The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 6, 2519

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The honeymoon was going well. After horsing around in Mud World: World of Mud for a little while, Mateo, Leona, and Olimpia spent the night in the Sovereign Suite of the Palacium Hotel, which was pretty much the most extravagant, opulent place to stay on the planet. Hrockas actually booked it for them for more than a year, so they could sleep across midnight central, and not worry about anyone having used it during their interim year. It was too much, and completely unnecessary, but he insisted. While it was luxurious and beautiful, people really didn’t need such things these days. They mostly came for the fun and adventure, and to do things that they could not do anywhere else. The majority of the residential dwellings were functional and unremarkable, because it wasn’t a big draw for anyone, and there were plenty of nice places to live on other planets.

They were currently hanging out in State of the Art, standing on the shoulder of one of the gargantuan statues that towered over the skyline. Visitors couldn’t typically climb this high up, but teleporters didn’t share such limitations. They were trying to figure out what they were going to do next. The others on the team were right. They needed this, and if they would deign to admit it to themselves, they deserved it too.

“Adrenadome?” Olimpia suggested. They were each looking through the catalog, and tossing out ideas.

“I don’t want to shift substrates,” Leona said. “Nothing life-threatning.”

Olimpia clicked her teeth as she began to swipe away the options she had bookmarked one by one.

“We should just go to Polar Tropica,” Mateo said for the umpteenth time.

“That’s so basic,” Olimpia contended. “Are we basic?”

“Well, I suggested we try the Outer System space battle simulations, but no one wanted anything violent,” Mateo reminded her.

“Still don’t,” Leona confirmed. “Whoa,” she added, looking down at her forearm output.

“What? Something juicy?” Olimpia asked, trying to look over at her readout.

Leona read the message out loud, “you have been browsing the catalog for a while now. Still having trouble deciding? Tap here for a random suggestion, which will come from your preference algorithm. If you linked your profile with nearby friends, this suggestion will be sourced from their interest surveys as well.”

“Tap on that thang!” Mateo said.

Leona shrugged and tapped on the button. A new message popped up that read, temporal signatures detected. Rerouting. Instead of just producing the answer, they were automatically teleported elsewhere.

They found themselves standing next to a wooden wall. It wasn’t cleanly cut, but looked more like bark. The air was foggy and unbreathable. A heavy rain was falling upon them. They activated their EmergentSuits, and continued to look around. “Wow. That could have killed us,” Olimpia said.

“Must be an experimental feature,” Leona mused. “Jesimula Utkin suggested it at a meeting once. Hrockas wasn’t so sure, because he didn’t know how to distinguish time travelers from regular people. I guess they think they figured it out.”

“Not really,” Mateo contended. “The air is toxic. Unless it also knew that we had suits on, I guess.”

“It’s only toxic for us,” Leona agreed. She ran her hand over the wood wall. She reached over to her arm screen, and flicked the data over to her heads up display, which was an easier way to read when her helmet was on. “Derudome. It houses The World Tree, along with thousands of others, but this one is set to reach the top of the dome, and be three kilometers in diameter.”

“So, it’s not a wall,” Mateo stated the obvious.

“No. This isn’t even in the catalog yet,” Leona went on. “I can only see the prospectus because we’re already in the dome, and the satnav found an otherwise hidden link, but it isn’t open to visitors.”

“First!” Mateo shouted playfully.

“Hey, Thistle,” Leona began. “Erase the fog and rain through multispectral imaging. Show us the tree alone.”

The image on their HUDs changed. The fog still had them enveloped, and they could still hear the pitter-patter of rainwater on their suits, but they could now see what the tree would look like on a clear day. It was a magnificent sight to behold. People were really going to love it. Leona was in just as much awe of it, but was also running calculations through her head. How could such a thing be possible? How did it grow so fast? Did Hrockas use time tech? Or had he been working on this longer than she realized? No, even if it was the absolute first dome he started working on, the tree could not be at full height in this short amount of time. And if time tech were involved, he likely would have conscripted Ramses to make it happen.

Leona refocused her vision to the HUD text. “There’s more. It has a planned release date of...” She trailed off.

“When?” Mateo prompted.

“Year 2900,” she said.

“Whew, that’s the long-game,” Olimpia pointed out.

“Wait. Why wait?” Leona questioned. “Thistle, what are the current dimensions?”

“Nearly eight kilometers tall, with a diameter of two-point-four-two kilometers.”

“Yeah, it’s just not ready yet,” Leona determined. “The math is tight, but the rate of growth doesn’t break the laws of physics in a highly controlled environment such as this one.”

Someone else wearing an environmental suit walked up from a couple of meters away, letting themselves appear in the honeymooners’ sightlines without speaking or jumpscaring them first. Whoever it was, their visor was opaque. They held one hand towards Olimpia while the other hand was underneath their own chin. Both palms were face up. They drew both hands together until one was on top of the other, then turned them so both palms were face down. They then extended their hands back to the original positions, except with the hands switched. This was the universal sign for open up radio communications on a hailing frequency.

Leona did as she was asked. “Hello?”

“Sorry, my visor is broken,” Hrockas’ voice came through. “I refuse to wear an IMS on this planet on principle as the whole premise is that it’s infinitely survivable. I didn’t realize the helmet didn’t work right until it was already on.”

“How did you get here so fast?” Mateo asked him.

“I have a teleporter belt,” Hrockas replied. “Ramses built one for me. It needs constant charging, but it makes my daily life easier. Is he here?”

“Just the three of us,” Olimpia promised.

“Good. Not that I wouldn’t want him here. Well, I don’t plan on any of you being here. It’s just that I was worried about my lifesign sensors, but it appears they captured all visitors. You really aren’t meant to be here, though.”

“The auto random selector dispatched us here,” Leona explained.

“Oooooooohh, I forgot about that. It should not have been activated. I’ll have a talk with Jesi’s friend about it. I put the project on hold indefinitely.”

“Fair enough,” Mateo said. “We’re sorry to have imposed.”

“No, it’s okay, you three are fine,” Hrockas insisted. “I just need to include it when we update the security protocols.” He looked up at the tree. He likely couldn’t see it in all its glory, however, as the fog would be blocking most of the view. “Wady’all think?”

“It’s gorgeous,” Leona said. “We were looking for a place to spend some of our honeymoon. This place checks a lot of boxes. I like ecologies. Mateo likes water. Olimpia likes dangerous or toxic environments.”

Hrockas chuckled. “The air is saturated with carbon dioxide. Makes them grow faster.”

“So there are other trees here?” Olimpia pressed.

“Oh, yeah, it’ll be a whole forest when it’s done,” Hrockas said as he turned at the waist to indicate the area in general. “Land for giants, but not with giants. I’ll leave that to Gulliver’s World.”

“Thanks for letting us see it,” Leona said graciously. “I’m sure we’ll be back in about four hundred days, when it’s finally open to the public.”

Hrockas chuckled again. “You can stay as long as you want. The fog makes it hard to see, but hey, if you’re into that, as well as danger, you could always try Foggy Forest.”

“Thanks. After my time in Bloodbourne,” Mateo said, “I’ve decided to stay away from the intentionally scary or unsettling ones.”

“I understand. Have a good rest of your honeymoon.” Hrockas tried to tug on a pull actuator, and flip a switch on his shoulder. “Oh, shit. My teleporter’s drained again.”

“Here.” Mateo approached. “Let me take you to Treasure Hunting Dome, so Ramses can fix it for you. It shouldn’t drain that fast.”

“No, I’ve been using it all day. I really just need to be careful with it.”

“Well, I’ll make him give you a second one during charge cycles, or hell, a third.” Mateo took hold of Hrockas and took them both away. Leona and Olimpia followed.

They were standing in the antechamber to Ramses’ new lab, which he built when he was stuck in the past for a year. After they went through decontamination, the three EmergentSuit wearers receded their nanites, and stepped into the lab. While Olimpia was helping Hrockas remove his bulky suit, Mateo approached Ramses. Something caught his eye, though. He looked over at a gestational pod, which Romana was floating inside of. He fumed. “What happened to my daughter?”

“She’s fine,” Ramses said. “She’s taking a nap. That’s not your daughter. It’s a new substrate for her.”

“Why would she need a new substrate?” Mateo questioned.

“The retroverters,” Ramses began to explain. “They’re not proverters too. Romana asked me to give her an upgrade instead of waiting for time to age her back up.”

“We can find her a proverter somewhere else,” Mateo reasoned.

“That’s not what she wants. You should talk to her.”

“Were you ever gonna tell me?”

“Yeah, when you got back. Why are you back so early?”

“It was just a quick detour in between adventures. Now I worry I should stay, or you’ll do something drastic.”

“Mateo. We were going to tell you. We just wanted you to relax first. Don’t make this into a thing.”

“Well, you’ve obviously been working on it for a long time now. She only looks as old as the real Romana does right now.”

“That is on an accelerated timescale,” Ramses clarified.

“I thought that wasn’t safe or stable.”

“I mean, the clone is in a time bubble. Or it usually is, while I’m not here. It’s developing at a normal rate, but from our perspective, it’s sped up. I shut off the temporal field this morning so I could run diagnostics, and make any adjustments necessary...which there aren’t any.”

This made Mateo even more frustrated. “Why can’t you just do that for Romana herself, keeping her in her original body?”

Ramses shook his head. “You’re not as dumb as you pretend to be, so stop asking stupid questions. It wouldn’t work for a conscious individual. She would go insane, trapped in the pod for ten plus years. God!”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Mediator Leona said, stepping in. “Ramses, don’t be mean. Not everyone is as smart as you, and I know you get annoyed, but you need to keep control of how you speak to others. What might seem like a dumb question to you could sound perfectly reasonable to anyone else.” She too was a genius, but a part of her wasn’t. She recalled a timeline where she majored in Film Studies in college. This gave her a rare ability to straddle both worlds, and be empathetic to all. “Mateo, Romana is an adult, and this decision was inevitable. Look around. Nobody on this planet is a regular mortal being. Some people refused transhumanistic upgrades once they became available, and you know what happened to them? They died. Because that’s literally what they wanted. Their race has all but died out at this point, because fewer in each generation choose to stay as they were when they were born.”

“I know,” Mateo responded. “Intellectually, I know. I just can’t help but see her as my little girl. I never got to raise her. I think I would give her all the room in the universe if I watched her grow up, making small decisions on her own at first, before working her way up to the life-changing ones.”

“Yeah, and that wasn’t fair for you, but at the same time, it’s not fair of you to expect her to let you treat her as a child.”

Mateo said. “I know that too.”

“This wasn’t a rash decision,” little Romana said from the doorway. “I always wanted to be like you. My whole life, I’ve wanted to be like you. I grew up with stories. This...Ashvin thing was just the catalyst that pushed me to finally go through with it. I want this.”

“It’ll be ready in a couple days,” Ramses said.

“Did you hear that, dad? Plenty of time to go back to your honeymoon. I promise, when you return, I’ll still look like a child. I won’t transfer without you present.”

Mateo nodded. “Okay.”

When Mateo showed up the next day, still in the middle of the honeymoon, Romana no longer looked like a kid. She didn’t look like herself at all.

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Extremus: Year 107

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Tinaya decided to not tell Arqut, Silveon, or Audrey about the post-death asteroid that could be waiting for them once they finally leave the ship at the end of their first life. It isn’t something they need to be worried about for now. They still don’t talk to Audrey a whole lot, because it’s riskier than ever, but not impossible. Waldemar isn’t the least bit suspicious, and he’s not all that possessive. He sees Audrey and his friends as props. He really doesn’t care what these props do when they’re not busy making him look like a normal, well-adjusted person fit for leadership. While he ended up announcing his engagement instead of declaring his intentions to restore the civilian Chair system, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t plan on doing that eventually. He holds secret meetings all the time, with all sorts of people, some of whom have obvious political connections on this ship, others who seem unremarkable and inconsequential.

They don’t have time to worry about that today, and won’t for a good long while. Everyone else has become quite preoccupied with the upcoming event.  It’s the halfway mark. The thing to remember about this mission is that the outcome is, by definition, unknown. No one has ventured out to space this far, and they have definitely not gone as far as Extremus eventually will. The mystery is part of the experience, which they all hope their descendants will appreciate, and not resent them for it. The idea of it taking 216 years has always been more of an estimate than anything. There is no clear boundary forming the edge of the galaxy. The galactic halo alone makes it undefined, and with there being plenty of stars in the intergalactic voids anyway, there really is no standard scope of the Milky Way. Someone—no one seems to remember who—supposedly chose the duration to be 216 years simply because they liked the number. It’s impossible to verify that since the figure predates any serious discussion their ancestors made regarding the Extremus mission itself. It wasn’t like some fabled “founder” stood before the cameras, and unveiled a fully baked idea to travel across the galaxy. People started murmuring about it first, with different concepts being bounced around until landing on this one. It was a years-long process.

So basically, July 17, 2378 is only halfway between their starting date and their ending date because they had to make some sort of plan, even if it was always going to be subject to change. It definitely will change, because statistically speaking, there is almost no way that their 215th anniversary rolls around, and they happen to find a viable planet on that very day. Which is okay, because there is also no way that they let this nebulousness stop them from celebrating. Not even the Bridger section knows what happens at the end of the target deadline. It’s written into the charter that no one possesses knowledge about the future that far in advance. They could have hypothetically asked a seer to warn them of how things would turn out, and craft their plans meticulously to account for every eventuality, but that would have gone against the spirit of the endeavor. They don’t want to know what they’ll find, because then what’s the point of looking for it?

They’re arguing. Well, Tinaya isn’t arguing. The council members are arguing with each other while she, Lataran, and Oceanus sit in silence. Their first issue? The theme. What will the theme of the party be? Well, hopefully nothing, because that’s a little childish. Plus, there is no single area on this ship where every passenger and crewmember can congregate. The Attic Forest might be big enough, but there are hills, trees, and other vegetation blocking views, so it’s not a great place if you want to have some kind of presentation or performance. Plus, Tinaya really doesn’t want all those people in her forest all at once, trashing the place. There will be multiple gatherings, some happening at the same time, some happening on different dates. The exact date of July 17 is important, but they’ll be doing things in the weeks leading up to it, and probably after it too. The council will decide on some of them, but passengers can party whenever they want, for pretty much any reason, so other events will be unaffiliated.

Oceanus has clearly grown weary of all this back and forth, but the expression on his face isn’t enough to clarify what’s going on in his head. Not even when he blurts out; “a committee!”

“What?” Councilman Linwood questions.

“Why are you handling this?” Oceanus questions. “You’re the council for the ship, made up of crew and civilian policymakers. You have important business to attend to. Why are you wasting your time on a party?” Hm. It’s not just about the pointlessness of this particular debate.

There is silence for a moment. “You may leave if you wish, Captain,” Head Councillor Spalden says to him. “This is not a mandatory meeting.”

“It’s not just me,” Oceanus begins. “Yes, I’m too busy for this, but what I’m trying to tell you is that you are as well. I’m not saying that members of the council can’t also be part of the party planning committee, or whatever you wanna call it, but it should not be taking up all of your time. This is a different subject of discussion, and therefore requires different voices. Let’s open it up, and invite others to join. Meanwhile, you can move on to more crucial concerns.”

“Would you want to be on it?” Spalden asks.

“Absolutely not,” Oceanus retorts. “I don’t care.” He gives the side eye to Tinaya and Lataran. “The war is my current worry.” The Admirals are aware that there is a war against the Exin Empire, and that it is being fought by the Verdemusians, in whatever capacity they are able. They are not, however, privy to current operational details. It’s not technically relevant to the ship, and more of a diplomatic problem, so they don’t need to know. It sounds like something happened, or is happening, which has Captain Jennings anxious. They’re both curious to learn what that might be, but not entitled to any such answers. “With all due respect,” he adds.

“We recognize, appreciate, and understand the duties of the Captain,” Spalden says, “which is why I invited you to leave, and return to your post. There will be no hard feelings here. The Halfway Party is vital to keeping passengers enthusiastic about our mission, and to pass this enthusiasm down to the next generations. It is not frivolous. It is not irrelevant. It is vital to our survival as a people, and for that reason, I must insist on maintaining our commitment to the matter. Thank you very much.”

“He’s not saying that it’s not important,” Councilwoman Flowers defends. “He’s not even saying that we shouldn’t have any input. He’s arguing that we were elected to manage the safe, secure, and prosperous transportation of our passengers across the galaxy. Our obligation to them covers all matters, as well as ship morale. As morale is but a subset of our duties, perhaps a more focused committee is in order. Not only do we have other issues to deal with, but including people who are not on the council in the decision-making process would actually aid in our endeavor to boost ship morale itself.”

Head Councillor Spalden squirms in his seat. It’s becoming apparent that the issue is not that he wants the council to be solely in charge of it. It’s that he wants to personally be in charge of it.

Tinaya stands. “I move for the creation of an official Party Planning Committee, to be responsible for the Halfway Celebration, as well as any other state-sponsored festivities, which may be conceived of in the future. I would like to include in this motion a provision that Head Councillor Spalden be installed as the first Premier Facilitator of the PPC...final name to be determined by the selected Premier Facilitator.”

“Seconded,” Lataran says.

As Head Councillor Spalden is being called in this motion, he is unable to be involved in any way. He can’t even be present for a vote. Councilman Linwood stands. “Motion is engaged. All other business on the agenda are tabled until further notice. Discussion on new order will be open as soon as Head Councillor Spalden excuses himself.”

Spalden stands, and holds back his excitement. He doesn’t want to seem too eager. They’re all picking up on how he feels, and there’s little chance that they won’t let him do it. Oceanus isn’t the only one who doesn’t care what happens to the celebrations; he’s just the only one in a position to vocalize his apathy.

As Spalden is leaving, Councilman Linwood turns his attention to Tinaya and Lataran. “Admirals, as non-voting members, please excuse yourselves as well.”

Lataran points finger guns at him, winks, and clicks her tongue just before she disappears.

Tinaya nods at the council. “With respect to the Dais,” she says, which is the right way to leave these chambers. She walks out manually.

Lataran didn’t teleport too far. She’s waiting for Tinaya on the other side of the doors. “Anything interesting happen after I left?” she jokes.

“I’ve not asked in a while. How’s Sable?” Tinaya asks as they start walking down the corridor together.

“She’s good. Knows what she wants to do with her life already.”

“And what’s that?”

“I’m glad we were able to get out of that meeting early, because there’s something you should see, and earlier is better than later.”

“Okay...”

They continue to walk instead of jumping right to their destination. It’s apparently not all that urgent. Lataran exudes a sense of calm and reserved excitement, rather than anxiety or fear. This thing that she wants Tinaya to see must not be bad. That still doesn’t tell her what it could possibly be, though. They take the elevator all the way up to the top level. It’s evidently something in the Attic Forest. Lataran continues to lead her between the trees and bushes until they can see a group of children. Sable is one of them, but Tinaya doesn’t know any others since her own son has aged out of this demographic.

“This is her Enrichment class,” Lataran explains. Enrichment is a vital component of children’s education. It typically includes studies that are not, strictly speaking, necessary for the continuation of the mission. No science, no engineering, no Earth studies. It’s about art, music, and other creative activities. It’s a generic term at this age. If a student decides to pursue a career in one of these fields, the course options will narrow later on.

One of the kids notices that the Admirals have arrived, and starts spreading the news. They were standing in random spots before, but now clump together in a vaguely orderly fashion. Off to the side, a white sheet hangs over the trail between two trees, which is perhaps ready for an image to be projected upon it? Once Tinaya and Lataran step fully into the clearing, the performance begins. In their best attempt at unison, they cry, “thank you, Admiral Leithe!” They then sing a song, which seems to be wholly original. It’s not a literal interpretation about the past, but is essentially about a cold, lifeless ship being turned into a lush garden full of joy and calm, where all the children can laugh and play. It’s about the forest. It’s about her.

After the son is over, seven-year-old Sable separates herself from the group, clearly intentionally, and as rehearsed. She reaches up and tries to take hold of the corner of the white sheet, but she’s too short. “The stool!” she complains, looking around on the ground. In lieu of looking for the stool, one of the older boys picks her up by the waist so she can get the sheet. She pulls it off of the hook, and lets it drop. On the other side is a garden. Of course there’s vegetation all around, but this is a distinct section, surrounded by stone pavers. The flowers planted here are some of the most vibrant and delicate, such as zinnias, carnations, and blue alyssum. There’s a small water fixture on a small retaining wall. The water splashes into a tiny pond, which spills over the edge of the lower retaining wall, and into a tiny creek that disappears around the corner.

Tinaya tears up when she notices one last thing. On a wooden sign on a wooden post are the words, Leithe Gardens.

“They’ve been working on this for months,” Lataran explains. “Sable only fessed up when I grilled her for coming home late two weeks ago.”

“Oh, boys and girls,” Tinaya says. “Thank you. This is so sweet of you.” It’s nice, after all this heartache—with Waldemar, and baby Silvia, and just everything—to see something so pure and delightful. As a leader, she’s had to endure all too much danger and drama. It’s great to be reminded that life is about happiness, and they’re flying through the black in the search of that; not war or political intrigue. The thought and care that went into creating this masterpiece shows that it is possible to find harmony, and to build a society based on love and community.

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Microstory 2492: Mythodome

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This is a very complex dome, and it’s due to the interconnectedness of world mythology. As I’m sure you’re aware, Earth is home to many a myth, which people once believed, or at least found value in the stories that described them. Since there have been so many cultures in our history, these myths often contradict each other. Lots of them, for instance, came up with a god of the sun, but they could never all be true. That’s where this dome takes liberties, because they are all “true” insomuch as they coexist here. There are indeed multiple sun gods, and they operate as a sort of council. Don’t ask me what they do, though, because as I’m sure you’re also aware, this is all made up. In real life, God doesn’t exist, elves don’t exist, trolls don’t exist. This is an immersive world where such creatures and beings have been engineered out of the specifications presented in the various source materials. It can be hard to track. Some myths even contradict themselves, as told by different authors, and diverging translations. So, Mythodome does its best, but the interesting result—which I’ve been trying to drive at this whole time—is that it is more than the sum of its parts. It has spawned a new mythology, which includes that sun-god council I mentioned, and various factional alliances that never existed in the original stories, because they weren’t culturally related. Part of the experience is learning the new story that has come out of this, which could have hypothetically been its own franchise in traditional media, if someone had thought to be quite this comprehensive before. There are different kinds of elves, for instance, because there have been different interpretations in the stories, and these elves are aware of each other, and have developed complicated relationships with each other naturally. That’s my understanding anyway, which is that their dynamics have taken on a life of their own to form this fresh society, and I think they were doing it before any Earthans came to visit. That alone is interesting enough, not just that these mythical creatures can be genetically engineered, but that we end up with unpredictable consequences as a result of so many variables. I’m rambling now, but suffice it to say that it would not be difficult to spend years here. You could even spend an entire lifetime, making your own way, and finding your purpose. Because very little about this place was prewritten. It’s all been developing on its own, and who knows where it will take us next?

Extremus: Year 87

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Day One. Officially, anyway. Up until now, Tinaya has been wearing full dress uniform, which is usually reserved for ceremonies, and other formal events, such as her Commissioning Ceremony last week. But she has not been allowed to take it off throughout the entire transitional period. Traditionally, this week has not been part of the program for shift changes, but this is what the council decided on some years ago, and it’s the first time they’ve had the opportunity to see it through. In a weird twist on these procedures, Tinaya even has to sleep in these damn things, which have not been very comfortable, and she doesn’t really understand why they forced it upon her. Lataran didn’t have to do that, though she has her own problems. They had her Advancement Ceremony yesterday, where she was awarded the rank of Admiral. She will now become Tinaya’s primary advisor, and she’s struggling with it in ways that she has yet to clarify for Tinaya. If Soto Tamm were still alive, and hadn’t been stripped of his rank, he would be serving in this capacity as well. One day. One day, when Tinaya advances as well, there will finally be two Admirals at once.

It’s different for her, though. She is not the same kind of captain as Halan Yenant, Kaiora Leithe, Soto Tamm, or Lataran Keen. She’s only here to act as a bridge between Lataran and whoever ends up getting the job next. They still don’t know who that’s going to be, but they have about ten years to find them. They will become a normal captain for the next twenty-four years, and all will be right with the world. Tinaya is just here to make sure that happens. She had to lobby for the title of Interim Captain, instead of a regular Captain. What does this do? Very little right now, but once her shift is over, she’ll be promoted to Vice Admiral, instead of Full Admiral, and that distinction is quite important. It’s not just symbolic, but even if it were, that would be enough. She doesn’t want this to be seen as a dynasty, as she explained to the council before accepting this position. The people need to know that she’s not a power-hungry monster; that she is only here to help. She’s humble; one of the people.

Everyone knows her already, of course. She’s been working alongside the crew since the beginning of the year, and she was famous before this anyway. But still, now that the transition period is over, she wants to address the crew. Literally the entire crew. Thistle—the not-so-artificial intelligence—is handling every single one of the ship’s systems. Obviously, he could always be doing this, even if he weren’t pretending to not be a real boy, but they’re not going to cancel hundreds of jobs just because of the logic. People want to work, they want to contribute. And one way that Tinaya contributes is by making them feel valued and welcome. And comfortable. She’s standing on stage. Lataran is at her flank, smiling widely, and ready to add her two cents if she’s called to. Arqut is to Tinaya’s other side. He’s no longer the Superintendent, having stepped down at the same time Tinaya stepped up. There is no one in the position right now, but if he’s still alive when the need arises again, he’ll get back to it...unless someone asks him not to, in which case he’ll have a decision to make.

Tinaya is thinking about all this, stuck in her own head again. Lataran clears her throat suggestively. “Yes, thank you, Admiral Keen,” Tinaya says into the microphone for all to hear. “I wasn’t asleep. I wanted to wait one more minute for any stragglers.”

“Everyone’s here,” Athan says from the steps of the stage, where it does seem like he’s been keeping a close eye on the crowd. “I counted.” He was Lataran’s First Lieutenant, but his shift is over now too. Tinaya has yet to replace him, or the Second Lieutenant. He has some ideas for her, but she hasn’t taken the time to look them over. He’s widely considered to be the hardest working man on the ship, having served as Tamm’s Second Lieutenant before this, and just generally being known to go above and beyond with his duties. He’s probably exhausted, but he’s probably right about who Tinaya should choose as her lieutenants.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Velitchkov,” Tinaya says, into the mic again.

“Uh, it’s Mister Velitchkov,” he corrects.

“Not until you stop helping me, and start focusing more on self-care, Lieutenant,” she says affectionately, triggering the audience’s laughter. She starts to raise her voice, which likely forces the sound engineer to lower the volume on the speakers. “Now that we’ve confirmed our headcount, we’ll begin. I won’t keep you too long, I know that you all have very important things to get to. It is my hope that you will consider this to be a nice, relaxing break, rather than a dreadfully annoying inconvenience. I know that transitions can be difficult, and I want to thank you all for being so patient and helpful to me during my first week. I’m warning you now that I will continue to need your help as we push forward to our objective. I won’t talk about that, though; that none of us will be alive to see the Extremus planet. Every leader who has ever given you a speech has mentioned how brave you are for that. You already know that you are. Instead, I’ll remind you that I have a lot of experience in helping people make their respective departments and jobs better. I didn’t succeed in that alone, and I won’t succeed in this new job alone either. I need you. Therefore...I need you to be comfortable.

“I had my security briefing earlier this morning, where I was informed that the majority of you have been operating under PREPCON Three. I have worn the armor module myself before. I know how heavy and cumbersome it can be, especially after long periods of one-g. They also informed me that some of you have lowered the gravity in your sections to help with this. I’m not going to get you in trouble for that, but I would like it to stop. It places undue strain on our power systems, and risks the integrity of propulsion. The preparedness conditions were created by a group of smart Earthans who knew nothing of temporal manipulation. In particular, they didn’t know about teleportation. I am not at liberty to downgrade our condition to PREPCON Four. That is a military decision that I cannot overrule unless I want to instigate martial law, which I know none of us wants me to do. However, it is well within my rights to alter the mandate for my people. The military can do whatever they want. They are seeing a threat, whether it is there or not, but if it’s there, it will be their job to handle it; not yours. I am creating a new condition between Four and Three. I dunno, let’s call it Three-point-Five.

“You will wear your base modules, and your response modules over them, along with your glove liners, just like you would if you were in PREPCON Four. In addition, you will place your armor modules in active support mode, and each and every one of you will know where it is at all times, and maintain a spatial tether to it for your safety. It doesn’t have to be nearby, but you can’t sever the tether for any reason. At the first sign of danger, you will apport your armor module to your exact location, and be automatically inside of it. This is something that the models we use on the Extremus have always been capable of. We just needed to switch the feature on shipwide. Please note that this compromise applies to the general population of the crew unless given other orders. There will be times when your duties demand that you be wearing the armor module regardless, or even the PRU and helmet. I’m certainly not going to let you go on a spacewalk without these things. Also note that I have the power to change this at any point, for anyone and everyone. I could push you all to PREPCON One if I wanted to. It’s a moving target, as it always has been. Does this all sound fair?”

The crew seems rather responsive to this modification to the rules. Some seem extremely relieved by it. The Exin Empire is a constant threat to them, but as long as the ship stays in intergalactic space, there shouldn’t be any territorial disagreements. They could always come up and attack them unprovoked just because they’re assholes, but no one has given Tinaya a reason to believe that this will actually happen. The security briefing reported wide open spaces from here to the Extremus planet. The fact that they are at PREPCON Three is more of a precaution, based on a sense of paranoia that will hopefully lessen over time. She doesn’t want everyone to live in fear. If they’re going to do that, they may as well turn right back around and return to Gatewood.

Tinaya goes over a few more things. She welcomes others who have started their own shifts this week, and preemptively thanks those whose shifts will be ending soon. When the meeting is over, she sends them all back, either to active duty, or their downtime. Having heard that it was over, Thistle pings her to ask for a private meeting. She obliges, but takes Lataran and Athan with her. They teleport to the captain’s ready room, which Lataran apparently only ever used once. There are plenty of other secret meeting places on the ship, and she was always partial to a literally invisible room right next to the portal that led to the Bridger Section.

Thistle appears as a hologram. “I didn’t ask for them to be here.”

“Anything you can say to—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Thistle demands. “You have any idea how many times I’ve heard every cliché in the book? At any rate, this involves the two of them. I’m not sure how you’ll want to proceed after I tell you what I’ve discovered after I was given access to the navigational data.”

“Oh,” Lataran says. “You’re talking about the recourse jumps. Oh my God, I totally forgot about those.”

“Me too,” Athan agrees.

“I’ve not forgotten,” Tinaya says, “because I don’t know what they are.”

Thistle glares at Lataran in case she wants to answer instead.

She does. “Sixty-two years ago, then-Captain Yenant made a major course correction to save the ship from collision with a planet that was placed in its path to destroy the passengers. It would have resulted in the death of our ancestors, the prevention of all of our births, and the end of the mission forever. He went into hock for it, and died disgraced.” She is reluctant to continue, but musters the courage. “Olindse Belo was subsequently assigned to replace him as interim Captain, before Kaiora Leithe took over the position for a full shift. Before the transition, the two of them got together, and came up with a plan. They didn’t want to be in the void. That’s not where we’re going. We’re not trying to get tens of thousands of light years from where we started. We’re trying to get to the other side of a galaxy. In order to reclaim this objective, they started making new course corrections. Tiny ones. Tiny, imperceptible ones, thanks to the ship’s emergency teleporter.”

Tinaya stuffs her face in both of her palms, and incidentally moistens them up with a deep exhale. She pulls her eyes out from under her fingers, but keeps her nose and mouth still trapped. “Are you trying to tell me that this ship has been turning for sixty years, and no one noticed!”

“Yes,” Athan replies.

“We’re all complicit,” Tinaya laments. “We’re all complicit in a crime. Halan Yenant is considered to be the greatest Captain this ship has ever seen, and they still threw him in hock for it. You think they won’t do the same to us when they find out?”

“As I said,” Lataran goes on, “they’re tiny jumps. They’re within tolerable margins. They’re not illegal at all.”

Tinaya exhales again, but is now looking straight up, trying to gradually blind herself with the ceiling light. “Those margins are there to account for course deviations that occur during minor gravitational disturbances through space while traveling at reframe speeds. That’s what I was just talking about with the crew; blaming them for messing up our vector to feel a little more comfortable in their suits. Now I’m finding out that them adjusting the internal gravity of a few work areas hasn’t had any effect at all, and our problems with propulsion are actually the result of a systematic plan to undermine the rule of law on this ship, which has been going on since I was born. That is unacceptable Lataran. How can you be so calm?”

“Well, I found out about it myself more than two decades ago.”

“Well, to be fair,” Athan interjects, “you weren’t upset about it like she is.”

Lataran ignores this remark, and redirects her attention to Tinaya. “I’ve told you, captains keep secrets. You’ll do it too. You’ll even keep this one.”

“Oh, will I?”

“Yes, because if you don’t, we’re screwed!” she cries.

“We’re already screwed!” Tinaya cries back. “The whole reason Halan made that sacrifice is to protect us from the Exins, who want us to stay away from their beautiful little hellscape paradise. We’re in the void to survive, and the closer we get back to the galaxy, the more danger we’re in.”

“That’s another benefit of it being little by little,” Lataran reasons. “By the time we get back to it, we’ll be far beyond their region of space. There’s no way that they’ve taken over the whole galaxy.”

“They’re time travelers, Lataran! All they have is time. Yes, they may have taken over the whole galaxy. They may have done it four billion years ago!”

Lataran scoffs. “That’s not what the intelligence reports determine.”

“Maybe not,” Tinaya agrees, “but this is still a breach of trust. I ran my campaign for First Chair on a platform of transparency, and I erased my own job to actually make that work. I didn’t want to take this position because of how secretive it is, and I hoped to change that. But on my first full day, I learn that there is something I can’t change, because not only will it ruin the reputation of my aunt, but put my best friend in hock for the rest of her life. Either I get on board, and run the risk of the same outcome for all of us eventually, or I do the right thing now, and end up being the only one left unscathed, if that. Arqut was Superintendent, did he know?”

“Doubtful,” Athan responds.

“I never told him,” Lataran adds.

Tinaya frowns, and tries to figure out what she’s going to do about this. She’s damned if she does, and damned if she doesn’t. But if she comes clean, it’s worse for everyone. At least there’s hope that everything turns out okay if she just keeps lying, as Lataran predicted. So that’s the clincher. “Thistle, erase all knowledge of this from your memory. We’re covering this up. Goddammit.”

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Extremus: Year 86

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Someone on Verdemus, or who is aware that it was not destroyed, is a traitor, or perhaps a spy. It was determined that no one could be trusted to thoroughly investigate the matter. They had to bring in outside help to take care of things. Fortunately, there is a procedure for this sort of thing. Obviously, everyone who lives on Extremus has their own file. Whether they’re a member of the crew, or a civilian; a productive member of society with contribution points, or someone who is happy enough with the bare minimum—everyone is accounted for. Using an airgapped computer, this full manifest can be plugged into an isolated artificial intelligence program. Queries can be posed to it, looking for certain criteria. The system is offline most of the time, as there is rarely a need for it, and its use is not recorded beyond logging every user with a timestamp. Of course, not everyone has access to this manifest synthesis program, but Tinaya suspects that it’s typically dusted off to determine future leadership, such as herself, and she’s narrowed down the list of possible people who wrote the story of her life for her. They kept her from the captain’s seat so she could instead one day become First Chair.

As the ship’s current consul, Icarus Faulkner is on the list of those with access to the computer. Deciding that something had to be done about the attacks on Verdemus, he went into the room alone, and asked the AI to find him a candidate. Zaira Gardner is believed to be a very, very, very distant relative to famed time traveler, Lauren Gardner, though the family tree remains unconfirmed. She reminds Tinaya a lot of herself at that age. Zaira is bright, but unmotivated. In an alternate reality, she’s the Sherlock Holmes of the ship, having a knack for noticing the smallest, and most obscure details. She has not said what led her to abandoning her potential, but she has been chosen for a job now. She is leading the investigation into the Verdemusian attacks, using a team picked for her by the only other name filtered from the manifest. Cahal Fitzgerald now serves as a mini-superintendent, responsible for selecting others who will aid them in this impartial investigation. Tinaya does not know this for sure, but Consul Faulkner probably included a parameter in his search that these two should not be likely to spill the beans to the general population about this whole thing. They need to be unbiased, but still discreet. They questioned Tinaya second, after the Captain, but she hasn’t heard a peep from them since. Hopefully, it’s not her problem anymore.

Most of the administration for the civilian government has changed hands since Tinaya last spoke with them. She spent the majority of this time on-world, and has been kind of trying to stay out of everything since her return from there. Either the secret investigation turned up something that points to Tinaya as a responsible party, or the council wants to scold her for some other reason. She’s been summoned to the Meeting Hall. Arqut was asked to recuse himself from this meeting in his capacity as the Superintendent, but this is his wife they’re talking about, so he accompanies her, and would like to see them try to kick him out.

“That will not be necessary,” Head Councillor Paddon says with her hand up to calm down an imaginary unruly crowd. “But I would ask you to refrain from participating in this discussion. This will be Tinaya’s decision, and Tinaya’s alone.” The interesting thing about this one is that Paddon is both her given name and surname. It wasn’t even an accident either. Her parents were a little—shall we say—crazy nutso cuckoo? Their last name was Paddon, and they always thought that it would be a nice first name too, so instead of suggesting this to one of their friends, they took it for themselves, resulting in the unique Paddon Paddon. She could have changed it at some point, but she became mildly famous for it by the time she could even speak, so it seemed like a waste of time and energy when people could and would continue to tease her for it either way. Best just to lean into it, and let them have their fun.

“What decision?” Tinaya asks as she stands before the council like a criminal to be judged.

“I won’t bore you with any preamble,” Paddon continues. “We’re asking you to become this vessel’s next captain. It’s as simple as that.”

Tinaya chuckles once, but rather quietly. She quickly scans the council, who are not laughing with her. She accidentally releases a second chuckle, which is louder this time. When they don’t respond appropriately, she can’t help but convert it into a full-on laugh. “I’m sorry, are you serious? You’re not being serious.”

“Quite,” Paddon confirms.

“Pardon,” Tinaya begins, “but have you seen my face? I’m sixty-two years old.”

“Apologies,” Paddon says, “but our records indicate that you are ten years younger than that.” She sifts through some papers. Yes, they’re still using paper.

“In realtime, yes, but I was stuck in the past on Gatewood for about a year,” Tinaya reminds them, “and when we tried to go back, we were off course by several years. So I’m ten years older than my birthday should indicate.”

Paddon nods, remembering this now. “Right, right. Well, just the same, we fail to see how your age has to do with anything.”

“You can’t have a sixty-two year old Captain. I’m sorry, more like sixty-three by the time I would sit down. That’s absurd. Captains are in their twenties when they first start, maybe their thirties.”

Paddon looks through the papers again, but facetiously this time. “I don’t recall that being one of our laws. Could you point me to the subsection?”

Tinaya rolls her eyes. “It’s not a law, it’s just...a thing.”

The Head Councillor gets real serious now. “Miss Leithe, you have done more for the ship than any one person has, including the former captains.”

“Omega and Valencia,” Tinaya responds quite abruptly, and rudely.

“They’re immortal, they don’t count.” Paddon takes a breath. “I know that this is a lot to take in, and we generally try to find a replacement earlier in the year prior to the handoff, but it’s been decided that Extremus needs a big win. It needs a story, and it needs a leader that everyone can get behind enthusiastically. The other candidates are great, but they’re not special like you are. A former First Chair who relinquished her own power to make the government more democratic ends up being rewarded with, not only a post on the crew, but the highest honor. It will boost morale.”

“So this is nothing more than a political move.”

“They are all political moves,” Paddon says with a raised voice, but not an angry one. “You should have learned that by now. You even just told us how ancient you were.”

“This is highly irregular,” Tinaya contends.

“Exactly,” Paddon replies, understanding that Tinaya isn’t saying that this is a good thing, but maintaining the position that it is just the same.

Tinaya has been intentionally avoiding making eye contact with Lataran this whole time, even before the insane offer. Their relationship has become more awkward than ever since the time travel incident. She found herself feeling more loyal to the Lataran’s future self than the present day version, and though she never said as much out loud, this Lataran could sense it. She’s been respectfully keeping her distance. Tinaya’s gaze darts over to her now to see Lataran looking back with the love and admiration that Tinaya does not deserve.

Paddon notices. “Who do you think threw your hat in the ring?”

“And that makes it a good reason?” Tinaya questions.

“Captain Keen made a compelling argument,” Paddon explains. “What did I say, Superintendent?” she adds, holding up a finger to Arqut, who was probably about to speak out of turn.

Tinaya looks at his face now, and does her best to read his mind. She thinks she’s figured it out. “Two best friends, and a husband,” Tinaya goes on. “Plus, my aunt was Captain before me. It’s a freaking dynasty. The history books tend not to like that.”

“I’m not worried about the books right now,” Paddon claims.

“Yes, you are. You said this whole thing was about optics.”

“No, it’s about uniting the passengers under a banner they can trust. They all love you. What about that are you not understanding? Do you have any idea how much deepfake porn there is of you? You’re the most popular likeness of all Extremusians.”

“I don’t wanna hear about that.” Deepfake porn is not illegal here, though many believe that it should be. The way the law sees it, as long as you keep it to yourself, you can do just about whatever you want in the privacy of your own home. You have to create all of the images yourself, and they can’t be distributed, but there are loopholes to that limitation. Again, Tinaya doesn’t involve herself in such matters.

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” Paddon tells her sincerely. “I’m just trying to encourage you to think about this seriously. You have come so far. The people don’t know about Verdemus, but they’ve been told that your away mission saved their lives, and they’re grateful. Captain Keen’s stint is over. Someone has to replace her for the next twenty-four years, and we would like to find someone who is popular, so they can be an effective leader. You are not the only one who can do that, but you are the best, and we firmly believe that you can keep us on track. There is nothing that says a former civilian leader cannot join the crew. It’s just never been done before...except for Ovan Teleres, but that was this whole weird thing.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy for picking me,” Tinaya admits. “I just don’t think it’s the right choice. I think it’ll backfire. Maybe not tomorrow, but it could have major consequences for the future safety and prosperity of this mission.”

“You’re not wrong,” Paddon admits right back. “We feel that, in the long run, it will do more good than harm.”

Consul Faulkner stands up. “Let’s take a break. It sounds like we’re starting to go in circles, so we will reconvene same time tomorrow for further discussion, or your final answer, Miss Leithe.”

Tinaya goes back home with Arqut. Lataran follows them there to plead her case. After talking about it incessantly for half an eternity, Tinaya makes her decision in her head, but doesn’t say anything to the two of them. The next day, they all show up in the Meeting Hall. Tinaya stands back up on the platform, and looks at the whole group. “Okay. I’ll do it. But I have some conditions, which we can talk about. First and foremost—and this one is nonnegotiable—I’m not going to be an eighty-six-year-old captain. I’ll step down in ten years. You said you wanted to get back on track, and that’s how the timeline works out.”

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Microstory 2186: Don’t Listen to Me

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Don’t listen to me, I went in to work. Yes, I was having some trouble, and yes, I had to call my therapist, and yes, it woke her up, but she’s okay, and so am I. Together, we decided that it wasn’t prudent for me to keep cancelling my appointments. I’ve not been telling you about that, but it’s strictly been for logistical reasons, because I’ve been so busy with my new job. That’s not all we had to discuss. I tried to recount the nightmare I had that woke me up, but I couldn’t remember very much of it. I just know that it freaked me out, and I was having some kind of panic attack. I had to postpone an interview that we had set up, but the candidate was cool with it. He even said that this would free him up to do something too. That could have been a lie to relieve me of guilt, but it’s a much appreciated one. I was able to make the rest of the scheduled interviews just fine. There weren’t very many, because I also had to go to a meeting with the city council. They’re all lovely people, but my God, was it boring. I didn’t think it would be a nonstop action-packed thriller, but I was fall. Ing. A. Sleep. It was no one’s fault. It was a mere formality when something this big changes about how the local government operates. They had a few questions for me, but they were mostly just working through a list of things that we were legally required to hear. It was like if someone forced you to read the terms and conditions of a purchase. Thank the heavens, it’s over.

Extremus: Year 71

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The answer was obvious. It has been right under Tinaya’s nose the whole time. It wakes up next to her every day, and it does this thing where it puts her clothes on for her in the morning. Obviously she can do that herself, but Arqut did it to be romantic and chivalrous one morning during their honeymoon, and it just sort of stuck. Now she sits there like a doll, and lets him move her around as needed. Unless she’s in a hurry, then she turns into a real girl. But the point is that he’s the one who should be Ship Superintendent. He knows just as much about the new form of government as she does, and contributed to the initial concept a great deal. She wants to leave a life of service behind, or at least take a break from it. In a few years, she may decide that she wants to go back to Park Management, or just work in the Bridger section. But soon, it will just be time for her to relax. She believes that she’s earned it.

“We don’t want to appoint a superintendent,” Council Leader Addison explains to her. “We want it to be an elected position this time.”

“I see,” Tinaya says. “What’s the term limit?”

“No term limit. The winner should expect to remain available for a lifetime. Their duties will wane in such times that they are not needed, but should they be called upon later, they will return to the conversation.”

“I see,” Tinaya repeats herself. “Well, on a personal level, how do you feel about my idea?”

“I think Arqut would do a fine job,” Addison replies.

“But what?”

“But nothing,” Addison says. “Why does there have to be a but?”

“There’s usually a but.”

“But...” Addison begins.

“Here we go.”

Addison continues, “...I think we should stop saying the word but.” She smiles. “I really mean it, that’s a great idea. I have no issues with him, and I have no conditions to place upon it. If he can secure the vote, he can have the job.”

“I figured you would have someone else in mind, like perhaps someone who would turn out to be a traitor, and then I start to suspect that you’re a traitor too, and by the time I realize that you’re not, you’re killed in a semi-heroic act of self-sacrifice?”

“You’ve been watching too many Earthan movies.”

“More like reading the historical records of this very ship.”

Council Leader Addison nods, and then it looks like she’s had a new thought.

“Oh, no, what is that face all about?” Tinaya asks.

“But...that rule against an incumbent campaigning still applies here. The Superintendent is obviously not the same thing as the First Chair, but I still think you can’t advocate for your husband. I think you must distance yourself from the whole thing. If he wants to run, he’ll have to do so without you. Or me, for that matter, because it would be almost as much of a conflict of interest.”

Tinaya nods, and then looks over at Arqut. “What do you think?”

“I think I don’t love people talking about me as if I’m not in the room,” he says.

Tinaya puts a quizzical look on her face, and turns back to Addison. “Did you hear someone say something?”

“I don’t know that I did.”

Arqut rolls his eyes.

“Seriously, what do you think? You seemed amenable to the idea last night. Were you just saying that to appease me?”

“No, I think it’s a decent idea too,” Arqut answers. “I’ve always felt like I could do more. It wouldn’t be dissimilar to what I did before, when I represented the government during discussions between two or more departments.”

“You certainly have the necessary experience,” Addison agrees.

Arqut thinks about it some more. “Okay, I’m in.”

“Great,” Addison decides. “Then you need to leave. Or I do. We have to let you fly on your own, little bird.”

Arqut nods. “I know some people who might be able to help run my campaign. I don’t have to move out of the stateroom, though, do I?”

“It’s perfectly fine to live with your wife,” Council Leader Addison clarifies. She taps on her watch, and disappears.

“I have to get to a thing, but I’ll see you tonight for dinner, okay?”

“Okay.”

She kisses him on the lips, and then teleports away too.

When Tinaya crosses over to the Bridger section, her handler, Spirit is waiting for her. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”

“Where, the entire Bridger section?”

“Yes,” Spirit says. “They’re mad at you.”

“For getting married?”

“No. Well, yes, but we’ve already talked about that. They’re mad about you dismantling the Chair system. They’re not finished with you.”

“Well, I never learned about the Three Bears War, so I guess the Bridgers and I are even.”

“It was not our responsibility to tell you that. It’s the crew’s. You know how it works. How many secrets did Captain Yenant keep from First Chair Ebner, or especially Ovan Teleres?”

“I don’t know how many. They’re a secret!”

Spirit nods. “Look. We can’t stop you from coming over to this side. Once we gave you access, you have it for life, unless you do something so bad that you’re locked up in hock for the rest of your life anyway.”

“Okay...”

“But you are no longer welcome here. I’m sorry, you’ve been kicked out of the program. You’ve been a great help to us. You’ve given us solid information, and helped protect both ships, ensuring the safest of its passengers, and the continuity of the mission. Unfortunately, your services are no longer required.”

“Good.”

“This is what you wanted,” Spirit states.

“Yes.”

“But if no one here trusts you, except for me, you won’t be able to investigate it for corruption anymore.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be. Some of our best spies have been suspicious of our intentions. We encourage them to question authority. Ever since the Bronach Oaksent incident, we’ve been a lot more suspicious of ourselves. We don’t want people who will just blindly follow every order to the letter. You’re supposed to make your own decisions. But there is a limit to that flexibility. According to the high officers of the Bridger section, you’ve crossed beyond the boundary. Congratulations, you’re free to relax now.”

“Thank you?”

Spirit smiles, and holds up a tablet. “I think you’ll be fine. You’ve reached 101% contribution. This means that your score is the highest it could possibly be, and can never go back down. It’s locked in place, even if the government later adjusts the parameters. You’re safe...unless, again, you do something so unforgivable it lands you a life sentence in hock.”

“Cool beans. So this is it? We’ll never meet again?”

“I’m sure I’ll see you around.” Spirit steps into the corridor, and lets the hatch close behind her.

“I didn’t think you left the Bridger section. Avelino only did a few times.”

“This is true, but I’m no longer employed by them either. I quit.”

“You quit? Why?”

“I told them that I would if they let you go.”

“Why weren’t you bluffing?”

Now Spirit smirks. “A seer told me to leave. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m never going back in there.” She jerks her head towards the hatch. Don’t cry for me, Argentina. I’m as sick of my current life as you always seem to be. I’m ready to go try something else.”

Captain Lataran Keen suddenly steps up to them from down the corridor. “Good, because I got somethin’ for you both. We have a hostage situation.”

“A hostage situation?” Tinaya questions. “Where?”

“Verdemus,” Lataran answers. She tries to take Tinaya by the hand.

Tinaya keeps her hand away just in time. “What is a Verdemus?”

“It’s the gateway planet,” Lataran says before adding, “the one where we’ve been getting all of our paper?”

Tinaya looks over at Spirit, who grimaces slightly. “I told you, there are things that the crew doesn’t let you in on. It’s tradition to leave the civilian government in the dark about things that don’t happen in the residential sectors.”

“I’m different.” Tinaya faces Lataran again. “I’m different,” she repeats. “We’re friends. You could have told me that we left people there.”

“Sorry. There’s no excuse, but you’ll have to yell at me later. I really need you right now. The hostage-taker will only speak to the First Chair.”

“Where are we going?” Tinaya demands to know, still not taking the Captain’s hand. “How do we transport back and forth from this Verdemus place?”

“The Mirror Room,” she answers. “We installed the backup mirror on the other side, so the portal is open all the time, unless we need the main one for something else.”

Tinaya never knew that there was a backup mirror either. She thought she knew pretty much everything, because of her connections. If she didn’t find out about something by being a spy, then it should have been from her time as the First Chair, and if not then, then she could have uncovered any missing information from all of her unauthorized hacking. She’s slipping...or maybe she’s never been as good as she once believed. “Fine. I’ll meet you there.”

Just before Tinaya teleports away, she hears Lataran start to ask, “Where are y—”

She’s back in her stateroom. “Arqy.”

He turns around. “Hey, hon. That wasn’t long.”

“You were right, we still have access to the planet. They call it Verdemus.”

“Because it’s green?”

“I’m about to go find out. Someone’s been taken hostage, I guess. They’re asking for me. I never thought I would go off world, but in case it ever happened, I’ve been prepared.” She walks over to her dresser to open the bottom drawer. “I swiped these from the Bridger section. I don’t think anyone noticed.” She reaches deep into the back, and unlatches the hidden panel. When her hand comes back out, she’s holding two flat fern green cases. She holds one of them tightly between her middle and ring fingers. She holds the other one loosely between her thumb and index finger, and shakes down to let the glass slip out into her other hand. “Time signal mirrors,” she explains. She hands Arqut the other mirror, so he can take it out. She holds her own in front of herself so he can get a look at her pretty face. “You can’t turn them off. It always shows you what the other mirror is seeing.”

“What is this for?” Arqut peels a thin film off of the back that Tinaya has never noticed before. She didn’t spend that much time with them. They were always meant to be used in an emergency, like this. He swings the film over, and sticks it onto the other side. The image from its partner mirror is gone. Now it’s just a regular reflection.

“Oh. I guess they can be turned off. But there’s no sound either way.” She peels her own lid off, and flips it over to the other side. “I’ll just say it’s a makeup mirror.”

“You don’t wear makeup.”

“Please.” Tinaya frames her jawline with the back of her fingers. “No one believes that about me, even though it’s true.” She starts to take her clothes off so she can put on something more durable and outdoors-worthy. She’s been to the Attic Forest a million times, but she’s never truly been outside. Almost no one on this ship has. She’s only learned survival skills academically. School teaches it because, even though no one alive today will ever reach the Extremus planet, they’ll need to be able to effectively pass this knowledge onto the next generation, and not because they will see the planet either, but because eventually, someone will.

“I love you,” Arqut says to her once she’s ready to go.

“Love you too.” They kiss. He grabs her ass for luck. She disappears.

The guard in the Mirror Room does check her for contraband. He doesn’t find the time signaler, though. Tinaya remembered that her coat has a hidden inside breast pocket dimension. The zipper is invisible to anyone unless they hold a particular shade of green light up to it, which she can generate on her watch. It’s called a spectral lock, and as soon as she gets the chance, she’ll change it to color combo, instead of singletone. No weapons, she’s good to go. The mirror technician, which is a job that didn’t need to exist before, reaches behind the mirror to activate the portal. When she gives Tinaya the go-ahead, Tinaya follows the security team through. Spirit crosses over behind her.

Extremus has lighting, of course, but it’s never brighter than it needs to be to see. Energy isn’t as precious of a resource as it was on Earth in the 20th century, or the early 21st century, but there’s no point in wasting it. Studies have shown that a lightly used corridor only needs about 100 lumens to navigate, and rooms need less than 200. Until paper was developed here, no one ever raised the brightness above that, because devices all produce their own lighting. The host star is extremely bright compared to what she’s used to. A security officer notices how much Tinaya and Spirit are struggling. He takes out a spare pair of sunglasses to give to Tinaya, and elbows his teammate, who takes out a pair for Spirit. They help her immediately, and as the group is carefully heading towards basecamp, the gradient adjusts accordingly until they’re barely dim at all. It’s probably not that bright by a normally evolved human’s standards.

The officers tense up as they approach the camp. They’ve built up the infrastructure quiet a bit. An electric fence surrounds the whole area, which a gatekeeper has to open for them. There must be dangerous animals around here. They keep going until they’re in the middle of town. The grounds are completely empty, except for one woman standing patiently in the middle distance. When Tinaya gets closer, she sees that the woman is chained up with a line that goes all the way to the building behind her, and through the doorway. “Report!” the team leader orders.

“I speak for Ilias,” the woman replies. Where has Tinaya heard that name before? The woman taps on an earpiece in her left ear. “I mean that literally. I have to say what he says, as he says it. I’m wired up.” Tinaya does see a wire threaded through the chainlinks. “I’m even saying what he’s saying right now. This woman is a stupid bitch.”

Tinaya seethes through her nose. “State your demands...Ilias.”

“First Chair Leithe. Thank you for coming. I have immense respect for you, and I regret having to involve you in this. You were always really great to my father, and he needs you now more than ever. I want a posthumous pardon for him.”

“I can’t unilaterally make pardons,” Tinaya replies. She remembers who this guy is now. Or rather, kid, because he can’t be older than twenty at this point. It’s Ilias Tamm. Disgraced former captain, Soto Tamm was his father. “Even if I could, your dad was a member of the crew. That’s a whole separate thing.”

“I understand that, but I need you to advocate for him. Please, you’re my last resort here. I have exhausted all other options.”

“Violence was a bad choice,” Tinaya warns him.

“I’ve not hurt anyone yet,” Ilias explains. “I’ve only threatened. And that’s as far as it will go unless I don’t get what I want. Soto Tamm did nothing wrong, and it’s time that the ship knows that. It doesn’t matter that he’s already dead. His good memory deserves to be restored.” Soto Tamm died in hock a couple of years ago. No one but his family went to his memorial service.

“When I give the signal,” Spirit whispers, “I need all four of you to run towards that building to the right as fast as you can, brandishing your weapons.”

“He’s in the mess hall,” the team leader argues. “We’ve confirmed that.”

“Exactly,” Spirit replies. “Three..two...one, go.”

Not knowing exactly what the plan is, but trusting Spirit Bridger, the guards run off like they’re about to attack someone who doesn’t exist.

“Where the hell are they going?” Ilias questions through the hostage’s voice.

Spirit teleports a few meters forwards holding what kind of looks like a shovel. She jams it into the chain, which hopefully cuts the electric wire. “Go get him, soldier!”

Tinaya teleports into the cafeteria, and spots Ilias. She barely recognizes him from the one time she saw him years ago, but he’s holding a gun, so it’s not that hard to tease him out of the crowd. She teleports a second time, and wraps her arms around his shoulders, then she teleports one last time. It’s a blind jump, which means she has no idea where she’s going. She’s just trying to get as far away from the building as possible. It’s far enough. In fact it’s too far. But it’s still close enough to see. A mushroom cloud rises to the sky after a huge explosion. Shit. He was on a dead man’s switch.

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