Extremus: Year 125

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Sable Keen opens Audrey’s eyes. She looks over at the chair next to her and sees Audrey opening Sable’s eyes. It was a success, they’ve managed to switch bodies. Now when Waldemar is standing there in his royal pose, it will be Audrey who is painting his portrait. Sable is slated to stay safe and sound somewhere else, the target being the Captain’s Stateroom, playing the part of the dutiful housewife. It’s not to keep her safe, though. She just doesn’t know how to draw. There are some skills that she can’t pick up from others. She doesn’t understand how it works, and doesn’t have anyone to talk to about it. But this is good. This sort of thing makes life more exciting. If there’s one thing she hates more than anything, it’s boredom. She lives for the drama.

Silveon reaches over and takes Sable by the hand. “Slowly. Slowly now,” he encourages softly as he’s helping her get onto Audrey’s feet.

“You know I’m Sable, right, not your girlfriend? I only look like her right now.”

Silveon looks over at Audrey, who Lataran is helping stand. “We’re not together. You do realize that, right? It’s important you know that we’re not a couple in any way shape or form. We work together because we have the same goals, and know what the stakes are.”

Of course Sable knew that, she’s just gauging their reactions. She always felt the chemistry between the two of them. They’re the same age, and they’ve been through a lot. In a perfect world, they would be together. But she knows enough about what that world looks like to know that Sable is not in it. She would not have been born if they hadn’t come back in time to stop the evil man, Waldemar Kristiansen. That name. It’s like his mother wanted him to grow up to become a villain. The way Sable sees it, Calla brought this on herself; her own death, and everything that has happened since. “I’m just messing with you,” she replies, having spent too much time in her head to respond any other way. This ends the follow-up conversation. “I can do it on my own.” She effortlessly steps over to the mirror and tests out her new look. Audrey has been practicing Sable’s mannerism so she can impersonate her. Sable has not been doing the same. At least that’s what she wants them to think. She has her own agenda.

“You are not to do anything as Audrey,” Lataran warns her. “If Waldemar comes to you, you will do as Audrey would do, and say what she would say, but you are not to interfere with their lives. You’re not there to make changes to their relationship, or try to get him to make certain administrative decisions for the ship, its crew, or passengers...”

“I know, mom. He doesn’t listen to Aud any better than he listens to me. It’s not about me becoming her, it’s about her becoming me. Stop going over it.”

“Okay, okay,” Lataran says in that voice she uses when she remembers that Sable is a big girl now. She was the hardest to convince to help Sable join the fight. She loves Sable too much, which is understandable, but that makes her less pliable. The further removed she is from someone, the easier it is for Sable to control them. Unless they have psychic powers, like Waldemar. That’s the biggest reason why Sable pushed for this assignment, because he’s a challenge. He really doesn’t listen to her. Unlike any rando in the hall whose sandwich she wants, he doesn’t have to comply.

Audrey checks Sable’s watch. “Okay. We cut it close, so I have to run.” They only had a short window to complete the body swapping procedure, but Waldemar is expecting to begin the sitting soon. She steps over and gives Sable a hug. She doesn’t struggle at all. That’s how Sable walks. Without hugging anyone else, she disappears.

“That was weird, don’t you think?” Sable asks Silveon and her mother. “We built in a little time for her to practice in my body. But she’s such a natural.”

“She’s transferred her consciousness before,” Silveon reasons. “It gets easier each time you do it.”

“I bet it does.” She turns around and looks back in the mirror, frowning at the boring clothes that Audrey picked out, probably because she knew Sable would end up in them. “Bye.” She jumps to the stateroom, where she has already stashed her backup watch. She switches them so everyone with the ability to track her location thinks that she’s still here when she’s not. They don’t have authorization to teleport directly inside to check on her, and would have no good reason to give the secret service for ringing the doorbell. She finds something sexier in the closet, then heads out with it.

The three agents guarding the door nod at her respectfully. “First Lady of the Vessel,” they each recite.  Yeah, Waldemar is really leaning into the idea that he’s not a captain, but a president. He sees it as a stepping stone towards becoming a king, and then an emperor. He feels the need to ease the people into accepting more and more of his power over them. He’s correct. If the team weren’t here to stop him, it would work.

She’s been studying the agents, and lucked out today. A few of them have expressed a deeper loyalty to Audrey than to Waldemar himself. They can’t say it out loud, but she sees it in their eyes. This particular guy is in love with her, and would do anything she says. She insisted on going about her business without constant protection, but she can request it anytime she wants. Sable looks the right one in the eyes, doing her best to give him the sense that, in another life, they could be together instead. “I would like an escort today. Only one.” Wait, she needs a cherry on top. “Only you.”

“Very good, Madam.” He’s trying to keep it together. He professionally begins to walk with her down the corridor while the others remain at their post.

“Laventry,” she begins to say once they’re out of earshot of the others.

“You know my name, Madam?” he interrupts. “I mean, I’m sorry, that was rude.”

“It’s okay, Lav.”

His face melts at the sound of the nickname. Perfect.

“Yes, I know your name. Lav, there are secrets on this ship, you know that?”

“I do, Madam.”

“Please. Call me Audrey,” Sable insists. Okay, she can see that that’s too much. He’s still been trained to bow before her and show great deference. “Or not. It’s fine.”

“Thank you, Madam First Lady of the Vessel.”

She laughs. “The secrets. There are places on this ship that not everyone has access to. I need you to take me to one of those places, and I need it to stay between us. Now, I understand that you have sworn and oath to preserve the captain’s chair, but there are things that not even my Waldemar needs to know.”

“Ma’am, I’m not sure I feel comfortable doing anyth—”

She interrupts him now to say, “you recall my child.”

She thought he was frowning before, but now he really is. “Yes, ma’am.”

“There is a place here where time tech is stored, are you aware of this place?”

“I am, Madam First Lady. It’s the old Temporal Engineering lab.” Waldemar did away with the position of temporal engineer. He doesn’t seem to care about it one way or another on principle, except when it comes to his pursuit of immortality. He shut it down, however, because it threatens his hold over Extremus. It leaves the possibility open for someone to go back in time to stop him from ascending. It didn’t seem to occur to him that it’s already happened.

She stops walking, and tugs at his upper arm. “There is something in there that can let me see my child.” Here it comes, the tears. She didn’t even have to drop a tearitant into her eyes, which is good, because he would have noticed that. “It’s not...real, but I can see what she would have looked like had she grown up. I just want to see, Lav. I want to know what I missed.”

“Yes, ma’am, I can understand that, ma’am.”

“Will you help me? Will you get me into that room, and tell no one else about it? Can I trust you, Lav?”

He stares at her and breathes deeply through his nose. She can hear the desire echoing off the walls of his full heart. “Yes, I will help you...Audrey.”

She smiles and places a hand upon his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers.

He gently takes hold of her hand, palm to back. He pulls it away, and puppets her to wipe the tears from her own cheek.

She smiles wider, and turns away shyly. “Sorry.”

Now he touches her chin, directly with his finger, turning it back towards him. “You can show your true feelings around me. I’m very emotionally intelligent.” The members of the secret police are absolute morons. It’s a wonder they manage to put their own shoes on them in the morning. Some of them probably have help. But the secret service agents? They truly are smart. That’s why she had to pick him carefully. She could not have grabbed any one at random. Anyone else would see right through her manipulation. Anyone would reject her control. It’s only working on him because of his connection to Audrey. If Sable had tried to do this as herself, she would have failed miserably, and it could have gotten her found out. “Let’s go.”

They continue through the ship until reaching the sealed off temporal engineering sector. At the door, he looks at her and chuckles. Then he lifts his hand, and smashes the side of his fist against the security panel, breaking it open.

“Oh. Strong.”

Yeah, he liked hearing that. Centuries of gender equality progress, and men are still driven to impress women with their skills and prowess. They’re all peacocks. He chuckles again as he starts to mess with the wires and miniature power crystals.

This is it. Sable is finally going to get what she needs. She can do a lot with what she has now, but she wants more. She has to have more, and she’s willing to go to great lengths to get it. It was not Waldemar’s idea for her to paint his portrait, or even for her to do it. He definitely thinks it was, which is exactly how it should be. Without being able to control another psychic’s mind, she had to use old fashioned conning techniques, and her feminine wiles. Again, het men are all the same. Does she feel bad about treating people like game pieces? No, because she’s not hurting them. Silveon and Audrey weren’t making any progress without her. They’ve been doing this almost literally their entire lives, and were floundering. They never would have let her help if she just let them make their own choices. People are stupid, prideful, and in these cases, protective. So it took a little coaxing. It’s true, that’s what Waldemar would do in the same position, and she has had to accept their similarities. She is more like him than she is willing to let her family and friends know. To be sure, she wants to stop him from destroying the ship, but he’s not crazy. He has some good ideas. It’s more that the ends don’t justify the means. She has better means. It’s her responsibility to use them, starting with this room.

Laventry cracks it. The door swings open, but it’s nothing but darkness. It’s a totally empty void.

She reaches out. As her hand passes over the threshold, it starts to de-resolve, breaking apart into a million pieces. She pulls it back out, watching her hand gradually reassemble itself.

Laventry is just standing there, still proud of himself.

“Did you see that? Did you see what happened?”

“Seems normal to me,” he replies.

“Stick your hand in there,” she orders.

He does as he’s told. He too watches his hand fall apart, then come back together once she pulls at his arm, and brings him fully back into the rendered environment.

“That doesn’t seem weird to you?”

“No. Should it?”

“God...dammit!” She turns around and lets out an incredibly loud scream as she’s beginning to walk away.

He hops up to her and clutches her shoulder. “Tell me what’s wrong. I can help. I told you, I have high emotional intelligence.”

She turns back, scowls at him, and screams again. “Argh! Fuck you!” She pushes the NPC by the chest with both hands, right through the world boundary, killing him instantly. She starts to walk again, foaming at the mouth, utterly incensed at her so-called team. How dare they trick her? It’s a violation. What, did they not trust her? Did they know she would do something like this? Do they know she has powers? If they even know a little bit, that could be a massive problem for her. She screams again. She screams, and she screams, and for a moment after that, she yells, but then she goes back to screaming. She’s out of breath and exhausted, but not actually at all. She can’t feel anything. None of this is real, not even her. She hasn’t been walking for the last several minutes. She’s been sitting in a chair, painting Waldemar’s portrait. Audrey has been in the driver’s seat, and never gave up her own body. Why? Why do it like this? Ugh, she’s not gonna find any answers here. And she’s not going to get out of it by screaming.

She closes her eyes and begins to control her breath. The first step to breaking out of a mind prison is understanding the true orientation of your real body. This is virtual reality 101. Everyone learns that in school so they never become too immersed in the games. Normally, that would be pretty easy. She should be lying down at a 45-degree angle, her arms at her sides, or resting on her chest. But Audrey is making that more complicated, so Sable has to find it. She sits down on a cargo crate. She closes her eyes, and starts by guessing. Audrey is probably sitting like this, with her knees tight together, but her feet wide apart, so she can lean over to see her subject past the canvas. Which hand is dominant? She tries both, pantomining holding a brush. It’s up, it’s down a little, it’s up higher. She keeps moving with these microadjustments, lowering her fake heart rate, and keeping herself calm, breathing like a woman in labor.

The brush materializes in her hand. The real environment resolves, and she’s back. She’s in the art studio, sitting behind the easel. The painting has barely been started, and it may never be finished. The plan has changed. She stands and looks at Waldemar. He’s dressed ridiculously, and posed on a holographic mountain, like he’s nearly at the summit. “I’m not finishing this until you divorce your wife.”

He turns his head slightly to look at her, but maintains his pose. He doesn’t seem the least bit surprised, or annoyed at her. “Consider it done.”

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Extremus: Year 124

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Waldemar was being dramatic last year when he promised Sevara that he would make big changes to the ship. He is smart enough to know that jumping right into his endgame will get him kicked out of the captain’s chair. He can’t let that happen, not in his first term. Yeah, he’s calling them terms. It never made any sense to say that they were shifts. A shift is something you do for a matter of hours at a time, not the entirety of your role. It’s little things like that that he’s changing first. They’re also officially calling the place you go when you’ve been bad the brig, because that’s what it’s called! It’s been filling up. Some people think it’s wrong, but for too long, the passengers have been getting away with doing whatever they want, and that stops now. There are cells here. There are so many cells in the brig on this ship. The ancestors obviously anticipated more crime. The fact that they mostly stand empty is a point of pride among most, but from Waldemar’s point of view, it just looks like the bar has been set too low.

Silveon has become Waldemar’s personal steward, which should have been the case from day one. He doesn’t care if it looks like he’s playing favorites. That’s the whole point of being in power. Cronyism is supposed to be a dirty word, but it is a well-trusted Earthan tradition. If you’re loyal, you’ll be rewarded. Anyone who thinks that disloyal people should be rewarded instead—based on this stupid concept called merit—is an idiot. Loyalty is everything, and it’s time they recognize that. Not everyone agrees. Silveon doesn’t. Which is ironic, but that’s okay. Waldemar isn’t a crazy person, who thinks that no one else should have their own opinion. Silveon’s perspective is not only not a problem, but actively helping. He doesn’t just want to be surrounded by sycophants. He needs to understand the other side of these issues, so he knows how the people will react to his changes...so he knows how to fight against them. Silveon is the most important person in his career, but not in his life. For that, he needs another.

Waldemar and Sable have grown closer and closer by the week. It started out as only sex, but he’s starting to feel real feelings for her. At first, he denied them, because he doesn’t have those, but maybe he was wrong about that. Most of how he understands his own psychology comes from his mother. Even though he hated her, and she’s gone now, it’s not like those lessons went away. She raised him using a certain—evil—method, based on what she thought he was, from his birth. How does he let go of the damage she’s done? Well, being with Sable helps. They’re lying in bed now. He’s idly running his fingers through her hair. It doesn’t even feel like he’s putting in any effort. His hand has become a perpetual motion machine. They are one.

She’s looking at his chest. “You were shot.”

“What?” The wounds completely healed a long time ago. He didn’t even suffer permanent internal injury. She shouldn’t know anything about it, unless Silveon told her, or Sevara before she met her quite timely death. “What are you talking about?”

She props herself up by one hand, and looks down at him with a kind sadness. With her free hand, she places her finger where one of the bullets went in. “Number one.” She moves on to the others. “Number two, number three, number four...A.” She reaches under his back. “Number four B.”

She knows too much. Lying about it now will only serve to ruin the special thing they have together. So he might as well acknowledge that she’s right. “How do you know about those? Did Silvy say something?”

Sable makes a face. He may not see emotions, but he understands confusion. “Who? Your steward?”

“Yes, and your mother’s late friend’s son.”

“He and I are not friends. We see each other occasionally when mom invites him over for a meal. No, he didn’t randomly tell me about how you got shot four times.”

“I thought maybe there was a chance that you and he were...”

“No!” she argues. “I’m with you. Only you.”

“It would be okay if you weren’t. You know that Audrey and I are still active. She doesn’t know about us, and I still love her. I’ve been honest about that, and I’ve never told you that you couldn’t have a life outside of this room.” This is a special room. When you’re captain, you can take whatever you need for whatever you need it for. This is only for the two of them. It’s located in an otherwise not-yet-populated sector of Extremus. They don’t even have to walk here. He granted her teleportation privileges for this reason. He doesn’t think she uses it for much else.

She gets on top of him again, and kisses him passionately. “I’m only here for you. I don’t have a problem with you going home to Audrey. I don’t mind sharing.” She kisses him again. She smiles like a villain. “In fact, I get off on the thrill.”

They’re not going to have sex again. He only has so much sexual stamina at this age. Waldemar hasn’t figured out how he’s going to convince the ship to become immortal. It goes against everything everyone believes in. There’s a big difference between conforming the crew’s job titles to a more cohesive convention, and completely dismantling generational indoctrination. Speaking of which, he has to get back to the grind. He is more free to have a personal life than past captains, but that’s because he’s so efficient. He’s had to fire people, but now he can delegate work to others, confident that they’ll get it done, or else. Still, it’s not like he doesn’t have anything to do himself. At the very least, he needs to be seen to maintain his control. “I wish this didn’t have to end, but—”

“But you’re trying to save our people from themselves. I get it.” One more peck on the lips, no tongue. “Get back to the grind.” She hops off of him, and heads for the head to brush her teeth, and then shower. That word. He used it in his own thoughts. It’s weird that she came up with the same one. It’s not entirely crazy. It fits the situation, and he’s probably said it before. That’s why they’re so perfect together, because she knows him so well. Then again, she knows about the bullets...

Waldemar begins to gather his clothes. “Think about what I asked you earlier.” He blows a final kiss to her.

She catches it. “‘Kay.”

He disappears.

Sable typically prefers to take a traditional shower with real water, instead of just a sonic misting, but she doesn’t have time. She usually doesn’t anymore. Ever since Silveon took a job working with the captain, they don’t have a ton of time to talk. Each time Waldemar leaves Sable, it means that he’ll be expecting Silveon to return to his side rather quickly. There’s a very short window here. She jumps straight to his office.

Silveon shoots up from his chair. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine, why? Why would you think he hurt me?”

“Well, you’re practically naked.”

She looks down at herself. “Yeah, I’m in a hurry. You don’t mind, do you?”

“It just looks bad, okay? If you were violated, this is exactly how you would show up. I’ve told you before, I’ll—”

“Oh my God, I just told you I was in a hurry! Stop talking.” She knows what he’s gonna say anyway. She can back out of this assignment at any time. If she doesn’t feel safe, they can relocate her to Verdemus. It’s fine, she doesn’t need this. If Waldemar were gross, it might be harder, but she does technically enjoy being with him physically, which makes faking the love part easier.

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“He wants me to paint him. He wants me to sit there behind an easel, and paint him while he poses, like the ancients did.”

“Oh, he told me about that. He’s going to hang it above the fireplace in his office.”

She stares at him blankly. “He has a fireplace?”

“He does now. He had the synthwrights install it. It vents to the fusion torches.”

“It’s a working fireplace?” She shakes it off. “Doesn’t matter. Why didn’t you tell me he was going to ask me this?”

“I didn’t know he would ask you. He said he wanted a portrait. I thought he meant a blown-up photo, not an oil painting, or whatever.”

“Well, I don’t know if you remember, but I’m not actually good at drawing. The album I carry around isn’t actually mine?”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me,” Silveon retorts. “It’s not like I’m the one who gets you those pictures from the real artist.”

“What are we going to do about it?” she questions. “Are you going to teleport in while he’s mid-blink, and switch it?”

“I don’t know what we’ll do, but we will figure this out. If he asked you, he’s not going to ask anyone else. You have to say yes...unless, of course...”

“I’m not quitting!” she snaps back. “Stop suggesting that. I’m not a little baby.”

“I’m sorry, it’s hard not to see you as young. I was there when you were born, and even back then, I was an old man.”

She didn’t know about that. “Gross. You saw my mom’s wrinkly old vagina?”

Silveon looks away in disgust. “Jesus, no! I didn’t mean I was in the room! Why is he so obsessed with you? You’re kind of an asshole.”

Yeah, he likes assholes. “I think you just answered your own question.”

“That’s not how Audrey is. She’s nice.”

“Yeah, and he’s cheating on her, with me. So...”

“Good point.” He checks his watch. “I should probably get back to the bridge. We’ll talk more about the portrait. We’ll freeze time, or you’ll tell him you prefer to draw from photos.”

“That won’t work, he’s already said he doesn’t want to do that, because that’s not what kings did in the past. But okay. Thank you, I just wanted you to start thinking about it. It’s not urgent. I’m sorry that you had to see me in my bra.”

“It’s fine,” he promises in the most professional way possible.

“Oh, really?” she teases.

“Just get out before he shows up. He usually calls first, but we can’t be sure.”

“See ya later, Uncle Sil.” She disappears.

To get ahead of it, Silveon calls Waldemar instead. “Need anything, Cap?”

“Nah,  just the usual,” Waldemar replies. “Take the rest of the day off.”

Silveon knows that he means the opposite of what he’s saying. Waldemar is calling a meeting with his secret police, and knows that Silveon wouldn’t approve, so he keeps him out of it. It’s annoying, but also an impossible situation. He can’t just tell Waldemar to disband the force. Their relationship has never worked like that. He’s never been able to tackle it so bluntly. It takes finesse. “Okay, thanks. You’re a good boss. You’ve gotten better at knowing what others deserve.” That’s not wholly relevant to the secret police problem, but it will hopefully help in a more general sense.

“I agree.”

Silveon shoots a quick message to his contact in the police. She thinks that the information she’s providing Silveon is helping to keep Waldemar safe. His reasoning is that if it’s leaking to Silveon, it’s less likely to leak to someone else. That’s kind of ridiculous, but Waldemar didn’t hire the best and brightest for the job. He hired followers. She knows that Silveon is smarter, so his plan must make sense. Silveon sends another message, then immediately teleports to the rendezvous point.

Audrey is somehow already there. “It took you long enough.”

“How did you beat me?” he questions. “I hit send just before my jump.”

She holds up her watch. “New model. It sends you backwards in time, just a little bit; not enough to make any meaningful changes. It only works at long enough distances, so you can’t interfere with your own past self.”

“That’s time travel, it’s illegal.”

“Oh, and we wouldn’t want to break the law, would we?” she jokes. “Anyway, what do you have for me?”

Silveon tells her about the painting problem. “Can it be done?”

She massages the back of her neck. “Well, I know of one way, but it’s risky. I think you might like it, though, because it takes Sable out of the equation entirely.”

“How would that work?” he presses.

“I would just dress up like her, and wear a hologram. We’re about the same size.”

Silveon thinks through it a little. “You’re right, that is risky. We would need an uninterruptible power source, and you would have to learn her mannerisms. Waldemar doesn’t recognize people that well. He’s learned to tune to things that others don’t notice, like gait and chin tilts.”

“I think I can figure that out. I know Sable. I know how she moves. I’ve obviously never tried to impersonate her before, but I have time to practice, don’t I?”

“Yes, you’ll have some time, but you should get started.”

“Will do, boss.”

He shakes his head, unable to hide his smile. Everyone’s giving him attitude today. “How are you doing? Any domestic issues?”

“Nope. We still have sex. The guy’s insatiable, but I don’t mind.”

“All right. You know your options, so I won’t bother repeating them. I’ll leave you to it.” He disappears.

Audrey teleports to Sable. “Don’t you worry. I always knew he might ask to watch you, and I’m locked and loaded with an idea. I just need to watch you walk and eat.”

“What? Why?” Sable asks. “Wait, you’re the real artist? Why keep that from me?”

Sable’s mother, Lataran stands up. “She’s gonna pretend to be you. Before you volunteered for this assignment, that’s how we thought we would do it.” She looks at Audrey. “But if it goes well, he’ll ask her for more. Holograms won’t work long-term, or maybe not even short-term. We need that consciousness-transference tech.”

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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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Microstory 1063: Mattie

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A plane almost fell out of the sky, or so it would seem. Mae had a vision of a falling tire, but as you know, it took her up until yesterday before she realized that that’s what it was. She called us immediately, but we didn’t know what to do. We still didn’t know where the tire was going to fall, or if anyone was destined to be hurt by it. We didn’t know what we could do to help the situation, even if we had all the necessary details. Mae’s drawings have only ever proven true once the future becomes the past, and we realize what it meant all along. This was the first time any of us had any clue what might happen before it actually did. So we finally brought Margaret’s brother in on the full story, and he had an idea. Or rather, it was more like he was the missing piece itself. Viola didn’t specifically tell us that we were meant to keep the prophecy stuff a secret from him, but she didn’t tell him herself, so we kind of inferred. As it turned out, we needed him to sort of—how might I say—complete the circle. Four of us together made our collective psychic connection so much stronger than it ever was when it was just us three girls, or just the twins. Him being totally on board gave us the tools we needed to complete our mission. What we realized was that the tire was bound to fall on top of Masters Country Club, and it was going to do it during a special production from Blast City Senior High’s Magic Club. I guess they were dedicating the show to Viola? The tire itself was as big as you would expect from a heavy airliner, but that didn’t mean it was only going to hurt a few people. First of all, we still didn’t know exactly where it was going to crash, so we couldn’t just keep people away from that area. We also couldn’t stop the plane from taking off in the first place, warning them that they needed to perform extra maintenance, though that would have been the ideal scenario. No, our only hope was to evacuate the building, and our only way to do that, was pull the fire alarm.

Well, lots of people saw Martin attempt to do just that, and they also saw him fail. Something was wrong with the electrical system, I guess, and it wouldn’t go off. Even if it had, those witnesses wouldn’t have left, because it just looked like he was trying to pull a prank. Margaret stood up on a table, and tried to warn everyone the old fashioned way, but nobody listened. The tire was going to crash right through the roof so hard that the whole structure could fall down on top of everyone, but they weren’t concerned. It sounded insane, and several people pointed out our story’s similarity to a certain ancient avant-garde indie film about time travel, and creepy bunny masks. I then had this intuition that maybe our combined power was stronger still, and that we were capable of solving this on our own. I directed the other three to each stand on one side of the country club, so that we formed a perimeter around it. Then we formed a deep psychic connection; deeper than we ever had before. We started concentrating on the idea of protecting the club, in whatever way that might work. Though our eyes were closed, we could feel an energy rise from our stomachs, and envelop the building. We could also feel the tire, having already broken from its plane, and falling towards the ground. Just before it reached us, the energy bubble was complete. The tire landed on it safely, and once our bubble burst, it continued to fall, until hitting the roof, and rolling off to the ground. All told, the country club building only suffered minor structural damage, and no one was even close to being hurt by it. It’s unclear how many lives we just saved today, or rather, it’s unclear how many lives Viola saved, because she was the one who gave us our abilities, and predicted when we would need them. I had always assumed we would lose them after fulfilling the prophecy, but our bond remains. Who knows what else we might do with it?

Microstory 1062: Mae

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Margaret told you about my drawings, eh? Well, it’s true that I’ve been drawing the future for the last few months, but what I decided to keep from her was that I’ve technically been drawing since Viola first gifted us with our psychic bonds. Here is the proof. Don’t bother flipping through the book, they’re all exactly the same. I mean that literally. Actually, go ahead and flip through it. They may look like photocopies of the same picture, but I drew each of these by hand, on different days. I’ve never been much of an artist, so it doesn’t really make sense that this would be how my ability manifests, but this is where we are. I’ve been seeing this image in my head for a year, and I still can’t figure out what it is. It kind of looks like a bottlecap, but not exactly. I’ve thought about bringing my friends in on it, but I just can’t quite work up the nerve to do it. This has always felt very personal, and something I should keep hidden, until now. As soon as you showed up, I had the urge to show you. So, what do you think it is? What was that? A tire? Oh, have been looking at it upside down this whole time? It does look like a tire. But what would all this white stuff be? Even if that’s the answer, it doesn’t really help us, does it? What do we do, find a tire? Take your pick; there are thousands of them, in this town alone. What Margaret may not have mentioned is that my so called power has never been helpful, not even once. They’re so vague and meaningless that I can’t use them to help. The weatherman bled black, so what? I didn’t know that until it had already happened, and couldn’t do anything about it anymore. The pictures I draw don’t tell me the future so much as they remind me of the past later on, which is something I could do on my own, and it wouldn’t give me stress hives. I wish just once, it would give me a social security number, or GPS coordinates. Of course I tried to ask Viola what the actually hell was going on with these pictures, but she was real dodgy. She literally kept trying to duck away from me, and when I cornered her, she basically shut down, like a robot. Wait, where did you get that? Did that picture just change? No, these have all been identical, down to every last detail. It’s like it’s the same picture, but...zoomed out. I don’t remember drawing this one; or seeing it afterwards, for that matter. That in the corner looks like a cloud. Oh my God, it’s an airplane tire. I think it’s falling from the sky. I have to go call Mattie and Margaret.