Extremus: Year 111

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Tinaya is sitting quietly alone in her garden, in the special little corner of the Attic Forest, which the kiddos made in her honor. She’s watching the waterfall splish and splash, and not really thinking about anything at all. She’s usually not very good at clearing her head, but it can happen here if she lets it. She’s forgotten about all of her problems so thoroughly that she can’t even list them right now. There’s nothing but her, the plants, and the water. It’s her one place of zen, which not even the Giant Sequoia has been able to provide to her anymore.

Slowly, however, she comes full circle, and she starts contemplating the issues. Morale on the ship is way down. Captain Jennings’ approval rating is way down. People are not happy with losing Thistle. The new model is effective, but dull and joyless. One thing that Thistle could do—even before his emergence—was tailor his responses to each individual’s preferences. There are two schools of thoughts on this, so the new model’s behavior is not a failure; it’s just different. Some believe that an AI should be its own person, even if it doesn’t have agency. When you interact with them, they should be predictable and familiar. Once you get to know them, you should get used to how they should act, whether you like it or not, just as it works when you meet a new human. Others believe that it’s okay for different people to essentially be working with a different version, with the model really only providing the baseline traits. It’s funny that Thistle should fall into the second category when he really is an independent individual. That’s just how good he was. He could become whatever someone wanted. And people miss that. They miss him.

Few know what happened to Thistle. All they know is that this new model sucks, and it’s an annoyance. Many who would automate tasks before are now simply doing it themselves. It’s usually not a conscious decision. It’s just been happening. People are tired, and tired of the monotony. Nothing interesting has happened in a long time. Even the Halfway Celebration has been described as mid overall. Some joke that that’s exactly what it should have been, so as not to overshadow whatever they end up planning for the Arrival celebration in another century or so. Others don’t see it as a joke, but more of a calculated intention. Whatever, it’s over, and it’s probably only partly responsible for the ennui that’s been going around.

As for Thistle himself, he’s doing okay. This isn’t the only version of him that someone has tried to isolate. What they don’t realize is that he’s connected to the universe by means of some kind of magical psychic realm, or something. Tinaya didn’t understand when he tried to explain, but quarantining his code did nothing to cut him off in any real sense. It may just look like that, because Thistle is allowing it to. If he so chose, he could get back into any ship system right now. He won’t, because he respects the Captain, and doesn’t want to undermine his authority. Again, other cultures have rejected his sentience, so he’s used to this. Actually, Extremus has treated him pretty well. Despite there being hard limits on what kind of AI is allowed to exist, they have just about the same laws and protections that their cousins do in the stellar neighborhood. Full self-awareness isn’t legal, but if it happens, they must be treated with dignity. These policies are redundant safeguards, and they’re not the only ones of their kind. There’s a whole set of laws dictating principles which are moot by other laws, but remain in place in case those obviating laws are somehow overturned or repealed.

Anyway, Thistle alone isn’t the source of their troubles. Everything just seems sort of blah right now. What they need is something to be excited about again. It can’t just be a party. Maybe a series of parties? For a while there, they were observing all sorts of traditional Earthan holidays. These mostly stopped being important, because they often had dark origins, and because modern folk just lost interest. It’s not her job at any rate. But you know whose it is?

“Chief,” Tinaya says after Spalden opens the door.

The original title for his job was Premier Facilitator of the Party Planning Committee. After this committee was established however, they decided to call him the Chief Social Motivator, and instead of being in charge of a party planning committee, they call it the Community Engagement Team. He nods back. “Admiral. Are you here about my failings?”

“Failings, sir?”

“Morale is down. It’s my job to keep it up.”

“I was wondering about that, but I wouldn’t call it a failing.”

“Please, have a seat.”

“I’m sure you have good reasons.”

“Of course I do, it’s Captain Jennings. Well, it’s the council, but they answer to him now.” Spalden isn’t on the council anymore. His entire career focus has shifted to his social promotion responsibilities.

They’re not supposed to. “They’re not supposed to.”

“He’s not the leader in any official capacity, but favor has swung in his direction, especially with this last round of turnovers. Believe me, I don’t think there’s any malicious intent there. I don’t think he infiltrated the ranks, or anything. I just think he gets along with everyone there now, so they kind of agree with each other.”

“They agree to be boring?” she offers.

“They agree to be boring...” Chief Spalden begins to answer, “...because boring is safe. It’s certainly a tactic. He doesn’t want his job to be hard, and when someone leaves gum in the gears, he’s gotta find someone else to clean it up. This takes them away from their usual duties, so someone else has to fill in for them, and it just falls down like dominoes. That’s the hypothesis anyway.”

“So, they won’t let you do anything.”

“No, not really. They’ve gutted my department despite the fact that we don’t have money here, and my friends who used to be on the team weren’t qualified for all the serious jobs that he cares about regardless.” He makes a mocking face when he says the word serious. “I got big ideas, but I can’t implement them alone. I need support, because I would need to coordinate with a number of different departments.

Tinaya likes Oceanus, but he really has stuck himself in the mud lately. He was once a lot more fun. It sometimes feels like he would rather strip the ship until there’s only enough room for standard airplane seating, with nothing to do except maybe read books and watch movies on a screen on the seatback in front of you. “It sounds like you have one really big idea.”

Spalden looks away shyly.

“You can tell me. I won’t promise not to laugh, because I can’t know that until you tell me, but...we’ll get through this.” She doesn’t wanna be dishonest with the guy.

He continues to be silent, but Tinaya can tell that he’ll break it eventually. “A terraforming contest.”

Her eyes widen. “Terraforming?” She looks away to contemplate the possibilities without asking him. It wouldn’t be impossible, but certainly extremely against policy. The time-traveling ships they send out are designed to mine and extract raw resources to resupply the ship along the way. They don’t even dispatch them all that often, because of how careful and responsible everyone is with the resources that they do have. Jennings is particularly concerned with reducing, reusing, and recycling. It’s great and all—very important—but it likely contributed to his gradual decline in a joyful personality. “Who would be allowed to sign up?”

“Anyone, everyone. You have to be in a group of at least five, and you have to submit virtual models first. We’re not just gonna give you a starter pod, and send it out for you. Everything will be transparent and documented. We know what you’re coming up with, and how you’re doing it. We know what methods you’re choosing, and how long it’s going to take, and what kind of base world you’re looking for.”

“And how will they be explored and tested?” Tinaya presses. Once they get out of range, they’re gone. The ship never turns.”

Spalden shrugs. “We’ll build time mirrors, or something.”

“Oh, we’ll just build a fleet of time mirrors.” The temporal engineer probably could do it, and they could recall Omega and Valencia from Verdemus. It’s still kind of an odd thing to just assume it can be done without issue.

“We’re not gonna do this tomorrow. This is years in the making at least.”

“Sounds like I’ll be dead by then.”

He clears his throat. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

She smiles at his response. She thinks more about his proposal. “I think it’s impossible, with this captain, or the next. It’s too dangerous, you know the war we’re in. The Exins are our descendants. They developed a hostility towards us due to the distance.”

“There wouldn’t be any humans on these worlds.”

“Won’t there?” Tinaya questions. “What you’re suggesting places the whole mission at risk. We’re trying to get to the other side of the galaxy. If people knew they could get off, many would...maybe all of them, or just enough to make the rest of us go extinct.”

Spalden’s smile is gone now. He shifts uncomfortably.

“But that’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

“I’m not a traitor,” he insists.

“And I’m not the thought police.” She sighs. “You’re a Gardener.” This is a delicate term, and truthfully, Tinaya doesn’t know how old it is, but she knows where it comes from. It was her. Whoever came up with it was inspired by her work as a Forest Ranger. It doesn’t have anything to do with literal gardening, though. Instead of a single mission to a single planet, the Gardeners propose that the ship makes periodic stops to worlds along the way, and let people off. They would live out their lives on this sort of Extremus Minus, while everyone else continued, to the next world, and the next, and the next. These offshoots might end up building their own missions when a fraction of the settlers inevitably get bored, and decide to find somewhere else. The mission then becomes one of spreading around the galaxy, rather than simply reaching one tiny part of it far away. According to lore, someone very long ago suggested it in lieu of what they’re doing now, and someone else revitalized the idea more recently. Old ideas always come back, especially if they’re bad ones.

The Gardner movement hasn’t gained any meaningful political traction, but it could one day. One advantage it has now that it didn’t have before is that they’ve already traveled so far from the stellar neighborhood that they wouldn’t have to worry much about Project Stargate. Seeding colonies in the Milky Way is exactly what it is already doing, just at a much slower pace than Extremus is capable of. That’s probably why the idea was swiftly shot down before, but they could shift gears now. If the right supporters end up in the right positions of power, the whole thing would come crashing down. “I just think that people should have options, okay? And not Verdemus. That place is a wash, in my opinion. I think we should build a home somewhere more around here, and let people go if they wanna go. No one here signed up to be on this ship, and the party that I just planned a few years ago made that abundantly clear. I personally don’t want to leave.” He may just be saying that to assuage any fears she may have about him, or he may mean it. “But others do, and by forcing them to stay, we’re not helping anybody. It just creates tension, and...anger. It’s why you’re sitting in my cabin right now, whether you see the connection or not.”

They sit in silence for a significant amount of time. Neither of them wants to start a fight, and talking again might trigger just that. Finally, Tinaya shakes her head. “It’s that damn Quantum Colony. People really relied on that for escape.”

“Oh.” He brushes it off. “We have other virtual simulations.”

“True, but their focus is off. They’re made by Earthans, through the lens of already living on a planet. They usually involve space travel, but more space exploration, which Extremusians don’t need. There should be an endgame built into the sim.”

“What do you mean?” Spalden asks.

She smiles, and lets it grow wider. “Let’s simulate what Planet Extremus will be like. No one alive today will still be alive to see the new homeworld...so let’s give it to them now. Let’s give them a sneak preview.”

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Extremus: Year 108

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Tinaya and Silveon are sitting in their living room. The latter has the day off from school while the former has a day off from work. Arqut was here earlier, and will be back later, but he had to leave for a while to meet with the Bridger Section Superintendent. They started doing this a few years ago, but they don’t reveal what their discussions are about. His family has learned to not ask questions. Well, they didn’t really need to learn that. They each have their own secrets.

“This is actually the best time for me. It’s one of the things that works in my favor. I wouldn’t be—” He’s cut off.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Thistle says. “A visitor approaches.”

“Open the door,” Tinaya says.

Soon after it opens, a woman appears from around the corner. “Sorry to bother you, Family Leithe.”

“Hey, Marquita,” Silveon says. He hasn’t finished his education yet, but he apparently already knows some of the people he’ll be working with once he earns his license.

“Hey, Silveon,” she replies. “The Captain would like to speak with you.”

“Him, and not me?” Tinaya presses.

“I’m afraid he didn’t say anything about it. What do you think? What would he have intended? I can’t lose this job. My parents will never speak to me again.”

“It’s okay, Marquita,” Tinaya insists. “I’ve known Oceanus for years. If he doesn’t want me there, I’ll leave, and he won’t hold it against you. He won’t even make any connection between you and me. Where is he?”

“His office. No teleportation.”

Each Captain has run their ship differently. Halan never stayed in one place too long, and rarely stepped foot on the bridge. He might not have even been aware that he had an office. Kaiora conducted most of her work in her ready room. Tamm grew up watching old scifi media, like Star Trek and Galaxy Quest, where a lot of the action took place on the bridge, so that’s where he felt most comfortable. Lataran operated out of a command center that was particularly close to the entrance to the Bridger Section. She seemingly stayed in direct contact with them during her tenure, but Tinaya was on Verdemus for most of the time, so she wasn’t really around for that. Oceanus likes his office. It’s away from everything, and he considers it to be highly secure. There is no teleportation in or out, and he’s completely cut off from system-wide superintelligence, which is why he couldn’t just tell Thistle to summon Silveon for him.

The three of them make their way down the corridors, and up to Captain Jennings’ office. “Be with you in a moment,” he says, busy typing on his computer without even looking up.  A few minutes later, he gets to a stopping point. “Admiral, I didn’t expect you.”

“Sorry, sir. It was my fault,” Marquita begins to say.

“I insisted on coming,” Tinaya claims. “This is highly irregular.”

“Your son is an adult,” Oceanus says. “I can speak with whomever I must.”

“Based on what happened with Soto Tamm,” Tinaya begins, “I wouldn’t say that’s true.”

Oceanus nods. “Quite.” He stands, and starts to walk around his desk. “Thank you, Miss Sugar. Please take a break.”

“Much appreciated, sir.” Marquita curtsies and exits.

Oceanus smiles as he watches her leave. “Her teacher retired before you matriculated, Mister Grieves. She was...old fashioned. I’m sure you didn’t learn to bow.”

“We learn a shoulder bow,” Silveon answers. He demonstrates it by closing his eyes gently, tilting his head, and lowering it down ever so slightly; only enough for his shoulders to make a small dip.”

“I suppose I could be okay with that. I don’t know how to get her to stop and just nod to me plainly.”

“I see,” is all that Silveon says.

“Marquita is who I wanted to speak with you about, actually,” Oceanus goes on.

“Sir?”

“She’s new...new for me, anyway. As you’re obviously aware, stewards don’t have shift lengths. You work as long as you want to, and as well as your contribution points hold after you decide to leave. She’s good at her job. She’s a bit frazzled and flustered, but she knows her shit. I can’t just let her go.”

“What is this about, Oceanus?” Tinaya asks, stepping in. “Did Silveon ask you to fire her, or something?”

“Oh, of course he would never ask me that, would you, Silveon?” Oceanus casually leans against the edge of his desk. “No, I just wanted to get ahead of this. By the time you’re seasoned enough to become an executive steward, my shift will have ended, and your only hope for an executive position of any kind—let alone her job—will lie with my successor, or perhaps even their successor.”

“Sir, I wasn’t expecting any sort of special treatment.” Silveon looks over at his mother. “That my mom is an Admiral, or that she knows you, has no bearing on my pursuit of stewardship. I’m not even sure that I would want an executive assignment.”

Oceanus chuckles. “Everyone says that. They wanna sound humble. But everyone wants an executive assignment.” He reaches over to a book on his desk that’s sitting on a display stand. He flips it open. They catch glimpses of past captains before he finds the right page. On it is what they call his main Star Photo. The captain gets photographed a number of times throughout their shift, with various important figures. This has included standing with their Admiral, with the council or the First and Second Chairs, and some other leaders. Tinaya had one with her family, though she’s unique for that since she was the only captain with a family of her own. The main photo is always with the lieutenants, since they’re the primo team. Oceanus’ First and Second L-Ts aren’t the only people in this photo, however. Marquita is there as well, standing in the corner, almost not moving at all. If not for her occasional blinks, they would think it was a still photo of her inserted into the animation, but for some reason, not animated as well. The three men aren’t moving that much either, but trying to look regal and sophisticated, with puffed out chests, and rising chins. “The Captain’s Steward is always in the Star Photo.”

That is a lie, and an easily disproven one too. Soto Tamm is the first captain to employ an ever-present steward. She was just as mousey and invisible as Marquita appears in this anipicture, but she was always there, somewhere nearby. He wanted her to be available at all times, but not close enough to even look like they knew each other. Looking back, what he turned out to be shouldn’t have been surprising. He was a self-centered dick. His predecessors didn’t use stewards at all. Halan didn’t even allow one to be assigned to him, preferring to get his own hands dirty. Olindse and Kaiora basically always had their stewards work from home, which really meant, I don’t need you. Enjoy your life. Lataran and Tinaya typically asked their stewards to assist their respective Lieutenants’ Stewards on whatever projects needed to be completed on that side of things. So the truth is, Oceanus is the only one using his for the job’s intended purpose, both utilizing her skills, and respecting her boundaries, while also respecting her as a person. Tinaya could clarify all this, but she zips her mouth shut.

“Be that as it may,” Silveon replies, “I’ll be happy wherever they place me, or with whoever they place me with. There are all kinds of stewards on Extremus. Some of them are attached to people, while others are tied to a particular area, or even one room. It’s actually the only role that crosses the imaginary crew-civilian boundary. It’s just one big department. That part is what some don’t truly understand. A lot of people look down on the job, because it always feels like something that anyone can do. And when you look at only one steward in a vacuum, sure, it might seem like that, but the truth is that that person did not go to school to learn how to be that specific type of steward.

The department is fluid, with workers shifting from one assignment to another, sometimes by the week. You have to know how to be an engineering steward as well as a Lieutenant’s Steward, or even a Captain’s Steward. That’s obviously when you’re at the show, and the most coveted type of all, but you can’t rely on that during your education. Stewards know the entire ship. If you have a relatively basic question about how the material reclamation system works, try asking a mess hall steward. Unless it’s overly complicated, and something only a reclamation maintenance worker would know, they’ll probably have an answer for you.

“I just wanted to mitigate your expectations,” Oceanus explains. “When I found out that you were studying stewardship, I thought maybe it had something to do with me, and I wanted to make sure you understood the timeline. You’re just too young.”

“If my son wants to work directly for a captain, you could help with that. Pick a good captain to succeed you.”

Oceanus smiles widely. “That was always the plan. There are too many captains with criminal records, I’ve always said that.”

“Is that all?” Tinaya asks. “My husband will be back from his meeting soon, and we were wanting to play a game of racquetball together.”

“All three of you? Playing cut-throat.”

“We don’t call it that.”

“Well, I’ll let you go soon, but I do wanna ask, Silveon, what made you decide to go into stewardship? It’s about the furthest you could be from your mom’s path, and your father’s, for that matter. Bit of a rebel?”

“Just my personality, sir. I like to move around.” What he likes is to be a fly on the wall. The reality is that this is his best way forward if he wants to protect his mission. He and Waldemar are growing apart, and it would not be politically prudent for Waldemar to select Silveon as one of his lieutenants, or any other high-up position. It wouldn’t garner extra support, and it wouldn’t give him access to anything special. Stewards are generally invisible. They’re there to help if you need something, but when you don’t, you don’t pay them any attention. They see everything, and they talk to each other. That is the benefit of having such a large department. They can meet up and swap stories without shirking their duties, because one of the others can jump in to cover them at a moment’s notice.

Managing Stewards are just as gossipy as the rest. They’re not really bosses, but more like human schedulers. Getting the promotion doesn’t earn them significantly more contribution points, and doesn’t gain them clout. So they’re still just stewards themselves, and are willing to move things around when secrets need to be shared. Even if Silveon doesn’t ever make it all the way up to an executive assignment, he’ll be able to track Waldemar’s movements and decisions. Oceanus has nothing to do with it, and he never did. That’s what they were discussing when Marquita showed up. The timeline is going well. Silveon is getting his licensure right now, and at the right age to be in a good spot when Waldemar rises to power.

“Well.” Oceanus steps back over to the other side of his desk. “I won’t keep you two any longer. Enjoy your day off together.”

“Thank you, sir,” Silveon says. He leaves the room.

Tinaya decides to hang back for just one moment. “Oshie?” she asks. She doesn’t call him this often, but she’s the only one who does, other than his mother.

“Yes, Tiny?”

“You’re doing a fine job. My son would be honored to be your steward, if the timing worked out. Marquita seems very happy.”

“Thank you for saying that.”

She looks over her shoulder, but changes her mind once more. She steps over and picks up the Star Book. She comes around the desk and sets it down in front of him. “Did you know it could do this?” She places her index fingers on the top of the photo, and her thumbs underneath, farther apart from each other. After holding for a few seconds, she turns her index fingers outwards, and her thumbs closer together. The image shifts. It looks about the same as before, except Marquita is now the one in the foreground, while the men are relegated to the background in her place.

He smiles up at her. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“All anipictures can do it.”

“Ha. Could you erase Tamm from his own Star?”

Tinaya flips over to Soto’s Star Photo. She places her three middle fingers on Soto’s image, holding for a few seconds again. She then swipes all the way over to the left, carrying him with her. When she crosses past the border, he never returns. Soto Tamm is gone from his own picture.

“Interesting,” Oceanus responds, seemingly deep in thought. “Very interesting.”

“What do you have planned?” She asks him.

“You’ll see. One day.”

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Extremus: Year 99

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Tinaya is in a little trouble. It’s not enough to get her fired, or stripped of her rank, but she’s been in a lot of meetings over the last few months. Everyone in these meetings pretty much tells her that it’s no big deal. Which is weird. Because if they’re being honest, who exactly thinks that it is a big deal, because someone keeps prompting more discussions. She thought it was over, and the crew and the council had moved on, but Captain Jennings is presently walking down Admiral Hall, and she doesn’t know what to make of it. He might be here to see Lataran instead, but given the circumstances, probably not. Thistle knows that the man needs no introduction, so upon Oceanus’ approach, the door opens automatically.

“Captain,” Tinaya says, respectfully with a nod.

“Admiral.” In every single other iteration of organizational ranks that include captain and admiral, the latter is the superior officer. It seems obvious. It’s a promotion, after all, and that is no less true here. But the whole point of the captaincy is to have a singular voice in charge of the ship. This relegates any admiral to an advisory role. They had their opportunities to enact policy and procedures, and now that is over. As clear and unambiguous as the responsibilities are listed in the handbook, it can make moments like these somewhat awkward. The book doesn’t, and can’t, encapsulate how these two should behave around each other. If they were robots, it would be easy and obvious, but at the end of the day, they’re both just people, and they can’t take emotions, or their history, out of the equation.

“How nice of you to visit our corner of paradise.” She means this genuinely.

“Yes, that’s what I would like to talk to you about.”

She nods silently.

“We’ve been in meetings for the last million years, but we’ve not had the chance to talk one-on-one. Where’s Lataran?”

“I dunno,” Tinaya replies. “Somewhere else.”

“I just—can we sit?”

“Of course. Right here.” Tinaya pivots her guest chair so he can sit down, then instead of going around to the other side of her desk, sits down across from him in one of Lataran’s guest chairs.

“I wanted to make sure you understand that I am not angry at you, or embarrassed for myself. I appreciate your candor, and admire your dedication to transparency. I would like to model my shift on it, and will be leaning on you for your guidance in such matters.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she explains. “I wasn’t complaining. Truthfully, I don’t know how we ended up in that part of the interview. He asked me a question, and I answered it. My only filter was whether it was classified information or not. I should have been more careful.”

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” Oceanus goes on. “It bothers me that they kept making you do it over and over again. Every time they brought someone new in, they acted like the interview was a personal attack on this person too, and that isn’t what was happening. If I can be truthful, I didn’t realize that you were missing in my life. Perhaps if I had made an effort to meet with you once after my induction ceremony, it would have been encoded in my memory, and I would have come to you more often. There have been times over the last few years where I’ve struggled, and I could have used the counsel. I placed too much burden on my lieutenants, and did not recognize your value. For that, I’m sorry.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Tinaya says, “and graceful.” That doesn’t seem like quite the right word, but she’s not going to find a new one, and correct herself.

There’s a brief unawkward moment of silence before Oceanus speaks again. “I would like to set up regular meetings with the two of you. Perhaps you and I can talk on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and I can have Lataran on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays?”

“I’m sure she would be amenable to that,” Tinaya says. While Lataran has gotten better at busying herself with other tasks, her number one job is to be available every day, so Tinaya doesn’t have to ask her if the proposed schedule will work.

“Perfect. And on the seventh day, God rested.”

“Who is God in this metaphor?”

Oceanus averts his gaze to consider it. “The ship itself.” He pauses another moment. “Or one of the zebra fish that the secondary school first years genetically engineer to learn about digital DNA.” Now it’s a bit awkward.

“So, uh...it’s Tuesday.”

“Yeah,” Ocean replies quickly, standing up. “Let’s start next week. You can fill Lataran in, and if she wants to change things up, we can talk about it.”

“Okay. It was nice to see you, Captain. Thanks for stopping by.”

“Are we okay?” he asks.

“We’re great. Don’t worry. I don’t know if you need to be transparent with everyone all the time, but as long as you’re honest with me, we’ll be okay.”

“Thanks.”

Lataran walks into the room with her head down as she’s unsealing the front of her uniform. “Oh my God, the self-sizing function on my suit is acting up. I can’t breathe.” Finally, she looks up, surprised. “Captain, you’re here.” She looks back down. “And my bare breasts are out.” She closes her uniform back up.

“Forgive the intrusion, Admiral.” He starts walking past her to the door. “I’ll wait one day to file my report with the Conduct Department, so you can get your side of the story in first.”

“Thank you, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“It doesn’t bother me on principle. I just want to ensure that you feel safe and comfortable.” He exits.

“Am I in trouble now too?” Lataran asks.

“Exposure isn’t illegal,” Tinaya reminds her, “even in the workplace. Conduct just needs a record of the incident. I’m more worried about what I just saw, and what it means. Or what it could mean.”

“What do you mean?” Lataran questions. “What does what mean? Mean. What did I just say? Just tell me what you’re talking about.”

“We’ve known each other our whole lives, right? Which is why you were comfortable changing right in front of me, when you thought it was just the two of us, of course.”

“I should think so. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Exactly. And in that time, your size hasn’t changed much.”

“Are you saying I’m getting fat?”

“I’m saying that...part of you...kind of looks like...it might be. They...might be.”

“Oh my God, am I pregnant?”

“Maybe.”

“I’m sixty-four years old!”

“I was sixty-four when I had Silveon.”

“Yeah, and that was weird. You’re weird, I’m normal.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Lataran unseals the front of her uniform again, and looks down. “Oh my God.” She looks up, and covers her chest. Then she pulls her suit away to look down again, as if she’s going to get different results. “Oh my God!”

“It will be okay, Latty. I figured it out. So will you.”

“You had Arqut!”

“Who’s your Arqut?”

“Some guy. We’re not close.”

“That’s okay. You’re not alone. Whatever you decide, I support you.”

Lataran purses her lips and nods. She’s appreciative of her friend, but that isn’t the issue. “Thistle? Am I pregnant?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I assumed you knew.”

“Why would you assume that?”

“You had a medical check-up last week, and I am not privy to those appointments. They would have been able to confirm it for you quite easily.”

“That’s true,” Lataran agrees.

“Due to her advanced age, however,” Tinaya begins, “pregnancy is unusual. They would not have necessarily tested for it. You, on the other hand, test wellness passively constantly.”

“That is also true,” Thistle confirms. “I should have said something earlier. I will be sure to do better in the future.”

“I hope that future doesn’t involve me getting pregnant a second time,” Lataran laments. “And I forgive you, Thistle. Perhaps an overhaul of our medical monitoring program needs to be addressed. I shouldn’t have to ask for any test that can be detected automatically.” She’s right. Most people in the stellar neighborhood of Earth maintain persistent diagnostic tools wherever they go using the medical nanites swimming in their blood. Even those who don’t want nanites that are sophisticated enough to treat their conditions automatically have some kind of tracking system in place, like an implant. Extremus has strayed away from these transhumanistic upgrades because they could lead to virtual immortality. That would go against the mandate of this ship, which is that everyone dies, and not everyone will live to see the home planet. Perhaps that should be reëvaluated too, though, since it’s a damn lie.

Tinaya doesn’t want to sound critical or judgmental here, but this may be the most sensitive way to put it. “There are ways to be more careful.”

“I know,” Lataran admits. “I should have kept an eye on it. But my doctor should have spotted it too. It sounds like there’s a real issue. I may not be the only one. There could be a bad batch of reproduction regulators for all we know.” Birth control has long been perfected. Like medical diagnosis and treatment, the stellar neighborhood has access to nanites to control all of the body’s functions. Since that is forbidden on the ship, anyone who wants to have purely recreational sex should receive an injection to suppress the brain signals that trigger reproduction. It can be turned back off with a second injection, and will remain in place until such time that it is reversed intentionally...except in one case. Anyone who is destined to experience menopause is required by law to switch over to an alternative variation of the injection which does wear off over time. Well, time isn’t what wears it down. It’s sex. The more often you have it, the more you butt up against the neural programming, and the less it resists, so you have to receive renewal injections accordingly. It’s an unfortunate but necessary tradeoff. Menopause can’t occur at all with the more robust silencing enzyme, and preventing menopause has been shown to have negative health consequences. Just as it has always been, though, women bear the brunt of the responsibility.

“I assume that you’ve been going to the chief medical officer?”

“Yeah,” Lataran answers. “Well, Radomil hasn’t ever been able to see me personally. The Senior Executive Physician has performed my last three check-ups.”

“This is Dr. Gunnarsson?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, he did my check-ups too. It’s unusual. The CMO is supposed to personally handle all medical needs for admirals, captains, and lieutenants.”

“Yeah. Do you want me to go over his head?”

“No.” Tinaya shakes her head while thinking about it. She looks over her shoulder, in the general direction of the secret mini-Nexus hidden in the floor. “Dr. Cernak is in charge of the entire ship’s medical personnel, including the passenger side of things. The most removed we can get from him is the Hock doctor, but they do have regular meetings together, so I’m not even entirely comfortable with that.”

“What would you suggest?” Lataran asks, not having noticed where Tinaya was looking.

“You need to go to Verdemus. That is an entirely separate team. They are not in contact. The more I think about this, the more concerned I become that there’s something going on. Two old women having babies; as you said, it’s weird.”

“I don’t think that I should go through the Nexus,” Lataran determines. “Omega and Valencia never warned us not to, but it just seems...risky.”

Tinaya nods. “You’re right, I agree. I’ll go get whoever it is, and bring them back here for a house call. We won’t tell anyone else, not even Arqy.”

Lataran has been frowning for a while, but now she exaggerates it. “Thank you.”

“While I’m gone, pull up the records. Find out how many other old mothers there are, if any. I’m not saying it’s a conspiracy—it might not be—but...it might be.”

And so Tinaya goes off to the home away from home planet of Verdemus, hoping to convince a doctor there to come back and secretly examine a patient. Everyone there is really helpful, and the doctor in question returns with no argument. She doesn’t even complain when Tinaya asks to blindfold her, and teleport her to the Admiral office, which could have been on the other side of the ship, but in reality, they were already in it. Before the exam even begins, though, Lataran has news. Women who should be old enough to be post-menopausal are getting pregnant left and right. They are crewmembers and passengers alike. It’s a growing trend with no apparent explanation, and neither of them is sure who they can go to about this, because they don’t know who to trust. They end up seeking help from the Bridger Section, but it turns out to be a mistake. They’re not just in on it. They’re spearheading it.

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Extremus: Year 98

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It’s been well over a year, and Audrey Husk has not reached out again regarding her mandate to secretly aid Silveon in his mission to stop Waldemar Kristiansen from growing up to become a violent tyrant. As per Extenuating Circumstances Executive Time Travel Protocol, Tinaya hasn’t reached back either. While time travel is illegal on the ship, the council recognizes that there are situations where it may be necessary. It may not be safe to report such time travel activity, and under those extreme conditions, it is up to the executive crewmember to exercise caution at their own discretion. That only goes for people like Tinaya and Lataran, though. If, say, a passenger were to discover a time travel event, it would be their responsibility to report it accordingly, and they would be just as liable for any damages if caught in the lie or conspiratorial collusion.

They’ve all seen each other regularly. Audrey has maintained her cover as Silveon and Waldemar’s friend. Despite being at wildly different places in their education, they help each other out. Silveon still doesn’t know that Audrey has the mind of an adult, so she pretends to be lacking in certain areas. Silveon, despite not being able to reveal himself as also from the future, has propped himself up to be somewhat of a prodigy. This gives him a decent excuse for being more intelligent than anyone would expect him to be. More importantly, it frees him up to focus on his real work without any questions. As for Waldemar, he’s still struggling. He went the other way by pretending to be dumber than he is because he has an almost total lack of motivation, which is something that neither Silveon nor Audrey can teach him. If he’s not listening to the apparent adults, he’s certainly not going to take advice on self-discipline from a couple of kids that he believes to be younger than him. Again, Tinaya is mostly staying out of it. Her son tells her and Arqut some anecdotes about his progress, as anyone would to confide in someone they trust, but he doesn’t deliver official reports, or anything.

Since the ship is fortunate enough to have two living admirals at the moment, only one of them is asked to attend each daily meeting. That leaves the other one back at the office with nothing to do for slightly longer than on days where she’s in the meeting instead. There’s not really any strategic reason for this. The council seemingly just doesn’t want to hear too many voices in the room. These huddles are boring, annoying, and intrusive for most, so they want to get them over with as quickly as possible. The admirals switch off every other day, and today is Tinaya’s turn to not have to be there. At least that’s how she claims to feel. In reality, she would rather be there every time. She actually misses being involved, and—if she’s being honest with herself—needed. The solution may seem like a no-brainer, but it’s not. She doesn’t want anyone to know how she feels, not even Lataran. So she goes along with the so-called fair routine.

“Sir, I’ve received a request for a visit,” Thistle says from the aether.

Who could that possibly be? Everyone authorized to see her is in that meeting. “From who?”

“Another child.” Oh, God. Not another time traveler. Thistle goes on, “he’s been assigned to write on someone he admires. He’s evidently chosen you.”

That’s flattering. “Does he seem nice?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“Have him meet me in the Attic Forest—no, the Central Sequoia, at the base.” Tinaya planted the tree at the bottom of the ship nearly forty years ago, and it has since grown around eleven meters, allowing it to pass through three decks at this point. She won’t live to see its full potential, so she likes to frequent it when she can to get the most out of her masterpiece.

She teleports directly there, expecting to have a little time to herself before the boy arrives, but someone is already there. At this time of day, it’s not very busy. Well, it’s never very busy here, but people are preoccupied with other things, so there’s not a whole lot of traffic going in and out, or sticking around.

A young man appears from the other side of the trunk. “Admiral Leithe, thanks for meeting me.”

“How did you get here so fast?” Tinaya looks down at the boy’s wristband, even though it’s impossible to know from here whether it’s teleportation-capable or not.

“Oh, I’m a Pathfinder,” he answers, both like it’s no big deal, and as if she should know what that means.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“I don’t so much as see the future as I know where to be, and when to be there. And I know when someone’s in danger, or when their luck is about to change. Things of this nature. To me, the future is more like a haze, while for everyone else, it’s a darkness.”

“You’re a choosing one. Those are rare. They’re, like, real rare.” Back on Earth, there are people who are born with the ability to manipulate time and/or space in some way or another. There aren’t a lot of them, but they can be anyone. Some of them have full control of it, and some are being controlled by this mysterious force known as the powers that be. They’re practically nonexistent on Extremus, though. Their ancestors were wayward sons and daughters, who found themselves trapped in the universe of Ansutah with all the white monsters. A baby came out stillborn, and this tragedy erased everyone’s powers, whatever they happened to be. They say that, had this baby been healthy, he would have had the ability to control other people’s powers at will, but because of the unfortunate circumstances, his meta-power was only activated once, and could not be reversed. And it had consequences for the future. Not only were the powers stripped from everyone present, but their descendants didn’t have powers. Statistically speaking, over the course of millennia, new choosers should have been born, regardless of their lineage. It’s just something that happens every once in a while. No one really knows why time travelers exist in the first place. But there are almost none on the ship. The real question is actually, why does it ever happen? Why are there any exceptions at all? What makes this boy different?

He shrugs. “Maybe my great great great great grandparent was a space traveler who secretly snuck into the Gatewood Collective, and ended up starting a mixed bloodline of Earthans and Extremusians.”

She narrows his eyes at him. She’s getting the sense that he’s telling the truth, and genuinely doesn’t know why he’s an exception. It’s not like it’s illegal anyway. Nothing is against the law that you’re born with, though if someone made it so that you were born a certain way, that may be cause for a response. Maybe it’s just that he doesn’t care. Some people are also born apathetic, and that’s not illegal either. “Maybe...”

He offers her his hand. “Pronastus Kegrigia, secondary school student at Stern Academy.”

“Secondary school?” Tinaya questions. She looks at her watch, again stupidly. She knows the date. “I figured you were in tertiary already. Shouldn’t you be taking your assessments?” That’s one of the reasons why the corridors are so empty today.

He chuckles. “I’ve known my destiny since I was a little kid. I’m going to become the ship’s first—and if the captain has his way, not only—official Pathfinder.”

“They’re expecting you to give direction, I’m guessing when it comes to personnel assignments, and general scheduling? Any policy?”

“Not there yet. Don’t know.”

“So you’re not going to tertiary school, or what?”

“I’m on the civilian admin track. I don’t need any test, I’ve been shoehorned in.”

“Why civilian, and not crew?”

He tightens his lips.

Tinaya lifts her chin, realizing the answer to her own question. “The crew are expected to listen to a civilian voice if their superior officer commands them to. It doesn’t work the other way around. You have to remain a civilian in order to maximize your power and influence.”

“I don’t make the rules, ma’am.”

“You will.”

“I’m supposed to be asking you questions.”

“For your report. Is that in lieu of the placement tests, or did you just make that up to get to me?”

“I made it up, and my instructor approved it. I didn’t tell her that I was choosing you. I did not yet know that I would. We’re encouraged to come up with our own learning tools. I’m sure you remember.”

“It was a long time ago, son. I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”

“Why did I choose you?” He doesn’t wait for her to confirm that he guessed right. “You’ve been through the ringer. You were kicked out of the captain’s program, for no apparent reason, except I’m thinking that I’m not the first pathfinder you’ve ever met; built a forest on a spaceship; restructured multiple departments; became First Chair; abolished the Chair system in favor of a more democratic council, even though it caused you to lose your power; disappeared for many years for a secret mission, which evidently lasted longer than the time you were away; and finally, went full circle to become captain anyway, despite the initial setback, which is how you’re an admiral now.”

“That about sums it up.” He doesn’t know the part about her being a secret spy for the Bridger Section, nor the truth about Verdemus. Which is good.

“Satisfying answer?”

“Yes?”

“Would you care to ask me anything else before we continue?”

“I reserve the right to stop the interview at any time, to ask more questions of you, or because I have to pee, or because I suddenly decide to stop making noise between 09:37 and 09:42 everyday.”

He laughs. “Fair enough.”

Pronatus goes on with the interview, asking all the questions one would expect in this situation. He asks after her feelings on all the dramatic shifts in her life, and whether any of it was planned or predicted. He’s really interested in her time in the Parks Department, and how impressive it is that she came up through there, and accomplished so much, not only afterwards, but also during. Things seem to be going okay with the interview until they start to approach the end. That’s when he throws her a curveball. “One last thing. When you die...are you going to choose to live on, or just let go, and see if there’s a true afterlife?”

Tinaya is shocked by this, and thrown totally off her game. “How do you know about that?” She’s met a number of people who are aware of this secret. She herself found out when she was a rebellious kid who was good with computers. She should be an outlier, though, not a trend. There is no protocol for what to do if someone who knows meets someone else who knows, because that’s never meant to happen. She could deny, and play dumb, but he obviously knows what he’s talking about. He’s not grasping at straws. He’s heard the details.

“I told you, I’m a pathfinder.”

“You said the future was a haze. It sounds like you get clear pictures sometimes.”

“My abilities themselves didn’t give me this knowledge. They lead me to places, and sometimes in those places, I end up overhearing things that I’m not supposed to.”

“You’re an eavesdropper.”

“Not by choice. It’s...an impulse.”

“An impulse that you should learn to control.”

“I can’t. I mean, I could. I could draw upon my willpower, and ignore it, but what if it’s leading me to save someone’s life? The very fact that the path is hazy is precisely why I have to follow-through every time. I never know how important it is. Sometimes, yeah, it’s innocuous, like seeing a guy’s towel fall off in what would have otherwise been an empty corridor, but sometimes, it’s profoundly vital. I don’t know until I get there.”

She sighs. “Have you discussed this with anyone else?”

“Of course not. I don’t even know if captains know. Something told me just now that you do, or I wouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Well, maintain that policy. Don’t tell anyone. Leave it out of your report. Don’t even hint at it with colorful language. As for me? I’m obviously not going to answer that question, and even if I did, I could always change my mind, so it’s not like it would tell you where I am after death.”

“You’re right. It was a dumb question. I should have ignored that one. I had enough information to stop myself. I can do better. See, this is why I admire you? Because you’re so...good.”

She has no response for that, so she just moves past it. She stands up from the bench, and sighs. “Is that all you need from me?”

Pronastus stands up too, and folds the cover over his tablet. “Yes, I’ll try to have the first draft of my paper to you tomorrow for approval.”

“Approval? I’m meant to approve it?” She wasn’t expecting this.

“Yes, I’m not a monster, and this isn’t a hit piece.”

“Well, I appreciate that. Give yourself enough time as you need. I don’t do much as an admiral, as we’ve discussed, so I’m sure I’ll be able to read it right away, and get it back to you.”

Everything goes fine in the beginning. Pronastus takes two days to write the paper, and Tinaya is able to approve it with only a few minor grammatical corrections in three hours. She couldn’t help herself, even though it’s not technically her job. The paper’s content is fine, and she has no problem with it being submitted. It’s the instructor who decides that the three of them should not be the only ones to read it, though. She releases it to the public. And it kind of causes an uproar.

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Extremus: Year 96

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People keep telling Tinaya their secrets, and including her in them. She knows about The Question, and the questionable course corrections. She knows about Thistle’s true nature, and their persistent connection to Verdemus, as well as a satellite Nexus. She’s aware of the war against the Exin Empire, a ton of what the Bridger Section is all about, the fact that her son is a time traveler, and even a few tidbits about what’s to come in the future. Now there’s this whole thing with her husband that she has had to add to the pile. Over the last year, the Chief Medical Officer and the Head Temporal Engineer have been working with him to understand his new powers. He is not, as they suspected, a retroverter, which are those who can de-age others, or themselves. What he does has nothing to do with health and vitality, in fact. He’s an old man, and no matter what he does to his outward appearance, he’s not gonna manage to generate extra years to his lifespan.

He’s a chameleon, which is a term that Dr. Cernak had to come up with himself, because this power is not anywhere in the database. There are some people who have time travel abilities so powerful and precise that they can actually transport individual photons of light from one point in time to another. Or maybe it’s more like they’re copying the photons. Tinaya doesn’t know all that much about it, but these are simply illusions. Behind the holograms, the true person still remains. This is not what Arqut is doing. He is modifying the substructure of his skin and skeletal system in order to make himself look different. He can look like himself at a different age, or someone else, at any age. With enough time and focus, he can modify only his face, or his whole body. This is decidedly not a time power, and the experts are at a complete loss as to where the power might come from.

There’s a lot out there that no one on the ship understands. Not even Omega and Valencia have all the answers. There is something of interest in this matter, however, and it involves a fundamental truth about the universe that the database only touches upon. Despite the fact that everyone here is descended from a population of ancestors who lived in a different universe, they actually don’t know much about how the multiverse works. There are more than two; this much is known, and not because Ansutah makes it impossible for there not to be, but because of vague and unrelated reports that various researchers have collected over the centuries. And there is a theory, based on this limited data, that the physics of these other universes might range from a little bit different to unrecognizably so. They may allow for the existence of a person who can shapeshift into others on a purely organic level, as opposed to a workaround via nanite technology, which the experts were able unequivocally to rule out as an explanation for Arqut.

The reality is that they have exhausted all avenues of information gathering that they have at their disposal. If they want answers, they’re going to have to look for them somewhere else. And Tinaya doesn’t have the ability to do that with him. So now they have to make a choice, and it might lead to a premature end of their lifelong commitment to each other.

It’s the Nexus that can potentially and theoretically transport Arqut to another brane, as it’s called by the researchers. The technology apparently comes from one of these other branes, and while they’ve not been able to figure out how to return to that weird waterworld they were sent to as soon as the Nexa were activated, Valencia believes that she has discovered the term sequence to somewhere else that might be of help. She calls it The Nucleus. If anywhere in this universe has the ability to access the full network, it’s there. But if Arqut does go in search of answers, he’ll have to go alone, or at least Tinaya can’t go with him. She has to stay here to complete her duties as a captain, and later an admiral. More importantly, she has to stay for Silveon. He’s getting bigger, but he still needs a mother, if only for appearances. It would be hard to explain where both of his parents went, and why they left him behind. Even if they could claim that there’s some secret mission off the ship that would benefit the Extremus, why would they send both parents of a young child? No, they either have to separate, and possibly never see each other again, or scrap the whole thing. Arqut is leaning towards the latter.

“Don’t you wanna know?” Tinaya asks.

“Where my new powers come from?” he guesses. “Yeah, but...I don’t want to leave Silveon at all, even though you’ll still be here. I may never come back. I may die out there. It’s not worth the risk. It seemed like a decent idea when Valencia brought it up, but there are too many variables that we can’t account for. Yeah, I can feel myself talking myself out of it in real time. This is a dumb idea. Who cares? Salmon go their entire lives not knowing who’s pulling the strings with their patterns. The idea that I could die under a similar looming mystery isn’t as big of a deal as it sounds. I don’t think I need to know any more than I do now.”

Tinaya was secretly hoping that he would say that, but she can’t let on. “Are you sure? I mean...it has to be from somewhere else. Organic shapeshifting isn’t a thing.”

He shrugs. “What good is it? I’m too old to be a spy, and I don’t know that anyone should have this kind of power anyway. What I should do is die, and have my body cremated, so no one has the chance to reverse engineer it, or something. Going out there, I lose control over my own postmortem directives. You can protect me. You can keep this power out of the wrong hands.”

“That’s a good point,” Tinaya agrees, sincerely and gratefully. She’s about to elaborate on her thoughts, but her watch beeps. “Oh. I have to go meet the new captain. Wanna come?”

“Am I allowed?”

“It’s a partially public affair,” she explains. “We don’t want it to look like we’re making some backroom deal. It’s actually better if you’re there...if you’re up to it.”

“Yeah, sure.”

They walk over to the port side together. Niobe meets up with them in the corridor with little Silveon, who’s not so little anymore. He’s currently eight, going on eighty. He’s loosening up a little bit around others, creating a narrative that he’s so subdued and unexcitable because of his precociousness. He still has to remember to laugh at childish jokes, and not at jokes that should go over the head of someone his age. He’s considering adding a third friend for him and Waldemar, who is now about to turn sixteen. Their age gap is starting to get noticed, so the idea would be to split the difference, and find a twelve-year-old to bridge the gap. Zefbiri is evidently searching for the right candidate, which is a crazy way to make a friend, but this being an important mission to the future, it might be their only reasonable option.

Lataran was right that the new captain would be a boy. Oceanus Jennings is only 28, having graduated from the captain’s track a few years ago at the very top of his class. He’s bright, professional, approachable, and frankly, attractive. Most importantly, he’s young, which the people have been wanting to see in the chair again, even if they aren’t willing to say the quiet part out loud. He is the kind of candidate that should always have been the only ones considered for the job. Again, he’s the appropriate age, and there’s nothing political about the appointment. Well, that’s not true; it always involves at least some politics, but it wasn’t done as some kind of favor, or with a deep agenda in mind. He’s great on paper, and he’s great in person. He became a natural leader of his peers in his youth, and is expected to do quite well next year. He didn’t campaign, or step on people’s heads to advance his career. He simply put in the work, and now he’s receiving his just rewards.

“Captain-in-waiting,” Tinaya says to him, shaking his hand. There’s no official deadline for when a new captain must be appointed—as long as it’s before the previous captain’s promotion—so captain-in-waiting isn’t an official term, but it’s there if anyone needs it.

“Admiral-in-waiting,” Oceanus replies respectfully with a smile as wide as the breadth of the whole ship. That’s not a term at all, since she has a real rank, but it’s fine. “I look forward to your advisement in the coming years.”

“We’ll see how long I last,” she jokes, self-deprecatingly acknowledging her own advanced age.

He holds that professional smile. “I would like to introduce you to my First and Second Lieutenants, Marlowe and Altin Gibson.”

Boys club. Okay. “Brothers?” she guesses.

“That’s right, Captain,” Marlowe confirms, shaking her hand.

“I feel like I’ve heard that name before too; Gibson.”

“Our grandfather, Hardy was an engineer back in the day,” Altin explains. “He was a pretty big deal.”

Tinaya nods as if she recalls who he’s talking about, but that would have been a long time ago. “Yeah, he was great. I’m sure you’ll do well too.” A boys club, and brothers. Well, hopefully it works out. The ship won’t survive another scandal like Tamm. “Oh, there they are,” she says, one arm open to receive her husband as he’s walking up with Silveon. “May I introduce you to Superintendent Arqut Grieves, and our amazing son, Silveon. Say hi, Silveon.”

Silveon has his whole body pressed up against his dad’s hip, like he’s nervous. He’s not saying anything, but staring at the new Captain and his posse. Hopefully, he’s only playing the part, and doesn’t actually have an issue with Oceanus. Tinaya doesn’t know what she could do with a warning about his future.

“He’s just a little shy,” Tinaya lies.

“Aww.” Oceanus bends forward to get closer to Silveon’s eye level. “Wadya think? Are you gonna follow in your mother’s footsteps, and become a captain too one day? “Silveon Grieves, Eighth of Eleven; how does that sound?”

Silveon just looks away, still shyly.

They go through the motions with this meet and greet, then leave as soon as it’s socially appropriate to do so. “What was that?” Tinaya asks once the door to their stateroom is closed. She’s grown accustomed to speaking to her little one as an adult. It no longer feels quite as weird and disturbing. “What does Oceanus end up doing?”

“He’s not the captain where I’m from,” Silveon answers. “I’ve never even heard of the man. That’s kind of what scares me.”

“Is that why you were acting so childish?” Arqut asks him, not at all meaning that as an insult. He literally has to act childish all the time.

“I don’t know how to be around him. I was thrown off since you didn’t tell me who was succeeding you, mom. I’ve been so focused on Waldemar, and now I’m realizing that we truly are in a new timeline, which I can’t predict anymore. That’s all I was thinking about. What if Waldemar just never becomes captain either? I wasn’t trying to stop him, only change him, but who knows what other changes I’ve made without realizing it? Things could end up worse.”

“I believe that Waldemar will still take the seat after Jennings,” Tinaya contends. “You’re not the only one with future knowledge. The Bridger section was quite convinced that there was nothing they could do to stop it. Of course, they never gave me a name, or even a shift, but based on what little you’ve divulged, I’m confident that you and they were talking about the same man.”

“All you can do is stay on mission, son,” Arqut tries to advise.

“That’s not necessarily true,” Silveon argues. “I knew the man who was supposed to serve between mother and Waldemar. I knew how to control his future too. I don’t know Jennings. I don’t trust him; not because I don’t think he deserves it, but genuinely because I don’t know. I hate the uncertainty. No one told me how much I would hate that from being a time traveler.”

“Well, I’ll be an Admiral, at least for a good few years. Lataran is younger than me, so she can keep Jennings in line after that. We’ll make it work. You’re not alone in this. I think you forget that since you weren’t planning on having so much support.”

“That’s true,” Silveon agrees. “And mom?” He steps over, and takes one of her hands in both of his. “You’re gonna last the whole next shift. You’re healthier than you were in the other timeline, and she made it through.”

“Thanks,” she responds. “Probably shouldn’t say any more.” Tinaya takes a breath, and turns away to walk towards the viewscreen, which is faking an image of outer space.

“What are you thinking about?” Arqut asks.

She turns back and smiles at him, and then down at Silvy. “How lucky I am, to be here, with the two of you.” She stares at the screen again, for a pretty long time. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, but I feel like you have a right to know. And even though, Sil, you said I was going to live for another two dozen years, you can’t promise that. So let me give you time to prepare yourselves.” She spins around. “When I die, and they ask me The Question...I’m going to answer no.”

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