Microstory 2620: They May Call it an Unknown Unknown, But Many Will Say They Should Have Known

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3.1

August 25, 2526. In the year 2155, Earthan scientists dispatched a series of procession probes towards Proxima Centauri. These were not the first probes to visit the star system, but they were far superior. It took the procession over 28 years to arrive, most of them sacrificing themselves to the fury of the red dwarf. There was nothing there to slow them down, except local gravity. The first one used solar pressure to decelerate as much as physics allowed, and transformed the energy it was receiving into a laser beam, which pushed against the next probe, decelerating it even faster. One by one they came, each one pushing back against the next in line before falling into the sun, until the last one was moving slow enough to survive. It performed a gravity braking maneuver around Centauri, and then remained there to perform its duties.

The first thing the final probe did was prepare what they called a catcher’s mitt. This was an electromagnetic tube built into an asteroid, designed to slow down any other vessel set to arrive by creating drag, so there would have to be no more sacrifices. The probe’s primary function, however, was to survey Proxima Centauri b, which colonists would later deem Proxima Doma. It looked up and down the land, building a map, and charting its past. It captured the mass, density, and surface gravity. It labeled the canyons, lava tubes, craters, and mountains. It sent high resolution images back to Earth, and the rest of Sol. It prepared for the nanofactories in 2194, which were made to build everything else that the colonists would need to live and thrive on the surface.

The probe noticed two very interesting geological features, later to be named the Chappa’ai and the Annulus mountain ranges. The former was in the north, and the latter in the south. They circled the poles quite fantastically perfectly. They weren’t artificial, but they were surprisingly smooth, in geological terms, anyway. They separated the poles from the rest of the planet, along the Terminator Line, and on both planetary faces. The researchers who studied these fascinating walls interpreted them as evidence of severe crater impacts. The fact that they could be found at both poles was mysterious and noteworthy, but not wholly implausible. Space is a dangerous and chaotic place. Things are flying every which way all the time. Why, Earth only supports life because a smaller planet once crashed into it, and ultimately made the moon. That was implausible too but it obviously happened. They certainly didn’t think there was anything else going on here. They had no alternative explanation.

As it turns out, the rings were not created by two perfectly positioned bolide impacts. They are the result of a multi-millennia long cycle, precipitated by the instability of the host star. Proxima Centauri was already volatile prior to this, sending out solar flares, and even coronal mass ejections, constantly. The polarity reverses every several years. It’s commonplace. It’s predictable. It’s accounted for. Very occasionally—but reasonably predictably, given enough data—the poles flip so spectacularly that it spells catastrophe for the orbiting terrestrial planet. That is what is happening in the here and now. The poles snapped, and sent a massive CME towards the colony. The atmosphere swelled, the surface turned into soup, and the ants were sent running for the hills. But it is not over. The cataclysm is only beginning. Because those polar rings? They’re suture zones, and they’re beginning to rip apart at the seams. And not everyone will be on the correct side when that happens.

Microstory 2614: The Cooler Side is Not the Safer Side, Which They Will Learn Soon Enough

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Pro and Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3.1

August 21, 2526. The caravan has been roaming up through the Terminator Line at a decent pace. They have come across some pretty rough terrain, but these rovers were built for the harsh environment, so they either go around them or even right over. The lead car has the most trouble, but they still make it through. They’re combatting two different things here—besides the physical obstacles—and those are fear and boredom. It is not a clear split. Everyone seems to be feeling both emotions, as well as plenty others, simultaneously. The vactrains are incredibly fast. They would be in the safe zone by now had they been able to take them. It’s going to be several days before they reach it at this pace, and there is really nothing they can do to speed that up. It’s a trade-off, being able to traverse all of the rocks and crevices, but not being able to do it super fast.

There is also some ignorance. Even though the Levins have been advancing for 300 years, they don’t really understand concepts like the sun and tidal locking. This is the first time they’re even seeing outer space for real, and there are some misconceptions about how it works. “Is this thing working, can you hear me?” a voice comes in through the radio.

“This is lead actual, I hear you four by two, who is this?” Breanna asks.

“Uh, my name’s Langer.”

“No, I mean your callsign. You should see it on the light field display in the corner of the radio. I just need the last three numbers.”

“Zero-one-zero.”

“Go ahead, zero-ten,” Breanna encourages.

“Where are we going?” 010 asks.

“North,” Breanna replies plainly.

“Yeah, but where exactly?” 010 presses.

Breanna rolls her eyes. “The safe zone.”

“How do you know that it’s safe?” 010 goes on.

“That’s the science. The poles are the only safe regions in the world right now. The closer you get, the safer you are. We are already better off here and now than we were ten minutes ago back behind us.”

“Wait, we’re in the back!” a girl cries. “We are where you were ten minutes ago!”

Breanna sighs. “You are not ten minutes behind us, and the logic stands. You are still better off than you were before. We just need to keep going to reach our destination. Please stay off this channel unless you’re actually facing trouble.”

“Oh, we’re all in trouble,” 010 argues. “Because it’s the sun, isn’t it? The sun is what caused this whole thing.”

“Yes,” Breanna agrees. “We don’t have all the information yet, but it’s looking like our host star, Proxima Centauri underwent a sudden, violent polar reversal. This caused a snap, which released something called a coronal mass ejection. It’s important to note that the gravitational instability was going on for some time leading up to the event, and is still wreaking havoc on the surface, subsurface, and atmosphere. As I said, the poles are the only safe regions.”

“Our ancestors came to this planet on ships,” 010 begins. “Why can’t we just get back on those ships and fly away?”

“Because the infrastructure has been destroyed,” Breanna explains. “There is no way to get to the ships. They are not designed to land, and even if they were, they could not land on this terrain. We are doing the right thing, and moving as fast as possible.”

“Why would the poles be safer?” This Langer guy is not letting up. She’s holding back the urge to warn him that his ignorance is showing, staying silent as he continues. “The poles are still in the sun. We have been driving in the sunlight this whole time.”

“Yes, this is called the Terminator Line. Proxima Doma is tidally locked, so one side always faces the sun, and one side always faces away from it.” She has spent her whole life around people who learned this stuff as babies. It’s frustrating, having to go over it to a bunch of adults, even though she fully understands why they don’t already know it. “Right in the middle, all along this longitude, it’s temperate enough for habitation. They still had to build domes, because the atmosphere is too thin, but it would have been impractical on the night side, and nigh impossible on the day side.”

They hear him sighing. “If the sun is over there!” He’s probably pointing. “Then why wouldn’t we go..over there!” He’s probably pointing in the opposite direction now.

“The stellar activity still has an impact on the night side. The heat passes from the day side, to the night side. As it does, it creates its own turmoil on the night side. Ice sublimates, the ground becomes unstable. It’s still freezing, but now it’s unpredictable, and non-uniform. Believe me, you don’t want any part of that.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” 010 shouts. “We’re in between them! If what you’re saying is true, we should be dead, or at least worse off here than over there!”

“I don’t have the time or patience to explain tidal heating and basic atmospheric science to you! My father died dedicating his life to protecting people like you, and you didn’t even know he existed! So trust me, we have to stay in the Terminator Line! It’s shrinking, and will eventually disappear too, but we still have time...if we don’t stop!”

There is some silence for a few moments, but the eerie kind, not peaceful. Finally, 010 returns. “We just took a vote. We’re going to head into the dark. The way we see it, it’s getting too hot. The air conditioning is at maximum, and we’re still burning up. Anyone who wants to may join us. We can teach you how to take manual control.”

“Shut out controls right now, Cash,” Breanna orders.

“It is too hot,” the woman in the back agrees. “I’m barely wearing anything.”

“You should be wearing IMS units,” Breanna instructs.

“We don’t have those here,” 010 claims. “We only have respirator masks.” She didn’t realize that. That was poor planning. The 010 car veers off in the wrong direction.

“I can block future override,” Cash divulges as she’s operating the console, “but I can’t reverse it for anyone who has already switched to local control.”

“Don’t do this!” Breanna urges. “It is not simply more dangerous. It is uninhabitable. You are not maybe going to die. If you leave us, death is a guarantee.”

“We’ll take our chances, thank you very much. Zero-one-zero, over and out.”

“You don’t have to—never mind.” She hopes to appeal to anyone who managed to gain control of their own destiny before Cash locked them out. “No one follow them. Please. Even if you don’t get hit by a geyser or thermal cyclone, or fall into a hidden chasm in the dark, there is nothing for you out there. They didn’t build anything.”

That rear unit complaining about being hot, naked, and in the back decides to go with Langer, but fortunately, no one else does.

Microstory 2611: The Mob Will Leave as Fast as They Can, But Not All Will Make It

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Pro and Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3.1

August 20, 2526. Hydrangea Georgieva does not work for Proxima Doma in any way shape or form, but she has stepped up today, because no one else is. The vactrains are fully automated. Since they did away with money and tickets, there is really no reason to talk to another person. Even a trip to the other side of the world only takes a matter of hours, so if you get hungry, just bring something with you. These people may not want her, but they need her, and they’re going to listen, because chaos isn’t going to get them out of this alive. “Hey! Hey!” she yells louder to overpower the rabbling rabblers. “There are exactly two lines! If you are a mech, or a biological with a supersteadfastness trait, please stand behind the orange line! Otherwise, please wait behind the indigo line!”

“Who put you in charge!” some rando questions.

“I did!” Hydrangea insists. Surprisingly, the crowd quiets down so she doesn’t have to shout as loud anymore. “The Network Controller has programmed every single train on this planet to run at high acceleration. And the instability of this planet has made the trip rougher and more unpredictable than usual. They simply do not have time to be delicate when this many lives are at stake. If you have steadfast features, please hang back while my indigos board first. Indigos, when the doors open, please find your seats. From this location, the trip will take about three hours. If you get separated from your loved ones, maintain virtual connections with them, but do not try to reunite with them. Do not attempt to switch seats. I promise, you will find each other again, it is not the 1920s anymore. If you are an orange, you will be filling in the gaps, and using your core strength to stand in place while the train accelerates.” She looks over at the status board. “The next pods will be arriving in eight minutes. Be ready!”

“Pods? How many pods are there?” an evacuee asks.

“They are electromagnetically linking four pods together,” she replies so all can hear. “That is the optimum number. It is the most you can connect before the mass inefficiency starts to negate the value of higher capacity. The experts never predicted anything like what we’re facing now, but they are adapting emergency protocols. I assure you, they know what they’re doing. They’re going as fast as they can. Any other good questions?”

There doesn’t seem to be any. This next batch of evacuees starts shuffling around, getting in their appropriate queues, or at least hopefully so. There’s always something that holds them up. It’s usually a few morons who can’t remember which color means what. She’s been trying to make it so the instructions can be written unambiguously on the status monitors, but again, she doesn’t work here, so she doesn’t have the credentials to change that information. It’s still only giving them the current weather of this dome and the destination, but it’s outdated, because it says it’s only 24 degrees and sunny, but it’s actually a hellfire apocalypse out there. The world is sinking into itself, and her body is going to die here. She’s not going to be getting on any train, because there could always be someone in need of her help. Her mind is streaming to a back-up in orbit, and she already checked; the consciousness hub is safe above the debris cloud, and wasn’t damaged during the solar attack. A lot of her friends literally committed suicide to escape, but she saw this as an opportunity to do the most good, so she stayed behind to facilitate the movement of people who are not backed up. Proxima Doma is the first colony. A great fraction of the population are enhanced, but still not fully digitized.

A woman comes up, holding the hand of a little boy. “Um,” she whispers, “my legs can go into statue mode, but my grandson can’t do that. I know we can’t switch seats, but I would really like to stay by him if I can.”

Hydrangea smiles at her and leans down. “Most people are more like you, and less like him. After the indigos are seated, I’m going to tell the nearest oranges to go ahead and sit down until the seats get full, and then we’ll pack a few more in. I don’t tell them ahead of time, because then the lines will get messed up, and I think you would agree, organics need evacuation more than we do, so they should get through first. Just pretend like you’re one of them and sit down with your grandson. No one will know.”

“Okay, thanks.” The woman leaves with the boy.

A few minutes later, the pods arrive. Hydrangea has to continue barking orders so everyone boards in a timely and safe manner. The woman and her grandson get in and take the window seats. He smiles and waves at Hydrangea, so she waves back. It’s a madhouse, but the job gets done. Those who need a seatback to survive the high g-forces get on first, and then physically stronger people get on afterwards, filling in the aisles and other gaps. There’s nothing for them to hold onto, because standing just isn’t done. Even in a non-emergency situation, they move the trains fast enough to make seating overwhelmingly more practical. A few people do not understand this, which is a good note for her to remember for the next batch. Some people would be steadfast enough if they did have stanchions or straps, but not just free-handing it like this. There’s some confusion when it turns out a few people actually do need to sit down, but they manage to get settled. Her compatriots outside the platform have been doing a good job of counting, but this time, a few dozen people are left behind when the pods get full. They will have to wait for the next trip, which actually could be a while, because she thinks they will have to wait for empty pods to return from the pole.

Just before the pods can launch, the alarm goes off. Hydrangea looks over at the status board. “Brace yourselves!” she orders the remainders. “Another tremor!” The ground begins to shake, and it’s a big one this time. Of course, she can stand fast herself, but even that will only take her so far. She finds herself holding onto the wall as the dust and dirt are caked onto her skin and clothes. Others lie all the way down on the floor. The train speeds off. “No!” she shouts. Why would the AI do that? They should not be moving during a tremor, if they can help it, especially not if they still have to begin an acceleration phase. Nine times out of ten, it would be fine, but this is evidently that tenth proverbial time. The tube buckles and warps, and then full-on implodes. Even though the pods would have made it at least thirty meters by then, there’s no way they survived that. The tremor stops. Hydrangea stands up straight again and hyperventilates as she stares at the horror before her.

The angry horde of left behinders are screaming unintelligibly at her. She can’t tell what any one of them is saying, but she sure knows what they mean. She took responsibility for this...for them. She has to answer for the tragedy. But she can’t. She can’t deal with this. She takes out her pistol, and uses it to escape into space.

Microstory 2605: The Vanguard of Equilibrium, Their Eyes Opened

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3.1

August 19, 2526. The crew of the Proxima Vanguard are sitting in the communal area of the station, quietly doing their own things. There are only three of them here, because three is all you need. Actually, you don’t even need that. Automation can technically handle everything, but the reason they don’t do that is because then what’s the point of humans? It just seems irrational that they should have this stablecraft at the L1 point between Proxima Centauri and Proxima Doma, and not put a few people on it. They don’t have to do much, though, which is why it’s not a bustling metropolis, like it is between Sol and Earth. They’re just here in case something goes wrong. And something is about to go wrong.

The Chamberlain is watching an ancient TV show called Dawson’s Creek. They’re allowed to do whatever they want, but only as long as the monitors and alarms are within sight, which means no holographic imagery, and definitely no immersive VR. Two-dimensional media is all they have available. That’s one reason why this isn’t a very coveted position. It’s so boring, and the ways of passing the time are limited. The Chamberlain is fine with it, though, as are the Engineer and the Sensate. At the moment, the Engineer is playing this outrageous game where you push a block back and forth across a table to make contact with a little cube. When the cube hits your block, it’s volleyed back to the other side, where another player—or, in this case, the computer—will attempt to hit it back. It’s about three meters wide, so it takes a lot of effort to reach the cube each time. It’s mostly for a workout, so even when you lose, you win. The Sensate is just reading, but watching the monitors simultaneously. She had surgery to decouple her eyes from each other, allowing them to view different things at the same time.

The sensors beep.

The Chamberlain perks up. “Another solar flare?”

“Yeah, it’s a pretty big one, though. Superflare.”

“We’re not really due for one of those yet,” the Engineer points out.

The Sensate sets her e-reader down and shrugs. “That’s why they call it variable. I’ll switch to vis so we can get a good look.”

The star appears on the big screen so all three can see quite easily. The Engineer lets the cube pass his block. The Chamberlain stands up and ignores the iconic window kiss on the show. They all three stare at the screen in shock. “That’s not a superflare, but a hyperflare” the Chamberlain points out.

“I know,” the Sensate replies. She scrambles to switch off all of the equipment. If they can go dark, they may—may—survive this.

“It’s a precursor,” the Chamberlain adds.

“I know! Dump the heat!” she orders the Engineer. She’s not his boss, but the chain of command doesn’t matter right now. This just has to get done.

The rest of their lives happen in slo-motion. The Sensate continues shutting off systems, fluttering back and forth along the console. She’s frustrated that it was designed this way. First of all, there’s no master shut-off, which is a big no-no by today’s standards. This is one of the very first structures built when humans began interstellar travel. It’s not just one of the first in this particular system, but ever. Proxima Centauri is the closest star to Sol, so Proxima Doma is naturally the oldest colony. They had not yet developed the protocols that the other colonies use now. They should have kept up with the times. They could have, but things were working okay in their daily lives that they just let it lie. There’s an AI, of course, but it’s not very smart. It was intentionally limited because back then, people were worried about the long-term risks of trusting an artificial intelligence with its own personality, and theoretical agency. In hindsight, that was stupid. One command, and this could all be done, but the buttons aren’t even in order in physical space. She’s not gonna make it.

The Engineer has run over to the engineering controls, where he starts purging everything they have. The waste heat, the fuel, the control rods. That’s right. They use nuclear fission here, even though fusion was invented a trillion years ago. There’s no answer for why they didn’t upgrade. It’s probably because this is working just fine, so they might as well use the fuel they already have. There was once a fourth crewmember, who asked why they didn’t just use solar power the whole time, but Proxima Centauri being a flare star works against them, because its luminosity is unreliable. Plus, the panels would have to be large and exposed. For a more stable star, that’s fine—you probably want some solar shades anyway, but here, they would be a liability. He didn’t last long at this post. He grew too bored, so they replaced him with a maintenance robot. He could have been of some use here, though. The engineer’s controls are in order, but they’re bigger, and he has to move a lot more. This is where his training with the mechanical pong comes in, though. That’s not why he played it, but it’s proving its value today. At least it didn’t hurt. It won’t matter.

The Chamberlain’s efforts are the most fruitless of all. He’s trying to make a call. He’s not asking for help or rescue. If they make it through the next thirty seconds, they’ll be able to get in their escape pods after that. But that’s not what they’re worried about. This flare—this...hyperflare—is not just a Carrington event. It’s not going to wipe out communications, and inconvenience the inhabitants for a few weeks. The readings are spiking, proverbially off the charts. They have never seen anything this big before, nor any flare move this fast. The colonists knew that the star was erratic and angry all the time, so they designed their infrastructure to account for it. But even the most unpredictable stellar object has its own level of predictability given large enough time scales. This was not in the predictions. They are not prepared for this. Because it is not just a hyperflare, but a precursor. It is an omen to something far worse. “Come in! Come in! Can anyone hear me? This is Proxima Vanguard, calling anyone who can hear me! We’re experiencing a major hyperflare! You need to prepare for what comes next! You need to prepare for a coronal ma—”

Microstory 2601: Renata Breaks Through Her Chrysalis and Emerges Anew

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3.1

Renata breaks through her chrysalis and emerges anew. She falls onto the floor, some gunk falling out with her. She’s not slimy, but she’s not entirely clean either. The light. The light is too much. “Turn it off. Please.”

“Lights to eleven percent,” Hrockas commands.

Quidel bends over, but stops. “Do you...do you want me to help, or not touch you, or...?”

“Help would be nice,” Renata agrees, holding her hand up so Quidel can take it, and lift her onto her feet.

While they’re doing that, Azad is opening a drawer, and pulling out a towel. He tosses it to her so she can start wiping off the pilly gunk.

“Mirror?” she requests.

“Mirror,” Hrockas echoes.

One of the wall panels transitions from an opaque white to something more reflective. Renata pivots over to it to get a better look at herself. She doesn’t look extremely unlike she did before, but she’s definitely in a new body. It’s weird, seeing this stranger move exactly as she does. It’s going to take some getting used to.

“I don’t understand,” Quidel admits.

“We realized that the emergent bomb—as I decided to call it,” Renata begins, “was a product of my body, not my mind. So they uploaded my consciousness to a central server, and sent a lifeless husk up into outer space where it could do no harm when it exploded.”

“I sent it up there,” Azad clarifies. “I teleported as far as I could, above the ecliptic plane.” Funny, he doesn’t seem like the type of brag.

“I appreciate it,” Renata says to him.

“No, I surmised that much,” Quidel says. “I just mean, what is this thing? It’s not an artificial gestation tank, nor an egg sac.”

“I didn’t have any DNA,” Renata goes on. “My substrate was bioprinted, which is only now becoming viable for more organic bodies. I decided that I didn’t need to look exactly as I did, but I also didn’t just want some randomly generated genetic base.”

“This is highly experimental technology,” Hrockas goes on for her. “Synthetic Production Dome has been working on it for decades. It’s a bit over my head, but it basically assembles an organic substrate based on a consciousness entity’s intentional but abstract desires. It takes your dream, and turns it into reality. It’s still DNA, but driven by intuition, rather than puzzle-piece gene splicing.”

“I agreed to be their guinea pig for the first prototype, and so far, it’s working out for me.” She drops her towel, and admires herself again. She tries to lift her breasts, but they don’t have far to go. Naturally perky this time. She didn’t even know she wanted that. She didn’t have to consciously think about every single trait. The special intelligence who was scanning her IDcode knew what she was looking for, and probably used some kind of algorithm to fill in any blanks.

“Well, we’re glad to have you back, soldier,” Lycander says to her with a tight nod.

Via the mirror, Renata notices Quidel frowning. “Qui? Are you disturbed by this?”

“No,” he assures her. “I just...I really liked the old you.”

“She can always return to her original likeness,” Hrockas promises. “While her synthetic variant neither had, nor needed, genes, we can recreate it using the usual cloning processes. Miss Granger, I’ll send you the file, so you can do whatever you want. You’re one of us now. You can wear a new body every week, if you like.”

“I probably won’t do that, but I don’t mind having the option.” She sees that Quidel still isn’t convinced. “You’re still disappointed?”

“I’m sorry. I know that it’s you, and you are you, whatever you look like. I just...people have a different way of looking at things. When they developed cloning and bioprinting technology, some chose to make themselves into entirely different beings. Animals belong to a not unpopular niche. But I...I just always wanna look like me. I’m not religious about it, but I feel more attached to my identity than how others feel. I know, I’m projecting my sentiment onto you—”

She shut him up with a passionate kiss. It feels totally natural to her, naked amongst these three men, and kissing one of them. It shouldn’t. Her implanted memories are telling her that this is too private a moment. She should be dressed, and the two of them should be alone. But she doesn’t think things are like that anymore. The hang-ups that she was programmed to have are outdated, and likely bizarre to those living out there in the real world. This is fine. It’s fine. No one else seems uncomfortable. She lets go.

Quidel catches his breath. “Yeah, I guess I could get used to it.”

She smiles. “All right, show’s over. I need a shower, and some new clothes.”

“Shower, clothes,” Hrockas commanded.

What she thought was only a column rotates open, revealing a shower. Meanwhile, a wardrobe materializes from the wall, and opens automatically, giving her some options. It will take her some time to choose the right outfit to wear to her debut. She doesn’t know what she looks good in anymore. She doesn’t even know what her best colors are. She starts heading for the shower, and the men start heading for the door. Renata places a cheek against her shoulder and says, “wait.” She takes a beat before twisting her hip to look Quidel in the eye. “You look like you could use a shower too.”

He smiles warmly. “Maybe we wait on that.” Such a good guy.

“Maybe I’ve been waiting long enough.” She turns back around, and continues towards the shower. “Your call.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 25, 2538

« < » > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3.1

When the away team appeared on the Extremus scout ship, Mateo revealed that he had a new plan, but that he didn’t want to put Ramses out. It would require him to do extra work. The thing was, the people of Extremus knew where they had gone. They had a record of it. This system looked just as good as any, but Linwood wanted to be alone and hidden, which he could not find here. It could only be found somewhere else, say maybe 707 light years away? Both Ramses and Romana agreed that it was a good idea. As the Actilitca had explained, this scout ship didn’t have a reframe engine, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be retrofitted with one. In fact, as Ramses inspected it, he discovered that it was specifically designed for one; it had just never been built and installed. So they had kept most of the old design, but had deliberately excluded the most valuable component. It was none of their business, what had caused the Extremusians to do this. It just needed to be corrected. Temporarily.

Ramses engaged his forge core, and programmed the scout to begin its journey while they were out of the timestream for a year. Because of all the build time, it had only managed to traverse about 300 light years, but that should be enough. That was a greater distance than the current radius of the interstellar colonization bubble. He would be off of everyone’s radar, all the way out here, and safe. And if he wanted to pack up, and move out even farther, that could help too. Once the scout arrived at the brand new isolated system, it completed constructing his rotating habitat, and waited for the team to return.

“All righty, then. Are we ready to wake him up?” Mateo asked, bending down to unlock the stasis pod.

“Oh, hold on.” Romana changed her emergent nanites back into the sexy red dress from before, and sat cross-legged on the scout ship’s command console. “Okay, I’m ready,” she said once she had generated her holographic microphone.

Mateo stood back up. “Why do you have to be so sexual around me? I know that you’re an adult now, but do you have to be so...ugh!” he couldn’t think of the word.

“It’s not sexual. I’m a lounge singer,” she defended.

“Lounge singers are sexy! That’s their whole thing!”

“Funny, I thought their thing was singing.”

“Your neckline practically goes all the way down to your belly button!” Mateo complained.

“It’s an aesthetic,” she argued.

“We’re running out of  daylight, people,” Ramses jumped in. He took it upon himself to open the pod and let Linwood out.

Romana cleared her throat, and got back into position. “This next one’s for the lovers. Linwood, welcome to your new home. At laaaaast...!” She went on to sing part of the song before Mateo had had enough.

He threw up a holographic privacy partition in front of her, and focused on Linwood. He could do nothing for the sound, but she didn’t keep going much longer. “Your coin has been constructed. The rest of the habitat is underway, but it already has two escape pods, so you should be all set to move in. There’s a reason she called you a lover, though, and it’s not because you love spin gravity.” He held up his arm to gesture to the side. “We had something else created while you were asleep, which wasn’t technically essential.

Linwood’s companion drifted in from the back of the scout.

“My love!” he exclaimed. He leapt into her arms like the climax of a romcom. She held onto his waist and spun him around, and they kissed.

“Aww, old love,” Romana said, out from behind the partition, and back to wearing her normal clothes again.

“Your other models are still in storage,” Ramses told him. “You can rebuild them however you please.”

Linwood hopped back down to his own two feet, but continued to stare into his companion’s eyes, having missed her deeply. Finally, he broke his gaze, and looked over at Ramses. “Thank you.” He looked at the other two. “Thank you all.” He stepped closer to the viewscreen where his habitat was rotating inside of what may have been only a temporary comet. “I’m grateful to be here. Could you tell me, what year is it?”

“It’s 2538,” Mateo answered, stepping over to look at the view as well.

“That’s fast,” Linwood. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your fancy faster-than-light drive. I obviously don’t know anything anyway, but there’s no one else here! Just the way I like it.”

“Remember, you can’t change your mind,” Mateo warned him. It will take you 150,000 years to get back to civilization. By then, Project Stargate will have reached this far, so you might wanna head out into the void.”

“That might be the plan,” Linwood said, nodding. “I won’t be telling you that, though.”

“Of course,” Mateo replied. “This here region of space is yourn now.” He made sure to make eye contact. “Don’t abuse the gift.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Linwood promised.

Mateo took a breath. “You can keep the scout—”

“But I’m removing the artificial gravity,” Ramses warned.

“That’s fine, I don’t need that,” Linwood said. He bounced his knees. “Yeah, this is interesting, but I don’t care to keep it.”

They would have given him a tour of his new home, but it was designed exactly like the old one. It had a lazy river running along the entire circumference. Along it were his multiple sleeping spots, his little bamboo forest, his garden, and all the other ecological areas. It looked like a nice place to live, whether you were a hermit or not. There was more than enough for one person, even along with his staff. It was only this large for spin gravity to work without being nauseating. Linwood and his lover said their goodbyes, and then went over to start their new lives. Ramses got to work on uninstalling the transdimensional gravity generator, as well as the reframe engine.

“What are ya gonna do with it?” Romana asked. “We can’t take it with us. I assume it’s too heavy.”

“It’s too massive,” Ramses corrected. He was on his hands and knees, digging up the components. “But you’re right, we can’t carry it away. I’m gonna shoot it into the host star at reframe speeds. It’ll take about nine hours.” He was answering, but clearly still depressed about his apparent slingdrive shortcomings.

Romana seemed to pick up on this. “Ya know, the solution to your problem is the problem, right?”

“What? I don’t—what do you mean?”

“I mean, the problem is the solution to itself,” she tried to reframe it.

“Yeah, I’m not following.”

Romana smiled at him. “Linwood Meyers is currently living at the farthest extremes of the galaxy. He and his habitat are even farther out than the Extremus. If the rest of our team were to attempt to travel farther than this, your slingdrive would evidently just default them right here.”

“Yeah, true,” Ramses agreed. “That’s what happened with the Extremus itself. Very annoying, we had to come out here more slowly as a hack-job workaround.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “What if you were trying to find Linwood? You wouldn’t need to know where he was. You wouldn’t have to calculate anything. You would just overshoot it, and let the machine handle the navigation. So turn that into a strength. If your machine is mapping technological establishments on the backend...then find a way to generate that map on the frontend. It will tell you where everyone in the universe lives. Even hermits.” She paused for effect. “Even Spiral Station.”

His eyes widened. He jumped up to his feet. “Oh my God! Romana, you genius!” He pulled her into a hug, and shook her excitedly a little.

 Romana was excited too. She held onto the hug, but then leaned her head back to smile at him, after which she kissed him on the lips.

Ramses pulled away, not too quickly, as if disgusted, but not into it either.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized.

“It’s okay, it’s just...”

“I know.”

“I don’t really do that...”

“I know,” she repeated.

“With others.”

“Yes, I know. It was just a stupid thing. I’m a stupid, horny...stupid girl.”

“Romy,” Ramses said as she was walking away humiliated.

That was when Romana noticed that her father was there, appearing to have seen the whole thing. “I know. Too sexual. I don’t wanna hear it again.” She brushed past him, back out towards the common area.

“I’ll talk to her,” Mateo assured Ramses. “It’s not about you. Go ahead and strip the ship so we can get back to our family.” He went out to find his daughter. She was hyperventilating on the bridge, likely having a panic attack. “Ro.”

“I said I don’t wanna hear it.”

“I’m not gonna criticize you. I wanna help.”

“There’s nothing you can help with. I just need...” She trailed off, because she didn’t know what she needed. “I need to—I need to scream!” And so she did. She took a deep breath, and let it all out.

“Yeah!” Mateo encouraged. “There we go! That’s a good girl!”

Romana continued to scream until she ran out of breath, which was longer than a normal human would last, due to her increased lung capacity. She started to breathe heavily, but was no longer hyperventilating. “I really needed that. I don’t know why, but I did.”

“I have an idea why,” Mateo said to her. “But first, I need a hug too.”

She was crying on his shoulder, still not knowing why she was so upset.

They let go. “Leona, Olimpia, and I are married. Angela and Marie are sisters in a way that few in this universe probably understand, if anyone. Holly Blue and Weaver don’t spend much time together, so they probably don’t even get it. And Ramses? Ramses likes his team and his work, but he doesn’t need that kind of deep connection. You, on the other hand, feel very deeply. I’m not a psychologist, and I don’t know exactly what your life was like before we met, but you’ve been jumping through time longer than even I have. Your life has never had any permanence, which is why you have frequently volunteered to pause your pattern. You crave stability, and I can’t give you that. None of us can.”

“Are you saying that you want me to leave the team?”

“I absolutely don’t want you to do that, but that’s because I’m selfish. I don’t want you to grow up without me. It might take you thousands of years to be as old as I am now, but at least I would be there. I wasn’t before. I missed so much of your life, and while I believe it would be temporally unwise to go back in time to change that, I still kind of wish that I could. And I agonize over that, because unlike other people, I actually could find a way to change the past. Most people don’t have that kind of anxiety. All they can do is surrender to, and accept, their reality. But if you need to leave now, I don’t want you to stay because of me. Ramses is not your future husband, and unfortunately, if you stay with us, no one else is either. That’s why you’re so upset right now. Linwood Meyers is the most misanthropic loner I have ever met, but even he found someone to love, and he can’t live without her. Make that make sense.” He took a beat. “If you need to find your Leona-slash-Olimpia, I can’t stand in your way anymore. It’s hurting you too much, and that hurts me.”

Romana gazed up at him with a sort of eureka smile. She kept it on her face as she looked over at the viewscreen, showing Linwood’s coin rotating twice a minute in the middle distance inside this icy planetesimal. “Linwood’s love,” she said cryptically. She stuffed her forehead into her father’s chest and hugged him again. “I’ll be fine, dad. I know what I’m gonna do now.” She pulled away, and lightened up brightly. “I’m gonna figure this out. It’ll be gonna awesome!”

Mateo followed when she hopped back to the engineering section, where Ramses was still working. “Sorry for the mix-up, ol’ chap. You’re like a brother to me.” She patted him on the forehead.

“Romana, what’s going on? What did you figure out?” Mateo questioned.

“I’m goin’ out for a space-swim,” she said. “Let me know when it’s time to leave.” As her nanites were forming a vacuum suit from her feet up, she blew Ramses a mixed-signal kiss, and tipped backwards. Before she could land on the floor, she disappeared.

Even when they were ready to go later today, and she came back in, she refused to explain what her epiphany was. They would just have to wait and see.

« < » > Table of Contents

Microstory 2600: Quidel Teleports Into Lycander’s Office

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3.1

Quidel teleports into Lycander’s office. He must have somehow gathered momentum during transit, because he immediately falls into the guest chair, breaking one leg off of it completely, and leaving another holding on by a thread. “Sorry, I don’t know what happened.”

Lycander shakes his head. “You can’t jump to just anywhere you want. If you select an off-limits destination, it will reroute you to the nearest authorized space. This time, it was my office. I don’t know why you fell. You might just need to take up yoga to learn balance.”

“I was trying to go to a remote island in Polar Tropica. There wouldn’t have been anyone there to spot me.”

Lycander shakes his head at this. “The whole dome is a no-go zone. Take the train. You have an express pass now too.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. This is more fun,” Quidel contends. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Look, we’re in the inner circle now; the Executive Administrative Authority. Hrockas is trusting us to be smart, be responsible, and behave. He gave you that snazzy new body of yours, he can take it away. And the guy who gave the technology to him? Well, I imagine he can take it away too.”

“All right, I get it, I’ll be careful.” He looks down at the destruction he cause. “Hey, why is this made of wood?”

Lycander shrugs. “I like antiques.”

“Right. Well, I still want my beach getaway, so I guess I’m gonna go find a train. Ugh, it’s so tedious. I can’t believe I used to think the vactrain network was the fastest way to travel.”

“Hey, wait. I’m glad you’re here anyway,” Lycander says. “I have some news, which you may have already heard. After nine months of auditing and diagnostics, they’re reopening the Spydome Network. They’re restarting the story from the moment Renata shut it down. Anyone in-sim at the time will be able to go back and pick up right where they left off. If you don’t sign up by the end of the week, though, they’ll replace your character with an Exemplar. I think Demo’s gonna do it.”

Quidel clears his throat uncomfortably. “It’s like you said, we have real jobs now; we don’t play games.”

“I always had a real job,” Lycander reminds him.

“Does that mean you’re going back?”

“Not a chance.”

Quidel nods. “I suppose we’re on the same page then.”

“I suppose.”

Both of their devices beep at once. They look at them. “We’re in the same group chat too. What do you think Hrockas wants?”

Lycander stands, and starts to walk around the desk. “He was probably alerted to your illegal teleportation attempt.” He taps his wristband to Quidel’s watch to sync up. “Let’s go together so it doesn’t accidentally happen again.” He spirits them both away.

They land in Hrockas’ office. Another guy is there, who Quidel recognizes, but hasn’t spoken to yet. “Thank you for coming,” Hrockas says. “First off, let me officially introduce you both to Dominus Azad Petit of the Castlebourne Charter Contingency.”

Azad is sitting on the edge of Hrockas’ back counter. He clicks his tongue, and waves two fingers at them as a greeting, but doesn’t say anything.

“Dominus Petit will lead one regiment of soldiers to war, should it come to that. You’ll recall, I informed you of the outside threat that we face?”

“I remember it, yes,” Lycander confirms.

“Yeah,” Quidel replies at the same time.

“Yes, well, we’re having trouble with that,” Hrockas goes on. “The original plan was to run and hide, but not everyone agrees with that tactic, so we’re currently at a standstill. As a major proponent of the original plan, I have become a threat to that internal opposition. Dominus Petit has assigned himself as my personal bodyguard....” He gives Azad the side eye. “...despite the fact that we are all immortal.”

“It is not impossible to kill an immortal,” Azad argues.

“Whenever you’re in my presence, sir, you can count on me to protect your life as well, and your substrate,” Lycander promises, like he’s pledging his fealty to the king. Perhaps it’s just the spirit of the environment. This is, after all, Castledome.

“Uh, same here,” Quidel agrees.

Hrockas smiles and laughs. “That’s very kind of you, but that’s not where I was going with this. No, I was leading you down a path to the real topic of the day.” He gestures in the general direction of their wrists. “Please remove your devices, so your location can’t be tracked.

They do as they’re asked.

Azad stands up. “Needless to say, this area is top secret, as is what you’re about to see. I’m sure you won’t want to break confidence at any rate. Huddle up.” The other three lean over under his arms when he raises them up. He alone activates his teleporter, and brings them all along.

They land in a lab. A man who Quidel recognizes is working on some sort of sciency stuff on a table nearby. “Custodian Number One!” Quidel acknowledges. “I didn’t know I would ever see you again.”

“Likewise sir, but per your advice, I go by Telman now.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Telman.”

“Room Two, Telman,” Hrockas instructs.

“Certainly, sir.” Telman spins around, and approaches a door behind him. He uses his biometrics to unlock it, and let them in.

The room is dark and humid. Hrockas orders the lights to come on, and they do. They hear a sort of groan coming from the only object of note in here. It’s a...pod of some kind; translucent and shiny, hanging from the ceiling. It’s quite majestic. As Quidel moves side-to-side, the colors morph and shimmer. Hrockas approaches and knocks on it like it’s a door. “Miss Granger? Are you ready to come out?”

“Five more minutes,” a muffled voice complains.

“I got an alert. The chrysalis knows when it’s time,” Hrocaks says in a sing-songy voice. “And it’s time,” he adds.

She groans again.

“Your friends are here. They’re anxious to see you. They thought you were dead.”

Renata lets out a protracted low whine, and then punches through the membrane with a grunt.

Microstory 2573: Successful Panacea Test Subject

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

This is a happy story, so don’t worry about it. Unlike most of the test subjects that my former company used to see if the panacea could cure a host of diseases all at once, I was a part of the system the whole time. I’m one of the researchers, and I volunteered myself for the experiment, because I was finally one hundred percent confident in its effectiveness. I helped develop it, so I watched the predictive estimate numbers go up and up and up. That doesn’t mean they were low before. I mean, we weren’t testing on live specimens when the model only showed 10% confidence. By the time I strapped into the chair, we were at 96%. I all but demanded that we do it outside the presence of Mr. Tipton, but they wouldn’t allow it, and I get it. Science isn’t always careful, but people should be. I didn’t need him, though. They injected me with a number of pathogens, which immediately started trying to destroy me. Then they gave me the cure. It worked nearly instantaneously. I felt better, I could breathe again, and my energy was restored. I even felt better than I ever had before. I admit, part of the reason I asked to do it was because I also wanted the money. If the panacea fails, but the subject lives, they get the money. If it fails, and the subject dies, their family is given the money instead. That only happened once, but we obviously don’t like to talk about it. If the procedure succeeds, in addition to the cure itself, you also get three million dollars. I left the program after that, because, well...I had three million dollars, so I’m not sure how many tests they ran afterwards, but I’m guessing they spent a couple hundred million dollars on successes alone. We didn’t have many failures, though, because we were so cautious. I loved my job, but I could see the writing on the wall. It wasn’t going to last forever, so I might as well cash out, and set myself up to be successful in a world that might not have such a great economy anymore. I don’t know if the panacea is going to cause the collapse of civilization, but I know that I’ll be all right either way. I’m buying gold, I’m buying land, I’m buying food. I never thought of myself as a survivalist, but it would be pretty foolish not to. I just wish I could have snagged a few boxes of the prototype cure to keep for myself in case it all does hit the fan. Nah, that would have been too selfish anyway. I’m sure it will all be fine. Let us rejoice! The first lot of the cure ships out next week. Thank you, Landis Tipton, for everything you’ve done for us. You’re done now. You can rest. And hey, if you like underground bunkers and MREs, maybe look me up. You don’t need all those consorts any more.

Microstory 2571: Panacea Researcher

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

We’ve done it! We’ve figured it out. After years of grueling research and testing, we have created the ultimate medication. The most difficult part of the process was determining its efficacy on just about every disease out there. This required a ton of samples, and a ton of test subjects. People aren’t aware of this, because our subjects, and their respective medical professionals, each signed an ironclad non-disclosure agreement. This means that Mr. Tipton technically cured even more people than their numbers appear. Here’s what we could have done, and it would have been easier. We could have focused our research on curing one disease at a time, and waited only for approval for that one disease. Then we could have done it for the next. “The FDA today announced its approval for the P-1 drug to be used for testicular cancer. Patients eagerly await the next announcement after this” or some crap like that. It took us five years to finish this out, because we wanted approval for everything all at once. They’ve done studies in psychology, and determined that it’s far easier to wait for something when you’re in a group of others waiting for the same thing. The greatest extension of this is if everyone in the entire world is in the same boat with you. If you keep seeing people get their cure while you’re still waiting, you’re gonna be miserable, and we don’t want that. It would probably worsen your condition overall, as mental wellness has an effect on physical health. Plus, the logistics are easier.

We can package the drug as a true panacea (with some caveats, mostly dealing with conditions of state) without having to direct customers to a giant list of diseases to see if theirs is on it. Oh. It’s on it. We also didn’t want to make a different inhaler for every case. That would have been ridiculous. And yes, it is an inhaler. We kind of always knew that. It isn’t random, there are actually a number of reasons for it. Number one is that anyone can learn how to operate an inhaler with minimal training. Eye drops are about as simple, but people’s reflexes kick in, and they blink. An injection? You can forget about it. Either we trust customers to handle their own needles, or they have to go in to a facility. My boss really wanted something that we could send directly to the end users. Someone suggested a jet injector, but that’s an unjustifiable additional expense for something that you shouldn’t need all the time. The panacea cures whatever you have when you take it, and inoculates you for about a week afterwards. Some people at this company—who I respectfully leave unnamed—wanted the drug to be very limited by dose, and very temporary, so you would have to keep buying more, and more, and more. Fortunately, it doesn’t work like that. It’s pretty much impossible to create a dosage system. You need a certain amount of the particulates for it to be effective, but beyond that, it really doesn’t matter how much of it you take. That’s another reason why inhalers are great, because they’re imprecise, which is okay, unlike other drugs, which require very specific amounts. We can make huge batches of micronized agent, and divide them into our inhalers, without all this extra work of pressing it into tabs, or something. So yeah, it’s ready. We just need to mass produce it. You’re almost home. You’re welcome.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 19, 2532

« < » > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3.1

It wasn’t really accurate to say that the slingdrive explosion sent the space station to somewhere else in the universe. They were actually not in the universe at all anymore, and in fact may not have even really moved, in the three-dimensional sense. The totality of the cosmos include a seemingly infinite bulk of universes called branes, floating around, occasionally colliding with each other. The stuff that the bulk was made out of was known as bulk energy, but it went by other names. When bulk energy would leak into a brane, it essentially created a tiny new pocket of space, and this phenomenon was once known as dark energy, because scientists couldn’t explain why it was a thing. After settling into a more stable quantum state, it became known as your average, everyday vacuum energy. Each of these leaks caused the universe to expand, which stretched the brane out, which caused it to thin, which caused more leaks. That was why the universe was not only expanding, but why this expansion was accelerating. But if the outside of a brane was bulk energy, and the inside was vacuum energy, and these two things were virtually the same, what was the difference? What was the barrier? What was the membrane part of the brane? Well, it used to be called dark matter, but it was now known to be quintessence. As the fifth fundamental force, quintessence was repulsive, and served as the mirror image to the attractive force of gravity.

Quintessence was there to hold everything together. It didn’t like to touch anything else, but it liked to touch other quintessence. So it naturally formed clumps, like two raindrops sliding down a window, ultimately coalescing into a single, larger drop. This was why 3D space existed, because it was being contained. Without it, matter and energy would just be floating around that bulk as formless blobs at best, inherently at its own equilibrium, and having no reason to make anything of itself. You owe your entire existence to quintessence. But was still dangerous and unforgiving, and despite being so repulsive to baryonic matter, it wasn’t a one-dimensional sheet, but a massive clump with thickness. This was how the slingdrives worked, not by escaping the universe, and then returning to it, but by only piercing one layer of the membrane, and sliding alongside it to a new destination. And if it was possible to get into it, and get out later, it was possible to succeed at the first thing, but fail at the second. It was possible to get stuck. Team Matic, and a few opposing individuals, were stuck. To make matters worse, they weren’t all stuck together. To make matters even worse, they weren’t all stuck with friends.

They were alive, and had been for about a year, but divided, and communication was difficult. The space station was supposed to be a sphere, but it wasn’t like that anymore. It had become unraveled, as if God herself had come by with a grapefruit peeler, and spiraled it out to slurp it up like linguine. Lots of metaphors here, but when there was nothing to do, they came up with such things to occupy their time. When this happened, all pocket dimensions, and other temporal anomalies, burst apart. Reserve water flooded the chambers, dayfruit smoothie spilled out, and slingdrive components broke apart. Everyone had the basics, like carbon scrubbers, food synthesizers, and the power to run them, but they weren’t left with ways to retain their sanity. No inter-sector talking, and no teleportation. Not even their team empathy could penetrate the barrier.

Romana and Franka were alone together in one sector, having to figure out how to be civil with each other, if not sisters. Mateo and A.F. were in another sector, and it took everything they had not to tear each other apart. Marie was all right as she was with Dutch. They met Dutch years ago in another universe. They didn’t really know how he ended up here, but in order to survive, he ended up having to go into stasis with Romana during the period where half the team was in the Goldilocks Corridor, and the other half was on Castlebourne, which had been physically moved to another region of space. Truthfully, they had kind of forgotten about him, and just sort of left him there in his pod. He didn’t seem upset, because no time had passed for him, and he was a pretty easygoing guy. The sector with the most number of people contained Ramses, Angela, and Octavia. They weren’t hostile with one another, but it was rather awkward, and the two members of Team Matic had to learn to get along with this stranger whose alternate selves they didn’t even know very well. Leona and Miracle were trapped in the fifth sector, and that was weird too, but unlike with Mateo and A.F., they weren’t too worried about killing each other. Fittingly, Olimpia was alone again in the final sector. When was this girl gonna catch a break?

The spirals of the space station were not uniform, which meant that some of them were able to see each other some of the time. They didn’t understand why at first, but there were some theories floating around about passing suns, which they tried to share with each other during optimal times. While it didn’t feel like they were moving, they maybe were. It was dark the majority of the time, so the windows showed them absolutely nothing but the black. Periodically, however, light from some unknown source would bounce off of them, allowing them to peak into other sectors. They would leave messages for each other by gluing pieces of paper together into shapes, mostly letters. If they were lucky, they would happen to be there at the right time, and could use hand gestures to convey information. There was no quantum communication, nor even radio signals. These brief moments of connection were the only way for them to know that everyone was still alive and well enough, albeit depressed and pessimistic. The smarties worked through the problem, though they couldn’t do it together, so it was slow-going. They finally thought they had a solution, but it would take coordination.

“Do you have any idea what the hell you’re doing?” A.F. questioned.

Mateo sighed. “My wife was clear on how to do it. I wrote it down.”

“You’re the worst person to be responsible for this.”

“Yes, well, Ramses is in the cargo bay, and Leona is basically in a bathroom.” That was the worst part of all of this. The other sectors had the means to access the sewage lines, but not officially or...pleasantly. Leona and Miracle weren’t actually in a bathroom either, but the stasis chamber was equipped with better access.

“I’m saying that I should do it,” A.F. reasoned.

“I’m not trusting you with it, and I’m taller.”

“Oh, by, like, a centimeter.”

They had done something similar to this before. When trying to escape the kasma—from A.F. and his army—the quintessence was trying to crush them too, or let them crash into it. Olimpia used her magical Sangster Canopy to create extra space in front of them, cutting through the membrane until they were free, and in the greater bulk again. They would come to realize now that she was channeling bulk energy. It wasn’t easy back then, but even harder now. Olimpia’s window appeared visibly the least often, and she reported issues with her umbrella. As it turned out, it needed some power. She had to tap into the fuel cells of the station, which was not something she knew how to do right away. All these little studies, experiments, and instructions were why it had taken months to solidify the plan. It was now finally time to implement it.

Olimpia’s would be the toughest job, but Mateo’s was not voluntary either. Right now, a magnetic field was the only thing preventing the quintessence from crushing them into what Leona was calling proton soup, and that was keeping Mateo up at night. While the field was great, it was also what was trapping them in the membrane. What they needed was to make it spit them out, and that was a delicate and nuanced procedure that he didn’t know if he was prepared for. The field couldn’t simply be switched off. It had to be oscillated and directed, matching progress with Olimpia’s work at creating an opening for them, because there was no way to steer. They still couldn’t talk, so Leona and Ramses came up with a very tight schedule, and taught it to both of them beforehand. If they both started at the right time, and followed the plan correctly, they shouldn’t need to communicate.

He was standing on a ladder, staring at his watch, waiting for the right moment. There was a very small margin of error here. He could start adjusting the field generator a few seconds early, or a few seconds late, but no more than that. He was breathing deliberately now; in through his nose, out through his mouth. He noticed A.F. copying him, but didn’t say anything. Six, five, four, three, two, one, go. Mateo reached up, and tried to connect the wires together. A paralyzing sensation spread throughout his whole body, and sent him flying backwards, onto the hard surface of the floor, but not before slamming his head against the edge of the counter.

Meanwhile, Olimpia was having her own troubles. The blasted umbrella wouldn’t open. There wasn’t a problem with the mechanism, it was just that her hands were sweaty, and she was incredibly nervous. Oh, no. She was late. She was too late! No, she had to just start. If she didn’t get on it, there was no going back. They couldn’t just wait until the next communication window, and try to coordinate again at a later date. There was no way for Mateo to know that she had given up. And if he made his adjustments thinking that she was creating space when she wasn’t, they would all die. Proton soup, she didn’t like the sound of that. Open, open, OPEN! It opened. NOW!

Mateo opened his eyes. Well, he opened them as much as he could. His eyelids were heavy, and were his lashes clinging together like Velcro? His head hurt and felt sticky. He lifted his hand and reached for his neck. Some kind of fluid. Was it blood? Red. Yeah, it was blood. He could surely live, in this superadvanced substrate that Ramses has cloned for him. There was something else wrong, though. He was meant to be doing something. It felt very urgent and important. What was it? He shot up at his waist. “Magnets!”

“Yeah, buddy, I got it,” A.F. replied.

Mateo looked over to see A.F. on his ladder, his arms buried in the ceiling access panel. He didn’t look back over his shoulder, but kept his focus on the wires. If he wasn’t fulfilling the plan, what else would he have been doing? “Are you doing it? Are you doing it right?”

“Yes, I’m not an idiot,” A.F. replied, sighing with annoyance.

“I didn’t know you were paying attention to Leona’s messages.”

“Again, not an idiot. If there were nine other people here with us, I would have expected them to learn the procedure too.”

“Well...I appreciate it.”

“Do you think I wanna die any more than you? You think I wanna kill you so bad that I would sacrifice my own life to do it? I’m not crazy either. I doubt there’s an afterlife simulation relay module anywhere near here.”

“No, probably not.” Mateo massaged the back of his head, knowing that he was risking getting an infection from all the touching, but confident that his body would survive that too. He paused awkwardly. “So...is it going okay?”

“I’m doing what we were told to do, and we’re still alive. Maybe you can look through the windshield to make sure we don’t accidentally pass our turn?”

“I’ll get on it,” Mateo joked back. A.F. wasn’t such a bad guy when he wasn’t trying to kill all of them. They obviously called a truce because it was profoundly irrational for them to try to reenact Hell in the Pacific, but Mateo didn’t know how long that would last after they got out of this mess.

“Right,” A.F. replied quietly.

Mateo suddenly started to hear something. It was a crunching, crackling sound, but only in one ear. He stuck his finger in it, and tried to scratch out the noise. He looked at the tip, worried that blood was pooling in his ear cavity, but it seemed to be okay. It didn’t even quite sound like it was in there, but more behind it. Oh, the comms disc. It had been so long since he had been able to use it. He tried to regulate that instead, standing up, and wobbling around as he searched for a better signal. Voices began to emerge, and become clearer. “Hello?”

“Mateo?” Ramses asked.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“That’s my dad, everybody, he’s here too!” Romana said jovially. 

“Is that the whole roster?” Marie asked.

“Yeah, the whole station is out of the membrane. We’re in realspace now.”

“How is Olimpia?” Mateo asked.

“I’m fine,” Olimpia answered. “I’m still using my umbrella. I’m afraid to let go. I still can’t see anything.”

“A little extra vacuum energy never hurt anybody,” Leona promised. “Nonetheless, you can indeed let go. I assure you, we’re free.”

“Are we still a spiral?” Angela questioned.

“Nothing to be done about that,” Franka said. “My station is a spiral now.” When did she get her own comms disc? She responded too quickly to not have heard it herself.

“I can help you seal up the damaged sectors so the bulkheads open again,” Ramses offered.

“I’m sure I can figure it out on my own,” Franka said.

“So, uh...” A.F. began. “Since you’re talking to people, can I stop futzing with these power crystals?”

“Oh, sorry,” Mateo said, embarrassed. “Can confirm, we’re safe now.”

A.F. let go, and climbed back down the ladder. He took a breath, and stared at his enemy for a moment. Finally, he reached out with a friendly hand.

Mateo looked down at his own. “It’s a little bloody.”

A.F. chuckled. “I’ve been trying to get your blood on my hands for decades. This will have to be good enough, I guess. Let’s call it a draw.” He shook Mateo’s hand.

“I would love to not have to run from you anymore.”

“This doesn’t make us friends.”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Mateo agreed. He took a beat. “What happens now?”

“Now...I leave you in her hands.”

“Whose?”

“Proserpina’s. Good luck.” And with that, A.F. disappeared.

« < » > Table of Contents