Microstory 1730: The Crux

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No one is old enough to remember what happened. It’s always just sort of been this way; a hill in the center of our little doughnut-shaped town where four roads meet. I don’t mean that it’s two roads crossing each other. Each of the four has its own name, and while it’s not impossible to get from one to the other by driving over what we unofficially call The Crux, it’s not recommended for regular cars. The hill is deceptively steep, and for some reason, it’s always rather muddy halfway up, on all sides. It’s a bit of a pain, but it’s much more reasonable to go around it on one of the other roads. It’s not a problem for people who live here. We know the hill is there, and we know heading towards it is going to get us nowhere...unless we’re trying to get to the hill itself, of course. Tourism is already hard to come by for us, and this just makes it harder. None of the internet maps knows it’s there, and don’t know it’s a bit of an impediment, so they direct folks right through it. We keep trying to get them to remove it from their system as a traversable road, but we’ve had no luck so far. Again, with the right vehicle, it’s possible to drive over it, but we’ve had some issues with people who don’t know what they’re doing. We actually have four ways of getting out of such a mess if it happens to you. The auto repair shop is on South Avenue, the county’s largest tow truck company is on Backbone Road, the dealership is on Krouka, and there’s a gas station on Heap Lane. It’s not all that necessary—problems don’t occur all that often—but it’s nice to know that people will have options, so they’ll think twice about saying bad things about us. Crux notwithstanding, ours is a fine town, with good, progressive people, who like to lead the simple life, but understand how the city operates, and why others would prefer it.

Anyway, today I’m sitting on top of the Crux with a bunch of friends. It’s got a good vantage point of the surrounding area, so we hang out there all the time. Flat Kansas being what it is, it’s nice to be above it all sometimes, ya know? So we’re sitting there, watching a small car we don’t recognize come down Krouka. They probably drove in from Great Bend, looking to fish in our world famous pond, where it’s pretty much guaranteed you’ll catch something. As the car approaches, we realize just how tiny it is. I bet only two people could fit in that thing, and maybe one bag each. There is no way it’s gonna make it up the Crux. We don’t even bother picking up our chairs to get out of the way this time. That little thing comes up there, from this perspective, lookin’ like a ground squirrel wondering if the mailbox poll drops nuts. It slows down, but doesn’t stop. Most people get out, and take a look around when they don’t know what the hell is going on here. They’re holding their phones, and spinning around to see if they’re facing the wrong direction. These people don’t even do that. They stop for five seconds, back up about fifty meters, and then gun it. They go towards this hill as fast as they possibly can, and they make it up pretty far. My best friend inches over to the side, afraid we’re all wrong, and they’ll actually go all the way. It doesn’t. It stops midway, and rolls back down, smoothly, though, like they saw it was gonna happen, and put it in neutral to be safe. Some of us laugh, but most are relieved, because we know how bad it can get. We’re about to go down to tell them about the dealership when their car transforms. This...laser gun—I guess you would call it—comes out from under the hood, and blasts a tunnel into the hill. We later see it’s large enough to fit a semi-truck. They even laser the other two roads, before driving off without so much as a you’re welcome.

Microstory 1729: Crater

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I have not been able to get very much sleep for the last few weeks. Really, when I think about it, it’s been a lifelong problem. I have too much stress. At first it was because of my parents’ hostile divorce, then my schoolwork was too hard, then I was trying to get into a good college, then I was looking for a job, then I had to deal with a terrible job. It just never ends with me. I keep thinking that things will get better if I can just solve this one major problem. Then I do, and I find that the grass actually isn’t greener on the other side. It’s mostly more dirt and I have to cross yet another void to get to something better. My therapist says that things actually have gotten better, and that just because some people at my high school reunion are CEOs and city council members, doesn’t mean I’m a failure. She suggests I stay positive. But I was born optimism-blind, and I don’t think there’s a cure. I finally get to sleep when the ground shakes, and the loudest sound that has ever pounded on my eardrums attacks me from all sides. It’s a crash, but there’s also this sizzling electrical sound. I order my smartspeaker to turn on my lights, and watch as my glass figurine collection threatens to topple over, but never does. I swear to God, some of them actually do tip before straightening back up, like some kind of ghost is there to protect them for me. The ground continues to tremble, and a deeper darkness overwhelms my windows. I switch the lights back off as I get out of bed, and move over to look outside. All I see is the black. I stand there for hours, watching it ever so slowly dissipate. It’s dust and debris, and it takes a long time to settle. No one answers the phone, not even the police. The sun comes out, and I can see a crater.

I check every window in my little house. The crater wraps all around me. It doesn’t look like a bunch of different craters, but a single one, of which I rest in the middle. A massive doughnut must have fallen from the sky, and left me unscathed. If there really was a big space doughnut, though, it still shouldn’t have spared me. I mean, the tremors alone should have sent me to hell with everyone else in my neighborhood. The hole is so large than I can’t even make out the houses that weren’t crushed by it. I see the edge in the distance, but everything left above is too far away to discern. I cautiously step outside, and crawl to the edge of my little protected patch of land. I realize, though, that if I were capable of dying, it probably would have happened already. The thing that protected my figures wasn’t likely a ghost, but a guardian angel. I don’t think I have to be careful anymore. I peek over the edge of my patch, and look for the bottom of the crater, but I can’t tell if I see it, for the light does not reach as far down. I check the GPS on my phone. No, I’m not in La Brea, so I doubt there’s a portal below me that will send me to prehistoric times where CGI monsters still roam the lands. I check all around my—I don’t know whether to call this a butte, or a mesa, or a plateau, because it’s as tall as all hell, but narrower than my now-dead neighbor’s political beliefs—patch. I see nothing that would explain what saved me, or whether the theoretical angel is still here. Just then, two helicopters fly over from different directions. One appears to be military, and the other from a news station. As they’re inspecting me, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, their rotors just stop, and they fall out of the sky, into the crater. Others come, hoping to understand, including an AirEvac, but they all suffer the same fate. I was wrong. An angel has not saved me. A demon has doomed me.

Microstory 1728: Jim Crow

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Your Honor, my name is Jim Crow. My first name is not James or Jacob, or anything like that. It’s actually Jim. My parents were named Beckett Crowley, and Geraldine Devlin. When they got married, instead of my mother taking my father’s last name, they decided to shorten it to Crow. When they had me in 1984, they named me Jim. Believe me when I tell you that this was no accident, nor coincidence. My parents are two of the most racist people I know, and they knew exactly what they were doing. They believe in white supremacy, and they believe in segregation. They may even believe that all black people should be exterminated. They’ve hinted at such evil thoughts on more than one occasion. I literally witnessed them spitting on a young black girl just because her family wasn’t around, and no one could stop them. When I was a child, my mother told me a story she made up, about how the people of Africa so displeased the Lord that he glued dirt to their skin, and forced them to live in filth from then on. Their skin isn’t black, it’s that there is actual grime all over their bodies. I never bought into it, obviously. Had I grown up during the actual time of segregation, I might have seen no other choice, but I developed my sense of right and wrong during the 1980s. My relatively small city in Maryland was not at all without its racism, but I had something that some people in the past did not. I had Star Trek. I remember seeing Whoopi Goldberg on The Next Generation. Here was this black woman who had standing on the ship...who people trusted, listened to, and cared about. That very night, as young as I was, I thought long and hard about who my parents are, and what they were trying to teach me. I made a conscious decision to reject their hatred, and come to my own conclusions. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of informing my parents of my intentions.

They started to punish me. They withheld dessert, and when that didn’t work, they took away my dinner, and when that wasn’t enough, they stopped letting me have water. They eventually realized I was going to die if they didn’t do something, so they changed tactics. They developed their own Jim Crow laws. I was allowed to eat, but I had to make it myself, and I had to find somewhere else to do it. An old lady lived next door, so she let me use her kitchen. I did try to explain to her what was happening, but she was senile, so she barely understood, and never remembered. She introduced herself to me every day. She wasn’t abusive, but about as racist as my parents, so I didn’t want to spend much time over there. Still, she had a bathroom I could use too, which was nice, because I wasn’t allowed to use mine anymore. Basically what my parents did was show me what it was like to experience segregation. I can imagine the non-racist parents of a racist child doing the same thing to teach them a lesson, but my parents didn’t see it that way. They figured I would grow tired of the restrictions, and finally admit that it was both easier, and better, to be white. Of course, their methods only enforced my conviction that they were completely wrong about everything. When I was seventeen, they started to see that they were losing me, so they maneuvered the legal system, and had me declared unfit for independence. I was a ward of the state for the last twenty years under false pretenses, and it has taken me this long to get out. That, Your Honor, is why I’m only now getting around—as you put it—to changing my name. I haven’t been allowed to until now. I don’t think it’s unreasonable for you to grant me this.

Microstory 1727: Northern Crown

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I am responsible for the safety of everyone who falls under the protection of the Northern Crown. Throughout all of history, we have experienced much peace. There are some wars in some regions, but they have not spread beyond their borders. Now we face a threat that threatens us all, and the only way we’ll survive is if we come together. But we can only come together spiritually, for it is the closeness that kills us. We may have lost some of the knowledge and technology that our ancestors once used, but we still have a basic understanding of how the world works. There is no such thing as the coldness of an object. Its coldness is simply a measurement of its warmness, or lack thereof, as it were. You cannot make something cold, you can only take away its heat. Someone should tell that to the insidious enemy that has made its way to every corner of our planet; even The Southern Crown. It is true, they have fared better with this problem than we, but nothing can destroy the evil. We can combat it, but it’s going to take a lot of work if we want to get rid of it altogether. We call it The Shudder. It is a darkness, and a coldness that is more than merely the absence of warmth. We have all been touched by it, and though it brings more harm to some than to others, we are all capable of sharing it, and we are all at risk. Much has been done to prevent the Shudder from winning, but it is not enough. Many doubt that it exists at all, and even when they admit that it must be real, they do not want to inconvenience themselves, for they believe they can survive its wrath.

We have built walls to keep the Shudder at bay, but these barriers have created a sense of loneliness amongst our people, the likes of which they have never seen before. They cannot see their neighbors over the walls, and cannot feel the comfort of closeness. It has been so long, and they just want it to magically disappear. Unfortunately, it can’t end soon, because the closer two people get to each other, the more concentrated the Shudder becomes, and the stronger it is. This compression gives it power. Whereas once the touch of a loved one brought comfort and joy, it now only takes the warmth away, and sends it to oblivion. As explained, not everyone is affected by the Shudder as badly as others. It mostly attacks the weak, leaving the strong to go on thinking that they are invincible. But they are not without fault. The strong can still compress the Shudder, and place their neighbors in terrible danger. They can make it deadlier. If they just remained behind the walls, they would be safe. They would be isolated, scared, and sad, but they would be alive, and so would their neighbors. I have been trying to convince people of the risk that they take when they don’t take the Shudder seriously. I have tried to show them how well the South is doing with their walls. They will not hear me. They are tired of following rules that they didn’t have to follow before. They believe the past and the future should be the same thing, but if we allow that to happen, what will become of our world? What would have become of our world if we had held onto this unproductive attitude? What I’ve realized is that it all comes down to fear, even if the detractors would deny that they feel fear at all. They’re afraid of setting a precedent, and of us coming up with even more rules for them to live by. They no longer trust the royal court, and I am not sure they ever will again. We must restore their faith in us, and prove to them that we have their best interests at heart, and we’re trying to help.

Microstory 1726: Southern Crown

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I am a member of the royal court for the Southern Crown. There are two kingdoms in our world. One holds domain over the entire Northern hemisphere, and we rule over the South. We are a fair and just regime, and while not technically democratic, we do listen to our people and recognize their needs. We do not condemn those who would criticize us, and we do our best to make everyone happy. It was a long road that took us to this point, and no one here would welcome the opportunity to endure it again. We used to be broken into hundreds of independent nations, and though the majority of them were indeed run by democracies, they were full of corruption and selfishness. It was quite easy to get elected when you had the money, knew what to say to your voters, and had the right people backing you. That didn’t mean you would act in the best interests of your people, and it didn’t mean that you were peaceful. Now that there are only two separate states, things are much better for everyone. We don’t pay much attention to the goingson of the North, but according to our intelligence, they feel the same as we do. We have always met each other in peace, but not warmly. We are not allies, and we are not friends. Each kingdom can provide for itself, so we are not even trading partners. For the most part, we leave each other alone. But things have now changed. The threat we face threatens us all equally, which means there is no one to help us but our collective selves. We all have to do our part, and we all have to agree about what that means. A dragon has been on the attack for decades, even before the two kingdoms were formed. Some believe in the dragon, and others do not. Some believe, but are still not worried about it. To them, the dragon is always either far away in time, or in space.

The dragon is invisible, you see. Like the wind, we detect its impact on the world. We see the fires, and the smoke. We feel the heat as the water boils around us. We suffer the great storms that ravage our lands. We know that it’s there; we just can’t prove it, and without proof, stopping it from destroying everything may be impossible. Some of us have taken measures to slay this dragon, but it is too heavy a task for us, the brave few. Everyone must first admit that it is real, and help with the effort, if only in their own way. I am one of the more vocal proponents of fighting against the dragon, but there are not many who feel the same. The others, they laugh at me, or simply dismiss my concerns as not much of a priority. This region needs to send food to this other region, because they are not getting enough rain for their crops. This other region has had a bad fishing season. These are the issues that must be prioritized, according to the rest of the royals. I try to tell them that it is the dragon that is burning the crops, and it is the dragon that is poisoning the fish. They will not hear of it. It couldn’t be. No way could a dragon do so much worldwide. And if I make any attempt to convince them that we were the ones who released the dragon in the first place, they will surely have my head! No man could birth a dragon, and if he did, it would be easy to maintain, so that cannot be the problem. But no man birthed the dragon. We summoned it. Together. We summoned it when we did not take care of this world. It has come in response to our neglect, and the only way we’ll be able to kill it is if this becomes the accepted truth. I fear this cannot happen until the right person places that Southern Crown atop their head. And if it must be me, then it will be me. I cannot let the dragon consume us all.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: February 11, 2341

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There were eleven Cassidy cuffs, and twelve people. The time of requirement was over, though, so no one had to put one on if they didn’t want to. Leona grew to be quite comfortable with the Bearimy-Matic pattern, but there was no guarantee Jeremy would want to have anything to do with them anymore. According to their calculations, The Warrior was the last person with the power to transition them back and forth between the main sequence and The Parallel. It hopped from Jupiter to Nerakali, but seemed to end with him. Kivi pointed out that this didn’t mean no one could control them anymore. He didn’t use that power very much, and it wasn’t the only use of the primary cuff. Before they made the jump to 2341, Leona and Ramses worked on the cuffs to make sure no one could use them without their full authorization. Someone had to take ownership of the primary in order for them to function properly, so it had to be someone committed to the pattern, and to the team.

Bran, Aeolia, Siria, Dalton, and D.B. had never become full members of that team, and didn’t express any interest in joining officially now. So their numbers problem was instantly solved right there. Now they just needed to pose the question to the others. Ramses said he was tired of being left behind, and going off on tangents. He wanted to stick to his best friends, and not let anything take him away again. Jeremy also wanted to keep going like this. He didn’t know what they were going to do with their time, but it didn’t make sense to live one day at a time, and his original pattern forced him to isolate himself from others. This was the best solution. Olimpia said she had to stay, so her voice wouldn’t have to echo anymore. Leona explained that this didn’t mean she had to stay on the team. She could wear her own cuff, and just go off to live her life. Each one was perfectly capable of operating on its own. Her reaction to this truth made it clear that the suppression of her time illness wasn’t the only reason she wanted to stay, so they dropped the subject, and pretended like this was her only choice. Angela and Kivi didn’t give reasons, but they too chose to remain.

So now they were seven. After saying their goodbyes to their other friends, who had their own lives to lead, they synced up the cuffs, and made the next jump. It was February 11, 2341. Leona revealed that they were now back on track. Had Anatol never pushed them back to the 16th century, based on the number of temporal jumps they had since made, this was the date they would have ended up on. The question remained, what were they going to do? The pattern was one thing, but were they just going to relax by the sea for the rest of their lives? The primary reason they wore the cuffs before was because someone had intel about people needing saving, and how to go about doing it. Even Anatol had served them in this capacity, in his own twisted way. Now they had no purpose. Now they only had time.

Near the end of the day, they were still sitting around the table in the Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, which was parked on an ocean cliff. They weren’t saying anything. They expected to start discussing their plans for the future, but no one seemed to have any ideas. “Did Anatol have any friends or family?” Olimpia asked finally, breaking the silence.

“Well, not that we know of,” Leona answered. “Why?”

“I’m thinking about retaliation,” Olimpia furthered. We defeated him, so who might come for revenge? Isn’t that always what happens?”

“It was a draw,” Mateo reminded her. “Yes, we convinced him to give up, but he still made his own choice. I don’t think anyone would have anything to be vengeful about, it’s not like we killed him with the hundemarke. Like Lee-Lee said, he seemed to be rather alone. As far as I can tell, Juan Ponce de León was the closest thing he had to a friend. The Sergeant was a rival, and we all know how complicated frenemy relationships are. But still, if he was as close to someone as we are to each other, they haven’t revealed themselves yet.”

“That is who I’m worried about, someone we don’t even know exists,” Olimpia maintained. “You didn’t know how many Prestons there were in the beginning, did you?”

“I can’t recall,” Mateo said honestly. “I think I met Nerakali without knowing she was related to Zef.”

Leona stood up, and addressed the aether. “If anyone has anything against us, they might as well present themselves to us now! There is no point in dilly-dallying!”

They all looked around, waiting for a portal to open up. None did.

“I believe all of our enemies have been defeated,” Ramses figured. “Or turned to our side. I don’t think there is anyone left.”

“We are rather close to The Edge,” Kivi said casually, but also made it sound like she was talking about a capital-e edge.

“Is that a concept we’re supposed to know about already?” Angela questioned.

“The edge...of time travel?” Kivi put forth, thinking it would trigger something in their memories. “The year 2400?”

“What are you talking about?” Mateo asked.

“Is there some sort of event in 2400 that prevents time travelers from existing?” Ramses continued. “Like the Panikon?”

“I don’t know what that is, but it’s not some kind of temporal barrier. It’s just kind of...the end of our history.”

“Explain,” Leona pretty much demanded.

Kivi laughed. “People travel through time for what they believe to be various reasons, but it really all comes down to the one reason. They wanna see something interesting. They wanna save people’s lives...or troll on them. They like being around people who don’t understand what the universe is really like.”

“That changes in fifty-nine years?” Angela guessed.

“I don’t have all the details about how it comes to pass, but more than one version of me lived naturally on the other side of 2400. The humans become aware of advanced temporal mechanics, and begin to use it to develop their technology. Travelers don’t often visit the timeline past this point, because they’re not unique anymore, and life isn’t as exciting. Death has been conquered, and from what I gather, the reframe engine becomes public knowledge, and then ubiquitous. It’s not illegal to jump as far into the future, but it’s not done very much, as far as I can tell. I hear they call it the Edge.”

“Love, how quickly will we get there?”

“Assuming we stay on the Bearimy-Matic pattern?” Leona assumes. “Eight more jumps.”

“Is that bad?” Angela asked the obvious question.

“No,” Kivi said confidently. “The world changes in that year, but the world changes every year, doesn’t it? It never stops changing. It’s easy for a traveler to forget that normal humans still experience time travel. They watch the shaping of the timeline as well, they just see more detail.”

“We still need to figure out what we’re doing with our lives. This changes nothing,” Olimpia noted.

“It changes everything,” Leona contended. “We came here under the assumption that our problem is that there could be people out there who need our help, but we don’t know where and when. But this new information is suggesting that they probably don’t exist. Even if they do exist, they’ll probably not exist by next week. We have eight more jumps before the humans start taking care of themselves completely. We’ve always known about this. That’s why the Savior of Earth program was shut down a century prior, and why Anatol sent us back several centuries.”

“Are you suggesting that we recreate what he did to us?” Ramses asked.

“Maybe not quite as far as that,” Leona thought. “But there must be some time period that isn’t protected by someone else. The Salmon Runners have the end of the 20th century, and beginning of the 21st. Camden and the IAC are in the middle of that, and Mercury’s crusade is near the end of it, parallel to Serkan, Ace, and Paige. I’ve never heard of anyone protecting the mid-20th century, though.”

“Except for the Saviors,” Mateo said.

“Right,” she admitted. “I suppose the whole timeline is covered; that’s what the powers that be do. We keep having the same conversation about what we’re meant to do with our lives, and it never gets resolved. We just end up being distracted by some new or old antagonist.”

Angela spoke, “I think we all need to acknowledge the fact that life was a lot easier when someone was telling us how to live it. If we’re right, and there are no more bad guys, angry at us for what we did to someone else, then it’s up to us to come up with ideas. And I believe what we’re saying now is that those ideas don’t come from this region of the timeline.”

“Unless we go to other planets,” Jeremy said as if everyone was thinking the same thing.

“Those are pretty well taken care of too,” Leona tried to explain. I think there’s at least one traveler in every colony in the stellar neighborhood.”

“So we go beyond it,” Jeremy offered.

“Leona shook her head. “Operation Starseed launched in 2250, which means it’s nearly a hundred light years away from Gatewood by now. While that is indeed beyond the neighborhood, there hasn’t been enough time for a culture to develop to the point where they need our help. If they’re young enough, and expected to advance on their own, they’re probably being secretly protected by the artificial intelligence assigned to their planet. If they were made aware of their own Earthan origins, then they probably don’t need to be protected. We would be looking for a culture in the middle, who was eventually left alone by its AI, and is still struggling to learn from their mistakes. I don’t think those cultures exist yet.”

“Then we’re already on the path to reaching them,” Jeremy argued. “The Bearimy-Matic pattern should get us there pretty quickly according to the dimension of time, and the AOC should get us there quickly in the dimensions of space. We just need to wait, and then find the right planet. Maybe we look for a world that looks like a less advanced version of Earth.”

“I know exactly where you can find a world like that.” A man was standing at the bottom of the steps. No one seemed to have seen him arrive, suggesting he teleported in. He had a gun trained on them.

“Milford?” Angela asked, fear in her voice.

“I have been looking a long time for you.”

“How did you get out?” she asked him. She stood up, and backed away. Ramses stood as well, and made sure he was standing between them.

“There was new management in the afterlife simulation after you left,” Milford explained.

“Ellie Underhill, yes,” Angela said, thinking she understood.

Milford shook his head. “She and her friends disappeared. Someone else took over after her. He found me in the red, woke me up, and gave me the gift of resurrection.”

“What was the red level again?” Kivi asked the group.

“Static,” Milford answered instead. “People think that being shelved is the worst punishment after the black death, but nothing is compared to the torture of being in a room for centuries, unable to communicate with anyone, or do anything. That is the true hell, and I will never forgive you for putting me there.”

“I didn’t put you there,” Angela shouted. “You murdered me, and then when you died yourself, you suffered consequences for it. I had nothing to do with that decision. That’s on you, buddy. What are you even doing here? This has nothing to do with you!”

“You’re right,” Milford agreed. “I don’t care what’s happening here. I’ve only come to put you back where you belong. I regret accidentally killing you. Don’t forget that I didn’t mean to do it, and now I have the chance to undo it. I’m sending you back to 1816, so we can restart our lives together.” He shot Ramses, knowing he would fall down, and give him a clear shot at his true target. Unfortunately for him, Ramses wasn’t the only one who wanted to protect her. While Mateo was going after the shooter, Jeremy stepped in as the new shield. Whereas Ramses was hit in the shoulder, Jeremy’s bullet landed right in his chest. He didn’t die, but it didn’t look good.

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Extremus: Year 12

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The cat was out of the bag, but only a few people saw it. Word spread to the rest of the crew that someone was trying to kill the Captain, and that Mercer had taken his place in order to root out the culprits. Vesper was proof that this was a real threat, and this was the silver lining, for if that proof did not exist, Mercer would probably be in a lot of trouble. Halan himself would have completely understood, and devised the protocol for such an occasion. Others might not have been so kind. It would look like an ironic power grab.

The investigation continued, but quickly hit a dead end. They had more people working the problem, but doing so risked further exposure. So far, the passengers still don’t know that anything is amiss—Mercer’s impersonation was successful—but it’s probably only a matter of time. The good news out of this reality is that the people responsible for the assassination attempts probably already do know that the crew is investigating them. They would be pretty dumb not to, now that Halan has survived so much. The problem is now getting more information. Omega did the right thing by transporting their own suspect to the vacuum of space before he could activate his suicide bomb, but now they have no suspects, and the trail had no choice but to grow cold.

Captain Yenant has been trying to take his mind off the problem, and just focus on his responsibilities. Catching killers is not in the job description, and he has plenty of other things that he is expected to be worried about. It’s been eleven years since Extremus departed The Gatewood Collective, which means it’s time for new passenger leadership. They hold elections for the major offices every three years. Each position comes with a four-term limit. Satyria could have been replaced already, but she’s been a popular incumbent, so she’s been able to hold her seat the entire time. Everything good must come to an end, and she is no longer eligible for reëlection. It has so far been a surprisingly intense campaign season.

While this is the first time the Chair has been anyone’s seat to lose, it is generally accepted how important the ship’s captain’s opinion matters. Halan has yet to endorse a candidate, and his choice could prove to be the unofficial deciding factor. Current shift crew members can’t vote—though apprentices retain this right—but passengers still want to know what they think of the civilian government. Perhaps it’s even more important than voter opinion, since public endorsement is the only way their voices are heard in these matters. It is no shock that the captain’s voice carries the most weight of all. In the past, Halan was able to say little, and let voters interpret his carefully curated words however they wanted, whether that meant believing that he still backed incumbent Ebner, or he had changed his mind. The luxury of avoiding taking a clear side is over, and he’s been forced to spend the day speaking with each candidate, so they can plead their case to him.

Ovan Teleres is the last in a long line of hopefuls who have so far made Halan want to float himself from the Karen airlock. Still, “thank you for coming,” he says politely. He just has to get through this, and then he can ask his advisors which one he should choose to support. Because honestly, none of them seems to be better or worse than the rest. If they didn’t look like different people, he would swear the same individual just came into his office five times. They all pretty much said the same thing, and he has no reason to believe that Ovan won’t follow suit.

“No, sir, thank you for having me.”

“Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?” Halan begins.

“Well, I was born on Gatewood Three. I studied Earthan anthropology, and historical extrasolar migrations, including the move from Durus to Ansutah, and the Dardieti timeline rescues. I graduated from college last year in the middle of my class, and I’m ready to serve my community in the best way possible.”

“You just graduated?” Halan echoes.

“I may be young, but that just means I won’t croak before the job’s done.  I assure you that my social skills are more than enough for me to understand the needs of the passengers on this ship, as well as how to fulfill those needs. I know that I can make this ship a better place. I wouldn’t have come this far, with the highest number of ballot access signatures, if I wasn’t good at convincing others that I can help them get what they want.”

Halan can’t help but laugh. “I don’t doubt your potential. This is just about getting to know you.”

Ovan nods.

Halan goes on, “so you studied migrations? I suppose joining the mission was the ultimate hands-on experience. I can’t imagine how excited you were when we first announced it.”

He takes a moment to respond. “Can I be frank with you, sir?”

“I wish you would.”

“I didn’t wanna come here, not at all. I wanted to live on a planet, and I do not take comfort in knowing that my children’s children’s children’s children’s children get to realize that dream, but that I will be long dead.”

“Why did you come? You mentioned Durus. Plans were being drawn up to migrate to our ancestral home.”

“I was seven years old, I didn’t have a choice.”

Halan balks at this. “There was no minimum age of consent for the mission. If a toddler could vocalize their refusal to come, their parents would not be allowed to force them.”

“That may have been the official stance, but not every family listened to their children. It was strongly suggested to me that I...keep my reservations to myself.”

“If you never wanted to come, why do you want to be Chair now?”

“I’m here now, so I can at least make this a great place to live.”

“There’s also no statute of limitations for breaking mission laws. I could arrest your parents for breach.”

Ovan shakes his head. “That was twelve years ago, I’m over it. I’m not gonna cause a scandal now, and it’s not gonna get me to Durus.”

“I must say, your honesty is refreshing.”

“Getting a lot of brown-nosing?” Ovan asks with a smirk.

“I cannot comment on my private interactions with other candidates.” He takes a beat. “I’ll only say that not everyone would be willing to admit they want this place to change.”

“Is that what I said?”

“I would not have come this far, having been selected as First Captain of Nine, without being able to see people for who they truly are, and not simply who they want me to see.”

“What does that mean?” Ovan questions. “Would you endorse someone like me, or not?”

“I’ll announce my final decision tomorrow, as I have been asked.”

“Can’t give me a hint?”

“I have not been revealing which way I’m leaning as it will unduly impact a fair conclusion, and could cause undue hostility after perceived premature victory.”

“What does that mean, literally?”

“Whatever I say, my words may be interpreted any way that suits a candidate’s own biases. They may believe that they have won because I complimented them on their shoes, or that I have written them off because I mentioned not liking the same foods as they. I urge you to take nothing I say as confirmation one way, or the other.”

“You have already made similar remarks to me.”

Halan leans forward. “Which is precisely why I did not want to have these conversations. I’m telling you this now so you’ll understand that I have not yet made a decision, and that your chances of winning have neither gone up, nor down. I have never placed much stock in polls and rumors. As far as I’m concerned, the six of you are presently in a seven-way tie.”

Ovan closes his eyes and nods respectfully.

“Thank you for coming in,” Halan says. “I have a lot to think about tonight.”

He replies with a quick, “sir,” and leaves the office. Most of the conversations ran longer than this, but Halan realized that he had to cut this one short. He already said too much. Ovan is the type of person who will take every syllable a person utters, and twist it to his advantage. He is a dangerous man, and the more he sat before him, the more uncomfortable Halan became about him. Yes, he speaks the truth, but that doesn't mean he's being honest. It's not bad that he didn't want to be here at first, or that he wants to change the government. It's that he loathes the crew. No, he hasn't said so, but Halan can see it in his eyes. If allowed, that man will destroy this vessel, and everyone on it. He cannot be allowed to sit in the chair.

Halan leaves his office to express his concerns to the rest of the executive crew, including Dr. Meziani. There are other members of the mental health team. She’s only supposed to be the grief counselor, but Halan has found himself not being able to trust anyone else with his secrets, so she agreed to do more sessions as a side hustle. She’s having the hardest time understanding Halan’s reasoning out of everyone.

“I am not confused,” Dr. Meziani contends. “I recognize where you’re coming from, and I appreciate your perspective. I’m just not sure I believe that your interaction is enough to prove one way or another what kind of leader Mr. Teleres would be.”

“You didn’t see him,” Halan says for the third time during this discussion.

“Yes,” she says, “his eyes. He was regarding you with contempt.”

“It was all he could do to prevent himself from crawling over the table and strangling me in my chair.”

She doesn’t let him say things that he can’t prove. “You don’t know that.”

He doesn’t respond to this, and everyone else manages to stay quiet.

Dr. Meziani clears her throat. “Leave us.”

Omega stands up from his chair, but then he sees that everyone was too scared to move in real time. They activated their emergency teleporters. “Okay,” he says awkwardly. “Uhhhhhhhh...bye.” He teleports away as well.

She continues, “I believe that your recent trauma has clouded your judgment, and caused you to see enemies where there are none.”

“Dr. Holmes figured out that the paranoia I was feeling was chemically induced, not psychological.”

“Psychological processes are chemical, and while Holmes cleared you for duty, that does not mean there could not be any residual effects of the poisoning.”

“My interpretation of Ovan’s intentions comes from my intellect, not from my feelings. I assure you that I know how to compartmentalize.”

“You don’t have to assure me. I’ve spoken to you enough times to know what you’re capable of. What I’m saying is that you have not spoken to him enough times to do the same.”

“I’m not going to talk to that man again. I have to do everything I can to keep him out of office.”

“Captain.”

“Please, Doctor. Halan.”

“Halan,” she agrees. “I need to know what the word everything means to you.”

“I’m not going to kill him, if that’s where you’re going with this.”

She looks at him above imaginary glasses.

“I’m not going to have him killed either. That wasn’t a semantic trick. I have been asked to endorse a candidate, which I will. I have not been asked to censure any of them, but there is nothing in the bylaws that precludes me from doing so.”

“May I suggest that you not go down that road?”

“Why?”

“My worry is that it will only serve to hasten, or even precipitate this divide you think may exist between the passengers and crew.”

“I can’t let him be Chair, Itri. I wish you could have been in the room. He’s...”

“He’s a danger,” she says, trying to calm him down. “I understand. And I’m...willing to trust your judgment. But you have to promise me that you won’t do anything unethical, even if it’s not specifically prohibited in the bylaws. If you really want to, I will back your decision to both endorse a candidate, and disapprove of another. But you are not joining the campaign trail. You may mention your opinion precisely once on a public platform, make it clear that you will not elaborate on your reasons, and then you must agree to accept the results regardless.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

She isn’t done. “You must also accept the fact that people are going to continue to push the matter, and ask you for details. You cannot give in to those demands, even just to shut them up. If you’re willing to shoulder that burden, then fine, I won’t stop you. You still have plenty of time to change your mind. No one else knows what you’re planning to do, so you have to hold onto some kind of prideful commitment to this.”

“I shall consider it. I value your counsel.”

“Thank you.”

In the end, Halan decides against condemning a candidate, but three weeks later, he comes to regret that concession. His chosen candidate comes in second, which means he’ll be Second Chair, but it probably won’t matter. Ovan Teleres begins a path towards stripping away everything that makes Extremus the beautiful ship that it is, and covertly and subconsciously turning his people against the crew.

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Microstory 1725: Bernice’s Coma

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Bernice Dossal is in a coma, or so her doctors believe. She’s showing all the signs of it, but they cannot seem to find a cause. She wasn’t in an accident, she doesn’t have an infection, she was never diagnosed with diabetes, and there are no unusual chemicals in her system. They also found no evidence that she had a stroke. Her eyes are closed, and she is unresponsive. Her body is presently in the long-term care unit of the hospital, hooked up to life-maintaining machines, her family by her side. They come in shifts, sitting with her, and talking to her, for hours. There is never not anyone in there, unless they’re taking a bathroom or coffee break. What they don’t know is that Bernice isn’t there anymore. She was whisked away to another world. It looks exactly like Earth, except that it’s been decimated by some kind of event. She doesn’t know what it was, but it was pretty bad. She realizes pretty quickly that she doesn’t need to breathe to survive, but she can breathe, and as soon as she tries, it starts to cause her problems. Her lungs tighten up, and she begins to cough. She tries to put a stop to it, but the damage has already been done. The toxins have entered her body, and they won’t go away, even when she seals her mouth shut. A small group of people in hazmat suits apparently hear the commotion, and come to her rescue. They usher her into a nearby truck, take her to a plane, fly her to a far off place, and escort her into what looks to be a bunker. They try to treat her medically, but nothing does her any good. She’s corporeal, yes, but the drugs have no effect on her system. She is not a ghost, but she’s not completely here either. Everyone is baffled, but she ends up recovering on her own. All she needed was time in a ventilated and clean environment. In a day, they’re able to debrief her.

They explain to Bernice that she’s been transported to a parallel reality. This world is much like her own, except that it exists about a year in the future. This is not their first encounter with other realities, and one thing they’ve learned is that, while global events play out differently across them, it all ends the same. A comet hits the planet, and destroys nearly all life, either by the impact itself, or the ensuing consequences, such as the now toxic atmosphere. According to their interactions with the previous reality, they’ve gathered that the oncoming event triggers some sort of breakdown in the dimensional barriers which normally maintain the multiversal structure. Some people are saved by jumping into the next reality, while others can only send and receive messages back and forth. They’ve yet to figure out how to stop it, but apparently Bernice has made contact earlier than anyone ever has before. Perhaps, if she can figure out how to get back to her real body, she can at least warn her world about it. They put their best scientists on it, even though they were originally tasked with coming up with long-term survival solutions. They decide they’ll be satisfied if they can prevent their counterparts from suffering the same fate, even if it means surrendering to their own. After weeks of study, they find the answer, and Bernice awakens, but they were evidently off with their calculations, because she soon realizes this can’t be her reality. She’s woken up about a year before she fell into the coma in the first place, which means she’s actually in the next reality over. That gives her two years to prepare for the comet, instead of one, and maybe if she can save the world from total destruction, it will alleviate a little bit of the pain she now feels from knowing she will never see her true family again.