Microstory 2458: Diamond Dome

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Would you believe it, centuries ago, diamonds were considered a precious commodity? They’re still precious, but they’re not nearly as rare and luxurious as they once were. Our ancestors would cut them up into pretty shapes, and fashion them into pretty jewelry. We don’t care about that. We care about function over form. Carbon is one of the most versatile elements in the universe, and as it turns out, its diamond form is actually extremely commonplace. It was hard to find on Earth when people were digging it out of the ground with shovels and pickaxes, but when you have the automation and power to manipulate entire planets, you start to see how abundant things are. We use diamonds because the stuff is durable and reliable. It’s also clear, making it a perfect, semi-natural alternative to glass. There are lab-grown polycarbonates out there that we can use instead, and to be sure, those are here on Castlebourne too, but nothing beats the OG super-material. We could also grow diamonds in a lab, but there’s plenty of it in this world, so why not take what the Lord giveth. Now, what exactly is it used for? Well, it’s the primary material for the domes. Most of the domes here aren’t perfectly smooth. They’re geodesic, which means they’re made up of a skeleton called a space frame. Traditionally, these were metallic, but these days, we use metamaterials; particularly graphene. Between the struts for the space frame, they affix transparent triangular panels, which allow you to see the other side. Why do they do this? Most of the domes use holographic skies anyway, so you’re seeing whatever the image is programmed to be. Well, I don’t really know. The tour didn’t explain that. It wouldn’t really be better if the entire dome were opaque with no hope of seeing the outside for real. Using a framework with clear panels is the most common way to design these things, and I just think they look nicer. You can turn the hologram off, and see the true Castlebournian sky, but if they weren’t made this way, that would not be possible. I guess it just gives us more options. A lot of people are afraid, believing that clear equals unsafe, but obviously that’s ridiculous. They think some meteorite could crash through, and suck out all the air, but that’s not really possible. Like I said, it’s made of diamonds, and even if it weren’t, your concern is unwarranted. Even if one panel does falter, these things are so gigantic that it would take days for all the air to escape, at worst. If it’s only one panel, it would take years. At any rate, there would be plenty of time for a drone team to fly up there and replace the panel, or panels. If there is so much damage that the dome rapidly becomes unbreathable, well, whatever caused that damage probably killed everyone on the surface anyway, so the air would be the least of their worries. Okay, I’ll end this on that happy note. Safe travels!

Microstory 2392: Vacuus, December 26, 2179

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Dear Condor,

No, I don’t know which one of us is older than the other. We could have been born hours apart, for all I know. Well, that’s probably too long of a difference. You would think that Pascal would say something about it if that were the case. Unless, I guess, if he was out of town, or something. Was he even there? Has he never told you anything about what it was like when you were born? Probably not since his story would have been shaky from having no choice but to leave me out of it entirely. Let me get right into what happened. I’m glad that I talked to Elek sooner rather than later, because I might not have had another chance to tell you about it. Our scientists believe that the Valkyrie long-cycle is imminent. Unless something major happens to change their current projected trajectory, they’re coming for us, and they’ll be blocking transmissions for a really long time. Theoretically, the only thing that could affect them enough for them to change their path would be a gravitational body of significant mass-density. That would be even worse, because it would probably cross the Roche limit, and collide into Vacuus. I told you that I would be getting into what happened, then went off on a tangent. Sorry. Elek. When I approached him earlier today, he seemed very scared. I don’t think he read our messages, or anything, but I think he knew that this conversation would be coming at some point. We were bound to put the pieces together eventually. He actually seemed relieved when I demanded answers about the study. Attached is the full transcript of our conversation. Our laws say that I can record audio on the base with everyone’s permission,  but I can’t record video. It’s a little weird, but it would be a lot to compress anyway. Here are the highlights. The program had been going on for a hell of a lot longer than we realized. Madalena was only hired for its most recent iteration. They tried this with other missions prior to this, including lunar bases and Martian outposts. They have always wanted to know how one person would fare across contradictory realities, and twins are the closest thing they can come to gaining any insight on that. The thing about us being fraternal twins was the result of a series of concessions they had to make over the years. It started out as one would think, with the ideal conditions, and no legal qualms. They just kept changing it and changing it until it became all but pointless. Elek observed me as I grew up, and took some notes, which he showed me, and they’re all attached too. They weren’t very detailed, and his heart wasn’t in. It was just stupid from the beginning, but they sunk so much money into it, they didn’t want to let it go. They since have, disbanding entirely, and the various players no longer communicate with each other. He thought that Madalena was dead, but he’s pretty sure most of the others on Earth are indeed gone. After this I think it’s time we put this whole thing to rest. It sounds like it’s all over, and nothing really came of it. Now let’s just be. Let’s be twins who talk via weekly letters.

Until the Valkyries descend upon us,

Corinthia

Microstory 2386: Earth, December 4, 2179

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Dear Corinthia and Velia,

Thank you for your letter. I will be continuing to write to both of you individually until a bunch of Valkyrie assholes show up, and tell me that I can’t anymore. My dad, Pascal is standing over my shoulder, reading—and approving of—every word. He sends his love to you, Corinthia, and wishes that we all had more time together. We understand that the meteors are out of everyone’s control, but that it is not going to last forever. We will reconnect one day, even if it takes years, and while we’re waiting, we’ll be thinking of you. Velia, by the time you receive this message, Corinthia should have received mine from last month during the communications blackout. It was waiting to be sent in the buffer, but I received confirmation that it was finally released shortly thereafter, so I don’t think that there were any issues. Let me know if it never came through, though, and I will send again. I said some things which I want to make sure that she hears, and I would love it if you two talked about it openly. But basically what I said was that I care about you, and I want to get to know you better. While we’ll never meet in person—and we may soon be separated by time as well as space—I think our correspondences will be worth it. Please understand, however, that as Corinthia said, you deserve happiness. If you meet someone else, don’t hesitate. I agonized over even saying anything about this, because I don’t want to root for us to fail, but it’s probably best that you know that I’m going to be okay too. I’m not saying that I’ve found someone special, or anything, but I do get to know people around here. As a story from the Earth of old goes, our hearts will dance together to the far end of eternity. Anyway, we don’t have to get into our full romantic histories, especially not in a joint letter like this, but it’s important for us to be open and honest with each other. Can’t wait to hear from you two again!

Grateful for the opportunity in the first place,

Condor and Pascal

PS: Velia, you should be getting a new letter from me as early as tomorrow.

Microstory 2385: Vacuus, November 27, 2179

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Dear Condor and Pascal,

We’re terribly sorry for the delayed response. This was one of the longest times when one of the Valkyries interfered with our communications. We thought that the attack was going to end much sooner than that. Researchers have been very worried about this phenomenon overall lately. There’s about a 24% chance that the long-cycle interruption is going to fall upon us soon, but it’s impossible to tell for sure. They don’t show up in a predictable pattern, or we would have been able to develop a reliable schedule by now. Some believe that each meteor resonates on its own frequency, which even makes it hard for us to plan for the way in which it will disrupt our signals. These electrostatic charges make random perturbations, and alter each other’s properties in more ways then just gravity. It’s basically like the three-body problem dialed up to hundred and eleven. Velia and I spoke, and we wanted to assure you that we intend to send you a message at least once a week. One of you should hear from one of us within that timeframe. Condor, you’re still getting my daily health stats anyway, but if you ever see a break in those, please don’t worry yet. There may be some other issue, like a quota constraint, which I will have to work through. I can’t get trigger reports each time there’s an error—especially not if that error comes from your end—so I may not realize that something needs to be corrected right away. Just wait a week, and you should get a regular message from Vacuus. I’m saying all this to make it clear that if you don’t hear from us at all, it’s because communications have been completely taken out, and that could last for years. We really just don’t know. I wanted to warn you about it, even though I explained it previously, so you’ll remember that I love you both, and I wish that it wasn’t out of my control. Condor, Velia wants me to let you know that she loves you too. We had a little...scuffle about it the other day, but then we talked calmly, and worked it out. She’s determined to stay connected with you in whatever way is possible given the chasm that divides you. We hope that the Valkyries will fly off into the void, and leave us alone forever, but if not, don’t forget that we’re thinking of you. And hey, maybe they’ll have that breakthrough in FTL communications, and the Valkyries won’t be able to block it. Here’s to hoping our conversations never have to end.

Best regards,

Corinthia and Velia

Microstory 2384: Earth, November 23, 2179

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Dear Corinthia and Velia,

It’s been a long time since I’ve heard from either of you. I spoke with some friends that I made at the Mauna Kea observatories after our birthday parties, who told me that the Valkyrie short-cycle disruption has come into play. So there’s this dumb rogue meteoroid out there, blocking your communications, and preventing us from staying connected to each other. It seems to be lasting longer than it did the first time. I don’t know if that’s normal—if there’s significant variation—or what. I just know that I hate being so far from both of you, and unable to even speak. A two-week delay between your messages is bad enough. Corinthia, I received yours about how Velia and I are talking to each other. I understand that the distance is an issue, but I’m not going to hold back because of it. In fact, I’m going to be more bold, because you’ve got me thinking, and so have the Valkyries. If there’s only one thing that I’ve learned in my four decades of life, it’s that time is the only thing that matters. We don’t have enough of it, and when you add space into the mix, we end up with even less. Velia, if you lived a few decks down, we could see one another regularly. We could meet for coffee, and we could stroll along the perimeter of the dome. We could spend time getting to know each other. Frustratingly, we don’t have that luxury. So I’m just gonna say it. I’ve developed feelings for you. You’re gorgeous and sexy, but I don’t even care about the photos. It’s about the words that we’ve exchanged. We have so much in common despite our vastly different upbringings and environments. I don’t know how we could possibly have a real relationship given our restrictions, but I don’t think that’s reason enough not to try. I think the opposite is true. I think we owe it to each other, and ourselves, to give it a shot. If we’re not willing to do something crazy in the name of love, then we don’t even deserve it, do we? If this was just you being funny and flirty, that’s okay, it doesn’t have to be awkward. I will be able to move on. But if this was real for you in any meaningful sense, then write back when you can. And Corinthia, you’re just going to have to be okay with that, even if it’s a little weird for you, or if you continue to believe that it’s a mistake.

Thinking of you both in greatly different ways,

Condor

Microstory 2338: Vacuus, February 17, 2179

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Dear Condor,

I’m writing to you to let you know that I’m back online, and also that your father did finally send me a letter. I responded to it yesterday, so you probably already know everything by the time you receive this anyway. I don’t really think that I should say anything more; about what he said, or about what I said. I kind of want you two to have your own conversation without me being involved. That’s why I think I’m gonna cut this short. There’s nothing for me to report on this end. The stray Valkyrie blocked our signal for a week, then flew away. The rest of the Valkyries are still orbiting on their usual path. I suppose I shouldn’t say usual as changing course is sort of their whole thing. But we’re safe from them...for now. There’s a slight chance that they will veer off of the predicted orbit, and come at us all at once with a vengeance, but the astronomers are hopeful that this will not happen. I just wanted to warn you that it’s not impossible that any message could be our last. I’ll continue to respond with the non-automated read receipts, and only won’t if it becomes impossible.

Bored again,

Corinthia

Microstory 2335: Vacuus, January 31, 2179

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Dear Condor,

Father has not yet written to me. It’s fine, I’m not disappointed. I don’t know him at all, so I can’t know what I should expect out of him. I just wanted to give you an update before it happens that I’m going to be out of communication range again. It won’t be too long, but it’s out of my hands. You see, when researchers first discovered Vacuus, they thought to send probes here before they sent people. Unfortunately, they lost contact with these probes, and were never able to gather much information about the planet. They obviously decided to just send a manned-mission without enough information, and that’s because the ship they were using was self-sustaining. If, for some reason, it wasn’t possible to reach or land on the surface, it wasn’t like a death sentence. We could have been living on it this whole time. It’s still orbiting us right now, and people regularly go back and forth. I could have gotten a job up there instead. In fact, I told you that I’m the only one doing what I do, but that’s not technically true. Someone is up there right now, using their own instruments to track nearby cosmic events. They just don’t do it for the same reasons, and have other responsibilities. It’s not for safety, they’re mostly studying the effects of deep space survival as it pertains to remoteness from the host star. I kind of forget about them, because we don’t really interact. Anyway, that’s not really important. The point is that, once we arrived here, we discovered why communication with the probes stopped working. It’s because of a periodic meteoroid shower called the Valkyries, which causes a blackout. These meteoroids are very close to one another, and interconnected via weak, yet still impactfully disruptive, electromagnetic fields. It has to do with the ferromagnetic composition of them, and the occasional electrostatic charge that builds up when they scrape against one another. This can last for years, but it’s a relatively rare event, and has only happened twice since Earth sent the probes. What’s not all that rare is when one of these meteors becomes dislodged from the shower, and we end up between it and all its friends. If we’re in the right position, it’s pretty as it’s streaking across the sky, but it’s problematic too. We don’t always know when it’s going to happen, and we don’t always know when it’s going to affect us, but it too knocks out signal transmission, though for a much shorter period of time. Our astronomers have devoted most of their careers to studying these phenomena. At first they thought that the shower was falling apart, but they now believe that the stray meteoroids eventually find their way back to the shower. Earth is aware that this is going to happen, and have upgraded their protocols to account for it. So if you send a message, it will end up being stored in a nearby buffer until the relay station receives word that signal transmission has been restored. I’m sorry to spring this on you so last minute, but if you reply, I doubt that I’ll receive you for a while. Please let your father know as well, thanks.

Hopefully not for long,

Corinthia

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 6, 2399

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Mateo brought one of Ramses and Leona’s little leechcraft up into space, thinking that it could be of some use to them, and he turned out to be right. Leona deployed it from the vacuum tent, leaving it in their then-orbit before they went back towards Earth in Mangrove Rocket Eleven. It is capable of a little station-keeping on its own, but it works best when latched onto some other satellite. It immediately fell into a decaying orbit, which means that it will eventually burn up in the atmosphere, but it will probably be years before that happens. They don’t need it to stay up there forever. They just want to get an idea of how this mysterious Omega bubble works.

“Anything?” Mateo asks. It’s late, and they’re back in the Kansas City lab with Tarboda and Heath, who are both asleep.

Leona takes a sip of her tea. “So far, so good. The bubble has not yet reached the leechcraft.”

“What does that mean?” he presses. “Did it shrink, or just stay where it is?”

She takes another sip. “There’s no way to know. If and when the bubble reaches it, there will be a split second before it shuts off where I might be able to tell that the bubble is the reason that this happened, and I didn’t just lose contact with it because of a micrometeoroid, or interference, or something. We may never be sure where the bubble is, and where it isn’t. By its very nature, it blocks such observation.” She takes another sip, and doesn’t even give herself enough time to set the cup down before she needs yet another.

“What I’m observing right now,” Mateo begins, “is that you need to go to bed.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m working.”

He points at one of the other screens. “What does this mean here?”

Leona peers at it. “Well, that—that means the big satellite we have up there is detecting temporal energy. The bubble must be receding. How did I miss that?”

“Because it’s like I said, you’re too tired.” He kind of paws at her.

“Bzzz!” she exclaims, trying to swat him away like a fly, then takes another sip.

“What exactly is this you’re drinking?” Mateo picks it up himself, and takes a tiny sip. “Whoa, this is black tea. If you take any more of this, you’ll be up all night. Come on.” He gently tries to pull her away from the machine. “It's time for bed.” He pulls a little harder when she resists.

“Mateo, this development means that I have to stay!”

“The computer is monitoring the bubble’s progress, right? You don’t have to be here to watch it. You’ve had a long day, and a long few weeks before that, and a long few months before that, and I could go back to the beginning of the first timeline you remember, couldn’t I? I know you want to keep on this, but you could make more mistakes. You don’t want that, do you?”

“No,” she replies in a nervous little girl voice.

“Go on upstairs,” Mateo urges softly. He starts waving his hand at the computer like a philistine. “I’ll call you if I see something happen on the thing.”

Leona nods, and turns away. Just then, the computer beeps. She spins right back around. “What was that?”

Mateo leans in to read it. “It’s a message...from Alyssa. She wants to meet.”

Extremus: Year 8

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It took Valencia, and the other smart people on this ship, nearly five months to double check the math, and draw up a flawless plan. While the micrometeoroid threat was indeed growing larger by the second, they couldn’t screw up the solution, and good solutions require time. The robots constructed extra physical shields to the front of Extremus to better deflect oncoming objects, and this proved to be effective for now. At the moment, they’re only about 18% of the way to the galactic core, where it’s most dense. They still don’t really know if it’s going to get worse than it already is, even worse than they ever imagined possible, or be all fine and dandy. Today is a new launch day. Under Valencia’s supervision, the engineering committee is going to be dispatching a series of mining automators to the nearest celestial bodies. The problem is a lack of data. They are literally in uncharted territory, which means they don’t know what kind of planets and asteroids are floating around out here, or what treasures they bear. So multiple automators have been built, hoping that at least one of them doesn’t fail, and encounters something good.

On a personal note, Omega has been doing all right. Medical tests turned up nothing unusual about his physiology, or neurology. He occasionally catches glimpses of the man who isn’t there, smiling down on him, but he no longer speaks. There is no apparent reason for Omega to be having these hallucinations, but as of yet, they have seen no evidence that they’re doing him any harm, besides causing him to doubt himself. He wants to be there for the launches, so while he isn’t in charge of the special project anymore, he’s being released for the day to witness. The nurse insists they keep him in the hoverchair so he doesn’t overexert himself, but it’s completely unnecessary. She doesn’t know what this project is, though, so she can’t stick around. Halan agrees to assume responsibility for his health while they watch the show.

The rest of the committee is already in the observation room that is overlooking the drones in the cargo bay. Omega regards with wonder, glad that they have been able to pull this off so far, and saddened that he wasn’t a part of it. Halan gets him some cheese and bread bites from the refreshments table while they wait to begin. When it’s time, Valencia moves to stand between the crowd and the windows. She has to gesture for August Voll to follow her. “Well, it’s finally ready. The project is about to begin. For those of you without the requisite education, I’ve asked my First Apprentice to explain to you what’s happening today, and why it’s necessary.”

August clears her throat. “When we first launched, we did so with finite resources, as I’m sure you know. Only so much mass can fit on this vessel. We had more than enough to make it through the entire 216-year journey without ever having to stop. We grow our own food, we make our repairs en route. Sadly, as it turns out, the repairs we had to make a few years ago have proven to be far more involved than we thought we would need. Had this happened near the end of the trip, we probably would have been fine, but now our reserves are too low, and it’s too risky. We need more materials, and for that, we need more time. In order to keep our dream of constant motion alive, we’re going to have to get creative. That means getting resources not just from nearby worlds, but from the past.

“What you see in each of the five designated sections of the cargo bay are five space-capable drones. They’re small, I know, but they’re each fitted with a mini-fusion reactor, and an AI program capable of finding a suitable celestial body, landing, and extracting resources. We have enough power to safely send the drones about thirty years into the past. This should be enough time for them to travel to their star system, mine the resources, and return to the rendezvous position. We could send them back further, but it would cost more. We don’t presently have the materials we would need to fit them with reframe engines either, so relativistic speeds are going to have to do. Slow relativistic speeds, in fact. They max out at point-six-c. If they have to travel five light years away, and five back, that leaves them around thirteen years to mine. They should be able to handle that, but it could be tight, which is why we’ve programmed them to extract the materials, but not build the Frontrunners themselves. We don’t really know how far they’ll have to travel in their search.”

While Valencia is talking, Omega notices a figure in the corner of his eye. Other people are standing there, but this person stands out. He’s afraid to look, because he knows who it is. It’s that hallucination again. He appears to just be enjoying the presentation with everyone else. Omega leans over to Captain Yenant, and whispers, “I’m going to get some water.”

“I’ll get it,” Halan says.

“No, I know all this. You should stay with your people.” Omega flies the chair to the back, and heads for the water. The hallucination man follows him. Omega waits behind the table, ready to start actually getting the water if someone were to look back curiously.

“Are you feeling okay?” the hallucination has the audacity to ask.

“What are you doing here? Who are you?” Omega demands to know.

“I’m a program, and I’m here to make sure the ship runs smoothly.”

“If you were a hologram, other people would be able to see you, and I don’t have any neuro-tech enhancements. I receive life extension treatments, and I have some musculo-skeletal implants. How are we communicating?”

“As a clone, you have advanced neurological capabilities, including techno-psychic communication. You can’t interface with any bit of technology you want, but you’re connected to me, because...”

“Because what? Why are you hesitating?” Omega asks that a little too loud, prompting Head of Security Gideon to look back. Now he reaches for the water.

“Because you are, in terms of security protocols, Elder Caverness.”

“What are you going on about?”

“You altered your DNA to make Old Man’s safe think that you were him, so you could open it.”

“That was temporary.”

The hallucination shook his head. “No, it wasn’t.”

Omega has some control over his own physiology, and even his genetic code, which is what allowed him to break into the DNA safe in the first place. Still, there is only so much he can do, and only so much information about his health status that he can gather in realtime. He looks down at himself like that alone could confirm or refute what the hallucination is claiming.

“Don’t be afraid, it’s a good thing. Now you have me, and I can help with things, like showing you the solution to the micrometeoroid problem, and telling you that one of these drones is about to land on an inhabited planet.”

“So your creator, he knows the future. There is no other way you could possibly know that. Or you’re just lying.”

“My creator, me...what exactly is the difference?”

“Stop speaking in half-explanations, forcing me to ask more questions. Just give me all the answers.” Gideon looks back again, so Omega has to reach over and sample one of the deserts, even though it’s not time for that yet.

“I wasn’t created by Elder Caverness. I am Elder Caverness. I designed a perimortem consciousness transference device.”

“Those are illegal on this ship,” Omega protests.

Up until this point, since no one else can see or hear him, the hallucination has been speaking in an inside voice. He drops to a whisper to mock him. “Then I suppose we won’t want to tell anyone about it, will we? Shh. Hush-hush.”

“What is your purpose?”

“I designed it primarily for the Captain, so this boat can enjoy a little bit of damn continuity. Why hand over power when you can just stay alive throughout the whole journey?”

“That doesn’t make any sense. You were the one who tried to give the Captain the device that would have sent him off to a death in the void.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” the program says. “Obviously I had to test the technology first. The last version of me was uploaded into the computer a few months before the incident. I couldn’t tell you why Corporeal!Me tried to kill Captain Yenant, but I had nothing to do with it. We were two separate people by then.”

The conversation has to end as the speech before them does. The people begin to crowd around the windows. The part that Omega missed was about how the successful missions will appear pretty much instantaneously. Years will have passed for them—though it’s impossible to know how many without first knowing how far they’ll have to travel at relativistic speeds. But they won’t even be the same drones anyway. In order to transport the materials they mine, they’ll also use part of the material to build their own replacements. Those will be the ships that will appear in the cargo bay with the payloads. They’ll be extremely bare, and not even vacuum sealed. They’ll be more like only the framing, with enough space to hold what they need, along with the engines. They call it a gridship.

Omega flies over towards the window, and the crowd separates so he can see better. As August is counting down to the first launch, Omega notices AI!Elder, or whatever it is they should call him, standing in the fourth section. He’s wearing an old timey airport marshaller’s uniform, and making random arm movements, demonstrating the importance of this particular section. He opens his mouth, and rolls his eyes to the back of his head as he pulls at his shirt collar. He’s pantomiming dying. He’s pantomiming dying in section four. For whatever reason, when the gridship rendezvouses with Extremus, people are going to die. And apparently, Omega is the only one who can stop it.

“Go for One!” August declares. The drone disappears. A minute passes, but nothing returns.

“Aww,” the crowd groans, displeased and disappointed.

“Go for Two!” It’s only eight billion miles away from the first one, but it’s heading on a completely different vector, so it should have different candidate objects. It returns with a nice payload of various building materials, which will help them complete their project. The crowd cheers. It’s only about half of what they need to dispatch the Frontrunners, so hopefully one of the others also succeeds.

August waits another five minutes, which gives the third drone about forty billion miles to find something else. “Go for Three!” It comes back with more than enough of what they will need. The crowd cheers again, this time much louder.

The Elder program is still in section four of the main cargo bay. He’s shaking his head. Nothing has changed. This will still end badly. Omega doesn’t know how he knows this, especially with so many variables, but he can’t take the chance. They have the raw materials they need right now. There is no reason to continue. They could always send more missions later on, now that they know it’s possible.

Now the Elder program is pointing at the scorch station. Should a contaminate be loaded into the cargo bay—which is what this program appears to be suggesting will happen—the scorch station is capable of destroying any organic substance in the entire cargo bay. Since this is obviously so dangerous, it’s not like anyone is allowed to just walk up to it, and turn it on. They need authorization. Fortunately for Omega, he is more than qualified to break into it, especially if the Elder program is there to help him out. First, he hacks his chair, and teleports into what’s generally a time power-free zone. He won’t be able to trick the system into believing he’s a senior officer, but he can make it think he’s the cargomaster, who is also authorized to perform this action.

He checks his watch as he’s working, acutely aware that the next scheduled launch is in less than two minutes. He doesn’t absolutely have to get this done before the contaminant shows up. Either the fire prevents the launch from taking place, or it kills what’s already come through. Either way, everyone remains safe. It looks like it’s going to be the second possibility. Just when he’s cracked it, Omega sees the drone disappear, only to be immediately replaced by another vessel, but it’s not a gridship. It’s sealed up with a hull, and the hatchway is opening, which suggests that someone alive is inside. It’s too late. Scorch protocol engages, and overwhelms the cargo bay.

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Extremus: Year 7

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Their only short-term solution to the growing micrometeoroid problem is to divert extra power to the teleporter field. There was, as far as they knew, no power loss at all, but it’s kind of all they have right now. The errors came out of random chance, and nothing will stop it until they find some other workaround. For now, though, things seem to be going okay. There hasn’t been a strike since the one that destroyed main engineering. In more than a year since that, the two missing decks have been entirely replaced, using the raw materials they had in storage. While it wasn’t all they had, they certainly now have a lot less than they should. They still have over two hundred years to go, and there is definitely not enough material to build the frontrunner ship that they need. They might have to cannibalize the internal structures just to get by, which the passengers are not going to be happy about. It could also endanger the compartmentalization and modularization components of their safety strategy, which is the whole reason they survived the first major strike.

As for the personnel, the engineers are doing okay. The apprentices that were working on main engines weren’t anywhere near the decks that were destroyed, and they’re really stepping up to make sure the current team members don’t have to work too hard. New recruits have been signing up to compensate, and are running through an accelerated education program. It’s looking like the original crew won’t have to extend their shift after all. Still, general consensus is that they’re all willing to stay to make sure the job is done, and not leave the ship hanging. At the moment, they’re back in another meeting, just like the one they were in when tragedy hit. Omega now believes that the original frontrunner ship design isn’t the best chance they have. He’s preparing to pitch a new plan, which should lower the amount of needed material, but probably requires more labor.

Omega clears his throat too close to the microphone. “Oops, sorry. I’m not an orator, so I’m going to get right down to the point. The frontrunner plan is out. Now we’ve moved on to the frontrunners. Instead of one large metal shield, all we need are small vessels with their own debris transport fields. Our problem is that we only have one field mounted to Extremus, and when it fails, all is lost. Sure, we have a thin backup inner field, but it’s designed to support us only at slow speeds, or when we’re docked. If the main field falls, protocol dictates that we decelerate, and effect repairs at drift. I don’t wanna do drift repairs, I want to keep going. So instead...” He engages the hologram. “I propose five frontrunners; one at the apex, and four at the base points, in the shape of a pentahedron. They will be positioned at strategic locations in front of Extremus, with minimal field overlap, like a protective cone...protecting us. We’re not planning on getting rid of the main teleporter field, but if we can minimize the number of objects that even reach it in the first place, we minimize the potential for catastrophic damage.”

An engineer raises her hand. “Yeah, how does this help us? Each frontrunner still has the same probability of transporting the object inside the protected area, rather than away. Sure, multiple fields is great, but can’t we just install more on Extremus?”

“On Extremus proper, no. It’s a design flaw, actually. For reasons I won’t get into now, because it’s all outlined in the report, retrofitting the ship with additional fields is impossible at reframe speeds. We would have to stop, and take both current fields offline for an extended period of time. Otherwise, the new ones could interfere with the old ones. I could imagine a celestial body being batted around like a ping pong ball, and the longer that object stays within range, the more opportunities it has to collide with us. That’s kind of why it wasn’t built with multiple fields in the first place. Our best chance has us creating entirely new transport fields that are not incorporated into the main systems.”

“You’ve not answered my question. How are you decreasing the chances of a strike?”

“Notice how I keep calling it a transport field, and not a teleporter field. That’s because we don’t have to transport it through space. We can jump it through time. The hologram illustrates in slowmo as he’s talking about it. “The object passes through the field, and instead of being sent an AU away, it’s sent one second into the future. By the time it shows back up, Extremus is a hundred million miles away. Frankly, I don’t know why Weaver and Team Keshida didn’t come up with this themselves.”

“Um, probably because the chances of something going wrong actually increase,” Valencia pipes up. “At relativistic speeds, time is complicated. A year outside is half a day inside. Add the reframe engines into the mix, and even though the time differential approaches zero, the complexity is only compounded. Time travel is more imprecise than you’ve probably been led to believe. You may have seen people suddenly appear in the room with you, and you think their aim was good, and since they didn’t blend into a wall, yeah, I suppose it was pretty good. But the average room is measured in meters. On the macro level, that’s totally fine. But at the quantum level, that’s a problem. Every time you try to send a meteoroid into the future, there’s about a percent of a percent chance that it’ll show up in the past.

“And this one second figure you’re going on about, you can forget that. There is no way we generate enough energy to go that far in time for every single particle we’re encountering on our way to Extremus. We’re only worried about the larger pieces, but the teleporter field doesn’t care about that. It transports everything, because it can’t distinguish those sizes. Anything that goes in, must come out. Also, don’t underestimate those smaller particles.”

“So we calibrate the time field,” Omega argues. “We only go after the bigger pieces, and let the teleporter field handle the smaller ones. It’s like installing a larger filter in front of the finer one.”

Valencia shakes her head. “I’m not saying it’s impossible, but time travel requires a lot more energy than teleportation. People with powers absorb the energy they need from the environment as time marches on, but technology hasn’t been able to do that. There is no such thing as a temporal energy generator.”

“Then help me with the math,” Omega requests. “I suppose I should have come to you about this first.”

“Probably,” Valencia agrees. She takes a moment. “Very well. Send me the full report, and I’ll get back to you in a week. I make no guarantees.”

The meeting breaks. While Valencia starts to go over the report with her team, Omega returns to his new lab, which is the one that Old Man had before he made himself disappear. Halan has given Omega a lot more leeway with his work than either of them ever thought he would. Some random guy is already in there. He’s looking through some physical papers.

“Can I help you?” Omega asks in faux politeness.

The man turns around. It’s someone that Omega doesn’t recognize, which is strange, because like Halan, Omega prides himself in knowing everyone on this ship. “No. I think I have it well in hand.”

“You are not authorized to be in this section of Extremus.”

“How can you be so sure?” the man questions.

“Because only two people are allowed down here, and you’re not one of them. I don’t even know who you are.”

The man smiles knowingly, and separates one of the papers from the stack. “This formula is wrong.” He taps a finger on it. “It’s missing a minus sign.”

“I didn’t write that,” Omega explains. Some of this stuff is from what Old Man left. A lot of it is written in code, or is just illegible, but they have to mean something. It would be irresponsible to just throw it all away when it might be useful in the future.

“I know. Old Man. He, uhh...” He pauses to laugh. “The flourishes. It’s the flourishes that get him. He has more lines in every character than he really needs, and sometimes, when he’s reading it back, he mistakes one for something else. He transcribed this from his clearboard as a seven, but it’s a negative-one. That’s important. You’ll need it.”

Omega crosses his arms impatiently. “I’ll need it for what?”

“Who are you talking to?”

Omega spins around to find Captain Yenant standing in the doorway. He turns back. The intruder is gone. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Parker—”

“It’s important. Did you see me talking to the wall, or did you just hear me from around the corner?”

“I saw you talking. There’s no one there.”

Omega sighs. He finds a pen on the table, and draws over the negative-one to make it more clearly distinguished from a seven. Then he gathers all the papers from this particular stack, and presents them to the Captain. “Please give all this to Valencia. It may be important, it may not be. I’ve not had time to study it.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“You saw me talking to no one?”

“That’s right.”

“Then I need a brain scan. You’ll have to take me off active duty, and put her in charge of the project.”

Halan nods with a grin. “This is a surprisingly mature decision, Omega Parker. I’m proud of you.”

“This is who I’m supposed to be. This is Saxon Parker. This is what he would do.”

“Come on. I’ll escort you to the infirmary myself.”

A few days later, Valencia finds herself bursting into Halan’s office, holding the mess of loose papers in one hand. She’s a bit out of breath.

“What did we say about doors, Miss Raddle?”

Valencia sits down. “I don’t remember.”

“Please remember for next time.”

“I’ll look into it.” She drops the papers on his desk.

“Did you find something in there?”

“Umm, just the answers to everything.”

“How do you mean?”

She starts excitedly pointing out the text, graphs, and formulas, almost forgetting that Halan doesn’t know how to interpret any of it. “I know this handwriting. This was Old Man. He survived, didn’t he?”

Halan set his face into a quizzical look.

“He did, didn’t he?”

“I imagine it’s possible. It’s a big ship, and a man like that...we can’t rule out that he’s been hiding all this time, or even that he transported himself a couple years in the future, long after we concluded our sweep of the ship. Why?”

“He has it all laid out. The...frontrunners, the time traveling miners, everything. The plan is right here. It’s everything we need to make this happen.”

“Maybe he knew it would be a problem down the line. Whenever I gave him a mandate, I knew he had no fewer than three side projects he would work on when he needed to take a break from the main issue. I think that coming up with long-term solutions to seemingly insurmountable obstacles were a hobby of his.”

“I still think you should sweep the ship again.”

“We can do that,” Halan agrees. It couldn’t hurt. Actually, it could. It could undermine people’s faith in him as a leader; this question whether Old Man has been able to evade detection all this time. Or they could lie about why they’re searching every square meter of this place. What could that reason be, though? He’ll have to speak with Mercer, and finesse the situation. “So we’re good? You can do this?”

“Well, when I said everything, I didn’t mean everything everything. We still need to double check the math, and translate some of the writings into a human language. His code isn’t uncrackable, but it’s...sloppy. I think that’s the point.”

“What do you need from me?”

She’s nervous to ask. “It would be helpful if I could...maybe...recruit Omega back into this?”

“Not possible,” Halan says with a shake of the head.

“I know he’s in trouble again—”

“He’s not in trouble,” Halan contends honestly. “He’s sick.”

“Sick with what?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“I just need his mind. If he’s in quarantine, I’m happy to communicate virtually, or even wear a hazmat suit.”

“You can’t have his mind, that’s...” He shut his trap.

That’s enough for Valencia to understand. “His mind is what’s sick.”

“I urge you to respect his privacy, as I would expect him to do for you.”

“It’s okay.” She stands up. “It’ll take us some time, but we’ll figure it out.” She starts to leave.

Halan lifts his tablet up, and leans back in his chair. “Take those weird dead trees with you, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Right. Thank you.”

“And chirp the door next time.”

“Of course, sir.”

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Extremus: Year 6

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Over the next year, the micrometeoroid problem worsens. Several even manage to slip through the field. Or maybe the field actually teleports the objects inside of it, instead of away, which was an early problem that the technology had. A woman named Weaver figured out how to reduce the chances of that happening, but she was operating under the assumption that the interstellar density would not change this dramatically. Fortunately, it’s not like Extremus was designed with a single layer of aluminum foil. The bulkhead has so far proved strong enough to withstand the damage, and robots have been dispensed to repair the dents immediately. Many of the meteoroids don’t even hit the ship itself anyway. The field is meant to be a buffer; not the last line of defense. Still, it’s a concerning issue, and it still needs to be dealt with.

After a week, the new committee that Halan formed reconvenes. Individuals and teams give their own ideas about how to solve this issue. The Bridgers make another appearance, but it’s their last one. Any information that they need to know about the future of the mission can be passed along to them at a later time. They don’t vocalize any ideas themselves, but everyone else has more than one possibility. Head of Security Gideon has the simplest idea. They could make a lateral course adjustment, and fly parallel to the galactic plane, rather than right through the center of it. It’s not the craziest plan, but it’s also not ideal as it extends their mission time by a measure of years, and potentially uses up too much energy. Lead Mechanic Holgersen thinks that all they need to do is bolster the hull by adding Whipple bumpers, and other armor. Again, this isn’t insane, and it’s certainly doable. Almost all of the ideas come with downsides. They are only short-term solutions, or they make something else about the mission harder, or they just won’t necessarily be good enough for an even higher interstellar density. And then there is one that is the craziest of them all. Surprisingly, it comes from passenger representative, First Chair Ebner.

Omega and Lead Engineer Ocean have been working out the details for the last year, and now it’s time to present it to the rest of the engineering team. So far, no one else has been brought into the mix—not even the rest of the crew—and this strategy has been working. That has to change now, but they should still be able to keep the circle tight. “Thank you all for coming,” Veca begins. “I know you’re all worried about your apprentices, but I’m confident that they can survive the next few hours without you. That’s what they’re here for.” When the mission began, a certain number of people were approved for the crew, based on their education and background. Now that the mission is six years in, some of the younger passengers are finally ready to prepare to replace the initial crew members at a one-to-one ratio. Each current crew member has been assigned an apprentice to train, who will supposedly take over their responsibilities when their shift is over.

Veca continues, “before I begin, due credit is owed to the woman who came up with the idea. She has no engineering experience, so it’s the rest of us who will have to make it actually work, but it’s a good example of how everyone has something to offer, and solutions can come from some of the most unexpected places. First Ebner, would you please stand up?”

Satyria likes to be heard, but she doesn’t just want people to think that she’s important. She wants to actually be important, and to earn all of the recognition she receives. She works hard to contribute to the cause, and never rests on her laurels. Still, she doesn’t love to be the center of attention. She would rather just know that people are pleased with her contributions on their own time. Even so, she stands up, and thanks the crowd as they clap politely.

“Now. Again, we need you. This is a massive endeavor. About half of you are directly responsible for the construction of Extremus. The other half was still in the middle of your education. Either way, you all know what it took to make this dream come true, and none of you takes that for granted. It is a magnificent vessel, and I am profoundly proud of the work we have all accomplished. Unfortunately, as you read in the pre-meeting brief, there is one flaw, which comes out of a lack of data about the composition of the galaxy. You built a great ship. Now I’m going to have to ask you to do it again. It won’t be an entirely new ship that’s the same size as this one, but it will be heavily fortified, and it will be responsible for acting as a sort of frontrunner shield. We’re tentatively calling it The Spearhead.”

One of the engineers raises his hand. “You want a second ship to fly in front of us, so it can take all the micrometeoroid damage on our behalf?”

Before Veca can answer, another engineer piggy-backs on the question. “How do you suggest we get this thing in front of Extremus? Even if we build it in modules, and assemble it on the outside, we’re literally going as fast as relativity allows us. We’ll have to slow down so it can accelerate, and get ahead of us.”

“That’s what those three are for.” Veca points to the corner of the room.

Temporal Engineer Raddle and her apprentice, August are sitting with a second apprentice whose first day on the job was yesterday. Valencia stands up. “We don’t have to slow down to get something in front of the ship. All we have to do is teleport it to a point in space ahead of us. FTL technology isn’t fast or safe enough for general interstellar travel, but it’s perfect for short range jumps. We’ll attach the Spearhead to the bottom of the hull, fire up its engines, send it to the edge of shield space, and let it fly in front of us. Boom, easy.”

“Yeah, that sounds easy,” someone from the crowd groans.

“Simple, not easy,” Veca corrects Valencia’s point. “Look, I know that this sounds crazy,” but Omega and I have been running simulations for months now. Quite frankly, we should have designed the ship to have an external shield the entire time. It will create a clear path for us to follow, and warn us of other dangers ahead of time, like gamma-ray bursts, and collapsed stars. The Spearhead is about more than just micrometeorite strikes. It’s about knowing what’s coming before risking any lives.”

Before anyone can say anything more about anything, they hear a thunderous explosion, and feel a shockwave ripple through their bodies. Captain Yenant, who’s been quiet this whole time to let the experts carry out this presentation, jumps up and activates his emergency teleporter. He likes to walk from place to place most of the time, but obviously he needs to get to the bridge quickly. Mayhem has taken over, and crew members are screaming data at each other, and trying to communicate with their comrades around the ship. “Report!” Halan screams.

“Fires on decks nineteen through twenty-two. Casualty reports still coming in. Deaths upwards of eleven.”

“Sir,” someone else begins.

“What? Just say it!” Halan demands.

“Deck twenty-four, main engineering, has been obliterated. Twenty-three is exposed.”

“Has it been sealed off?” Halan questions.

“Yes, sir.”

“Teleport all injured parties to the infirmary.”

“Already done, sir.”

“Main engines.”

“Holding.”

“Power efficiency.”

“Down to 83%, but rising.”

“Hull integrity.”

“Stressed between twenty-two and three.”

“You’re sure that everyone is out of twenty-three,” Halan asks.

“Sir,” he confirms.

“Decouple,” Halan orders. “Jettison deck twenty-three, and what’s left of twenty-four, before they tear us apart.”

“Jettisoning twenty-three and down,” he agrees as he inputs the command into the computer.

Halan waits a moment, and watches the screen to make sure the damaged sections are successfully removed from the ship. “Okay. Reframe speed.”

“Seven-oh-seven-C.”

Halan sighs and shakes his head in sadness. “All that. All that death, and we’re still just moving along like nothing happened. Did we even lose any time?”

“No, sir.”

“Great. I’m sure everyone we lost was comforted in their final moments that we’re all still doing okay.”

“Sir?”

“Compile the data, and run full diagnostics on every single system on the ship, including the passenger sections. I’m going to the infirmary.”

Fifty-five crew members, and one passenger were killed in what they could come to learn was yet another micrometeorite strike. According to what little data could be recovered from the incident, it was about the size of an ancient Earthan baseball. Though not so big, it was able to do sizable damage, because of how fast the ship was moving. The teleportation shield made an error when it transported the object closer to the ship, where it was able to rip straight through the lowest deck, and kill everyone there instantly. The only silver lining was that this was the main engineering section, which was designed to sit lower than anything else. The passenger sections were numbered from the opposite direction, since it was more intuitive for them to think of it like an above-ground building. Level one actually coincided with Deck 20.

Since nearly all of the current-shift engineers were in the middle of the meeting on Deck 2, they managed to survive the strike. Sadly, their apprentices were down there instead, monitoring systems, and relogging data. They were all killed, and as if that wasn’t sad on its own, it also meant that there would be no one to replace those crew members once their shift officially ended. Perhaps Halan would be able to convince them to extend their shifts until replacements could be sufficiently trained, but that isn’t what matters right now. They have to rebuild, and fortify the physical shield, and increase power to the teleporter field, if possible. Nothing like this can ever happen again, and it falls on Halan’s shoulders to ensure that. No one seems to blame him for it, but as Captain, he is ultimately responsible for literally everything. A lot of people were nominated for the position, and about half of them declined specifically because it was too much pressure. The other half are probably feeling lucky right now that they weren’t put in charge. Well, one of them doesn’t feel lucky, because she’s dead.

Captain Yenant addresses the whole ship on the evening announcements, explaining to everyone what happened, and what they will be doing to prevent another tragedy. It’s over the next few days that he starts to hear the criticisms, and they are all pretty much valid. He can’t condemn anyone for losing faith in his leadership, or in the mission as a whole. There is a carefully laid out procedure for recalling a captain, but the passengers have less to say about it than the crew does. For now, no one’s been talking about that, and Mercer has been keeping his ear to the ground for it. It’s not out of the question, though. It’s never out of the question. And Halan will step down gracefully, should the need arise. A battle for power does no one any good, and undermines the spirit of the ship’s mandate. Hopefully it won’t come to that, and it’s looking like it won’t. The crew still does not blame him for what happened.

The repairs themselves were fairly quick and easy. Extremus was designed to drop any section at will in case something like this occurs. The decks above were negatively impacted, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed. A significant portion of the vessel was designated for spare parts and raw materials. That’s not the problem, though. It’s the missing decks themselves that are going to make things difficult for them. They don’t ever plan on stopping, unlike most ships, which only have to make it to a destination in the stellar neighborhood. The really cool thing about relativistic travel is that it cuts down on the amount of time that something can go wrong. At the moment, the closest outpost is only twenty light years from Origin, which means while it takes a little over twenty years to get there from Earth, the crew only experiences ten days. Extremus, on the other hand, will be en route for 216 years. They can’t afford to have to rebuild the ship over and over again. They’ll be able to replace those missing decks over the course of the next year, but every time that happens, it cuts down on their reserves. They will eventually run out, and Halan doesn’t know what happens when they get to that point. For now, the problem has to be solved, and Halan isn’t sure they’ll be able to take care of it before another strike kills them all.

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