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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Extremus: Year 29

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Every day at 16:15, Olindse Belo sits down at her desk, and has herself a cup of tea. She’s done this since she was promoted to admiral, thinking it was the perfect time to not be needed elsewhere. She ended up not being needed much anyway, but it feels right to keep to a routine, so she’s continued doing it. Apparently knowing this about herself, Past!Olindse wrote a note, and then she burned it with a special lighter that Vice Admiral Thatch left in his desk, which she used for a time when she was first trying to figure out her new role on the ship. The lighter is designed to send messages across time and/or space. As the fire destroys the paper, the quantum configuration of that paper—including its text—is logged into an internal data drive. It then transmits the information to the calibrated destination, and rebuilds the message as it was stored. Past!Olindse scheduled this to happen when she knew her future self would be there to see it transpire. Watching the note materialize was as important as the message itself, or Future!Olindse may have had a harder time trusting the authentication.

The note is cryptic and short so as to preserve the secrecy. It simply reads, Extract Thatch pre-illness. Investigate Bridger section. Tell no one else. Authentication code ΔΟ-5456456. Okay. Well, it’s in her own handwriting, so it seems to be legit. She decides to trust her Past!Self, and follow the instructions. It could be a trick, yes, but there’s a bit of logic to it. She can recall once waking up with scattered memories of the previous day. That potentially fractured day was exactly one year ago. If she had her memories erased, for whatever reason, she probably had a pretty good reason for it, and this mysterious note strongly supports her assumption that the procedure was completely consensual.

Time travel is mostly illegal on Extremus. They don’t want anyone to be able to go back and mess things up, or jump to the future, and gather secret information. There are major exceptions to this. The time shuttle, which has been named the Perran Thatch, was specifically designated to do just that. The drones they occasionally send off to mine raw materials on worlds as they pass by don’t work without it. For the most part, though, it can’t be done without risking severe punishment. It’s not really clear why an extraction mirror was installed on the ship in the first place, given that the engineers never intended anyone to manipulate time at all. Perhaps they wanted later captains to be capable of seeking advice from past captains following their deaths, though that does not alleviate the reality-bending dangers of time travel, which is the whole reason it’s usually illegal. Still, it’s the most likely explanation since the only people who are allowed to even enter the extraction room must be a captain or an admiral. Not even a First Lieutenant has authorization. If Corinna so much as attempts to cross the threshold, even accompanied by Captain Leithe herself, she will supposedly endure terrible pain, and a swift banishment to the other side of the ship. Olindse is all but the only person who can do this, and Thatch is the only person she can extract.

She teleports down to the area, and enters her code into the pad. She could have been deauthorized at some point, since she was only ever an interim captain, and isn’t now a full admiral, but Kaiora would have had to make a point of doing that, and it seems unlikely she bothered. Still, she stands there at the entryway in fear, because she’s never tried this before, and precisely how much it hurts for any would-be trespassers is not a matter of record. Finally, she works up the courage, and steps through. She’s fine. It doesn’t hurt, and she’s not spirited away. She closes the door behind her, and walks up to the mirror. Ah, she should have written down the magic words. There’s a particular sequence a user has to say to activate the mirror. In the fictional source material, which is a book written in the 18th century, it seems to actually be magic. In this case, it’s just a passphrase that the creator employed after being inspired by said book. It’s equally important regardless. “Umm...I stand at the door of life and death? Come forward, spirit. Here’s life. Vice Admiral Perran Thatch of the TGS Extremus, smell blood! Smell life! I summon thee!”

Nothing happens.

“Oh, right. Uh.” She takes out her pocket knife, and cuts her finger, wiping it on the glass. Now it finally works. She doesn’t think she uttered the passphrase exactly as she was taught, but it was evidently close enough.

A youngish and healthyish Thatch is sitting at his desk, right hand cupped around a glass of liquor, while his left hand is working the holoscreen. It takes him a moment to realize that Olindse is there. “Am I about to die?”

“Depends. What is the date?”

“October 2, 2286,” he answers.

“Then no, you’re fine. You die of natural causes, but I need you mobile for a mission in the future, so I’m extracting you while I’m sure that’s still the case. I am Vice Admiral Olindse Belo, and you can’t tell anyone about this; not in my present, or yours.”

“Why is there another vice admiral on this ship?” he questions.

“It’s a long story, and by long, I mean classified.”

He sighs deeply, and downs the rest of his drink. “Very well.” He stands up, and walks through the mirror. “What can I do ya fer, Admiral?”

“While we’re both Vice,” Olindse begins, “you’re the only one authorized to enter the Bridger section. I was an interim captain, so while I’m afforded most privileges that come with my promotion, I do not enjoy them all. It was decided that I did not need access to that part of the ship. However, I actually do need to get in, because there’s something fishy going on.”

“Does this have something to do with that god-awful First Chair of the civilian government?” he asks.

“No.”

“Does it have to do with—”

“Please, no questions. This is about me finding answers to protect the future of this vessel; not about you gathering information to leverage against your friends and enemies.”

“Fine, but you’ll owe me.”

“I already paid,” Olindse lies, suggesting that he goes back to his own time, and collects something from her in her past, and if he has to believe that to be agreeable, then she’s not going to try to clarify.

The both of them look around to make sure no one is watching them, which is a little silly since they’re leaving a highly restricted area in order to travel to a different highly restricted area, but it just seems like the right thing to do. They teleport away.

There’s every chance that someone who works in the Bridger section will send them away and report them for access, but they can’t get in trouble for unauthorized access. Thatch has every right to be here, even though he’s supposed to be dead at this point in time, and he has the right to use his discretion to decide Olindse also has a right to be here. At worst, Olindse is stripped of her rank, but seeing as how she doesn’t do much around here, that doesn’t sound like too great of a loss. They won’t file charges, or place her in hock.

“Last chance. Are you sure about this?” Thatch asks as his hand hovers in front of the keypad.

“I need to know,” Olindse replies.

“Okay,” Thatch says. He punches in his code, and the door opens.

They walk inside. No one is there to greet, or protest against, them. That’s not surprising, though, since they deliberately chose to enter through a sort of back door. They carefully peek around the corners, and quietly begin walking towards the stern. They want to find a terminal to connect to that is as far from human activity as possible, because they won’t want any questions until—what the hell is this?

“What the hell is this?” Thatch asks, not expecting Olindse to know.

She answers the obvious, but still doesn’t get it. “Stasis pods.”

“Stasis pods for who?” Thatch continues. “And are they all full?”

She steps over to the terminal, and tries to look up information, but she has no authorization. Thatch has to enter his own codes to access it, but even he’s limited. “Is that...the number of pods, or somebody’s quantum sequence?”

“That is the number of pods,” Thatch confirms. “And that is the number of pods that are in use.”

“They’re the same.”

“Yes.”

“There are 60,000 secret people on this ship?” Olindse presses.

“It looks like it.”

Olindse looks down the deep corridor, knowing that there are more just like it in other subsections. “A quick bit of math in my head, this means that the Bridger section runs quite nearly the entire length of Extremus, and also most of the width.”

Thatch looks around for answers, but he’s really just working through it in his head. “It’s another ship.”

“A ship inside of a ship?”

“Yes,” he says. “We always knew that this was made as a contingency, we just didn’t know the extent. If everything else is destroyed, they’re supposed to be able to move on. And they would do this by physically separating from us.”

“We have 8500 people on this ship right now, and they still outnumber us three and a half to one.”

“I don’t think it’s a competition.”

“Isn’t it, though? I mean, think about it. “What makes them so special? Why do they get to reach the planet, while the rest of us have to die before the ship makes it all the way? This was meant to be a generational vessel. We voted for that. We agreed to it. We did not agree to this.” She turns towards him angrily. “Why have you not been down here before? Why didn’t you know about this?”

“It didn’t seem to be my place. They only gave me access so Halan wouldn’t be the only one outside of the Bridger crew.”

“Oh my God, Admiral Yenant knows about it, and so does my captain!”

“Probably.”

Olindse fumes for a moment, and then composes herself. “How did my past self find out about this, and why didn’t she let herself remember?”

“Wait, your past self?” Thatch questions.

“Yeah, she used your special lighter, and wrote me a note.”

“And then erased her memories?”

“Apparently.”

“Maybe she knew that someone was going to attack her, but couldn’t stop it.”

She was becoming angry again. “Well, she didn’t say that! Maybe if her note had been a little clearer, I would know what she wanted me to do with this information!”

“That would certainly be nice to know,” he agrees. “Why don’t we ask her?”

“Ask my past self?”

He shrugs. “It’s working for me.”

“That seems like it could turn into a bloody mess.”

“I’m just brainstor—” Thatch freezes in place.

As per protocol, Olindse waves her hand in front of his face. He does not react. She looks over to find a portal. Someone who looks exactly like her is on the other side of it, in the extraction room. “Umm, that is the wrong direction,” she complains. “I need answers from the past.”

“Well, you’re going to get them from the future,” Future!Olindse explains. “And you’re going to get them in the future. You’ll need a lot of patience for this one, honey.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Sorry, but this is important,” Future!Olindse says. “In about five seconds, a Bridger is going to walk down here to perform her regular maintenance on some of the pods. She’s going to catch you, and while you eventually learn what you truly came down here to find out, you end up in hock before you can do anything about it.”

“But that’s you, you’re talking about yourself,” Present!Olindse points out.

“Yes, it’s me. I did those things. I got caught. I managed to convince Caldr to sneak me to the extraction room. And unless you want to become me one day, you’ll step through this portal right now, and change the past.”

“That’s illegal,” Present!Olindse states the obvious.

“Sometimes you have to break the law to protect it,” Future!Olindse claims, “but you won’t get that chance if you don’t come now and ask Halan about Operation Nova.”

“But...”

“There’s no time!”

“Time is frozen,” Present!Olindse contends.

“No, it’s not!” Future!Olindse argues. “It’s just going really slow!”

“What about him?”

“Bring him too, and then send him right back to his own time period.”

Present!Olindse takes a breath, and goes over her options, of which there is probably only one. Teleportation does not work down here, or they would have used it to get in. It’s a security measure. “Fine,” she growls. As soon as she takes Thatch by the shoulders, perceived time begins approaching the speed of realtime. Just as she’s pushing him through the portal, she hears the hatch opening up behind them.

“—do what I say.” Thatch tries to finish his sentence. “Why’d you bring us back?”

Olindse looks around for her alternate self, but there’s no one else here. “What was that about me having to do what you say?”

“No, I said, I’m just brainstorming. We don’t have to do what I say.”

“Oh.” But she’s preoccupied by her own confusion. Then it hits her. By coming here, she just erased her future self from the timeline, and replaced her.

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