Extremus: Year 103

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Silvia and one of the Audreys are gone. Thistle is the only one who may know whether the original, or the clone, is the one who ended up heading off to the planet. He reportedly deleted his own memories of the event, but it really doesn’t matter. For all practical purposes, it’s the same consciousness, just with a different body. He restored her to perfect health to further conceal the truth, but a deep enough medical examination could produce an answer, if anyone were so inclined to try. Extremus!Audrey is choosing to be positive about the situation, taking comfort in knowing that she is raising her baby, even though she will never have any memories of it, or be able to make any decisions on the child’s behalf. There was a ton of philosophical debate about this during the time when consciousness manipulation technology was being developed. In the end, most can agree that you are unique, and even a copy is not really you. They’re just someone who looks like you, and thinks they are you. That’s why programs like Project Theseus and neurosponging were created. They maintain continuity of thought during the digitization and transfer process. There is no copy; it’s you over here, and then over there. Audrey is ignoring that, because it’s not the point. Silvia is being cared for by her mother, and that’s as good as it’s going to get until the Waldemar problem is solved, or at least comes to some kind of conclusion.

Tinaya’s duties to the population have subsided. There doesn’t really seem to be a need for anyone to be directly in charge of promoting growth. They don’t really want there to be someone doing that job permanently. It’s too close to totalitarianism. If you want kids, have kids. If you don’t, don’t. If you can’t care for them, please don’t try. In the end, it’s the public’s responsibility, and if they want the human race on this side of the galaxy to eventually die out, then so be it. Philosophically, it’s not a real problem. A problem is something which has a negative impact on those involved. If no one is alive anymore, there’s no one to feel the negative effects. No one gets hurt. The human race is not inherently entitled to persisting. The fact that they exist does not, on its own, provide any transcendent benefit to the universe. This is a hard lesson to learn, and few have learned it. In an ideal world, they shouldn’t have to. If they do want to live, they should be able to. The only real boundary separates what one person wants from what another does. Everyone deserves the right to decide what they want, even if what they want is to not exist at all.

Oceanus had started to rely less on Tinaya, and more on Lataran, and that hasn’t stopped even as Tinaya’s time begins to open up. So she’s kind of gone back to not having that much to do. At this point, it doesn’t bother her as much. Her son claims that he doesn’t need parenting, because he’s so old, but that’s all changed. The thing with Audrey and Waldemar has really messed him up. It’s affecting his work negatively. The whole point of coming back in time was to help Waldemar, not hurt him. That’s why Silveon didn’t just straight up murder him the first chance he got. He’s having a hard time rectifying this mission with the monster he knows Waldemar to be inside. Audrey put herself in a position to get pregnant, but Waldemar took that opportunity. A decent guy would not have done that. How can Silveon continue trying to make this future tyrant a better person when nothing seems to be working?

While Silveon is questioning his commitment to the cause, Audrey herself has picked up the slack. She’s still with Waldemar because she has to be, and Waldemar is still with her because it helps his reputation. Everyone sees him as the hero who stuck by the mother of his child even though that child didn’t survive. This wasn’t just about population growth, or because she’s hot and young. It’s true love, and they’re in a real relationship. At least that’s how the public sees it. Only a few people know what’s really going on, though even such people are each looking at it from different angles.

Silveon bursts into Tinaya and Arqut’s room. He’s huffy, pacing around in a tight circle. “I need you two to stop me.”

“Stop you from what, honey?” Arqut asks. The two of them are in bed, but just reading.

“Waldemar. He’s still raping her,” Silveon replies. “I wanna hurt him.”

“Careful with that word,” Tinaya warns. “I’ve spoken with Audrey. It’s consensual.”

“We all know it’s more complicated than that,” Silveon argues.

“Yes,” Tinaya agrees. “What we know is that her birthday was two weeks ago, which makes her an adult in the eyes of the law, and even if she weren’t a time traveler, she would be considered capable of making her own decisions about who she shares her body and time with. What we know that the public doesn’t is that she’s far older than that, so even if you subscribe to the idea that humans are not sufficiently mature until their mid-twenties, she’s well past that. So if anyone has the advantage in this relationship, it’s her. So who are you angry with?”

“Well, not her.”

“Then it shouldn’t be with anyone,” Arqut determines.

Silveon scoffs. “Oh, believe me. I have plenty reason to be angry with Double-U.” He’s been having a hard time saying Waldemar’s name lately, like it’s cursed. “It’s not just about this.”

“Yeah, you’ve told us all the stories,” Tinaya reminds him. “We don’t need to rehash his fate, or lack thereof.”

“I haven’t told you everything.” Silveon shakes his head.

“Silvy, why don’t you have a seat on the ottoman?” Tinaya offers.

To their surprise, he does it. It doesn’t alleviate his stress right away, but it’s harder for him to be so tense when his own weight is distributed a little more comfortably.

His parents slide down the bed to join him on either side. “I’m only going to ask you this one more time, and then never again. I will believe you this time.” Tinaya pauses a moment. “I’m not downplaying your fundamental disapproval of their...unconventional relationship. But I think it’s important to establish once and for all if even a small part of you is so upset because you have feelings for Audrey?”

Silveon shoots right back up to his feet, and spins around to face them. “Are you kidding me? Of course I have feelings for her! Have you seen her? She looks no less beautiful as an old woman than she does now. I still see her like that, though; the wrinkles in her face. The way her skin sags. The...experience and heartache in her eyes. I’ve always been in love with her.” He steps over to sit in the armchair. “But I set that all aside, because I thought I would never see that Audrey again. Not the real her. When I came back to the past, she was just this little girl. She would always be far too young for me. Mom, dad, everyone is too young for me. Except, as it turns out, her. I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but I’ve not slept with anyone myself, and I will never be able to. Unless...”

“Unless something changes between her and Waldemar,” Arqut acknowledges. “She’s your only peer. She’s your only hope for love. Even if you met an old person who was closer to your real age, they would see you as a child.”

Silveon takes a deep breath. “Yeah.” They sit in silence for a few moments before Silveon continues, “don’t take me for a fool, though. I wasn’t surprised by that fact. I obviously knew what I was getting into. She’s the variable that I wasn’t expecting. Understanding that I would be alone in this new timeline was one thing, but having one possibility just out of reach? No one prepared me for that. They knew she was coming back with me. She knew too. They could have told me, and maybe I would have handled everything differently. Maybe we could have brainstormed ways to give Waldemar the bump in the polls he would need without a prop family.”

Tinaya has been patiently waiting for her son to get to a point where she could interject, and this is the right place. “There’s a very old song I love from Earth, which was written centuries ago. It goes, when I was a young boy // My mama said to me // ‘There's only one girl in the world for you // And she probably lives in Tahiti. For reference, the singer did not live very close to Tahiti, and might never venture there. The song is about him going all around the world to look for this one girl, because maybe it’s not really Tahiti. That was just one example. She could have been anywhere, and the lyrics never reach a resolution, because the singer missed the point that I am interpreting his mother to be making, which is that you’ll never find the perfect one for you. She doesn’t live in Tahiti, Silveon. She doesn’t live anywhere, because she doesn’t exist. Maybe Audrey would have been great for you in the other timeline, but as you said, she’s out of reach. If you pursue her, Waldemar will never accept it. I can almost guarantee you that he will be worse than what you experienced under his reign before. You may see her as your one shot, but I see her as the only person you can’t be with.

“I probably shouldn’t recommend this, but maybe you’re looking at this all wrong. Don’t think of yourself as an old man in a young man’s body. Think of yourself as a young man with special knowledge. Only the four of us know where you’re from. Find a partner. Recognize your age difference initially, but then ignore it. Put it in a lockbox, and never open it up again. They don’t ever have to find out about it, and neither does anyone else. You’re not a time traveler, Silveon. You’re a seer. There are tons of seers on Earth, and no one thinks of them as older than they look. Just pretend to be a seer.”

“You want me to start a relationship with some innocent girl with a lie?”

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” Tinaya goes on, “which I’m surprised you never grew up to learn yourself. All relationships start out on a foundation of lies. People are disgusting, and we never let others see our true selves. It wouldn’t be any different for you than for anyone else. Convince yourself that you are a seer. Forget your past life. Treat it as the gift of foresight. Find a way to be happy, and forgive yourself.”

“Or,” Arqut jumps in, “alternatively, accept your role in this life, and avoid all romantic entanglements. You wouldn’t be the first. Hell, you wouldn’t even be the first time traveler to face this choice. How do you think Lincoln Rutherford and Dalton Hawk got through it?”

“That’s a good point,” Silveon realizes. “I should ask those two how they dealt with their consciousness travel shenanigans.”

“How would you do that?” Tinaya asks. “They live or lived on Earth.”

“You need to get me into the Bridger Section,” Silveon decides. “They have a secret time mirror there.”

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Extremus: Year 100

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one responds.

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

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

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

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

“No,” Tinaya interrupts.

“No...what?” the Bridger asks.

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

“I misspoke,” the Bridger claims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doctor. Please,” the Bridger requests.

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

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

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

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

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

“Admiral Leithe,” Consul Darling scolds.

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

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

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

He shrinks.

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

They’re on the edge of their seats.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am your superior,” Tinaya tells him.

“Yes, sir,” he agrees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Microstory 2110: That’s Fair, I Hope

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I took her. I intercepted transport from the group home back to where her kidnappers live, and I put her through what she’s already gone through twice now. Someone took her from her real parents, and then the ID makers took her from them, and now I’ve taken her from them. I honestly don’t know if it was the right thing to do, but I had to get her away from those people. She outed them as her abductors, and even though they’ve reportedly never abused her before, she was living in misery, so this may push them over the edge for all we know. They might kill her, and make it look like a suicide, which would make them my archnemeses. I really don’t know; the level that these people are unpredictable is ten, ya see? We’re both on the run now, and I obviously can’t tell you where, or it might get back to the Ol’ Man, and the Ol’ Miss. My little secure workstation is mobile, though, which is how I’m able to post this without being traced. She is four months from turning eighteen, at which point, she’ll be able to make her own decisions. She says that her first order of business will be to submit to a DNA test, so they can find her true family. We can only hope that she is in the system. If I have to keep her safe, and everyone at bay, then that is what I’ll do, regardless of what happens to me in the end. I can’t really say much about what we’ve been dealing with since last night, because I don’t want to leave any clues about our location. We could be in Mexico by now, or close to it. Or maybe we’re on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic ocean, or even a southern state where they like to play golf. All I’ll say is that she is safe with me in every way possible. I never thought I would do anything like this, but I will never hurt her, and I won’t let anyone else hurt her either. She is free to go whenever she wants, and she understands that. If she ends up deciding to just go back to those people, then I’ll drive her there myself, and finally just turn myself in...for everything. That’s fair, I hope.

Microstory 2109: Conflating it With Her Own Life

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This world is so weird. Because the girl is under eighteen, she can’t consent to a DNA test, and since the couple who claims to be her parents obviously won’t consent to it for her, the lazy coppers are just gonna send her back to them. I’m still in contact with her, and she told me that the authorities ran whatever facial recognition system they have access to. They apparently didn’t find a hit in the missing persons database, but that doesn’t mean anything. She was taken when she was a toddler, and their age progression software doesn’t sound very sophisticated. The girl doesn’t have any idea where she was born, or who her real family is, but one thing I do know is that she is backing up my story. There was a chance that she was screwing with me when she told me about her resurfaced memories, but she also insists to the police that she really does remember living with someone else in her younger years. The cops think that she just watched something on TV one time, and she’s conflating the memory with her own life, but she doesn’t think so, and neither do I. So far, no one has found me in my hiding place, but I’m about to put that all at risk yet again. I’m going to do something drastic to solve this problem. It could get me caught, or truly killed this time. I need to focus on planning everything right now, so I’m going to cut this installment short. If I’m able, I’ll detail the undertaking for you tomorrow. I’m scheduling this one to post on my blog for sometime after I start the process, so by the time you read it, I will already be on my way, and they won’t be able to prepare themselves for me. You can wish me luck, if you want, but it won’t help, even if such psychic power were possible here. Temporal psychic powers would do it, if you had those.

Microstory 1926: Humanity Laws

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Leonard: I’m not okay with this.

Agent Parsons: You don’t like the idea of tricking someone. I get it. But you have to weigh the pros and cons, and we need this information.

Leonard: I don’t have that much of a problem with tricking the Ochivar. Based on what little I’ve heard, some are good, and some are not so good, and this one has to be the second kind, because a good one would be doing everything it could to convince us of as much. I take issue with amputating its wings.

Special Investigator: That is vital to the mission, agent.

Leonard: Not an agent.

Special Investigator: You are now. *tosses a badge onto the table* One benefit working for the Office of Special Investigations, we have nearly zero hiring requirements. I could deputize a sixteen-year-old mental patient if I wanted to. I wouldn’t of course; we have underlying standards. The laws are for cases such as this, when I don’t have time to wait for you to finish the requisite schooling and training that other agencies demand.

Agent Parsons: That’s the special part.

Leonard: You said nearly zero requirements. I assume, in this case, the one requirement is that I go ahead with this mission, which I don’t feel comfortable doing. What we have here, at worst, is a prisoner of war. Where I come from, we treat such enemy combatants with a level of respect that they may not reciprocate. But that is no reason to stoop to their level. It’s not even that, though, because on this front, we are presently in peacetime. Plus, as far as I’ve been informed, the Ochivar hasn’t committed any crime, so he’s not a suspect either, is he? No, he’s only a person of interest.

Special Investigator: We don’t do things the same way here. All of our laws apply to humans, or the other living creatures native to this planet. 

Leonard: You don’t have property laws?

Special Investigator: It’s not a human. Despite how you just described him, he’s not even a person. There are no laws dictating how we must treat him. We are well within our rights to perform this procedure. We’re doing it so you can get your answer.

Leonard: Let’s get one thing straight, I would be getting you answers. I left family behind back home, but I know what I signed up for when I started learning about all this crazy stuff. I’m prepared to never see them again.

Agent Parsons: Let’s not be so hostile. If you don’t agree to do this, they’ll have no reason to amputate, correct? Because the only point is to make it easier for it to blend in.

Leonard: Tell me, Special Investigator. Your scientists discover new species in the depths of the ocean, right? Do these specimens not enjoy any rights, just because you haven’t had time to make any laws? That seems...irrational. And perhaps even evil.

Special Investigator: *clearing his throat* These orders come directly from the National Commander. We can’t make you do it, but I can’t guarantee your continued freedom otherwise. They may consider you an enemy threat too, and put you in the room next to it.

Leonard: So be it.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 21, 2398

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Marie and Mateo are sitting across from each other in the two non-cubby seats while Ramses continues to do his work. They came here yesterday early morning, pretty much immediately after their run-in with Winona Honeycutt and her merry band of mercenaries. They were able to do this, because Ramses has been a lot more busy than they realized. He was able to rig up a make-shift temporal engine that can process what he calls temporal hydroxide; the apparent scientific name for water infused with temporal energy. He secured a few samples of the Death water, then injected the rest into this special new engine, which spirited them out of Türkiye airspace, and into the Atacama desert. Apparently, Body water could be found here, but only on February 9, 1972. This was just before a massive storm hit the area, delivering rainfall after a reported 400 years of drought. It’s one of the easier immortality waters to get to, but the absolute most difficult to pinpoint. If you can find water originating anywhere in a five kilometer radius, it should work, but it has to be enough, so good luck.

They’re obviously not here to look for Body water, which still no one knows the purpose of. They just needed a safe, remote place to work. They had one teleportation jump to use, and this place was on Ramses’ mind. He slept last night, but woke up bright and early to get back to the grind. He needs to be one hundred percent that this is going to do what they need it to. Unfortunately, that’s impossible, because they can’t exactly run it through human trials. Marie is okay with this. She knows that she’s taking a huge risk just by being here, and a bigger one by trying it. “Can you stop that?”

“Stop what?” Mateo asks.

“You’re bouncing your leg. Not only can I hear it, but I can feel it in my seat. This floor isn’t perfectly sturdy.”

“Sorry, I’m just nervous.”

“Why are you nervous? This is happening to me.”

“Yes, and I love you.”

She smiles. “Do you remember when we met?”

“Yeah, I was dead and fine with it, which surprised you, and all the other dead people you were in charge of orienting.”

“I could tell that you were special. Other people ended up in the afterlife to no surprise of their own. They had been given the privilege of time to accept it. But you weren’t just all right, you acted like you knew what was going to happen.”

“I didn’t. The afterlife simulation was a really well-kept secret, even amongst my people.”

She shrugs. “I guess you were just used to weird stuff.”

He nods. “Yeah.”

Ramses comes up from his little lab, which is mainly meant as an engineering section for the vehicle, but it’s the best space for his needs. “You left your phone when you came to check on me. Leona sent another coded message.”

Mateo glances at his watch. “Oh, crap, I was supposed to initiate.” He takes it, sees that she and Angela are still okay, then sends one back, letting her know that they’re fine too. They’ve been dealing with some scifi shit as well, but it’s not enough to warrant the away team’s return home, or their bug-out protocol.

“Are we ready?” Marie asks Ramses.

He grimaces just a little.

“Are we?” she asks again.

“I’m ready. Now it’s up to you.”

“Oh, great, it’s my responsibility again.”

“It always has been.”

“I know.”

“There is no time limit,” Ramses says. “You can wait as long as you need, or back out until I literally press the button.”

Marie sighs. “I don’t have infinite time. At some point, this cluster of cells is going to become a person, and it will become immoral to abort it.”

He nods. “I understand.” He looks around. “Um...if you still want this, I recommend we go to the cockpit. You should be lying down, and while the cubby seats recline, it would be better with more space.”

“That’s fine,” she says. “Let’s just not call it that. How about...the bridge?” After Ramses goes back downstairs to grab the machine, the two of them slow-walk up to the front. He goes in first, and Marie stops at the steps. She looks back at Mateo. “Are you coming?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I do,” she answers.

There are three steps down to the bridge, in between the pilot and co-pilot seats. Mateo sits on the first step, and holds Marie’s hand. After he places the target electrodes on either side of Marie’s belly, Ramses sits in the other seat, and calibrates his little machine. He does so carefully, so as to give her more time to cancel her request, but also to make sure it’s set up correctly. They only have one chance at this, and there is no guarantee that it will work. The fact is that she might die. Ramses Abdulrashid is an extremely intelligent and accomplished engineer, but he’s not a doctor. If something goes wrong, the first aid kit sitting open on the console might be their only hope. She’s consented a million times, but they’ve come down to the wire. In a matter of seconds, they will be at the point of no return.

He decides to give her one more opportunity. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

“I want this to happen,” Marie says quite formally. “I want an abortion.”

Ramses places his hand over the button. “I don’t know what it’s going to feel like physically, and I certainly don’t know what it’ll be like emotionally. It might be...jarring, like getting the wind knocked out of you. But we’re both here for you.”

“Okay,” she says, readjusting her position ever so slightly. “Do it.” She squeezes Mateo’s hand tighter.

“In five, four, three, two, one, mark.” He pushes the button.

Marie jolts and shudders.

“Are you okay?” Mateo asks.

She holds up her free hand. “I’m fine.” Her voice is tight, suggesting that she’s feeling a tightness too. “It’s just...oh, it’s cold. It’s really cold.”

“Is that normal?” Mateo asks Ramses.

“I don’t know,” he replies honestly, just as concerned and helpless.

Marie begins to do some measured breathing exercises, and relaxes as they go on. She exhales one last time, just as water is dripping onto the floor. She starts to cry.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 27, 2385

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By the end of the day, Leona piloted the AOC back to the team on the Suadona, leaving Xerian behind to reclaim his birthright on the Security Watchhouse Detachment. When they returned to the timestream a year later, the sky was full of several megastructures, none of which was a matrioshka brain, besides the SWD. The Dominion Defense and Offensive Contingency Detachments were simply gargantuan ships, about the breadth of Australia on three axes. The Warmaker Training Detachment resembled a skyscraper, reminding Mateo of those enemy ships on Firefly and Serenity. The Voidstar Seeker was a Shkadov thruster, or whatever it was they called them here. It was powered by a Stage Theta Ultragiant, though, which were fairly rare, and meant that it was a particularly massive object. The Technological Advancement Detachment was a discworld, which Mateo noted would delight the flat-earthers back home. The Civilian Residential Detachment was a shell world, evidently powered by some kind of black hole in its core. One detachment was reportedly still missing, but Xerian didn’t say what it was, or what form it was in.

“How do we feel about this?” Marie asked.

They were sitting in Ramses’ lab. It was in the safest part of the ship, and a ship module in its own right. The bridge was a great way to admire the megastructures using the viewports, but the holographic ceiling in this room looked just as real, and was backed by a protective hull.

“About what, this meeting?” Leona asked right back.

“Yeah, I mean...we don’t know if they’re the good guys, or not.”

“Oh, they’re not the good guys,” Olimpia explained. “They’re just not as bad as the real bad guys. Xerian promised to end the war, and that is our only concern as of now. What happens after that, we’ll have to deal with it.”

“How do we know that?” Marie pressed. “How do we know they’re the lesser of two evils? How do we know we can trust Xerian?”

Ramses exhaled in a way that implied he wanted to try for an answer. “We know that the supercluster isn’t doing well. The Milky Way is at war with Andromeda. Generally speaking, the worst leadership possible is what takes power in a time of strife. They’re the ones who want war, and benefit from it. The best leadership will seek peace. When we arrived in this reality, the war was raging, suggesting that the people in charge made that happen. If Xerian were worse than them, he probably wouldn’t have needed our help. Just look at us. We’re great and all, but we’re just six people. And when we started, there were only five of us. For the most part, the people who need your help are the underdogs.”

“He may have been an underdog while he was losing his crusade,” Marie reasoned. “Now that he’s gotten a win, though, you can’t call him that anymore, and you have to worry about what his true motives are.”

Ramses tossed a sort of analog to a baby carrot in the air, letting it pass through the image of the CRD, and fall back down into his mouth. While he was still chewing, he responded, “like the woman said, no one’s good. All you can do is hope that things improve, if only slowly. This is a dystopia, as far as we can see. I don’t know if you can get any lower.”

“You can always get lower,” Marie said.

Angela shook her head at this.

“What?” Marie asked her, noticing this.

“It’s just weird. You’re a few days younger than me. It’s not like we’ve spent a bunch of time gaining separate perspectives. Everything you’re saying, I feel like I would say if you didn’t get to it first.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to...”

“Don’t apologize,” Angela insisted. “We’re just going to need some time to figure out how to co-exist.”

“I could leave,” Marie suggested.

“And go where?” Angela wasn’t really asking, because she thought that it was a silly idea. Then again, if she were Marie, she probably would have offered it too.

“Anywhere, just let you live your life.”

Angela stood up from her comfy chair, and approached her alternate self. She reached down, and scrunched up Marie’s face, like an overbearing great aunt. “You are not preventing me from living my life. You’re not a lesser version of me. You’re another one, for now, and soon you’ll just be yourself, and I’ll be myself.”

Marie struggled to turn her head towards the gestational pods. “One of us will be a little bit younger than the other.”

The clones were developing about three times faster than a normal person would. For the most part, slower processing was better, but Ramses didn’t know when they would want to transfer their consciousnesses into them, if ever, so he couldn’t program them to age in realtime. He figured it could take ten days for them to be convinced, which would put their new bodies in their thirties. At the moment, they only looked like three-year-olds.

“Have we all agreed to even do that?” Leona questioned.

“Raise your hand if I could never persuade you to accept the upgrade,” Ramses requested.

No one raised their hand.

“That’s what I like to see. They’re going to be beautiful when they’re finished. Better, faster, stronger. More resilient to damage and disease. You’ll be photosynthetic, and photovoltaic. You’ll be able to hold your breath for days, and survive the vacuum of space for hours. I couldn’t quite figure out telepathy, but we’ll be able to feel each other’s emotions. Plus, there’s a special temporal code that I came up with. If you have to cast your mind remotely, your new body will adjust to your genetic commands almost immediately, so we won’t have to run around as the same base model. You have time to decide, so I don’t wanna argue about it now.”

“I, for one, am here for it,” Mateo promised. “This isn’t my first body, so I have no particular attachment to it. I might as well get an improvement.”

“Did somebody say detachment?” Xerian was here as a hologram.

“Close enough,” Mateo answered.

“Hey, Xeri, how are things going?” Ramses asked.

“They’re surprisingly well,” he answered. “We’ve hit a bit of a wall, but we’ll get there. I really appreciate everything you all did to get us here. I fear it never would have happened without your intervention. Your presence in this reality has been invaluable.”

That seemed to give them all pause. Mateo began to wonder why they were bothering sticking around at all. Xerian was where he needed to be, and seemingly happy with it. They had completed their mission, so wasn’t it time for them to leave—if not to go home, at least to get out of the way? “That’s good to hear. We’re happy to help. If we could just—”

“I was hoping to get your help with something,” Xerian interrupted, trying to pretend that he didn’t hear Mateo begin to ask for help getting out of here. “As I told you in my message, most of the detachments have arrived for a summit. We’re still missing one little guy, though. He knows all of us, and he’s already proven to be unresponsive to our invitations. I think he would be really receptive to your group, though. You’re small, crafty, and clearly have no stake in this fight. Take whatever precautions you feel you need, but you won’t truly need them. He’s a pacifist, so he will do you no harm. The worst thing he’ll do if you try to approach is just run away. Or float, as it were.”

“Who is he?” Leona asked. “What detachment is he on?”

“He’s not on a detachment,” Xerian begins to clarify. “He is the detachment. He’s an artificial intelligence that the Fifth Division designed to calculate the absolutely most efficient path to win a war.”

“If he’s a fieldmarshal—” Angela tried to begin.

“How did you know he was the fieldmarshal?” Xerian interrupted again.

“I—what you’re describing is a fieldmarshal. That’s just the personality type who would be tailored for such a task.”

“Hmm,” Xerian said. “Well, yes, he’s the Rational Fieldmarshal Detachment, and we can’t do it without him.”

“If he’s a fieldmarshal designed to plot the most efficient war strategies, how is he a pacifist?” Angela tried again. “Did something go wrong with his programming?”

“No,” Xerian began, “it went too right. As it turns out, the most efficient way to win a war is to not fight it.”

“That makes sense,” Olimpia concluded. “I could point to any number of philosophers and spiritual leaders from our world who could have told you that. You basically just paraphrased Sun Tzu.”

“I don’t think that’s what Sun Tzu meant,” Leona volleyed. “The RFD doesn’t fight to win. He’s already won, not simply because he’s chosen not to fight, but because having an enemy in the first place automatically means failure.”

“That’s essentially what he argues,” Xerian confirms.

Leona stood up, and approached Xerian’s hologram. “What’s happening is you’re trying to end this war decisively. You’ll be doing it violently, if need be. That is not pacifism, and if what you say of this entity is accurate, it’s not something that he’s going to help you with. There is no point in us bringing him here, because you already know what he’s going to say.”

“That’s...why we need you,” Xerian admitted. “You have a way with words. We could use that on our side. I came for the team, but I really came for you. And Marie. Or Angela.”

“We’re not going to try to convince a pacifist to take up arms.”

“I wasn’t asking for that. We just need him to exercise his voting rights,” Xerian assured them. “We can’t move forward without them.”

Leona smiled at him out of pity.

“We’ll go to him,” Mateo volunteered before she could argue further.

“Matt,” Leona scolded.

“We won’t promise to bring him back, but we’ll go talk to him.”

“Thank you,” Xerian said. “I knew we could count on you. I’ll send you his coordinates. You can take the Suadona. He’s only about 60,000 light years away.”

“What are you doing?” Leona questioned Mateo once Xerian was gone.

“We were just talking about how we don’t know who to trust,” Mateo tried to explain. “It sounds like we just found ‘im.”

“We’ll see,” Marie reminded them.

They input the coordinates, and sped off to their new destination. They slept half the time, and still had eight hours to spare before the lightyear engine stopped at the RFD’s location. Leona and Mateo spent their free time discussing the plan, and were confident in it by the time they found what they were looking for. They couldn’t miss it. There were no stars around, nor planets that the ship detected. Before them was a vaguely spherical cloud of unidentifiable gas larger than Earth’s moon. Lightning arced from one particle to another, on a constant basis, reminiscent of a human brain’s neural synapses. That may have been what they were.

Leona spoke into the microphone on all channels, “Rational Fieldmarshal Detachment, we seek audience with you. Do you consent?”

“I consent to this meeting of minds. My name is Rátfrid. I dwell here in the void, available to provide advice to all who desire it. What is your question, my child?” 

“Are you cognizant of Xerian Oyana, leader of the Security Watchhouse Detachment?”

“I am aware of him,” Rátfrid replied.

“He has asked us to come here for your vote in a matter of war.”

“I abstain.”

“We thought as much,” Leona said. “Instead, could you do something else?”

“What might that be?” Rátfrid asked, intrigued.

“Could you end the war your own way, without a final battle against the Densiterium?”

“I am a seeker of peace, protector of peace, advocate for peace. I cannot force peace upon another...for that would not be peace.”

“How often would you say you give advice, and to how many?” Leona pressed on.

“One or two people come to me every few years,” Rátfrid answered.

“Do you believe your advice has helped the supercluster, or only those individuals?”

He thought he knew what she meant. “Again, I cannot force peace upon another.”

“Because that wouldn’t be peace; yeah, I get it. That’s not what I’m asking you to do. A war is raging across two or more galaxies, and yet you sit here, waiting for the enlightened to come to you. Is there not a better way? Can you not move? Can you not spread your words to those who do not know that they should hear them? Could you not be doing more?”

“Forcing others to hear my words is an act of aggression,” Rátfrid claimed.

“That is a weak interpretation. You’re out here in the middle of nowhere. It took us hours to arrive, and we were already relatively close. I propose a new tactic. I propose you go to the war, and you speak, and you let anyone who might need you stop and listen. You don’t have to force anyone to do anything. Just be more available.”

He waited a moment. “Interesting idea. Please. Tell me more. I consent to listen.”

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Microstory 1245: Merton Casey

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Different people in the world of salmon and choosers were born with different abilities. Some could teleport, others could jump through time. Some could only see the future, or skip time. No one with any given time power was the only one of their kind, but some powers were rarer than others. One of the most coveted of these was anti-aging capabilities. Immortality on its own was possible to obtain, but a difficult series of tasks lie ahead for anyone willing to try for it. The next best thing to this was playfully called reyoungification, and one of the few people capable of this was named Merton Casey. He could alter anyone’s appearance back to how they were at any desired time of their lives. He also necessarily rejuvenated and healed them of whatever age-related diseases they might have contracted. He could make people young and healthy, but it came at great cost to him. Once people discovered what he could do, they started lining up for his services, and most were completely willing to accept the nature of the procedure. The awkwardness was only temporary, and to them, the benefits were too amazing to pass up. Merton couldn’t just wave his hands in front of his patients, and make them young again. He had to physically manipulate their bodies, all over. He had to smooth out wrinkles, and wipe away hair, and in some cases, shorten body parts. Doing this for anyone made him feel uncomfortable, but it was especially problematic when it was for a woman, which, let’s be honest, they made up the majority of his clients. So every case made his life that much more difficult to continue. Somehow being at least a little attracted to the patient made the whole thing worse; like he was violating them, even though they consented to this. A few didn’t consent, and then nothing happened. The worst of it came when he met a young woman named Paige Turner. She was fourteen years old when an antagonist aged her up to her twenties. Her reasons for doing this were her own, but the bottom line was that this woman never returned to reverse what she had done. After a year in this state, Paige decided she wanted to go back to being fifteen, and Merton was the only one they found who could help her. Unfortunately, he had never been asked to do anything like this before. His other patients wanted to be made young again, but never that young, and they were never meant to be that age in the first place. Paige was really just a child in an adult body, so touching her at all was even more offensive than normal. Fortunately, he was rescued from this job, by a woman who ran a special place that was designed to be a haven for people who had been negatively impacted by time travelers. She made an exception for Merton, and let him live in Sanctuary as well, despite having abilities of his own. He was protected from would-be clients here, and finally free of his trauma, so that he could heal, and move on.

Microstory 1099: Viola

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My name is Viola Woods, and I’m dead, writing to you by Dolly’s hand. Don’t worry, though, because dead for me is not what it’s like for you. I am called a voldisil. Most people have two parents; their father produces the seed, and their mother the egg. But there is a third, much rarer gender out there that occasionally helps create life in secret, and when it does, something like me comes of it. I was born capable of perceiving more dimensions than you, and with the ability to sense and channel certain universal energies. I can look to the past, to other places in the present, and to the future. What I do with that information is entirely up to me, but the expectation in my house was that I use my abilities to help others. After all, they’re called gifts, because I’m meant to give them out. My mom and dad weren’t fully briefed on what I was, but they reportedly felt something different during my conception than normal, and that’s all I’m going to say about that. My third parent’s involvement was evidently not completely consented to, or at least not in the way humans treat consent. They did recognize that I was special, and were able to raise me right, but only I, and others like me, fully understand the nature of my species. One thing they didn’t know was when I would die, but I’ve known it my whole life, and it took me a hot minute to realize that this is a trait unshared by my peers. Growing up with this kind of information may be unsettling, or even debilitating, but it made me feel free. Everything thing I’ve done has been part of a plan; my plan, and nearly everyone around me executed it pretty well. But I am not the only one of my kind, and not every voldisil has other people’s best interests at heart.

The way I understand it, voldisila are few and far between, for a number of reasons, including the fact that it’s metaphysically difficult to conceive one. Blast City seems to have a higher concentration of us, and I was never really able to determine why. What I do know is that the more people you have in any population, the greater your chances of finding some bad ones, which is what Homer was. This little town would have become the epicenter for an unstoppable movement of darkness if I hadn’t intervened, and recruited a number of other voldisil, who seem to not fully understand what they are. I wouldn’t be telling you this, Alma, but I need you to understand what’s at stake moving forward. You don’t know this yet, but you are pregnant now. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to do this with your consent, but a new voldisil must be born to take my place. Ada is lovely, but she can only ever be a temporary solution. My abilities can’t survive forever without me, which is why I introduced her to the others; the psychics, the witches, and the medium. I’m hoping they take their responsibilities seriously. You and Ralph were my best options to take on the challenge of nurturing the next generation of voldisil. I will not leave you, but I can only do so much to help in my current form. Protect and prepare her, Alma, and trust Ralph to be a good father. I literally know that he will be. She is destined to be the strongest of our kind, but since she was not planned properly, it will be much harder for her than it should be. She won’t have as much innate knowledge as I did. Everything you need to teach her has come through clues from the interviews you conducted. Thank you, and if you ever need to speak with me in person, you can contact Dolly. One last thing, it’s up to you if you publish this letter as part of your series.

Microstory 913: Blood/Organ Donation

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When I was getting my first driver’s license, someone at the DMV was explaining to me what it meant to be an organ donor, and acting as if I had a choice. It was years before I started realizing that there are actually a fair number of people who choose to not be donors, which perplexes me. Why would you not want that? My instinct was that the majority of them are religious, and believe giving away parts of their former bodies is somehow going to hurt their conditions in the magical flying spaghetti monsterland, or wherever it is they think they’re going for chanting nonsense once a week. As it turns out, religion is a common reason people have in favor of becoming donors. So maybe it’s that many are so spiteful and misanthropic that, in one final middle finger to the world, they’re going to make sure their deaths lead to nothing good. Eh, those kinds of people aren’t as plentiful as it might seem. The truth is that there are many other reasons to check the wrong box. People get a lot of their education from glamorized television; this case being medical dramas. The rumor is that a doctor won’t save your life if your organs can be donated. This absurdity relies on the doctor making a choice between yours, and someone else’s life. What do you suppose the criteria are, and what makes you think you wouldn’t win? This is also related to a mistrusts in doctors, and medical science as a whole.  I guess I get that to some extent, because I’ve never met a doctor that I liked. But while there are outliers, every single one of them in the Western world took some modern form of the Hippocratic oath, and that’s not something to be ignored. The fact is that you don’t need your heart and kidneys after death, so there is no legitimate reason to try to literally take them to your grave. I do want to speak on some related issues that need to be addressed. As medical science improves, and life comes with more safety protocols, we face an even greater shortage of viable donors. People are living longer, and more easily surviving physical traumas, which means there are fewer to go around. And while this often means treatment can exclude the necessity of an organ transplant, it doesn’t preclude it entirely. We still need them, and you can help. In the future, we’ll be able to print organs in a medical synthesizer, using cells harvested from the patient themselves, to avoid any compatibility issues. But until then, do one thing for me; check that donation consent box. God forbid you die, but if you ever do, you could save up to eight lives, and improve the lives of a hundred more. And look at it this way, if you end up donating everything possible, you’ll be put to rest seven pounds* lighter than you were when you died.

*The totality of the organs you’re capable of donating upon death actually adds up to less than four pounds, but your scale is broken anyway, right? How do I do a winky face?