Extremus: Year 122

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With Pronastus out of the way, Waldemar has been able to sit in his chair, and get some much-needed work done. It’s smooth, comfortable, and unworn. Past captains have sparingly sat on the bridge. He knows why, but he still doesn’t think it’s right. In the scifi shows of old, the bridge was the happenin’ place to be. It was literally the seat of power for the whole ship, and given the nature of the narratives, usually the focal point of the whole universe. The fictional captains were basically gods. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that in the real world. There are no aliens to fight or negotiate with. There are no spacetime anomalies, or colonies to save. There’s not even anything to see out here. Faster-than-light travel does not streak the stars, or show them endless ionized clouds of hyperspace. It’s just a blinding grayish light. If this bridge had a viewport, they would never be able to open it, except before they left, or once they make it to their destination. Waldemar has changed all that. He had ordered viewscreens to be installed before his chair. The stars they’re seeing aren’t really there, but they alleviate the claustrophobia. And that’s not all they do.

When the tentacled alien character appears on screen, Waldemar chuckles at him. “Lieutenant Xaxblarg. Is your boss on the shitter, or did you finally grow the balls to overthrow him?” His voice is a bit melodramatic, but it’s supposed to be.

“You know that Xaxblergins do not have balls. You insult me, human,” the alien spits back.

“Is he named after his race?” Waldemar’s helmsman whispers to the navigator.

“Stay in character, ensign!” Waldemar orders. He clears his throat, and looks back up at the screen. “Xaxblarg, I don’t care who I’m dealing with. I want your blasted blargship off that planet. You have enslaved the Tukpluckians for way too long, and we’re here to free ‘em. If you don’t go to the devil in five Milky Way minutes, I’m gonna blast a hole in your ship so big, you’ll be fartin’ xentriflux plasma for days.”

Xaxblarg chuckles evilly. “You think you’ve won, human captain, but your sensors have been degaussed. If you look outside, I think you’ll find yourself thoroughly surrounded by my strike penetrators.”

“Strike penetrators?” the science officer complains. “Jesus.”

“That’s two days in the brig, ensign!” Waldemar orders.

“In the real world, it is called hock, sir,” the ensign replies.

“That’s a stupid goddamn word that no one ever used until we started building real starships. I refuse to use it. Three days in the brig.”

“You told me to be historically accurate with my character,” the ensign goes on. “The way you wrote me as the radically honest half-trentlamite, I would push back against your errors. You have never called it the brig before—”

“Your sentence in the brig is four days now. Keep talkin’ and I’ll make it five...years.” Waldemar doesn’t like when people argue with him. It’s ridiculous. He’s in charge here. Whatever he says is right, even if it’s wrong. That’s the whole reason to be the boss. If this asshole wanted the job instead, he should have saved the ship from annihilation several years ago, instead of Waldemar.

“Four days is fine sir. Thank you.” He leaves the bridge using the door. That’s another thing Waldemar changed. Ubiquitous teleporters are too easy. Even the shows that had the technology almost always only used them to transport down to a planet, or back up. They didn’t waste energy jumping from one deck to another. Sure, the visual effects would have cost too much, but that’s no reason to overuse them in real life.

Waldemar takes a breath. “Now. Does anyone else have a problem with my script, or are you ready to get on board? Here’s something you need to understand—and perhaps I was unclear about why we’re doing this—the simulations are not just for fun. We all believe that there are no aliens out here, and we all believe that we’re never slowing down or stopping until we make it to the Extremus planet. But we don’t actually know that. What if we do encounter an alien race of slavedrivers, bent on our destruction? What if we fall into a black hole, and end up in another universe? And what if that universe is the opposite of ours, where I’m evil, and Adolf Hitler was good. We’re doing this to be prepared. I made it fun to keep you engaged and entertained. But I can make it boring if you want. Is that what you want? To be all technical and realistic,” he says with airquotes. 

“No, sir,” they grumble.

“Good. Now someone find me a replacement science officer who isn’t gonna backtalk me, and let’s run it again, from the top! I wanna get through this at least once.”

The next attempt went better. The crew performed admirably, and was able to kill everyone in the Xaxblergin fleet efficiently. He wrote the script himself, but they’re still not taking it seriously enough. Maybe he needs to hire some writers. He can still take credit for it. He doesn’t have to admit that he didn’t come up with the new storylines himself. Maybe his wife will have some thoughts on that. “You have the conn, Lieutenant.” He teleports off the bridge. He’s back in his stateroom now where Audrey is waiting for him, as usual. They have gotten into this habit where she cooks for him. The synthwrights didn’t want to engineer and build them a real kitchen, but they fell in line. They always will, or else.

“Welcome home, honey. How was your day?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Waldemar sits down. “What are we having?”

“This is chicken tetrazzini with cheesy white sauce and oven-roasted cherry tomatoes on top. For the drink, I chose a rosemary-infused sparkling lemonade.”

“I don’t like lemons,” Waldemar counters.

“Oh, you’ll like this. Lemonade is very different. The sugar—”

“I don’t like lemon anything,” he volleys, raising his voice, but still not yelling. “Bring me the milk we had last night.”

“We had turkey chili last night. Milk paired well with that, but it will not pair well with this dish,” she argues.

He swipes the cup off the table, letting it spill and break on the floor, but not shatter. “I’ll decide what pairs well with what.”

Audrey calmly stands up, walks around the table, and raps him on the nose. “No! No! We do not throw things, and we don’t knock them over. No!” She strikes him again.

She is the only person on this ship who can do something like that to him. Anyone else would be six feet under the Attic Forest or floating in the black nothing by now. He flares his nostrils, but doesn’t otherwise react. It’s not easy, holding himself back with her. He can’t just do it. He has to concentrate on it. Most things he tries come easy to him, but not social etiquette. That’s why he usually doesn’t worry about it, because it’s too much work, but she’s worth it. That ass alone...

“Okay.” She lifts her hand and taps on her fingers in the right command sequence. A bot emerges from the floor, and begins to clean up the mess.

“I told you, I don’t like those things. Your job is to keep house, when I’m not here, and when I am. If you’re going to outsource that work, what’s the point?”

“Good question,” Audrey replies as she’s returning to the kitchen. She takes the milk out of the fridge, and starts to pour. “What’s the point of playing house at all? You’re a captain for Christ’s sake.” She sets the glass in front of him. “You don’t have time for domesticity.”

“We all have our roles, dear.” He takes a bite of the chicken pasta. “I didn’t want to be captain, it was my destiny. I was born for this.” He takes a drink of the milk. “Blech,” he exclaims, letting the milk shoot out of his mouth, and land on the cleaning bot, confusing it. For a moment, he’s embarrassed. He looks back up at Audrey. “I guess you were right.” He wipes his lips with his sleeve.

“Oh, you animal,” she utters with a sigh. She sits on the edge of the table, and dabs his face with a napkin. They stare into each other’s eyes. Then she leans down and kisses him passionately. He has little need for most personal connections, but having someone to take care of him like this is nice. He won’t give it up, for the job, or anything.

He takes her hand in his, and kisses it too. “I’m sorry I got mad.”

“It’s okay.” She goes back to the kitchen again, and pours another glass of the lemonade. “It’s like you said, it’s my job to keep house. Unlike 99.98 percent of the population, I know how to cook. That’s just about all I spend my time doing. Trust me.”

Waldemar accepts the drink this time, and tries it. She’s right, as always.

He’s still feeling uncomfortable with the emotion he emulated during dinner, so Waldemar leaves the stateroom afterwards, to go on his rounds. The people know by now that when he’s walking at this pace, with this gait, he is not to be disturbed. If he wants to interact with someone, he will initiate contact, not them. And he’s not there to help anyone either. This is his personal time, which he uses to clear his head, or work through problems. He likes to be seen. He wants to be present, and for the citizens to associate him with every corner of this vessel. His focus is on the bridge, but they should not forget that he can go anywhere, and do anything he wants. He can show up any time, so it’s best not to be whispering about him, or planning some misguided coup. He absolutely detests not knowing what people are discussing or thinking, and while he hasn’t had to explain this out loud, people understand that. When he’s around, they go silent. If he wants them to speak, he’ll unambiguously let them know.

He doesn’t usually pay attention to where he’s going. Again, he has free rein, so he doesn’t have to plan a specific route. He finds himself in the park. Before Tinaya Leithe was even captain, she worked for the Parks Department, and eventually used her power to build the Attic Forest, which takes up the whole upper deck. People love it there, and use it all the time, which is why Waldemar doesn’t go there. He doesn’t care for nature, nor people. The original park is still here. It’s only a fraction of the size, and poorly maintained these days, so regular people have no use for it. He typically only comes here when he wants to be alone, but today, he has more stumbled upon it. Perhaps his subconscious mind is trying to tell him something.

He’s not alone this time. A young girl is sitting by whatever these plants are called. She’s...what is she doing? Is she drawing them? On paper? What a weirdo. He’s intrigued. “It doesn’t have any color.”

The girl doesn’t look up, and doesn’t stop. “Yeah, it’s a sketch. It’s not supposed to have color.”

“What is the point if it’s not going to be accurate?” He catches himself asking that question a lot. He used to ask it even more frequently. Silveon taught him that people notice because he’s questioning things that are obvious to normal people.

“It’s art, it doesn’t need to be accurate.” She’s still not looking at him.

He smiles. She has no idea who he is. It’s a relief, really. Yes, of course he wants people to respect him and do as he says, but there’s something intoxicating about the few who refuse to. That’s why he hooked up with Audrey in the first place, because she doesn’t take his shit. She’s almost as strong as he is, and can work at his level. This girl here, whoever she is. She might be even better.

“I’m not much into art. I’m so busy. With my job.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are, Captain.” Oh. So she does know who he is, if only by his voice. But wait, if that’s true, why is she being so casual and distant? Why is she not looking him in the eyes to gain favor, or down at his feet to show her fear and reverence?

“Do you mind if I sit?” he asks.

She sighs, and closes her notepad. “If that’s what you’re into.”

He sits rather close to her. “Can I see?”

“Go ahead. I’m not ashamed.”

There are a ton of other drawings in the sketchbook, some also without color, but some with. Many of her subjects can be found around the ship, but others are nowhere near here. Lots of animals. She likes cows. She’s a cowgirl. “These are really good. uh...oh, what’s your name?”

“Sable.”

“Sable?” he echoes. “You’re Admiral Keen’s daughter.”

“That’s right.”

“Royalty.”

“Huh?”

“Uh.” Why is it so hot in here, and why is he stumbling over his words? She’s pretty, yeah, but she’s so young. It’s...that doesn’t matter at any rate. He can have any woman he wants. Why worry about this one girl? “I meant your art. In the past, you could have sold it for money, and I think they called that royalties.”

“Cool.” God, she’s such a—what word is he looking for?—renegade. Just an untamable, fierce, defiant badass. She smells nice too, and the curve of her neck is so enticing. Who cares how young she is? He must have her. She reminds him of Audrey, back before the, ya know...sagging and wrinkling.

“Have you ever painted a mural before?” He asks her, leaning in a little. She needs to know that he’s interested without it being obvious to someone watching them from the outside.

“Like on a wall? We don’t have the right kind of walls.”

“Say the word, I’ll make one. You can paint anything you want on it. Do we have paint? I’ll get you some paint. If it’s not the right paint, I’ll get you the right paint.”

“Captain, I really appreciate you trying to engage with your people, but this is really not necessary.”

“I just see your talent, and I think everyone else should too.” He places a hand against her back, noting that she doesn’t flinch at his touch.

For the first time ever, she makes eye contact. “Do you really think so?”

He begins to lower his hand. She doesn’t reject this either. “Unequivocally. Let’s talk about this some more.”

“I would like that.”

He moves under her shirt, definitely not only touching her back anymore.

She smiles. She’s so into him.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 14, 2466

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According to a more thorough sweep of The Waycar, it was designed to accommodate a crew of precisely 89 people. They were assuming that the three larger sleeping compartments were meant for the captain—or whatever the leader was called—and their two most executive associates. The other sleeping quarters varied in size. A few others had their own bathrooms, but they mostly shared. Four of them were just pods in a hallway behind main engineering, which was probably for the engineers, who were likely expected to be ready to work at all hours of the day. This was more than enough space for the special squadron that the Stoutversians had now filled it with, but Ramses being the generous type, he had other ideas.

“What the hell is this?” Angela questioned as they were carefully sliding down the ramp. The topmost level overlooked the level below it, which stopped before reaching the back wall at about the same distance. It then dropped off to a slant, all the way down to the same height as the next level. No, that wasn’t quite how Past!Mateo described it. He called it a weird-ass slant, which was pretty fitting. Directly under the floor was the armory, so there was no explanation for why it was designed like this, except maybe to make it harder to reach the stasis perch where Cassius was found? The more they looked at that, though, the more they started to think that that perch didn’t belong there at all, and was an after-market retrofit. Cassius wasn’t sure. He wasn’t always Nereus Jolourvedin’s second most trusted advisor. And he wasn’t that anymore either, but he was the only original member of the crew still standing, so in everyone’s mind, it was his birthright. The central computer’s records appeared to support this.

“I believe it’s the hock,” Ramses suggested.

“There’s no door,” Future!Mateo argued. “If it’s dark, or you’re not careful, you just fall down the slide.”

“It’ll be harder to climb back up,” Ramses explained. “Check out these eye bolts. I think they’re for shackles.” He tugged on a large metal ring bolted to the wall, which didn’t budge one bit.

“Jesus,” Cassius said. “We never used  them.” They had to remind themselves that this thing was designed by and for Maramon. That was why the doors were wider and taller, and explained at least kind of why anyone thought that an open slope hock made any sense.

“Well, you’ll use this area now,” Ramses claimed. One thing about it, which they weren’t able to see when it was so dark, was that there was a door at the bottom of the slope. It was rather far from all the eye bolts, and was probably expected to be kept locked at all times, and the Waycar was designed to spend a lot of time in the outer bulk or outer space, but in any case, it was a security flaw. That was how they felt about it anyway. They couldn’t match alien idiosyncrasies to human logic. Ramses reached over the door with a stick, since he wasn’t tall enough, and flipped on the light to illuminate the door. It wasn’t just a light, though. It was mainly a pocket dimension generator. It wouldn’t have to be an exit anymore. Then again, this open-dungeon concept could be ignored no matter what. They could store bags of rice down here instead. How about that; doing something socially responsible with the space.

“Do you just, like, have a box of those lying around in your lab?” Angela asked.

“I build them in my spare time, for occasions such as this.” Ramses opened the door to reveal the bare, but capacious, magical extra space they had access to now, well beyond the confines of the Waycar’s hull.

“Oh, wow. Why did you do this for us?” Cassius asked. “I mean, thank you. And also, what did you have in mind...specifically?”

Ramses stepped halfway over the threshold of the portal. “I didn’t have anything in mind. I just figured that you would rather have it than not.” He dropped a fob into Cassius’ hand. He admired his work for a few silent seconds. “But what would I do with it? I would build a garden.”

“Not a lab?” Future!Mateo questioned.

“I got plenty of those,” Ramses replied dismissively.

Cassius lifted the fob, and pressed a button. The pocket disappeared, revealing instead the outer door, which would lead them to the deadly equilibrium of the bulk. “I appreciate the gesture.”

Ramses nodded, and looked back up towards the slope. “It is up to you to decide who you wanna tell about it, and who you don’t. That’s why I brought you here while the squadron was asleep.”

“I’m not calling it a squadron. I prefer the term bastion.”

“The Waycar Bastion,” Future!Mateo articulated fully. “I think I like it too.”

“Plus, The Squadron’s taken.” Aclima was standing at the top of the slope.

“Aclima. We were just making sure that the emergency exit was secure,” Angela lied, “Wouldn’t want it falling open accidentally.”

“Save it,” Aclima called down to them from over eight meters away. “I know about the pocket dimension. I saw Rambo installing it. It’s fine. I won’t tell anyone.”

Angela took Cassius by the hand, and teleported them both to the top of the slope. Everyone else followed. “Is this your home now? Are you joining the new mission?”

“A mission is what I’ve been looking for. What could be greater than literally insulating the multiverse from the cancer that is the Ochivari?” That was the Waycar’s mandate. Their job was not to fight against invaders, but to hop from brane to brane, activating the quintessence consolidator to thicken the membrane that protected each one. This was how they contributed to the Darning Wars. Cassius was their leader. He chose the title Sentry for its connotations of protecting others, rather than killing.

“Aclima, I’m glad you’re still awake,” Cassius said.

“Hybrids don’t need as much sleep as humans,” she explained.

“That’s a good thing. I was hoping to talk to you about being my second-in-command. Now that you’ve just declared your intentions to stay after we drop off Team Matic, hopefully it won’t be too hard to convince you.”

“Would you not want someone with more experience,” Aclima questioned, “like Hadron?”

“I already asked him what he wanted to do, since he was already familiar with this technology. He’s going to be my Communications Officer, since he has a knack for languages.”

“And Kineret McArthur?” Aclima pressed.

“Head of Intelligence. She’ll be sifting through the database of known universes, determining which ones to go to first.”

“Carlin McIver?” Aclima suggested the next one down the line.

Cassius chuckled. “I don’t think he’ll be staying with us for long. I believe he wants to see his family again.”

“What about Velter?” Aclima either really didn’t want the job, or she didn’t want to sound too desperate. Velter must have been some random member of the bastion.

Cassius looked down at his tablet. “I’m afraid I don’t know who that is.”

“My mistake, I’m thinking of something else,” Aclima said dismissively. “If you...really believe that I could do it, then I would be honored. I mean, I know where you came from, and I’m sure you’re not too fond of Maramon, so I just wouldn’t think—”

“I don’t hold anything the Maramon have done against you. I’ll only hold your own actions to account. That’s one thing Nereus and I could agree on.”

Aclima smiled softly. “Very well, I accept.”

“Great! Now we need to come up with a title for you,” Cassius decided.

“Cassius,” Leona said through comms. They decided to give him a disc for himself, in case they ever needed to make contact with him sometime after they parted ways.

He tapped his neck. “Go ahead.”

“It’s done. We’re about to fire the test missile.”

“I’m on my way.”

Angela took Cassius’ hand again, and teleported him down to the engineering section. Future!Mateo did the same for Aclima. It was odd, though. Why didn’t the Maramon give the hybrids such powers of their own?

Leona had been working down here since they left Stoutverse. Sealing it up with an overabundance of quintessence was the test, to see if the technology was even viable. “I thought you might want to be the one to push the button,” she said to Cassius. There were only a couple of other people here. They were the most trusted members of what was now called the bastion. They weren’t necessarily the most trusted by the government, but by Cassius and the team. They couldn’t have just anyone understanding how to thicken membranes, nor knowing how to break through them. It had to remain a well-kept secret.

Cassius smiled at the thought. “I’m not sentimental. Go ahead and do it to it.”

“Why are we firing a missile at the universe again?” Angela asked.

“To make sure the consolidator worked,” Future!Mateo answered. “The missile is specifically designed to harness bulk energy, and travel through the membrane, but also trigger an explosion that could not propagate back out. It’s the ultimate shield. You could be meters from your target, but not suffer the same damage, because the universal membrane of quintessence—also known as dark matter—will protect you, but not the target. The missile still has its limits, though. If the consolidator worked as desired, it should not be able to pierce it.”

Everyone looked at Mateo, except for Leona. “Oh, don’t look so impressed. He just rote memorized the speech that I wrote when we were pitching the full plan to the Primus. He has no idea what he said.”

“Yes, I do,” Future!Mateo contended.

“Firing missile,” Leona announced. She pressed the button. The Waycar came with some great advanced sensors. Despite there being no real viewports in this room, it was able to generate a realistic depiction of what was happening in the bulk right now. They could see a missile leave the weapons array, and fly towards the membrane of Stoutverse. If all went according to plan, it would be deflected by the quintessence, and explode before it got anywhere near inside. If they had failed in using the consolidator correctly, the missile would get through, but it would find itself at least two light years from Earth, or any interplanetary outpost, so no one should be in danger. Hopefully that didn’t happen, though.

“It’s off course,” one of the technicians told them.

“It’s fine, it’s still fine,” Leona assured him.

Finally, the missile struck the wall, but was not deflected. It lodged itself inside, and tried to wiggle its way through, like a sperm to an egg.

“Trigger the explosion now!” Cassius ordered.

“No, it will give up, and self-detonate,” Leona insisted. “Just give it time.”

“Look at the angle. It’s not off course by accident. It knows that we plotted a vector towards an unpopulated region. It’s seeking out Earth. It’s more intelligent than we realized. If it doesn’t work, and it gets all the way through the brane, people will die.”

“We don’t know that it’s headed for Earth,” Leona argued. “You’re thinking in three dimensions. What you’re seeing on the screen right now is only an approximation, translated from hyperdimensional space to something that our brains can comprehend. It isn’t real.”

“It’s real enough. Blow it up..now!” Cassius repeated.

“I’m in charge of this mission,” Leona reminded him. “You don’t officially take over until my team and I leave for Verdemus.”

“And if you want to continue to have a positive relationship with the crew of the Waycar, you will heed my advice,” Cassius urged. “Abort mission immediately.”

“Detonation confirmed,” the other technician said.

“So it did work,” Leona assumed.

“No.” The tech shook her head. “I followed his orders.”

Leona breathed deliberately through her nose. “I see.” She stood up passive-aggressively. “Captain Hoffman, it looks like you have command.”

“It’s Sentry Hoffman,” he corrected.

“Whatever.” Leona disappeared.

Cassius turned back to the tech. “Go back to the specs. Find out why the consolidator didn’t work, or whether it’s as simple as leaving it on for three point five seconds longer.”

“The specs that my wife risked her life to get for you...while you were fast asleep in your little pod,” Future!Mateo reminded him.

“Thank you, Mister Matic. That will be all.”

Future!Mateo teleported to one of the executive crew compartments, which was where they were staying while the Vellani Ambassador was still miniaturized. “I saw the English screen. The missile was only 31% through. There’s a chance that it would have detonated itself before making it all the way.”

“No, he was right, I fucked up.” Leona contended. “It’s smarter than we knew. It recognized that it was dealing with a harder target, and it adapted to compensate.”

“Then you can program a dumber missile,” Future!Mateo reasoned.

“An enemy would have no reason to do that,” Leona reasoned right back. “The whole point is to test its strength against all-comers. Let’s face it, I failed.”

“Okay, let’s say you did,” Future!Mateo began. “Are you gonna sit here and sulk, or are you gonna go downstairs, and fix it?”

She breathed deeply, and waited to respond. “Good point.” She disappeared.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 13, 2465

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Angela was on the observation floor of The Waycar, resting her elbows on the railing. That was what this section of The Transit that they managed to this universe with was apparently called. In all the fuss, they weren’t able to do a very thorough sweep of the thing before, but now they were going all over it. Of course Ramses was spending a lot of time in the engineering sections. There were two of them. The front end had a very low ceiling; too low when you remember that the average Maramon stood at around 200 centimeters. They must have considered it more of a crawlspace. It housed the machinery that kept it running, while all the interfacing happened near the back, underneath the briefing theatre. The rest of the levels had everything that a good squadron needed to live while they were training for war. Personal quarters, lavatories, mess hall, other communal areas. Training rooms, armory, command center. Despite it only being one car of 56, it was clearly always designed to be self-sufficient. They had seen everything by now, but didn’t know everything about it. Case in point, a weird remote floor that Angela was staring at right now.

Her sister, Marie walked up from behind her. “They’re almost ready for us.”

“Okay,” Angela replied solemnly.

“What are you doing up here?”

She was facing the back of the car, towards the smaller window. But she wasn’t looking through the window. To the left of it was a platform of some kind, a little bit higher than the floor they were standing on. She pointed to it. “Look around, Mar-Mar. There’s no way to get to that. No ladder, no elevator. It’s too far away to leap to. What the hell is it for? Is it just decoration? It does vaguely look like a giant sconce.”

“Well, I mean, we could just teleport to it.”

“Yeah, we could, but...this wasn’t engineered for teleporters.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I guess not.”

Marie smiled at her alternate self with her eyes, but not her lips, as she offered a hand. “Let’s go together.”

They took hands, and cleared the nine or ten meter gap with ease. Only now could they look down to see what was here. The floor was flat, but there was a seam running all the way across, and a handle. They exchanged a brief look, then Angela reached down, and opened the trapdoor. They looked apprehensively at what was there. “Get Leona,” Marie said.

Angela didn’t go anywhere. She just tapped her neck to activate her comm disc. “Boss, better get up here. Just you, though. Not much space on this.”

“On what?”

“Let’s call it the perch,” Angela replied.

Leona quickly figured out what she was referring to. She too looked down at the stasis pod. “Either o’ you recognize this guy?”

They shook their heads. “Nope.”

“Should we wake him up?” Leona asked.

“You’re asking us?”

“I want your opinion.”

Marie consulted her watch. “We have to get to the negotiations.”

“You go,” Angela suggested.

“What?”

“They don’t need both of us. Go facilitate. I’m curious.”

“So, is that a yes from you?” Leona pressed.

“If not us, then who? If not now, then when?”

Leona chuckled. “Fair enough.”

“Go,” Angela encouraged her sister. “I love you.”

“Mateo,” Leona asked through her comm.

“Yeah?” Both Mateos answered simultaneously.

“Who gave him a comm?” she questioned.

“I did,” Ramses answered. “It seems like he’s gonna be with us for longer than we presumed.”

“I want it out of his neck,” Leona ordered. “He doesn’t have one in the past, and we have no idea when he’ll end up going back. Carlin could find a reason to relapse him any second now.”

“Understood,” Ramses replied.

“You had a question?” Future!Mateo asked.

“Is that Stoutverse doctor still helping us with inventory in the infirmary?”

“Sure is,” Future!Mateo replied.

“Tell her she may have a patient on the way.”

“Understood,” he echoed.

Leona cleared her throat, and got down on her knees to start tapping on the stasis pod interface screen. “Cassius Hoffmann. Is he on our known list?”

Angela tapped on her arm to access their personal files. “No. Only a Cassidy.”

Leona tilted her head. “Maybe they’re related.” And with that, she released the hatch, and lifted it open. There were two kinds of stasis technologies; one which used magical powers to slow down time, and another which Earth developed. Induced cryptobiosis didn’t manipulate time, but slowed the subject’s metabolism down to almost nothing. There were complications with this technology, such as a build-up of radiation in the body, which had to be periodically purged, and a limited operational timeframe. To avoid these pitfalls, true stasis was one of the technologies that the Shortlist agreed to provide for the stellar neighborhood to make their lives easier, under the condition that it would only be used for long-term space travel, not for any other reason. It could scale into a weapon if harnessed by an abusive or nefarious party.

This Cassius guy was just in a tun state, like a tardigrade. It was more difficult to maintain, and required more maintenance, but he could have been in here for centuries. One of the downsides of cryptobiotic stasis was the length of time it took to revive the subject. Water filled the pod to rehydrate him, and an electrical charge was delivered to revitalize his nervous system. They waited there for minutes before he finally opened his eyes, and looked at them. “Can you speak?” Angela asked.

Cassius blinked twice.

“Does twice mean no?”

He blinked once.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He blinked yes again. Then he struggled to adjust his gaze towards his feet. His eyelids fluttered. When they expressed concern, he stopped, suggesting that it was a voluntary gesture.

“Are you trying to point to something?” Angela asked him.

Yes.

“They screen?”

Yes.

“Can it expedite your recovery?”

No.

“What does it do? I mean...ugh.” She thought about what binary question that she could ask. There was none. “A, B, C, E, E, F...” She kept going until he blinked yes at M, then she started the alphabet all over again until she got to I.

She only ended up having to elicit M-I-N-D-R-E before Leona decided to guess mindreader, and realized what he was going for. “Oh my God, of course. He wasn’t just asleep. His mind was probably in a virtual environment.” She tapped on the screen some more until she found what they needed.

A tiny hologram of Cassius appeared on the glass. The physical Cassius looked at it for a second before closing his eyes to continue his recovery. “Hey, folks!”

“Cassius Hoffmann?” Leona asked.

“That’s me!”

“What are you doing here?”

“How long has the Transit been active?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” Leona replied. “Maybe a few weeks? We’re no longer connected. The Waycar is now free and independent.”

“I see. Who’s on the Transit?”

Leona didn’t know who he was, or whether he could be trusted, but he appeared to have been in some control of this machine before anyone they knew was, so there were probably some things he knew about it without their help. “The beginnings of the Transit Army.”

“Good,” Cassius decided. “They don’t need us. I was only placed here to make sure that they were the ones who found it, instead of just any rando astronaut who happened to land on Hyperion.”

Leona shook her head tightly.

“It’s one of Saturn’s moons,” Cassius explained. “That’s where the Transit was.” Now he was getting suspicious of them. Who are you?”

“Captain Leona Matic of the Vellani Ambassador.”

“Oh, okay. Whew.” He was relieved. “Yes, my name is Cassius Hoffmann, Second Lieutenant to Nereus Jolourvedin, Thief of the Transit Bulk Traveling Ship. Together, we and a group of other humans escaped Ansutah, and made our way back to Salmonverse. Most of them went off to live their own lives in peace. Nereus and his First Lieutenant claimed their destinies. I was left here with only the one job, and I didn’t even have to do it.”

“Something must have gone wrong at any rate,” Leona imagined. “You should have been awakened either way.”

“Nah, the machine has a mind of its own. If Freya or Azura stepped foot on board, it would have recognized them, and left me alone. I’m not surprised it’s taken weeks for you to find me. This car was invisible. You see, this was more of a punishment than anything. Don’t worry, I’m not a killer or anything. I just didn’t always know my place as Second L-T. I was a bit of a nuisance.”

“Nereus Jolourvedin now serves as The Repairman,” Leona told him, not knowing whether he knew that or not. “He doesn’t seem like the type to hold a grudge.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t wanna see me again.”

“Then he’s in luck,” Angela clarified. “We’re not even in Salmonverse anymore.”

“I see.” Cassius placed his hands on his hips, and looked around as he was nodding. “Do you lay claim to the Waycar?”

“We need to verify your story,” Leona began. “If it checks out, then this here vessel is yourn. We have our own.”

“I need to get to the negotiations,” Angela suddenly decided.

“Okay. Thanks, Angie,” Leona said.

“Thanks, Angie!” Cassius echoed before adding after Angela left, “she single?”

“She only dates corporal people,” Leona joked.

“Touché.” After a beat, he added, “I only need another hour.”

An hour and a half later, Cassius was able to return his consciousness fully to his body, and go see the doctor for an examination. By then, the diplomatic discussions were over. They turned out to be a lot more complicated than anyone could have guessed. It wasn’t only about letting Kineret leave with her daughter. It all had to do with the Waycar, the consolidator, and a new crew. “They want this?” Leona asked.

“No, they want to create a crew for the Waycar. Any of us would be welcome to stay and lead them,” Angela explained.

“I see. I have no intention of leaving the Ambassador.”

“Neither do I,” Angela replied. “But someone who knows a little about this stuff should become part of the executive crew. I don’t think the Stoutversians could handle it on their own. Do you know how many people can fit comfortably?”

“Maybe almost a hundred by our calculations,” Ramses answered.

“I’m sure that Cassius will be staying, no matter who else comes aboard,” Leona clarified. “He can lead them, I guess. He knows this thing better than any of us. We brought them the quintessence consolidator. I suppose our job is done.”

“We still need them,” Future!Mateo reasoned. “If we want to get to Verdemus to find the timonite for my past self, Carlin can’t do that.”

“True,” Leona realized. “It will take weeks at best to form the crew of this new ship. We can’t leave until then.”

“They’ve already agreed to take us back to Salmonverse,” Marie revealed. “But we won’t be able to call upon them if we end up needing something else later.”

“That should be fine,” Leona decided. “But Carlin, we will need you in the future. Past!Mateo has to get back to his time in the Third Rail. I can see your eyes, though; you wanna stay here on the Waycar.”

“I do,” Carlin admitted, “but I’ll help you in any way I can.”

Leona looked at the Walton sisters. “We gave them the consolidator, and in a way, we’re also giving them the Waycar. Did we happen to get anything out of these talks?”

“The new crew,” Angela began. “It won’t be as hard to form as you might believe. They don’t have a very large pool to pick from. Our one condition was that no one who leaves this universe is allowed to be a carrier for the deadly dragonfly flu. They made their choice in exposing the majority of their population to it, but they can only use it to protect their world. They’re never allowed to leave.”

“I guess that’s something,” Leona figured.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 25, 2446

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There was a small gap between the outer layer and the second layer down of the IMS. Tiny valves could form on their own, and suck in air from the environment to inflate this gap, turning the whole thing into a very thin lifejacket. They could form nearly anywhere on the suit, and heal themselves once the job was complete, or if they became submerged in water, and would replace each other accordingly until buoyancy was achieved. This function triggered in all four of their suits automatically, and sent them down river. They had to paddle with their hands and feet to avoid rocks and branches, but that wasn’t the problem. They didn’t know where they were, or how far they had gone. Ramses was not answering his comms, but maybe this was some kind of massive biodome inside Ex-42, which might be shielded in various ways. Their comms were supposed to break through anything, but for every solution, there was the potential for a counter-solution. After they rounded the bend, they found themselves coming up on a very large tree.

The current tried to take the team in different directions. This appeared to be some kind of confluence. They had to swim to stay together, and agreed that they should stop at the central tree to speak with the other people standing underneath it. As they drew nearer, they realized that they recognized about half of them. This was the crew of the X González; Goswin Montagne, Weaver, and Eight Point Seven, plus their prisoner, Briar de Vries. The last time they saw these people, they randomly popped up on the Vellani Ambassador, had a brief argument about Mateo’s supposed death, and then disappeared with Angela. There were five other people standing in the tiny conflux island, but Angela could not count herself amongst them.

 The team crawled onto the island, and approached the other nine, Leona taking the lead. “Report.”

One of the strangers stepped forward. My name is Storm Avakian, and I am the Ensemble Conductor of the Garden Dimension. That is where you are.”

“What year is it?” Leona asked.

“We don’t worry about time that much,” a man said. “Hi, I’m Pinesong Shadowskin, Dimensional Composer.”

Leona stared at them a moment. “We just came from the Goldilocks Corridor. It’s 16,000 light years from Earth. Have you heard of it?”

“We’ve not,” Storm answered.

Goswin’s crew shook their heads too.

Leona focused on the captain. “Where’s Angela?”

“That’s not her right there?” Goswin asked, pointing at Marie.

“That’s her twin sister,” Leona explained. “You took Angela from us, or you will anyway. But no, that had to have happened for you already, because that’s when Briar learned that Mateo survived his first death on Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida. He doesn’t seem surprised right now.”

“Ah,” Weaver realized, “you met a group of our shifted selves. They’re like alternates, but...different. We’ve absorbed their memories, but our respective brains are still consolidating the discrepancies. We’ve not really had any time to sleep, which will help us remember such things.”

“We know where she’ll be,” Eight Point Seven said. “We’ve experienced your reunion, and remember it just fine. We can send them there.”

“I thought you were the one who didn’t want to help any more people,” Briar reminded Eight Point Seven.

“Well, it’s Leona. We’re gonna help Leona,” Eight Point Seven contended.

“Of course we are,” Goswin agreed. He held his palm up towards Leona, but then he became confused. “Are we not syncing? What’s going on?”

“We all want the same thing,” Briar said. “I still feel you three, but...”

“But we don’t feel the cosmos anymore,” Weaver determined.

“Could someone please explain what’s happening?” Mateo requested. “Ya know, for the dumber people in this group. Not me, obviously, I’m a genius.”

“No, I don’t know what’s happening either,” Leona clarified.

“We were in the Nucleus,” Goswin began before stopping. “I mean...Weaver?”

Weaver nodded, and took over the story. “We were in the Nucleus, where our minds and bodies were split into an unknown number of what we called our shifted selves. We found ourselves with the ability to jump to any point in spacetime, as long as we did it together. We had to sync up our brains, and focus on a singular goal. We also realized that we could do this to others, which is what surely happened to your missing friend, but there was a learning curve. Recently, we used the power of this tree to merge all of our selves into a single body and brain each. As I said, our minds are still working through that. To protect the tree, we removed it from Bida, and transplanted it here. That literally just happened, and...our power is gone now?” She looked over at the Garden Dimension people. “I don’t suppose any of you can explain that. It couldn’t be the dimension itself. We shifted back and forth before, and it went just fine.”

“Princess Honeypea,” Storm said simply.

A young woman hopped over to the tree. It was a giant magnolia with blue flowers and blue fruits. The bark had a sort of indescribable glow about it, and the roots reached into the waters. In fact, some of the roots seemed to be growing before their very eyes, searching for nutrients in the conflux. Princess Honeypea was inspecting the tree now. She gave it as big of a hug as she could, though it was a stretch to use that word when her arms were just about flat with her whole body pressed against the trunk. She sniffed at the branches, and licked the base before pulling one of the leaves off, stuffing it in her mouth, and chewing thoughtfully. She nodded, and went over to Briar, taking him by the hand, and causing his to blush. She led him over to the tree, and placed his hand upon it. “All three of you, come on and do the same thing,” she instructed.

The other three members of the crew went over to touch the tree.

Honeypea nodded again. “Just as I suspected. Their power is not gone, it’s just been moved into Riverbell.”

“Riverbell?” Goswin questioned.

“Riverbell Hallowheart,” Honeypea went on. “That’s her name.”

“Well, I like it,” Briar decided.

Goswin laughed mildly. “No one said we didn’t like it.” He took a breath. “So, it’s over. We can’t help them.”

Honeypea plucked a fruit pod down. “Maybe you can’t help anymore, but Riverbell here could take over for you. She would be honored.”

“Does it have a consciousness?” Weaver asked, like that wasn’t one of the craziest things one could say about a tree.

“Not in the way you would think,” Honeypea began to explain. She walked over, and handed Leona the fruit pod. “But I’m assuming that you do...have a consciousness?”

“I do,” Leona confirmed. “You want me to eat this?”

“One fruit, one trip. These are immature, though, so each one won’t last long before it pulls you back to origin. You’ll have to keep eating them if you don’t finish what you’re trying to do, and need to go back. If you’re looking for your friend, but you don’t know exactly where she is, it might take the whole pod.”

“What happens when I finish the pod?” Leona asked. “Can’t I just...eat another?”

“You could try, but that might kill you,” Honeypea said. She was no longer her usual bubbly self. “They’re not poisonous, per se, but too much of a good thing is still bad for you. You can even drink too much water. Your body might eventually learn to metabolize it, allowing you to start eating again, but that would take time. In fact, I’m not sure that it would even be safe for you to finish the pod. Fewer is recommended.”

“My body’s pretty strong,” Leona explained. “I’m not like regular people.”

“I can see that,” Honeypea said, “but you’re not invincible. Like any plant, Riverbell wants to propagate, but unlike normal plants, it doesn’t do it by replicating itself. It’s more complex than I can say with words, but basically, when it sends you somewhere, you’ll be taking seeds with you. Seeds of time. You’ll be changing history just by being in the timeline with the fruit in your system. That’s what the four of them did before they came here, and that will continue with you, and anyone else who partakes. This is why we must protect it, because that can’t be allowed to get out of hand. The most beautiful of organisms can become an invasive species, and an ecosystem—even one as extensive as all of space and time—demands balance, not homogeny.”

“I need one too,” Mateo said. “Ramses is missing now. You can protect the fruit all you want after that.”

Honeypea nodded. “I understand, and accept your terms.”

“Now, hold on,” Weaver jumped in. “That private detective we met. He was looking for the fruit. He thought that it would make his client young again.”

“He was wrong,” Honeypea said. “The fruit doesn’t do that at all. I can see why his client believed that, though. The source of the Fountain of Youth is right there.” She pointed at the ground.”

Everyone looked down. “What?” Weaver asked.

“The Fountain of Youth? In Florida?” Honeypea continued. “It’s there. This conflux marks the crisscrossing of five rivers, which branch off in ten directions. The eleventh branch goes down.” She shrugged, her eyebrows, as well as her shoulders. “And then up again. It flows into a spring in mithgarther.”

“When did this happen?” Weaver was still shocked.

Honeypea looked at her bare wrist. “Like, ten minutes ago.”

“This was inevitable,” Leona realized. “The Fountain of Youth has existed in every timeline I’ve ever heard of. It dried up many centuries ago. It’s one of the immortality waters. Do all of the other waters come from here?”

“No.” Honeypea was certain of this.

Storm stepped closer to Honeypea. “Are you sure about the properties of this new tree? The fruits, the roots, the leaves; everything.”

“I’ll need a little more time to finish the full synthesis of data, but I’m quite confident,” Honeypea replied.

“Okay, coordinate with Onyx for his catalog.” Storm turned to Leona and Mateo. “He’s our Botanical Orchestrator. We don’t do anything with the plants, including eating them, until he’s done his due diligence. You’ll have to wait, I don’t know how long.”

“I suppose we can hold off for another year,” Leona decided. “Will that be sufficient, Madam Avakian?”

Storm bowed her head respectfully. “More than enough. For now, allow me to show you to our guest quarters. I hope they are to your satisfaction.”

An airboat came up to them automatically, and after they climbed into it, sped off down one of the rivers. It stopped and dropped them off at Citrus Inn. It was a small and simple building, but it came with a beautiful view, and the air smelled of lemons and oranges.

“You have citrus here? How does that work?”

Storm smirked. “Trade secret. I can’t tell.” She left it at that, and left them there, assuring them that everything they might need would be in the rooms, the kitchen, the bathrooms, or the closets. They were allowed to pick anything from the orchard, but could not touch any of the other plants.

There was no electricity here, which meant no TV or music. There was a small library down the hall for entertainment, but beyond that, they were limited to whatever they had managed to download to their handheld devices. They first sat down in the sitting room together, but were thinking of just going to bed soon. That wasn’t Mateo’s plan, though. “Ramses is all alone. We don’t know whether the Oaksent died in the explosion, or if he had his own plasma shield...”

“When you eat that fruit,” Leona reasoned, “you’ll concentrate on trying to find him seconds after he purged the hot pocket. You don’t have to worry about what he’s been up to since. He’ll have been up to nothing, for he’ll just jump forward in time with you. I know you’re worried, but it’s going to be okay. Angela is going to have gone through the same thing. I’ll find her moments after those alternates of the crew took her away from us. They’ve not been waiting for us to rescue them; it’s already happened.”

Mateo shook his head. “What if it doesn’t work like that? We may have less control over what that fruit does than that princess would have us believe. What if Angela has been gone for days? Don’t you want to not waste any more time?”

“I know what you’re thinking, and I forbid you, Mister Matic.”

She never calls him that, like he’s just a member of her team, and not her husband. “Oh, you forbid me? You think you can stop me?”

“I can punish you,” Leona volleyed.

“With what?”

“No sex.”

“For how long?”

“Indefinitely.”

Mateo glared at her, and she glared back. Ramses was important. He couldn’t let this be too personal. “Worth it.” He teleported away.

Marie teleported away immediately after, and came back with him. She shoved him back into his chair. “She’s my sister.”

“I was going for Ramses.”

“I know,” Marie said. “I love him too, so I’ll get him back too.” She looked over at Leona. “You and I aren’t having sex anyway.” She disappeared again.

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