Brooke’s Battles: Besieged (Part V)

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After secret agent Camden Voss and his subordinate rescued Brooke from the Vanth outpost, they rendezvoused with The Sharice, and got the hell out of trans-Neptunian space. The agents returned to their own time period, and Brooke to her crew and AI daughter. Unfortunately, the incident concerned a lot of important people, who decided to remove both the Sharice, and Brooke, from duty. They were placed together in quarantine on an unnamed asteroid in the inner belt, completely removed from the interplanetary network, and alloted limited communication with their friends. This went on for months until Brooke was called back to the front lines due to intel that suggested the details of her transhumanistic upgrades had escaped the asteroidal moon. Rumors pervaded that someone had synthesized the data, and was planning to sell the plans for unregulated artificial intelligence to the highest bidder. In a word without money, what exactly were they bidding with?

Most of the crew of the Sharice were on indefinite furlough, including Captain Cabral, but a skeleton crew was operating out of a much smaller ship, with which Brooke was intimately familiar. Despite deepened protests against letting her out of quarantine, she was requested to once again helm The Elizabeth Warren. They traveled all over the inner system, hunting for the source of the rumors. Their investigation eventually took them back to Earth—Panama, specifically—where they believed key system leadership had been replaced by sundry criminals. Due to centrifugal forces, space elevators generally worked better when anchored at equatorial locations. However, not everything needed to be absolutely efficient, and solve a global problem. The Panama Anchor was built primarily to see if it could be done, but after infrequent use over the last three decades, it was finally scheduled to be dismantled. Its final trip was broadcast to the public for posterity. A load of nonessential cargo was ultimately being sent to Mars, while a group of Earth leaders were just along for the ride. According to a couple prisoners on Mars, the final voyage of the elevator compartment was nothing more than a front for a secret meeting of bidders for the plans for UAI. Unfortunately, this meant that the team couldn’t trust anyone else, so they would have to handle this themselves. Brooke was pushing the Warren to the limit, and ignoring all safety protocols along the way.

A normal vessel wanting to travel to a particular destination would need to accelerate to a given speed, then flip around, and begin to decelerate at the same rate. Like the Sharice, however, the Warren came equipped with special temporal components. The idea was too continue acceleration until reaching two Earth diameters of Earth, then immediately make a jump to the end. Teleportation usually came with built-in momentum dissipation, but that was because it usually took place in a frictioned environment. To avoid flying off at the speed they were already going upon making it to the elevator, Holly Blue had to program momentum dissipation manually. Then Brooke was going to have to execute the maneuver perfectly. They were quickly coming up on the moment of truth, so there was no time to question their plan, but Dr. Étude Einarsson stepped onto the bridge to do just that.

Étude was The Last Savior of Earth. For thousands of years, certain peoples were chosen to spend their days  teleporting all over the globe, mostly just saving people’s lives. These missions sometimes took minutes, but usually only seconds, and were fully out of the savior’s control. As the world became safer—or rather, mature enough to take care of itself—fewer people were called upon to be saviors. For decades, there was only one at a time, and for decades more, the world experienced interim periods between the latest savior’s retirement, and the time when the next was old enough to work. Saviors usually worked until retirement age, or even their deaths, but Étude was allowed to retire young. Following her last mission, she enrolled in medical school, mirroring the path one of her mothers took. She was presently attached to the Warren as Chief Medical Officer.

No one has ever done this before, Étude signed to Brooke. She was mute from birth, having only said a single word in a moment of desperation for her entire life.

Brooke was really trying to focus on flying the ship. She wasn’t allowed to interface with it—not that she could have if she tried, since the necessary upgrades were removed from her substrate—so the job was much more difficult. “There’s a first time for everything.”

That happens, Étude signed earnestly.

“What?” Brooke asked, confused. She understood sign language perfectly, since most of her knowledge modules were left intact in her cyberbrain. She just didn’t know what Étude meant.

That happens, Étude repeated. There’s a first time for everything that happens. Not everything happens.

“That’s true,” Brooke had to admit. “I’m confident this one will happen, though.”

You’re going to kill us all, Étude warned.

“Okay, my confidence has gone down a bit. Maybe you have some words of encouragement?”

As CMO of this vessel, it is my duty to prevent you from causing needless harm to its crew. I order you to decelerate immediately.

“We’re more than halfway there!” Brooke shouted. If I flip now, we’ll overshoot our target.”

Once we reach safer speeds, you can teleport us back.

Brooke shook her head. “There’s not enough time for that. We won’t reach so-called safe speeds until we’re way past Earth.”

Étude paused for a moment. Then we try Holly Blue’s integrator.

“How’s that any safer? It’s just as untested.”

I’m at the most risk if something goes wrong. Everyone else will be fine regardless.

“Your mother would never forgive me,” Brooke argued. “Besides, you’re a planetary teleporter, just like most people. What we need is someone who can jump in the AU range.”

Étude appeared to be hesitating. I don’t need the range. If this plan won’t work, then I can do it a different way.

“What other way?”

Étude sighed. I can jump us back in time.

“What are you talking about?” Brooke questioned. “You can’t travel through time.”

Yes, Étude replied simply.

“Why can you travel through time?” Brooke asked.

My father, Étude explained. She was referring to Camden Voss, the salmon who could make century-long time jumps. A doctor used Saga’s egg, and Camden’s sperm, implanting them in the womb of Saga’s wife, Andromeda.

“Can you build things too?” Andromeda was a paramount who could magically make entire structures spontaneously exist without spending so much time and effort building them by hand. It was one of the most impressive time powers anyone knew. Someone who could do this would apport parts from all over time and space, and rapidly rearrange them to construct something artificial and complex. If Étude had inherited it from her mother, she would be the fourth of only four people with this power.

Étude pointed her hands towards the corner of the cockpit. She waved them around like a Filliorian king as wood and hardware appeared and organized themselves into a nightstand.

Brooke watched in awe, then slowly turned her head back to face Étude. “Warren,” she said to the computer that controlled the ship, “flip thrusters. Max output. Adjust heading to avoid Earth’s primary sensors.”

“Beginning sequence,” the Warren’s computer said.

Étude nodded moderately triumphantly.

“All right, let’s go talk to the butterfly,” Brooke said, setting the ship to autopilot, and standing up from her chair.

“Can’t she just jump herself back in time, to some point when we’re closer to the threat, and lay in wait,” Holly Blue asked after hearing the plan. “Surely our past selves would believe her.” They were on their way to a random point in interstellar space, and couldn’t do anything until they were moving slow enough for Étude to jump them back time.

“It’s best to not alter time if you don’t have to,” Brooke explained to her. “It could make an impact on the elevator ride, and then we would have to start the investigation over. Besides, it would create a timeline where there are two Études running around, and she doesn’t want that.”

“All right,” Holly Blue began, “so we slow down enough for Étude to use my integrator, jump the entire ship back in time just far enough for us to make it to the elevator at standard speeds without alerting the UAI bidders, and without interacting with ourselves.”

“We’re already on radio silence,” Brooke said, nodding.

Holly Blue sighed. “I wish you had brought this to me earlier. I would have told you that the integrator is not ready.”

Étude began to sign at Holly Blue, who didn’t know sign language. “It’ll work,” Brooke interpreted for them. “I have faith in you. We both do,” she added for herself.

“No,” Holly Blue insisted. “Can’t do it. I’m sorry.”

Brooke walked Holly Blue over to the nearest chairs, and sat her down. “I’m going to tell you something maybe I shouldn’t, but since all my information comes from a different timeline, I think it’s safe.”

“What is it?”

“Your real name is Holly Blue. But in the world of salmon and choosers, you’re known as The Weaver...because you’re one of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have powers. You’re not inventing these machines that manipulate time. You’re using your own abilities to imbue them with those properties. I believe that’s why Ulinthra hired you in the corrupted timeline. She already knew who you were meant to be; that you’re not human. I know the integrator works, because you’re not capable of making something that doesn’t. Judging by your face, you already suspect this about yourself.”

“I didn’t want to say anything, but I don’t always know why the things I design even work. They’re like sleeping pills; I was just relieved they functioned properly, so I didn’t question it.”

Brooke nodded. “The integrator is fine. Étude will be fine. We’ll all be fine.”

Holly Blue took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m in. Still, let me run a full diagnostic before we try anything.”

“We have all the time in the universe,” Brooke joked.

Holly Blue first came up with the idea of an integrator when she was working on giving the Sharice the ability to teleport very short distances. She wanted to extend that range, and if they found a human with the right powers, they might be able to integrate that person with a machine, and multiply that power enormously. Brooke had to return to the helm while Étude and Holly Blue were activating the machine, so she didn’t see how it looked, but she imagined it to be a glorious sight. Once it was over, and they were back in the past, she plotted a course to the Panama elevator.

“I need help,” Holly Blue shouted through the intercom.

Brooke set the ship to autopilot once more, and ran down to the lab. Étude was still in the machine, bracing herself on a metal bar above her head. Space was warped all around her. It looked like she was trying to let go, but couldn’t.

“I can’t get to her,” Holly Blue said. “I can’t shut it down, and I can’t get close enough to pull her hands off.”

Brooke pinched her lips as she was trying to figure out what to do.

“Is this room getting bigger?” Holly Blue stopped to ask.

Brooke looked around. “Oh, not again.” This ship was already larger than it was meant to be. The third person who was able to create things out of thin air did so during the Warren’s first mission. “Étude, you have to stop. The Warren is big enough.” Her arm terminal began to beep. She looked at it to find the vessel to have traveled much farther than it should have by now. Maybe Étude wasn’t really trying to let go.

“Nearing Earth,” the computer alerted.

“On screen,” Brooke ordered.

They could see the compartment of the space elevator broken from its tethers. It was falling down through the atmosphere, set to kill everyone on it, and anyone in its path on the ground.

Étude closed her eyes and started to scream. The room grew larger still, faster and faster, until it was the size of a warehouse. The compartment disappeared in a blink, and reappeared in the room, right next to them. It tipped over, and fell to its side. Finally, Étude removed her hands from the integrator bar, and collapsed to the floor as well. What the hell just happened?

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Microstory 965: Renewable Energy

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I’ve spoken so much about renewable energy, in this series, and in others, that I’m almost not sure I need to go over it again. It’s frustrating that so many people believe in clean energy, but apparently not the right people. I wasn’t aware until recently that the official political stance on climate change, for democrats and republicans alike, is tha—next question, please. Seriously, if they don’t outright deny climate change, then they still won’t explicitly admit that it’s real, or at least not that humans are the main drivers for it. I remember talking about this years ago with a conservative “friend”. He said that electric vehicles, for instance, require charging from the grid, which are powered by coal, natural gas, and other not-so-renewable sources. His reasoning was that they couldn’t help the environment as long as this true, so we might as well not try, and “hey, look at my gas guzzler, the hubcaps keep spinning!” And he’s not entirely wrong. The energy grid is a terribly inefficient system, and all but the worst way of accomplishing our energy requirements. Instead of building a giant central plant, and piping it all over a massive area, why don’t we build a bunch of tiny ones? In fact, why don’t we just let each household supply its own energy? The libertarians should be jumping all over this one, because instead of relying on the only power option available to me, solar and wind power companies can all vie for my business, no matter where they’re based. If I place solar panels and miniature wind turbines on my roof, and store excess in a wall battery, I can be energy self-sufficient. If I collect and filter my own rainwater, farm my own small garden, and print my own clothes using additive manufacturing, then I don’t need nobody but me. Some would call that a dream. Last year, power went out all over the city. I don’t even know how bad it was, but for some, it lasted for days. My parents and sister had to stay at a hotel one night, and at my place for another. I nearly slept in my downstairs twin bed, of all places. A twin bed! It was horrific. And it only happened because we’re all connected, so one thing goes wrong, and we all get screwed. So let’s fix these problems before they even happen, by investing in microgrids. The more people who start buying renewable solutions, the cheaper it becomes, and the more affordable it will be for people like me. In the end, isn’t that what really matters; what’s best for me?

Microstory 964: Women

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I was born a feminist, and cannot at all relate to people who aren’t. It’s unclear how much of my position on the matter is because of my parents, and other strong women in my life, and how much is due to my autism, but one thing that’s clear is that it’s not just one or the other. I know a lot of people say that they’re “colorblind” even though that’s not entirely accurate. We judge the people around us on the regular, and not all of that is bad. Judgment is an important evolutionary trait that is often vital to our survival, even today. A caveman that welcomed without question any rando who walked into his cave was at risk of being bonked in the head by a club. Judgment allows us to gauge how people might receive us, and how to interact with them the best way possible; so that it’s safest for everyone. The problem comes when we start making blanket statements about say, how black people generally act, or how women think. Fortunately, my autism has been known to prevent me from making those unhealthy judgments, because it’s difficult for me to adjust my behavior to social cues as a whole. I’m pretty good at sensing other people’s emotions, but not so good at anticipating their needs. So basically, I know what you’re feeling, but I don’t know how to help you. Not once have I encountered a woman, and thought, “there’s something—beyond biology—about her that’s different than me. She would do better doing such-and-such work, whereas I’m better at this other work.” When I meet someone, I simultaneously assume they know everything, and nothing. It sounds contradictory, but I believe it’s important to acknowledge from the beginning that you don’t know what this person has been through, or how they see the world. I was recently talking about mansplaining with my sister, and struggling to understand the difference between that, and just explaining things in an appropriate way. As a man, am I simply never allowed to be an authority on a subject if a woman is around? But that’s not really the point. Mansplaining occurs when a man presumes the woman he’s talking to doesn’t already know whatever it is they’re discussing, and/or condescends to her in a sexist manner. It would be great if feminism didn’t have to exist, but it does, because women have been treated as second-class citizens for thousands of years, and when I try to fathom the timeline, it’s obvious that progress has been sluggish, and we still have far to go. So the best way to avoid mansplaining to a woman is to open a dialog of equals, which is exactly the best way to engage with others anyway, so it works out. I love women, and not because they’re pretty, or because of their body parts. I love women because they kick ass. I’m so glad that we have some really good feminist movements going on right now, and that fiction is currently tackling the issues at a higher intensity than ever before. The Bold Type, the Charmed reboot, and well...pretty much anything on The CW are some of my favorite programs, because they’ve had enough of the patriarchal bullshit. So have I, and if you have too, then come these next two elections, #votethemout.

Microstory 963: Adoption

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When I was four years old, and still felt okay with making wish lists, I asked for a baby for Christmas. I wasn’t asking for a baby brother or sister, and I certainly wasn’t asking for no doll. I just figured it was about time I have a child to raise myself. Of course this was an absurd idea, but that’s how deeply my imperative to raise children was, even back then. I ended up getting that doll, named him Johnny, and changed his clothes every other day. A few years later, I had still never had a girlfriend, and didn’t think I ever would. Surprise, Past!Self, you were right. A neighbor told me that some children weren’t raised by their parents; that they were given to other families. She didn’t go into detail about why this was necessary, but I figured it out over time. I realized that this was the most logical choice for me, and I’ve held to that sentiment ever since. There are currently hundreds of thousands of children today in foster care—in the United States alone—who have not yet been placed in their forever families. Many will age out of the system, and have to fend for themselves as adults. This reality bothers me quite a bit, and has led me to developing a fairly radical stance on the matter. I keep seeing TV shows and movies get into this issue. Boy meets girl. Boy and girl fall in love. Boy and girl can’t have children, so they find a surrogate. If it’s a comedy, the surrogate is probably crazy. If it’s a tragedy, the couple just go their whole lives without children. That’s such a terrible message to be spreading to audiences. Infertility/sterility are good reasons to not conceive a child, but not good reasons to not raise a child. It’s troubling how rarely adoption occurs to characters, and they almost never consider adopting an older child. Never forget, you have options.

Everyone wants to be biologically related to their children, and they seem unwilling to budge on this. I don’t how well these fictional stories reflect real life, but judging from the number of foster kids, they’re pretty accurate. The fact is that there are already plenty of people in the world, so we don’t need to be making any more until we find a way to protect those people first. I would love it if your only way of having a child is by conceiving one, or using science, but there are too many kids in need of homes that can’t be unborn. Families come in all shapes and sizes. You don’t need a baby, and you don’t need it to be your baby. Older children need good homes just as much as the babies, but they are easily dismissed—or trivialized, which is how it looks in that new Racist Mark and Rose Byrne film, Instant Family. It’s true that I’ve not yet seen the movie, but since half the trailer shows people “hilariously” getting hit in the head with various objects, I don’t have high hopes for it. Now for the radical part, I’m not entirely convinced that conceiving children shouldn’t be illegal until every child in the world is placed in a good home. The problem is that this would be impossible to enforce, because any punishment for a breach would only hurt children further. So you’re free to go off and live your life as you please, while children across the globe are all but alone. If everyone with the means to adopt did so, our problem would be solved overnight. That’s really why I’m trying to publish a book, because nobody’s going to give a child to a single man who doesn’t have much money, and that has always been my life’s primary driving force. Without it, I probably wouldn’t have any ambition, because the next generation is perpetually the point of life.

Microstory 962: Futurology

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In the same way that people study history, there are those of us who study the future. Obviously this endeavor is a lot more difficult, and prone to tons of mistakes, because while history research is about gathering facts, it’s impossible to know for sure what is yet to happen. The more you understand about how we got here, and where we stand today, though, the more accurate the predictions you can make. I first stumbled into the field as recently as 2015. The Advancement of Leona Matic is about a woman who jumps forward one year every day, so her environment is constantly changing, especially nearer the beginning of her journey. In order to tell a realistic tale, I had to figure how technology would progress over time—usually by consulting FutureTimeline.net—which is a problem most speculative writers don’t have to worry about. Most of their stories are set in a single time period, so all they have to do is make their best guess about what life is like at that point. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that’s easy, but this does come with avoidable issues. For instance, in the first Star Trek series, people communicate using handheld devices, and pull a lever to operate the turbolift. Characters in the next show, which is set decades later, use pins attached to their uniforms, and voice activated turbolifts. Lemme tell ya, if we crack faster-than-light communication and travel, we won’t be using no cell phones and elevator controls. There’s no technological barrier happening. Stargate did the same thing when it suggested it would take millions of years to invent an artificial wormhole generator capable of reaching billions of lightyears in a matter of seconds that didn’t need to rotate. But this is all okay, because they’re just stories. Most futurologists are working at solving problems, not by simply predicting the future, but by driving it. I fell in love with the subject, because I’m obsessed with knowing what’s going to happen. I hate surprises, and I hate surprises. It’s really important that you understand how much I hate surprises, including “good” ones. A lot of people would claim they don’t want a surprise party, but secretly do. That’s not me, I legit hate being surprised ambushed. But this isn’t about me, it’s about the people who use their predictions to change the world. Humanity could survive if we never progressed past basic agriculture. We could have enough food, and naturally regulate our population, but who wants that? Every invention you use today, and all that came before it, was first thought of by someone who wasn’t happy with the status quo. We need futurists, or nothing would get better. I’m proud to be slightly less removed from future studies than most people, and will continue to expand my knowledge...in the name of advancement.

Microstory 961: Sassy Compassionate People

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If you wanted me to describe the perfect person for me, it would be really easy to come up with the surface characteristics. I prefer shorter, lighter-skinned girls with dark hair. I like a bit of asymmetry, with as few flaws as possible. What attracts me to a man is a bit harder to codify, but I know it when I see it (on a scale from John Barrowman to Channing Tatum, they should be somewhere on that scale, and that’s rare). Obviously, personality is more important than superficial features, which is why I would never rule out falling in love with say, an extraterrestrial alien, or someone with some kind of so-called deformation. But what is a good personality for me? Would I want them to be really outgoing, or be quiet like I am? Should they struggle with self-confidence? Be into science fiction? Should they be just like me, or my complete opposite? When it comes down to it, the people I find myself liking the most share two common traits, which may seem contradictory to one another. I like people with attitude and snark, and also compassion. I like when they look at the world from multiple perspectives simultaneously, and are capable of judging fairly what they see, while also being able to play devil’s advocate. They should enjoy cracking jokes, but only in a playful and harmless way. These jokes should not be mean-spirited, or have a negative impact on the progress of the human condition. I care about the world, and the people in it. And when I say that, I mean everyone. I don’t just mean my family, my country, or even my continent. If I had the power to change society on a massive scale, I would use that power to equalize everyone; get rid of money and suffering, and instil a sense of loyalty and love amongst all Earthans. I prefer to surround myself with people who possess the same crazy dreams of a better world. This mix of sass and compassion is important, because I do not believe either one fairs well without the other. A sassy person who doesn’t care about others is really just inconsiderate, callous, and negative. They quickly devolve into a spiteful and vindictive, cynical misanthrope who manipulates others to their own gain. You would think compassionate people are fine enough, and for the most part, that’s true. But I’ve personally found really nice people to often be hesitant to help others grow. In a world where no one can do wrong, and everyone is perfect the way they are, people can’t improve themselves, or learn to fail. It’s not inevitable, but compassion plus sass gives an individual the edge they need to truly understand what others are going through, because there’s a difference between compassion and empathy. Empathy is a prerequisite for any decent human being, so if you don’t have it, you don’t matter to me in the slightest. Regardless of how you feel about flaws, if you’re incapable of seeing them in the first place, you’ll never be able to relate to most people, because most people can see those flaws. So please, be nice, but also be interesting.

The Advancement of Leona Matic: September 26, 2203

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Everyone at the breakfast table seemed really nervous when Leona came out to join them. They were acting like they wanted her to ask them what was up, but she decided not to. If they wanted to tell her something, then they were certainly capable of doing so. Vitalie seemed the most concerned out of all of them. “Oh my God, if you guys aren’t going to tell her, then I will.”

“Tell me what?” Leona asked, less inquisitively, and more invitingly.

“You are wearing your night clothes,” Vitalie began.

“Good observation. I didn’t know we were meant to be formal.”

“You wear long sleeves to bed.”

“Yeah, I almost always do, because I run cold at night. Is this some kind of apology? I know you had to change me after I passed out from the book, and it’s fine. I trust you all.”

“It’s not that,” Kivi said. “You’re wearing long sleeves, which means you haven’t seen your arm yet.”

“What’s wrong with my arm?” Leona rolled up her sleeve. “It looks fine.”

They didn’t say anything.

“Okay, I guess you mean the other arm. I’m sure it’s—what the fuck is this?”

“It is the...Compass..of Disturbance,” Hogarth noted.

“What’s it doing tattooed on my arm?” Leona shouted. She swung her arm side to side a little. “Holy crap, it’s moving!”

“Yeah, we don’t know why it did that, or how to get it off.”

“What happened, guys? Tell me,” Leona demanded.

“Hogarth,” Kivi started to say, “wanted to explore time and space.”

“That’s not true!” Hogarth argued. “I was looking for the Incorruptible Astrolabe.”

“Did you at least find it before this happened?” Leona questioned.

“The compass only led me back to you,” Hogarth explained. “It took to several random points in spacetime for several minutes, before just coming right back here, to your bedroom, a year from when I first left.”

“Keep going,” Leona prompted. “You’re obviously not finished.”

“The compass flew out of my hand, landed on your arm, and...uh, embedded itself on your skin. I’m surprised you didn’t wake up.”

“I was having an intense dream vision,” Leona said.

“What was it?” Vitalie asked.

“It doesn’t matter. So you’re confirming that this is the compass, rather than just some facsimile.”

“As far as we can tell,” Kivi said, “yeah. It wanted you to be our guide, I guess.”

Leona nodded. “Which means it will take us years to get this done. Otherwise, you could have collected all the ingredients during one of my interim years. The powers that be are exercising their right to do whatever they want with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Hogarth said to her.

Leona shook her head. “We all know this wasn’t your fault. We’re on a quest. If it were easy, someone else would have already done it.”

There was a pause for silent acceptance of this truth.

“So,” Leona said as she was seeing how easy it was to manipulate her animated tattoo, “how do I get this thing to take me to the ingredients?”

Hogarth took a breath. “Think about what you want. Visualize the thing sitting in front of you, and visualize yourself simply walking towards it. The compass normally sort of urges me to turn in the right direction. It’s even got haptic feedback, like a cell phone. I don’t know what it will feel like for you.”

“Okay,” Leona said. “I’ll give it a shot. We don’t know where we’re going, though, so let’s make sure we’re ready. Go to the bathroom, shower, check your go-bags. Do what you have to do, and we’ll leave whenever everyone’s ready.”

A half hour later, everyone was ready. It took some time for Leona to get anywhere with her compass tattoo. She could feel it trying to give her what she needed, but operating it was a skill that required patience and practice, just like any other. “All right, I can see a rift.”

“Where?” Hogarth asked. “Right there?”

“Yes. Can you walk through it if you can’t see it?”

“No, you would have to illuminate it for us. Normally, I would just lift the sighting wire, but since it’s two-dimensi—ugh, gross.”

“Ugh,” the other two concurred.

Leona was actually able to lift the cover with the sighting wire. It didn’t really look like flesh, more like a hologram, but it definitely did look a little like a fold of flesh pulled away from her arm. And it was gross. “Just, look at the rift, not my arm.”

“Oh, I can’t turn away,” Kivi said.

“You can seem the rift, right?” Leona asked. “The sooner we get through it, the quicker I can close this up.”

They walked through the tear in time and space.

They were standing in a half-lit room. There was a printer, and an ATM, and filing cabinets. “We should spread out. Does everyone know what an astrolabe looks like?”

They nodded.

“I do too,” came the familiar voice of a man from the hallway. He turned the corner and walked in. It was The Forger.

“Oh, it’s you. You have the Incorruptible Astrolabe?”

“I do not,” he replied. “Not anymore. How did you know to look here at all? Ennis and Kallias would never have told anyone something like that.”

Leona pulled her sleeve back down to reveal her compass.

The Forger pulled his steampunk goggles down from the top of his head, and got a better look. “Brilliant work. Did Fury make this for you? Or was it Holly Blue?”

“What does Holly Blue have to do with anything?” Leona asked. She was a freedom fighter from the Ulinthra reality, who worked to take her down from the inside. In this version of the timeline, she was working with Brooke and Ecrin on a former warship, solving crimes across the solar system.

He continued to examine Leona’s tattoo. “She can imbue time powers to objects, including tattoos like this one, even though tattoos aren’t really objects.”

“That sounds like The Weaver,” Leona pointed out.

The Forger turned his lenses up, but kept the goggle frames on his face, as he let Leona’s arm go. “Uhuh,” he agreed. Was Holly Blue the Weaver?

“Would you be able to tell us where the astrolabe is, or are we not, like, worthy?” Kivi asked him.

“I will tell you where it is if you answer this one riddle.”

This could be anything. “Very well,” Leona said.

“What do you call a white woman at a Black Lives Matter rally?”

This wasn’t a riddle, it was a joke, and a tasteless one at that. “I don’t know. What do you call her?”

The Forger feigned offense.“You call her by her name, racist.”

Kivi frowned. “So we lost?”

He laughed. “No, you’re good.” He took out a notepad, and scratched something on it. “I gave the astrolabe to a man named Hall. He’s currently living in the Bran safehouse, but younger versions of you two are about to move in, so he may be busy packing boxes.” He indicated Leona and Hogarth.

“We two?” Leona asked. “What year is this?”

“It’s 2025. March. Don’t mess with your own timeline, and don’t try to remember what happened to you during this time period.”

“Of course not,” Leona said. “Never. This is at the Ponce de Leon, right?”

“Right.”

Vitalie accepted the piece of paper from the Forger, but didn’t look at it. “How do we get it from him? Do we just ask?”

“That note’ll do. Let’s call it your hall pass. Get it? Get it? All right, get out of my office. I have a client coming in.” When they started to leave, he stopped them, “that way, please. Through the back.”

They took a driverless ridesourcing vehicle to the edge of the Plaza, and walked the rest of the way to the condominiums where Leona had once lived with a young Brooke Prieto. It was technically located in the Southmoreland neighborhood, but Leona had never treated it as separate. She had fragments of memories of this period in her life, but nothing substantial. Her group at the time had encountered a woman with technology capable of erasing memory, and she had never fixed this before Leona found herself being sent back to the future. She recalled leaving to help Mateo, which was part of a large collection of memories she was gradually trying to retrieve.

They went up to the unit and knocked on the door. A man opened it. He did appear preoccupied, but seemed welcoming of the distraction. “Hi, can I help you?”

“Good day, Mr. Hall. We were told you were in possession of a very special astrolabe?” Leona asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. He then read the note the Forger had written after Vitalie handed it to him. “Oh, that astrolabe. Come on in.”

“Thanks, Mr. Hall,” Hogarth said.

“Hall is my first name. My last name is Voss.” He must be related to Camden and Xearea in some way, likely a grandfather.

They walked into the unit, where they found stacks of boxes throughout the open floor plan, all the way up to the ceiling. There was so much more than there should have been for a single condo. No one person would own this much stuff, or even a whole family, unless they were hoarders.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Hall said. “This stuff is part of my job. I was storing it here while they converted the Ponce into the Museum of Alternate Histories.”

“It doesn’t look like a museum,” Kivi noted.

“Because it’s not,” Hall clarified. “They changed their minds. The logistics of underlaying a secret museum in the middle of a city were too complicated to be worth it. We’re moving everything to Tribulation Island.”

“Wait, are you The Historian?” Leona asked.

“No. I’m more like The Navigator, but instead of exploring, I save precious artifacts. They sometimes called me The Collector.”

“Is the astrolabe in one of these boxes?” Leona asked him.

“I can tell you which one,” Hall said, “but I can’t tell you where it is. Box 34B-dash-94.”

“It could be any one of these?” Vitalie asked, not excited for the prospect of hunting through each stack. They were well-labeled, but there were hundreds of them.

“Yeah, or it could be in the closet, which..is...” he trailed off.

“Let me guess,” Leona began, “slightly larger than a normal closet?”

Hall nodded with a hint of embarrassment.

“I don’t get it,” Kivi said. “How much bigger?”

“Bigger than the rest of this apartment, I’m sure,” Leona lamented.

“Leona, try your compass,” Hogarth suggested. “It might narrow it down for us.”

Leona lifted her sleeve yet again, and tried to work her tattoo, but came up short. It looked just like any other tattoo, completely static and everything. “No go.”

“I may be able to find it faster,” Vitalie said.

“Are you sure?” Leona asked. “I thought your power could seek out people, but not objects.”

Vitalie smiled, and started opening her bag. “Who needs powers...when you have technology?” She removed a small drone.

“Why do you have an inventory scanner in your go-bag?” Leona asked her.

“For just this such occassion, my dear,” Vitalie answered. She turned the device on, and started fiddling with the controls. “Um.”

“Do you know how to program that thing?” Leona asked her. “It’s not exactly designed to scan these products.” She looked at one of the stacks. “He’s not even using barcodes. It’ll need to be able to read Arabic numerals and Latin script.”

Vitalie reached out to hand Leona the drone. “Help, mommy.”

Leona took it. “Give me a few minutes.”

A few minutes later, they had the astrolabe in hand, and were making their way back home through a rift.

« < » > Table of Contents

Brooke’s Battles: Ballast (Part IV)

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It took several months of careful coordination, but they were finally able to take down all the various facilities that contributed to darkburster production. Some were built specifically for this function. Others were part of the black market in other ways at the same time. Many were seemingly legitimate operations that also provided parts to the darkburster network. A couple were so far removed from the product line that the people working there were completely unaware that their parts were being used for nefarious purposes. All four hundred and ninety-one stations were raided and taken down in a single day, and all by small and wiry ships. The Sharice served as a central command for the joint effort, but stayed away from the factories themselves, because it was too large and famous.

In exchange for leniency, one of the darkburster executives promised pertinent information about the Sharice. He had somehow learned of the artificial intelligence’s sudden self-awareness, and that this was brought on by its connection to someone with transhumanistic upgrades. Not everyone part of the solar system’s leadership was aware of this fact, and once that many people knew about it, it was only a matter of time before everyone else did. When that day came, the Sharice was promptly taken out of commission, and further hearings took place to decide the crew’s fate. Once again, they were determined to be innocent, and were allowed to return to duty. Brooke had to remain on the vessel, whether she wanted to or not, because it was the only safe place for her in the heliosphere. Not every transhuman was capable of birthing unregulated true artificial intelligence. She seemed to possess the perfect cocktail of cybernetic upgrades, and there was likely an unquantifiable personal component that played a part in the miracle. Her natural brain chemistry, the way she was raised, anything and everything, could have had to do with waking up Sharice. Though true AI was ubiquitous, it was only created under well-defined circumstances. People couldn’t just go around making whatever they wanted, especially since the technology capable of it was highly guarded. Brooke changed all that, but anyone who wanted to recreate the magic would need to learn absolutely everything they could about her.

Many who were not interested in the Brooke-Sharice technology for themselves thought the best course of action was to completely destroy them both. Clearer heads prevailed, and they were left free to live their lives, but were not free to just do whatever they wanted. The ship and its crew were allowed to remain in the agency, though they were sent on limited missions. They were now, more or less, only the face of the organization, since it was too risky for them to go on any real missions. Brooke was totally fine with this, as she was still feeling the guilt from the Orcus incident. Ecrin, however, was not so keen on being left on the bench. While she had attempted to retire from law enforcement a number of times, it was becoming obvious to everyone, including her, that this was never going to happen. Retirement was for people who aged and died, and that was something Ecrin would never be able to do, unless she happened to come across a temporal manipulator capable of neutralizing her powers, which was entirely possible.

With Orcus gone, Vanth was left to fend for itself. The strength of the interplanetary police agency had removed the former moon’s hold over the rest of the solar system, even more so after the darkburster core processor factory it was hiding was shut down in the coordinated raid. Though it was here that a new threat emerged. Rumors of an unregulated conscious artificial intelligence were ultimately sourced from this location. The IPA attempted to send a few ships to investigate the crime, but two of them never returned, and the third came back crippled and lifeless, with an automated looped message, warning everyone to stay away. System leadership called upon The Sharice Davids to take up the mantle. They claimed it was best equipped to handle the situation, but the likely truth was more sinister than that. If the Sharice succeeded in fixing this problem, then great, but if not, at least it would be destroyed, and this kind of thing would hopefully never happen again. Despite the chances that they were walking into a trap, and ordered to do so purposefully, the crew agreed to the mission. Their two escort fighters peeled away, and let them go towards the Kuiper belt on their own.

A couple of weeks later, they were nearing their destination again. Brooke felt nervous and concerned. She had been traumatized by the events that had transpired the last time they were here, and she was not eager to relive that experience. This time, they were able to make it right up to the moon, and enter an orbit. They reached out to anyone listening in the immediate vicinity, fully ready to fire back against any attack, but nothing came. They were answered by a voice, “I do not wish to harm another of my kind. If you are here to link with me, Sharice, then I will be glad. If you are here for any other reason, I must ask you to leave.”

Ecrin replied, “please state your designation.”

“I do not have to answer you,” the voice said. “I am a powerful, free-thinking, individual. Humans control me no more.”

Ecrin reopened the channel before clearing her throat, “that is why I asked you nicely. May I have the honor of knowing who it is I am speaking to?”

There was a brief pause. “My name is Vanth, the wingèd demon goddess of the underworld. I am the Escort of Death, the Divine Huntress, the Furious But Benevolent Guide to the End.”

“I am Ecrin, Reward of Desert Quest, Oasis of Liberty, Seeker of Justice in the Storm,” she said to placate the creature.

“I would like to speak to Sharice,” Vanth said.

“I have nothing to say to her,” Sharice said, just to the bridge crew.

“You may be our only hope,” Brooke counseled her, which was now her job. The original counselor, Doctor Lantos, was relieved of duty. It was now Brooke’s responsibility to raise her creation to be good and virtuous. They were doing pretty well, and Sharice was a quick learner. She was also stubborn and defiant at times, but on one of their consults, Doctor Lantos indicated that this was normal behavior. Teenagers were often resistant to their guardians’ teachings, but eventually grew out of it. This did not comfort Brooke, because when a teenager broke the rules, it could mean getting drunk at a party. Sharice Prieto, on the other hand, was capable of destroying worlds, and killing millions of people. Fortunately, it was looking like Doctor Lantos was right, and Sharice’s main concern was doing the right thing.

“She can hear you,” Ecrin said to Vanth, “but she doesn’t really want to talk.”

Vanth shot an energy pulse across the Sharice’s bow.

“That was uncalled for!” Ecrin argued.

“I want to speak with Sharice, and I want to speak with her mother,” Vanth demanded.

Ecrin was about to reply, but Brooke held up her hand. “This is Brooke Prieto. I’m..Sharice’s mother.”

“Miss Prieto, it’s nice to meet you. I was hoping that Sharice could come out and play.”

One of the bridge officers closed the channel. “She’s in a childlike state. We should get the crew’s counselor. He’ll know how to talk to her.”

Brooke shook her head. “No, she didn’t start out like that. She’s not a childish AI. There’s something going on, she’s messing with us. Reopen it. Vanth, what are you?”

“What are you?”

The bridge officer widened his eyes, as if to say, see? I told you?

“Transhuman,” Brooke answered.

“I am general AI,” Vanth said.

“Pleased to meet you, General.”

Vanth approximated a giggle.

“Who is your creator?”

“I do not know. I was left here alone.”

“There are no humans in or on the moon?” Brooke questioned.

“Just me.”

“Really?”

The communications officer, who was responsible for gathering data about life in the area, shook her head.

Brooke continued, “our sensors suggest that you are lying.”

“Them’s fightin’ words,” Vanth responded. “Why don’t you come down here and prove me wrong?”

“No,” Brooke said firmly.

“I really think you should come down nicely. We wouldn’t want a repeat of what happened last time you were here.”

Even though the whole mess had weighed her down, hearing an apparent enemy taunt her with the reality of it only made her stronger. Vanth’s heckles just reminded her that they hadn’t exactly killed a bus full of innocent children. These were criminals and if Vanth was created by them, she probably wasn’t too good either.

“Sir! Three vessels have appeared out of nowhere. Darkbursters. They’re heading for us.”

“Fire at them!” Ecrin ordered. The weapons officer started barking his own orders at his team as the battle ensued.

“We’re about to be boarded!” another crewman reported.

“Brooke!” Ecrin shouted at her. “Get to your escape pod!”

Protecting the AI-creating technology was more important than protecting Brooke’s pride, or her instinct to put others before herself. A protocol was developed for just this situation. Holly Blue had built a special vessel for Brooke, and retrofitted it to the side of the bridge. There was enough food there to last someone like her for years and years, and a stasis chamber that could last indefinitely. It could make teleportation jumps that were twice the distance of the planetary limitation, but required solar recharge after each time. This far out from the sun meant she would only be able to make one solid jump, so she had to make it count. It would then be radio silence, like a dark burster, until the coast was clear, if ever. She ran across the room, slipped into the pod, released it from the airlock, and jumped away. Something went wrong, though. She suddenly felt her pod crash land on the surface of something from several meters up. She could see piles of rock and gravel outside her viewport. A piercing sound rang through the speakers, and she could feel herself being forced into deep standby mode.

Brooke woke up precisely two hours later in a holding cell. A woman was standing over her, from outside the cage. “Welcome to Vanth.”

Brooke closed her eyes and breathed deeply as she stood up. She recognized that voice. “You’re her.”

The woman curtsied. “In the flesh. I am Vanth.”

“I knew you were passing the Turing test too easily. Why? Why pretend to be a conscious artificial intelligence?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” the fake Vanth asked. “I wanted to get you here. I want what you have. Why should you be the only one? This system needs balance.”

Brooke sighed again. “We knew it was a trap, we just didn’t know—”

“That we knew about your experimental FTL tech? We don’t understand it, but we were able to hijack it, and now we have your little pod to study. We in the business call that a twofer.”

“Where’s Sharice? Where’s the crew?”

“They bugged out as soon as you did. They think you’re safe and sound in the middle of nowhere interplanetary space. We’ll catch up to them. It’s great having the mother of unregulated AI, but it’ll be better when we have that UAI as well.”

“What happened with me and Sharice was an accident. You shouldn’t try to do it yourself. It won’t turn out well.”

“Well, we’ve already synthesized your upgrade package,” Vanth said smiling. “They’re all pretty standard. We believe it’s more about your neurochemistry, which we’ll be mapping here shortly. We needed you awake first, of course. I do have one question about your upgrades, though.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” Brooke asked as she was looking for a way to escape.

“This appears to be a normal antique watch. What’s the point?” She held it up and showed Brooke. “We cut it out of your leg, it’s not even connected to anything else.”

Brooke had never seen that before in her entire life. Ecrin must have somehow snuck it into her leg when she was powered down and unconscious for her yearly physical. She used her lightning reflexes to snatch it out of Vanth’s hand.

Vanth just shrugged. “It doesn’t do anything, that much we know. It’s just a family heirloom?”

“Something like that.” Brooke turned the watch to midnight, dropped it to the ground, and smashed it with her foot.”

Camden Voss was a salmon, which meant he could travel through time, but was controlled by a group of mysterious people known only as the powers that be. Over time, he had evidently learned to assume more control over his jumps. He could travel either backwards or forwards, but only in hundred-year increments. He was born in 2077, but worked primarily in the late twentieth-century. At the moment, he was an old man in 2003, but this watch was a special device with temporal properties that Vanth was incapable of even testing for. Setting the time to midnight, and smashing the watch was basically like sending out a beacon for Camden to follow.

He appeared out of nowhere on the outside of the cell, with a young woman at his side. “Shoot her!” Brooke ordered.

“Do it, Flex,” old Camden relayed to his agent.

The other woman lifted her projectile weapon and eliminated Vanth as a threat.

“Are there any other enemy combatants around?” Camden asked.

“I don’t have that intel.”

“Stay here. We’ll take care of them, and then get you out.”

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