The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 13, 2371

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A hundred and twenty light years away from Vendelin’s source planet—in the direction of the oncoming Power Vacuum—was a brown dwarf with tons of proto-planetary debris, but no fully coalesced planets. A quantum terminal was installed on an asteroid, but it was never part of the Quantum Colony game. It was available, like all others, but either people had come here, and decided to leave without declaring it their own, or no one had found it yet. The game was not something that most people could have played back in the 21st century. Players weren’t provided a map, or a list of star systems. Unlocking each one required solving a gauntlet of mathematical equations, and calculating the precise location for themselves. Some of these puzzles were naturally relevant, but others were arbitrarily injected into the game to make it more difficult. Because of how much effort went into finding a planet to call their own, many players didn’t bother. There were plenty of public-access worlds that their respective colonists chose to make a hub for interstellar activity. The chances that this system had simply not yet been discovered were pretty high. Leona and Ramses only knew about it, because they were afforded direct access to the complete and unadulterated database of Project Stargate sites.

Seven hundred light years away from both the source planet, and the brown dwarf was a main sequence star being orbited by four gas giants, one icy dwarf planet, and the densest boundary planetesimal cloud any of the smart people in the group had ever heard of. Being so far from Gatewood, Project Stargate had yet to reach it. They only knew about it, because the Project Topdown ships were already mapping the galaxy, even before escaping into the intergalactic void. They didn’t choose it for any specific reason, other than the fact that it was the farthest system they knew about at this point, and its remoteness was key to completing their mission.

While the Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was parked on the quantum terminal asteroid around the brown dwarf, Kestral and Ishida’s ship was stationed in the void. The Jameela Jamil was commissioned to replace The Emma González as Team Keshida’s primary mode of transportation since the latter was donated to Étude Einarsson, who needed it to search for her daughter. Goswin, Weaver, and Eight Point Seven were in possession of it last, but they hadn’t heard a peep from them in years, so anything could have happened to it and its crew since then. It was funny that Medley called the AOC the fastest ship in the galaxy. The reframe engine was not something that could be improved. It was capable of moving a vessel at 707 times the speed of light. By its nature, that was the absolute maximum speed. It was based on a limitation hardcoded into the proper physics of the universe. Regardless, theirs was not the only ship with such technology, and the Jameela just surpassed it.

It was elegant, nigh impenetrable, fast, and chock full of time technology. Atterberry pods, Ubiña pockets, disturbance detectors, emergency personal teleporters, debris teleporter field generators, and more, gave it an edge over any contender. It could teleport at the light year range, and maintain hull integrity through burst mode, which was an engineering problem that no one had been able to solve up until now. It could get clear across the Milky Way in two days without having to stop for repairs, or to refuel. It could get to the next galaxy over, Andromeda, in a month. The only fastest way to travel—besides calling upon Maqsud Al-Amin—was the Nexus network, and that wasn’t always available. It wasn’t an argument against the Jameela anyway, as there was a Nexus built into it as well, in case passengers didn’t have days to wait.

During the team’s interim year, Team Keshida actually visited both star systems, and began work on their solution to the Power Vacuum problem. They programmed machines to construct some of the largest objects present-day had to offer. According to the data that they were able to pull from Vendelin’s computers, the energy sucking beam that was threatening to destroy Earth was about the size of a main sequence star. Indeed, its energy came from such a star. He constructed millions of objects around it, and coordinated their motion patterns in such a way to actually drive solar winds in one direction. Basically he built gargantuan bellows to harness plasma, and focus it as a projectile. Once filtered through the muzzle, this energy served as a sort of souped-up electro-magnetic pulse that could be targeted at an enemy’s planet. There appeared to be no means of stopping it, because anything placed in its path would be affected by its power. Fortunately, it wasn’t likely capable of nullifying temporal energy. If they were wrong about that, there really wasn’t anything they could do.

The teleporter rings were not completed yet, which was why they chose a departing site as far as they did, to give this process time. The Power Vacuum would reach it in 2374, but if all went according to plan, it wouldn’t go any farther than that. They were the largest teleporters ever, far outsizing the diameter of the star of origin. The beam should pass right into the entrance, and be instantly transported to the exit, where it would fly out into the void at the speed of light, where it would not be able to harm anyone anymore.

Since the robots were doing all of the work, and would continue doing it after they left the timestream, the humans weren’t all that useful anymore. All the intelligent ones could do was periodically check up on the systems, and make sure everything was going smoothly, and all the not super intelligent ones could do was twiddle their thumbs; maybe play a game of RPS-101 Plus, or two...or eleven.

Olimpia paused the game just before Mateo’s Sponge could doesn’t use her Math to win the round. “I’m sick of this.” It looked like a way to avoid losing again, but she wasn’t wrong. They were all bored. Their situation was serious, but in no way urgent.

Everyone agreed, so they leaned back in their chairs, and ignored the screens for a moment. As they were doing nothing, Ramses climbed down from the upper level, and began to head for the engineering ladder.

“Hey, Ramathorn, anything interesting happening on the Jameela right now?” They had temporarily converted one of the shower rooms to a small teleporter, which allowed them to seamlessly switch from one ship to the other, almost as if they were only on the one ship. This feature was limited in range, and a massive power hog, which was why they were pulling energy from the full-sized fusion reactor that was designated for the quantum terminal, completely bypassing their miniature version. The Jameela had one of this calibre on board, as well as a backup in storage, so this was no problem for them.

“Nope.” He slid downstairs without elaborating.

“Welp,” Angela said, looking at her watch. “That conversation killed about ten seconds of time.”

“What are we going to do now?” Olimpia questioned. She unpaused their game just to let the Sponge attack, and be done with it.

Kivi darted her eyes amongst her friends. “We could...upgrade to a better game?”

“What might that be?” Mateo asked. “I’m not playing 4D Go.”

“No, I’m talking about...” Kivi looked around to make sure they weren’t being spied upon. “...Quantum Colony.”

“We ordered that thing to be shut down,” Mateo exclaimed. He was the one who delivered the order personally.

“It mostly was,” Kivi admitted. “But not completely. A few of the hub worlds are still available, while all of the individually-claimed systems are locked out. Teagarden is currently working on a plan to reveal the whole truth to the populace.”

“I’m sure that won’t take thirty years,” Angela joked.

“What do people do there?” Mateo pressed, “on these hub worlds?”

“Well, they’re building an interplanetary train track on one of them,” Kivi said. She grabbed her tablet, and presumably started looking it up.

“How is that possible?” Angela asked. “I mean, in the afterlife simulation, no big deal, but out here?”

“Oh, it’s possible,” Kivi promised. “It orbits one planet, and then keeps moving out in concentric elliptical circles, eventually linking up with orbital tracks from other planets. Hypothetically, if you were none too worried about time, you could literally walk across a solar system.”

“Why would they bother doing that?” Olimpia asked.

“Quite exclusively, because they can,” Kivi answered. She flung the page up to the central hologram so they could all see it. They were looking at several planets with concentric circles connecting them to one another. Part of the circles were white, while others were red. “The red is planned track, not yet complete.”

Angela regarded it with deep fascination. “How long would it take for the whole train ride?”

“It doesn’t get specific,” Kivi replied, “but it says it would only take a matter of weeks. You can go real fast on very little power.”

“Perhaps we’ll go there when it’s done,” Mateo determined. “We probably shouldn’t go anywhere unless we ask for permission anyway. We’ll just get caught.”

“Sure, we can,” Kivi contended. “No one here is an elected leader.”

“They are our leaders just the same,” Olimpia returned. “A fool who refuses to follow their superior only proves why they are the fool, and why their superior is the leader.”

“Who said that?” Angela asked.

“Olimpia Sangster, circa 2371.”

They laughed. This conversation just killed a couple minutes of time.

Angela consulted her watch again. “It’s too late in the day to do anything now. If we’re gonna go somewhere, we should make it an all-day event, and we should make sure the smarties are aware of it. It’s disrespectful not to.”

“It’s nice to hear you say that.” Kestral and Leona were climbing down the ladder.

“Thanks for the heads up, Olimpia,” Leona said.

“What did you do?”

Olimpia lifted her Cassidy cuff, and tapped a button on the screen, which disengaged the communicator.

“We heard most of what you said,” Kestral clarified.

“I don’t feel bad,” Mateo told her. “Us dum-dums need sumfin to do.”

“It’s fine,” Kestral assured him with a smile. “I think it’s a great idea. Unfortunately, we have to amend the plan slightly. You wouldn’t be going to a hub world. A mission came up, and we are once again the best people for the job.”

“Either we all underestimated the number of Quantum Colony players who were aware that it was more than just a game, or Teagarden has been keeping more from us than we realized,” Leona said.

“Someone else set off another weapon?” Kivi guessed.

“No, but as part of the agreement we made with them, Teagarden had to recall all players, either to their homeworld, or one of those hubs. Only once they were returned could they be locked out of the necessary quantum terminals. Most players complied, because the military didn’t say why they were being recalled, or that everyone was being recalled at the same time, or that they probably wouldn’t ever be allowed to go back. There were a few holdouts, which required an actual contingency to go offworld, and scoop them up.”

“Did one of them fight back?” Mateo asked.

“No, they just did to Teagarden exactly what Teagarden was trying to do to them. They hacked into their own quantum terminal, and blocked all external access. It wasn’t hit by the Power Vacuum; it’s not at all in range; they’re just refusing to come back. Even if we didn’t force their hands, Teagarden still wouldn’t be happy about it. You’re not allowed to tamper with the terminal, or you’re meant to be booted from the game.”

“The point is,” Kestral went on, “we got an FTL ship, we gotta go check it out. I’m sure this is just the next of many requests they give us because of our advantage. It’s part of their strategy until they figure out how to reverse-engineer their own reframe engine.”

“Don’t both our ships need to stay with the teleporter rings?” Angela pointed out.

“They are not the only ships we have,” Kestral said, still with that smile. “Ours is a capital ship, complete with other, smaller ships docked inside of it. The four of you will be taking The Tahani on a recon mission to New Earth...on your own.”

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Extremus: Year 21

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Three people are in the room with Halan. One is the ship’s primary counselor, the other is the Consul, and the third is Dr. Holmes. The Consul, who is generally responsible for maintaining the wall that separates right from wrong, is leading this phase of the review. He sets the video sphere on the table between them, and begins. “This is the one-year post-upload certification interview with Probationary Captain Halan Yenant. I am Dvronen Vatal. To my left is current ship counselor, Madam Thora Adebayo, and to my right is Medical Administrator, Dr. Holmes. This is the fourth of nine planned periodical check-ins, which are being used to assess the subject’s ongoing fitness for his responsibilities to the pangalactic generation ship known as The Extremus. They will continue for the next five years, or until such time that the subject is declared undoubtedly competent to continue his role on the ship, whether that be as Captain, as Admiral, or in any other capacity. Dr. Ima Holmes has already performed the most recent medical evaluation in private. Madam Adebayo will be handling the psychological phase immediately following the conclusion of this session, also in private. First of all, Probationary Captain, how are you feeling?”

“I thought you were going to stop calling me that.”

“You’ll assume your full rank after today, assuming this goes smoothly.”

“When does it ever not?”

“I’m just trying to do my job, sir,” Dvronen contends. “No one here has any personal bias against you.”

“Or for you,” Thora adds. She practices a thing called radical honesty, having decided during her studies that anything short of full transparency is conflict waiting to happen. She believes that the only reason anyone ever gets hurt is either because they were hiding something, or someone was hiding something from them. Halan is sure it’s more nuanced than that, but he doesn’t argue with her. It’s part of the reason he prefers to seek guidance from Grief Counselor Meziani, but Madam Adebayo doesn’t know that, because he’s not radically honest. As far as he can tell, this lie is not causing her harm.

Dvronen decides to go on, “I was informed that both you and Probationary Lieutenant Eckhart Mercer ceased your physical therapy shortly after your six-month certification.”

“We don’t need it,” Halan explains. “Physically, we’re fine.”

“But not psychologically?”

“Is anyone ever perfectly emotionally healthy? I was allowed therapy before my death.”

“I’m not judging,” Dvronen assures him. “I obviously cannot access your therapy records, so I’m asking you to provide as much information about that as you feel comfortable with. If that means nothing, then I can accept that. It might be easier to certify you for the next year, though. That will be the longest period of time without one of these interviews you’ve had since the incident. I need to make sure you’re ready.”

“I’m confident that I will be fine,” Halan says. “I’ve been doing the job, and no one has reported any incidents to you, have they?”

Dvronen looks just a tad bit uncomfortable, like he’s not sure he’s going to bring up whatever happened that has him so worried about Halan’s fitness as the Captain.

“Spit it out, Consul,” Halan urges.

“Tell me about December 4, 2289,” Dvronen prompts, still uncomfortable.

Halan has always had a very good memory, but he’s traditionally used it to recall people, rather than events in the past. If you know everything that any given individual has been through, you probably have a pretty good idea of who they are. Once there, you can start to understand them. You won’t ever reach a hundred percent understanding, but it should be enough to see their worldview, and appreciate their flaws. Halan can’t do all that, though. It would be an invasion of privacy, and impossible to try for everyone on the ship. Short of this full understanding, being able to remember too much of that past can actually be a hindrance. Yes, yes, those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it, but it can also make it more difficult to move on. Halan hates to hold grudges, so when people around him screw up, it’s better for everyone if he distributes consequences immediately, but then forget about it, and not hold it against them later. Ovan was a huge exception. December 4, 2289. That was just over a month ago, and while that doesn’t sound like very long, the date doesn’t live in the front of his mind.

“Are you having memory problems?” Dvronen asks after it takes Halan too long to respond. He has his pen ready to take note of this in Halan’s personnel file, and his whole tone has changed for the worse.

“Just give me a second.” Yeah he remembers that date. It’s nothing. “It was nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“According to eyewitness accounts, a child asked you to marry her.”

“I’m the Captain, such sentiments are not uncommon. Children look to me as an authority figure, and they mistake respect for love.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Dvronen promises. “I’m questioning your response to her.”

“Well, she caught me off guard. We were in a room full of people, what did you expect me to say?”

“I don’t know,” Dvronen replies. He zooms in on his tablet. “But maybe not—and I quote—‘perhaps one day, when you’re older, and I haven’t aged.’ Do you still feel as if that was an appropriate response?”

“It was a joke, because I’m a clone now, and many people believe that I don’t age, when actually I still do. I’ll die at around the same time as I would have if I hadn’t been murdered.”

“Do you think the child understood such nuance?” Dvronen pressed.

Halan rolls his eyes. “Probably not, but when she does grow up, she will.”

“I’m not convinced that’s the case. This interaction concerns me.”

He rolls his eyes again. “Have you ever heard of Santa Claus?”

“Ancient Earthan superstitious figure. He gave people cookies, or something.”

“He gave presents, to children, who often gave him cookies.”

“Whatever. Where is this going?”

“Well, he was a lie, just like the Easter Bunny, and Jesus Christ’s ghost, and an honest lawyer.”

“Oh, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”

“My point is that that little girl might right now be dreaming of marrying the captain of the ship, partially because of what I told her, but then she’ll get older, and realize I wasn’t being at all serious. And she’s not going to hold it against me later, because she’ll be an adult.”

“Maybe not, but in the meantime, she’ll have trouble forming romantic relationships with others, because her heart will be with you until such time that she grows up,” Dvronen reasons. His tone grows graver still.

“You don’t know that,” Halan argues.

“Well, if you—”

Halan interrupts him, “You’re here to make sure that the transference of my consciousness to this new substrate has not negatively impacted my job here. It is not your responsibility to criticize my leadership style in general. I was selected as captain over two decades ago, so I must have done something right to prove to the council that I was the best choice. I feel like myself. I am myself. And I would have responded to the girl’s proposal the same way as I would if Ovan had never shot me. Well, I mean, it would have been a different response, because I wouldn’t be in a clone body, but it still wouldn’t necessarily have been something you would approve of. But I did not require your approval before, and I shouldn’t require it now. That is well beyond your scope.”

Dvronen tries to speak again, but can’t get a word out.

“Nothing has changed about who I am, and how I lead; nothing important, anyway. This is just a new body. I’m still the same person I’ve always been, in my mind, which is all that really counts. I even look as I did before I died. If you hadn’t made my condition public, neither the crew, nor the passengers, would have noticed a difference. The only reason the good doctor didn’t upload us two years ago is because it took time to grow the clones in the pods, and people noticed my absence, as well as the Lieutenant’s. Now, I’m going to keep coming back to these things every year, as I promised to. So unless you have some undeniably objective evidence that I’m not competent to continue, continuing is what I’m going to do.”

Dvronen takes a moment before replying, not out of respect for Halan, but as a passive-aggressive tactic to make sure he knows how little sense that little monologue made. “I have the power to strip you of your rank, and begin the succession process.”

“You can’t, she’s too young,” Halan contends.

“Who? The little girl who wants to marry you? She is not up for consideration.” Perhaps the Probationary Captain really has gone crazy.

“You don’t have to consider anything, you’re just a lawyer. I’m talking about Kaiora Leithe.”

“I don’t know who that is,” Dvronen admits.

Halan goes on, “she was the first baby born on this ship.”

“Okay...what about her?”

“She’s on the captain’s track, but she’s too young. She won’t be ready until 2294, which just so happens to coincide with my planned retirement. If you force my replacement now, she’ll never get the chance.”

“Are you saying you’re going to rig the selection process?” Dvronen questions.

“I won’t have to. She’s top of her class, and has been the whole time. She’s forgotten more about this ship than I’ll ever know.”

“I don’t take comfort in that, if true.”

“It’s an expression. Even if she doesn’t get the job, she has plenty of competitors who are also too young, or otherwise not yet ready. You wanna get rid of me? I don’t like it, but I recognize your perspective, and the complexities of this whole situation. But don’t punish the people who are working hard to be worthy of the title one day, and hastily replace me with someone inferior.”

“We wouldn’t have to do that,” Dvronen says. He pulls the bylaws up on his tablet. “Interim leadership. We’re allowed to institute that for a maximum of four years, at which point a new full-shift captain can be found, just as it would be if you served out your own shift.”

“You’re trying to fire me,” Halan figures. That’s why his tone changed, because he was tired of pretending that this charade was anything but an extended exit interview. “Four year interim. You know how hard I would fight against it if we weren’t exactly four years away from my shift change. You’ve wanted this the entire time, but you also need my cooperation.”

The Consul drops all pretense. “It will be so much smoother if you just let this happen. I already have a short list, and since you know literally everyone on the Extremus, you can help us choose the right one. I’ll give you full veto power, and once it’s done, you’ll ascend immediately to the admiralty. We’ve been lacking in that department too. You can even be more involved than Thatch was.”

Dvronen’s logic isn’t bad, and Halan really does see where he’s coming from. Annoyingly, where he’s coming from has placed the Captain in a terribly awkward position, because if he fights it, he’ll look like another power-hungry tyrant, just like Ovan. He can’t simply dismiss this out of hand. There has to be some loophole, though. He wants to keep his seat until his shift is officially over. He doesn’t want there to have been more than nine captains before this is all over. He doesn’t want to step down. He doesn’t want to lose this battle of wills. The incident with the girl was obviously just an excuse for Dvronen to do what he’s wanted to do all along. Maybe Halan can turn things around, and use that against him. He knows what buttons to push. He doesn’t like manipulating people, but he’s done it before, and he can do it again.

“Well...?” Dvronen has to prompt again. Halan spends too much time in his own head.

He’s about to use his silver-tongue to his advantage again, but his words betray him. “Okay.” He can’t get nothing out of this, though. “But I don’t want any more evaluations. This is the last one, or I don’t step down.”

“Okay.”

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Microstory 1770: Net Loss

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I’ve always been a terrible person, who treats others poorly, and only looks out for himself. I don’t like that about myself, but no one understands how hard it is to change. I keep trying to do better, but when I think of something nice to say, it gets stuck inside my head, while a bunch of malice comes out instead. One of my therapists and I worked out the metaphor. There’s a golden net on the top of my throat. It catches all the pretty things that people want to hear, and what I wish I could say to them. These pleasantries are larger, as they should be, but it means that they can’t escape. The smaller, meaner, bits of darkness can slip out easily. After deciding to look at it this way, we began to work on ways to make me easier to work with. Before I respond to someone about something, I’m meant to force myself to smile. This apparently should stretch out the golden net so much that it breaks, and lets out all the goodness I supposedly have inside me. Well, I’ve never been able to break it, but the stretching helps a little. It opens up the holes just a little more, allowing some of the smaller pretty words to get out sometimes. It’s not enough for the Catholic church to canonize me as a saint, but I guess I would call it a start. Sadly, that’s not my only problem anyway. My biggest issue is how I behave, not just what I say to people. Sociopaths and psychopaths say charming things all the time, but if they still act selfishly, or even hurt people, it’s not really good, is it? Altering my instincts to stop just taking what I want without regard to others is going to be the biggest thing I’ve ever tried, and I don’t think I can do it alone. So here I am at this spa, upon the recommendation of one of my therapist’s other patients. They can reportedly turn anyone into a nice person. I feel like I’ve seen this movie before.

I sit on the table in the exam room. The woman who ushered me in here ordered me to remove my clothes. She took them all with her, and never provided a gown. I thought maybe it was an oversight, but when the...I guess, doctor comes in, she’s not fazed, so I guess this is how it goes. She looks me over from the door, quite clinically; not sexually, nor critically. She reaches up, and turns a dial on her glasses, like she’s seeing me through multiple filtered lenses. Once she’s satisfied with her readings, she steps over to a computer terminal on the wall, and begins to input the data. I don’t say a word. She’s the one leading this hoedown, so I wait for her. When she’s finished, she walks back over to the door with a clicker, which she uses to retract the floor. I try not to freak out, but I’m rather confident that the exam table is safe. It stops short of it, like I figured, but I’m stuck up here. It’s a surprisingly large room. There’s no way I would be able to make the jump. The maybe-doctor gives me a choice. I can wait 30 seconds, and walk out of here on the floor with a full refund, or I can take a literal leap of faith, and fix my life. With no context, she leaves. I peer over the edge, and see a beautiful glow emanating from below. My eyes adjust and I realize it’s a net. It’s a golden net. Am I dreaming? Am I just living in the metaphor? This can’t be real, it doesn’t look real. So I jump. I jump belly first. My body lands in the net, and it gives just enough to keep it from hurting. I bounce a little before it returns to equilibrium, and then I’m just lying there. Not for long, though, before I begin to feel skin ooze off my bones. It’s like the net is melting me, except it doesn’t hurt, and I’m not scared. I fall all the way through; not all of me, though; just the best parts, leaving behind only the garbage that once weighed down my soul.

Microstory 1769: Pointed Pyxis

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Folks, there’s no doubt about it, this is the biggest find in archaeological history. I don’t know how it’s possible, but I’ve had it checked by a dozen of my colleagues, and we all agree on the results. This box before you dates back 16,000 years. It calls into question everything we know about pre-literary history. It breaks the laws of physics, and quite honestly, it’s driving me insane. I’m not here to talk about the science we used to date this artifact. You can read our paper at your leisure. Today, I’m going to be showing you the artwork on the box, and explaining just how impossible it is, just in case some of you aren’t surprised by it on your own. Now, we call this object a pointed pyxis, and the first of them rose up in Greek culture during the eleventh century BCE, which is a full 13,000 years after the artifact was made. That alone would be astonishing, to learn that people were making certain styles of art so much earlier than we once believed. That’s not the exciting part. If that was all there was, I suppose we could have just assumed it was a coincidence. Again, still remarkable, but not too crazy. Let me zoom in. In the first hexagon is a woolly mammoth. Nothing weird there; they weren’t extinct back then. But if you look closer, you’ll see that it’s not alone. There’s a human riding on top of it, and as far as we know, people never did that. We hunted and co-existed with them, but we did not domesticate them. Or maybe we did. In the next hexagon—and by the way, I’m not sure what to call this shape; curved hexagons on a sort of pointed cylinder—there is what appears to be a bird. This is not the kind of avian you would expect to find on something from this time period, or from any time period in human history. The pterosaur went extinct 66 million years ago, and was never seen by man. It’s possible the artist uncovered fossilized records, but unlikely they were intact enough for them to so accurately depict it’s living form. That’s your first clue to time travel, but not your last.

This appears to be an illustration of a crucifixion, which didn’t start happening until about the 6th century BCE. This is a sea-faring vessel, of a design which the vikings used in the tenth century CE. This writing is Cuneiform, this is Kaqchikel, this is Cyrillic, and these are Neolithic Chinese characters. Over here is the number pi to 12 decimal places...converted to binary. Here’s the hex code for gunmetal gray, but we had to figure that out, because it’s written in a language that we have never seen before. Right next to it is a photorealistic picture of a cannon in said color. There’s a mushroom cloud, there’s the logo for a car company, and look at this and tell me it doesn’t look exactly like TV’s James Van Der Beek. I could go on and on, but you get the picture. Our best guess is that this is the work of some kind of time traveler, but why would they paint all this on a pointed pyxis? What was the purpose of the container at the time? We’ve tested the inside as well, of course, and found absolutely no residue; not even the paint they used on the outside. No dirt, no microbes, no nothing. We’ve even exposed it to modern air, and while we take every precaution to protect against contamination, at least a little always gets in. We don’t operate inside of a vacuum. I’m presenting this to you, because you are the brightest minds this planet has to offer. We’ve decided to crowdsource the mystery, but we’re not ready to reveal it to the world at large yet. If any of you can explain any aspect of this incredible fine, we encourage you to sign up for some time to examine it. Thank you very much.

Microstory 1768: Father Stern

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Turtle; beach. Fun; nothing. Money; drain. Father; stern. That’s interesting. I never really thought of my father as being stern. Is that really what my subconscious thinks of him? I take a moment to reflect on my life, completely ignoring whatever my therapist is saying now. He could be talking about the same thing, or he could be prompting me with more word associations, but I’m stuck in my own head. He should have thought about that before we started playing this game. The whole reason I’m in here is because I have trouble concentrating on the real world. I can tell the difference between what’s real, and what’s not, but I don’t much care for the former. It’s much easier to pretend I’m living in a fantasy; a world that I can shape to my needs. I don’t like to rely on others, because they’ll only disappoint me. Disappointing; mother. So now I’m just playing the game by myself. Has my mother been a disappointment? She’s certainly not my favorite person in the world, but I love her, and I appreciate everything she’s done for me. What was she supposed to do, order my father to stop making me practice the clarinet for four hours a day. She did the best she could with me and my brother, and so did my father. Brother; escape. Yeah, he was always smarter than me, so he was able to get a scholarship for a college on the other side of the country. I didn’t even bother applying, because the application fee would have been the same as flushing it down the toilet. Meanwhile, he stayed out there, and never has to come back. When the time comes—and it’s coming soon—I’ll be the one still here, having to take care of the parents. They’re going to resent me for it, and he’s going to act like sending a couple hundred dollars a month is contribution enough. He’s rich now, I don’t know why he doesn’t send more. No, this is a stupid stray thought. We don’t need anything from him.

Nothing; fun. That was a weird response too, don’t you think? Why don’t I find anything fun? It’s not even true. I love going...well, I guess I’m tired of that. What about...no, I was never very good. I guess it’s true that I don’t like to have fun. What kind of person feels that way? Suicidal, I suppose. I’ve never given it much thought, but am I secretly at risk of doing something to hurt myself? No, that can’t be right. A lot of people don’t have fun, but that doesn’t mean they don’t enjoy being alive. Fun is an interpretation of an experience, and is not a synonym for happiness. Still, I’m probably not really happy either, which I imagine, is why my wife left me. Wife; disappointed. Wow, how’s that for an Oedipus complex? I’m disappointed in my mother, and my ex-wife is disappointed in me. Does that mean I married myself, though? That doesn’t sound right. That would say more about her own poor choices, and she has her own psychology to deal with, with her own therapist. Therapist; uninspired. Whew, that’s rough. Why don’t you tell us how you really feel, self? It’s true, I don’t know about this guy yet. I feel like I read somewhere that said techniques like this word association game are basic, and ultimately don’t really improve a patient’s mental health. I don’t want to judge, but I’m paying him to help me, and if it’s not doing me any good, then there goes more cash down the toilet. Toilet; now. It’s not an emergency, but I could do with a break. Only then do I notice that we’ve both been silent for the past three minutes; me in my own head, and him waiting patiently for me to come back out of my shell, like a turtle; beach. “Are you ready to talk about your father?” he asks me. Father; stern. Stern; justified.

Microstory 1767: Piscis Austrinus

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I’ve been an honorary fish for a few months now, and I’ve loved almost all of it. There’s something missing in my life, though. I’m the only one of my kind. The other fish have accepted me into their school, but I’m not truly one of them. I’m a giant, and I still look human. Every other member is paired up. That’s how this species works. It’s hard to communicate with them, but I’ve been able to gather some information, like how their pairings are a defense mechanism. When they swim in their circles, they create a bunch of bubbles, which makes them difficult to pinpoint. It allows each pair to move off from the school, and hunt for food, or maybe find a little alone time. I don’t want to mate with a fish, or anything, but I do feel lonely. Like I said, they’ve accepted me, but that doesn’t mean one of them is going to circle with me. I don’t want that anyway. I want to find another human to transform into a fish. Unfortunately, that’s damn near impossible. The reason I discovered this species is because they live deeper than 600 meters below sea level. I’m the first person in history to scuba dive to that depth, and since I never came back up, I doubt anyone else is going to be trying it anytime soon. They wouldn’t likely survive; I was the best in the world before I became a fish. Submarines have come this far before, but not regularly, because there’s usually no point. The chances of finding a mate are just too low to hold out hope. I’ve tried encouraging the school to swim closer to the surface, but they won’t do it. They’ve never done it before, and it’s not how they evolved. I don’t know why they transformed me into someone who can breathe underwater, but they seem to consider that act their one favor, and they aren’t interested in going for another. I’m free to go up alone, but that won’t matter. I’m not capable of repeating the miracle myself. I need them to do it. There’s no other way.

I give up on pleading with them. I don’t think it’s gonna happen, even though the second generation seems to be a little more open-minded. I just surrender to the fact that I’ll live the rest of my life alone. It’s still a blessing to be down here. I’m setting records left and right. As it turns out, 600 meters is a little high for these fish. We spend most of our time at 800, which is a depth I never dreamed of seeing. It’s dark, but my eyes have adjusted accordingly, so it basically looks like tropical snorkeling to me. I don’t even think there’s a regular species with that kind of eyesight. Some have even lost their eyes to evolution, because it’s too dark for them to see. It’s a wonder, all the underground mountains, and other unique terrain. As I’m watching some kind of crustacean crawl around on the floor off the coast of Australia, the school suddenly shoots upwards, faster then they ever have before. I have to work hard to keep up. They gave me the ability to breathe water like air, and to withstand the pressure, but I didn’t grow fins. I’m still using the carbon fiber ones I came down here with. It’s not long before I see what all the fuss is about. It’s another diver. She’s only at 500 meters, but she’s descending quickly. Something is tied to her leg. My God, it’s a cement block. Someone is trying to kill her. I wonder why they left her with her scuba gear. Anyway, her attempted murderer is not going to succeed. The fish do to her what they once did for me. We bite off the rope, and swarm her, using magicks to keep her from dying. I smile, glad to finally have someone that I can relate to again. She does not feel the same way. The first thing she does is swim back up to confront her attacker. I feel compelled to follow. Maybe I can help.

Microstory 1766: Pisces

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I’m the best scuba diver in the world, which is saying a lot, because I was afraid of it when I was a kid, and I come from a family of masters. I’ve since surpassed all others in skills and experience. I can venture to the deepest parts of the ocean that are humanly possible to survive. I can use any kind of tank, and complete any task. Today, I’m about to set the record for the deepest dive ever, and cement myself as one of the absolute best in history. I’ve already passed the last record, but I’m not satisfied with that. I have to get to 600 meters. No one will try that depth after me without a submarine. I check my watch. I had to have it specially made to survive these pressures too, and so far, it’s done me well. I’m at 570 meters, and so pleased with myself. No one has ever seen what I’m seeing right now. Of course, like I said, submarines can descend this far, but they haven’t, not around here. My cousins are going to be so jealous, I can’t wait to run it in their faces. None of them thought that I would make it, and I’ve yet to prove them wrong. It’s not really the deepest dive if I die down here, is it? Maybe they’ll still count it, and sing songs of my brave and tragic end. I keep going: 580, 590, and...600 meters! I reached my goal. If I stay too long, I really will die, though, so I immediately prepare to ascend. Then something catches my eye. It’s a fish. No, it’s two fish. Wow, it’s an entire school. There’s something strange about this species, but I can’t put my finger on it. Oh, yeah, they’re swimming in pairs.

These fish are exhibiting behavior that I’ve never heard of. I’m no ichthyologist, but I know what species live around here, and this ain’t one of them. Every single fish is paired up with another, face to tail. They’re swimming in circles around each other, or more appropriately, around some mutual barycenter between them. Since they’re not going straight, the only reason they go anywhere is because the spin isn’t constant. They nudge themselves in one direction, like propellers. Why the heck are they doing that? Is there some sort of evolutionary advantage to spinning? Perhaps it has more to do with the pairs, and less to do with the way that they swim. I obviously have to take photographs and video of this phenomenon. If I’ve discovered a new species, it will only make me more famous, which is kind of what I’m going for here. I don’t even have to survive. The footage is being automatically beamed back up to the boat. There’s no way for me to communicate with them directly, but I can.imagine my mother urging me to begin the ascension process. It’s going to take an extremely long time, and the extra tanks they left hanging for me at my stop intervals won’t be enough if I don’t maintain my schedule, not to mention the risk of getting bent. I’m about to let it go, and save myself when the fish change behaviors. They stay in their paired circles, but also begin to circle me. They’re aware of me, but probably aren’t sure if I’m a predator. I’m amazed but frightened, but the latter grows faster once they start biting at my equipment. They tear off the straps, and cut the breathing tubes. Welp, I guess I really am gonna die. Except I don’t. I suddenly stop feeling the intense pressure, the freezing cold, and the need to breathe. They’ve somehow transformed me into one of them, and once I realize what an amazing gift this is, I all but forget about my past life as a human, and together...we dive deeper.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 12, 2370

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Sasha had released another teleporter relay over the planet in question during their interim year, which was able to orbit undetected because it was quite small, and required little power when not in use, so it didn’t give off much energy. Leona walked around to make sure that everyone’s tactical equipment was secure, and they were as prepared as they could be. Then she ordered their android to send them on their way. Hrockas stayed behind so there would be four hands on deck, but everyone else went down to the installation.

Everyone was pointing their weapon in a different direction, like Charlie’s Angels times two. They were in the open area of a pressurized dome. Inside was only one structure, and it looked not unlike a castle; a rather old, but seemingly still stable, castle. Additive manufacturing was very good at constructing buildings out of concrete and carbon polymer, but stone was a different story. Though no human being would have had to lay them down one by one, it still would have taken robots a long time to build all this. Creating something this complex required patience, and probably a pretty unhealthy ego. Since it was so audacious and inefficient, seeing it gave them a little insight into who they were about to meet. Leona tried to lead the team towards their objective, but Angela insisted that she take point. She wasn’t the only one here with combat training, but she seemed worried that she wasn’t contributing enough, and while that wasn’t true, dismissing her perceptions would have been worse than letting her handle it.

If all of them knew what they were doing as a tactical unit, they could have spread out to cover more ground, but that wasn’t the smartest thing for this group to do. So they stuck together, and tried to move through the structure as quickly and quietly as possible. The inside looked like a castle as well, except for the advanced technology scattered throughout, like the computer interfaces, LED lights, and a fully-functional quantum terminal. They didn’t look out of place, though. They were designed to fit perfectly within their environment. It looked as it would if people on Earth had continued to live in castles as they progressed scientifically. Ramses got to work on the terminal so that they would have control over it against all others. Only then did they separate. Kivi stayed behind to protect him while everyone else continued the hunt. It wasn’t until they were down in the dungeons when they finally found actual people. In fact, they recognized them. It was Team Kesihda.

“Captain. Lieutenant,” Leona said respectfully. “Everyone’s been wondering where you went.”

“We came here, lookin’ for answers,” Kestral responded, “while you were meant to go to Pluoraia.”

“Went and saw, knew we had to come here next,” Leona clarified without wasting time on the minutia.

Olimpia calibrated her teleporter gun, and trained it on Kestral. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

Olimpia shot her, and then shot Ishida, sending them both right outside the bars.

“Who did this?” Leona continued. “Who’s doing this?”

Ishida shook her head. “No idea. As soon as we arrived, a dalek, a cylon, and Arnold Schwarzenegger, forced us down here, and here we’ve been ever since. R2D2 rolls in to feed us twice a day, but no one else comes.” She accepts a drink of Mateo’s water. “We’ve not seen him in a week now, though. We don’t know why.”

“Great,” Leona said, “a scifi fan. Those are always fun.”

“The real question is where all those evil robots are now,” Mateo said, checking their surroundings for the umpteenth time.

“I’m not fighting R2D2,” Olimpia argued, though no one was arguing against.

“How is it going up there?” Leona asked into her Cassidy cuff.

“We have control of the terminal,” Ramses explained through the speaker, “so we can block access if we want, but I can’t find a single thing about the Power Vacuum, or whatever it is the people who created it call it.”

“Are we sure this is where it’s being controlle?” Olimpia suggested. “Maybe this is just a relay station.”

“She has a good point,” Kivi said through her own cuff. “luoriaia was the first in a line of systems we lost contact with, but it could have originated on an interstellar ship in the middle of empty space.”

“I don’t think so,” Ishida contended. “The amount of power it would take to make that happen can’t be put on a ship. I mean, you might, but why would you when you could just do it from a planet? The planet itself and its host star give you the resources you need, and nobody is even this far out if they didn’t come through the quantum terminal anyway.”

“It doesn’t look like anyone lives here,” Leona said. “We searched most of it, and there was a lot of dust. If someone else is still on the premises, they’re hiding.”

Angela checked her sonic disruptor. “Mateo and I will head for the rest of the rooms. The rest of you should rendezvous with Ramses and Kivi. If we can’t get back to the ship, casting ourselves somewhere else might be our only option.”

Leona was the de facto leader here, but she conceded to Angela’s words without blinking. Olimpia asked to go with the hunting party, saying something about one of them dying, one of them fighting, and the third being able to run for help.

“Keep your head on a swivel,” Angela commanded, “and do everything I say.”

“Yes, sir,” Mateo promised.

It wasn’t long before they found what they were looking for. At the end of the corridor, on the next level below the dungeon, there was a room unlike anything else here. It was well-lit, clean, and chock full of technology, including a secondary quantum terminal. Now they wished that at least one smart person had come with them. A man was standing at the ready, surely having seen them coming a mile away.

“Who are you?” Angela asked impolitely.

“I am He Who Remains, and we are standing at the end of the universe.”

“Just for my own records,” Angela pressed, “are you going to be playing make believe the entire time, or will you at least eventually start taking this seriously?”

The man placed the sides of both index fingers along his bottom lip, then slowly slid them up. As he did so, his face transformed colors, leaving him looking like a creepy clown. “Why so serioussssuh!”

Angela rolled her eyes. “I guess that’s our answer.” And with that she shot him in the chest with the disruptor.

He fell to the ground, but wasn’t dead. By the time he woke up, the rest of the group had made their way down there. They wrapped two of the extra Cassidy cuffs around the man’s wrists. They didn’t know if he had time powers, but it was best to suppress them until they had a better idea of who they were dealing with. Powers or no, it was a good idea to keep him bound.

“My name is Vendelin Blackbourne, and I know why you’re all here.”

“You declared war on Pluoraia, and killed a lot of people,” Leona accused.

“That was not my intention,” Vendelin claimed. “I have no quarrel with the Pluoraians. That was only meant to be a weapons test, but my aim was way off. I was intending to sell it to Teagarden once I worked out all the kinks.”

“How did you end up in this system?” Leona continued, brushing past his idea to seek payment in a galaxy that gave up money centuries ago.

“Quantum Colony, just like everybody else,” he answered.

“Uhuh. And is that a game, or is it real life disguised as a game?”

He looked surprised by the question. “Both.”

“So you’ve always known that you weren’t ever just in a simulation?”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out,” Vendelin said with a laugh. “The day I started playing, I was suspicious. I ejected from the simulation, and then pored over the data regarding this system from base reality. I noticed that this data kept changing, ever so slightly, every time I made a change in the game. I realized that I was making a real impact. Anyone else should have come to the same conclusion.”

“Yet you still chose to set off that weapon.”

“Again, it was an accident. I built an outpost on a planet that lies between the weapon and Pluoraia. I thought it would stop there, and only my own machines would be affected, but then the damn thing bounced off, and kept going. It didn’t even change directions too much. It’s still moving in about a straight line.”

“Okay, so stop it,” Leona demanded.

“I can’t, it’s over. Have you ever shot a gun, only to have entropy reverse, and the bullet come back into the magazine?”

“You could have at least told someone what you did, instead of erasing your outposts from the logs, and covering up your mistake. That thing is headed right for Earth. They need as much time as they can get to figure out how to survive it.”

“It’ll be fine,” Vendelin assured them unconvincingly. “The beam will dissipate long before then.”

“Are you sure about that?” Ramses questioned. It hasn’t started to diminish yet. Our readings indicate that it’s just as strong as it always was.”

“I don’t know what to tell ya, man,” Vendelin said with too much of a casual attitude. “I’m not worried about what’s happening on Earth. I’ve spent most of my life in the black.”

“Well, you’re going to start worrying about it now!” Olimpia shouted. “If you don’t figure out how to stop it before it even reaches Barnard’s Star, then we’ll kill you.” They would never do that, but no one seemed to be bothered by the hollow threat.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you.” He didn’t feel a modicum of remorse. “Based on my observations, Pluoraia is back up and running smoothly. Earth will do the same; probably even better, since they’re the most advanced.”

“How many Earthans will die in the process when planes fall out of the sky, and vactrains lose their levitation?” Kivi posed.

“You’re right,” Vendelin conceded, “I should have given them an anonymous tip. But now you’re here, and you can do it. In fact, why don’t you leave right now, so I can get back to my work?”

“We’re not going anywhere until you help us. Afterwards, we’ll drop you off at Teagarden, where the officials there can decide what to do with you,” Leona warned.

“You’re not giving me much of an incentive,” Vendelin said with a smile. “You’re also not holding any good cards.” He blinked deliberately, which prompted an uncomfortable sound in the hallway. It wasn’t long before creepy metal bugs crawled inside. They were on the floors, and the wall, and even the ceiling.

“Replicators,” Olimpia said in fear and awe.

“If you prefer, I can send in the Borg instead.” Vendelin was so pleased with himself for having co-opted intellectual property from ancient entertainment.

“I can handle them,” Angela said. She took out the same ball she used years ago to illustrate how skilled and coordinated she was. “I lied before. This thing is indeed magic. I call it my hyper-destructive happy fun bouncing ball.” She threw it at one of the replicators. It bounced off, only to make its way to one of the others. It just kept bouncing off each one, and sometimes a wall, but never losing momentum. In under a minute, every replicator replica in the room was destroyed. Once it was over, it flew back over to Angela’s hand, where she caught it, and placed it back safely in her bag.

“Touché,” Vendelin said. “I should have indeed gone with the Borg.”

It was then that Hrockas came into the room, surveying the mayhem, and watching his step. “This the guy?”

“We told you to wait in the ship,” Leona reminded him.

“We lost contact with you when you came down here,” Hrockas explained. “Sasha was worried.”

“I know who you are,” Vendelin said to him, still sporting his evil grin. “You own Pluoraia, you lucky bastard.”

“Yes, and you thoughtlessly murdered a lot of my friends.”

“I don’t see it that way.”

“I do,” Hrockas reiterated. He walked over, and pushed Vendelin into one of the casting pods. “I believe my people have the right to confront their enemies, and punish them as they see fit?”

They looked to Leona, who took a moment to consider the options. “He’s not going to help, and I already have an idea for how to stop the beam. It entails building something that no one ever has before. We don’t need him.”

“Thank you,” Hrockas said graciously.

Ramses helped him transfer Vendelin’s consciousness to Pluoraia, and then did the same for Hrockas. The rest of the team left to prevent his little accident from reaching any more inhabited planets.

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