sometimes we can change them, sometimes we can’t, and sometimes we shouldn’t. This particular issue is hopefully the former, but we’re still not sure. It’s unclear how successful we’re being, if at all. We still don’t understand what the source of the problem is, but the problem itself is totally unambiguous. We have a population decline issue.”

“What?” Tinaya asks. “Population growth is a matter of public record. Our numbers have been rising.”

“You’re right, they have,” the Bridger agrees, “but not at a fast enough rate. One day soon, this number will plateau, and then it will start going back down. Trust me, I’ve already seen it play out.”

“So you rape women?” Tinaya questions. That’s a serious accusation.

Dr. Cernak shoots out of his chair like it’s on fire. “That is not what we’re doing! Don’t you ever frame it that way!”

“Doctor. Please,” the Bridger requests.

“Ah, so it’s a framing issue,” Tinaya sees. “You’re not denying breaking the Synthetic Age Oath of Ethical Medical Practice. You just don’t want me to talk about it. I get it.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Cernak insists. “We don’t even take the full SAOEMP in its original form. We have to take a modified version of it since we don’t accept certain forms of lifesaving procedures, like healing nanites or consciousness transference.”

“Don’t you?” Tinaya questions. She leaves it at that, because Consul Darling may not know about The Question, and the Head of Security almost certainly doesn’t.

Dr. Cernak huffs. “We didn’t impregnate anyone. We simply gave them the option to procreate by hastening the degradation of the silencing enzyme.”

“Without our consent, nor our knowledge!” Tinaya shouts.

“Admiral Leithe,” Consul Darling scolds.

“No, I’m not going to calm down. You think what you did is okay because of some future problem that almost no one knows about? I don’t care which ethical oath you took, it’s either not enough, or you broke it! This is unacceptable. It is a violation of our rights to identity and self-determination. That’s why we switched from the Hippocratic Oath in the first place, because it was woefully insufficient for the needs of a population in a world where death is more of a question than an inevitability. Yeah, Cernak, I actually do understand that you take a variant of the standard ethical oath, but that involves more restrictions on care, not less. Consent is everything, and you should have known that. I swear to God, you two, despite my lack of power as an admiral, I will see to it that you are both dismissed, delicensed, and sent to hock.”

“You don’t have that power,” Consul Darling states the obvious. “Not even the Captain can do that much.”

“I can.” It’s the mysterious woman who has been sitting quietly until now. Everyone seems scared of her, even the Bridger. She stands and stares at him to strongly suggest that he sit back down. “My name is Tiere Victorian, and I serve as the Superintendent of the Bridger Section. My power lies in personnel decisions, rather than policy, just like Superintendent Grieves. I am the sole voice who decides when and if it is necessary to replace an executive crewmember of the Extremus with a Bridger alternate. So I was not made aware of this operation before, because it was not required to do my job. But I have the authority to dismiss or discipline anyone on either ship for any reason with impunity for myself. I could fire you, Dr. Cernak, because I don’t like which side your hair is parted on. I suggest you start being less defensive, and more contrite.”

He shrinks.

Tiere goes on, “I have reviewed the data that my colleagues have made available to me regarding the population crisis, and again, I do not have the power to end the program, but I can make one vital change that will most likely end it anyway.”

They’re on the edge of their seats.

“I can place Admiral Leithe in charge of it,” she finishes. Yeah, that’ll do it.

Tinaya can’t help but smirk. She’s going to shut this down, effective immediately, and come clean—if not to the whole ship, then at least to all aggrieved parties. “I’m going to need everything on this. I wanna know who came up with it, who else was involved, and who was aware of it. I need to know who on this ship was impacted by it, either directly or indirectly. I need names and details, as well as any ancillary records, messages, and notes.”

Dr. Cernak stands now. “I’m not giving you jack or shit unless I’m guaranteed to hold my position as Chief Medical Officer until such time that I retire.”

There’s a quick silence. “I’ll get you what you need,” the Bridger says to Tinaya. She still doesn’t know his name. That’s probably by design.

“You don’t have the medical files,” Cernak reminds him. “Those are confidential.”

“Doctor,” Tinaya begins, “when one crewmember leaves their post, and that job is backfilled by another, what happens to the data that they collected during their shift? Do you think they take it to the grave?” It’s a rhetorical question, but she pauses a moment anyway. “When you’re officially let go, you’ll lose all access, and your replacement will gain it. We don’t need you anymore.” She looks over at the Head of Security. “What did you know of this program?”

“Dasher Bruin, sir. Head of Security, Year Ninety-Six to Year One-Oh-Three, sir. I was read into the situation on day one of my shift, sir, and was told to not ask questions, sir. I did my job, protecting the interests of the ship at the behest of my superiors, sir.”

“I am your superior,” Tinaya tells him.

“Yes, sir,” he agrees.

“Escort Misters Cernak and Gunnarsson to a holding cell in hock, please.”

What little light was left in these former doctors’ eyes now fades. She does not have the power to strip them of their medical licenses, but she’ll make sure it happens. However long that takes, they’ve each seen their last patient.

“Yes, sir.” Dasher lifts his watch to his mouth, and whispers, likely for a security team to come assistant him in his task. He takes two packs of dynamic EM tethers out of his pocket, and tries to fit Cernak and Gunnarsson with them. They can hold their wrists between fifteen and twenty-five centimeters apart, but if they try to pull them beyond that range, the attractive magnets will activate, and if the try to push them too close, they will switch to a repulsive force. They come in specific pairs, but Dasher accidentally mixes them up, which leaves the prisoners tethered to each other. They look like lovers, their four hands hanging together like that. “Oh my God, sorry.”

“Officer Bruin, are you nervous?” Tinaya asks.

“I just don’t know if...if this is it for me. Should I put a couple of these on myself too?” Dasher asks.

Tinaya considers it. She makes a decision quickly. “You’ll be turned over to a new Head when one can be found and appointed. You’ll face no criminal charges, though. You can tell people that you wanted to spend time with your family, or start a family. I can’t say the same for everyone else.” She looks around at the people in the room.

Dasher is clearly relieved. He deftly swaps the cuffs out so they’re back in their right pairs, and starts to leave. The cuffs also have a feature where the detainee can’t stray more than four meters from their escort, or can’t get closer than two meters. So they start being dragged behind him. “I think I’ll see if I can’t start a family,” Dasher says as he’s exiting. “If the ship needs more kids, I’ll give it more kids.”

Dasher is not alone in his line of thinking. As it turns out, honesty is the best policy. Tinaya’s new temporary job as Head of Population Sustainability not only involves ending the unethical program, but finding a suitable replacement. She’s still an admiral, but she has all these other responsibilities too. Shutting down the program isn’t as easy as flipping a switch. Thousands of aging women were injected with the intentionally defective silencing enzymes, and all of them need medical appointments to correct that. But before that can happen, new professionals need to be hired to actually perform these procedures, and that’s complicated, because Cernak and Gunnarsson were certainly not the only ones on the medical team who were a part of the conspiracy. To fill the ranks, a few doctors and nurses are recruited straight out of medical school for positions that were just a tad bit above their qualifications. As a precautionary measure, they will always have oversight, and their teachers expressed confidence in their abilities to perform admirably, and more importantly than ever, ethically.

As the proverbial swamp is drained, and replacements are selected, murmurs of what’s going on begin to echo throughout the ship. Some learn the truth outright, at least from the mouths of those who had to be told something ahead of the shipwide announcement. Others just notice that the crew shift changes are out of sync with the schedule, and very fishy. There’s a lot of confusion, though, and things need to be cleared up. Once all the prep work is done, Tinaya stands on stage, and makes her broadcast speech. She reveals the truth to everyone, in disgusting and uncomfortable detail. She explains that she herself was the victim of this morally bankrupt operation, as was Admiral Keen. The reaction is angry and visceral, and not at all unexpected. People are pissed about being lied to, and about the deep breach of ethics that these people committed.

There’s no violence, though, and once the fury subsides, the outcome starts to emerge. Dasher fathers three children with three different women within one year, with plans to conceive even more in the future, though he will hopefully slow down as there is a limit to how many younglings that a parent can responsibly raise at the same time. Others end up feeling the same sentiment, and begin to conceive more children than they were apparently planning. It’s not this big, advertised movement. People are just independently inspired to aid the cause. Tinaya doesn’t have insight into any changes they might be having on the future. Tiere is executing her own disciplinary action in house, and isn’t being any more transparent than the Bridgers have ever been. But it seems to be working. They have to hire more medical staff than ever to care for the baby boomers. For a hot minute, everything seems okay. Then they encounter at least one unfavorable consequence. Twenty-year-old Waldemar is just as inspired to support the population growth efforts as so many others. He ends up getting a now fifteen-year-old Audrey pregnant, and it is not immediately evident if it was consensual or not.

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The Seventh Stage: Rock and a Hard Place (Part III)

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Ezqava ‘Effigy’ Eodurus has had a storied past. Much of it, she prefers to forget. She was young and stupid at the time, and very vulnerable. She placed her trust in someone who turned out to be so much better than her, she never wants to feel that judged again. She truly doesn’t understand her own mind. She’s mischievous and unpredictable, and even sometimes violent. That’s why they locked her up on Earth, and now on this random remote penal colony. Colony isn’t the right word for it, though, since she lives here alone. It’s not too bad. She has a nice home with a pool. The weather is always tame, but she can see storms range in the distance, which is interesting. They’ve provided her with countless hours of entertainment, but no means of communication. She can see what’s going on all over the universe, but can have no effect on it. Unless someone comes to talk to her. Which they do, all the time, though less so in recent days. When she was trapped in her cage on Earth, no one visited her. Most people didn’t even know that she existed. Here, she’s so popular. Here, they value her knowledge. Sadly, they don’t value her as a person. It’s her fault, and she knows it, but it’s still been difficult.

It won’t always be like this. Effigy doesn’t have the power to see the future, but with all the data that she’s collected, she’s pretty confident in her predictions. Hers is not the only transcendent power in these lands. There are two others, and based on the trajectory of their dealings, it won’t be long before they meet. The only question then is whether she can convince them to join forces with her. In the past, she would attempt to gain allies through trickery and subterfuge. Her ability to shapeshift into any human form has always been too tempting to ignore, and too easy to abuse. Her usual methods won’t fly with Clavia and Echo. Not only will they see right through it, but they actually have the power to turn on her. The reason she was in a cage for centuries was because none of her combatants knew how to kill her. The Cloudbearer twins do not suffer the same shortcomings. They have more power than her, and it’s hard to tell how they’ll use it. They’re good...for now—if there even is such a thing as a good person. That doesn’t mean they won’t fight her. If she wants them to trust her, she has to be honest, good, and honestly good. That’s why she has spent the last several years helping leaders of this pocket universe. She’s been asking for favors in return, but only because that’s what they expect. If she did it for nothing, they would be suspicious of her.

Effigy has been trying to get better, but without an unbiased third party to assess her progress, she can’t know if it’s worked. Her self-improvement was driven by her desire to regain the power and freedom that she once had. Is this a paradox? Is it impossible to be worthy of the power that one seeks if they seek it? Is ambition inherently evil? More importantly, how will the god twins see it? Earlier, she planted the seed of her answer when an old friend came for a visit. Either she’s about to get a third visitor in one day, or her friend is back.

She watches as the personal pod streaks across the sky, and lands somewhere on the other side of the wall that keeps Effigy from seeing the ocean. She’s tried asking for a tower to have a better view of this world, but she’s never given anyone enough intel to warrant such a gift. She’s going to play it differently this time, not like she did before with Bariq. She’s going to be cool and composed, but genuine and professional. The door opens. Two women walk through. One is the friend, but the other is a stranger. “You have returned,” Effigy begins, “sooner than I expected.”

“The term sequence that you provided was right,” Tekla replies. “It took me to an evidently unused Nexus, which allowed me to travel to Origin, where I met an apparent god, who connected me with this one here.” She gestured towards the other woman.

“Hi, Francis Deering,” she says, offering her hand.

Effigy reaches out for it, then pulls back in horror. She forgot to shapeshift into the form of a human. She looks like her true self still...a white monster. “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean for you to see me like this. I didn’t realize.” She takes a breath, and transforms herself into a woman she once knew by the name of Slipstream.

“It’s okay,” Francis assures her. “You don’t scare me.” Her skin begins to vibrate and ripple. Within seconds, she looks like a masculine version of herself, perhaps a twin brother, or something. She—or he—seems as surprised as Effigy and Tekla do. “Wow, that was much faster than it is where I’m from. Your world is interesting.”

Effigy smiles. “May I ask, what are your pronouns?”

“She/her when I’m in my female form, and he/him when I’m like this.  If you’re talking about me in a more general sense, and you’ve encountered me in both forms about evenly, you can use they/them.”

“Can you turn into anyone, or just this one guy?” Tekla asks him.

“I’m not turning into a different person,” Francis explains. “I’m both people. Nothing about who I am as a person changes when I’m in one form or the other. They call me a dimorph; both male and female. I can only have one reproductive system at a time, but my mind and personality maintain continuity.”

They nod.

“I can shift back, if you’re more comfortable...” Francis offers.

“No, it’s whatever you want,” Effigy assures him. “Is that why you chose him?” she asks Tekla. “Because he’s a shifter.”

“I explained the situation to the god, Senona Riggur, who suggested a therapist would be of some use to you. This is who they chose.”

“So, you’re from another universe?” Effigy asks Francis.

“Am I?” Francis volleys. “No clue. I just go where they tell me.”

“Well, I really appreciate you coming here, and I would appreciate more of your time. You see, I’ve traditionally not been so great of a person. As you saw, I’m not a person at all. I think that I’ve learned the error of my ways, but self-assessment can only get you so far.”

“You say you’re not a person. What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you saw. I’m not human.”

“Just because you’re not human doesn’t mean you’re not a person.”

“Do you know a lot of non-humans where you’re from? I mean, more intelligent beings than just dogs and cats.”

Francis smirks. “I know a few.” She takes a beat. “Let’s get into this. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“Yeah. Tekla, do you need to get back to Judy before she gets suspicious?” Effigy asks, worried. Maybe she is better, worrying about others.

Tekla laughs. “You think I took the Nexus to a hostile unknown location without getting my boss’ permission first? She went with me. She was granted her own wish alongside mine. Don’t ask what it was, though.”

“I see. Tell her thank you. She’s always been more supportive and understanding with me than other people.”

“I will pass along the message. Until then...” Tekla starts to say, “I’ve never skinny-dipped before, but I hear that’s how it’s done in this pool.”

Now Effigy is the one to laugh. “You can if you want. I also have suits in the cabana. We’ll be in the solarium, if you don’t mind a little sun, Mr. Deering. The windows are rated high for UV shielding.”

“That sounds lovely,” Francis replies.

The two of them head to the other side of the house to discuss Effigy’s issues, and her self-doubts. In the spirit of my agreement with Dr. Hammer to stay out of the therapy sessions that she has with her own patients, I cannot relay what Francis and Effigy discussed in private. While Dr. Hammer did not technically ask me to maintain the privacy of all of my characters, I believe that she would prefer me to respect therapist-patient confidentiality across the board except for conversations which are integral to the plot. Suffice it to say, Francis’ wisdom was very helpful in Effigy’s quest to not only become a better person, but to understand what that truly means, and how to measure her own progress, as well as recognize her successes for what they are.

Effigy looks up to the sky again. “You’re in my head.”

Is she talking to me?

“Yes, Superintendent, I am talking to you. You are writing this story from an omniscient third-person perspective. You know everything that I’m thinking. The fact that you chose not to watch my therapy session is meaningless. You still know exactly what happened. You could always just pull it straight out of my thoughts.”

“Who are you talking to?” Francis asks. They’re currently strolling around—

“No, no, no,” Effigy interrupts me. “You’re not going to ignore my question by droning on and on about the minutiae of our current behavior, just to reach some arbitrary word count goal on this installment. There’s vivid imagery, and then there’s pointless and trivial details. We’re walking back to the other side of the house. There. Done. That’s all you need to say.”

I wasn’t ignoring your question. You didn’t ask one.

Effigy stops to think for a moment. As she does so, a beetle-like insectoid crawls along the leaf of a plant hanging from a pole on the side of the building. A spider-like creature is on the underside of this leaf, and the question is whether one will notice the other, both each other, or neither. No one is looking at these organisms, but it’s still happening. Things like this are happening all the time, all around you. If Effigy weren’t blinded by her frustration with me, she might have the capacity to take a moment to admire the beauty. She’s standing next to it right now, stewing. She’s choosing not to look over at the insectoids, knowing all too well that if I wanted her to look at them, she would goddamn look at them. For as powerful as she thinks she may be, she is nothing compared to the might of the author. I could erase her from the story with a few taps on my keyboard. She would never connect with Clavia and Echo. She would never realize her full potential. She would never really know if she became a better person, or if the leopard simply can’t change its spots. I already spent years not mentioning Effigy and her exploits at all, and I can do it again. I could do it forever if I like. Her past as the final boss in the Springfield Nine franchise may never have happened. I could erase that too if I wanted. And maybe I will.

I just did. Effigy who?

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Extremus: Year 70

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The honeymoon period is over. Tinaya and Arqut have to set aside the fact that they’re married now, and focus on the new age that is hopefully dawning. She has completed her proposal for a new official form of government. It’s not going to be a radical departure from the way things already are, but it’s a pretty big change from what’s currently in the law books. No more First Chair, no more Second Chair. The line that separates the civilian passengers from the crew is going to be blurred, with each branch working together to support each other’s needs, and to work towards the betterment of the ship. Most vessels do it more like this, which is understandable thanks to their short trip times. There’s no reason for a full government when the journey is going to take a week or two. At that point, only the safety of everyone on board matters, and the crew is there for that. Extremus is going to be here for a total of 216 years, so it made sense to do it differently. But it doesn’t have to be that way, and if the others in charge start to listen to Tinaya, it won’t be for much longer.

She has distributed the new plan, and given everyone a week to look it over by themselves. The council members, high government offices, and executive crew members were strongly discouraged from discussing it with each other in the meantime, so everyone can be on the same page during the official discussions, but they surely broke this unwritten rule. They’re all here in the meeting room today, listening to Tinaya speak on it herself, and then they’ll go from here. She doesn’t just rehash what’s already in the written proposal. She gets into why they should do this, and how it would make things better and easier for everyone. They have some concerns. One of them is secrets and compartmentalization, and the other is the balance of power.

The current council leader is named Millaray Addison. “This is a quick timeline. You want us to change everything about how we run things in only three years? Forgive me, under three years, since we’re already in the middle of Year 70.”

“I felt it was important to begin the transition before I have the chance to run again for my final term. It would be very easy for someone in power to make a plan to abolish their own position when they won’t be holding onto it much longer anyway. That is why I will be stepping down at the end of my third term. I mean that no matter what. To show you how deeply passionate I am in favor of this change, I will not have a fourth term, regardless of what we decide about our future in the coming months.”

Lataran stands. “And what of me and my position? Would you have me step down as well?”

“The captaincy does not go away in my proposal,” Tinaya assures her.

“This is true,” Millaray agrees. “Why is that? Why lose the Chairs, but keep the Captain and Lieutenant? Is it because she is your friend?”

“In order for the crew to run smoothly,” Tinaya begins, “it must be at least partially militaristic in nature. No military in the universe could survive as a democracy. Someone must be in charge; at the top of the chain of command. The civilian government, on the other hand, would work just fine with a council. It already is. You make more decisions than I do on a regular basis. All this proposal does is make that official.”

“Well, it does more than that,” Council Leader Addison contends. “There are virtually no procedures for passing legislation.”

“Yes, there are,” Tinaya argues. “Everything will be a referendum.”

“Right.” Millaray quite nearly rolls her eyes. “Referendums, where everyone votes. Would that not become tedious and overly complex? There’s a reason why we have a representative government. You vote for the people who make decisions for you. That is how the common man’s voice is heard, not literally one by one. What you describe here would be cumbersome. How do you expect to pull it off?”

“I don’t expect to pull anything off. I will not be involved,” Tinaya promises. “It’s very important that I lose all semblance of power here, or it will appear selfish and self-serving. I’m afraid, if you agree to this, you would have to deal with everything yourselves. The way I see it, drawing up these plans is how I contribute, and now that it’s done, my part should be too. I don’t mean to sound like I’m abandoning you, but I really think that this won’t work if there is any hint of impropriety. Lots of great First Chairs have served fewer than four terms. Well, I suppose there have not been lots of us at all, but you know what I mean.”

Consul Abdastartus Sievert is a quiet man; one of those people who only speaks when it’s necessary, and when he feels that it is indeed the case, he’s always right. When it looks like he’s about to say something, most people know to shut up and let him do it. He’s been leaning back in his chair, but he sits up straight now. The room falls silent. “I appreciate the sentiment, First Chair Leithe. I think we all do. However, you will forgive us for finding the prospect of losing your input permanently to be...unsettling. You have birthed this project, now you must raise it.”

“Now, hold on,” Millaray interrupts. “We’ve not agreed to anything...”

Consul Sievert holds up a hand to quiet her. “Everyone has been discussing this plan since she first sent it to us. Don’t think I’ve not heard. We all have questions, comments, and concerns. The plan needs tweaking, and then no matter what, we will decide upon it by referendum. The Extremusians will have their chance to speak, and we’ll hear anyone who wishes to vocalize their opinion before the vote. Referendums are not difficult these days. We’re not going to use paper, for heaven’s sake. A more fair democracy is well within our reach on a logistical level. But there is one major thing that needs to be changed before we get to that point. Someone needs to be in charge of making sure it works. They need to keep up with the maintenance.” Some people wear watches, while others were wristbands. The former is good enough in most cases, but for those who deal with documents, like the consul, they prefer to have a large screen, especially since their documents are sensitive, and holograms would not be appropriate in mixed company. Consul Sievert swipes up on his to cast a document onto the main screen for all to see. Addendum Two Forty-Nine, Reinstatement of the Superintendent.”

The Superintendent is the so-called god of this universe, and if he exists, he has nothing to do with this. The Superintendent of Extremus, on the other hand, was a short-lived position given to a man who turned out to be a traitor. The ship did not launch with a superintendent, and it has not had one since, but it remains an option. Tinaya considered including it in her original proposal, but she was pretty sure that they would ask her to do it, so she intentionally left it out. Now it seems there’s no way around it. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” she claims. “The system is based on the greatest number of voices for the greatest common good. No one needs to be at the top.”

“That’s not what a superintendent does,” Lataran reminds her. She’s right, and Tinaya knows that. Like the superintendent of an apartment building, her job would be to fix issues as they come up, not to make decisions. But that’s not really what happened when Calixte Salmon held the responsibility. Not only did he actively endanger the safety of the crew and passengers, but he was found to have abused his power on a regular basis. There is a lot of historical stigma attached to it now. “I second the Consul’s motion. The proposal outlines what we need to do to make the transition. It doesn’t account for everything. It can’t.”

“If everyone feels that way,” Tinaya begins, “then give me another month. I’ll add whatever needs to be added to make it work on its own. It should be a well-oiled machine. That’s the whole point. If anyone’s going to be superintendent, then why change anything at all? Why not just redefine the First Chair’s purview?”

“Because that’s a different meeting,” Council Leader Addison says. “I didn’t spend all this time reading the document you prepared, only to have most of it erased in favor of simply rewriting your job description.”

“So you believe in this proposal?” Lataran asks her.

“I never said that I didn’t,” Addison replies. “I just want to make sure we get it right. This is a good start, First Chair Leithe. It needs work.”

“I agree.” Well, Tinaya does agree, but maybe not to as high of a degree as the Council Leader is implying with her tone.

“Is that what we’re doing here today?” Lataran questions. “Are we just deciding whether we should work on this further? If that’s what’s happening, then let’s stop arguing, and actually get to it. Nothing we do with the framework has to have any bearing on how the ship is actually run, because nothing’s happening yet. We’re just sharing a document.” She’s right about this too. This is only the beginning.

“I suppose we’re here to discuss whether we even want to keep discussing it or not,” Addison determines.

“Anyone who is adamant that we should put the kibosh on this project right now without any further discussion, run to the other side of the room, and tap the back wall with your left hand,” Lataran suggests.

Addison sighs. “That is not how we do things here, Captain.”

“That’s the way I do it,” Lataran jokes under her breath.

Tinaya can’t help but smirk at the remark.

“All right. Here’s how we’ll move forward,” Addison continues. “You’ve all had time to look over the proposal, but you’ve not necessarily put down any notes. Everyone here will do that over the course of the next...shall we say, two weeks. Submit your input to First Chair Leithe, who will take our suggestions under advisement, and draft a new version. She’ll then resubmit it back to us, and we’ll take another week to look over the improvements. That is when we will reconvene, and discuss any persistent issues. Also at that meeting, we’ll talk about how we’ll continue on from there. Everything make sense? Good, let’s go to lunch,” she says before anyone has a chance to respond.

The next couple of months are grueling. Everyone on the council picks apart every word Tinaya wrote in her proposal, and tries to come up with something better. Whenever she starts to think that maybe they’re happy enough with it, they find something else to change. They go through this a few more times until the final document resembles the original one more closely than it does any of the other versions. Her first ideas turn out to be the best. Except for the superintendent part. They do end up putting that in there. It doesn’t specifically say that Tinaya has to be the one to do it, but the whole population of the ship is going to vote on it next year, so she fully expects them to ask her. She needs to find them an alternative. She’s about ready to retire.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 20, 2399

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When the surgeon attempted to remove the foreign body from Alyssa’s brain, she went into autopilot and warned them not to do that. She spoke in monotone, and it was clear that she was only reciting a script rather than speaking from the heart. When the doctor let go of her brain, she was able to give him consent to remove it from her, but every time he tried, she would protest again. Under normal circumstances, no means no, whether or not it’s preceded by a yes, but in this case, it was obvious that the implant was speaking for her, and that the real her wanted the thing gone. The surgeon removed it, and then the anaesthesiologist put her back to sleep so they could seal up her head. If her substrate is anything like the ones that Ramses built for the others on the team, her skull should heal up completely. There shouldn’t even be a scar.

“Why not?” she asks. She’s woken up now, and asked to see herself in a mirror.

“I can actually answer this,” Mateo says. “I had a friend when I was younger who kept getting hurt. He ended up with this huge scar on his neck, and he explained that when the body is injured, it produces collagen to repair the damage, but it’s better to produce too much than too little, because too little would result in it not healing all the way. Too much ultimately creates extra skin. It’s evolution’s way of making sure that the healing finishes all the way.”

“Yeah,” Leona agrees, “but the medical nanites that you have now can gauge exactly how much collagen they need to order to get the job done, so there’s no extra.”

“Oh. And the hair?”

“Don’t know about the hair,” Leona replies. “Ramses may have included a subroutine that would command the nanites to activate the right protein growth factors, or it didn’t occur to him. If he did think to include it, it may still take a while. Hair treatment isn’t bad in this reality, though. We can sign you up for follicle stimulation. In the meantime, we’ll buy whatever wigs you want.”

“Don’t bother,” Alyssa says. She uses her illusion ability to generate a hologram of her original hair. “I may just leave it shaved. I’ve found it easier to produce an artificial image from scratch than to superimpose it on something else.”

“True,” Leona says as she’s waving her hand through the hair, and touching nothing. “However, the hair’s not really there, and people can tell.”

“Right.” She frowns slightly.

“I’m sorry we had to do this,” Leona said. “We just...”

“We just wanted you back,” Mateo finishes.

“Yes, and I appreciate that,” Alyssa tells them, “but there’s something you should know. “I am still bound to Dalton’s commands.”

“What? You are?”

“I’m sorry, the surgery didn’t do what you thought it would. That’s not what the dot was for.” What that thing did was block her from remembering certain things from her past. Removing it didn’t reprogram her. It’s just that now she knows what’s at stake, and understands why the Gyroscope must stay active. Fortunately, she can explain it now too. “It was just a...uh—what would you call it? A memory inhibitor. I still want to keep the Omega Gyroscope working, but now I know why.”

“Why?” Leona presses.

“Someone is trying to get into the Third Rail. They have been trying for ages. The original programming was enough to prevent that from happening, but things have changed in recent days.”

“What’s changed?” Mateo asks.

“You,” Alyssa says. “You, and the team. And Aldona, and everyone who came from the Insulator of Life. Everyone who disappeared into the Livewire. Every time you tap on the glass to the Fourth Quadrant, and every time you teleport, you’re pushing the boundaries. You weaken the system. Luckily, Dalton broke the rules, and looked into the future to see all this coming. He set in place a series of events that would put me in charge, and I have been this world’s protector ever since.”

“Well, he was late. All those versions of Constance managed to come through. I suppose, if it had to happen, he should have made it happen sooner.”

“Those Constances were about as threatening as a lone ladybug compared to the one who’s trying to get in now.”

“Wait, are you talking about Constance!Two, or someone else entirely?”

“Both,” Alyssa answers. “She’s the most dangerous, not because she’s inherently different than the others, but because she’s formed a relationship with the Superintendent’s alternate self.”

“The Superintendent has an alt?” Mateo questions.

“I don’t have the details, but yes. He has a...more local form of the real Superintendent’s power, but if you’re in the same universe as he is, he can do a lot of damage. Evidently, you were this close to meeting him a couple times. From what Dalton has discovered, he was on the Stage at the same time you were, before you came here. When we ran into your friend, Meliora by that river? He was there too.”

“Was Constance!Two there too?” Leona asks.

Alyssa waits a moment to respond. “She was Meliora. Or rather, she was impersonating her. Dalton thinks she started to try to break through just after you, but luckily the Superintendent’s alt stopped it.”

“So what do we need the Gyroscope for?” Mateo asks.

“I think he stopped it by distracting her. She ends up trying anyway. The good thing is that the portal she sent you through closed up, so she missed the only opportunity she had...unless you force me to take the barrier down.”

“It has to come down eventually,” Leona points out. “Certain things have to happen. This world is ending.”

“Dalton is aware, and has accounted for that. He will let Constance!Two in at the right time, on the right day, to destroy her before she can do any damage. That time is not now. That day is not today. You just have to trust us.”

“We can do that,” Leona begins, “but Dalton has to give us two things in return.”

“I’ll talk to him about Angela and the immortality waters.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Leona says. “We want to talk to him ourselves.”

“I’ll try, but he hasn’t been very inviting with me. Our relationship is one-way.”

“I see that. He took your fancy cane back.”

“He didn’t take it back. I lost it,” Alyssa admits.

“Lost it where? How?”

“What’s the second thing?” Alyssa asks, avoiding the question.

“We want you back,” Mateo says. “No more short emails. You stay with us.”

Extremus: Year 40

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All the truths came out after the debacle at Taila March’s broadcast. The passengers knew a little bit about the True Extremists, but there was so much more that Halan, Olindse, and Kaiora chose to keep from the majority. After Nuka Bloch completed their maximum term limit, a new first chair took over, but he didn’t survive the issues that the fake Rita Suárez caused. The December election saw him lose his seat to a man named Jepson Sandor, who quickly pivoted his campaign to a sentiment of governmental transparency. He vowed to combat the opacity that his predecessors supposedly laid between them and the people, as well as the secrecy of the crew. He shot up in popularity overnight, and won by a landslide. Unlike other politicians, he wasn’t talking out his ass either. He began to make real changes to the way the civilian government was run, and then he went after the other side.

For the most part, civilians have no control over the inner workings of running the ship itself, however there are exceptions to this division of power, and it has to do with preventing any one power from overtaking the other. A system of checks and balances would allow a captain to take emergency action if they should find the government becoming unfair or tyrannical. Likewise, the government can do the same, and through a convoluted system of loopholes, First Chair Sandor was able to create an entirely new bridged position. Similar to how the Hock Watcher serves equally both governing bodies, the Ship Superintendent has been given the latitude to make decisions that affect the staffing conditions throughout the whole vessel. He can fire, hire, replace, reassign, or even do away with a position altogether. Again, like the Hock Watcher, the way he was elected-slash-appointed was complicated and drawn out, but once the process began, it could not be stopped. Someone had to get this job, and as much as Kaiora fought it, it was going to happen, so their best bet was to find someone who everyone could trust.

Be not confused about the rank of Ship Superintendent. We are not talking about The Superintendent, who lives in another universe, apparently created all of these individuals as characters, and literally wrote the words you’re reading right now. Hey there. Superintendent Calixte Salmon is just a man who was born on Extremus shortly after it launched, and has always wanted to do something like this. Be not confused about this either. It’s a coincidence that he shares his surname with a subspecies of human who travel through time against their will. Or maybe it’s not so much of a coincidence. There was no one named Salmon when a fairly small group of humans first settled in the universe of Ansutah. Everyone here is descended from them, and the reason there aren’t only a couple hundred names is because over time, people began to choose their own to distance themselves from the original family tree. It made it easier to avoid worrying about committing incest after several generations passed, and it probably wasn’t a problem anymore anyway. It’s possible that someone chose the name on purpose at some point. Such historical records were hard to maintain while the ancestors were trying to hide from the white monsters in caves.

Calixte Salmon has not been given carte blanche to make any changes to the crew that he wants, but neither does he have to get approval for every little thing he does. It is in this gray area where doubt regarding his mandate lives. It’s going to take work for him to convince others that it’s not his job to drain the swamp, or alter the balance of power. He’s not there to change everything, but there is a lot of room for improvement, and finding ways to optimize is exactly what he was appointed to do. The Captain—and the captaincy—are fine, but the rest of the crew needs an overhaul. This is gonna hurt. It’s his first day on the job, and if the looks he’s getting from the crowd as he’s trying to explain his purpose are any indication, he will be met with much resistance. He needs help. It’s unclear whether Captain Leithe is approaching the podium in order to provide him that, or if she’s going to throw him under the bus.

She lowers the microphone, and clears her throat with purpose. “I understand that you’re all upset and concerned. I can’t guarantee that this is going to be easy, but we have been discussing this new dynamic for months. I have not been left out of the loop. If this weren’t the only way to overcome our obstacles, I wouldn’t let it happen. This is the first step towards solving the True Extremist crisis, figuring out whether the faux Rita was part of them, or some other faction, and if it’s the latter, solving that one too. I won’t lie to you. Some people may see their shifts cut short. But what I can promise is that each one of you will enjoy the compensation you always expected at the end of those shifts, whether they ultimately last as long as you expected, or not.” She held up her index finger to add, “with a caveat. He is here to help us, and you are here to help him do that. If any of you resist these changes—to an unreasonable degree at least—you run the risk of not only precipitating the deterioration of our society, but also of losing all of your benefits. I’ll throw you in hock if I have to. If anyone is going to revolt, I will be the one to lead, so as long as I’m okay with the state of things, you automatically know that you’re okay with it too. Pretty easy, knowing that you can relax, and accept reality, isn’t it? So check your attitudes, and follow my orders, as well as the Super’s. Understood?”

The crew lifts their knees and drops their feet back down in a stomp pretty simultaneously, though not perfectly. It’s a formal gesture of respect and attention.

“We’ll work on that, so you don’t embarrass me at our next presentation,” Kaiora says. She steps away from the mic, and nods at her new colleague. “Super.”

“Captain,” he replies. “Thank you.”

She solemnly motions for him to return to the podium.

“Thank you, Captain Leithe,” he repeats for all to hear. “I do understand that you’re all nervous about the upcoming changes, especially since you don’t know what they’re going to be. I want you to know that I haven’t decided anything yet. I’ve not had enough time to conduct a thorough assessment. Still, I may be able to answer some of your questions, so I would like to open up the floor to those. Please raise your hand, and stand once picked by the microdrone, which I control. For all not picked that time, please lower your hands and wait to put them back up until I’m finished providing my answer. Sound fair?”

Dozens of people raise their hands, most of them quite earnestly.

Meanwhile, downstage, Second Lieutenant Lars Callaghan is talking out the side of his mouth to his superior officers. “I know it’s gonna be me.”

“What will be you?” First Lieutenant Corinna Seelen questions.

“I’m gonna get the boot,” he answers.

Kaiora sighs rather loudly. She taps on her watch, and activates a sonic barrier, so they can talk freely without anyone else hearing them. “What are you going on about?”

“It’s the Second Lieutenant curse,” Lars tries to explain. “We always get screwed over.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Corinna presses. “You’re only the second L-T-two this ship has ever seen.”

“Yeah, and look at what happened to the last guy. He’s in hock. I’m next, it’s a pattern.”

“That’s not a pattern,” Kaiora argues. “It’s not even a coincidence yet, because Calixte hasn’t even mentioned you to me. It’s just something that happened, and what happened is not that Ovan Teleres was screwed over. He attacked the crew, so the rank isn’t cursed unless maybe you decide to do something similar. Are you planning something, Callaghan?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then shut the hell up and listen to the Q and A!” She makes a point of showing him her watch as she deactivates the barrier.

They listen quietly for a little bit. Lars nods at the good question about whether Superintendent Salmon is planning on merging crew and passenger responsibilities, or if there would remain a clear distinction. “I just think back to how there was never really supposed to be another lieutenant in the first place, and how Captain Yenant only instituted it in order to try to take Ovan out of power in the first place.”

“You can’t prove that,” Kaiora says legally. “And shh!”

Lars continues to try to take his mind off the future of his rank, but he can’t stand it. After a few minutes, he has to get back to it, “some of the things he says he’s gonna do are things that I’m supposed to be doing.”

Kaiora sighs again, and reactivates the sonic barrier. She also includes a visual time loop, which makes it look to people on the other side like the three of them are still sitting in their respective chairs, and not arguing with each other. She stands up to cover the gap between them, hovering her chest in front of Corinna’s face. “Lars, you are a member of the executive crew. As such, I get last say on what happens to you and your rank. He cannot override any decision of mine when it comes to that.”

“I didn’t know that. Good.”

“No. It’s not good,” she maintains. “Because he doesn’t know you, and probably wouldn’t think to do much with you. But I know you, and I’m pissed at you. You’re annoying, and sometimes you don’t do your job. So I’m thinking about dropping you anyway, just to make this whole process easier. I could probably blame it on him. If you don’t want that to happen, I suggest you keep your mouth shut, keep your head down, and take stock of what value you add to this mission.” She moves her hand through the air to illustrate a vertical spectrum. “Here’s neutral zero, otherwise known as mediocrity. Way up here is going above and beyond people’s expectations of you, especially mine. Down here is dead weight, we gotta throw you out an airlock. At the moment, you’re right here.” She adjusts her hand to slightly above the lowest point on the scale. “I think you know what to do to climb back up, mostly because I’ve told you.”

“Shut up, will do. Right, sir, thank you. Sorry.”

Kaiora sighs one last time, and sits back down. “It’s going to be a little jarring when I take us out of the loop. Time is going to jerk your body to where the audience thinks we were, so they don’t notice we’ve moved.” She raises her arm to look at her watch, but it’s not on the menu that she expected it to be. It looks as though the barrier and loop weren’t put up at all. She slowly lifts her eyes, and looks forward. Calixte has turned, and is leaning against the podium, staring at them. The audience is quiet. “Shit.”

Calixte pushes off, and walks towards them. “I can undo this.”

“Undo what?” Kaiora asks.

“This little interaction,” he clarifies. “I can send all four of our consciousnesses back in time a few moments, so no one else remembers that it happened.”

“That’s an illegal form of temporal manipulation.”

“Not for me.” He shows them his blue retractactable keychain. “They gave me this so I can try out different ways of dismissing a crewmember, in case the first time doesn’t go so great.”

“Then you would just be using it illegally.”

He shrugs. “No one has to know.”

She crosses her arms, and studies his face, hoping to ascertain if he can be trusted, or if this will come back to bite her in the ass. “Fine. Do it.”

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