Extremus: Year 116

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Oceanus was furious that Crusan switched the envelopes. He demanded to know how he even did that, but it really wasn’t that hard. The printer was literally behind the stage, unlocked, and all the presets were still engaged. All Crusan had to do was type a new name, print it out, and switch it with the real one using some sleight of hand. What they didn’t know before was that he likes to study old Earth magic in his free time. He was already coming in to see who won when Tinaya stopped the clock, so he heard most of the argument about Silveon being the real chosen one. His exact motivations, however, are not yet apparent. Oceanus argued with the braintrust in secret, but there’s no going back now. It’s irrelevant which envelope is real. Tinaya said the name out loud, and the written evidence is all the proof that anyone would need to declare it legitimate. Crusan destroyed the original, and even if Captain Jennings pointed to the file version history, Pronastus’ name is the one that everyone heard. Going back on that now would just make him look incompetent. The best thing they can do at this point is move forward with the three candidates for this ship’s new captain.

The true wrench in the works is that Waldemar was the one who asked for the competition to be rigged. He was expecting his friend, Silveon’s name to be called instead. It was Oceanus who had to explain his reasoning. Tinaya wasn’t there, but he reportedly used it as an opportunity to teach Waldemar a lesson about leadership. The ship cannot be managed by one man alone. You are always having to work with others, and even if you have authority over them, they have the inborn freewill to defy you. Working through these conflicts with a cool head is an important skill to master. This would be great advice for just about anyone else hoping for an executive position, but this is a special case. It has probably set their progress back with Waldemar a little bit. He likely sees it as a bad lesson, favoring the search for a workaround which would allow him to do whatever he needs without any pushback.

Speaking of Waldemar, something must be done about his clones, if any extras exist. Consul Sanchez never told Tinaya where she rerouted it when AI!Elder attempted to reveal the truth about it on The Black Deck. The logic is that it’s in Tinaya’s best interest not to know. Plausible deniability, and all that. She said that it was disposed of properly, but AI!Elder claimed there were others. He could have been lying for all she knew, but if he wasn’t, they have to be found. The hunt has been slow going. She doesn’t have any leads. She has to literally look for them in unoccupied sectors of the ship. Well, she isn’t doing it herself. Silveon has been working on it, with his fast legs, and ability to use them for more than fifteen minutes at a time. Audrey helps too. It’s been easier for her to get out of her quarters, now that Waldemar is officially busy with vice captain duties. They have tried to ask Pronastus for help, but his magical superpowers are evidently not leading him anywhere. Perhaps there’s nothing to find.

Silveon sighs, and plops down on the couch. He’s tired from the search, as well as his normal stewardship responsibilities. “We have to learn to accept the possibility that, if there are more clones out there, they’re being kept somewhere that isn’t out of the way. We don’t know where the one you found came from, so it could have been created by a Future!Waldemar, or the one we have with us today, or it could be someone else entirely, storing one of the pods securely and secretly in their own linen closet.”

“You’re right,” Tinaya says. “I’m sorry to make you go looking for it. You’re off the hook. You should be living your life. How old are you now, twenty-seven?”

“A hundred and two.”

“Oh. I was close.” Tinaya smiles, and then starts nodding off a little.

“You should get some rest, mom,” Silveon suggests. “You don’t have to go to the launch party.

“No, I wanna be there, but I think I will take a quick nap.” Her eyelids are really heavy now. “Just...need to talk to you...about...finding...your own...”

Silveon sits there quietly for a moment before standing up, and starting to leave.

She hears the doors slide open. “Place,” she finally finishes.

Silveon stops. “What?”

Her eyes are closed, and she’s half asleep already. “You’re a big boy now. You just said it. You’re a hundred. That’s older than me. You shouldn’t still be living with your parents.”

“Mom, I don’t live with my parents. My parents live with me.”

“That would be one way to frame it, except this is the admiral’s stateroom.” It’s the admiral’s stateroom now because Tinaya is an admiral, but it’s the same one they lived in when she was still captain. It’s an executive stateroom really, but her point stands. It will never be Silveon’s. In fact, it would never even be Arqut’s. If they weren’t going to die at the same time, and she went first, Arqut would have to move out. And Silveon will have to when that day comes. He might as well do it now. They should not have let it go on this long, even though it’s obviously a nicer unit, and he probably hasn’t hated the luxury.

“I just mean, I’m here to take care of you. I may be older, but I don’t look it, and I don’t feel it. You’re frail and tired. You can’t even open your eyes right now. Nor should you have to. You should be able to retire. Or it’s not really a retirement, but they make a new rank above it, which basically means retired. I’ve thought about this.”

“The Captaincy is a lifetime responsibility,” Tinaya tries to explain. “We all know that going in.” She falls asleep again before she can say anything else.

Tinaya was mad that Silveon and Arqut let her sleep though the launch party, but she was secretly relieved. Even if she had woken up, being around all those people would have been exhausting. She is the oldest admiral this ship has ever seen, and it’s not something that anyone ever really thought about. Based on the ideal timing, any admiral who reaches this age should have a younger admiral for the captain to lean on more heavily. Nothing changes officially, but in practice, she ought to be working less. But Lataran isn’t that much younger. Should she be expected to carry the burden alone from now on?

People love The Search for Extremus. It really speaks to their sadness that they’ll never see the planet for real. Oceanus and Waldemar took their credit for its development, but gave Tinaya some credit too, which was nice. It was her baby, after all. She watched the event later from the comfort of her own bed. It looked like a real hoot, but also a little too rowdy. It’s been a couple of months now, and it hasn’t lost steam. Every player really wants to be the one to find the new homeworld. Tinaya doesn’t play it herself, but she reads the summary updates to see if anyone has made any real progress.

She’s getting an award this evening. They won’t tell her what it is, but it’s probably the Lifetime Achievement award. It’s given mostly to members of the civilian government, but executive crew members qualify, and everyone who reaches the rank of admiral should get it eventually. She has to take a nap before she leaves, which Arqut does with her, but then they get up, get dressed, and get going.

Silveon is evidently the one who is going to present it to her, which is nice. “Admiral Tinaya Leithe is the hardest working person on this ship, and has been since her youth, and I can say that, because she’s my mother. She’s been a builder, a grower, a caregiver, a fixer, an explorer, a First Chair, a Captain, and an Admiral. She still is most of those things. She bridged the gap between sides, and has touched every department. She has made this journey better than it ever has been before, and she’s still clocking in every single day, putting in the time to make everyone here happy. This game you all love, she made that for you. She came up with it, because she knows how hard it is to be a middler. She too was born on Extremus, and will never see our home. She deserves this promotion more than anyone.”

Silveon looks over his shoulder at Tinaya before continuing his speech. “Captain Jennings and I have been working on a special project, which will shift the paradigm of the executive crew. They’ve already done that with the new vice captain position, so we figured we might as well go for it. In years past, the admiral position has been underutilized, but Admiral Leithe didn’t accept that. She kept moving. She redefined her own job, just as she did with all the other ones she had before this.” He looks at his mom again. “At the risk of sounding insensitive, mother, you’re done now.” He starts to tear up. “It’s okay for you to get your rest. You’ve earned it.” He turns back to the audience. “There is no retirement for an admiral. As my mom pointed out a few weeks ago, everyone who signs up to be captain understands that. But it doesn’t make it right. So Captain Jennings and I came up with a workaround. Tinaya Leithe, please stand up to accept your new insignia. I have the honor of officially designating you Admiral Emerita.”

Tinaya stands, and walks over to him. Silveon removes her old insignia, and attaches the new one. Shiny. She’s crying as he does this. He hugs her. Lataran was sitting next to her, of course, and hops up to hug her too. Oceanus is standing now. He reaches out to shake her hand, but Tinaya insists on a hug. It’s less warm though; more professional and formal. Still, it’s nice. They used to be so close, and maybe they can get back to that one day. If she lives long enough. After this, the congratulations become less organized. Vice Captains Pronastus and Détha step up to express their own respect. Waldemar does too, but his hug is weird. You would think the mechanics of it would be obvious enough from seeing other people do it, but without a conscience, he’s totally lost and awkward. It’s not surprising, though. Fortunately, right afterwards, she gets to hug Audrey, which feels real good right now.

After the ceremony is over, they move on to the celebratory portion of the day. This started early, fittingly because this is about letting Tinaya rest now. So the party is fairly chill. There aren’t too many people here. Consul Sevara Sanchez is one of them, though. They lock eyes from across the room. Sevara waves at Tinaya with her pinky finger alone while holding a drink. She keeps talking to some guy who has his back turned right now.

Head Councillor Regulus Crusan sidles up to Tinaya. “That one’s bad news.”

“I don’t know who it is,” Tinaya replies. She keeps looking forward, as does he.

“You don’t know the Consul?” Regulus questions.

“Sevara?” Tinaya questions right back. “I thought you were talking about that guy. Why would Sevara be bad news?”

“She’s a believer. She knows what’s coming, and she welcomes it.”

“What do you mean? What’s coming?”

“Waldemar Kristiansen, Eighth of Eight.”

“I’ve never heard that title before. How do you know about that?”

“Let’s just say you’re not the only one who’s been on...the Bridge.” He’s not talking about the bridge of Extremus, but the Bridger Section.

Oh, man, another spy? How many have they turned? Literally everyone? “Are you trying to stop it?”

“I’m trying to make it better,” Regulus explains.

“Pronastus,” Tinaya says simply, nodding. That’s why he switched the envelopes at the award ceremony last year. He didn’t pull an applicant name out of his ass. He chose one for very specific reasons.

“Kegrigia knows where the timeline is meant to be, good or bad. It’s less that Kristiansen needs an advisor like that, and more that the ship needs it, to protect them from what Kristiansen might do on his own.”

This is probably a stupid question, and it’s definitely a dangerous one. “What do you know about the clones?” At least it was vague?

“I know that there are eight,” Regulus begins. Maybe he really does know what she’s referring to. “I saw the codenames once. I wasn’t supposed to be looking at it, though, so let me try to remember. “The Seed, the Potato, the Softie, the Morph, the Prime, the Gravity, the Elder, and what was the last one...?”

Tinaya nods. “The Clutch.”

“Yeah, that’s it. So you already know.”

“I didn’t know there were eight, but that makes sense.”

“Why would it make sense?”

“You just described the Seven Stages of Aging. The Seed sometimes refers to an embryo, but it can be a foetus too. The next six are after you’re born, and were part of the original system. A filmmaker came up with them centuries ago. Basically, if you want to cast a character whose entire life will be on screen, you need six different actors. The Seed was added later when the concept was adapted to cloning and artificial gestation technology.”

“There are eight, though.”

She nods again, and sighs. “The eighth one only belongs in our world. A Clutch is an immortal who can shift to whatever age they please. You only need one.”

“Oh, I think there was an asterisk next to that one,” Regulus adds.

“I can’t be sure what that means, except we don’t have clutch technology. It’s not even so much as mentioned in the archives. The asterisk could mean that it’s proposed, but not yet existent. I don’t know. I only found the Gravity.”

“I can help you find the others. I just need something in return.”

Of course he does. “You need what?”

“Just a vial...of your husband’s blood.” And there it is.

“No.”

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Microstory 2096: Before I Came Out

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When I was pretty young, my dad told me that he once jumped off a cliff in Boy Scouts. I think he said it was a hundred feet or something, which may or may not have been an exaggeration. Because of the way my brain works, I interpreted this to mean that jumping off a cliff was some kind of a requirement, which immediately took me out of the running, because I’ve always been afraid of heights. That’s not a phobia, by the way, because it’s not irrational. You fall down, you could die. It doesn’t even have to be that high. You could fall from your own height, and still crack your head wide open. Some time later, I either learned that it wasn’t really a requirement, or I forgot all about it, because I did join Cub Scouts, and eventually moved up the ranks as appropriate. I graduated to Boy Scouts with a group of other boys, and we stuck together for a little while. Over the course of the next several years, almost invariably, when one of them would attain the highest rank of Eagle, they would stop coming to meetings and camping trips. I started noticing this throughout the whole troop. If they didn’t quit sometime before, they ended up seeing reaching Eagle the end of their journey. By the time I turned 18, I was one of only a few kids my age left. Everyone else was younger, placing me in a de facto leadership position in many cases. Despite the fact that I initially ranked up faster than most of my peers, I was the last to finally get Eagle. In fact, it was four weeks before I turned 18. I don’t think there was a rule that said that I was disqualified at that age, but I definitely wanted to finish by then either way.

Shortly thereafter, we went on a canoe trip, which we would do every year. It was set to be my last. I knew that I wasn’t going to be involved in the organization for much longer. Since all of my “friends” were gone by then, I shared a canoe with my dad. In the middle of the trip, we came across a cliff that looked like we could climb up to from the side. It was not a hundred feet up, but it wasn’t six feet neitha, I’ll tell ya that much. I was still afraid of heights—which, like I said, is rational—but older, stronger, and more confident in my abilities. So we got out, checked the depth of the water below the cliff, and then made the short trek to the top, where we jumped off together. I dunno, I think it’s rather poetic that the one thing that almost stopped me from experiencing those ten years of my life was one of the last things I did for my scouting career. I left the scouts, and I never looked back. I don’t regret the activities that I participated in, but I can’t look back on the whole experience fondly either. Those people suppressed my sexuality for many years beyond that. I just got so used to being someone that I wasn’t, and it took a lot for me to decide to live as my true self. I was in my 30s before I came out as omnisexual, and I will never forgive them for that. I could have been so much happier. How many others went through something similar? I’m still attracted to women, so at least I wasn’t lying about everything, but there are those who can’t express themselves at all, and that was never okay. I do not tolerate the excuse that it was a “different time”. A part of me wants/wanted them to change, but another part of me just wants to see them destroyed. I’m vengeful like that sometimes.

Microstory 1995: Government Grade

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National Commander Apostle Virtue: Director Reese Parsons. Thank you for coming all the way out to the Palace. Ooo, cool tie. I trust you had a pleasant trip.

Director Reese Parsons: Yes, everything is great, Mr. Commander, sir.

Commander Virtue: Mr. Commander sir. Call me Apostle. We’re all friends here.

Special Investigator Eliot: Thank you for seeing us...Apostle.

Apostle: Hey! That’s Commander Virtue to you, or Mister Commander!

Hisham: I’m terribly sorry, sir—

Apostle: Ah, I’m just fuckin’ with ya. Lighten up, Hisham. You gotta be more like this guy. *rubs Reese’s shoulders aggressively*

Reese: *laughing nervously and uncomfortably* Very good, sir. Apostle, sir.

Apostle: *laughing confidently* I can’t tell you how great it is to have another man in your new position. The last administrator really went hog wild appointing all those women. Don’t get me wrong, I love Director Washington to death, but what’s a Commander gotta do to get a little testosterone in the room, you know what I mean?

Reese: I appreciate the appointment. I’m ready to do what I can to protect this country.

Apostle: I don’t care about that. And I don’t make directorship appointments. *mockingly* That’s too much of a unilateral decision. That’s how my lawyers say it. *scoffs* Hey, you two want a drink? You seem like a bourbon guy. I got the best stuff. And Hisham, maybe one of those colorful drinks with the umbrellas? Wadya say?

Hisham: Whatever you think is best, sir.

Apostle: You’ll take the bourbon too.

Hisham: Yes, sir.

Apostle: What did I say about lightening up? That goes for the both of you. Sit down and relax! Why do you think they put couches in the room?

Reese: Thank you, sir. So, I’ve brought the budget, as well as the transcripts from the interviews that Dr. Klement made with the Ochivari. I’ve had my experts draw up some plans to make sure we can insulate our planet as best we can from the alien threat, should a true invasion happen too, but I’m sure you already have people on that.

Apostle: Oh, all that can wait. Let’s just have a chat. Tell me about this bond you have with the convict. Does that mean you buttered her bread?

Reese: Uh, they prefer to be called freepersons. And I’m not sure what you mean.

Apostle: Did you make the devil dance? Did you put the carrot in the salad; hide your friend, the corporal; introduce her to—

Hisham: He means, did you have sex with her?

Apostle: Never. Interrupt me. This isn’t another lighten up joke; this is real. Never interrupt your commanding officer.

Hisham: Very sorry, sir.

Apostle: That’s all right.

Reese: To answer your question, sir, that’s not what the bond is about. They help each other lead productive lives, and keep from backsliding to their old ways.

Apostle: Sounds bor-ring! Let’s do shots. You wanna do shots? I also got government-grade reefer, if you’re more into that. Let’s live. You wanna live?

Microstory 1994: First Class Attitude

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Stewardess: Welcome to AirChapp. Do you need help finding your seat?

Reese: I’m fine, thanks.

Stewardess: Very good, sir. Here’s your complimentary amenity kit, and a hot towel.

Reese: Uh, okay, thank you. *steps down the aisle* Hisham?

SI Eliot: Agent Parsons, I did not expect us to be on the same flight. I assumed you would be flying out in the morning.

Reese: It’s Director Parsons now. Whaaaaat are you doing here? Please don’t tell me that you were sent as some kind of babysitter.

SI Eliot: It’s not like that...

Reese: Oh, good.

SI Eliot: I don’t think.

Reese: What?

SI Eliot: Here, sit down. You’re blocking the aisle.

Reese: Of course. Sorry, madam.

SI Eliot: *speaking quieter* I have a meeting with the National Commander.

Reese: What time is your meeting?

SI Eliot: 17:00, right before dinner.

Reese: That’s..what time my meeting with him is.

SI Eliot: Uhuh.

Reese: Oh my God, you are my babysitter.

SI Eliot: I really don’t think it’s like that. You outrank me now. Congratulations on that, by the way. I never told you before. Director of your own department. Wow. And to think, if I had just run my own investigation without reading you into anything, we still would have found our man, and you would still be sitting in a windowless office on the edge of the bad part of town.

Reese: I didn’t use my office much. I did most of my work in my car. It has six windows.

SI Eliot: Of course it does.

Reese: A more expensive car would only have four, or maybe eight, so...

SI Eliot: That’s why you’re making the big bucks; because you passed kindergarten.

Reese: Look. You’ve already met Commander Virtue before, so instead of being bitter about my promotion over you, I think we would all be better off if you were on my side. Undermining me isn’t going to protect the country, and it’s not going to impress NatCo.

SI Eliot: You don’t know that. You don’t know him. You literally just said that.

Reese: Hisham, please...

SI Eliot: *taking a breath* You’re right. I am bitter. I never had any sights on a directorship, but I did have aspirations. But then you came in, and completely jumped the line, and it’s hard not to see you as a rival.

Reese: I get it, it sucks. You work with Director Washington more than anyone; you should probably be her deputy by now. So let’s talk about how we can make that happen.

First Class Passenger: Excuse me. I believe that’s my seat.

Reese: Right, sorry. *to SI Eliot* Let’s carpool to the Palace and talk more, okay?

SI Eliot: We’ll see, Director Parsons. Love the tie, by the way

Microstory 1991: Bear in the Air

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Director Reese Parsons: I’ve never been on a military airfield before.

Director Lotte Washington: Oh, I thought that Fugitive Services flew out of here.

Reese: Only for international searches. I only ever stayed in country. For that, we sometimes did charter, but usually just domestic.

Lotte: Right. Well, this particular airfield is a bit far, don’t you think?

Reese: That’s what I wanted to say, but I didn’t want to sound ungrateful.

Lotte: You and I are on the same level now, Director Parsons. You don’t have to be so nervous around me anymore.

Reese: It’s not nerves, it’s respect. You’re still senior to me, and still outrank me in every reasonable respect.

Lotte: It’s a little nerves.

Reese: Yeah, but not about this.

Lotte: Ah. Your meeting with the National Commander.

Reese: I...I, it’s just— *looks around to see if anyone is watching* I didn’t vote for him.

Lotte: Neither did I. Those records aren’t public, nor accessible to him.

Reese: I know that, I just keep thinking, what if he can tell?

Lotte: It doesn’t matter. Commander Virtue doesn’t need people to love him. He values efficiency and straightforwardness. He asks you a question, you answer it. Answer it as succinctly as possible. Don’t clarify anything unless he asks for it, and don’t volunteer information unless it’s some kind of emergency.

Reese: Okay, that’s good advice.

Lotte: You still look worried. You think I’m giving you bad advice?

Reese: Ya see, I both hate and love that about you. You’re too perceptive. It’s aggravating. Can you read minds?

Lotte: Only weak minds.

Reese: *can’t help but crack a smile*

Lotte: There he is; the Reese Parsons I’ve come to know. Lighten up. I promise you, relaxing a little bit before the meeting isn’t gonna turn you into a surfer dude in front of him. You’re an authority in your responsibilities. It’s not a quiz. He won’t ask you anything you don’t know, because he knows what kinds of things you know.

Reese: Thank you, Director Washington.

Lotte: You should just call me Lotte now. Even SI Eliot does.

Reese: All right, Lotte. Wadya think? This place is far, but what choice do we have?

Lotte: You tell me. You’re the one who’s gonna be running teams out of here.

Reese: I keep picturing a helicopter taking off from headquarters, and then the agents or troops jumping out of it to land in the plane midair. Driving it during rush hour is gonna be a nightmare. Of course, we would need to build a helicopter pad anyway.

Lotte: That could be done, but midair transfers are probably a no-go.

Reese: I know. *laughing*

Lotte: There’s one more option, but it’s pretty unorthodox too.

Reese: What were you thinking?

Lotte: Well...the river is a lot closer to your headquarters than this place is.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: November 1, 2398

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Kivi drops her bag on the bench, and opens her locker. She starts to undress. Paula Strand walks in to start doing the same, and gives her a bit of the stink eye. There is a hierarchy within the ranks of a tactical team. When Paula first started, she was at the bottom, and when her direct superior was promoted to the position of Lieutenant, she too moved up to become the Engineer. But even though Kivi is the new guy around here, she now ranks higher, because she officially entered the team as the Spotter. Hurst actually took a demotion when he decided to replace Paula as Technician, but he doesn’t seem to have any problem with that. It’s a special skill set, so it all works differently than what you might find in a military setting, where a rank determines one’s leadership level and pay grade, with specializations being a separate category. Here it’s arbitrary, really, that a Spotter ranks higher than an Engineer. Paula is taking it personally.

“So, you’re back. How long will you be gracing us with your presence this time?”

“I’m here indefinitely,” Kivi answers.

Paula scoffs. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I’m sure you’ll retire before me, so you won’t be seeing it.”

Paula scowls now. “If we’re still working on the same team as my retirement approaches, promise to shoot me in the head.”

“That’s not my job. All I would be able to do is help Corolla shoot you.”

Paula tries to hold back her laughter, but she can’t help it. She knows that Kivi didn’t join the team to throw her weight around. Beyond the Leader and Lieutenant, no one generally gives commands. It really only happens in an emergency situation, when the two leaders aren’t around, and somebody has to make a decision. It makes it easier and safer to always know who that person will be without any argument. Paula needs to learn how to be an engineer, and Kivi needs to learn how to spot.

“Look, this is all new to me, but I’m committed now. I don’t wanna be anywhere but here. There’s some bad people out there, and some missing people too, and I think our new directive can do some real good in this world. Don’t you agree?”

Paula sighs. “I do. It is nice to know that we have a clear goal in mind. One of the most frustrating things about being on a tack team is you never know why you’re being sent off on missions. Now we know what we’re trying to accomplish, and I hope you know that I do appreciate that you bring that to our table in a way that no one else can.”

Kivi tugs on her shirt, and slams her locker shut. “I appreciate you saying that,” she says with a smile. She turns to head for the stall before the morning briefing, but that smile turns quickly into a frown. She’s struggling with this whole thing—not the decision—but the baggage, and the lack of honesty, she comes into every government room with. This seems right. This feels right. This must be where she belongs. But when she was born a few months ago, this job would not have been on her list of future pursuits, so it feels strange at the same time. She may be experiencing impostor syndrome. Her apparent psychic abilities give her the edge that she will need to be a great Spotter, but her lack of true experience—in anything—might sow doubt in her heart every day, and that could become debilitating.

Tactician Hartwin Seegers comes into the locker room, a hand over his eyes. “The briefing is starting early. There’s been an attack. This is an all-hands-on-deck situation.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 24, 2398

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Mateo wakes up woozy, tied up and rocking on the metal floor. It was the heat that woke him, frying him from above, and scorching him from below. It’s probably the hottest part of the day, and he can’t move to find shelter. He immediately finds that he’s tied up, his hands together, and tightly bound to a railing of some kind. A salty breeze slips in between the bars, enough to burn his eyes, but not enough to cool him down. He’s on a boat. He pulls himself into a sitting position, but he can’t hold it for long. Whoever did this didn’t care how hard it would be for him to get comfortable, didn’t realize, or did it on purpose.

Two feet approach him, which are presumably attached to a body, but he can barely see above the ankle. He just can’t turn his head enough to get a good look, and even so, the sun would probably blind him. He hears two claps, and then the feet walk away, only to be replaced with two new feet. A voice he recognizes says, “afternoon, soldier.”

“I’m not a soldier,” Mateo groans back. It’s hard to talk, he’s so thirsty.

“Oh, we know,” Ebraim replies.

“Are you gonna kill me?” Mateo asks him. “It’s okay if you are. It wouldn’t be the first time I died. I always manage to come back, I’m sure I’ll figure it out again.”

Ebraim gets on his hands and knees to cut the zip ties. He clears his throat authoritatively as he’s pulling Mateo up and over into a more tenable sitting position. “The way you say that, you almost sound like one of us.” He nods and breathes loudly through his nose, looking over toward the other side of the boat. “Every man here has died at least once.”

“I’m not a soldier,” Mateo begins, “but I am a fighter.”

He coughs involuntarily. “I believe you. That’s why you’re here.”

Mateo looks around. “It’s why I’m where, and doing what?”

“We’re presently in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle, traveling at eleven knots, bearing Southeast deeper into the middle of nowhere, and you’re with us, because our mission happens to be a six man operation, and until you came along, we only numbered five.”

“But you know that I’m not one of you.” Mateo is still struggling to enunciate.

“We don’t need you to have any experience,” Ebraim explains. “We just need another warm body.”

“You mean you need a human sacrifice,” Mateo guesses.

Ebraim chuckles. “You’re so smart, why are you lying about who you are?”

He adjusts his position a little, and smacks his lips. “Water.”

Ebraim doesn’t break eye contact as he lifts his left hand, and snaps his fingers twice. A man Mateo doesn’t know yet places a bottle in it, which he transfers to Mateo.

“I just needed a new life.” When in doubt, be honest, but maybe not too honest. He does not intend to throw the forger under the bus, or say one word about his own team. It just needs to be believable, and only moderately close to the truth. He also shouldn’t add too many details. “I needed a new identity. The forger asked me if I wanted military credentials. I was in a pretty bad way at the time, and it seemed like an all right idea. I didn’t really think through the consequences. He gave me this little card that said I’m blah, blah, blah. I tucked it away, and didn’t worry about it. I didn’t think it would actually come up, because what I didn’t realize is that he also put my name in the system. It actually looks like I bear rank, and have a record. It’s only recently come back to bite me in the ass, I’m really sorry.”

Ebraim laughs again. “Ah, hell, we don’t give a shit about that. Way I see it, if the military doesn’t kill you, it screws up your life. The only way out is to lie, steal, and cheat. I’d be a hypocrite if I thought only people like me deserved to break the rules. I’m not a good man, but I’m not a hypocrite.”

“This isn’t a sanctioned mission?”

He helps Mateo to his feat, and starts to lead him into the inside part of the boat, whatever it’s called. “It’s sanctioned by the five of us. I suppose that’ll hafta be good enough. You don’t mind, do ya?”

“Why are you talking differently now?”

“My mama’s southern side comes out every now and then,” Ebraim replies. “I don’t work as hard to suppress it among friends.”

Now Mateo laughs. “I reckon we ain’t friends.”

Ebraim smiles. “Well, we’ll see. Let’s start small. Allow me to introduce you to the rest of the team.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 22, 2398

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Word spread throughout the resort that a military officer had arrived, placing Mateo in an awkward position. Now when he walks into a room, people applaud his valor, unaware that it was stolen. They’re not sure how the resort found out that he had military credentials, because he certainly didn’t advertise it when they requested a room, but it doesn’t matter now. The imaginary cat is out of the bag, and of course, being imaginary, it’s much more difficult to put it back in. The honeymooners are determined to stay out of the spotlight, which means signing up for activities on the other side of the island. They just hope the fake news hasn’t somehow circulated beyond the grounds.

“Why is this such a big deal? I mean, I know it can be a big deal, but they don’t know anything about me. They don’t know what I supposedly did.”

“It’s your rank,” Leona explains, still looking at the computer. “Dominus is a fairly high title. You’re theoretically responsible for about two thousand people.”

“Jesus. Why did that forger do that? I just thought we might need to steal some weapons from a military base. I don’t need to have this huge, complicated backstory.”

Leona spins her chair around. “You know why she did that. She probably thought she was doing you a favor, making you look like a big hero.”

“Am I a hero?” Mateo questions.

“Looks like it. Your specific exploits are as classified as you would expect, but you have a few pretty major medals.”

“Two thousand people,” he echoes. “If even one of them comes forward...”

Leona turns back at the screen. “It doesn’t say which regiment you ran. But yeah, people here might expect you to tell them. I’m surprised, but glad, that no one has yet.” She shakes her head, trying to figure out how they’re going to get out of this. “Look, people like you’re pretending to be are often expected to look and act a certain way. That can cause us problems, but it can also work out in our favor. You can be the strong, silent type. Say few words. Don’t react too strongly to stimuli.”

“I shouldn’t pretend to be triggered by PTSD?”

“Absolutely not, Mateo, that would make it worse. You’re already far over the line. Just don’t give people any opportunity to ask too many questions. Now here’s the hard part; it’s really hot, but I can’t seem to find any evidence one way or another for what kind of tattoos you’re expected to bear. You’re going to have to cover up, just in case a savvy person walks by and wonders why you don’t have your district emblem on your shoulder, or whatever it may be.”

“Maybe we should just go.”

“That would make things worse too,” Leona warns. “Then people will wonder why you only stayed one night, and maybe they mention it on social media...”

“They could say something on social media now!”

“You’re right, which is why I’m calling Ramses, and asking him to make a visit to that forger. She put you in this mess, and she’s going to get you out of it, by whatever means necessary. If that means forging more documentation, or scrubbing the internet of your presence, then so be it. We’re going to have fun on this vacation, fraud or not.”

“Okay. In that case, which do you want to do first; snorkeling, or ziplining?”

“Neither. I’ve always wanted to go horseback riding.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 21, 2398

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The day off is over for the group in its entirety, but that doesn’t mean that the fun is over for everyone. They still have at least another week and a half before the trip to Croatia can take place, so some are preparing for that, but not everyone. Marie and Angela are back to work. Ramses and Heath are off buying various things for the mission; probably too much, in the end. This is a good opportunity for Mateo and Leona to spend some alone time together. They never really did have a honeymoon. They’ve decided to head for Bermuda. They’re only going to stay for a few nights, and it’s not only about the vacation. Back in the main sequence, anyone who wants full and permanent immortality, is required to drink from eleven sources of water, in the proper order, and within a particular time frame. Each is from a different location, and not necessarily in the same time period. The second type of water is called Existence. Along with the eighth water, Time, it’s not inherent to the process of being immortal, but in preventing one’s immortality from being undone by a time travel event. If a seeker goes out and finds all the other ten waters, but a time traveler goes back and kills their grandfather before he can have children, all of it will be erased from history.

Existence is found in what’s known as the Bermuda Triangle. According to what the team learned about it, the triangle isn’t special on its own. There are a number of perfectly reasonable explanations for why ships and planes have historically gone missing in the area, the number one being that it’s a heavily trafficked region of the world in the first place. Asking why such things seem to happen so much more often there than other places would be like wondering why people tend to die of heatstroke in the desert and never at all in Antarctica. Apparently the mystique and misconceptions about the Bermuda Triangle imbued it with its power, but no one has ever heard of it being able to do anything, except for being the source of one of the immortality waters.

No one on the team has ever been anywhere near Bermuda, or its triangle, so it’s on a special section of Mateo’s list for locations that they have simply heard of, but to which they have no personal connections. They probably won’t find anything, which is precisely why it makes sense to cross it off the list now, rather than dedicating too much effort to it. Leona is in charge of piloting The Olimpia out there for them. Mateo was sort of wrong in believing it to be completely automated. It is, to be sure, but not in the way he was thinking. It’s not something that can be operated by any idiot with a pulse. It takes a lot of training, or enough comparable experience to figure it out. Heath has such training, and Leona is just smart.

The two of them land in a safe area without any traffic, drive to the resort, and wait in line to check in. They were surprised that there were any vacancies at such short notice, but happy to get what they wanted. The concierge perks up when she sees them. “One moment please.” She runs off, and returns with another woman.

“Dominus Matic, we are honored that you chose to stay at Sutton Bermuda West. We have placed you in the Prometheus Suite, but if it’s not to your liking, we do have an Emperor Suite available at the Sutton East. Just say the word, and we’ll transfer you.”

Leona shuts her eyes, and pinches her nose. This is what she was worried about.

“Oh, uh...thanks. The Prometheus will be fine. Or really any room.”

“Glad to hear it. Follow me, I’ll take you there personally.”

Extremus: Year 32

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When Olindse recovered from her bender, Kaiora asked her where she was while she was missing for eight months. The former chose to keep quiet, invoking her right to privacy as an admiral. Something happened while she was struggling through the alcohol poisoning. She couldn’t recall precisely what she experienced, but when she awoke, she had an epiphany. She wasn’t going to be ignored or dismissed anymore. She was so determined to alter her image that she refused to be known as a vice admiral anymore. Of course, this wasn’t something she could simply declare, but the crew could vote on it. Kaiora would have to put it up for a vote first, but after a speech or two, Olindse was able to convince her to do as much. It was unanimous, and she was promoted to full admiral. This gave her a little more autonomy, and allowed her to run certain aspects of the ship, with the Captain’s blessing. The prisoner rehabilitation program was going strong, and operating self-sufficiently. Olindse wasn’t really qualified to be too heavily involved in it, even though she was the one who came up with it. So she needed something else to preoccupy her time. She settled on holiday planning.

The crew and passengers nearly all descended from the universe-slash-planet of Ansutah. Only Omega has no ties to this world, but no one has seen him in years, so he barely counts anyway. Ansutah was populated by monsters, so it was a very dangerous place to live. Their ancestors relegated themselves to an entire continent, which the Maramon revered as a holy place that no one was allowed to visit. The humans kept themselves hidden by remaining in vast cavernous complexes, and under dense rainforest canopies, and by throttling their own technological development. Travel throughout the continent was limited, because they couldn’t invent airplanes, even though historical records showed that it was physically possible. Even above ground trains and vehicle roads were too risky. Boats were mostly pointless, because there was no reason to traverse the ocean. There were some bodies of water, of course, but they would be too exposed to satellites, and the like, so they went straight to submarines, and used them sparingly. But mostly they got around via a network of subway tunnels.

Besides the technological restrictions, there were some things they didn’t have because they didn’t want to be found out by the white monsters. Holiday celebrations were one of these things. They did observe a few important anniversaries, like the birth of a respected philosopher, or the invention of one of those pivotal technologies that made their lives more convenient while maintaining their high level of secrecy. Even so, they didn’t hold parades, or throw large parties, or put on live concerts. Music was not non-existent, but it evolved quite differently than on Earth, because they were just too afraid that a Maramon fishing boat would come a little too close to their landmass, and hear the ruckus. People had fun, and they enjoyed their lives, and though they lived under constant threat of being found out, they didn’t suffer from paranoia every second of every day. But they also valued quiet simplicity, because it was the best way to prevent things from getting out of hand. When the human refugees escaped into this universe 71 years ago, they held onto this value, because they didn’t know how to break free from it. They didn’t understand how parades came about, or how to promote a live concert. Very few people are alive who still remember Ansutah, but that doesn’t mean they’ve come up with their own holidays. And so Olindse and her new team has mostly been replicating Earthan observances. Today, that changes.

“Didn’t we just celebrate that, uh...” Kaiora snaps her fingers, trying to remember.

“Thanksgiving?”

“Thanksgiving, yes.”

“That was yesterday, yeah. I have to start planning for the next one now. Traditionally, Christmas preparations begin about a month prior.”

“Oh, Christmas? I didn’t really care for that one” Kaiora says.

“I want to do something different, which is why I’m asking for approval,” Olindse explains.

“Very well, what’s your pitch?”

“This time of year has a long history of being stolen by other cultures, and of various cultures celebrating their own holidays around the same time,” Olindse begins. “According to the ancient texts, it was once called, umm...” She has to consult her tablet. “Saturnalia. It was first commemorated by a group of people called...pagans? Christians took it to honor the birth of their god’s hooman son, who was probably actually born in spring. Then the corporations took it from them to rejoice in their capitalism. Other religions have done their own, unrelated things.”

“Which one did we do last year?” Kaiora asks.

“Well, we did all three of the main ones,” Olindse answers, “but we focused on the last one, because it demands the least amount of cultural appropriation.”

“And which one are you doing this year?”

“We’re continuing the tradition of stealing the day for our own purposes by honoring something else.”

“Which is...?”

Olindse waits to answer for dramatic effect. “Forgiveness.”

“Oh my God, this is about Halan Yenant.”

“What?”

“You’re trying to get him out of hock.”

“What are you talking about? No. What? No.”

“Yes, you are, this is your plan.”

“What makes you say that?” Olindse asks. How did she guess?

“Because I know you. The theme is forgiveness? Oh, come on, you think I’m an idiot?”

“Don’t you want this too?”

“Of course I do, but I can’t just let him go. He committed a crime.”

“He’s been doing very well in his counseling sessions.”

“And I’m happy for him, but...”

“But what?” Olindse urges. “He’s 56 years old.”

“What does that have to do with anything? Do you think that’s old?”

“According to history.”

“Yeah, on Ansutah. You’re getting confused. He’s fine, it would not be some kind of mercy release. He has many years ahead of him.”

“Not if he stays in there. Studies have shown that incarceration takes two years off of the life expectancy of an individual for every year behind bars.”

“That’s sad,” Kaiora agrees, “but the law is the law, and I am bound to it more than anyone. I have to maintain an example. If I try anything untoward, I could end up in the cell right next to him.”

“At worst, they would strip you of your rank.”

“Well, I don’t want that either..Olindse! Jesus!”

“All right, all right, all right,” Olindse says. “So let’s talk about it. You can’t release him for good, but we have to make a grand gesture in order to exemplify the spirit of forgiveness. People are expecting it.”

“Who’s expecting it? You just came up with this new holiday.”

“I’ve been talkin’ about it, just not with you.”

Kaiora sighs. “What did you have in mind?”

“A year.”

“A year, what?”

“Release Admiral Yenant for a year.”

“Civilian Halan Yenant,” she corrects. “You want me to let him go for a year, and then put him back in his cell after that? That would make us look worse than just leaving him in there for good. It would be so bizarre”

“Oh yeah, hmm. So, what’s your counter?”

“I didn’t know we were negotiating.”

“I’m always negotiatin’, baby”

Kaiora sighs again. “An hour. He can come out for part of a party.”

“A month.”

“A whole party; not just an hour of it.”

“A fortnight.”

“A day.”

“A week.”

“Okay, fine. A week.”

“A salmon week.”

“What the hell is a salmon week?”

“Eight days.”

“Why?”

“Some salmon have an extra day between Saturday and Sunday.”

Kaiora itches her cheek, and then it just snowballs into her massaging her whole face with both hands. “Very well, one salmon week.”

Olindse smiles, pleased with herself for managing to negotiate up to what she wanted all along. “I’ll go tell the party planning committee.”

“You’ll be making the shipwide announcement regarding this decision.”

She smiles wider. Even better.

“And you’ll be telling them that all of the prisoners will be temporarily released for that period of time.”

“Excuse me?” Olinde's questions.

“I mean, we can’t just let Halan go. That would be unfair. We obviously favor him, but if this—nay, your—holiday is about forgiveness, then we don’t really get to choose who we forgive, and who we don’t. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“You want to let a mutineer and a terrorist go free for a week?”

“I don’t want anything. This is all you...baby.” Kaiora doesn’t expect Olindse to change her mind due to this mandate. It’s a reasonable condition, and she knows this. What Kaiora wants is for the Admiral to take responsibility for this decision, so it doesn’t blow back on Kaiora, or the rest of the crew. It’s fine if she wants to do this, but she doesn’t get to do it free of consequences. If Halan is released alone, it will undoubtedly go well, and Olindse will be able to use this as evidence that he ought to be released permanently, and perhaps even reinstated as an admiral himself. But the poor optics will do lasting damage to the passengers’ confidence in the crew to remain impartial and unbiased. By packaging him with Ovan and Dvronen, Kaiora has ensured that Olindse’s objective is not realized too easily. Yes, the Captain does ultimately want Halan to go free too, but while most of the ship agrees with them, there is a significant population which does not. Favoring one prisoner over the others threatens the stability of society, and risks the crew crumbling to the whims of a hypothetical new government administration that builds itself upon a foundation of integrity and justice. Ovan and Dvronen will almost certainly screw this up, but it will look fair, and that’s really all that matters, politically speaking.

Olindse straightens herself out, and nods. “Excellent idea. I shall prepare a statement.”

Vice Admiral Thatch yawns before he can get a word in. “Sorry. That story wasn’t boring, I’m just very tired.” Two years ago, Olindse returned to the extraction room, and summoned Thatch again to ask him for advice on what she should tell Captain Leithe about where she had been for the previous eight months. It was he who suggested that she had every right to just say almost nothing at all. Time travel is a tricky thing, and while it is possible to exploit this for personal gain, or personal agenda, it’s entirely rational to demand secrecy in these matters. For instance, Thatch now has a decent idea of when he’s going to die, and what kind of relationship he’ll have with his captain when it happens. This gives him a little insight into the future, but he knows that saying too much to others could jeopardize the timeline. Olindse was able to claim to know enough about the future that explaining her absence might do the same. It didn’t necessarily have to be true. She just had to convince Kaiora that it wasn’t worth this risk. This tactic worked, and ever since then, Olindse has continued going to Thatch for guidance. To communicate, they no longer use the extraction mirror, but a different time mirror, which Old Man gave to him long ago, and which was still in a secret compartment in his office. They’re both using the same exact mirror, but Thatch is in possession of it in 2286, and Olindse has been using it in the present.

“Do you want me to call back later?” she offers.

“No, I’m all right. But, uh...was there a question in all that?”

“How do I justify releasing the other two prisoners, and how do I keep them in line for the eight-day period?”

“Why would you want to?”

“Well, if they cause trouble, the good prisoner is at risk. People won’t want to see him released one day if they think something like that could happen again.” She’s not naming names, again to protect the timeline.

“Not if you frame it right.”

“How would I frame it?”

“Don’t just let the two mystery bad prisoners you told me about agitate the status quo. Actively encourage them to do it, but...ya know, covertly. This good prisoner that you like will then be able to step up, and be the hero that saves the day. I know that’s not your strong suit, but with my help, you’ll be able to manipulate them to do what you want.”

“That may be so, but I could never trick the good prisoner. He has too much integrity. He would stop it before anything happens, and then your whole gambit doesn’t work.”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t have to manipulate Halan to do the hero thing. It’s in his nature. All you have to do is worry about the other two. He’ll react accordingly on his own.”

“I never told you that Halan was the good prisoner.”

“I read between the lines,” Thatch admits. “The way you talk about him, that only describes one person in the whole universe.”

“You can’t say anything,” Olindse reminds him.

“Literally, I can’t.” Thatch holds a little green plastic bottle in front of the mirror. “These eye drops will erase my memories. I won’t remember any of this.”

“Won’t you experience missing time?”

Now Thatch pulls a bottle of liquor into frame. “I lose chunks of time all the time. I learned long ago to just let it go. If whatever I did while I was blacked out doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass, then I obviously don’t have to worry about what it was.”

“That’s a scary way to live your life, man.”

Thatch shrugs, takes a sip, and sets the bottle back down. “It works for me.”

Olindse nods, not in understanding, but understanding that he believes as much about his own lifestyle, and that that’s never going to change.

“So how ‘bout it, Full Admiral Olindse Belo? Want me to teach you how to manipulate a couple o’ bad guys?”

Olindse thinks about it for a moment. There are some pretty problematic ethical implications for trying something so shady. Still, Halan must be set free, and if this is one step towards that goal, she has to do it. She has to do whatever it takes. “Teach me.”

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