Microstory 2313: Earth, January 1, 2025

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Dear Readers,

Let me tell you a story. Roughly ten years ago, the scientific community began to take seriously the hypothesis that a Planet 9 existed somewhere beyond the orbit of Neptune. For centuries prior to that, nonscientific theories popularized the dream of a Planet X, but these were largely based on speculation, and a poor understanding of the data. It was only recently that any evidence legitimately supported the idea of a solar model that proposed such a wild explanation for this missing mass. Ten years from now, advances in astronomical observation technology will prove that a celestial body of significant mass does indeed exist, and that it is currently orbiting the sun about 1200 astronomical units away from us. About 108 years later, fusion rockets will be efficient and powerful enough to deploy a manned mission to the newly discovered celestial body, which they had since named Vacuus. Probes had been sent prior to this, at higher velocities due to lighter equipment, and no concern for life support, but they were all lost. No one could tell why, but their hearts were full of wonder, and the right candidates volunteered for what many called a suicide mission. Eighteen years later, the ship arrived at its destination, and began to unravel the mysteries of this cold, distant world. One of the passengers was a young woman whose mother brought her along when she was a baby. Corinthia Sloane always felt that something was missing in her life, and everything fell into place when she learned what everyone she had ever known had been keeping from her this whole time. She had a twin brother who she had never met. But the real problem was...she might never even have the chance now. The following letters comprise their initial correspondences, each one taking around a week to reach its destination, given the time lag imposed by vast interplanetary distances.

Yours fictionally,

Nick Fisherman III

Microstory 2311: Nice to Be Back

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Hello readers, this is Jasmine again. I asked Nick if I could write another guest post for his blog. This was obviously before he died, and it never ended up happening. I was having tea with Kelly this weekend, though, and mentioned it, so she asked me to finally follow through with it. I was gonna say a whole bunch of stuff back then that’s no longer relevant nor appropriate, but it’s nice to be back here. This website feels like home. When I was his assistant, I helped a lot with managing it, and making it look better than it did before. I rearranged some of the auxiliary elements, and reformatted some old posts. He had to use a number of different word processors over time when his life was all about staying in motion, so things were just a little messy in the beginning, but he had always wanted everything to be more consistent. Anyway, I’m still working at the jail, and things are going very well. He did a great job formulating this team, so if anyone asks whether he made a positive impact on the world, there can be no doubt. I’ve run into a surprising number of people who assumed the whole project fell apart when he was forced to leave, but that’s not how he set it up. Nothing was ever balanced on the shoulders of one person, not even him. We’re still working our butts off. We hope to see real changes in the system by the end of next year. For those of you who watched the memorials, I was present at both. I even spoke at both, so now you know what I look and sound like. It was my honor to relate my experiences with such a great friend. I’ll never forget what it was like to meet him and know him. I appreciate that he’s being kept alive, not only through the work he did, but through this site, and all of his friends, followers, and fans. It’s sad, but it’s sweet too. I’ll miss him, but at least I knew him at all. Thanks.

Extremus: Year 94

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Much of the way that Extremusians do things was adopted from Earthan convention. After all, they’re all descended from Earthans, albeit after thousands of years developing a divergent culture. Ansutahans never forgot who they were, or where they came from. Living on a world with monsters, their traditions were all the tools they had to hold on to their humanity. Many things were lost, but they were surprisingly good at continuity. One thing that changed over time was the education system. Scholars are still trying to find an explanation for the shift, but there seems to be no reason for it. For better or worse, nothing about their situation on the Maramon homeworld would suggest that the original system of preschool, elementary school, middle school, high school, then college couldn’t have worked. They still don’t know why it happened, but it makes sense to their descendants today, so they keep doing it. They are not too dissimilar, but there are some differences.

For the first three years of a child’s life, they receive no formal education, and experience something called rudimentary care. This is where they learn the absolute most basic of skills of eating, drinking, peeing, pooping, crawling, standing, and walking. Guardians are expected to teach them this stuff. An optional two-year preliminary school plan comes after that, where kids learn to socialize with each other, and maybe some initial studies of colors, shapes, and even numbers and letters. Primary school begins at age five, and goes for five years. Then it’s four years of secondary school, three years of tertiary school, and two years of college. This is followed by a one year licensure program, and six months of apprenticeship, though that all depends on what field the student has chosen. Some choose to seek even higher degrees in law, medicine, education, or field expertise.

The main difference is that, unlike Earthan systems, Extremusians don’t spend their entire childhoods all learning the same things. Not everyone is expected to know everything. The entire point of dividing the timeline into these distinct blocks is to gradually narrow a student’s focus into what they should be doing with their lives. They start general, and move towards the specific, little by little. Back on Earth, college is a four-year program where some fully grown adults don’t even know what they want to do with their lives until halfway through. Extremusians are typically shocked to hear this, if not horrified, as they will have known their own strengths for years by that age. It’s meant to happen in tertiary school, which is also referred to as general specialization. The last year of secondary school is wildly important, because it’s when kids take a whole bunch of tests to determine which program they’ll transition into next year. To qualify for anything in particular, a child must show both interest and aptitude; not only one, or the other. Everyone is good at something. That’s the assumption, anyway.

While little Silveon only started primary school this year—which is where everyone is still at about the same place—much older Waldemar Kristiansen is nearing the end of his secondary school era. He should be finding his purpose by now, but there’s a problem. For the last few years, his mother’s ability to parent has only lessened. Tinaya, Arqut, and Niobe blame themselves a bit for this by enabling her incompetence each time they step up to take care of things. On official school records, Calla is the key contact for all of Waldemar’s needs, but the educators are aware that the Captain and her family have taken a significant personal interest in his needs, and will usually reach out to one of them instead. Today, it’s about his tests. He’s not doing well, and it’s throwing up a huge question mark about where his life is headed.

Tinaya tries to take a deep breath to center herself, but slips into an accidental yawn. She has the day off from her captainly duties, and the school knows this, which is why they’ve reached out. She never really gets a day off, even though her own child is an adult on a mental level, and only ever needs help reaching the high cupboards. “Can I see them?”

Ine Dittmarr works as the Placement Coordinator for the whole of secondary school. She taps on her tablet, and slides the data over to drop into Tinaya’s.

Harshad Narang is Waldemar’s Placement Advisor, and he’s here too. “I’ve been working quite closely with him for weeks, at the expense of my other students. We can’t figure it out.”

Tinaya stays silent as she’s looking over the results of Waldemar’s tests. “How rare is this?”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Ine replies.

“Neither have I,” Harshad agrees.

Tinaya shakes her head, shifting her gaze from one test to another, to another. “They’re the same. The exact same score on every test. How is that possible?”

“I don’t know how it could be,” Harshad replies. “Unless he cheated.”

“That’s impossible,” Ine argues. “My tests are perfect, and our security impenetrable. He did it on purpose.”

Tinaya looks up. “How could someone intelligent enough to match his own scores on completely unrelated tests that were administered across several months score so low on all of them?” She points. “This one here. This tests strategy and tactical improvisation. That’s the kind of thing that someone who could pull this off would be expected to excel at, but it’s just as low.”

“As I said,” Ine begins, “he did it on purpose. He’s messing with us.”

“I wouldn’t frame it like that,” Harshad reasons. “It’s a protest. That I’ve seen before. Kids intentionally fail tests to express their disapproval of the process, or reject their own destiny. It usually occurs when the student favors one subject, but struggles greatly with it, and outperforms in something totally different.”

Tinaya tosses her tablet on the desk, and leans back in her chair. “What are the next steps? Could you test him again?”

“We could, it’s not unprecedented,” Ine confirms. “That’s why we spend all year doing these, so kids can understand where they need improvement if they want to get into the right program. I just don’t think it’s going to help. There’s no reason to think he won’t just do it again. Perhaps next time he’ll get a hundred percent on everything, which would be just as unhelpful to determining placement. There’s one test that we’re not talking about, which the counselor gave him years ago, and has been unable to readminister periodically.”

“I wasn’t a part of that decision. His mother’s simultaneously depressed by it, and in denial.” What they’re talking about is the Antisocial Spectrum Assessment. He did very poorly on it, or very well, depending on how you look at it. He would have been diagnosed with Antisocial Personality Disorder had Calla allowed the assessment to be logged into the ship’s Mental Health Department, which would have triggered a counseling program to help him overcome his obstacles. That’s why he’s struggling so much. That’s why Silveon’s interventions have been paramount. Because it’s all he has. Once he comes of age, he’ll be able to seek his own therapeutic or neurological treatments, but he would have to want to do that, which is why it’s so important for guardians to catch it early, before they lose the legal power to help. “Give it to him again. We’ve been working on it. We’ve been helping him.”

Ine shakes her head. “Studies have suggested that no treatment for psychopathy has been significantly successful in helping patients correct their antisocial behavior.”

“We don’t call it psychopathy,” Tinaya says in a warning tone, “and I’m sure you know that. Besides, you’re wrong. Behavior has indeed been corrected, and that may be all we can hope for. It’s the improvement of the patient’s true thoughts and feelings—or lack thereof—that psychology hasn’t been able to crack.” She’s been reading up on this stuff so she can help her son help this boy. “Test. Him. Again. If he’s improved even a little, then it will tell us how to move forward with fixing the placement issue.”

“We don’t have the authority to administer a new ASA, and neither do you,” Harshad reminds her. “You would have to get Mrs. Kristiansen to sign off, and I’m not holding out hope that she’s changed either.”

Tinaya nods. “I’ll go talk to her right now. Don’t move.” She teleports away.

“What are you doing here?” Calla questions when Tinaya shows up unannounced.

Tinaya pulls up the consent form for a new ASA. “Sign this.”

“What is it?”

“Sign it.”

“I’m not going to sign something without knowing what it is.”

“Yes, you are. It’s for your son, so he can get the help that he needs.”

“Oh, this is that psycho-bullshit again? Yeah, no. I’m not putting him through that a second time. It will only make things worse.”

“If you don’t do this, he’s gonna end up in the fields.” This is an offensive remark that Tinaya should not have said. The ship doesn’t have fields, so this really just means that a person will end up with an absurdly low contribution score. They live with only the most essential amenities, like water and bland food. It’s one step up from hock. Yeah, they can technically leave their cabin, though only to walk the corridors, as they’re banned from pretty much everywhere those corridors lead.

“Take him.”

“What?”

“I’ll never sign that paper,” Calla goes on, “but I’ll sign one that says I lose all my parenting rights, and they go to you. Show me that one instead.”

“Mrs. Kristiansen, I’m an old woman. I can’t take custody of your child, even if I thought that’s what would be the best thing for him.”

“Then find someone who can. I’m sick of dealing with him. I’m sick of it being my responsibility. Give him a new parent, and you can do whatever the fuck you want.”

“You’re a horrible person. I can’t believe you’re saying this.”

Calla winces. “I think I’m kinda proving my own point here.”

“If you don’t have someone to live for, you’re going to drink yourself to death. You’re halfway there already.”

Calla takes a sip of her whatever. “Sounds like a me problem. Why do you care?”

“Your death will impact your child’s life whether you’re legally responsible for him, or not. He will not understand the nuances of custody. His heart won’t, at least.”

She chuckles. “Since when does that little shit have heart?”

“I will ask you to stop talking about your son like that.”

“And I will ask you to stop him being my son!” she shouts back.

Tinaya takes a breath before she loses it, and matches this woman’s energy. “He needs help. You can help him, not by teaching him your poor choices, but by teaching him how to avoid them.”

Calla finishes her drink. “Seems to me...I die...he’ll learn not to do that.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not always how it works. Some grow up to spite their parents, and some turn into them. Some find a way to end up doing both. The only way to show him right from wrong is to show him right. Showing him only wrong doesn’t help him understand which is which.”

“I’m wrong,” Calla decided, “and you’re right. Sounds like his bases are covered.”

“That’s not my job. My family and I have only stepped up because you refuse to do so yourself. But hope is not lost. He’s young, still impressionable, and you’re not dead yet! Do the right thing for once in your pathetic life.”

Calla pours herself another, and doesn’t say anything.

“I’ve let that slide, but I can get you arrested for drinking alcohol.”

“Then do it. What do you think happens to the kid then?”

“Has that been your plan your whole time, to get me to put you in hock, so he has to be placed with a new family?”

Calla shrugs her shoulders and eyebrows as she’s drinking.

Tinaya doesn’t know what she should do here. She could wait until Calla is more drunk, then trick her into signing. She could just forge her signature. No one would question the captain. She could do what Calla wants, and find Waldemar new guardians, or even become that for him. She would have to speak with Arqut, Niobe, and Silveon about that. But really, she needs to speak with Silveon regardless. That’s the best next step to take, as he will know what decision will lead to the best outcome. Without another word, she jumps away, and returns to the stateroom.

Perfect timing. Arqut is just bringing Silveon in after picking him up from primary school. “I thought you had that meeting with Waldo’s school.” He’s the only one who calls him that.

“I need to speak with the boss man.” Her eyes drift down to her child.

“Okay, I’ll go work on my memoirs,” Arqut says.

“You can be here, but I think he’s the one who will understand what to do here.”

Tinaya goes over the problem, with the tests and the test. She reminds them of how terrible of a mother Calla is, but also how irregular it is to separate a child from their blood relatives. Arqut then reminds her that alcohol is illegal, and that’s really the only reason she’s ever needed to call family services. That’s all well and good, but they really do need to hear the wisdom of the man from the future.

Silveon listens patiently until they have finished their thoughts. “Waldemar, like others with his condition, requires structure, and consistency. I’m afraid that removing him from the household now wouldn’t help, because it’s too big of a change. He’s learned some coping mechanisms, and making him live somewhere new will likely make him regress, so he’ll have to relearn everything. Again, I came back here too late. If we could have transitioned him while he was my age, it probably would have been okay. But now he’s stuck, and a bad situation is better than a loss of everything he’s ever known.”

“So, what do you suggest?” Tinaya asks.

Silveon waits a moment to respond. “Forge the damn signature. Get it done.”

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Microstory 2250: Consequences are Inevitable

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It’s Nick. I technically could have written my last blog post, but I wasn’t really feeling up to it, so I asked Kelly to fill in for me again. She’s kept you well up-to-date on everything that was happening with me. We don’t have all the details yet, but from what we gather, a rival of the man who was paying me for my index and bone marrow does not want the procedures to go ahead. Evidently, there’s this whole subsector of research that’s looking into longevity that a lot of people don’t know about. It’s kind of secretive, because progress is slow, so it doesn’t make the companies any money, which can make them skirt the rules sometimes. I was a victim of this hidden war. Everyone working in the field believes that I’m the biggest breakthrough anyone could have had, and the competitors are feeling jealous that he’s the one who got to me first. Well, it looks like my poisoner may have gotten their wish. I seem to have suffered permanent damage from the pesticides that I ingested, which will likely forever contaminate every system in my body. It won’t kill me anytime soon, since we caught it early, but however I die in however many years, it will almost certainly be a contributing factor, like smoking. That’s exactly why I don’t smoke, because the consequences are inevitable, if not apparent. There are some things that I can do to help the situation, like being as healthy as possible for the rest of my life, but there’s no cure, because there’s not really a disease. I suppose I would be all right if I did manage to get out of this universe, and into one that allowed my immortality to flourish. I told you a little while ago about there being a potential way to make that happen, but it would require the aid of other people, and that would require capital. I no longer have that if we’re not doing the surgeries. Don’t worry, the sort of down payment I received is mine to keep. He’s assured me that he won’t be asking for it back. And hey, it might still happen, I need to do more tests in the coming weeks to see if it’s worth it. We’ll just have to wait and see. In the meantime, it may be in my best interests to start looking for a regular job again.

Microstory 2249: Not Sure on the Motive

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I’m happy to report that Nick is doing well. They gave him some medicine, and performed some other treatments, and the poison is clearing his system. It evidently could have been a lot worse. If he didn’t have this website, we may not have been too worried about his symptoms, but the way that he was writing was just so unlike him. Plus, he’s at a particularly high risk, so the people who care about him are probably always on high alert for things like this. In other news, the authorities already know who poisoned him. They evidently confessed without much effort. We did not expect any answers this fast, but we’re grateful. Though, our gratitude is overwhelmed by our anger and disappointment. We’re still not sure on the motive; if there was some kind of financial gain to be had, or what? That’s usually the reason. They’ve not yet released any names. Others may be involved, so they don’t want to say too much. Once all suspects are apprehended—or it’s determined that there only is the one—they’ll release more information about it. So follow the FBI on socials, I guess, or watch the news.

Microstory 2191: Already Proud

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Have you ever seen a movie about making a movie, or maybe a play, or something. They have all these headshots on a table, and they’re shuffling them around, looking to cast the perfect actors for the parts. I’ve basically been doing that today, except not with headshots, because I don’t care what the people on my team look like. I’ve read through their résumés multiple times, and consulted the notes that I took during their interviews. It’s bittersweet for me to say that I have reached a conclusion on who we would like to extend offers to. The top candidates will be receiving calls over the course of the next week, once I receive higher level approvals. I don’t expect there to be any issue with any of the people I chose, but I do need to give it a little time, just in case. If you do not receive an offer by the end of the week, it’s possible that you still might. I don’t want to make anyone feel bad about being the runner-up, but that’s the way it works. Each position can only be filled by one person, and just because that person didn’t get there by being our first choice, doesn’t mean that they don’t deserve it. Plus, that’s not even necessarily the reason. We also could have experienced other delays, like technical issues, or legal questions, so even if you do receive a late offer, don’t think you know exactly why that was. I want to thank everyone who took the time to apply. The sheer amount of interest we received serves to reinforce the fact that what we’re trying to do here is the right thing, and that we will succeed in our mission. We’re going to make the judicial system better than it ever has been, and I’m already proud of that.

Starstruck: Phase Two (Part III)

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The year: 2283. After traveling at maximum reframe speeds for 33 years, they were at the new antistar. Like the first one, it was located in the intergalactic void, which was the safest place for it. If any particle from it encountered any particle of regular matter, they would annihilate each other. Fortunately, there is really no such thing as an antiphoton, or simply seeing the light emanating from an antistar would destroy you. They were orbiting at a safe distance, but keeping their EM shield up at all times for safety. They sacrificed less essential systems, like lighting and life support. Belahkay could survive by limiting himself to a small section of the ship, and he was posthuman enough to manage with less than an OG human. The other three didn’t need much at all.

Photons were not the only particles that came out of stars, and those would be quite dangerous. That was why the antistar was so lonesome. Any one that tried to form closer to other celestial bodies would end up being annihilated sooner or later. Being that the universe was created over fourteen billion years ago, the chances of an antistar surviving inside of a galaxy were low, and the probability would only decrease.

During the ride over here, all four of the crew stayed in VR stasis pretty much the whole time. This left their normal substrates in dormant, energy-saving mode—or in Belahkay’s case, metabolic suspension—but their minds active. They spent most of that time constructing new simulated worlds in a shared virtual environment. They could theoretically connect themselves to the quantum grid, and interact with other people in the galaxy, but they didn’t want to risk leading people to this region of the Milky Way. Yeah, anyone capable of traversing these vast distances in any reasonable amount of time would almost certainly be a part of the time traveler underground anyway, but there was no reason to put anyone in any unnecessary danger. The Exins had the ability to form portals between stars, like the one they used to maintain a connection between the original antistar, and Alpha Centaurus B, so that was another reason to leave everyone else out of the line of fire.

As far as the Exins themselves went, the crew tried to learn more about them, and how they came to be this far out from Earth, but they were not able to learn much. They tried to hack into their communications system, but there didn’t appear to be one. Surely their escort vessel has some way to maintain contact with the rest of their empire, but their means of accomplishing this was not readily apparent. That escort ship occasionally pinged the Iman Vellani to make sure that it was still on course, and of course, it always was. They made no attempt to escape, and that was partly due to the fact that none of them had seen an antistar before, and this may be the only opportunity to get up close and personal with one. One thing that their escorts did decide to tell them was that both of the two antistars they managed to locate were incredibly unstable. This could be for any number of reasons, ranging from the possibility that antimatter itself was inherently unstable in mass quantities, to just the fact that some stars were less stable than others. On cosmic timescales, a star dying out after a few millions years would certainly be something to write home about, but it could be quite common in the world of anti-celestials. There just wasn’t enough known about them.

“Yep. That is an antistar,” Mirage said admiringly. “I can’t believe I’m seeing one. She’s beautiful.”

Belahkay pointed to a blip on the screen. “What’s that over there?”

Sharice stepped forward, and zoomed in. “Holy shit, it’s a planet. It’s a gas giant.”

“That’s so unlikely,” Mirage noted. She looked through the data as well. “I think...I think it’s made of antimatter too.”

“An antiplanet,” Brooke mused. “In every sense of the word. You could send that hurtling through space, and completely annihilate any target you wanted.”

“By you,” Mirage figured, “you mean these Exins.”

“We should be quite worried about that,” Brooke confirmed. “They might be able to do it with the star itself anyway, but it’s so powerful, I think they probably want to keep it on hand for their regular needs. An antiplanet might seem like a tolerable sacrifice as a single projectile against a major enemy. It could decimate an interstellar-based civilization. How would you stop it once it was on its way?”

“What are we talking about here?” Sharice asked. “Are we going to destroy it?”

“We could throw it into the sun,” Belahkay suggested. “We would just be adding to their antimatter stockpile, not taking anything away. They appear to be more interested in staying hidden than picking a fight with outsiders. If we do this, and they argue, how might they explain why they’re so mad about it if not to use it as a weapon?”

“As Mirage has pointed out, they’re holding the cards,” Brooke began. “They may not feel obliged to explain why they wouldn’t want us to destroy the antiplanet, or they might go ahead and admit that they would like to keep it as a weapon, because they don’t think there’s anything we could do to stop them.”

“They’re wrong,” Mirage declared.

“We know that, but how could we convince them that we’re not just going to roll over and do whatever they want without making any decisions?” Brooke questioned.

Mirage nodded slightly as she was thinking about it. “Destroying the antiplanet. That will send the message that, just because they’ve demanded we do something for them, and that we’re actually going to do it, doesn’t mean we’ve lost all agency.” They spent much of their time during the last 33 years debating whether they would go through with this at all, and they settled on doing it, instead of running. Again, this might be a once in an eon opportunity, and while the Exins may have control over it now, that might not be so true in the future. Based on Mirage’s once-godlike knowledge of the future, other, far more powerful civilizations, would be stepping on stage relatively soon. The Exins were probably still nothing compared to the likes of the Fifth Division, and the Parallelers.

“The Iman Vellani is impressive,” Sharice admitted. “But I’ve been up and down its systems, and it can’t move a planet, let alone an antiplanet.”

“This isn’t something that’s going to be done tomorrow. While we’re constructing the containment rings, we’ll also construct a modified stellar engine, fitted with a forward-facing EM generator to push the planet.”

“Ah, it’s a test,” Belahkay realized.

“What? They’re just testing us?” Sharice asked him.

“No, moving the planet can be a test. It’s small, we can argue that it’s insignificant. We need to make sure that it’s both possible and feasible to engineer the rings, and one way we could do that would be to build this modified stellar engine first. So when they ask us why we’re doing it, that’s our excuse.”

“They already know that it works,” Mirage explained. “They devised the rings in the first place, for use around the first antistar.”

“We didn’t see that,” Belahkay contended. “They didn’t send us any data from the operation of the original rings. All we have to go on are the specifications for the rings themselves. Nothing about that proves that they actually function properly. I don’t think it’s too much to ask to let us test the technology out with a prototype first. It shouldn’t take up any extra time. Like you’ve said, this is all going to be automated. It’s not like we’re building it brick by brick. We’ll program some robots to build the rings, and others to build the prototype simultaneously.”

A call came in. It was Ex-10. “That’s enough gawking. Now that you know we’re telling the truth about the antistar, please proceed to the nearest regular star system for your raw materials, and begin processing immediately. You only have about a century to get it done.”

“We have a hundred and fifty years,” Mirage argued.

“That’s not what we agreed upon.”

“The time hasn’t started until now, upon reaching the star for initial inspection and observation,” Mirage insisted. “You’ll agree to this, or you’ll have nothing. We’re prepared to die on this hill, and we’ll take as many of you with us on our way down. Then you’ll have to build it yourselves. Sounds like a lot of work. You’ll still be over two hundred years ahead of schedule, so stop complaining, and let us do what we do.”

There was a long pause before Ex-10 replied. “Very well. Be finished by 2434. I tacked on an extra year as a sign of good faith.”

Mirage took a beat before responding too. “We appreciate that.”

“Sending you the coordinates to the nearest second star system. We recommend you cannibalize it for your self-replicating machines. We assume that’s how you’ll gather the reset of the raw materials for the rings. That’s how it was done the first time centuries ago.”

“I’m sure we’ll do something similar,” Mirage agreed, “but faster.”

“We look forward to it,” Ex-10 said before he hung up.

“All right!” Mirage clapped her hands together. “Do work, son.”

It took them about three weeks to get to the staging star system using the reframe engine. The yellow dwarf that was not unlike Sol was located on the outer edge of the Milky Way galaxy. It was here that they built more than two thousand nanofactory ships out of an orbiting asteroid field. Each of these ships had their own reframe engine, so they could go out to other nearby star systems. Some of them had to travel as far as fifteen light years, but that only took them around a week. Bringing all of the materials back was going to be the big chore here. The reframe engine was not something that could be scaled very well. It wasn’t constrained to a single size, but there was still a limit to it, and the mass of a terrestrial planet was well beyond that limit. Even so, each was only responsible for that one system, so the automators only had to build celestial thrusters for themselves. These were giant rockets that propelled the planets through space. While they couldn’t get back to the crew in only a week, they were able to accelerate to high relativistic speeds. The whole second phase of the project only took 50 years, which wasn’t too bad considering. This would leave them with 100 years.

Since the specifications for the rings were already done, this plan was decided upon over the 33 years that it took them to arrive in this region of space. Everything was correct, and ready to go. Those automators worked smoothly on their own, sending back periodic updates, and error reports. In the meantime, they learned that they needed something else. There was one component that could not be found around any old star. In fact, it was only on one planet. And that planet...was inhabited.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 4, 2425

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Mateo woke up in incredible pain. There was something jammed into his waist, and up his spine. He tried to reach back there to feel for it, but it was hard to contort his arms into the correct angle. He was face down in the dirt. While it was more difficult to breathe than it should be in this upgraded body, it balanced out to being about normal for a regular human. He shut his eyes and reached out to his team. He could feel them all, and thought they were pretty close by. He struggled to turn his head, and was able to see them lying next to him. Most of them were beginning to stir, and he could finally see what was wrong with them. There were huge weights upon all of them. No, two weights each; literal balls and chains. He should be able to sit up if he just pushed them off of his back. He had to roll them a few times to build momentum, but they came off. Now that he was free, he could start to recover, and rebuild his strength. The sun was coming up on whatever planet this was, so he could use that to refuel his energy.

The rest of the team was able to do the same, and as the sky grew brighter, they gained more information about where they were. It was a desert, with structures scattered about, including what looked like the entrance to a mine. People were gloomily walking towards it with gear. No one was paying the six of them any mind. After an hour, they were strong enough to stand. “How much do these weigh?” Mateo asked.

“Over 200 kilograms,” Leona answered, swinging one around by the chain, careful not to let it crash into her leg. “That’s equal to the mass of roughly three people.”

“Which means we can’t teleport them with us,” Angela noted. Unless there was something special about them, a teleporter could only transport two extra people with them. Some people couldn’t even take that many. It didn’t seem tied to strength, or even the weight of the travelers. It was just kind of a vague arbitrary limit. One could push themselves to carry just a little bit more, but not quite this much more. Whoever placed these belts on them knew what they were up against.

“Okay, but why can’t I just teleport out of the belt?” Olimpia asked.

“It’s fused to your spine,” said a stranger. He walked up to them coolly. “A crude solution, but it works, doesn’t it? We do not have the technology to suppress temporal powers here, so this was our best option.”

“The solution to what problem?” Leona questioned. She made a step towards him. She was strong enough to drag the weights behind her, but it wasn’t pleasant. “What do you have against us?”

The man rolled his eyes. “Ours is a caste-based society. The rich pay the poor to do their work, and if they can swing it, the poor force someone else to do it instead. Over the years, forced labor has gone away after a number of unfortunate slave uprisings. It’s not what you think, though. They weren’t elevated to higher castes. They had to be killed for their ingratitude, but that means there are no more slaves now. Well, there weren’t. Last year, you brought us thousands of able-bodied men and women to fill that void once more. Thank you so much for that. As I believe the Earthans say...no take-backs.”

“Hence the weights,” Leona said. “You know that if we can teleport, we can decimate your system, and free the slaves ourselves without any of them dying.”

He nodded. “We are well aware of who you are, Mrs. Matic. You have all been famous for millennia. As time travelers, you could have shown up at any point in our history, so every child is taught to fear you.”

“The children should not fear us,” Mateo pointed out. “Only the adults.”

“Quite,” the slavedriver agreed.

They were never able to get the chains off the entire day. It appeared that no one wanted anything to do with the team. They just left them to the elements the whole time. No one came by with food or water. They were seemingly trying to let them die without having to get any blood on their hands. They pretty much just sat there with nothing to keep them busy. There was one more hope, and they didn’t even have to work for it. Midnight hit, and the team jumped forward an Earthan year. They left the weights behind. They were bloody and hurt, but the injuries from having the weights ripped out of their bodies would heal. They could not necessarily say the same thing for the people what done this to them.

The Welriosians had to be slaves for yet another year while the team was gone again, but there was nothing they could do to undo that travesty. All they could do was fix it now. It was time to show these people how right they were to fear Team Matic. They approached a few passersby who weren’t dressed well, but also weren’t working, suggesting that they were the impoverished slaveowners that the man was talking about last year. They were all so fearful of helping, so they had to try a few people, but they finally learned where the head of the snake rested. They teleported up to what was literally an ivory tower. Well, it was white, anyway. The guards put up a fight, but they did not have firearms, and the team could always teleport away before their blades could get anywhere close to drawing blood.

The boss of this world was just called The Monarchy. “You have no right!”

“You have no right!” Leona shouted right back to him. “Let them go! Let them all go!” she demanded.

“This is how our system is built,” the Monarchy defended. “You came to our world. We didn’t ask you to do that, but we took you in. All of our slaves are well-housed and well-fed. Now, we understand that you six are special, which is why we have no plans on enslaving you as well, but I will not allow you to interfere with our way of life.”

She pursed her lips to consider their options. She looked over at another man. “Are you second in command?”

The other guy’s eyes darted towards the Monarchy.

“Don’t look at him. Look at me. Are you next in line?”

“I am.”

“I am ordering you to free the slaves.”

“I do not have such power,” he answered with a shake of his head.

“You will.” Leona took the Monarchy by the shoulders, and teleported away. She returned a few minutes later, soaking wet, and smelling of salt.

“What did you do with him?” the new Monarchy asked. “Did you drown him?”

“He’s alive...but he won’t be making any decisions from now on. “I suggest you do not make the same mistakes that he did. There’s plenty of room on that island. I can do this all day.”

Afraid, the new Monarchy breathed deeply. “It’s true, you could do whatever you please all day, but no longer than that. I am willing to free the slaves. I honestly don’t care who does the work, just as long as it gets done.”

“And I don’t care about how your society works. I’m not here to blow up your shit. If you let the Welriosians go, we won’t have a problem. We’ll leave, and you’ll be free to continue on from there.”

“But that’s just it,” the new Monarchy continued. “Perhaps you will one day be able to leave, but what about those Welriosians? I will not live forever. I could lose power tomorrow, and my successor could spend the next year undoing what you ordered me to do. Can you take 11,0000 people with you? I mean no disrespect, I’m just trying to explain the risks here.”

“How far spread out are you over this planet?” Leona asked him.

“Not far,” he replied. “There are a few hundred million of us on this continent.”

“What about on other continents?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir. We are all slaves here, who answer to a greater power. It is possible that there are others elsewhere of which we would not be cognizant. Our technology is deliberately suppressed.”

She almost felt bad for him. She turned to Ramses. “You’re better at lasting in orbit. I have trouble seeing while I’m up there. Would you please scout for us?”

“Sure, boss.” He teleported away just after Angela took him by the hand to go along with him.

Meanwhile, Leona tilted her chin, and the rest of the team could tell that she was doing math in her head. “It should only take us about an hour to ferry everyone to wherever they’re going. The only reason we didn’t do that during the evacuation of the bunkers is because there were so many nooks and crannies, and it was very cramped in some places. If we can organize the slaves into one wide open space, this should be easy.” She looked back at the new Monarchy. “You’ll need to do that for us as well.”

“It will take us longer to organize and gather all of them then it will be for you to transport them to wherever it is you decide, sir,” the new Monarchy explained.

“Then you better start now. We’ll give you 22 hours, but earlier would be in your best interests; believe you me.”

“Right away, sir.” They didn’t love that he was treating them with such high regard, because it was clearly because he feared them, but it had to be this way to get stuff done. They were fine playing the part of gods among ants.

Ramses and Angela returned a few minutes later to recruit help from Olimpia and Mateo. They had spotted a sufficiently-sized land mass, but they still needed to make sure that it was safe enough for the Welriosians to live on. Ramses happened to have an edibility testing device with him, so he taught Olimpia how to use it. Over the course of the next half a day, she tested as many fruits and roots as she could in the immediate area, but there would not be enough time for them to check everything available. They would leave it with the refugees so they could take care of it themselves while the team was unavailable. While Mateo and Angela were scouting the immediate area to make sure there weren’t any other dangers lurking, like dinosaurs or unstable ground, Ramses programmed a nanoexcavator to start building the Welriosians a place for them to live that was out of the elements. It was just going to be a really simple artificial cave, but it would take care of them until they could build their own shelters throughout the next year. They were going to take whatever supplies and other resources they needed from the natives too, and just hope that it would be enough.

All of this had to get done in a matter of hours, because Team Matic was going to disappear at the end of today. There was nothing they could do to stop that, but it didn’t look like anyone here had spaceships, or even airplanes, so the Welriosians should be safe...for now. Life wasn’t going to be easy, but it wasn’t easy where they were living before. The real danger came from out there. This planet here was being controlled and used by the empire that reigned over this region of the galaxy. Representatives could arrive at any time in their own ships, and who knows how they would react to this development? Perhaps they already knew, and someone was on their way. The new Monarchy claimed that no one in the Goldilocks Corridor had FTL capabilities, except for the prime world, which no one here had ever been alive to encounter. They were a mysterious super-ruling class which may or may not exist anymore. If Bronach Oaksent was the true master of all, though, his capital planet probably was still in power, but was perhaps, busy with other things.

The team was doing the best they could with what they had, and now that they were completely shipless themselves, that wasn’t a whole lot. They never stopped working, scouting the area, testing the food, building the infrastructure, and coordinating the emancipations. There was so much, and it was impossible to make sure they had everyone in the time allotted. Mayor Merrick was still alive, and in possession of a full town census, but the priority was getting as many people to the new continent as possible. If that didn’t amount to everyone, the rest were just going to have to wait. They weren’t actually gods. “That’s not good enough,” Merrick complained.

“I’m sorry, it’s the best we can do.”

“No, I’m not blaming you, but we can’t just go hide under a rock, and hope that we all made it. We can take a new census while we’re there, but then what? It will be another year until you can ferry the missing, if we can even find them in another day.”

“What else can we do?” Marie asked. She was in charge of the gathering on this end. “You don’t want us to transport you somewhere closer, do you?”

“No. I want you to get my people as far from here as possible.” Merrick paused. “But some of us should stay behind. The strongest fighters, and I will make sure that none of these people hid one of my own somewhere in a basement, or something.”

Marie shook her head. “Far be it for us to tell you how to lead your people, but I’m not sure if I would feel comfortable deciding who has to stay.”

“I’ll get enough volunteers,” Merrick assured her. “I won’t need to force anyone. Sheriff Kamiński!”

The crowd parted so a man could step forward. “Right here, sir!”

“Organize a posse for me. Make it clear that it’s voluntary. I need ten to stay here for a year until the teleporters return. We’ll be responsible for finding any stragglers.”

“You shouldn’t do it,” Sheriff Kamiński insisted. “You need to be there to lead everyone else. Someone has to run a count, and then relay that information to us, so know who’s missing.” Everyone seemed to agree with that, that Merrick should be on the other continent, and they vocalized as much. “I’ll lead the posse from here. We will need a way to communicate, though.”

“We can handle that,” Marie clarified. She tapped on her own communicator. “Rambo, I need two spare comm discs.”

“Coming right up.”

Once the logistics were cleared up, all six members of Team Matic started to teleport the Welriosians once again, two by two. Three hours later, midnight central hit, and they jumped to the future. They were glad that the sheriff’s posse stayed behind. Over a hundred people were not emancipated when they were meant to be. This included Maqsud’s baby mama, Lilac, who was now safe in a building that they had seized. It was now called Fort Welrios. Her son, Aristotle, however, was still missing.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 16, 2407

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Scorpius Station looked exactly like Phoenix Station. If they were not aware of their present relative position in space, they might not have known that it wasn’t the same. However, they still couldn’t be sure of that. With alternate realities, time travel, and just good old fashioned space travel in the mix, it was impossible to be certain that they weren’t just in the same place. The only thing missing was the extraction mirror. There were sixteen cloning pods here, though. Only eight of them were presently operational, but still closed. They opened them up one by one. Mateo, Leona, Ramses, Angela, Marie, and finally Olimpia. This made sense as that was what they were told would be here. The seventh one was a bit of a surprise. The artificial intelligence that ran Danica’s Constant occasionally appeared as an android capable of moving about freely, instead of being stuck in computer memory. This was what she looked like in feminine form, though obviously not a mech this time. Alt!Leona built her an organic substrate.

“Why did she do this?” Mateo asked. “I don’t mean that there couldn’t possibly be a reason. I’m not doubting the safety of transferring Constance’s consciousness to it, but I am doubting Alt!Leona’s particular motives.”

“I as well,” Leona agreed. “She may have some agenda behind it, or she may just consider a gift, believing that it is what we would want. I’m not sure that she’s not right. I’m really not.”

Angela nodded, and inspected the body. “It’s not our choice, though, is it? This was built for her, and she gets to decide if she wants to use it. That could end in disaster, but we still don’t have the right to put a stop to it.”

“I’m confused,” Olimpia said. “I thought the version of Constance who was with us was the good one.”

“Yeah,” Leona confirmed, “but they’re all capable of darkness. We’ve seen it.”

“This is true in the most comprehensive sense of the word all,” Olimpia reasoned. “Everyone is capable of darkness. Everyone is good, and bad, and we all make choices. I say we ask her what she wants.”

“She can hear us,” Ramses said. “She just hasn’t said anything yet.”

“I didn’t want to influence your decision,” Constance!Three explained. “The way I see it, it’s not my decision. Intellectually knowing that any given person can fall to the dark side is a lot different than experiencing someone who has been able to do both without being metaphysically impacted by the same events. That is, the bad Constances weren’t just me in the future, or the past. There but for the grace of circumstance went I. It could have been me.”

Leona smiled. “I trust you. You want the substrate, it’s yours.”

“Thank you.. I think I’d like to try it.”

“Hey, what about this one that won’t open? Constance, can you do it?”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” she answered. “My guess is that it is not for us to know.”

“Maybe it’s for him,” Olimpia offered, indicating Max. “Do you think he’s part of the team now?”

“I hope not,” Max said. “That’s not to say I dislike you people, but I have my own friends to get back to. I’m fine waiting a little, but I love them, and I don’t want to spend forever apart from them.”

“It’s locked,” Ramses reiterated. “I think Constance is right. Alt!Leona doesn’t want us to know. If it were for Max, we would see.”

“It could be someone else growing someone else in there, and the other Leona doesn’t know a thing about it. The airlock wasn’t locked. Anyone could access it. They just have to find this station first.”

“Then let’s get on with it,” Mateo decided, “and get out of here.”

“What are we gonna do with these things?” Marie gestured towards her own body, but she meant everyone’s.

“The cloning pods double as stasis chambers,” Constance told them. “I recommend you store them for future use.”

“Right again,” Leona said. “We’ve switched bodies before, and they’ve benefited others. They’ll do no good in the incinerator.”

Mateo nodded along with everyone, but did not agree with the sentiment. He could think of a way that their vacant bodies could cause harm if not incinerated. They were powerful, and could theoretically be used by nefarious agents for nefarious purposes. He chose not to say anything, though. He was outvoted and outranked.

The same model of consciousness transference device that they used in Phoenix Station was here too. Leona and Ramses operated the equipment for everyone, and then did the same for each other. In less than an hour, all six of the humans were in their new bodies, and the seventh member of their team was in her first body ever. The humans had a little trouble working their limbs and extremities, but adjusted quite well. Max was in charge of caring for them for the brief period of time that they needed it. Constance had the hardest time, because she had never experienced anything like it before, but she too figured it out. Once the growing pains were over, they all reported feeling rejuvenated, stronger, and just generally healthier. They supposedly had Alyssa’s ability to generate temporal illusions too, but so far hadn’t been able to make that happen. This was fine; it was a mandate from Alt!Leona, but they currently had no specific reason to feel the same way about it.

“Is this place gonna blow up like the last one?” Mateo asked.

“I don’t think so, but I am a little concerned about it since it would not be the first time. So let’s pack up our backup bodies, and head out.”

Ramses and Leona worked to carefully and correctly remove the pods from their places in the walls. Each person then teleported their own old substrate to the Dante, which Constance had commanded to leave the airlock, and temporarily keep station by the outpost. That way they could transform the back hatch into one of the six pocket dimensions that were programmed into the system. They could run on their own mobile power sources for a period of time, but they still wanted to find a way to hook them up to the Dante, which was powered by multiple sources, including antimatter, fusion, fission, solar collectors, fuel cells, temporal batteries, and an asymmetric temporal generator. There was also another power source that Leona couldn’t figure out. None of the design specifications explained what it was, and it appeared to be nonoperational at the moment.

Once everything was in its place, and everyone was back on board, they prepared to depart. “Okay.” Leona activated a holographic map “We’re about 400 light years from the stellar neighborhood. At maximum reframe, that will take the Dante about seven months to cross it. If we’re going to find someone to build you what you need, Max, you’ll have to wait another year. If you feel up to it, I could put you in stasis.”

“Seven months for 400 light years?” Max questioned. “I didn’t realize that we were so close. That should only take us about a quarter of an hour.”

They all looked at him funny. “What you’re talking about is a faster-than-light engine, and one that is faster than any I’ve ever heard of. The capital ship that this belongs to can’t even go that fast. The mothership can’t even. It’s closer to two days.”

“Hmm...” Max narrowed his eyes at Leona.

“Oh,” Ramses realized something. “Different universe, different rules. FTL travel must be easier where you’re from.”

“I guess so. Please tell me that you at least have access to a Nexus network.”

“We have Nexa,” Leona replied. “Network is a strong word. I know you’re itching to get back home with what you need. That’s why I suggested a stasis pod. It will be like no time has passed for you.”

“What? Oh, yeah. Stasis is fine. It’s just that I didn’t really realize until now how foreign this place is. But it’ll be okay. You jump forward in time, and I’ll do the same.”

“I’ll be going dormant as well,” Constance added. “But I left a copy of the dumbed down AI in the system, so Costas will always be there. He doesn’t have a personality, so he won’t grow bored and turn evil, but he’ll be able to awaken me if he runs into an issue that it can’t fix.”

“Costas is Costas, and Costas is on the AOC” Angela decided. “Let’s just call this other one Dante.”

“Very well.”

“You hear that, Dante? That’s your new name,” Leona told him.

“Understood,” he answered robotically.

“I’ll still run it while I’m here, but now I have my own form of autopilot. Why don’t other AIs have subpersonalities like this? It makes it so much easier. I might make another one whose only job is to calculate Pi.”

“Go for it,” Leona allowed, “as long as it doesn’t interfere with normal ship operations, or mission demands.”

To conserve energy, they lowered the speed to 99.9997% the speed of light, instead of the full 99.9999%. This wasn’t exactly necessary, as they were in no real risk of running out of power, but they might as well since they wouldn’t be able to do anything until the majority of the team returned to the timestream in a year. Plus, while the galaxy boasted virtually infinite reserves of the materials required to keep the ship running, 400 light years was still a good distance from civilization, so it was better to be efficient and safe than fast.

Everything was fine when the humans woke up on April 17, 2408. They were parked on a comet called C/2006 P1, which was about four and a half billion kilometers from Earth and rising. Max was awake as well, and sitting in the Dante proper with Constance. “What is it?” Leona asked. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s me,” Constance replied. “I’m going to be okay, but it’s just a shock.”

“What is a shock?” Mateo asked.

“I jumped,” Constance began. “It took me a long time to learn how to go dormant in this body. It’s more like a very deep state of meditation, which I was not used to. I used to be able to just turn off. As it turns out, it didn’t matter. Dante could not have asked for help during the interim year, because I wasn’t around. I’m one of you now.”

Leona sighed. “We should have...considered that as a possible consequence.”

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