Microstory 2499: Outer System

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This is it, baby! This is what we’ve been waiting for! This is why people are colonizing worlds outside of the Stellar Neighborhood. We still have rules, but you could never do what we’re doing. This is decidedly not a dome. It’s the furthest and farthest you can be from a dome while still being in the star system. When I was a kid, there were so many space operas, and regardless of their premise—no matter how peaceful the protagonists wanted to be—space fighting was always, always a thing. Then reality set in. The only way that our civilization was able to develop enough to build the kinds of ships that they use in science fiction is by working together. Well, perhaps the construction of them itself wouldn’t have been slowed down, but the scale of them, and the speed at which we have expanded into the galaxy...that would have been virtually impossible. We had to put our petty conflicts to the side, and move on as a united front. Almost zero ships these days are built with weapons. Eight-year-old me would not have believed it, but really, what the hell do you need a gun for? Everyone around you is a friend. Even Teagarden, which is literally the military capital of the neighborhood, doesn’t make all that many ships. They focus on research and development, and distribution and management of orbital defense systems. I’m not saying that I wish we were at war, but I did kind of hope that I would one day be in a space battle, fighting for justice, and protecting the innocent. Since then, I’ve been getting my kicks through VR, and that’s been great; you can do anything there. But now we have something real. It took years for them to establish a presence in the outer system, but we’re here now, and holy shit, is it fun. You choose your side, and fight in battles, and the best part about it is that you can’t die! Sure, you can blow up, or get shot, but you’ll just come back to life in the nearest respawn station. That is a big rule, by the way; don’t forget it. You are not allowed to damage a respawn station. Fortunately, because space battles are chaotic, and people make mistakes, these things have incredible defensive capabilities. If you even point your weapon towards one, that weapon will just seize up. You won’t get in trouble as long as there is no reason to suspect that you were doing it on purpose. Besides, those are really far away, mostly planetside, so I don’t want to worry you, or nothin’. As far as the fighting itself, I’ve never felt so alive. It’s so immersive, and the story is so believable. They basically came up with a new history, since humanity’s real history never led to any real space wars, and if they did, it would probably be distasteful to trivialize it here. That’s why it works, because unlike games centered on war in the past, we feel so distant from it, since people are no longer dying from genuine conflict. The best part about this scenario is that space is mind-bogglingly big, and even though I’m certain they’ll want to keep the activities in-system, there’s more than enough room to have multiple battles simultaneously, perhaps originating from entirely unrelated backstories. If you’ve ever wanted to fight in base reality without any real consequence—for you, or your opponents—here’s your chance. Don’t waste it. Which side will you choose?

Microstory 2460: Shmupdome

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This is a violent dome, which is why it has those restrictions where you’re not allowed to even step foot under the dome without a temporary substrate. You have some leeway when it comes to the characteristics of your body, but at any rate, your mind has to be able to be uploaded upon death. Even if you choose a body that is all but invincible, they make you take these precautions. I don’t know why I said all that. I guess I just know that some people ignore the prospectus info, and go straight to the reviews, so I want to do my part to make the rules clear. This is a shoot-em-up game, but in real life. There are different scenarios that you can play, and each has its own pros and cons. You might go in there totally unarmed in a sort of if I need a gun, I’ll take one situation. You might have weapons, but no ammunition. Hell, you could go in there with a bow and arrow if you find that an interesting challenge. There are limitations, but the guides will go over all that when you show up. Everyone gets a tap out button in case things get too intense. Some of the guns may look ancient, but they’re fully programmable. If someone in your area taps out, the system-controlled androids will freeze entirely, and everyone else’s gun will stop functioning. Even though you can’t really die permanently, you can allow yourself to feel pain, and you can’t turn that trait off at will. It may also just become overwhelming for someone, and they want it to stop. I didn’t actually see any issues, but I did hear some anecdotes, and I would like to take a second to urge you to respect other people’s needs. Everyone is unique, and you don’t know what others have been through. And it really doesn’t matter. If someone has to leave in the middle of the fight, just accept that, and don’t make them feel bad about themselves. This is supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to be fun for all involved, and if even one person is struggling to enjoy it, they should be able to get out of it without any ridicule or whispers. As I said, this is violent. And it’s something that you could never get away with on Earth, even though it has all the same quasi-immortality technology. Nearly all of the death that the human race and the vonearthans have experienced has happened on Earth. That’s just too much history. If you wanna know what it’s like to shoot your way out of a clothing factory, or a jungle, this is the place for you. I won’t list all the environments or scenarios that you can select, but obviously, if you’re done with one, you can choose another. If this is your thing, you’re not gonna get bored. Even if you exhaust all of the various locations, you won’t have done them all with the same weapons or vehicles, or at the same difficulty level, or with the same allies, or against the same opponents. Don’t come here if you don’t think you can take it, but if you do, and it turns out to be harder than you thought, don’t be afraid to tap out. That’s what the button is there for.

Microstory 2403: Mêléedome

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There are lots of domes dedicated to war, according to the literature. Name a major war from history, there’s probably a dome that recreates the conditions that you can participate in. Some are entirely fiction, and it’s more about the kinds of weapons it features, and the kind of restrictions they have in place. For instance, since humanity progressed beyond most need for war, we never really got space battles. Did anyone else notice that? Fiction is riddled with examples of space wars, and they just don’t happen in real life, even though we’re fully in space now. It’s good, I know, it’s good, but it would be kind of nice to be able to experience what it would have been like, especially free from all real consequences of such war, like death. Sorry, I’m digressing. Castlebourne is rumored to be preparing a fake space war, though it would be several AU from the planet, and as I said, they’re just rumors. Right now, I wanna talk about Mêléedome. I was immediately drawn to the concept. What’s the plan here? What is the structure? There is none. It’s a complete and total free-for-all. You go out there with whatever weapons you managed to get your hands on, and you fight whoever you want. Right now, most of the fighters are NPCs. I mean, with such a low visitor population at this point, it would be boring if they had to rely entirely on us. It can be a little awkward for some, intentionally harming others, even though they don’t feel pain, and you barely do. That’s what’s cool about it; it can hurt a little bit, if that’s what you select in the options. You can’t really die, of course—not for real, anyway—and the pain can’t be agonizing, and you can choose to switch it off in the middle of it, but it’s there. And you can die, in a certain way. How does this work? Well, when you first come to the planet in The Terminal, you’re given a primary substrate, but you can switch to other bodies later. In particular, you can control surrogates. It still feels like you’re there, but these are cheaper and meant to be temporary. You go out there and fight, and if you’re “killed” then your mind just jumps to a new body, and you respawn. It’s a lot of fun. So essentially, you can do whatever you want with no consequences. Even if you do kill another real life visitor, they’ll be fine. I can only speak to my personal experience, but if you’re a fan of chaos, confusion, and utter carnage, this is the dome for you.

The Sixth Key: Kick Rocks (Part II)

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Clavia helps Echo learn how to use his parents’ guns. They’re energy weapons, which means they’ll be able to fire indefinitely as long as he doesn’t fire too much, and they have a source of charge, like the sun. Something called radio waves would charge it too, but there aren’t any of those around here. He doesn’t become an expert marksman in only a few short hours, but at least he has the basics down. Point and shoot, that much was immediately apparent, but the safety and handling was a little less intuitive.

According to the sensors on board the shuttle, as fed into Echo’s new suit, a ship appeared out of nowhere, and began to orbit the planet. It scanned the surface in some way, but hasn’t done anything else since. Clavia taught him how to set up an alarm to wake him when anything changes, so he can go to bed, and get some rest. The next morning, he checks the sensors to find that the alarm hasn’t failed. The orbiting ship up there still isn’t doing anything. They’ve not fired any weapons at the tree, or come down in a shuttle of their own, or anything. What are they waiting for?

“My mind is clouded,” Clavia explains. “I cannot see detail. I can sense that people are walking around inside the vessel, but I can’t tell what they’re doing. Unfortunately, I need to focus my strength on other pursuits.”

“I understand.” He doesn’t, but she should do whatever she needs to. “Do you think they know that we’re here?”

“It depends on how sophisticated their sensors are, and on the nature of the planet we’re on. This appears to be a lush garden centered on a desert. If the rest of the world is just as barren, this will stick out like a sore thumb. But it may be one of many oases, in which case they would need to pick up on you as an individual. I also don’t know whether your suit and shuttle are sufficiently shielded, or what.”

Echo nods, and decides to go back to practicing. The great thing about guns like these is that he can shoot blanks as much as he wants while barely dipping into the power reserves. Indeed, while the sun is shining, solar power will keep it running even if he never stops squeezing the trigger for the duration of daylight hours. He’s not doing any damage, as he’s just sending beams of light towards the rocks and the flowers, but it gives him a good idea of what it will be like if he ever has to do it for real.

Either as a coincidence, or because the visitors detected his weapons fire, they finally send a landing party in a shuttle. They don’t land too close to the garden, which is respectful of them, or maybe it’s also a coincidence. Echo doesn’t walk over to greet them halfway. He just stands under the Clavia tree, holding one of the guns at what Clavia called high ready. The second one is leaning against the trunk. He has extra cartridges attached to his hips too, but it doesn’t look like he’ll be needing them. One of these things would be able to take out the entire crew of the shuttle. It appears to only be four people, though obviously there are more still up on the ship. Clavia doesn’t know what kind of weaponry they have, up there, or down here. The four who are walking towards them now don’t appear to be armed at all.

“Can they hear you, or is your voice in my head?” he mutters out of the corner of his mouth.

“They can hear me if I want them too, and not if I don’t.”

“Let me do the talking. They may not know that you can talk, and I would like to keep that as an advantage until we have no choice.”

“Agreed,” Clavia says.

“Hello, kind soldier,” the leader guy says once they’re within earshot of each other. He’s keeping a safe distance, showing a healthy fear of Echo’s gun. The other three strangers are scattered next to and behind him. “My name is Klavis Zakan Scrivenor. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to today?”

“Klavis?” Echo echoes.

“No relation,” Clavia replies simply.

“It’s my rank?” Zakan answers like it’s a question. “I command a single flotilla of ships...four to be exact.”

“What is your business here?” Echo asks.

Zakan is confused. “Um, do you have a name too?”

“Oh.” Echo feels like he’s just lost the upperhand, especially since he just said oh. He should have just been steadfast, and refused to answer. But now it’s too late, he has to just go ahead and respond appropriately. “Echo Cloudbearer.”

“Do you own this world, Echo Cloudbearer?”

“I do.” I mean, he might as well. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else to claim the title, and if making such a claim grants him the legal powers to protect this tree, then he’s comfortable making it.

“What is it called?”

This is where it gets tricky. His parents could never agree on a name for it. They kept coming up with new ideas before Echo was even born, but eventually narrowed it down to Supercloud or Echo. About half the time, they would joke that their son was named after the planet, and the other half, that the planet was named after their son. He never knew which was true, or if Supercloud was the superior choice anyway. “Echo”.

“Hm,” Zakan says. “I like it. We are representatives of the Temporal Energy Management Project of Relative Associated Logistics. Basically, we’re in charge of making sure that there’s enough temporal energy to go around, and that no one is abusing the power that they have, or exploiting the substructure of the universe to their own gain, or to the destruction of reality.”

“I don’t know what any of that means,” Echo admits.

“Well, we’re relative, because the power is not evenly distributed, which some people believe sounds unfair—though, it isn’t—and it’s associated, because every time someone is allotted power, it has an impact on everyone else. That’s why it needs to be managed. It’s—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, no, no, defining it isn’t going to help me understand it. It sounds like you just really wanted your acronym to spell out TEMPORAL.”

Zakan just clears his throat.

“Why are you here? I keep to myself. I don’t have any power.”

Zakan gestures to Clavia. “That tree behind you would seem to contradict your words.”

Echo decides to play dumb. “This is just a tree. It can’t contradict anything. It can’t even walk.”

Zakan smiles and sighs. He looks around the vast empty flatlands surrounding them. “We detected the energy spike that was prompted by some kind of temporal event right at this location. I don’t know if it teleported here, or if it was here all along, and suddenly absorbed a whole lot of power, but my guess is that you were around to see whatever it was. After all, you’re standing in front of it right now. You were up there when we showed up. You must think it’s meaningful too. If you thought you needed to protect your garden as a whole, you’d be standing right here.” He points to his feet where the grass of the garden gives way to the dirt of the desert.

Okay, maybe he needs to switch tactics. “Does it matter? If it’s here, it’s mine. And since this is all mine, so are you. So you four have two choices. You can fly back up to your little ship, and tell your captain to leave, or you can stay here and do my bidding. The atterberries are about ready to be harvested.”

“What did you say?”

“The atterberries,” Echo repeated. “Those pink things over there. You could pick them, or you could leave. You have no jurisdiction on this world, though. My word is law. My word is the only law.”

“What’s—what’s this stuff here?” He slid the sole of his shoe along a rock.

“That’s amanda moss. It’s not edible. I use it for...other things.” Wiping.

“And that?”

“It’s, uh, vearden hay. I use it as a ground cover. Why all the sudden interest in my garden? I thought you only cared about some tree.”

“Just curious.” Zakan steps forward. “What do you call this creature warming itself on this boulder?”

Echo can’t see from this far away, but he knows what the man’s talking about. “It’s probably a clemens newt.”

“One last thing, this one here?”

“A savi tree.”

Zakan exchanges a look with his people. “Which reality is your family from?”

“Um, this one?”

“No, I mean originally.”

“I have no clue where you’re going with this.”

“I don’t recognize that kind of gun. Do you?” he asks the woman standing at his flank.

She shakes her head quietly.

“My guess is Parallel or Fifth Division,” Zakan goes on cryptically, “but the main sequence had some nice stuff before they were copied here.”

“Can I help you?” Echo interrupts the internal conversation they’re having down there. He’s done playing nice. He wants them gone. He doesn’t want to have to hurt anyone to do it, but he will if they give him no choice.

“I’m afraid we can’t leave until we run our tests. We need to know what sort of impact this tree is having on the rest of the galaxy. It’s for the safety of everyone in the universe.”

Echo tenses up. “Get closer.”

Zakan himself doesn’t move, but his people reach their arms out to magically materialize their own guns. “We don’t need to get very close.”

“That’s enough!” It’s Clavia’s voice, but there’s something a little different about it. It sounds like it’s coming from a specific location, instead of just around him in general. Someone appears from behind the tree. It’s the dead woman who he buried here. She lives. It wasn’t just a magical seed, but it had something to do with who was holding it.

“Who are you?” Zakan asks.

“Who you seek, in humanoid form.”

Zakan holds his hand up by his shoulder. The other three lower their guns in response. Two of them make them disappear again, but his lieutenant keeps hers. “You are the tree.”

“We are,” she replies. “You may call us Clavia.”

“We’ll have to confirm that,” Zakan insists.

“Do that, and only that,” Clavia replies. “Do more, and you’ll regret it.”

Now Zakan lifts his other hand, and shakes it twice towards the hill. The now unarmed pair of visitors cross the boundary of the garden, and walk up to Clavia. She holds her own hand towards to stop Echo from reacting further when he tenses up again. The strangers begin to run their tests. They hover little devices over Clavia’s human body, and over the tree. They look at the little screens to interpret the readings, whatever they may be. Echo wouldn’t know the first thing about what they’re looking for, but Clavia seems calm, so he’s just gonna follow her lead.

One of the testers nods over at Zakan. “It’s her. She’s the tree.”

“Okay. Pack it up, kids. We’re leaving.”

“Wait,” Echo says. “Not that I’m complaining, but what just happened? What did you do? What did you discover? Why is it making you leave?”

“The source of the temporal energy is sentient,” Zakan begins to explain. “It’s natural and unregulated. As you said, we have no jurisdiction. It would be like me telling you that you’re not allowed to use that moss to wipe your ass. That’s someone else’s department.”

“Well...” Echo paused. “Thank you and goodbye.”

“You’ll be filing a report, though, won’t you?” Clavia guesses as most of the team is walking back towards their shuttle.

“I have no choice,” Zakan says apologetically.

“So the right department might show up too,” Echo calculates.

“Undoubtedly,” Zakan confirms. “She’s an interesting find.”

The shuttle takes off. About fifteen minutes later, the ship breaks orbit, and flies away into the black. Echo’s shuttle’s sensors stop picking any signals, and the world falls silent once more.

“You’re a person,” he points out.

“It’s complicated.”

Echo smiles. “I don’t have anything else going on. Tell me your story.”

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The Fifth Division: Mind of Rocks (Part III)

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Storm doesn’t waste any time as the shield protecting her garden begins to falter and fall apart. “Go to Pinesong,” she orders Briar. “Tell him to reinforce that thing as much as possible. He can draw his energy from the tree if he has to.”

“Do you have any weapons?” Ingrid asks after Briar disappears.

“Obviously not,” Storm answers. “This is meant to be a peaceful haven.

“Then I need to speak with the tree,” Ingrid urges.

Storm thinks about it, but only for a moment, because time is of the essence. If these hostile forces breach the gate, they could destroy this whole place without any resistance. The magical memory magnolia could be the only thing standing in their way. “Goswin, I need your help,” she whispers into her shoulder.

Goswin never appears. Ingrid and Killjlir simply find themselves swept away, and transported to the island where the tree stands. They expect the Tamerlane Pryce avatar to appear before them, but he seems to have other ideas. A rounded rectangular portal appears on the trunk. No one comes out and invites them in, but the implication is that that’s what they’re supposed to do. They exchange a look, hold their breaths, and walk over the threshold. The entrance zips up behind them. They’re standing in a circular room now, like a castle tower, though the walls are not made of stone, but wood. It’s shifting through translucency and transparency. They can still see the conflux waters on the outside, and the expansive garden beyond, as well as the trembling dimensional dome in the sky. The tree is big, but it’s not this big. They shouldn’t both be able to stand in here with so much room. This is either just a representation of what it would look like if they really were in the trunk like chipmunks, or they’ve actually been shrunk down into some kind of bizarre parallel dimension.

The Pryce avatar does not appear. Instead, it’s the Angry Fifth Divisioner.

“Do you always take the form of your enemies?” Ingrid asks.

“I take the form of anyone whose essence I have absorbed,” A.F.’s mouth answers. “I do not see this man as my enemy. I do not have enemies.”

“That’s certainly how they see you,” Ingrid argues.

“They cannot kill me,” he replies. “They can only harm my agents.”

“Does this not concern you? Are we...dispensable?”

The tree smiles. “Your bodies are.”

“So we die here, you absorb us, and we just become part of your transcendental oversoul; the wave returning to the ocean.”

“That’s a way you could look at it,” A.F. agrees.

“Hey,” Killjlir interrupts. “Are you going to help us stop this attack, or not?”

“What’s happening is precisely what must.”

“Stop speaking in riddles, and vague nonsense,” Ingrid insists. “Tell us what you want, tell us what they want. Tell us what the Garden Dimension custodians want, what Goswin and his buddies want, what your other human agents want, and what the other leaders of the Sixth Key want. Tell us everything.”

He smiles again, like a seasoned parent, knowing that their youngest will not understand until they’re older. He doesn’t seem annoyed, or frustrated by all the incessant questions. “It doesn’t matter what any of you want. It doesn’t even matter what I want? All that is is what is, and what’s right.”

Both Ingrid and Killjlir roll their eyes.

“You don’t want riddles?” he goes on. “Then let me be perfectly blunt. The garden will be destroyed. It’s the only way.”

“The only way to accomplish what?” Killjlir is just as annoyed at these piecemeal answers. As Ingrid is.

“The only way to save it.”

There’s a loud boom behind them. They look back to see the pocket dimensional dome collapse. At first, a hole forms at the zenith, then the glassy walls recede back towards the ground, uneven, and occasionally trying to go back up, like the bars of a music visualizer. Pinesong is likely still fighting back, but they all fall in the end. The sun shines down on the ground in all its glory.

“This is what you wanted?” Ingrid presses.

The A.F. avatar chuckles. He lifts one hand, and jiggles it to the left. The view outside changes. It’s back to normal. The dimensional barrier seems intact, though it’s so clear and uniform, it’s hard to make out, especially through the wood walls of this weird tree interior dimension. He jiggles his hand again, changing the scene to when the dome is gone, but the garden is mostly gone too. There are a few bushes in the immediate vicinity, but most of it is desert. “The early days.” He shifts the view again. The bushes are burned. Fires rage in the distance. The garden is being destroyed. Another shift, and the outside is a barren wasteland once more, but not because Storm and her people haven’t begun their work yet. Everything has been annihilated. The soot from the fire remains on the branches of the heartiest of plants here, amidst the ash.

“Past and future,” Ingrid decides.

More like possibilities,” A.F. corrects.

“So it can be stopped,” Killjlir determines.

“Of course it can. I’m saying that it shouldn’t. When you look out there, do you see death, or do you see life?”

“Death, obviously.”

“I would imagine,” A.F. says. “I see something different, though. I see potential. I see a new beginning.”

“Are you telling us that this is a prescription burn?” Killjlir questions. “They destroy the old, so that life can begin anew?”

“I’m saying that it’s a necessary evil. To protect the world, we destroy the garden.”

Ingrid shakes her head. “The world out there, in this parallel dimension? Onyx didn’t tell me what it’s like. It’s uncontrolled, though. It’s...unprotected. Random.”

The tree laughs again at the dumb children. “Is that the point of life? To be controlled?” He reaches up to swipe the scene away entirely, flinging the view across the lands—out of the pocket where the garden once stood—somewhere away from its borders. There is life here too, just like the garden, though it’s unstructured, as predicted. Leaves are left unraked; branches unpruned. It’s patchy and random, with brown grass in some spots, apparent volunteers breaking up the flow, and some plants that are just straight up dead. It’s natural, it’s wild, and it’s beautiful.

“This is a copy of Earth, isn’t it, but without buildings, or anything else manmade?” Ingrid asks as she’s looking down at the dirt below.

“This parallel dimension was stuck in the past, about 300 million years prior to the modern day,” the A.F. avatar begins to explain. “The land was combined into a supercontinent known as Pangea. The rest of it, ocean. Little moisture could reach the center of Pangea, leaving it as an arid desert. Only the coastal regions were lush with vegetation. We don’t know what this parallel dimension exists, it just does. The Gardeners specifically chose it so as not to interfere with the delicate ecosystem of a preexisting world. The center of this continent was nothing, just sand and dirt, and they thought that it was up for grabs for this reason. They built a pocket dimension right there, but pocket dimensions don’t have skies. Their atmospheres are artificial, and must be recycled. So they intentionally made the barrier thin, which gives it physical structure within the world around it. The sun can penetrate, as can the air. And so can seeds.” He gestures towards the vegetation outside the tree tower. “They didn’t even realize it, but they were seeding life all over the continent. Every plant that they planted is out here somewhere, surviving in its natural state. Except for the newest specimens, of course, who just haven’t had time to permeate the barrier.”

“So it’s not just a garden dimension anymore. It’s a garden planet,” Killjlir muses.

“It’s the way every world should be. In my honest opinion,” A.F. adds.

Ingrid shakes her head. “You propose that we let the garden be destroyed, because this is all out here anyway? Why wouldn’t our enemies just destroy it too? Set a larger fire, and let it encompass the supercontinent. Couldn’t be too hard.”

“They don’t know it’s here,” the tree claims.

“But they’re coming from the outside,” Ingrid reasons. “They’re on the border. They could easily just...turn around and look.”

“They’re not on the border,” he argues. “They just needed to collapse the barrier, so they could come from their own plane of existence.”

“Well, they’ll see it now,” Killjlir presumes. “Again, they’ll just turn around.”

“Not if they stay near the center. Their plan was to engulf us in flames, and let it spread to the center, but it is vital that they come to the conflux instead, so their view is obstructed. You must lure them to me, and make them set the fire at my feet. They’ll have no choice but to escape interdimensionally, and they will never see what the world truly looks like. That’s why I brought you.”

“Won’t you be destroyed?” Ingrid figures.

“Another necessary evil.” He sighs. “I’m a sentient tree with magical powers. I’ve lived many lifetimes, and seen all of time and space. I’m ready to go.”

“There’s gotta be a better way,” Killjlir hopes.

“If there were, I would see it,” A.F. contends.

Ingrid takes a deep breath. “Take us back to realtime, and realspace. You’ll need to be able to transport us upon request.”

“Done. Easy.” With a wave of his hands, the Memory Magnolia transports them back to the conflux.

They’re standing on the little island again, and they’re not alone. “Andrei. Where are Selma and Ayata?”

“They’re helping everyone escape into the tunnels,” Andrei replies. “Weaver and those other three don’t have their powers anymore, or perhaps just not right now. They have to get out manually, but once they’re safe, they plan to come back to protect the tree. Princess Honeypea says that it’s the most important lifeform out here.”

“No,” Ingrid counters. “We have to let them destroy the tree. Trust me, this is what it wants. Tell your partners to stay where they are, protecting the others. You and Killjlir will stand guard here. Put up a fight, so it doesn’t seem suspicious, but ultimately, let them through.”

“What are you gonna do?” Killjlir asks her.

“I’m bait,” Ingrid answers. “Take me to ‘em, tree guy.” She’s teleported to a tunnel entrance. Ayata is there, fighting off Tamerlane and his partners in hand-to-hand combat. It’s so pedestrian, fighting like this, instead of with powers, or at least guns, but they may be just as restricted as everyone else. “Get back to the tree!” she orders Ayata. “It’s the only thing that matters! As long as it’s standing, they can’t destroy anything!”

Ingrid would sure prefer a gun in this situation, but if the tree wants the garden destroyed, it better be destroyed. That means she can’t just kill all of her opponents right here. Presumably, if these humans don’t get the job done, this First Explorer entity will just find others to do its bidding. After Ayata disappears, Ingrid takes her place in the fight, fending off three attackers at once. They all appear to have impenetrable skin, but they’re untrained and unskilled. She would send them all into the ground if they weren’t superhumanly strong and tough. Still, she keeps going, because that’s what they’re expecting out of her. She can’t just roll over, even though the endgame sounds inevitable. Finally, they manage to punch and kick her enough times for her to reasonably fall to the ground herself, and let them run off.

“Get to the tree. I’ll finish this,” one of the women says. The other two nod, and teleport away. Well, two out of three ain’t bad. The ruse should hold.

Ingrid spits some of the blood out of her mouth as she’s kneeling in the dirt. She extends her hand. “Ingrid Alvarado.”

The enemy shakes her hand. “Iolanta Koval.” She then pulls Ingrid up to her feet. “You have some skill. Could you teach me?”

“You would have to not kill me first.”

“Good point.” Iolanta tilts her head. “I have finally figured out how to stop your little tree god from subverting my temporal suppressive powers. You ain’t goin’ nowhere anymore. You’re standing on your own grave.”

Ingrid takes a breath, and enjoys one final look at the beautiful garden around her. She could have been happy here. “It’s so gorgeous...not the worst place to die. So why are you trying to destroy it?”

She shrugs. “I have no strong feelings about it. This is just what the boss wants.”

“You always do what the boss says?”

“Someone has to lead, someone has to follow. It’s what keeps the trains running on time. Without the chain of command, it’s chaos.”

There’s an explosion a ways away, in the direction of the magnolia tree. The fire is already spreading out from it, and heading their way. They both regard it with different feelings. Iolanta is indifferent. Ingrid is saddened. “That doesn’t look like chaos to you?”

“Let’s call it a controlled burn,” Iolanta decides.

“Yes, let’s.” Hopefully the magnolia used the last of its power to send all of the humans standing there to a safe place, even Killjlir.

Even though they’re both totally exhausted, Iolanta isn’t finished. She takes a pea shooter out of her breast pocket, and points it at Ingrid’s head. She doesn’t get the chance to pull the trigger, though. A gunshot rings out from somewhere, and blood shoots out of her neck. She falls to the ground.

Selma is jogging the rest of the way up from the tunnel entrance, still holding her firearm at the ready. “We have to go.”

“No, I have to make sure that this is done,” Ingrid argues. She’s watching the fire in the distance. It’s coming closer as the flames begin to engulf everything that made this place so beautiful. Necessary evil or not, it’s a damn shame.

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The Fifth Division: Rockhead (Part II)

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The people who work in the Garden Dimension are not pleased to learn that Briar de Vries pushed the prisoner down a well, but they let it go when they realize that A.F. is no ordinary man. He’s in a posthuman body, reluctantly gifted to him by the infamous Team Matic. He’s not immortal, but he’s harder to hurt, and quicker to heal. The walls of the well are smooth and wet. It was designed with an ancient aesthetic, but constructed using modern techniques, so it hasn’t experienced any wear and tear. He’s not getting out of there unless he can leap tall buildings in a single bound, or fly on his own power. He’ll survive, but not for long. Briar hasn’t clarified what he thinks his endgame is, but they’re letting him do what he thinks is best, for now.

It’s the next day now, and everyone appears to be up to speed. Hogarth Pudeyonavic’s artificial universe, Fort Underhill predominately houses people who used to be dead. Now Ingrid realizes why they didn’t call it Fort Hogarth, or something. She may have built it, but it was Ellie Underhill who used her immense powers to resurrect 120 billion people from the afterlife virtual simulation they were in, into new substrates in base reality. She evidently did it all at once. The thing about this situation, though, is that there was no longer anywhere for them to go when they died. Their bodies are no more invincible than A.F.’s. Some of them had spent thousands of years in the simulation, having died on Earth in ancient times. To them, coming back to a physical plane of existence wasn’t really a gift, even though the servers they were being stored on were about to be shut down.

Hogarth came up with a solution. It is she who has the power to demolecularize her body, and respawn elsewhere. Someone—it’s unclear who; perhaps Hogarth herself—replicated this ability in everyone. Now they all respawn. It’s relatively rare, because they’re kind of living in a utopia, so it’s not like people are dropping like flies, but it’s a nice contingency. Visitors from Salmonverse can still die in most places in Fort Underhill, but they too are protected as long as they remain in the Crest Hotel, as a safety feature for diplomatic reasons.

Ingrid is looking down the wall at the prisoner. A.F. seems very calm. She can’t fully make out his face this far away, and in this poor lighting, but it kind of looks like contentment from here. She needs to get him out of there. She needs to talk with him herself. This well-centric moral lesson was a stupid idea. There’s a rope here, but it doesn’t feel like it’s sturdy enough to hold a person. It’s just meant to pull up water in a bucket. This unique jail was meant to be relatively self-sufficient. When you water some of the ground on the bottom of the thorny walls, nutrient-rich mushrooms grow in a matter of hours, reportedly providing all the nourishment a prisoner needs.

Killjlir Pike—who Ingrid is convinced made up their own name—walks in from the corridor. Ingrid heard them coming a mile away. As a seasoned warrior, Ingrid knows how to be stealthy. She wasn’t arbitrarily handed the job of running the entire offensive branch of her civilization’s military. She earned it. She earned it in her enemies’ blood, and her own. She sometimes can’t help but sneak up to people, even when surprise is not her intention. Killjlir is the polar opposite. They have no personal experience with war, nor bloodshed of any kind. They were indeed handed their role as leader of their people. The Andromeda Consortium is an incredibly bizarre and dysfunctional web of alliances that always opposed the Detachments, over which Ingrid presided in the Fifth Division parallel reality. These alliances are based on an incomprehensible mess of so-called hierarchies. Two factions can war with each other, and they can recruit allied factions into that, even if there’s a conflict of interest. Literally, one faction will fight this war on both sides. It doesn’t make any sense.

Killjlir’s official title is First Among Us. The Andromedans might be fighting each other every which way, but they all answer to Killjlir. The way the Consortium apparently sees it, the First World is superior to all others. But this doesn’t make sense either. Not only is the First World not the planet where humans originally lived, because that was in the Milky Way, but it’s not even the first planet that was settled in the Andromeda Galaxy. They discovered it something like three hundred years later. They don’t dispute this fact in their history, they just don’t see the problem with using the term. Only a First Worldian can become First Among Us, but that’s the only requirement. Ingrid believes that the successor is chosen due to their attractiveness, but she’s never heard anyone admit that. They don’t have to have any diplomatic experience, or leadership skills, or even basic intelligence. That’s what leads Ingrid to believe that it’s only about superficial qualities, but again, she doesn’t really know. All she knows is that Killjlir is an idiot, and they don’t get along. The sentient tree forced them both to represent the interests of the Fifth Division collaboratively, but it was clear from the beginning that Ingrid was going to have to do all the work.

“What are you doing?” Killjlir asks?

“Getting some water,” Ingrid lies.

“You’re gonna drink water from where there’s a person?”

“What’s it to ya?”

“I can help. Do you want me to help?”

“You don’t know what I may need help with,” Ingrid reasons.

“I bet I do.” They glide over to look down the well. “How’re ya doing down there?”

“Oh, I’m great!” A.F. responds. “How ‘bout you?”

“Hang in there! We’re gonna rescue you!”

“We are?” Ingrid questions.

Killjlir closes their eyes, and shakes their head to silently respond to Ingrid. “Hold your breath!” they call down to A.F. They take a little bottle from their oversized sleeve, pop the cork, and drop the whole thing down the wall.

In an instant, the water shoots up like a geyser. A.F. is sent flying into the ceiling, where he’s impaled on a couple dozen thorns, which hold him in place while the water settles back down. Ingrid is speechless as she sloughs the chemicals off of her body. It’s not just water, but some kind of hyperreactive polymer. She’s never seen it before. “What. The. Fuck!”

Killjlir tilts their head as they’re looking up at A.F. Blood begins dripping down on their faces, which Ingrid is too upset to block, and Killjlir seems curious about it, as if they’ve never seen blood before at all. “That was more powerful than I realized.”

“Was that your first kill?” Ingrid asks them.

“No,” A.F. ekes out from the ceiling. “She’s not killed me, I’m fine.” He groans and struggles to move, millimeter by millimeter, until pulling himself back off of enough thorns to let gravity take over. He falls down, smashing his face on the well between them before crash landing on the ground.

“Sorry,” Killjlir says, like their only crime was forgetting a friend’s middle name.

“You’re lucky he’s hard to kill,” Ingrid scolds. “We would have been screwed. And I need to talk to him.”

A.F. laughs as he’s still lying facedown on the dirt. “It’s too late.”

“I knew it,” Ingrid says angrily. “You wanted to be down that damn well. Or at least you didn’t care.”

He rolls himself over, revealing a bloody smile. “Did you really think we didn’t know about respawning? Do you really think that the First Explorer didn’t tell us everything? She’s omniscient!”

“She’s called the First Explorer?” Killjlir asks, with an air of seriousness that Ingrid has never seen in them before. “Tell me, is she called the First Explorer?”

He laughs again. “Yeah.”

Killjlir pulls a dagger out of their other sleeve. Their newfound stoicism has not subsided. They kneel by A.F., and unceremoniously drive the dagger into his neck, through his brain, and out the top of his head.

Ingrid doesn’t know whether she should be impressed, or horrified. Probably both. “Was...that your first kill?”

Killjlir hastily removes most of their elaborate dress, and tosses it down the well. They’re now wearing a sleek and stylish uniform. “Help me.” They bend back down, and lift A.F.’s dead body’s shoulders up.

Still shocked, but following her instincts, Ingrid reaches down and grabs the legs. Together, they bend him at the waist, and throw him back down the well, rear end first. “What are we doing here? What the hell is going on?”

Killjlir takes off their gemstone necklace, sets it down on the edge of the well, and hovers the water bucket over it. “Get ready to run. If you get cut by a thorn, don’t stop. Just keep going. I’ll heal you.” Without another word, they smash the gem with the bucket, and scrape it all down the well with everything else. There’s an immediate boom, and the ground trembles. The top stones begin to break apart, and crumble into the hole. Killjlir takes Ingrid by the arm, and ushers her out into the corridor. They then quickly let go, and run in front.

Ingrid does get cut as she’s racing down the tunnel behind a person she thought she knew well enough. They have seemingly been faking their entire personality this whole time? Is the same true for the rest of the Andromedans? Are they not as dumb as they come off? Is there a method to their madness that goes beyond anyone’s comprehension? They keep running until they get to the exit, not looking back, but knowing that the bower is collapsing behind them, and getting sucked into the well.

Once they’re free, Killjlir stops suddenly, spins around, and wraps their arms around Ingrid. The wood and thorns continue to be pulled away, as do some leaves, blades of grass, and other plants which happen to be nearby. It tries to pull them down with the debris, but Killjlir is steadfast, digging their heels into the ground more and more the stronger the implosive force becomes. When it’s all over, they’re standing in a barren patch about the size of the thorn barrow that once stood there.

“Can you tell me what happened now?” Ingrid requests as the dust settles.

“That’s what I would like to know.” Leader of this dimension, Storm Avakian is standing next to them, just removing her hand from Briar de Vries’ shoulder, who presumably teleported her here from wherever.

Before anyone else can speak, a thunderous roar screams down at them from the sky. The comfortable minimal sunshine that once blanketed these lands during the day brightens more than it ever has since Ingrid arrived. It’s blinding. The dimensional barrier that Onyx was talking about is flickering as bolts of lightning shoot along the surface. “We’re too late,” Killjlir says. They sigh and look at Storm. “Prepare for war.”

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The Fifth Division: Hitting Rock Bottom (Part I)

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When Ingrid Alvarado was living in the Fifth Division parallel reality, she managed to work her way up to the rank of Telamon. She was in command of the Offensive Contingency Detachment, leading an army against the opposing force from the Andromeda Galaxy. She was happy with where she was, as were all of her compatriots, though they had complicated relationships with each other. When Team Matic showed up, they didn’t like how the supercluster was being run, and to speak the truth, neither did anyone else, really. Ingrid was proud of the work that she was doing, but she didn’t want to kill her enemies. She didn’t like it. It just seemed so unavoidable, so when Captain Leona Matic tried to take over the entire alliance by force, she knew that she couldn’t surrender. While the others agreed to send champions to their deaths, sure that they would maintain their own power in the end, she held back. When the fight was over, and only one champion remained in the ring, they were shocked to find that that winner was Leona. They had all underestimated her—all but Ingrid.

Leona and her team were wildcards who appeared out of nowhere, and began to resist the establishment pretty much right away. You don’t get that kind of courage from inexperience and a lack of fortitude. Honestly, those guys were dicks, and Ingrid couldn’t help but be pleased with the results. Leona was now in control of the Fifth Division Detachment Alliance, and Ingrid was her number two. But not really. Leona was clearly a rolling stone, so it was only a matter of time before she reached her goals in this corner of the universe, and moved on. This did indeed happen, and Ingrid was placed in full command. With her newfound power, Ingrid signed treaties with the Andromeda Consortium, and the Denseterium, which gave her even more power. She ranked up to become a Superordinate. This novel title turned out to be more important than ever when the five realities collapsed, and every living being was sent to the Sixth Key. They were unexpectedly on the verge of fighting a new war, and The Supercluster was positioned to gain more power than ever, as was Ingrid herself.

The bittersweet truth, however, was that this isn’t what happened. A sentient tree had other ideas. They were forced to negotiate in the Rock Meetings. The sparks of conflict never ignited the flames of war, but Ingrid never managed to wrest control over a whole universe either. That certainly would have been nice to see written in the history books. Even so, what she realized was that she was kind of tired of it all. Leona secretly gave her the gift of virtual immortality, which also came with a side of an immense change of perspective. This shift in her worldview happened gradually as the realities collided, tensions rose, and the diplomatic discussions pressed forth. What was she doing with her life? Why was she so violent? Why did she care so much about control? She was about to give it all up when they were abducted yet again, and trapped on a prison world to prevent them from causing a temporal paradox. But she stuck to her guns, so to speak, and is now striving for a life of peace and harmony. She loves it here in the Garden Dimension. When that same sentient tree asked for volunteers to be “human agents” she shrunk into herself, hoping that no one would volunteer her. She isn’t the only member of the military here, but she’s the only one who has seen any real action. Bariq Medley is a General, but he’s only trained in the theoretical. He doesn’t know what real war is like. His reality was too progressive before he was even born.

Right now, Ingrid is sitting on a bush that somehow grew in the shape of a bench. It’s quite comfortable, actually. The moss that grows on it is very soft, and she was told that it excretes self-cleansing saponins, though she’s not entirely sure what that means. They didn’t really have plants where she lived before. She was aware of them on some planets, but the first time she saw plant life up close was after the transition to the Sixth Key. This will be her first sunset too. “If this is a pocket dimension, how is there a sun here?” she asks. “Is it only a simulation?”

She’s sitting with Onyx Wembley, who has the title of Botanical Orchestrator. He organizes all the plants, in their little sections, making sure that they don’t disturb each other, or compete for nutrients. “It’s not just a pocket dimension, but a parallel dimension as well. There’s a whole world out there. We’re housed in a very thin pocket only so that we can better control the environment. But you could go outside if you wanted; as in, outside outside. That’s why the sun looks kind of hazy. Those aren’t clouds, it’s the mostly transparent dimensional barrier between us and the sky.”

“I see. So that is the real Earthan sun.”

“More like a copy of it,” Onyx clarifies.

She nods, and continues to enjoy the orange and red colors filling the sky now like spilled paint. Magic hour is what they called it. Unfortunately, her joy does not last long. All of the sudden, there’s an explosion out of nowhere. A cloud of particles hovers in the air a few meters from them for a couple seconds before tightening up in the form of a person. She doesn’t know who it is, but as the two of them are standing there, afraid to approach the imploding man, another dust cloud appears farther away. It coalesces into Andrei Orlov. They watch in horror and confusion as more and more people appear out of thin air, scattered randomly about the grounds. She knows a few of them, but not everyone. They all collapse on the grass, and catch their breaths. The last two people are a man Ingrid knew to be from the Fifth Division, and then Selma Eriksen. Both of them are brandishing weapons, though neither is in a position to use it.

Ingrid takes the man’s rifle, and turns it on him. “What’s your name again?”

“That?” Selma asks, chuckling. “That’s Ammo Fucker.”

“Fuck you, bitch! You killed me!”

“You’re not dead yet,” Ingrid explains.

Ayata Seegers runs over from her own explosion site, and reaches down for Selma. “Are you okay? Is your back broken?”

“It was broken?” Ingrid questions.

“I think it was, yeah,” Selma says. She stands up, and hops around. “It’s not anymore, though. Dying cured me.”

“You can’t die in the Crest Hotel,” one of the women Ingrid recognizes says. What was her name? Elmie? “It’s a safety feature. If you are killed, you’ll respawn somewhere else.” She looks around at the Garden. “Though, not wherever we are now.”

“Well, we didn’t know that,” the angry Fifth Divisioner guy argues.

“Clearly,” Andrei fires back. He gives Selma a hug, and then Ayata, and then gives Ayata a short but fervent kiss on the lips.

Everyone who lives or works in the Garden Dimension teleports in, having received Onyx’s emergency message. This includes the four other members of the original team, Arnold, Pinesong, Princess Honeypea, and their leader, Storm. Weaver, Goswin, Eight Point Seven, and Briar show up too.

“I know this man,” Weaver says. “He’s no good. Permission to apprehend him, Storm?”

“Granted,” Storm Avakian agrees.

Briar walks over to the prisoner, and places cuffs on his wrists. “I’ve been where you are before. I can show you where the path to redemption begins, if you let me.”

The prison spits in Briar’s face.

“You’ll get there,” Briar responds, calmly and confidently.

Weaver looks over at Andrei. “Report.”

“It’s a long story, could we sit somewhere?” Andrei requests.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to start interviewing the prisoner?” Ingrid asks Weaver.

Weaver just jerks her head in Storm’s direction.

“What is your interview style?” Storm asks. “Is it more torture, or talking?”

“Definitely talking. Torture has been proven time and time again to be ineffective.”

“Gossy, take her to Thornbower.”

“I’d like to go too, Onyx volunteers.

Goswin smiles. “I can take two at a time just fine.” He grasps both of their hands, and pulls them in close, but doesn’t transport just yet. “Please keep your hands and feet in the ride at all times. There’s a reason it’s called Thornbower. He finally jumps, and Ingrid sees that they weren’t joking around.

They’re standing in a tunnel made out of uncomfortably short trees, arching towards each other above. Vines have woven themselves between them all around. They’re covered in thorns, as are the trunks and branches. The ceiling is high enough to allow any normal-sized person to pass underneath, but it’s still claustrophobic and unsettling. They instinctively lower their heads, and keep an eye out for stray thorns. You cannot be too careful in here. One small step in the wrong direction, and you’ll poke your eye out. Ingrid looks behind them to find that the tunnel is as endless that way as it is the other way. If this is what they use as a jail, it’s totally fitting, and on-brand for them. There might not even be any doors or cells here. There wouldn’t have to be if there’s only one entrance/exit.

“We’ve never had to use this before,” Onyx reveals.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Goswin notes. Only now does he let go of Ingrid and Onyx’s hands, having been allowing them to hold on out of fear.

“That happens,” Ingrid adds. “There’s only a first time for everything that happens; not anything that never does.”

“In an infinite cosmos, there is no such thing as something that doesn’t ever happen,” Goswin muses. He winks before disappearing.

Onyx shivers. “This way.”

As it turns out, the endlessness is nothing but an illusion. What appeared to be a single straight tunnel is a windy maze of confusing and frightening corridors and deadends. It really would be impossible to escape if you were in a hurry. There aren’t any security cameras, and of course no guards, but based on the sounds she could hear, the walls probably weren’t all that thick. She even caught a few glimpses of blue through the branches, suggesting that one could hypothetically subvert the bower altogether, if they were brave enough, or insensitive to pain. It would still be dangerous, though.

They round one last bend, and meet up with Briar and the prisoner. This is a much more open area, furnished with nearly everything a prisoner needs to live. It comes with two armchairs, a hardback chair for a desk, and a really nice wooden bed with a queen-sized mattress. There’s no wired electricity, but there are a few lanterns for when it gets dark. For water, there’s an entire well, which could be a security concern, but there must be some design choices that aren’t obvious just by looking. She’s unsure what they might do for food.

Briar looks over at the other two. “Hold on.” He’s sitting in one of the armchairs, opposite the prisoner, leaning forward to make it a more intimate conversation. “I was raised by my mother on a planet which was otherwise devoid of intelligent life. She died when I was still young, so I raised myself the rest of the way, and I didn’t do a very good job. I killed someone. He hit the rocks on the bottom of the cliff, and bled out...alone. To this day, it remains the greatest regret of my life. The funny part is that his friends went back in time and rescued him, against all odds. That’s when I realized that I was the one on the bottom of that cliff. I was the one who was alone. He survived because people wanted him to, and if I had fallen instead, that would just be the end of it.”

“I’m not alone, I’m part of a team.”

“Are you? Where are they now?”

“They assume I’m dead.”

“So you are alone.”

The prisoner huffs, and turns away.

“Believe it or not, I managed to make friends too, again despite the odds,” Briar goes on with his personal story. “But the only way I was able to do it was to hit rock bottom first. You may think you’re there now, but I’m here to tell you, A.F., that you can always fall farther. All rock bottom really means...is how far you fall before you finally decide to climb your way back up.” Briar leans towards the back of his chair like he’s said something profound, except that’s not all he’s doing. He lifts one leg up, braces it under A.F.’s chair, and kicks it backwards.

A.F. is sent tumbling down the well, screaming for his life...until he hits rock bottom.

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