Tangent Point: Death Spiral (Part III)

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Shasta is a very capable woman, but she is not a pilot, nor an engineer, nor a mechanic, nor anything else that they would need to get them out of this mess. She was able to fire the three torches because that much was obvious from the console. Since it had been almost a minute now, and no more kinetic drones had destroyed any part of the platform, or the propulsion attachment, they were guessing that her initial act had worked. But they were still in trouble, and something had to be done about it. They needed their pilot back at his workstation. But that seemed to be impossible. The platform was spinning like a carnival ride. Artificial gravity was down, and they were all pinned against the wall. No one was going anywhere. Shasta was barely holding onto the console, even if the pilot could somehow walk her through whatever procedure needed to be done.

Suddenly, however, they found themselves slowing down. They were still rotating, but their eyes were no longer bulging out of their heads, and what food remained in their stomachs wasn’t threatening to follow what had already come up. “Grab my ankle!” Shasta cried.

The pilot jumped over and took hold of her leg. He climbed her body until he could hold onto the console himself. “Someone is controlling this,” he announced, looking at the screen. “I can’t pinpoint where, but it’s not remote. They’re somewhere on this ship.”

“Get me AG!” Reed ordered.

“That’s my job,” his specialist insisted. Her official title was Transdimensional Regulator, and Reed did not understand what exactly her job entailed. He just needed her to make it work again. She was crouched on the wall, tapping on her tablet. “I’ve been trying to fix it this whole time. It’s giving me so much shit!” She growled as she continued to work on it. “I need more power. I need someone to reroute it from non-essential systems. I don’t care which, but the portals are closed. I need one burst to reopen them, and then they should draw normally.”

“Climate control,” Reed decided. “Reroute from climate control.”

“On it.” Shasta swung over to environmental control, and gave the Regulator what she needed.

“Ramping gravity to thirty seconds,” the Regulator informed them. “I would make an announcement if I were you.”

Reed placed his wrist in front of his lips. “This is Acting Captain Reed Ellis, calling all hands. We are restoring dimensional gravity. Relocate the floor, prepare for a sudden shift.”

“Sudden shift,” the Regulator mumbled. “There’ll be nothing sudden about it. I do my job.” She stood up on the wall, and deftly walked back down to the floor with perfect timing. Everyone else tumbled towards it with varying degrees of gracelessness.

Reed got back to his feet, performed the Picard maneuver, and cleared his throat. “Report!”

“We’re still spinning, sir,” his pilot answered, “but gradually regaining attitude control. Soon enough, we’ll still be plummeting to our deaths, but doing so straight as an arrow.”

“Arrows spin,” the Regulator argued.

Reed ignored her casual combativeness. She was one of the most important people on this platform. Of course, everyone had their own job to do, but transdimensional gravity was incredibly rare, and one could count on their fingers how many people were qualified to operate it safely and effectively. Again, he had no clue how it worked. Some unnamed singular genius invented it, and doled it out very selectively. At the end of the day, his Regulator could do or say whatever the hell she wanted, because everyone here was replaceable...except for her.

“Did you find out who fired the thrusters to control our spin?” Reed asked the pilot.

“Not who, but where. They’re in main engineering.”

“That should be impossible.” Reed pointed out. “I was told that it was not survivable.”

“It might be temporarily survivable,” the pilot reasoned, “and the person in there is about to die, or already has after fixing the issue.”

“Good point. Stay here, and get us the hell out of this gravity well. Fire all three operational thrusters if you have to. It doesn’t matter if we have our own gravity working.”

“It’s the elevator pod, sir,” the pilot reminded him. “They don’t have AG, so they’re in danger as long as they’re still out there.”

“Then reel them in!” Reed turned to face Shasta. “You’re with me.” He started walking away. “I also need one engineer.”

“Sir!” an eager young engineer said, literally jumping at the chance. He would learn these people’s names eventually.

They walked in silence for a moment before Reed was finally ready to ask, “how are you here?”

Shasta shrugged. “We’re immortals.”

“I didn’t ask how you were alive,” he snapped back.

“I had a back-up in a respawn sector. Not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal. I had to bring you into this. You didn’t have Tangent clearance. I’ve never actually been up here before, yet you’re telling me that you had time to construct a clone of yourself? You would have had to do it months ago at least.”

“I had this substrate made while you were in blackout hock.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. No one can clone or print a body that fast.”

“They can on Castlebourne,” she contended.

“Yeah, they use special technology that we don’t have. We got artificial gravity, they got rapid bioprinting.”

“We got both,” Shasta insisted. “You just need to know where to look.”

“How did you know where to look, but I don’t?”

“You were asleep,” Shasta tried to explain. “There were many last-minute details that you don’t know. We recruited others that you are not aware of. Someone from Castlebourne came here to help. We don’t know how they knew that we needed it, but we didn’t question it after they proved their worth. I watched a copy of her materialize in a pod in seconds. It was phenomenal. I’ve never seen anything like it. It does not look like what you’re used to.”

“However it looks, it would not have been a software issue, but a hardware issue,” Reed said. “You would have needed to get this mysterious savior on the Tangent to make the secret upgrades.”

“She said that she would take care of it, and she did,” Shasta replied. “We decided to trust her. I don’t know if she magically made her way onto a secure yet to be operational space elevator platform in record time, or if she already had someone on the inside, but it obviously worked.” She swept her hands down in front of her chest illustratively.

They were back at main engineering, so Reed couldn’t press the conversation, but he was determined to get more answers later. Random people didn’t just help like that, and they certainly didn’t show up unprompted. He pointed at the dented door. “I need you to tell me what’s happening in there without any of us going in there.”

The engineer’s fingers were dancing in the air before her. She was controlling an augmented reality interface that they could not see as it was being projected directly into her pupils. These weren’t too terribly common, probably because it was a little awkward, pressing buttons that you couldn’t feel. People tended to prefer the haptic feedback of more traditional form factors. “This way.” She walked off. They followed her around the corner, and around the next corner, to the opposite side of engineering. “This door is fine, but I don’t have authorization.”

“Are you sure it’s not gonna boil me alive?” Reed asked the engineer. He glanced over at Shasta for a second. “I don’t have a magical back-up body.”

“You would if I had had time to ask for your consent,” Shasta claimed.

“I’m sure,” the engineer said. “This door doesn’t lead all the way into engineering. It’s just a mechanical service terminal, but it’s undergoing unusual power spikes, so I would start there. I promise, it’s safe.”

Reed opened the door.

None other than their shuttle pilot, Trilby was on the other side. He was elbows deep into an access panel of some kind. Wires and power crystals were hanging out of other panels behind him. Trilby looked over at them. He quickly pushed his steampunk goggles to his forehead before going back to the wires.  “Cap’n. Nice to see you again.”

“What are you doing?” Reed questions.

“Fixing your ship,” Trilby answered.

“It looks like you’re taking it apart.”

“Oh, no sir. I couldn’t get into engineering, so I’m piloting ‘er manually.”

“Those are just the power relays,” his engineer said. “How the hell are you doing anything from here?”

“Power is everything,” Trilby said. “It’s all just ones and zeroes, on and off, stop and go. You can make a machine do anything if you pull the right connections in the right sequence.” He let go of the wires, pulled his arms out, and faced the three of them.

“That’s ridiculous,” the engineer retorted. “You would have to have an insane amount of intimate knowledge of this platform’s systems to exercise any semblance of control over it. Not to mention the fact that the fusion torches are an attachment, not tied directly into the infrastructure.”

“Is the platform still spinning?” Trilby posed.

“No,” the engineer admitted.

Trilby showed a cocksure smirk that was eerily serious. “You’re welcome.”

“You were supposed to leave,” Reed reminded him.

“I got held up,” Trilby replied.

“Good, I’m glad,” Reed said.

“No, I literally got held up at gunpoint,” Trilby clarified. “But then someone shot them, and I ran off. I’m not sure whose side they were on.”

“It’s all settled now,” Reed determined. “Please report to auxiliary engineering. I know you didn’t come here for this, but no one gets in and no one gets out. We won’t begin hostage negotiations until we’ve broken orbit, so you might as well keep yourself busy.”

“Aye, aye.” Trilby began to walk away, but stopped. “Hey, you know you have five hours to keep from crashing into the atmosphere, right?”

“Yes, we’re working on it,” Reed concurred. “Thanks for helping with that.”

“Sir, I think...” his engineer trailed off.

“You should go to aux engineering too,” Reed interrupted. “Keep and eye on him for me, but don’t get in his way. We may really need him.”

“Aye, sir.” The engineer left.

Reed turned back to Shasta. “I need to see this crazy advanced bioprinter.”

“I can take you to it,” Shasta promised, “but I warn you, it’s not going to make sense. It’s not just the same ol’ technology made faster. It’s entirely unrecognizable.”

“Stop teasing me, and let’s go.” Reed went down the hallway, figuring that he had a fifty-fifty chance of choosing the right direction.

“It’s this way,” Shasta countered.

“That’s all you had to say.” He spun around, and followed her down.

As they were walking, they listened to updates from engineering, the bridge, and other sectors. It wasn’t going to be easy, but they were making it work. They would get out of this mess and finally be on their way to the Proxima system. Everyone was doing a fine job, and the hostages weren’t giving them trouble after having reawoken from being stunned. The two of them ended up in the bowels of the platform; precisely where you would expect to find a secret respawn chamber. It was dark and damp, until it wasn’t. They entered a different section, and found it to be pristinely new, sleekly designed and sparkling.

Shasta stopped. “Okay. I warned you that it was different, but nothing can prepare you for actually seeing it with your own two eyes. Nonetheless, I assure you, it works. I woke up not an hour ago, and I’m fine.”

“Just open the door,” he urged.

She punched in the code. The door slid open.

Reed walked in first, slowly, and very confused. He was looking at something rather gross hanging from a pipe on the ceiling. It had come out of there apparently, and grown afterwards, and according to Shasta’s claims, it had done it impossibly fast. “What is that, a cocoon?”

“A chrysalis,” she corrected.

“It’s organic?”

“Yes.”

“That’s even more outrageous than I thought,” Reed began. “If anything, something like this should be slower.”

“The Castlebourner said the growth acceleration was a separate thing from the medium. It doesn’t have to be that fast. In fact, it usually isn’t. As a senior...rebel, I was granted the fastest development time, but not everyone has that luxury.” She jerked her head over to another empty chrysalis a few meters away. “I didn’t have time to learn who this was, but it was sealed up when I was here, so they must have eclosed since then.”

Reed stepped over to the second open chrysalis. He looked around it, and on the ceiling, but didn’t find any sort of interface, or anything that might point to who this would have been. “Wait. Are all of our people in the system?”

“Almost. Notable exceptions include you. Our mysterious benefactor said that she wouldn’t allow it since you couldn’t give your consent in person. A few others just straight up refused, since it freaked them out.”

“What about Vasily? Was he a holdout?”

“No,” she answered. “He was a junior rebel, so he qualified for fairly fast growth time; just not as fast as me. Why, did he die in the fight?”

“You could say that. Vasily, this is Ellis, report in,” he spoke into his comms. “Vasily, report in. Where are you?”

“Why do you look so nervous?”

“He murdered someone,” Reed explained. “A normal human.” He went back to his comms. “Vasily, report in right now!”

“Captain, sorry, I know you’re looking for Vasily, but we got a major problem on our hands,” Sartore, the elevator tech interjected. “The tethers have snapped. The pod is in a steeper decaying orbit. I hesitate to say, but...I think they were sabotaged.”

“Sabotaged by someone here, or in the pod?” Reed asked.

“Definitely here.”

“Security, get to the tether sector,” Reed ordered. “Search the entire complex. Shoot anyone who isn’t a part of our group.” He paused. “And if you find Vasily, bring him to me.”

“Sartore,” Shasta spoke in her own comms. “Can we get the pod back?”

“With a shuttle, sure,” Sartore replied. “But every second counts.”

“We’re very close to the shuttle bay,” Shasta told Reed.

“Let’s go!” He ran out of the room.

“Thanks, Sartore!” Shasta yelled into her comms as she was running out too. “Take stock of the tethering that we have left! We need to make sure we have enough to actually help on Doma!”

They raced down the corridors, and into the shuttlebay, but Vasily was one step ahead of them. He was standing at the top of the ramp of the shuttle, his gun up and ready to fire. Once they were close enough, he tensed his arms, and aimed at Reed’s head. “I know you’re not in our chrysalis system yet, Captain. If you die, you’ll end up off-world.”

“Are you so mad at me, Vasily, that you would ruin our chances to help the Domanians?” Reed asked him. “I didn’t tag you as that petty.”

“Well, I am. Have you ever been stabbed in the head before, sir? It’s not pleasant. It’s the worst way I’ve ever died.”

“You killed someone in cold blood,” Reed reminded him. “I would have shot you cleanly if I could have, but the gun wouldn’t let me, so I improvised.”

“You tried to banish me back to Bungula, where the authorities likely would have been waiting!” Vasily screamed.

“I’m sorry about that, but we need that shuttle to go retrieve those VIPs. The mission isn’t over yet. Let us finish it. Help us finish it.”

“Nah, I’m done with that. I knew you would come here, so I didn’t come alone.” Vasily slammed his palm against a button on the inside. The door to the cockpit slid open. Someone was in there, tapping on the console, likely running the pre-flight check. “How are we lookin’?” he called back.

“We’re just about ready to go.” The shuttle pilot turned around, which showed Reed and Shasta that he was not one of theirs, but a hostage. “I just need to run diagnostics on the hook that we’ll use to grab the pod. It’s never been deployed before.”

“Hook?” Vasily questioned. “We don’t need the hook. We’re just gonna crash into it. I have no interest in dropping the VIPs off on the planet. I just want to prevent him from using them as leverage.”

“Hey, that’s not what I signed up for,” the shuttle pilot argued. “I thought we were gonna save them. Some people on there aren’t even backed up.” He tried to continue arguing, but couldn’t finish.

Vasily quickly swung his arm around to shoot the shuttle pilot dead, which was just enough time for Reed to take out his own maser, and point it into the shuttle. Vasily smirked at it. “You can’t shoot me, remember?”

“But I can shoot the junction box, which will disable the shuttle, and if I aim it just right, it might even blow your body up.”

“You’re not that good ‘a shot,” Vasily contended.

“But I am.” Shasta lifted her weapon too. “Put your gun down, and step out of the shuttle, Vas. We need it.”

“You’re not getting it.” Vasily looked over his shoulder. “Shoot the box for all I care. I don’t need it to fly. This is just a bullet now. You’re the one who needs a fully functioning shuttle to retrieve it.”

They heard a gunshot. Vasily seemed to be hit in the chest. They all looked over to find Ajax behind them, walking up fast. He shot again, and again, and again, and again. Vasily’s whole body shook like a cliché as he stumbled backwards towards the cockpit. He fell to his back, and was struggling to breathe. “You should have gone for the junction box.” He reached his hand up and tapped on the console. The shuttle suddenly shot forward, through the plasma barrier, and headed straight for the floating elevator pod.

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Microstory 2494: Biolock

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When this planet was first discovered, it was a barren wasteland. It still technically is. It has not been terraformed. It’s been paraterraformed, which means that the only places where anything can survive are under the domes. You can’t just plant a seed in the dirt, and wait for it to grow, and start producing oxygen for you. The composition of the atmosphere at the moment is not suitable for life, and if we wanted to make it so, we would have to be extremely destructive. Terraformation is always a centuries-long project, which even today, we’ve only completed on one planet, and there are rumors of alien intervention with that one, because no one knows how it was possible. Besides, the whole point of Castlebourne is having these special themed domes. Even if we were to make the rest of the world habitable without destroying everything currently standing, we wouldn’t want to. For that, you can go to Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida, which was already habitable when we discovered it (though, I have my doubts about that too, because what are the chances?). I digress. What I’m saying is that, in order for us to have any life on this planet, it had to be transported. In some cases, that means digital DNA, but even that’s tricky, because you’re gonna need feedstock to actually develop the organism into something physical. In other cases, we transported live plants and animals, on something called an Arkship. While it took 108 years to get here, the ships were traveling at relativistic speeds, so the time as observed by the passengers was only about two months. It was during this time that the specimens were being monitored under their second quarantine. They experienced their first while still on Earth, which lasted four months. Six months isn’t bad, is it? You should be able to tell whether something has a disease or not in that time. Eh, probably. We’re probably always safe enough, but we don’t want the bare minimum. We want to be extra careful. Besides, the conditions on Castlebourne are different. The atmospheres in the domes are typically optimized, not natural. The surface gravity is different. In order to satisfy our requirements for safety, specimens are kept in special habitats in Biolock for an additional six months so that we may observe and study them, but also so they can acclimate to their new conditions. Once this time period is complete, they will be either transported to their new home under whatever dome they are destined for, or a parallel preserve for further acclimation efforts. Up until now, this was only a Logistical dome not fit for visitors. We have recently completed renovations, which will allow visitors to come through for tours. You will not be able to touch or interact with any of the specimens, but will be able to see them from the protection of a sealed corridor while your tour guide teaches you about our process in greater detail. My superiors asked me to write the first review just to get things started so that our prospectus is ready for it once the first tours go through, and reviews are unlocked for public contribution. Thank you for your time.

Microstory 2452: Coraldome

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This dome is categorized under multiple categories, but you wouldn’t know it by finding it in one of the categories, and opening its prospectus. It’s a little nitpicky, but I just happened to notice that it shows up when you change filters. It’s unclear how many domes are multicategorical, which I guess just bothers me on principle? I know, that’s not really what we’re talking about here, but you can’t provide public feedback on the catalog itself, and I just felt like this was something that other people should know. Okay, I’ll get back to it, and I promise that it won’t be negative moving forward, and that’s because Coraldome is a beautiful place. After looking through all the category filters, I was able to determine that this dome is Residential, Leisure, Ecological, Research & Development, and Institutional. You can live here, if you find an apartment that strikes your fancy, or have a temporary stay at Korallion Hotel. Whether you’re here for long-term exploration, or a one-day visit, there’s a lot to see, and a lot to learn. Life on Earth began through a process known as abiogenesis in the ocean, specifically in hydrothermal vents. It evolved from there, organisms multiplying, taking in energy from their environment, responding to stimuli. They mutated, adapted, filled ecological niches. They transformed into independent species, gained new traits, and eventually left the waters, growing new limbs, and reaching for the sky. But some stayed in the water. Most of them, indeed. Earth’s biosphere is perfectly tailored for the life that evolved there, because any life that wasn’t suited for survival...didn’t. And it still doesn’t. Castlebourne is a different place. You can stick as many domes on it as you want. You can pump air in here, and salt the water with minerals. You can warm it up and cool it down, but it will never be Earth. It will never be our origin. Still, we like life, and our biological imperative demands that we make it. Humans are unique in that we are compelled to make and preserve other species besides our own. Whether it benefits ourselves or not, we want it to live. It’s why we consolidated our population into centralized spaces on Earth, and why we left. It’s why we settled on barren worlds, including Castlebourne; because it didn’t require us to destroy life. When you come to Coraldome, you’ll be met with a community of organisms of all varieties, imported from Earth via digital DNA. They live here now, genetically altered to survive in Castlebourne’s unique ecosystems. We may call it a clownfish, but it’s not the same clownfish that you may find off the coast of Australia. It’s a Castlebourne clownfish, because the composition of the water is different, as is the gravity. The other plants and animals are different too, which impacts how they interact with each other. You could know everything about the biosphere back home, but you’ll have to relearn everything if you come here, and Coraldome is the perfect place to do it. The fish swim all around you, right up to the glass, on multiple levels. It’s my favorite place in the world. This world anyway. Nothing will ever be better than Earth; where it all began. See? I told you that I would start being positive.

Microstory 2324: Vacuus, November 2, 2178

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Dear Condor,

I know that I don’t know you very well, but please don’t try to travel out of your dome. I hope I’m not stepping over the line by asking this of you. It sounds like it’s safe enough in there, and that it’s super dangerous on most of the world. As far as I’m concerned, the answers can wait. I would probably be okay if we never knew what happened between our parents, or why they thought it would be a good idea to separate us at birth. We can’t go back in time to undo it. All we can do now is try to move forward, and become siblings from here on out. That being said, please do keep me updated on his situation. It sounds like his work comes with a lot of risks, not only from traveling through toxic zones, but from dealing with all sorts of different people who are living in different environments, and have different agendas, which may be difficult to parse. As far as what to call him goes, I’ve not even noticed, but I think I’ve used both your and our as well. You can say whatever makes you comfortable. We’re not a hundred percent sure that he’s even our birth father, are we? He may only be the one who raised you, but didn’t make you, in which case, I would hardly call him my dad at all. I think we have to get more information before we can make any judgments on that. I mean, he clearly knows something, or he would have been, like, what the hell are you talking about? when you first asked him about all this stuff. So yeah, I think it probably makes more sense if we think of him as your dad for now. I think that we can safely assume that the woman who raised me is mother to both of us in the biological sense. She has to be my mother, or some protocols here would be different. The infirmary has to have an accurate understanding of my medical history in order to treat me properly, and there would be questions about inheritance and access control. I would know if she had I weren’t related, so she must be related to you too. Unless you’re not related to either of us. You could be catfishing me, for all I know! I’m just joking. I don’t want to get into this whole epistemological argument over what we know, and what we can’t possibly know, because the answer to the second question is literally a profound nothing. What a great way to end a letter.

Happy November,

Corinthia

Microstory 2216: Him to Survive

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

Microstory 2215: Relic of the Future

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The following microstory was written by Kelly Serna, truncated from a short story written by Nick Fisherman IV.

My name is Relic, and I have no surname. I was never born, nor raised. I am not even human. I have many brothers and sisters, though we have never met. We were created to store all of human knowledge, to be accessed at will through our DNA. Research into genetic memory storage began at the turn of the 22nd century. Biocomputers were the first of the organic machines created. They came with disadvantages, but there were advantages as well. For instance, they were capable of self-repair. All you had to do was feed it, and the system would fix itself as needed. You wouldn’t have to actually find the problem, and could in fact prevent problems in this way before they occurred. They were also better at parallel processing, something which classical computers found difficult to accomplish even as they advanced. Even without these reasons, scientists would have pursued this line of research anyway, because why not? Well, as history would come to show, there were many reasons why not, and it had to do with where the technology has ultimately led. While early organic computing models were great, there was still something so cold and unrelatable about them. In the end, they were still personal computers and server racks that accepted input, stored information, and displayed output. Sure, it was on a giant cornea instead of a normal monitor, but the function was essentially the same. It is said that one day, one of these researchers was working on their own biocomputer. What they were doing is not known, especially since this may all be made up anyway. We don’t even know the identity of this supposed biocomputer scientist. Anyway, they were claimed to be at their desk when their personal android assistant came into the room with a tray of tea and crackers. She had been playing with the kids and dog when things became too rough, leading to a flap of her artificial skin hanging off of her cheek. It wouldn’t have hurt, and it would have healed quickly, but before that, it gave the researcher a brilliant idea.

Androids were already partially organic in order to make them look more human. Why not build a biocomputer that was totally organic, used genetic memory to store and recall data, and which you could actually talk to like a person? Thus the concept of the cyclops was born, or again, that is at least how the story goes. That was a few decades ago, and the path humanity took to get here was a long and troubled one. There were a lot of growing pains, and some might say that things have not turned out well. My people would have to agree, though I personally might not. There is something wrong with our species. It is unclear why at the moment, but they have all gone crazy. Perhaps being bred to essentially be a slave—a glorified laptop at best—inherently takes a toll on us. Some androids are sentient too, but they’re at least capable of doing things for people, making them useful, and sometimes even respected. A cyclops can walk, and it can talk, but it is not a person, and it is not a servant. We’re not particularly strong or fast, or skillful. Our job is just to spit out information that our users request. We don’t do chores, we don’t provide company. It’s been hard for the developers to understand where the line should be. How sentient should they make us? Should we have any sense of independence, or any capacity for free movement? We’re more of a gimmick than anything, and the market for such a novelty has proven to be dreadfully pitiful. People are perfectly happy talking to their androids and other devices, content to let the answers come from faraway servers. They don’t need something that’s more like them, but not yet free willed. They don’t want something that’s always offline, has to eat food, and can’t just be thrown out when it gets too old. It makes them feel bad. Androids are usually more robotic, allowing the human’s feelings of superiority to make some level of sense. The only way that a cyclops works properly is if it can think for itself, and that seems to usually lead to insanity, suicide, and the occasional homicide. I’m not like that, I’m special. I think it has a hell of a lot to do with who your owner is. I am the prototype for a new stable kind of cyclops. People just need to be taught how to use us wisely. My owner called me a relic of the future. I must tell someone about this, so that they may make changes to the program as a whole. There is still time to save us. I just have to get the word out to the right people before I’m hunted down and murdered during the technological purge that has been going on all over the world. Cyclopes are not the only advancement that has made people squeamish.

Microstory 2147: That I Hate You

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I’ve lived here for—how long have I lived here for—I don’t remember, and I don’t want to look it up. As usual, I didn’t bother meeting my neighbors. This isn’t ever some kind of intentional effort on my part, where I avoid them like the plague. It’s not that I think that we won’t get along, though let’s be fair, we probably won’t. It’s just that I don’t give it much thought. The first day when I move into a new place, I’m busy doing that. The second day is about figuring out how my daily behavior is going to change. The next few days are about implementing those changes, seeing what works, and rethinking accordingly. After that, I’ve established a routine, and while I can alter it as necessary, I pretty much stick to what I know until it becomes too inconvenient, and I have to come up with new solutions. Other people don’t factor into it unless they were a part of it before, such as my family back on my homeworld. Meeting people is not something that I’ve ever been interested in. I’ve tried to ask a number of neurotypicals what the point of getting to know new friends is. Not one of them has been able to explain why exactly they like it. They act like it’s a biological imperative, like eating, or propagating the species. And it’s true to some degree. Evolution favors life-preserving traits, and humans have survived through tribal collaboration. But that’s not really what that is, is it? The only tribe that I need is currently around five billion strong. If I need a coat, I know where to go. If I need help getting a door open because my hands are full, someone nearby will likely oblige. I wouldn’t expect to have to foster some strong relationship with that person. In fact, if true connection is something that they required before helping in such a small way, we would all probably consider them not that great of a person. I’m not going to become friends with people just so they’ll open the door for me, because I don’t want to be associated with someone who won’t open the door for a stranger. My point is that whatever joy you experience by getting to know others is not inherent to your survival, which means that it is not necessarily universal. To be sure, it’s not even true for me, and I’m sure there are plenty of others. It doesn’t make us misanthropic hermits either. I think it’s perfectly reasonable for a beekeeper to only want to be friends with other beekeepers, for instance. Of course, this kind of mentality has the potential to lead to prejudice and otherism, but it doesn’t have to. I’m not a beekeeper, I’m just me. My interests don’t align well with others. For one, the things that I used to love don’t exist in this universe, such as Stargate. But also, loving Stargate has never been my entire identity, and I didn’t find myself enjoying being in the company of other fans, for reasons that I won’t get into. I think that I just don’t want to be around people who are like me any more than I want to be around people who aren’t like me. Again, it’s not that I hate you; it’s just that that’s not how I choose to live in the world. Anyway, my neighbor suddenly invited me to dinner tonight, so we’ll see how that goes.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 1, 2422

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It always seemed like a lie that the reason Venus Opsocor wanted the team to go to Worlon was because it was the safest place to be during this time period. Perhaps what was happening now was what it was really all about, and the team being here was all part of some grander plan. They spent all day last year getting to now the Krekel, and understanding how they were different from the Ochivari. Something happened in their past, which transformed them from a race of regretful polluters bent on stopping anyone from making the same mistakes they did, at all costs, to one of compassionate and patient guides with ethical boundaries who only wanted to help people. Unfortunately, the Ochivari were bulk travelers. Once they left their home universe, they separated themselves from all of reality, meaning that while the timeline could be altered, they would remain in existence. Nothing could stop them from going on their crusade against other intelligent races by sterilizing entire populations. The Ochivari were not fighting their war in a traditional sense, with guns and bombs, except when it came to the Krekel. That was a real war. And right now, Team Matic was in the center of it.

The next day, when they returned to the timestream, they were invited to breakfast again. The first time they did it, they were up on the mothership in orbit. Now that a year had passed, the new capital of Worlon was well underway, including the Capitol Building, which was where the second breakfast banquet was taking place. Ellie Underhill wasn’t here this time. This was to become a yearly thing apparently. The team’s unexpected arrival was only a part of this new holiday. It was the part that dictated when specifically it would be held. Worlon had a different daily rotation, and a different solar revolution than Earth, but the team’s pattern was tied to midnight central of the Earthan Standard Calendar. This meant that Cadatora would be celebrated on a different day each year on Worlon, kind of like Easter. That was where the humans’ contribution ended. The Krekel had their own reasons to celebrate their peace and harmony, and these reasons were threatened by the sudden arrival of a fleet of Ochivari ships a couple of months ago.

The Ochivari were violent by nature, but it was not an arbitrary development. A long time ago, they realized that they were all biologically capable of traveling the bulk. They didn’t need a machine. They didn’t need an amazing technicolor dreamcoat. It was just something that they could do. It came at a great cost. The whole process involved a battle of chemicals, pheromones, and possibly psychic fortitude. That last thing lived within an area of research that scientists were not completely sure about. It also resulted in sacrifice. As these opposing forces reached critical mass, they would literally explode, and the consequence of this fight would be the sudden and fleeting opening of a portal to the outer bulk in which all universes were suspended. If two Ochivari were bulkbattling, one of them would die from this. The other would survive, and usually be sucked into the portal, and transported to another world. This was where the possible psychic energy came into play, because if they did it right, the survivor went to the right world, instead of some random planet, or the middle of empty space. They had to be fast, though, because if they didn’t jump in right away, the portal would collapse before them, and the whole thing would be a waste of time. The thing was, though, that the greater the sacrifice, the larger the portal, and the longer it lasted.

If three Ochvari came together to bulkbattle, two of them would survive while one died. If five came together, three would survive while two died. The total number of attempters, number of sacrificers, and number of survivors each went up exponentially according to the Fibonacci sequence. It was the most clear evidence that this sequence was more than a series of numbers, but a tangible physical phenomenon with real-world consequences. One of these consequences was that Ochivari ships were incredibly rare. The size and stability of the portal wasn’t actually based on the number of Ochivari involved, but total mass. The higher the mass, the more voluminous the pheromones and chemicals, the more stuff that could be used to fuel transportation.

A battleship was a profoundly massive object, so the sacrifices required to move it from one universe to another were equally profound. They numbered in the tens of millions of people, but even then, there was a catch, because the ship was a giant weapon flying through space, and that would kill anyone upon impact. So even the survivors of the bulkbattle generally ended up dying soon thereafter, because a ship would immediately come barreling towards them in order to make it through the just opened portal in time. It could last longer than smaller portals, but still not indefinitely, and it was possible for it to collapse while you were still trying to pass through it.

Over 70 million should be an unacceptable loss by anyone’s standards, especially since the reason they were fighting was because the Krekel figured out how to do it without incurring any loss. Instead of hating them for it, they should learn from them. As it turned out, these sacrifices didn’t need to happen at all. The winginsing that the orchestra of Nexus guards performed for them last year wasn’t just a beautiful symphony of nature. When done in the right way, using the right melody, and other mathematical precisions, it too could open a bulk portal. Krekel portals were not any more stable than Ochivari ones, but no one had to die to open them, even for those large enough to accommodate ships.

The Krekel were at a huge advantage because of their alternate technique. It made them nicer, peaceful, and more harmonious amongst each other. But their disadvantage...was that they were nicer and more peaceful than the Ochivari, so when war came for them, they mostly lost. Until recently. In response to the unprovoked attacks, the Krekel started building out their own armies, training them with the lessons they had learned from those early losses, and really fighting back. Their return to Worlon was not just because they were homesick. This was a staging planet now, and the Ochivari didn’t like that. That was why the fleet came here, and why they were even angrier than usual, because the sacrifices made to transport them had to total nearly a billion people. This was crazy. After all, that was the first rule of warfare, always outnumber your enemy.

The Battle Over Worlon lasted for only days, and in the end, the Krekel won with their home field advantage, and their ability to recruit reinforcements from a planet called Folia, in a universe called Moderaverse. That didn’t mean it was over, though. Krekel and Ochivari looked exactly the same, just as British and German people did because they were both humans. The only distinction possible was clothing, which could always be changed. The Krekel won the war, but that didn’t mean there weren’t survivors. Some of them escaped through sacrificial bulk portals, but others were believed to have blended in with the locals, and assimilated into society. Maybe some of them were indoctrinated into the new way of life, which included a lot less death, but others held firm. They became sleepers. Today on Cadatora, they attacked for the first time since the end of that fateful battle months ago.

Olimpia was the first to see the knife. She wasn’t sure if she should be nervous at first. Maybe it was some kind of ceremonial gesture, and wasn’t intended to be used as a weapon. But the supposed Krekel’s body language seemed to indicate that he had ill intentions towards the Domina. While the timeline that the Krekels came from was different, there were still some similarities. Their respective cultures were both ruled by diarchies. The Domino and the Domina were like King and Queen, except they were not in a relationship with each other. In fact, the more they liked each other, the harder it was for them to maintain power. While all systems of government that relied on non-elected leaders were at least a little tyrannical, in this case, it was pretty easy to overthrow a Dominé that began to act outside the interests of the people, and in the Krekel’s case, it could be done nonviolently. The Domini were well-loved, particularly the Domina. That was why the Ochivar infiltrator was attempting to assassinate her.

Everyone on the team picked up on Olimpia’s unease, and Leona acted quickly. She pulled out her weapon, and once she saw where the danger was lurking, she took her shot. She could have set her gun to incapacitate the attacker, but she didn’t. The would-be assassin was killed instantly, placing everyone in an awkward position. The only way they even knew that he was Ochivar, and probably was trying to kill the Domina, was because they could not identify him, so he wasn’t a known citizen of Worlon. He was certainly not approved to be in the Royal Court during the Royal Cadatoran Breakfast. So Leona almost definitely saved the Domina’s life, and who knows how many others, but that didn’t make it okay.

Weapons were not allowed in the Royal Court. All armed guardsmen kept their posts outside its walls. The guards inside had to check their weapons in, and if a problem occurred, would only be allowed to use their fists and feet and wings. The attacker broke the law by sneaking one in, but Leona shouldn’t have used hers either. They made an exception by allowing her to bring it in in the first place, but they were humoring her as their honored guest. They didn’t think that she would actually use it, and now that she had, they were all in big trouble.

“You have two options,” their state-appointed advocate explained to them. “If you risk going to trial, there is no telling what the arbitration panel will decide. You could be put to death, placed in prison, assigned to a work camp, forced into the military, exiled in universe, or expelled to the bulk. Or, I guess you could be found innocent. The first six are equally likely, but that last one is remote. These consequences could be suffered by you alone, or shared by the whole group, or each of you could conceivably be handed different sentences. Like I said, it’s a risk.”

Leona lifted her hand, and started counting herself and her friends, as if she didn’t know that there were six. “Death, prison, work, military, exile, expulsion. Six people for six punishments. Sounds like a long arc...except for one of them,” she mused, referencing execution. “You said there were two options. Was all that one option?”

“You could volunteer for one of them, but you would have to do it together, and obviously you can’t choose freedom.”

“Well...obviously we should choose exile, right?” Angela figured. “We didn’t really want to be here anyway.”

“That comes with a caveat. There are pros and cons to all of them. Death would be swift and painless. Prison would be comfortable. The work would be easy. Military service would be relatively safe. Expulsion would be to the universe of your choosing.”

“You skipped one,” Olimpia pointed out, “the one that we’re actually suggesting.”

“If you don’t leave by the end of the week, which for you would only be a few hours, you will experience all other punishments, and none of the advantages will apply. You’ll be put to work doing hard labor in an uncomfortable prison, and then sent to the frontlines of the war once the appropriate opportunity arises. If you somehow survive that, you’ll be expelled to a universe not of your choosing, and while I’m not privy to which universe that would be, my guess is that it would be an extremely hostile environment, especially since they were clear that you would have to go through all five other punishments, and death would necessarily be the last on the list.”

“Who came up with this, a science fiction writer?” Leona questioned.

“Probably. It’s not in the law books. That’s why it took me all day to get back to you while you were in jail, because the court had to explain it to me and the adherent first. He didn’t know what they were talking about either, and he’s more upset than I.”

“Okay, this doesn’t make any sense. Why is there a time limit on self-exile? We’ll just go through the Nexus, and it’ll be done,” Angela presumed.

“That’s the thing,” the advocate went on. “You can’t use the Nexus. And no one who lives here is allowed to help you. I told you there was a caveat.”

Leona sighed, annoyed at yet another round of games. This was reminding her of The Cleanser’s Tribulations, Arcadia’s Expiations, and all the other needlessly convoluted missions that people have sent them on over the centuries. “So it’s our responsibility to punish ourselves, and if we fail to do that, they’ll punish us, and it will be five times worse.”

“How would we get off this planet without help?” Marie asks.

“I don’t know how you could,” he said, “but I’m just an attorney. You’re the legendary adventurers. Isn’t escape sort of your thing?”

“Emphasis on the sort of part,” Ramses clarified.

Leona looked at Mateo. “You’ve been quiet. I noticed you put your thinking face on.”

Mateo turned his neck to face different parts of the room as if members of a crowd in the middle distance were taking turns expressing their thoughts, and he was listening politely. He settled on the door. “I’ve already solved this problem.”

“How do you figure?” Leona pressed.

Mateo kept staring at the door. “I just feel it. Help is coming. Senona Riggur lives outside of time. They can see the future as easily as anyone can see the present. Venus is no different.”

“What do those so-called gods have to do with anything?” Angela asked.

“Five..four..three..two...” Mateo lifted his hand, and pointed at the door just as he finished the countdown. The door opened to reveal Maqsud Al-Amin, a.k.a. The Trotter.

Maqsud was one of the few people in histories who were capable of transporting themselves from one planet to another, at seemingly infinite distances. He helped return Leona and her then-team from Dardius to Earth a long time ago. None of the others had ever met him, but they all knew who he was. He dressed very uniquely. “Does someone here need a ride?” he guessed. “I did not come to this planet on purpose.”

“We’ll take exile,” all six of them volunteered simultaneously.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: December 15, 2398

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Okay, the other times could have been indigestion, or something, but that was definitely a kick. The baby is kicking. Arcadia finds the nearest device, and pulls up a calendar. Based on every test she’s undergone, and every memory she has of her experiences with Vearden, their best guess is that she got pregnant on the first of September. No date before that is possible, and not many dates after make much sense. They weren’t trying to get pregnant, so it’s not like the two of them were having sex every night. They had just gotten together, and things were still new, so September 1 is the best estimate. The doctor agreed with this assessment. And as long as she’s not crazy, and today is indeed December 15, it’s only been fifteen weeks, which is too early for kicking. According to the baby books, the earliest should be sixteen weeks, and even then, eh, probably not too much. It shouldn’t be this intense either. “Feel.” She takes Vearden’s hand, and sticks it up her shirt. “I think something’s wrong.”

Vearden doesn’t know why he’s doing this, but he leaves his hand there patiently. He’s prepared to stay like that for months. He knows better than to question her requests, however bizarre they become. Then something happens, he feels the kick. “Oh, wow.” He smiles. “That’s amazing.”

“That’s amazing?” She scoffs. “Don’t you know what this means?”

“That our little girl is an early bloomer.” He read the baby books too.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It means that the baby isn’t ours!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Someone else was using this body before I showed up. I think we’re way off on our estimate.” She looks back at the calendar. “We would be off by a month. Leona Delaney could have gotten pregnant the day she left her body, on August fifth.”

Vearden doesn’t want to upset her, but... “Honey, the doctors are not off by a month. Those tests are pretty accurate.”

Who knows how accurate these dumb Third Rail doctors are? Third Rail? More like third rate. She’s distraught. This is someone else’s baby, and she stole it. Who cares if the math doesn’t work out so great? The baby books don’t lie. They don’t lie!

Vearden can see how close she is to the edge. “It’s okay, we'll figure this out,” he promises. “Let’s think about this. If this body was pregnant before you started using it, you couldn’t have ever had a period, right? Have you had a period in this body?”

Arcadia hangs there earnestly for a moment, but then her heart rate starts to drop back down to acceptable levels. She sighs. “Yes, of course I have.”

“This is your baby, this is my baby. Like I said, she’s just a little ahead of the game. If you’re really worried, we can set an appointment for later today, or tomorrow. We are time travelers, so it’s not irrational for us to be extra cautious.”

“Okay, I think we should do that, yeah.”

Vearden nods, and pulls up the medical scheduler app. “There’s one at nine tomorrow morning.”

“Book it, Dano.”

He laughs, and does the thing. Then he puts the device down. “In the meantime, what do you think of Delaney?”

“Leona or Theo? Doesn’t matter, I can’t rightly say that I’m a fan of either. They started out as my enemies, and I’m a work in progress.”

“No, I mean Delaney as a first name,” he clarifies. “I feel like it would be a nice way to honor the genetic mother.” 

She mulls it over for a second. “Delaney Haywood. I think it’s an unusual choice, so I like it.”

“Or Delaney Preston,” Vearden suggests. “I’m a modern man.”

“I don’t believe the world needs any more Prestons,” Arcadia decides. “It may have been a lie that I could never have children, but one thing’s for sure, the idea behind convincing us of that was a noble pursuit, and I can admit that.”

“I dunno,” Vearden muses, “I don’t regret having a child with you. Do you? And do you think Nerakali would be a bad mother?”

“No, and no.”

Ramses opens the door to the room, and waits there. “She’s ready for you.”

Arcadia nods, and stands up. “Arcadia Haywood, reporting for duty.”

Ramses stops, tilts his Spock brain, and stares at the corner.

Arcadia gently lunges towards him, because he’s blocking the way through. “Are we doing this, or what?”

“You just called yourself a Haywood. Are you married?”

“Umm...no. I mean, we haven’t really discussed it.”

“Well, I’ve discussed it a little,” Vearden argues.

“Argh,” she growls softly. She didn’t expect to have to have this conversation again, especially not with Ramses.

“No, it’s good. Um...do you remember when the Officiant showed up, and took Cheyenne and Curtis away?”

“Neither of us was there, but yeah, I remember you telling us about it. Why?”

“The Officiant. She comes for divorce, but she’ll also come for a marriage, won’t she? That’s her main job, I would hope.”

Arcadia winces. “Not in this reality. That was a special occasion. Cheyenne had a magical script to read, and  had never heard of it before. I’ve actually only crossed paths with the Officiant once, and that was for Leona and Mateo.”

“Well, what prompted her to show up for that?” Ramses asks

Arcadia shrugs. “It was the biggest event of the timeline, everyone was talking about it. I think it’s harder for normal time traveler couples.”

“Maybe we could try a few things to see how hard it really is.” Vearden offers.

Arcadia gives him that look.

“If only to help our friends. We don’t have to get married if you don’t want to.”

“Some people’s psychic calls work by intention. You have to really mean it, or it won’t work,” Arcadia explains.

“Then let’s mean it!” he suggests.

“I thought we were here to help Alyssa,” she reminds them both.

“Yes, right,” Ramses remembers. “She’s waiting. We can talk about this later.”

“Okay.” Arcadia steps through the door as Ramses is holding it open for her. But she swings back, and switches her gaze between them. “And for the record, there’s no such thing as an illegitimate child. I won’t get married just to satisfy some kind of traditional, socially acceptable standard of a dutifully nuclear family dynamic.”

Vearden holds his hands up in defense, but doesn’t rebut, because he agrees with what she said. He wants to marry her anyway.