Microstory 2482: Teledome

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This is the biggest known ground-based telescope in existence. They make them bigger, but they’re all floating in space, because that’s the best way to avoid atmospheric distortions, and other artifacts. For those of you not in the know, Earth launched two arrays of telescopes for something called Project Topdown. These are currently on their way out into the two intergalactic voids adjacent to each face of the Milky Way Galaxy. They’re all about the practical applications. I won’t go the details, because you can look it up in the central archives, but I’ll say that the purpose of it is to map our galaxy, as well as peer into the local group, unencumbered by the light and other distractions that come from being within the “border” of our own galaxy. Of course, these are not the only telescopes in existence, and it’s not like we’ll ever dismantle the more local ones in favor of using Topdown exclusively. Earth still has its Bouman Interferometer Array, and other worlds in the stellar neighborhood are working on their own projects. Castlebourne isn’t trying to make any breakthrough discoveries with its Teledome, but it certainly seemed logical to build it anyway. At 5400 square kilometers, the Sugimoto Phased Radio-Optical Telescope takes up nearly the entire area of the dome. You might ask yourself, why is it even under a dome? It shouldn’t need to be. Other telescopes certainly aren’t. Well, dust; that’s why. The space within the confines of the dome is pristine, and very easy to keep well-maintained. If they had to worry about dust storms clogging up the sensors, it would be this huge constant chore. So instead of a geodesic dome, it’s a smooth one. And instead of diamond, it’s made of an ultra-clear polycarbonate. It’s not a single object, however. There are seams in it, but they’re bonded at the molecular level. So if it suffers damage, only that section has to be replaced, but that’s only in the event of catastrophic damage, because it’s just as self-healing as any other metamaterial. As for the telescope itself, the name tells you that it’s both radio and optical. It’s also not made of a single, uniform lens. Nanomodules can shift between states, allowing for the absorption of a wide range of frequencies on the light spectrum. There is an atmosphere on Castlebourne, however thin, and it does create artifacts on the image, but as I’ve been saying, they didn’t engineer this to be perfect. We have plenty of alternatives, and they’re always building more. If you want to see the telescope first hand, you can come here, but obviously, the prospectus includes a live feed of the image, and a constant readout of the data, for your own analysis and synthesis. So you don’t have to come here, but it’s cool to see anyhow, so I still recommend it.

Microstory 2362: Earth, August 6, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

It’s true, I don’t need to hear certain details about your love life, but I want you to feel comfortable telling me what’s going on with you. I guess it’s a little strange that we’ve never brought it up before. Ya know, when we talk about the population decline on this planet, people often cite the poisoned atmosphere as the primary cause of it, but the truth is a lot more nuanced. Yes, obviously people died from it, and not just from the gases themselves—there were a lot of related effects, like failures in infrastructure maintenance that made the old cities less safe—but there were less overt repercussions too. The biggest consequence of the end of the old world was how isolated it made us from each other. You used to be able to take a bus to the airport, get on a flight, and be on the other side of the world in a matter of hours. You could travel just about anywhere with hardly any time to plan. Our jets are faster than ever, but the preparation for these flights takes so much more effort. If you want to go somewhere, you better damn well be sure that that’s where you wanna be, because there is no guarantee that you’re gonna be back. Because of all these limitations, and more, it’s much harder for some of us to meet someone. People are having fewer kids than they did in the past, because they have a hard time finding suitable partners. I won’t even get into population control mandates, but the only things keeping us from bursting at the seams are the people who do the transportation jobs like we used to have, and those building new settlements, or expanding preexisting habitats. This is all to say that I’ve not had much luck on the relationship front myself. I’ve moved around more than most. Our clients had to move too, but once we placed them at their new homes, they were free to settle down, and develop bonds within their respective communities. We just kept moving. I’ve gone on a few dates here under this ocean dome, but none of them has led to anything special. I’m not opposed to it, but we’re not getting any younger, so I’ve kind of learned to not get my hopes up about it anymore. I’m glad that you’ve found someone with the potential to last. I don’t think your age gap is all that big of a deal. And what are ya gonna do, let it get in your way? I say, love is love. As long as you’re consenting adults, and neither one is exerting any unfair power over the other, you should be allowed to do whatever feels right. But I’ll warn you, so you can warn him, if he hurts you, no interplanetary void is wide enough to keep him safe from my wrath. Okay, I’m done being overprotective again. Hey, dad didn’t tell me what he put in his latest letter to you, but I hope you’re pleased with it, and feeling okay. Tell me however much you want.

Love ya,

Condor

Microstory 2261: Call Her My Baby

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My license situation in this country, on this planet, has been complicated, to say the least. I do have an identity, though officially, I am not considered an alien from outer space. It doesn’t matter how many people believe me, or even if all the world leaders do, bureaucratic documentation simply does not have a box for that on any of the forms. So anyway, while I was technically certified as a driver here, I was only rated for a normal combustion engine. It required learning a lot more maintenance than I cared to know. I would much rather take it in to a professional, and have them deal with it. Mechanics has never been a strength for me, and more importantly, not an interest. Of course, electric vehicles being what they are, require a different kind of maintenance. It wasn’t easier or harder; just different. I had to go into the dealership, and take a little class, which included a written portion, and practical instruction. Then I had to take a test immediately afterwards. It was a sort of all-day affair, but they conduct these all the time, so there were about two dozen people with me. Most people were bored, because they were a lot more prepared than me, and they were more used to driving over all. I needed a refresher on operating motor vehicles anyway, since it’s been quite a while for me I think. I know I did it a little bit in Havenverse, but we mostly tried to walk or bike, since electric cars weren’t as prevalent there as we would have liked. We couldn’t afford one anyway. So that being done, I was able to finish the paperwork for my purchase, and take my new car home. You’ll notice that I did not refer to it as a she, or call her my baby. This is a machine that I need to get myself around, not a living member of the family. And it’s not just for fun. It’s a tool, to make our lives more convenient in a medium-sized city with some metropolitan sprawl. After Kelly and Dutch take their own classes, they’ll be able to use it too.

Microstory 1958: No Offense

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Myka Tennison: You’re Navin, right? That’s how you pronounce it?

Navin Misra: Navin Misra, sir.

Myka: You don’t have to call me sir.

Navin: You’re my boss, right?

Myka: Yes, but I prefer Myka.

Navin: I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. I’m sorry, it’s just the way that I grew up.

Myka: Okay, I can accept that. So, I just wanted to talk to you. The brass didn’t tell me what experience you have. You’re an expert in maintenance, is it? Or was it cleaning?

Navin: Maintenance and repair, yes. I used to work in an office building. It wasn’t just offices. They had a pool, and a gym, and even a dance studio. To be honest, I never understood what they did. Well, there were multiple companies, but I think they were kind of related. Anyway, I picked up a lot of skills there. I’ve had no formal training. One time a dancer accidentally kicked a hole in the drywall, so I had to figure out how to fix it. That was back before VidChapp, so trial and error was the name of the game. As for cleaning, that’s what I did in prison. So yeah, I suppose you could call me an expert in that too, but it’s really not that hard.

Myka: Okay, great. I’ll really be leaning on your for that, because I don’t have much experience fixing things. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no stranger to manual labor, but always after someone teaches me how to do it. If you’re good at learning on the job, and improvising, that could really help us around here.

Navin: You’ve done labor? No offense, but how, as a volunteer?

Myka: I’ve held down a few jobs in my day. I didn’t make all my money from stealing. In fact, I never did it enough to pay for much. No bank heists for me.

Navin: Wait, stealing? You’re a thief?

Myka: I was. I’m reformed. I’ve gone legit.

Navin: Why would the government hire someone with a—no offense—checkered past?

Myka: *shrugs* Why did they hire you?

Navin: Because I found out about aliens, and they figured that the best way to keep me quiet was to pay me.

Myka: Yeah, same here.

Navin: I thought you were the boss.

Myka: The boss? No. A boss—your boss, yeah. But I don’t intend to abuse my power. We’ll work together; I won’t just tell you to do everything while I sit in my office all day.

Navin: No, I mean...they put an ex-con in charge of an entire department? No offense.

Myka: This whole place is a department. We’re in Facilities, which is known as its own section. There’s also a field agent section, and a finance section...

Navin: I understand that, I’m just surprised. Does anyone who already worked for the government work here?

Myka: Reese was a Fugitive agent, and Leonard was a parole officer in another life. Other than that, no. The majority of us have what you would call checkered pasts.

Navin: This place is wild. I think I’m gonna need a nap to wrap my head around it.

Myka: Cool. I’ll show you the Chambre de Sieste that I made behind the break room.

Microstory 1955 Sensitivity and Responsibility

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Reese: What are you doing back here?

Myka: I’m checking it out. Looks like we would be able to fit thirty vehicles. Lines will need to be painted to make it clearer.

Reese: You don’t need to worry about that. You’ll only be responsible for the office.

Myka: You said I was in charge of maintenance, and someone has to maintain this. Parking garages wear down over time, being driven on so much.

Reese: Right, but the government can hire a contractor for that. There isn’t any sensitive information in here, and of course it goes straight to the outside, which means we don’t have to worry as much about clearance.

Myka: What about the information inside of people’s cars?

Reese: No one should have any data just lying around in their cars.

Myka: What about the VIN, and the license plate numbers?

Reese: True, but we won’t have permanent hires who can do what you’re talking about.

Myka: My dad painted highway lines. I can do it myself if I have to.

Reese: You’re taking on too much yourself, and doing it too quickly. Slow down, and prepare to delegate to others. The first round of employees are coming in tomorrow.

Myka: That’s exactly why I’m looking at all this now, so I can, not only delegate the tasks, but prioritize them.

Reese: I get that. Just don’t work too hard. You’re not here to do grunt work. I was clear on that when I was discussing this whole thing with the OSI Director and SI Eliot. We are the bosses. [...] What are you looking at now?

Myka: There are two ways into the building from the garage. The big one takes you directly to operations. The other is this rusty metal door.

Reese: Have you opened it?

Myka: No, but according to the plans, it’s a maintenance access tunnel that subverts the main floors, and gets you down to the basement relatively quickly.

Reese: Makes sense. I imagine the boiler room is down there.

Myka: As are the detainment cells for the Ochivari.

Reese: What are you driving at?

Myka: This could be the best way to escort them to where they need to be, but I need to figure out how to get this open so I can check it out. We can’t have the aliens being able to reach out and pull at exposed power cables, or whatever. Can you help me?

Reese: Yeah, we’ll try. *grunting*

Myka: *grunting*

Reese: It’s sealed shut. We’re gonna need tools...and a professional.

Myka: Well, I can do it.

Reese: Let me guess, your mother was a welder.

Myka: *laughing* No, but I can watch a tutorial on VidChapp.

Reese: Myka, we were literally just talking about this. I’ll make a call, and get this door open. Why don’t you go back to the mezzanine? Leonard is anxious about the agents coming in next week. You should talk to him before we’re all too busy to help.

Myka: Okay, I can do that. I need to put a measuring tape in my shopping cart anyway.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Year 172,398

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Mateo has been waiting in his stasis pod for ten minutes now, and that has given him enough time to do a little math in his head, which is not his strong suit, but they didn’t give him any entertainment in here. If one second inside means 10,000 years outside, that means that he’s been waiting to be let out for 6,000,000 years. That’s right, right? That has to be right. He’s been solving the same equation over and over for the last five minutes. A minute is 600,000 years. Just a pen and paper would help. No, it doesn’t matter how long he’s been waiting, it’s both too long, and not long enough. If he can just stay in here for the next... Oh no, he’s going to have to do more math to figure out how long it will take him to get back to 2398, where his team is. Even then, he could only ever get a rough estimate, because everyone is telling him that this is four and a half billion years in the past, but they’ve never gotten more specific than that. Asier injected him with a power suppressant before he shut the hatch, so he can’t escape. This is false imprisonment. “It’s false imprisonment!”

The hatch opens. It’s Tamerlane Pryce. “I agree.”

Mateo looks at his watch again. “Six point six million years. You’ve kept me in here for longer than ever.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Tamerlane explains. “Though you’re still right, it’s your longest stint yet, but still only 30,000 years.”

“How is that possible?”

Tamerlane turns a virtual dial on the pod’s touchscreen. “You can adjust the differential. Ten thousand years is just the standard during this aeon.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense. Why is Danica letting me out now?”

“She’s not, but I’ve confirmed that she’s asleep right now, as is everyone else. It was a tricky situation, I would have tried to retrieve you sooner, but the AI was programmed to alert her to any unusual activity. Constance is undergoing maintenance at the moment. Well, she was, and then I took that opportunity to shut her down. When she awakens, she’ll know that she lost time, but by then, it will be too late.”

“Are you going to send me back home?”

Tamerlane grimaces slightly. “No.”

“Then we have nothing to talk about.” Mateo steps backwards back into his pod.

“I need your help with something. If you’re tired of Danica and Bhulan having all the power, then I know how to take it away from them.”

“Oh, yeah, how’s that?”

“Did you notice the dynamic between the two of them shift when you returned from the other realities?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know them all that well.”

“Bhulan is the one in charge of the Omega Gyroscope now.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Time. Danica was gone for too long, declared dead in absentia. For normal people, the waiting period is seven years. For us, it’s 50,000. Operating under a preprogrammed assumption that Danica would never return, the Gyroscope automatically switched masters to the next in line, which is Bhu-Bhu.”

Mateo is not the sharpest bulb in the basket, but he thinks he has this one figured out. Power moved from Danica to Bhulan, and now Tamerlane is asking for a favor, and that is most likely to help Tamerlane take control. But what could he do to help? “Since I showed up here, Tamerlane Pryce, you...have been the most forthcoming. You’ve always been that way, though, haven’t you? Bhulan told me about some of your issues, stemming from your guilt over your alternate self. But there’s something you may not know about him; he always thought he was doing the right thing. He wasn’t evil, just...alone. And if you don’t want to be like him, all you need to do is surround yourself with people that you trust.”

He nods, “yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

“Here’s something you may not have heard. They also need to trust you, or it doesn’t mean anything. So tell me, what good will it do becoming the master of the Omega Gyroscope?” He says those last words so dismissively.

“I don’t want to be its master,” Tamerlane clarifies. “I want to set it free.”

“Explain.”

“It’s not supposed to have a master. It’s got a mind of its own, despite what the others may believe. If you help me get rid of Bhulan for 50,000 years at least, I’ll go away on my own, and give it another fifty. I promise to not return until its bond with us is broken, and it starts to get to decide what to do on its own.”

“What good does that do me?” Mateo questions. “What little progress I’ve made with my cousin will just be ruined.”

“We’re gonna be here awhile, you’ll hug and make up. The people—if you can even call them that—who designed this place; what do you know about them?”

“Nothing. No one’s told me anything. I don’t even know if they’ll ever exist, or if they collapsed their own timeline by creating the Constant.”

“Truthfully, I don’t know a whole lot about them either. Neither does Danica. One thing I do know is that they perceive the passage of time differently than you or I. They didn’t need stasis to not get bored for billions of years. I’m sure, on an intellectual level, they knew that stasis was necessary to prevent their little Concierge from going crazy, but I also don’t think their minds could truly fathom what going crazy would actually mean. They didn’t consider Danica’s needs very much, and they didn’t take me and Bhulan into account at all.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“I need you to teleport Bhulan far away from here. I can help you get your powers back, so you don’t have to worry about that. I’m telling you what I know of the Constant’s origins, because if you don’t do this, your cousin is going to be fired, and replaced with someone else entirely. I don’t mean an alternate version, I mean someone else. They have other candidates, they always did, and they kept their names on file.”

“Why would they do that? Why would they fire her?”

“Because they don’t want her to be too powerful. She is an underling, and she has a boss, just like anyone else. We’ve made our choice about what we want this reality to become, but now that that’s set, Danica has to wipe her hands clean of it, or her actions—her power—will wake him up. That’s why I sent you on a detour through time, and why we have to do something similar to Bhulan. I don’t know who he is, but I know he’s bad news. If he finds out what she’s done, he will place every reality in danger. Help me avoid triggering the failsafe by keeping your cousin off of his radar. The only way to do that is to distance her from the most powerful object in the universe.”

He sounds crazy, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Big Papa: Horror Vacui (Part VIII)

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Hogarth holds up her hands, and takes a quarter step back. “Relax, Cadet,” she says. “We’re not here to hurt you. We just want to know what happened. How did you get to this universe?”

“We were in The Crossover,” Ukodenva explains. “Something went wrong with the engines, and we were sent, I guess to your universe. We did not come here on purpose.”

“What was that thing that crashed into my planet?” Hogarth demands to know.

“That would be the fighter bay. We happened to be doing some training in there when everything fell apart. The six of us managed to escape in this simulator, but we don’t know if anyone else did. Please understand that we possess no working weapons, not even on the ship itself. This is just designed for battle training.”

“I understand,” Hogarth assures her.

“Who are you training to fight?” Nerakali questions.

Ukodenva hesitates.

“Be honest,” Nerakali urges.

“Humans,” Ukodenva says, “but only if we need to. There are a lot of universes out there, and not all humans are as warm and welcoming as you. We have to be able to protect ourselves.”

“We’re not at war,” Hogarth says. “Not with each other anyway. There is a far greater threat that we both face. I built this brane to insulate my people from it, but it would seem your fighter bay has discovered a weakness.”

One of the other cadets stands up. “We will help you.”

The other four stand up as well, and regard Hogarth respectfully.

Ukodenva looks back at them, and smiles. “You are our commanding officer now.”

“That’s not what I—”

“It cannot be reversed. What you say, we must do.”

“What if I say—?”

“Unless you tell us that we no longer have to do what you say.”

Hogarth has no response to this. She turns her head to look back at us. “I need to effect repairs, and deal with this...development. Would you be terribly offended if...?”

“If you asked us to leave this brane?” Nerakali guesses.

“Not at all,” Lowell finishes the answer, presuming a consensus.

“You too, please,” Hogarth says to Pryce.

He has a bit of a sour face. “Very well, but I would like to return one day.”

“We’ll see.” Hogarth breathes in with her eyes closed. As she breathes out, our bodies break apart into tiny little bits, only to be reconstructed in the afterlife simulation interface room. Gilbert has returned with us, but Aldona has not, because that is where she belongs now. Trinity isn’t here with us either. She’s already home.

The technician smiles at us. “You have finally returned. Would you like to be connected?”

“Finally?” I question. Glisnians have a very different perspective of time than regular organic humans. They’re more like travelers and temporal immortals. We’ll regularly go years without seeing a loved one, and pick up right where we left off upon reuniting. Finally is just not a word someone like this would use to describe us coming back after less than a couple months. Something happened, and we can all feel it.

Lowell steps forward. “How long have we been gone?”

“Sixty-three years,” the tech replies. He doesn’t think this is weird, because while it’s his job to provide outsiders access to the afterlife sim, he probably doesn’t grasp how important it is, and how problematic it is that I left it unattended for all this time. There’s no telling what it will look like when we go back.

“Six decades,” Lowell echoes, shaking his head. “They’ve not had a leader in all that time.”

He is wrong. The simulation has not been without a leader for the last sixty years. It found a leader in someone. The most likely suspect is Avatar!Pryce, but there are billions of other possibilities...hundreds of billions, if you count the Glisnians. We have no idea what it is we’ll be walking into. “Nerakali and Gilbert, you may go now. You’re Level Eleven now. You’re free.”

They both shake their heads. “There’s nowhere for us to go,” Gilbert explains. “Our cycles are complete. Everyone out there expects us to have finally died, and dead is how we’ll stay.”

“We will go with you and help, in any way we can,” Nerakali agrees.

“I don’t know how bad it’s gonna be,” Pryce says. “My avatar has been changing in the prison, and I lost connection with him as soon as that thing crashed into Hogarth’s planet. He’s unpredictable.”

“We don’t know that he’s the one in charge,” I remind him as I’m sitting down in the interface chair. “I have the gearkey, and the rainbow clothes. Whatever has become of this place, we’ll deal with it...just like I dealt with you.”

We jack into the Matrix, appearing in my office, except it’s not my office anymore. It’s been redecorated. I knew that someone took over, but why would they operate out of here, when Pryce’s office was more central, and a lot nicer? Apparently answering our question of who it is has been running things since we’ve been gone, Avatar!Pryce comes into the room. He does look a lot different, though. He hangs his head down low, and he’s not wearing his rainbow clothes, or his orange Hock clothes. It’s a sort of tie-dye mix of blue and pink. There’s a sliver of black at the hems of his shirt and pant legs. He’s also carrying a rag and spray bottle.

When Avatar!Pryce notices us, he recedes into his shell even more. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know anyone was in here.” The black of his clothes rises, overtaking part of the other colors. “Oh, no.” He tries to leave.

“Wait,” I urge him. “What’s happened to you.”

Avatar!Pryce’s hands start to shake. “I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

“I’m asking you to.”

The black rises even more, and I realize what’s happening, I just don’t know why. He now lives under constant threat of being zeroed. It’s regulated by his behavior. The more he acts against the demands of whoever did this to him, the closer he gets to being killed permanently.

“This is cruel,” the other Pryce points out. He’s right, not even he would do something like this. Say what you will about him, but he never controlled people through fear. He believes in agency, and free will.

“I’m sorry,” Avatar!Pryce apologizes again. “I have to leave. I’ll come back and clean later. I think that should be okay. I have two hours before I go full dark.”

“No,” Pryce stops him. “You can clean now. Do your job, and do it well. Just answer one question, who’s in charge now?”

“The one in charge has always been in charge. It’s Pinocchio.”

Pryce shuts his eyes. “Shit.”

“Who is that? You know this puppet?” Lowell questions.

“I’ve never heard the name, but...I can guess who that is.” He suggests that we leave the office, so his alternate self can behave, and protect himself from dying. We will try to help him later. “Before Leona Matic reached Level Eleven, she was a Basic, which afforded her the right to visit people in prison. My other me made the counselor who dealt with the Matics and their friends spin the wheel, which landed her in Hock, and Leona started working on a plan to break her out. She ended up needing help, which she found in a non-playable character who had no name, because he didn’t need one. She altered his code, I still don’t really know how. She gave him consciousness, which honestly, shouldn’t have been possible. We kind of lost track of him, because he was unique. We didn’t have any need to track an NPC, because they were never where they weren’t supposed to be.”

“What’s he doing now?” Gilbert asks. “What’s become of the simulation?”

“Obviously, he found my old plans,” Pryce answers. “I had this idea that we would have janitors and maintenance workers. Their clothes would be of two colors, their actual station, and the color that grants them access to wherever they need to work. I decided against it, because this place maintains itself, and it doesn’t even get dirty. I just had not yet figured out how similar life here would be to base reality. It was a bad idea. The levels allow you to live however you want, and however you deserve. Some here are perfectly happy as Yellows. They don’t need to ask for things, or own personal possessions, because you don’t need anything. But the old plans were different. They created a class system, and moving up to a higher station was about as possible as it is in the real world. Meaning that it wasn’t impossible, but not as easy as rich people have to claim in order to not feel like pieces of shit for treating others badly.”

“How powerful is this guy?” Nerakali asks. “What can a conscious NPC do?”

“I don’t know,” Pryce answers honestly. “I can tell you that he doesn’t have the gearkey, and he’s not wearing rainbow, like Ellie said. She should be able to get him in line, though it’s not gonna be like it was when my avatar deliberately stepped down. He’ll probably put up a fight, and if he’s convinced enough of the residents that he’s what’s best for them, they’ll fight too.”

“We need information,” I say. “So far, all we know is that he’s punished Avatar!Pryce. He may have otherwise improved things.”

“I can find out what you need to know,” Gilbert announces. He stretches his arms out like Jesus, and lets his clothes change from white to indigo. Level Six, Plus was a good middle-0f-the-road place to pretend to be. It’ll allow him to go where he needs, but not stir up any commotion while he’s there. Indigos aren’t impressive, but they’re not ignored either. People will answer his questions.

“Thank you,” I say to him. For obvious reasons, I would be useless out there. Even if I masked my clothes, they all know what I look like.

“I don’t care how powerful this NPC is,” Gilbert says as he steps over, and rubs his palm slowly on mine like it’s a furry pet. “Nobody gets past the lock on my house. Except for you now. Make yourself at home.” He tears a breach in the virtual pocket dimension, and goes out to the main simulation to get us some answers. The rest of us walk over to Gilbert’s abode. He called it a house, but make no mistake, this is a palace. It’s the Purple Palace. I unlock the door for all of us, and we step inside. We don’t just sit around waiting for his return, though. We start to come up with scenarios, and determine how we’ll overcome any obstacles. Pinocchio could be bad, or he could be good, or he could be somewhere in between. We have to think of every possibility. Pryce has a particularly haunting contingency, which he calls Ice in the Hole.

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Microstory 1499: The End of Durus

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Two hundred years after Savitri became the first human on Durus, the eleventh major form of government, the Solar Democratic Republic officially ended. Technically, it should have ended a long time ago, if not once the rogue world left 70 Ophiuchi space, then certainly when nearly the entire population was evacuated through the Nexus. Survivors, called remainders, ultimately agreed that this most recent event was the greater shift than those others, however. The thirteenth remainder in charge of waking up from stasis, and being available to solve any problems, was a woman by the name of Kyra Torosian. Nothing of note happened for the first few months of her shift. A couple of the pods experienced some power irregularities, but these were simple repairs. None of the Dardieti team were awake at the time, for she was not considered a threat to them. She spent her days zipping throughout the bunkers on a scooter that one of the children left there when he evacuated, and carrying on full conversations with her completely unresponsive friends. They had access to entertainment from Durus, Dardius, and even Earth, but she wasn’t much for that kind of art, so she really just wasted the days away. She was the type of person who could sit in a chair for hours, doing nothing else, and not grow bored. Her mind was just too busy with her imagination for it to matter much what her environment was, as long as it wasn’t uncomfortable, or sometimes even if. One day, Kyra was wandering the halls just outside the Nexus room when she thought she heard it start to power up. Of course, she assumed that someone from Dardius was coming to check on them, so she ran inside, and mentally prepared herself to greet them professionally, and in her words, well-spokenly. She never knew exactly what happened, or whether anyone was actually trying to come through, because it all went wrong. The machine exploded, and sent a wave of energy throughout the entire section.

What no one knew at the time was that the explosion was an accident, and happened to all Nexa in this universe. Because they involve time travel, they didn’t explode all at once, and the damages were not irreparable, but this did cause a number of problems for everyone who needed to use them at certain times. The explosion was powerful, but it was pretty contained, so no one else on Durus was affected, or even immediately made aware that it happened. Kyra would later have to start waking them up, so she could let them know. Obviously, the explosion didn’t kill her, which was a universal result. Others experienced superficial injuries, but nothing serious. What set Kyra apart was that she came from a bloodline of paramounts. While there was never enough temporal energy on Durus for her to have exhibited any powers before, she was genetically predisposed to developing them, and the Nexus explosion was enough to do just that. What was unclear was whether she would have developed the same power under different circumstances, or if the explosion also decided what she could do. Evidence suggested the latter. After waking key remainder leadership, along with the team from Dardius, Kyra went about figuring out who she now was. It was like she became a walking Nexus. When someone touched her, they would be transported to one of the other Nexa, and if someone made the appropriate hyperdimensional metamathematical calculations, they could also transport to her. Unlike regular Nexa, Kyra could also transport herself anywhere in the universe that she wanted; it didn’t even have to be tied to the network. Every time she jumped somewhere, it would recharge her temporal energy, like a perpetual motion engine, and the more she did it, the stronger she became. Over time, she would end up with enough power to move entire planets through the network, which she used to move Durus to its new home. Not even the Nexa could do that. It wouldn’t be there forever, though, because her power continued to grow. The remainders would come to use their unique position to fight a great war against a multiversal threat. Until then, the remainders had to decide how they were going to use this advantage, and whether they would be able to convince any former Durune to return to their homeworld. While they worked on that, they figured they ought to shift to yet another form of government. This one would be called the Kyran Nexus Tempocracy. That was not all, though. The remainders would also decide to change the name of the planet to Torosia, in honor of her.

Microstory 1498: Those Who Stayed Behind

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The Solar Democratic Republic was over, as was the Durune civilization in general, and everyone knew it. Now, accepting this reality was a different matter altogether. Most people agreed to evacuate to Dardius. It was warm, safe, and reliable, and there was no good reason to stay pass up this opportunity to lead happy lives. The only reason humanity survived on Durus this long was because of time powers. Had they never existed, Savitri would have died within minutes of falling into her portal, and everyone after that would have probably lived out their lives in Springfield, Kansas, completely unaware that the rogue planet even existed. Even their regular technology was based on decades of the development of a society that took powers for granted. Living in the underground bunkers—or worse, being stuck in the stasis pods indefinitely—was an irrational way to live, and most people understood that. The rest, well, they held firm. They believed, almost in a spiritual sense, that Durus was destined to go on forever, whether that meant finding a new host star, and spontaneously forming a new atmosphere, or the replenishment of temporal energy, and reëmergence of time powers. They just couldn’t surrender to the fact that there was little to nothing they could do to make life easier on Durus, and that the chances of it happening on its own were negligibly low. The problem was that the chances were not at zero, and that was enough to keep the stubborn people going. For days, they argued their case against the other side. They never tried to stop anyone from leaving, but they felt entitled to stay if that was what they wanted. To prevent this from growing out of control, the government, in one of its last acts while still in charge, created a set of criteria. Only certain people would be allowed to stay, and all others would have to evacuate with everyone who had already left. The most notable requirement was that all remainders—as they were called—would have to be romantically unattached, and be responsible for no children. In the end, 216 people fit the bill.

Some who had already evacuated changed their minds, and wanted to be considered for the same treatment, but they were summarily denied. Transportation through the Nexus was going to be heavily regulated, and that was out of Durus’ hands either way. There would be periodic travel, however, and this required a little help. Dardius had no problem leaving their power source on Durus. They had no shortage of resources, and maintained a strong enough connection to Earth to keep up with technological advancements. They had one major condition, though, and it was non-negotiable. A small Dardieti contingency would be left in the Durus bunkers, and have any veto power when it came to what happened with their technology, or the connection back to their home. The remainders had no problem with this, especially since they would be sleeping in their stasis pods most of the time anyway. They created a system to keep things running. One remainder would wake up from stasis every year, and spend the following year looking after all the others, and tracking the planet’s progress through interstellar space. This system would last for over two centuries before anyone would have to wake back up more than once, though they had no idea how much time would pass before anything interesting happened, so that wasn’t saying much. The Dardieti contingency would each wake up less often, but do so at strategic times. They worked with the government to identify remainders who were at more risk of threatening the system, and would benefit from a little oversight. Most of those types of people were disqualified from the beginning, but everyone was a risk, and anything could happen during a year alone on a dead world. Even though no elected official stayed behind, the remainders insisted on continuing to call themselves the Solar Democratic Republic. It would be like this for twelve years, until a catastrophe leads one remainder down a different path.

Microstory 1497: Evacuation Protocol

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In 2210, the people of Durus voted to begin exploring the Nexus replica network. This was after the decline in temporal energy, but before anyone knew about it. Following careful consideration, more discussions, and training, the first mission was dispatched in 2213. They chose to go to a planet millions of light years from the stellar neighborhood called Dardius, mostly because that was the only location available. They could see evidence that there were other Nexa to visit, but they were locked out of all but the one. They established diplomatic relations with the Dardieti, but both sides were very cautious about their interactions. Dardius was a sanctuary planet, designed to house people who had either survived close encounters with dangerous temporal manipulators, or were at risk of encounters, due to events occurring in alternate realities. These people’s descendants lived here as well, and though they used some time technology of their own, they were very wary of Durus. They also had a very delicate social structure, which relied on rescuing people in the past at very precise moments. They didn’t just extract them from the timeline at random. They developed highly sensitive models to make sure new citizens integrated safely into the system without disrupting it, or being disrupted by it. Durus was a new variable, which Dardius had not accounted for in their models. That didn’t mean they were xenophobic, or hateful, but this was going to be a slow process, which didn’t bother Durus, because they were in no hurry to make any drastic changes to their own system. Before anything of significance could happen, the relationship ended anyway. In 2217, Dardius began having major issues with one of their rescue groups. Their timeline extraction machine malfunctioned, and started quantum duplicating everyone who came through, over and over and over again. This threw off the social balance greatly, and sparked a war. Dardius had no time to deal with Durus, but this would stop being a problem two years later when the Durune realized their time power issues. They could no longer afford to waste energy on intergalactic travel either.

Flashforward several decades, and the time power problem had not been solved. Nor had the regular power problem. It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain the wind turbines on the surface, and they still had no way of powering the Nexus. Fortunately, the Dardieti did. Their war was long over by 2267, and Dardius was essentially under brand new management. The Einarssons wanted to reestablish relations with Durus, so they sent a recon team to find out how the Durune had been doing. They were soon able to provide them with a power source, so they could initiate outgoing transports, but that alone would do them no good. There were still hundreds of thousands of people in the stasis pods who could not exactly be evacuated using traditional means, even with the Nexus in play. It was only designed to accommodate thirty people at a time. There seemed to be a way, however. As Dardius’ best technicians were working with Durus’ best, they found something called an Evacuation Protocol. It was exactly what they were looking for. The machine could still only take thirty people at once, but it would just keep going and going, about once every minute. If they coordinated perfectly, they calculated they could evacuate every single person in a month and a half. Realistically, it would be closer to two months, but that was fine. They were lucky to have found the feature, because it wasn’t immediately apparent to them, and it wasn’t something people would need on a regular basis. Perhaps the machine was somewhat sentient, and knew that this was exactly what they needed to survive. Under the Einarssons, the Dardieti were now less concerned about predictive social harmony models, and more concerned with saving lives. They agreed to evacuate everyone who wanted to move to their planet, which had a stable sun, and abundant resources, without question. Nearly everyone happily agreed to abandon their dead world, because there was little hope of saving it from the void, and they felt that it was just time to let it go. Some did choose to stay behind, however, and they had their reasons.

Microstory 1496: Wayward

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It was 2245. For eleven years, Durus found itself hurtling through interplanetary space, though since there weren’t any other planets in the solar system, it was really just general 70 Ophiuchi space. Now the rogue planet was crossing a threshold, all the way into what experts considered interstellar space. They knew how far they had gone, because they knew how fast they were going, and how far they were from the edge when the sun was effectively destroyed, but they had lost most of their instruments since the catastrophe. Of course, everyone was living underground now. The atmosphere had long since been stripped away. Anyone who needed to go outside did so in vacuum suits that they had to plan, fully engineer, and test before use over the course of only a few months. The wind turbines above were still operational, powering their bunkers using the torrential storms still raging, but they required a hell of a lot more maintenance than they did before. The extremely cold temperatures made it much more difficult for these machines to keep going without constant tending. Fortunately, it wasn’t impossible to accomplish this, as long as they kept a team up there at all times. Children were now being taught almost exclusively only what they needed to know to take up the burden when it became their time. They didn’t learn much history or culture, but fortunately, they were at little risk of falling victim to their old ways. Every second here was now pretty much only about survival, and no one wanted to live past the destruction of the population, so they all made sure to remain inclusive and fair. Many crimes were punishable by a naked surface walk, so it was vanishingly rare. It wasn’t nonexistent, but the government made every attempt to give the people what they needed. There was no reason to steal a certain medication for one’s dying daughter, for instance, because if she wasn’t given the medication, it almost certainly meant it simply didn’t exist. As for that government, the Solar Democratic Republic was still intact. It was composed of the same number of leaders, in the same leadership positions, and they continued to have their rounds of elections every five years, just as it had been since the first Republic.

There were some great things about life underground that could have been quite terrible without the proper planning. For example, food was not a problem, and would probably never be. They knew how to grow produce under less than ideal conditions. They also weren’t at much risk of losing their oxygen, because scientists had been perfecting carbon scrubbing technology since the Mage Protectorate. The real problem was available space. The bunkers were designed to accommodate little more than the population at the time of conception, and they were quickly approaching that limit. They still didn’t know where they were going, or how long it would take for them to get there, and more importantly, how getting there would even help their situation anyway. This world wandered the interstellar void for at least millions of years before humans stepped foot on it, and there was no reason to believe it couldn’t do that again. They needed to buy some time for the right people to come up with a solution, and halt nearly all population growth until then. The Nexus replica was the obvious answer, but could it transport everyone, and how would they power it? It would seem the turbines were not enough for it, because they had already tried connecting it to the grid, and came up short. Even the experts weren’t a hundred percent certain how these machines were powered in the first place, but theirs didn’t seem to be working right now. To give them the time they needed, the people elected to invest heavily in stasis technology, which wasn’t something they had needed until now. A team of researchers was already working on it, but they needed more resources to complete it. It could take decades to figure out fusion technology, just like it did on Earth, so it was worth it to use stasis as a temporary solution. By 2252, nearly everyone was placed in their pods. This had the added benefit of lowering their reliance on the turbines. Now the only people awake were tasked with cracking fusion, or with supporting those elite in various ways.

Microstory 1322: Maintenance

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Maintenance Supervisor: All right, what do we have here? Looks like you’ve had a few jobs over the years, but nothing in maintenance.

Unskilled Laborer: Right. I haven’t been paid for this sort of thing before, but if you look down there at the extra activities, I listed volunteer work with my church. We remodeled homes for the poor, and fixed a few things in schools in low-income neighborhoods. I’ve also helped my dad around the house my whole life, so I know my way around a drill.

Maintenance Supervisor: Okay, okay. What about education? Did you go to college at all?

Unskilled Laborer: I didn’t even bother applying. It’s not for me.

Maintenance Supervisor: Yeah, I get it. So, where do you see yourself in five years?

Unskilled Laborer: I don’t really know. I wouldn’t say I’m an ambitious person. I’m not after your job, or anything. I just wanna put in my time, then go home and sit in front of the TV for the rest of the night.

Maintenance Supervisor: A lot of us are like that; that’s fine. Why don’t you tell me about a time when you...um.

Unskilled Laborer: Sorry?

Maintenance Supervisor: Tell me about a time when you had a disagreement with a coworker, and had to—Jesus, this is stupid. Why would I ask you this? I printed this list of questions to ask a candidate off the internet, but the way I’ve been hiring people has been good enough. I mean, sure, we’ve had some duds, but they were smooth-talkers too. They could have easily lied on their résumé, and then given me bogus answers. I don’t need to know...what kind of animal you would be, or...who you would want to be stranded with on a deserted island.

Unskilled Laborer: I’ve gotten those questions before.

Maintenance Supervisor: How have you answered them? Not a serious question; I’m just curious.

Unskilled Laborer: I just B.S. my way through it.

Maintenance Supervisor: That’s what I would do. When I was a kid, employers only wanted to know a few things. Can you get here on time?

Unskilled Laborer: Yes.

Maintenance Supervisor: Can you be here every day that you’re scheduled.

Unskilled Laborer: Yes.

Maintenance Supervisor: Do you do drugs?

Unskilled Laborer: I smoke a little weed.

Maintenance Supervisor: Ah, whatever. Are you gonna steal from us?

Unskilled Laborer: No, sir.

Maintenance Supervisor: Can you lift fifty pounds by yourself, and are you cool to stand for extended periods of time?

Unskilled Laborer: I can do both of those things.

Maintenance Supervisor: Welcome aboard.

Microstory 1257: Thando Kovar

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Thando Kovar was one of the hardest working men on Durus. He didn’t much mind doing the dirty jobs that no one else wanted to do, and even though he was fairly intelligent, and pretty well-educated, those were the jobs he stuck to, just so no one else would have to do them. It wasn’t until he was older that he realized he was taking those unglamorous jobs from people who didn’t have any choice, but by then, it was too late. He kept his head down, and didn’t make trouble. People would have called him average if they even knew who you were talking about when you brought it up. Still, there was this side of them that craved adventure. He wasn’t constantly pining after a more interesting life, but he not infrequently wondered what it would be like to see other places, and try new things. He hadn’t even realized he wanted this until The Elizabeth Warren came to his planet, and gave him the chance to throw his hat in the ring. He applied for passenger status, but did nothing else to help his case. He didn’t make conversation with the crew, or attach a letter. He just quietly delivered the application, and walked away. It was his good track record that ultimately won him a spot on the ship, but as soon as he boarded, he knew he had to voice his concerns. He didn’t want to just sit around and wait until they arrived at their destination. He had been a worker his entire life, and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself without it. His parents taught him the value of work, which was a lesson not so easily shaken. It wasn’t until he finally made it to Earth that he saw how fulfilling life could be when one’s days could be dedicated to hobbies, rather than tedious labor. While all the others were just hanging out in the pocket dimensions, Thando remained on the ship proper, and kept it clean and maintained. Sure, there were lots of automated systems to take care of that, but the captain turned some of these off, just to make him feel useful. He attempted to continue the way his life had always been upon reaching the homeworld, but that was a lot more difficult. Earth had transformed enormously since the first refugees were stranded on Durus. They had done away with work for the most part. People made themselves useful by creating new things, participating in socio-political debates, and preparing to colonize other planets. He wasn’t really qualified to do anything like that, so if he wanted to help, he would need a more relevant education. Before he got started on that, his case workers set him up with a new identity, and a new life, in what was formerly North America. They all but forced him to go on an extended vacation, so he could really think about whether he wanted to be part of the optional workforce, or if he just wanted to enjoy his life. After only a couple weeks of this, he decided on the latter, even though it was a choice he never could have fathomed making just a couple months ago. He forwent his education, and spent his days traveling the world. He didn’t much care for the virtual constructs that other people were visiting, but he saw a lot of fascinating things until he died of age-related causes many years later. He could have upgraded himself to live forever, but there was still a line he wouldn’t cross, and that was it.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: November 15, 2253

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When Leona and Briar got back to the shuttle, it was even dirtier and duster than it was just a few hours ago. There was no overgrowth on the craft, but that was because they had landed in a fairly barren spot. It still reminded her of what happened to it after she left it unattended to during her time jump. That couldn’t be it, though. They weren’t gone for long enough, and it should still be November 14, 2253. Leona checked her watch, though. Mario Matic gave it to her a long time ago. It wasn’t originally a gift; she was only meant to keep it so she would have a tether to remember him when Arcadia inevitably ripped him from time. She tried to give it back to him once the whole thing was over, but he insisted she keep it. Honestly, she was secretly excited when he said that. She had grown used to always knowing exactly what time it was. The only reason she hadn’t taken it through the portal to Earth was that it did require charging every couple of months, and that just happened to fall on today. But it wasn’t today, was it? No, it was next year.

She gently tapped on the watch a few times. She hadn’t ever known it to be inaccurate, but this couldn’t be right. Did she miscalculate when midnight central was? Briar hadn’t noticed her being gone for a whole other year, so maybe the cave was exactly like the one on Easter Island, which echoed time powers, and affected all present. She activated minimals systems on the shuttle. “Computer, what is the date by the Earthan Calendar?”

“It is November 15, 2253,” the AI replied.

“Please confirm using all available data,” Leona requested.

“Recalculating,” the AI said. “Confirmed. November 15, 2253.”

“Is that bad?” Briar asked. “I never needed to keep track of time before.”

“We were gone a year,” Leona explained. “But how? When did that happen?” She tried working through it in her head. “Wait, this wasn’t the first time you went to Earth. Did you not notice this before?”

“Like I said,” Briar began, “I never needed to know the date. It took me some time to repair the shuttle while you were gone, but I don’t know how much time. I didn’t bother asking the computer what the date was until I explored the coordinates my mother gave me, and returned to the landing zone. I thought it hadn’t felt like it had been a year, but I figured I just didn’t understand. That’s why I was late coming back for you; because I didn’t realize you would be back yet.”

Leona scratched at her forehead. “We made four passes through the cave. We went there to check it out, then we came back for the stellar drift instrument, then we went back to Earth to use it, and finally, we came back here. It’s been exactly one year since we were gone, which suggests each pass lasts three months.” She thought about it some more. “It’s a time trap. Time moves slower in the cave. I saw that in a movie once; it was really good.”

“Did it have a happy ending?”

“Depending on how you look at it,” she answered. “I’m just glad our cave doesn’t slow time as much as it did for those characters, or I would never see my friends again.”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“Briar, I know we’ve already talked about this, but now it’s even more important that you tell no one what we found. Before, it was potentially dangerous to let people travel back to the past, but now, it could be even worse. We spent ten minutes in there, just trying to get to the other side. If someone tries to go into that cave, and rest for the night, they could end up missing over a decade of their lives.”

“I understand,” he promised. “You took the shuttle in the year 2250, but wanted to spend all of 2251 alone. You got lost in the woods, and by the time you returned, it was already 2252, and the shuttle was damaged. I was there. We fixed it together, but there wasn’t enough time to fly all the way back to Homebase, so I agreed to wait another year until you returned. Now it’s 2253, and we’re going back to your friends.” The timeline he was proposing was a bit inconsistent from what really happened, but it was a good lie, especially for someone who didn’t have any experience with deception. It was just close enough to the truth to be believable. This might could work.

Unlike a few years ago, the shuttle was fully capable of restarting, even after all this time out of commission. They flew together to Homebase, where Briar could finally ask Trinity what had happened between her and his mother.

“Irene de Vries,” Trinity said calmly once they arrived, and explained who Briar was. They didn’t bother with any other conversation before jumping right to the confrontation part of the day. “I remember her. I never didn’t remember her.”

“No, you ate wanderberries,” Briar argued. “You did forget her, but then you should have remembered her later.”

Trinity sighed. “I don’t know what she told you, but I have never heard of these wanderberries. If ever there was a plant on this world that made you lose your memories, I would have genetically altered it to remove those properties. That’s what I was doing here all that time.”

“Then what happened?” Leona asked her. “Why didn’t you send her back to Earth?”

“I couldn’t find her,” Trinity explained. “I worked with her for years; longer than any of my other associates.”

“That’s impossible!” Briar interrupted. “You just said you didn’t know anything about me! You’re saying I took years to be born?”

Trinity shook her head. “I don’t know how you exist, but she was never pregnant when I knew her, and there weren’t any males around us. Could you have been a latent pregnancy? I’ve never heard of it, but it’s not impossible. We all know that time isn’t always linear.”

“Go on,” Leona prompted. “Let’s table the baby talk so you can continue the story.”

Trinity restarted, “after Irene was done helping make this place a paradise, I was preparing to take her back to Earth. She had some more things she wanted to do first, so I left her alone. For a week. I went back to this continent for only a week. If I had realized what would happen, I would’ve stayed with her, but I wanted to show that I trusted her enough to let her do her own thing. When I came back, she was nowhere to be found. I searched for her, for more years, but she never showed up. I figured she had been eaten by a wild animal, or had fallen down a crevice. I’m sorry.”

“You could have gone back in time,” Leona pointed out. “You could have followed her in secret, to see where she went after Past!You left.”

Trinity sighed again. “I made a vow. I don’t change the past.” She looked back to Briar. “Your mother knew that.”

“You could have broken that vow, to save her life.”

“Maybe I should have, but that was two hundred and sixteen years ago. I was still kinda figuring all this out.”

“That’s impossible,” Leona echoes Briar. “He’s only fifty-seven. He eats this root that keeps him young, but not that young.”

“I don’t know what to tell ya,” Trinity said, “Irene and I worked together in the 2030s.”

Leona thought this through, trying to figure out how it could work. Then it hit her. She looked over at Briar, who seemed to be coming to the same realization. “The cave.” Well, that lie didn’t last long.

“What cave?” Trinity questioned.

Now Leona was the one to sigh. “I didn’t really want to tell you about it, but we found a cave. Actually, Irene left the coordinates to her son. It goes back to Earth nine hundred and nine years in the past, but until you pass through the cave, time is moving slowly for you. About ten minutes equals about three months. It explains everything. She could have found it, met a man on the other side, and at some point, spent a lot of time in the cave itself, which is why Briar is still alive, and in his fifties. She must have made up the story about memory-wiping berries just to make sense of it. She may not have even realized what the cave did to her.”

“That’s why I couldn’t find her. I never saw a cave, but since it was shelter from the elements, I would have definitely gone inside to check if I had.”

“You see, Briar?” Leona began. “It’s no one’s fault. They were separated by time.”

“She still could have gone back in time, and stopped it all from happening,” he contended. “Hell, she could do it right now.”

“She can’t do that,” Leona said. “It would erase you from history. You were only born because your mother met your father in the twelfth century.”

“Not if he goes with me,” Trinity said. “If he goes back to save his own mother, it will erase him from the future, but this version that we’re talking to right now will remain. His mom won’t remember him, though, because it will have never happened, according to her.”

“Would you really do that?” Leona pressed. “Would you break your vow?”

“Only if he wants me to. Either way, you’re sacrificing her, Briar. You can’t have her back.”

Briar was obviously torn. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“What’s there to think about?” Thor asked. “Can you do it, or not?”

“I don’t know if I can build anything until I try,” Weaver said. “I’ve never failed before, though.”

“So...” Thor said. “Go ahead and do it.”

“Just because it’s possible, doesn’t mean it should be done. I have to consider the ramifications of everything I create. Pretty much everything I’ve done has blown up in my face in some way. If there weren’t any other time travelers, I could protect my inventions from falling into the wrong hands, but when I have to worry about all of time and space, I just can’t do it. Things will inevitably go bad.”

“I’m not certain what we’re talking about,” Mateo jumped in. He hadn’t heard the beginning of the conversation; or the argument, as it were.

“It’s not a big deal,” Thor claimed. “I just want her to make me a small quantum replicator.”

“Why do you need that?”

“I have minor transhumanistic upgrades,” he said. “I can’t interface with computers, or lift a car over my head, but they keep me alive. They need regular maintenance and replacements, though.”

“Everything you need can be found with an industrial synthesizer,” Weaver reminded him.

“It’s not so simple. I need raw materials, and I need to be near a machine when I need it, and I need the right specifications to build it, and I need to wait for it to be synthesized, and the machine is real big. I want something that can fit in my bag, that will always be with me, and will always make an exact copy of my required part.”

“I’ve built them before,” Weaver said, “but nothing that small. A portable replicator would just...I dunno, that sounds like a weapon.”

“Just build one,” Thor asked of her. “Don’t keep the specifications for it, and...I dunno, can you tie it to my DNA? If I’m the only one who can use it, then it’s no problem. I won’t abuse it; I don’t need to clone a girl I’m in love with, or bring back Adolf Hitler. I just need some nanites so I don’t die.”

“I don’t know...”

“I think you should do it,” Mateo determined.

“You do?”

“You hate me,” Thor said.

“I don’t hate you, Mister Thompson. We just don’t get along. That doesn’t mean I want you to die. Most transhumans live in civilization, and can find their needed replacements. All the way out here, it’s trickier. Weaver, can you build something that only works for him?”

Weaver sighed. “Yeah, probably. Theoretically. But also theoretically, someone else could find a loophole. Maybe they already have.”

“You said it yourself,” Mateo told her, “you can’t be responsible for all of time and space. Do this for him, consider the consequences of how you do it, and then hope for the best. I think he’s proven he’s worth the risk.”

Thor frowned, but Mateo could tell he actually wanted to smile.

“Very well,” Weaver gave in. “I can’t tell you how long it’ll take me, so don’t jettison the synthesizer we have on board just yet.”

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