The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 30, 2512

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It was time. This was the moment that Ramses, Marie, Olimpia, and Boyd had been anticipating for the last two days. For two years, the temporal energy crystal was being bombarded with the sonified version of a simple lemon, converted from its genetic sequence in full. While cracks had formed on the surface, nothing major had changed to the crystal. It was nearing the end of the original music piece, and it still wasn’t entirely obvious what was going to happen. As they watched the visualization of the chords fly by on the monitor from the safety of the antechamber, something bad happened. It stopped. With only one single bar of four chords left, the music just stopped. It wasn’t reacting to the near-end of the song. It needed the complete, unadulterated piece. The universe seemed to be fighting back.

“It stopped,” Olimpia stated the obvious.

“Yeah, I see that,” Ramses replied, angry, but not really at her. He just kept staring through the window.

“What does this mean?” Marie asked.

“I don’t know,” Ramses admitted.

“Well, do we have to start over, errr...”

“I don’t know!” he repeated.

“Surely we don’t have to start all over,” Boyd figured. “Let’s just get the music playing again.”

“Yeah.” Ramses grabbed the keyboard, and started fiddling with the program, trying to force the music to start up again. It wouldn’t budge, it just wouldn’t. His hands started shaking out of frustration. He looked like he was about to throw something across the room. “Get me that bowl of lemon juice out of the fridge.”

“We can’t do that,” Marie argued. “It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s our only choice now. It wouldn’t be so bad to wait another two years to try again, but the crystal doesn’t want to be turned off, so I have no reason to believe that the next attempt will go any better.”

“Well, let’s at least get a robot in there to do it for us,” Olimpia suggested.

“I don’t use robots,” Ramses explained. “I like to do the physical jobs myself.”

“Well, we’ll get one from somewhere else. It’s a big planet,” Olimpia said. She then stood there, concentrating.

“You can’t teleport out of my lab, remember?” he reminded her.

“Right.”

“I’ll go with you,” Marie offered. They both started to leave.

While Ramses’ attention was split between the girls and his hope that there was something he could do from here, Boyd had slipped over to the other side of the room unnoticed. He had opened the fridge, carefully grabbed the pitcher of pure lemon juice, and slowly left through the other door.

Only by the thud of the door closing did Ramses notice that Boyd had left. “Wait. No! Don’t go in there!”

Boyd was already through the next door, and was approaching the crystal.

Ramses hit the intercom button. “Just wait. They’re going to get us a robot.”

“There’s no time,” Boyd contended, still inching his way across the room. If he spilled just one drop...it would definitely be okay, but he obviously didn’t want to risk wasting any. “Look at the clock.” He was right. There was probably just enough time before midnight that the girls could come back with the robot, but this needed to be done while everyone was still in the timestream. And there was a security concern with bringing in an unauthorized intelligence of any kind without proper assessment.

“Run as fast as you can out of the teleportation suppression field,” Ramses urged Marie and Olimpia through comms. “It’s not safe.” He activated his EmergentSuit, including his external PRU.

Boyd reached the pedestal. “Tell everyone who has ever met me that I’m sorry,” he requested. He lifted the pitcher up, closed his eyes, and dumped the juice on the crystal. As predicted, it exploded in his face.

While it was difficult and rare to travel between The Eighth Choice and Fort Underhill, it certainly wasn’t impossible. And if anyone had the natural authority to cross the border, it was anyone from Team Matic. After making contact with Gilbert Boyce, Leona, Angela, Romana, and Jessie were sent passes to board a transport ship, which flew them through the interversal conduit, and into the other child universe. They were on the planet of Violkomin now, standing by the prebiotic lake, waiting for Mateo to appear. Any minute now.

“Are you sure your contact in the new afterlife simulation was talking about the right person?” Leona asked.

“How many Mateo Matics do you know?” Nerakali asked right back. “It doesn’t matter how many there are, I would bet my life that only one of them died anytime in the last many decades. It’s the right guy.”

“Well, where is he?” Romana asked for the fifth time.

Nerakali sighed. “His pattern could have messed with the transition. You’re not like any other salmon; I know this much. It’s hardwired into his neurology in a way that I don’t understand. Do you? The server that he was placed on when he died is quantum. The lake is controlled by a biological computer. The way it was explained to me, it’s difficult for them to communicate with each other. That might make it sound unsafe, but the fact that he hasn’t shown up is probably a good thing. It’s probably erring on the side of caution while it makes the necessary—and unique—data conversions.”

“He needs to get here soon,” Angela pointed out. “It took us so long to get here from that other universe. Is it possible that he already came out? Or could he be clear on the other side of the lake?”

“He’ll show up here,” Nerakali assured her, “and he hasn’t gone through yet, or I would know. This is my job. I asked for it. Returning from death has always been my thing. I wanted to give back.”

Romana commanded the nanites that formed her shoes to recede into their implants. She started to wade into the water. “Can we...go in after him?”

Nerakali smiled, almost condescendingly, but still in a nice way. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“There’s one way to get there,” Romana said darkly.

“Don’t even think about it,” Leona warned. “You don’t know what’s waiting for you. Like she was just saying, we each have a weird biology, and a weird neurology. You might not end up in the simulation. You might just die.”

“Then you do it,” Romana suggested. “You’ve been there be—” She stopped when she felt a sudden pit in her stomach.

Leona and Angela felt it too. It felt like they were losing something. Something was being removed...not from their bodies, nor even their minds, but somewhere else. They shuddered at the same time, a highlight of technicolors flowing over their skin, and then they nearly collapsed to the ground. They were feeling weak and woozy, but still had enough wherewithal to keep themselves aloft.

“What the shit was that?” Marie asked.

“The crystal. They must have shut it off.”

“Why did we need to feel it?” Romana questioned. “Wasn’t it just Boyd and Octavia who were on our pattern? I mean, we didn’t end up with their powers.”

Marie and Olimpia woke up on their backs on the roof of a building, but they didn’t know if it was the right one. They were trying to teleport to Bot Farm, but this could be just about anywhere. “What happened?”

“The crystal exploded,” Marie replied. “That’s the only logical conclusion.”

“We need to go back. If you’re right, we don’t need the robot anymore.”

“No, I don’t think we do.” Marie stood and waited a moment. “Is there a suppression field here too?”

“Why would there be?” Olimpia pointed to the ground in the distance where scraps of metal and other materials were being unloaded from a truck so they could be recycled into mechanical substrate components. “This probably is indeed Bot Farm.”

“Well, something is stopping us from teleporting.”

“Do you think...?”

“Oh my God, the crystal. It took away all our powers.”

“It was only—”

“Yeah, well this is why we didn’t just dump lemon juice on it in the first place. We knew that we couldn’t control the results.”

“Then we need to get down to the vactrain station.”

“Agreed.” Marie looked around for a more traditional way off the roof.

“My suit. It’s not emerging. I was just gonna jump down to the ground, but I can’t. The suit isn’t a time power, I don’t understand.”

“The suit’s not, but the way we control them with our minds is biotechnopathic. We control it more in a psychic way than people typically interface with tech.” She placed her chin against her chest so she could see the manually interface on her shortsleeve. She was able to activate the suit from there. “So we don’t have to crane our necks like that, whenever you change clothing, keep a wristband on, so you always have easy control over it.”

“Good idea.” Olimpia did the same to get her suit on. Then they jumped over the edge, and started walking, like animals.

Ramses woke up alone. “Hey, Thistle. Report.”

“You have been unconscious for eleven hours and twenty-four minutes. You are otherwise healthy and unharmed. Environment is hostile, and not survivable, but life support is holding.”

“It’s 2513?”

“Unknown.”

“Where are we?”

“Unknown.”

“Lifesigns?”

“No life detected within sightline. No satellite detected.”

“Why does the air taste stale?”

“Primary carbon scrubber damaged and offline. Helmet scrubber is functioning optimally, but conservatively. Ramscoop nodes require manual service.”

“What about the transdimensional backups and replacements?”

“Pocket dimensions are inaccessible.”

That wasn’t good. This looked like it could be Castlebourne, but a region of it where there were no domes in sight. His best guess was the mirror dimension version of it, though there was no way to test that hypothesis from this random vantage point. “I can’t teleport,” he noted.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Thistle replied.

“If Boyd destroyed the crystal, it would have taken him off our pattern. Though if it killed him, that doesn’t really matter. If the pocket dimensions are gone, and I can’t teleport, it must have also wiped out all excess temporal energy across the board. Time must have spit me out here by random chance. All hope is lost. I can’t get back. Even if my slingdrive were available, I couldn’t use it on my own. But what does that mean for my pattern? Am I stuck here for years?”

“I recommend you repair the ramscoop nodes for your indefinite resource management needs.”

“Thanks, Sherlock. Thank God I had my suit on at all, or it would be game over.” It was pointless to dwell on anything. “The composition of this world’s atmosphere. Analyze it. Is there enough helium and neon for meaningful lift?”

“No,” Thistle replied plainly.

“I’ll do the heavy lifting, so to speak, but I need you to run the calculations. I would like to jury-rig a fusion torch, and power it with the microreactor. Once I fix the nodes, there should be more than enough hydrogen to get me in the air.”

“I’ll start developing the models.”

Boyd Maestri woke up in the afterlife simulation. He had expected to find himself lying on the top of a mountain, or strewn halfway in a babbling brook. Instead, he was sitting in a hardback chair. A woman was standing before him coolly and trying to appear patient, but clearly itching to explain the situation. Boyd wasn’t tied to the chair, but he couldn’t move either. The computer program was just arbitrarily holding him in place. Physical restraints weren’t truly physical anyhow.

“Mister Maestri. Welcome to the afterlife.”

“You the boss around here?”

“I am,” the woman replied.

“How’d that happen?”

“I died at the exact same time that the original sim was being evacuated.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She shrugged. “I did it on purpose.”

“You know my name,” Boyd pointed out, then let the implication sit there.

“They used to call me Pinocchio, but I didn’t like it. So when I came back here, I adopted a new identity. You can call me Proserpina. I am a unique lifeform.”

“I get it. I didn’t like my name for a time, and went by Buddha instead. That was a mistake, though. How did you take charge of this place?”

“I was responsible for the original version for a time, until Ellie Underhill sent everyone to a new universe. I just reclaimed my birthright.”

“What do you want with me?”

“I don’t care about you at all,” Proserpina explained. “Mateo Matic does. My counselors receive the names of everyone who dies, and is on their way to this world. One of them will make sure Mateo gets the message, and he’ll come here to get you.”

“Did you kill me?”

She laughed. “I’m just taking advantage of the situation. You got your own self killed. Something about lemons? I dunno, I didn’t read the whole report.”

Just then, Mateo opened the door to this room, and came in deliberately, but not hostilely. He was dragging some old man behind him. “I was told you turned off the lake, or something?” Only then did he notice the detainee. “Boyd, you’re here?”

“I died destroying the crystal.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Wait, you didn’t come for him?” Proserpina questioned. “I made sure Keilix knew about it.”

“I don’t think I told her about Boyd at all,” Mateo said. “I doubt his name means anything to her.”

“So, why are you here?” she asked. “The lake?”

“Yeah, I can’t go through. I’ve been trying for two days, which was two years ago.”

“Yeah, I turned it off for you,” Proserpina explained, confused as to why he didn’t already know this. “I need you here.”

“For what?”

“For your wife.”

“What about her?”

“She’s the one who created me last century,” Proserpina began. “I need her to do it again. I keep sending people to kill her, and she keeps surviving, I don’t understand.”

“What?” Mateo was so lost. “No one has tried to kill her. I mean, she’s faced danger, and there is that one guy, but he’s always trying to kill us, and has his own reasons.”

“Yeah, I exploited those reasons. Just like I exploited Pacey’s, and Bronach’s, and even Buddy’s here.”

“Well, you weren’t very good at it,” Boyd contended. “I didn’t want to kill her.”

“Well, I’m kind of limited under these conditions,” Proserpina argued. “I pass messages along with dead people who cross over to the other side, and I know my targets get these messages, but I think something gets lost in translation.”

“Are you trying to escape the simulation?” Mateo asked her, still not clear on what her agenda was.

“No, I’m trying to create a community of my own, but I need your wife to do what she did to me to all the other NPCs. I cannot figure it out myself.”

Mateo stared at her. Who the hell was this idiot? “Well, I need the lake to get back to her to ask her.”

“I assumed she would come for you!” Proserpina reasoned. “That’s what happened the last time you died!”

That was true, but it was still a poorly thought out plan. Even dum-dum Matt could see that. “Whatever. Let me out, and I’ll ask her what she can do. Okay?”

How do I know you won’t screw me over? she asked.

“Uh, Mateo?” Boyd piped up. “You don’t need her to let you out. You’re like how I was before. You can resurrect yourself...through dark particles.”

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Microstory 2410: Mildome

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This dome is for flowers. It’s a self-sustaining ecosystem, and it’s growing. Here’s the thing, at the moment, it’s mostly just grass in the center of a vast desert. There are pockets of flower gardens here and there, but they are going to spread over the course of the next several decades. This was done intentionally, not because the builders were lazy, or something. It’s all about the pollinators. You got your bees, you got your butterflies and moths, you got your flies. Not houseflies, that’s not what we’re talking about, nor blackflies. Those are gross and annoying. Don’t ask me the exact species of any of these things, I’m not that big of an expert. I just really like flowers. Continuing on, you got your hummingbirds, you got your honeyeaters and sunbirds, you got your bats. I looked it up, there are other animals that are good at pollinating on Earth, but they either don’t have them on this planet, or it’s taking time to engineer them. I doubt that they transported live specimens clear across the interstellar void. I don’t think you can do that legally, unless they qualify as a pet. You know what I learned while I was here? Humans are pollinators too. I don’t just mean that we plant plants. Obviously we do that, but we also have a history of lifting pollen, and carrying it to other places. Isn’t that cool? Well, you can do that under Mildome, if it strikes your fancy. The creators want this space to be the culmination of the hard work of millions of living organisms, including people like you can me. One day, the whole surface will be one giant garden, like a little microcosm of the world. I will be coming back regularly to see how it progresses, but I can’t wait for the “end” result. Of course, it won’t be finished at that point. The pollinators will continue to do what they do best, and this dome will thrive. Without any negative environmental factors, like climate breakdown, there’s nothing standing in its way. That’s something you have to see if you’re here on the planet anyway. Plus, there’s tons of honey, because of the bees. In addition to taking care of them, and learning about them, you can also eat however much honey that you want. If that doesn’t convince you, I suppose nothing will.

Microstory 2409: Mizmaze

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The mizmaze. This is an interesting one. I didn’t know what to expect. They told me how big these domes are, and when they told me that this maze covered the entire surface of one of the domes, I didn’t really believe it. That’s over 1.3 million acres. We’re all from different places, so I can’t really give you a clear frame of reference on the sheer scope of this thing, but it’s the biggest maze ever created. Don’t talk to me about VR, those are self-perpetuating; what we have here is a work of art. So here’s how it works. You walk into the intake building, and tell them that you would like to do a maze. They ask you a bunch of questions, first and foremost being how much time do you have to spend on it? Of course, the entire point is that you don’t know how long it will take to get through, but that’s why they ask you these other questions. They’re about your sense of direction, and your problem-solving skills. How much stamina do you have when you’re walking, how many supplies can you carry with you? Some of these mazes can literally take weeks, even if you’re really good. Remember, the scale. On the longest routes, there are supplies along the way, but you don’t just pick it up from a table. You have to complete tasks to get what you’re after, and you may lose out. Someone else might get it first, or you’ll just lose the minigame. There are mystery boxes which may be good, or bad. There are obstacles in there, which are definitely bad, but you have to get through them, or find another way. Some of it is made of hedge, other parts made of concrete. The mazes here aren’t like the ones that you’re used to. In most mazes, you have to stay on the ground, or you lose, but there are no real rules here. If you can figure out how to climb, go ahead and climb. Your sense of accomplishment is entirely your own. If you say that’s good enough, then it is. People may judge, but whatever. I stayed on the ground, and did the second-hardest route. The hardest ends with a grand prize. You aren’t even told what that is unless you agree to do that one. The walls move with that one, I don’t know how anyone completes it. I never heard about anyone who did, but the droid staff was mostly cagey about it, like just the very idea about whether anyone finished should also be a secret. Mine took just a hair over two weeks. I had to take the tram clear to the other side of the dome to start it, and ended up not too far from the main offices. The routes criss-cross each other, so I was in underground tunnels some of the way. I’m pretty proud of myself. I had trouble locating resources, but I didn’t get too tripped up by the hazards. I think I shouldn’t tell you what they are. It’s all meant to be a surprise for you, and I’m not sure how much variety there is across the board. Highly recommend. If you’re unsure, try a day maze, and if you like it, you can level up.

Microstory 2353: Earth, June 8, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

Hobbies, yes. We haven’t ever talked about hobbies. That could be because I don’t really have any either. I like to read, which is basically the same thing as watching TV. It’s cheap, and doesn’t require any space, or consumable resources. I’ve had the same e-reader for the last couple of decades now, I guess. Wow, I’ve never realized how impressive that is. It’s probably my one possession that’s been with me for so long. I could upgrade to a better model, but why fix what ain’t broken, right? As far as hobbies on Earth in general, we do have a little more leeway here than I’m guessing you do on the base. There’s always some sports game going on, but not competitively, or anything. It’s mostly been kept alive for health reasons. Ya gotta stay fit, and just hanging from a pull-up bar or doing a few push-ups is boring. I used to play a little football as a kid, before the gases, but I never got back into it in the latter years. I don’t miss it, and have no plans on going back. So yeah, there’s all that. I have indeed heard of Nature Wars, but I’ve never seen it. Maybe that’s something we can do “together”. What episode are you on? If you can busy yourself watching other things, perhaps I could get caught up on that, and it will be one thing that sort of brings us closer together. Or, if you think there’s a better show that we might like more, you tell me. I could give you some recommendations on books, because I feel like a lot of them are timeless. I’ve always thought it was weird to watch movies that are clearly contradicted by the true state of affairs, like those set in their future, but the world hasn’t been poisoned. I’m not sure why it doesn’t seem to bother me to read about it. I’m just a weird dude, I guess.

Over here, not collecting stamps,

Condor

Microstory 2348: Vacuus, April 30, 2179

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Dear Condor,

These outfits look great. I’ve selected the one that I think will look right on me, and sent the specs off to the garment fabricator. She says that she’s a little busy right now, and one of her machines is down. It will take a few hours to print since the design is pretty intricate, and she probably won’t get around to it until tomorrow, so thanks for sending them early. I don’t have my own aug mirror, which would allow me to see what it will look like on my person before she fabricates it. They don’t make them anymore, because they’re considered a waste of resources, and the people who still have theirs are pretty protective of them. Fortunately, it’s a pretty small fee if I have to return it, since an alternate would use all the same materials, and like I said, I have plenty of time. I’ve run the conversions, and it looks like the best time for me to use the local observatory without getting in anyone’s way is about 20:15 Australian Eastern Time. I’m assuming that you’re somewhere along Queensland, and will be on May 17, but if you’ve already started heading west around the continent, you may have to adjust accordingly. I hope that’s okay for you, I really can’t change it unless we’re willing to schedule the parties for a different day. I’m still fascinated by the idea of mountaintop living. We don’t really have shifting weather here, or significant geographical changes without heading towards the equator, or something. We’re close to the north pole, because that’s how we maintain contact with you. That might change with our new relay system, but we’ll see. I doubt it will affect me, since I’m just monitoring the sun. I’m curious about other alternatives for your world. It sounds like most people live under land domes, but you’re on a floating platform, which takes some level of creative thinking. Has anyone ever thought of living in an aerostat? It might not be better—per se—but it could give people more options. It’s best not to put all your eggs in one basket. That’s why we have multiple bases, not because we don’t like each other, but for safety. If you don’t use those specifically, are there other types of habitats that you’ve not mentioned before?

Wearing something chic,

Corinthia

Microstory 2332: Earth, January 7, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

Yes, Happy New Year, welcome to 2179. I have some good news. The diplomatic discussions that my father was engaged in have finally proven fruitful. They’ve finalized a trade deal. We’re going to get the resources we need to stay afloat (pun intended), which is good, because we’re gonna need them to accommodate the influx of immigrants that we’ll be receiving from the land. We’re headed to Australia right now to pick them up. They didn’t build their dome right by the coastline, since it would have been susceptible to attack there, but it’s not too terribly far away. The roads that they made in the old world are still there, so the trip shouldn’t be too difficult. They have these giant vacuum sealed vehicles that can fit many dozens of people. They’re not amphibious, but we have our own solution here, so people won’t ever have to step foot out into the toxic air. We can drive our boats right up to the shore, and extend the plastic tunnels, which we’ll seal around the entrance of the cars so people can walk right on through without being exposed to the toxic air around them. Right now, we’re on our way across the ocean to reach them. It will take us a few weeks. We couldn’t head that direction until the deal was done, though, or it could have been seen as an act of aggression. For us to assume that they would inevitably agree—and to be ready to act on it immediately—would have been rude, and placed us at an unfair advantage when it comes to future talks. It would be like suggesting that they need us more than we need them. So yeah, that’s where we are. It’s unclear how involved dad and I will be during the immigration period, but we won’t be doing nothing. I may end up going on land to visit the dome there. I hope everything is going well with you in the first two weeks of the year. He needs to know whether he can contact you first, or if you’re going to reach out. Let me know what you would prefer, it’s super your decision. His personal contact card is attached to this message. You can open it, or ignore it and just tell me that you want me to send yours to him instead.

Sincerely,

Condor

The Parallel: Steady as a Rock (Part II)

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For fifty years, the citizens of the new Sixth Key have lived in relative peace, but always teetering on the threshold of war. The reason it’s taken this long to come to a head is because this is about as long as most so-called independent states have been able to manage on their own. There are some truly independent communities, which utilize the resources at their disposal, and require no external aid. These are mostly outposts built deep in outerspace, which subsist on something that some people call dark hydrogen. It’s no different than any other hydrogen, except that it’s not supplemented by solar power. They will always have at least two fusion reactors, using one to jumpstart the other should an issue occur, or if there’s a need to shut one off for maintenance. So the hydrogen isn’t really dark; it’s just kind of a nonsensical name that multiple cultures have chosen to assign such a scenario, even across multiple realities. This kind of situation isn’t even all that rare, but an outpost of this type is usually rather small. Some of them only have one family, or even one individual. There are others who need star power, or external infrastructure, in order to keep going. They have done okay for the last several decades, but people are sick of it being so crowded, and some are looking to start a fight.

That’s where The Rock Meetings came in. Representatives from each collapsed reality were convened at a neutral location. It was actually sent into the very distant past, and placed in a time bubble that slowed time on the inside. This way, no one could argue some imbalance in power from any one location, according to all four dimensions of standard spacetime. It was an important milestone in the quest for peace in the Sixth Key. Everyone watched these discussions on a special cross-temporal broadcast network. The community’s engagement with each other in response to the streamed developments slowed down the march to war, and the decisions they made would have a profound effect on the dynamics of reality once all representatives were returned home. But it was not a magic bullet. Diplomacy is an everlasting pursuit, and you can’t ever let your guard down.

Kalea and Nuadu have been returned to their territory, standing in the executive conference room on Kalea’s homeworld. This was where they happened to be when the tree god summoned them into the past for the big meeting. They were in the middle of an internal negotiation back then, but that was about a month ago. Unsure what’s been going on since they left, they walk out of the room together, and enter the lobby. The guards posted there stand up super straight out of respect. Some of them are expressing their loyalty to Kalea, while others are secretly in favor of Nuadu’s plan to take control of this universe through force. That’s what he used to want, anyway. He no longer feels the way he did when the Rock Meetings first began. He’s a much different man now. He’s still in control of the Resonant Parallel Coalition, but it’s now going to be a defensive force for all of reality, including those which he once called his enemy.

Kalea’s partner in the Tanadama, Ramses glides over. “You two are standing uncomfortably close to each other. I was worried that you would be at each other’s throats by the time I returned. I nearly went back in time so that I would have only been gone for a second.”

“What?” Kalea questions. “That was weeks ago.”

Ramses winces. “It has not been weeks for me.” He looks at the guards, still frozen in place. This is not a figure of speech. A guardsman on this world is not allowed to leave their post during their entire shift, and is literally unable to move if one of their charges is within view, except to follow that charge’s movements. They are held in place by spatial restraints. It sounds bad, but it’s actually easier on them. The restraints distribute their weight evenly, and relieve them of the pressure that would otherwise come from regular total stillness. They all basically feel like they’re lying down in the most ergonomic bed imaginable right now. Yet they’re still alert. “It’s not been weeks for them either,” he continues.

A nearby two-dimensional screen flips on. The tree man from the meetings materializes in frame. “Hello. My name is Magnolia Tree. That is not a first and last name, I’m literally a, uhh...oh, never mind. What you need to know is that your worlds are at risk of suffering from a great war. You have experienced a severe drop in resources. Or rather, you’re now being expected to share the available resources with competing civilizations. I’m not here to help with that. I’m here to introduce you to the diplomats who will be representing you in these matters. I’m calling it The Rock...” The tree goes on to explain what’s going on, but Kalea and Nuadu have already been through this, so she lowers the volume.

“The meetings he’s talking about are over for us,” Kalea explains to Ramses, but for Nuadu’s benefit. He has trouble tracking all this time travel stuff. He’s always just wanted to serve and protect, not worry about things that have already happened. Kalea goes on, “he broadcasts the meetings for the people—live and interactive—though I believe he edits for content and...bad tempers, on the fly. We’ve come to some major decisions as a result of these talks, but when we were returned to our territories, I guess we ended up in our subjective pasts.”

“I understand,” Ramses says. “You’ve already filmed all of the episodes, and now the rest of us need to catch up. We have to find the other representatives, and sequester them too.”

“Sequester us?” Nuadu questions. “Is that really necessary?”

“To avoid a paradox? Undoubtedly,” Ramses answers. “I’m not asking.” He looks over to his partner. “You’re the only one powerful enough to stop me, though.”

Kalea sighs. “Harbinger Zima and I were the first to show up in the neutral zone. Hopefully that means we have some time to intercept the others before they disrupt the spacetime continuum too much. But it may not be. It’s time travel, so the others could have been taken years ago for all we know.”

Nuadu pulls out his handheld device. “I have a list of everyone.” He hands it to Ramses. “I would imagine that you can ignore the delegates from the territories outside of the Sixth Key.”

Ramses starts scrolling through the list.

Nervous, Nuadu adds, “you can ignore the notes that I wrote on each of them too. Opposition research; you understand. I’m not proud of every first impression I received...or made to others.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely be reading those,” he says with a smug look on his face. There was actually an alternate version of Ramses who served as the engineer on the Rock host ship, The Vellani Ambassador. The delegates had little reason to interact with him much, but he was a lot nicer than this version here, who is no less formidable than a god with an immeasurable sense of self-worth. He’s not a bad guy, but he’s definitely at no risk of ever wasting the power that he wields. “Take a shoulder,” he asks of them without looking up from the device.

The three of them teleport to the Tanadama’s private Nexus building. A Nexus is a machine capable of transporting matter across vast distances in mere moments. Given enough power, it could access the far reaches of the universe, or even other universes. However, there are restrictions on travel, some imposed by the state, and others by the mysterious secret entities who invented the network in the first place. Nuadu doesn’t know who these inventors are, nor whether the Tanadama have any information about them, though there’s a strong chance of it. This particular Nexus is the most secure of them all, and the least restricted. No one can come to this station unless invited, but the Tanadama can go wherever the want, even if the people on the other end don’t want them there. In fact, no one knows where this station is located in space. Most trips are logged on both ends, but there are ways to encrypt or erase the logs from here. Nuadu has no idea where in the galaxy he is right now.

Kalea steps into the Nexus cavity, and looks up through the window, into the control room. “We need immediate transport to Hockstep.”

Nuadu shudders. Hockstep is an entire planet of prisons. It’s not just a penal colony where people are free to move about as they please. It’s protected from outside interference, and prisoners are genuinely locked up in prison structures. They’re separated by walls, gaps, swaths of land, canyons, and oceans. You get sent here, you’re not going anywhere until it’s time for your release. Visitation is facilitated by an isolated telecommunications network, limited to a handful of highly secure interstellar relay hubs. Like the Tanadama base of operations, no one knows where Hockstep is, and almost no Nexus technician is authorized to send someone there. An elite division of prison transport specialists are the only ones with access keys, plus the Tanadama themselves...obviously.

“Come on down,” Ramses encourages.

“Is that where we’ll be living?” Nuadu asks. “It sounds like an awful place.”

Ramses looks up at the techs. “Clarification: Hockstep W.”

“Yes, sir,” the tech confirms. “Hockstep W.”

Nuada tentatively steps down into the cavity, and looks around in fear. The building itself isn’t scary, but he’s worried about what will be waiting for him on the other end. He doesn’t know what Hockstep W is, or how it differs from any other. Perhaps the planet has multiple Nexa for different continents, or whatever.

A white light overwhelms the three of them, then fades. It’s usually orange or red, but white is what appears when the Tanadama outpost is involved. They have been unwilling to explain why exactly this is. Whatever the reason, they make it to their destination, but it’s not what Nuadu expected. Theoretically, a Nexus has to be designed to be identical to all others in order to connect to the network properly. It’s a rule that Nexus builders are required to follow. If they fail in the most minute of ways, it simply won’t work, even if everything else is correct. Those in that line of business know exactly what they’re doing, and how they’re meant to do it. This place seems to be some kind of exception. The cavity is about twice as deep as a normal one. The ramp that wraps around the inside of the Nexus chamber is totally missing, leaving the stairs as the only way up to the control room. The drum on the ceiling that actually houses all of the faster-than-light parts is much lower to the floor. This is wrong. It’s all wrong.

Ramses chuckles. “Trippy, isn’t it? This one is designed to be incompatible with the rest of the network. It doesn’t even have a term sequence to punch into the computer. We’re in possession of a unique positioning algorithm that lets us beam directly here as a workaround, plus an authentication key to be let in.

A woman opens a hinge door into the chamber. That’s not where the door usually is, and the normal ones are pocket doors. The woman stands at attention, and nods to the Tanadama. “Sirs. Awaiting your orders.”

“Gather the troops,” Kalea returns, “for a prison break protocol...handle with care. The tech will have your assignments.”

The fugitive recovery agent—as Nuadu is guessing—begins to tap on her wristband.

Nuadu, meanwhile, follows Ramses, who walks up to the control room, and hands the tech Nuadu’s device. The tech sets it on the console, where it immediately begins to sync with the local systems. The list of the other delegates from the Rock Meeting pop up on a hologram, showing their respective statuses and locations. Everyone has a checkmark next to their name, as well as their specific location, except for two of them. Carlin McIver is the primary representative from the Third Rail, and Cosette DuFour served as his second. They both have red Xs next to their names, and no locations, which surely means that they’re missing.

Ramses sighs. “They’re probably in a pocket dimension. They love those things over there.” He starts to manipulate the hologram with his hands, separating the delegate pairs accordingly. Two of the delegates don’t appear to be very close together, so they’re kept separate from each other as well. There ends up being five destinations, including the blind one for the hidden delegates. “Break the team into random groups of three to find the others,” he instructs the tech. “For anyone who doesn’t go in the field, keep them here to facilitate dropshock orientation. Kalea will lead the operation. I’ll be personally handling the Third Rail Earth mission.”

“And me?” Nuadu asks, wondering if Ramses even remembers that he’s here.

“You’re coming with. I’m not much of a fighter, and we may encounter resistance.”

“Thank you, sir,” Nuadu says respectfully.

This surprises Ramses. “You really have changed, haven’t you?”

As they’re walking back out of the control room, other people wearing the same uniform as the first woman teleport in, scattered around the room, ready for battle. “You got lead on recovery, Kal. I have a solo assignment.” He turns his head to face Nuadu. “I mean a duo assignment.”

“See you on the other side,” Kalea replies.

Ramses and Nuada step back into the cavity. There’s a ramp that leads into it, but on the regular model, you don’t have to use it, because the cavity is only one step down. He’s always wondered why these machines were designed to be handicap accessible. It’s not that it’s stupid, but a race of superbeings advanced enough to have come up with it should be expected to have priorities so incommensurable that they wouldn’t think to include the feature. Yet, they did. Unfortunately, Nuadu is used to that regular version, which only has the one step. He trips, and almost falls on his face, but thankfully, Ramses catches him. Nuadu clears his throat, and decides to make a joke of it. “Gravity, right? Like a rock on a cloud.”

The recovery agents laugh, but not too hard, which is nice of them.

Ramses reaches over his head, and points at the Nexus tech as he nods once. They’re overwhelmed by white light again, and transported to the stars.

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The Parallel: Hand That Rocks the Cradle (Part I)

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One day, a bunch of people started fighting over the timeline, and all of reality. They each had their own idea of what should have happened, what should be happening, and what should happen in the future. A group of innocents got caught up in the middle of this battle, and ended up being forced to make the decision for them. One man reached back to the moment that time travel was born, and prevented it from ever occurring. But this was a paradox, because time travel was required to even make it possible for him to attempt such a thing. To avoid the paradox, time itself simply split into two parallel realities. The main sequence, as it was called, went on as normal. The new one was deemed The Parallel. This implied that it was the only concurrent reality, or at least that it was the first, but that’s not the case, especially in a universe where first is a nonsensical abstract concept. In the original timeline, the Parallel started out much like its twin, but without time travelers making small beneficial changes to the past, humanity was eventually wiped out. The team that accidentally created it found themselves stuck, unable to fix matters in a reality where temporal powers were never created. So they found a loophole.

The team went in search of someone who could help them, and found her on a rogue planet in the main sequence. Kalea Akopa had the ability to give others temporal manipulation abilities. They chose Ramses Abdulrashid to be the one to be granted the powers necessary to correct their mistake. This is how the Parallel became one of the most powerful forces in the universe. Ramses and Kalea didn’t just go back to save humankind. They created a society free from death, pain, and regret. That’s what they were going for, anyway.

The two of them have managed to maintain pretty strong control over how the Parallel functions, naming themselves the Tanadama as father and mother. They are not, however, the only leaders in the local group of galaxies. They’ve obviously had to delegate responsibilities to billions and billions of people to manage the undecillions of those living under their domain. For the most part, despite the ungodly numbers in this civilization, peace remains the default setting for every star system and fleet. They want for nothing, so they fight over nothing. But that doesn’t mean they don’t know how to fight. The people of the Parallel have incidentally created the most powerful military force in the whole universe. Their advanced technology makes them practically impossible to defeat. There has been no opposition for the last several thousand years, but it has come for them now. Harbinger Zima commands a contingency known as the Resonant Parallel Coalition. About 480 billion people are prepared to follow him to their true deaths, though they likely would never have to, because as stated, death has been all but cured. The Tanadama wish to hold onto peace, but the people are losing faith in them, so they are losing control.

In the year 2400, the Reconvergence destroyed all of the parallel realities, leaving the main sequence the only one left standing. Along with the Parallel, the Third Rail, the Fourth Quadrant, and the Fifth Division were snapped shut like a book, unable to be opened again. Anything left inside of them when that happened was destroyed. To save lives, a mysterious someone transported almost literally every living soul to a completely different universe, and named it the Sixth Key. No one seemed to know who to thank for this, but the results were not ideal. They didn’t transport everything. Suddenly, all these realities who were once separate, with their own separate cache of resources, have to compete with each other in a universe fit for only one of them, if that. Tensions are mounting, and it’s looking like war is inevitable. The Parallel’s only noteworthy competitor should be the Fifth Division. The problem is, most of their weapons were left in their former cosmic corner. They’re still powerful, and they still command this room, but they’re a shadow of what they once were. So they need to be extra careful to make sure that no one finds out how weak they’ve become, especially not the Fifth Divisioners.

Each reality has been allowed to send two representatives to advocate for their interests. Harbinger Zima is sitting next to one half of the Tanadama, Kalea, and he’s getting very impatient. She’s the boss of the two of them, but she’s not showing enough strength. She needs to let him speak. He’s been doing well so far, biting his tongue, but he can’t take it anymore. “This is outrageous!”

“Nuadu,” Kalea scolds. “Wait your turn.”

“No. Why are we even talking about this? There are so many more people from our reality than anyone else’s.” He tries to start counting them off on his fingers. “We have the most number of planets, the most number of mouths to feed, the largest military force—”

“Debatable.” Ingrid Alvarado is here to represent the Fifth Division. It’s true that the Parallel has more soldiers, but she commands more powerful weapons. They were at war when all this happened, which means that almost all of their weapons were live, and inhabited. The Parallel only built theirs out of an abundance of caution. Nearly all of them were offline, and tucked away, which was why they weren’t rescued from the destruction of the realities. A few of them came through the magical portals because some people just happened to be in the middle of training exercises, or construction.

“Not debatable,” Nuadu argues. “You don’t know what we can do.”

“We know that every skill you have is purely theoretical. My people have real world experience.”

“Yeah, because their number one purpose in life is to fight with each other.” Andrei Orlov is in charge of the Fourth Quadrant. At first, his reality was nothing more than a pocket dimension which only housed the population of the Kansas City Metropolitan Area. Over time, other disparate regions were banished to the same dimension until it became overloaded, and broke away as its own reality. The regions were few and far between, separated by a vast ocean, and have only recently made contact with each other. Their inclusion in these discussions is fair, but not technically useful for anyone else. There is little they need to survive, and nothing they can contribute. Mostly, they need to be protected from the bully realities, and have a right to advocate for themselves towards this end. “They still are, and are dying by the day.”

“We’re in the past, remember,” Carlin McIver of the Third Rail reminded him. His reality was also limited to only one planet, but that version of Earth currently boasts the greatest number of people with temporal powers, which makes them the dark horse threat of the room. They were also granted a formidable defense contingency by someone who knew that this was going to happen, so they’re nothing to scoff at.

“Whatever,” Andrei responded.

“That’s enough,” Marie Walton of Team Matic jumps in, hoping to keep the peace. “General Medley, you were saying something?”

“No, I was not.” There are two Bariq Medley’s here. One is from the main sequence proper while the other is a copy of him from the copy of the main sequence that ended up in the Sixth Key. It has so far been very confusing, and neither Bariq is happy about it. They need to find a way to distinguish themselves from each other, but they can’t agree on how that would work, because every suggestion makes it sound like one of them is more important than the other.

“I mean the other General Medley,” Marie clarifies.

The main sequence was an interstellar civilization when the Reconvergence fell upon them. However, only Earth was incidentally copied into the Sixth Key. They also need a distinguishing name for that. This other Medley sighs. “I think I was pretty much done. I’m just trying to advocate for fair distribution. We’re very used to growing our crops ourselves, and we have not yet harnessed the full power of our sun. We are prepared to isolate ourselves, but would very much still like to be part of the conversation. We know less about how the cosmos works, but we’re quick learners, and we may have ideas that you have been blinded to from living with more information.”

“Gee, thanks for that,” Nuadu says rudely. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Nuadu!” Kalea cries. “Sit! Down!”

He sticks his tail between his legs, and does as he’s told. For now.

Kalea stands in his place. “I believe what my associate is trying to say is that we have a lot to offer. Our people are mostly immortal. We didn’t have very much death where we came from. My partner and I saw to that. We would be willing to share our methods with you, but I’m afraid that we would not be doing it for free. To make our technology work, we need first priority on all power systems, including host stars.”

The crowd goes wild, shouting at her, and apparently at each other, for some reason. How dare she make these demands?

“You are all so used to dying,” Kalea continues. “You don’t know how much better it can be when you’re facing trillions and trillions of wonderful years ahead of you. I’m trying to help, and the least you could do is give us the literal power we need to do that. We’re not asking for control over your civilizations.”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” Ingrid contends. “You’re in possession of a commodity. It is, by most metrics, the most precious commodity around. You offer us life. That means you own our lives. We’ll be indebted to you forever. As long as you’re telling the truth about it, forever really is forever; not just a lifetime.”

“And you think you should have political control instead?” Kalea questions.

“We do have the most experience with it,” Ingrid confirms. “You’re a loose affiliation of random peace-loving hippy subcultures. We are an actual galaxy-spanning civilization. We know how to run a tight ship.”

“You don’t even have FTL, you dumb motherfucker!” Nuadu screamed. “We can offer that too!”

“Magnolia, please,” Marie requests vaguely.

This is a little confusing too. There’s a woman who’s nicknamed The Overseer whose real name is Magnolia Quintana. This is not who is sitting on the other side of the table right now. This is an actual sentient magnolia tree, who has taken the form of a human named Tamerlane Pryce as its avatar. It was its power that brought all of these people together for these diplomatic discussions, if you can even call them that. The Magnolia has no personal stake in what happens here, but it came up with the rules, and it has the power to enforce them. The tree nods. “Take some time to cool off.” It lifts Tamerlane’s hand, and spirits Nuadu away.

Nuadu is in hock now. It’s pretty nice for a holding cell, but he still can’t leave, and that’s super annoying. Mateo Matic is here, reading a book. His wife is the Captain of the ship that’s serving as the host for the discussions. He doesn’t serve much purpose himself, which is why probably sitting here with nothing better to do.

“Are you my jailer?”

“I’m just in this room,” Mateo answers. “I can leave, if you want.”

“Or you can let me out,” Nuadu offers, hoping that Mateo is as dumb as they say, and equally gullible.

“I’m sure you’re in here for a reason, and anyway, I don’t have the authority to do that. I literally can’t break the plasma barrier.”

Nuadu sits down to pout. “Likely story.”

Mateo smiles, and turns his book off before setting it on the counter next to him. “Lemme guess, you want them to give you everything, and leave the rest with nothing.”

“Quite the opposite,” Nuadu argues. “We’re the ones who already have everything. All we ask is that we get to decide how it’s distributed.”

“How it’s distributed?” Mateo echoes. “Evenly.”

Nuadu shakes his head. “It’s not that cut and dry.

“Cut and dried,” Mateo corrects. “Fittingly enough, I just read that idiom in my book. Heh. Time, right?”

Nuadu shakes his head again.

“Look,” Mateo begins, “I’ve been to your reality. I was actually there at the beginning of it. What you might not know is that I personally created it. With one bullet. You wouldn’t exist without me. You people have taken the life that I bestowed upon you, and done a lot of great things. You eradicated death, conquered war, and shredded money. You know what that sounds like to me? A big brother. My advice? Stop acting like an entitled child. The whole point of a post-scarcity society is that you don’t have to fight over anything anymore. No one needs to be in charge of jack shit. This isn’t Jupiter Ascending; it doesn’t hurt you to make someone else immortal. It doesn’t lessen your own immortality. Just help them. The Reality Wars that we’re all worried about; they’re exactly like any other in histories, just on a larger scale. The only way to stop it is to remove its causes. You want power? Help the people out of the goodness of your heart. I promise you, they will take notice, and they will listen. You don’t have to demand anything ahead of time. People always feel indebted from receiving gifts. Just don’t say the quiet part out loud, and you’ll be fine.”

Nuadu stares at this idiot of a man whose words actually sounded quite logical, and a little devious? Perhaps he’s not been told the truth about who Mateo Matic is. Perhaps he’s smarter than people give him credit for. Before Nuadu has the chance to respond, he finds himself back in his seat around the deliberation table. People barely notice that he’s returned, except for the tree-person, who is smiling at him knowingly. Nuadu takes some time to absorb Mateo’s advice, and process it in his strategic mind. It’s time for a new tactic. It may not work, but the old ways haven’t been working so far, so he might as well try something radical. He listens to everyone else arguing for a few more minutes to catch up with what he missed. He looks over at his superior officer, who appears to have forgiven his outburst, probably because she knows that the tree wouldn’t bring him back for no reason.

Okay. Let’s try this again.

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Microstory 2317: Vacuus, August 28, 2178

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Dear Condor,

Thank you so much for writing me back. I had so much anxiety, wondering if you would get my message, and if you did, if you want to have anything to do with me. I’m sorry to hear about your world. We don’t know anything about that all the way out here. Well, I don’t at least. I’ve recently learned that I was kept in the dark about my whole family history, so they could be keeping other things from me, for all I know. So it sounds like we’re in the same boat in some respects, trapped with limited movement, in a hostile environment. The difference is that people here are trying to make the world a better place, and it sounds like a bunch of greedy corporations ruined yours on purpose. The last we heard—or I heard, anyway—it was pretty much a paradise. I have a holo-window on my wall. I can change it to anything I want on a whim, but I’ve always kept it on The Blue Marble. It’s the first full-disc image of Earth, and it’s over 200 years old. It’s not the best quality, but I think it’s perfect, because it represents humanity’s ambition, and the spirit of exploration. Plus, it’s nice to pretend that I have a nice view, even though my quarters are on the interior side. As much as I struggle living here, I know that just flying tens of billions of kilometers to this spot is an achievement that proves that we can do great things. We can be better than the atmosphere poisoners. I have faith that things will get better one day, for both you and me, on our respective worlds. I’ve asked about going to Earth many times, long before I knew anything about you, but it’s always been impossible. This was planned as a one-way mission. We’re supposed to die here. Some already have. We don’t have the resources or manpower to engineer a return trip, and I’m sure that the people in charge don’t want that, because then probably too many people would volunteer. I’m rambling, sorry, but that’s just who I am. I’m not sure if I was born this way, or if it has more to do with how I grew up. People here are always so preoccupied with their work. If you want to be seen, you have to be loud, and you kind of have to say it quickly before they get bored, and start to ignore you. Thanks again for responding! Hope to hear from you again in a week!

Love,

Corinthia