Extremus: Year 33

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Admiral Olindse Belo is a decent leader, served as a good captain, and is a great person. She listened to her advisors, and the people, and dispensed reasonable and righteous orders. She treats everyone with respect, even when they don’t really deserve it. Unlike Kaiora and Halan, she is not a manipulator. She knows how to lie, but she doesn’t know how to deceive, or steer people in the direction that she wants. She speaks plainly, and unambiguously, and genuinely cares about other people’s needs. Despite what Vice Admiral Perran Thatch tried to teach her about the art of war, Ovan and Dvronen were able to see right through her scheme. So when they were released for a week, along with Halan Yenant, they acted like model citizens, not causing trouble, or starting any revolutions. That’s not what Olindse wanted. She wanted Halan to look like a hero, so the ship would eventually agree to release him from hock. Then again, it is indeed what she wanted to happen. Temporarily releasing the other two could have spelled doom for the mission, but they were so scared of rocking the boat that they didn’t do anything even remotely wrong. In the end, that is a much greater achievement than any sort of conspiratorial deep state could hope to replicate. Peace won out after all.

Since the brief prison release experiment, things on Extremus have been going swimmingly. The people who have strong feelings against incarceration saw a little bit of justice, according to their moral standards. The people who believe strongly in favor of paying for one’s crimes saw all three long-term prisoners returned to their cells relatively swiftly. Everyone saw that their leadership was fair, open-minded, and very much not tyrannical. It was a win-win-win-ad-nauseum, and Olindse was pleased with herself for having come up with yet another great idea that turned out even better than she hoped. At the same time, she has gone back to not being needed.

Tap, tap, tap. “Hello?”

“Umm...hello?” Olindse asks the aether.

“Is this Vice Admiral Belo?” the mysterious voice asks. Tap, tap, tap again.

“Full Admiral, who is this?”

“Oh, sorry, I wasn’t sure when I would reach you. I’m in the mirror.”

Olindse keeps the time mirror she uses to communicate with Thatch in her drawer when she doesn’t need advice from him. Who is this person? She pulls it out, and sets it on the desk.

“Thank you, I feel like I can breathe again, even though I’m obviously not actually in the mirror,” the man muses.

“Who are you?” Olindse presses.

“This is Captain Kaison Summerling, Seventh of Eleven.”

Oh, someone from the future. “Eleven? How did that happen?”

“Let’s just say...there was a death in the family,” Kaison replies.

“Kaison, you say? How do you—”

“K-A-I-S-O-N. It’s a family name. That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

“This is highly irregular,” Olindse points out.

“So is doing the same thing as this with Vice Admiral Thatch.”

How does he know about that? “That’s different, he has a way of erasing his own memories without anyone else’s help.”

“So do you,” Kaison points out. “It’s hidden in the mirror. Place the tips of your six middle fingers against each other, and lay the pads down on the base. Like this, watch me as I do it in the air. Anywhere’s fine. Now simultaneously tap one pinky, and the opposite thumb down. Do the same for the opposite ones. Slide your fingers apart, and a little compartment should pop open.”

He’s right. A tiny little door opens on the stem. Inside is the little green bottle of eyedrops that Thatch supposedly uses to erase his memory of an entire day.

“One drop per eye should take care of a day, maybe a little longer. If I ever need you again in the future, I plan on reaching out within seconds of our last meeting, from your perspective, so you only have to do it once.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything,” Olindse tells him.

“Please, I need your help, and you’re the only one I can trust. You’ve already traveled through time; you understand the risks.”

“Is everything that happened to me common knowledge?” she asks.

“No, it’s just my knowledge,” he answers.

She turns the bottle around in her fingers. “Fine. Just...choose your words carefully, and keep it as short as possible.”

“Thanks.”

“What’s your problem?”

“Well, you noticed how similar my name is to your Captain’s. I am Kaiora Leithe’s grand-nephew.”

“So, when you said there was a death in the family...”

“I meant it literally.”

“Is Kaiora the one who dies?” Olindse will not be able to retain this information about the future, but this version of her has her memories intact, and is dealing with the issue right now in this moment. She has to hear the truth, regardless of whether she’ll be allowed to recall it later or not.

“No. It was my mother.”

“Your mother?” Olindse questions, aghast at the possibility. “Three captains, one family?”

Kaison sighs. “Four. My father finished her shift for her when she died.”

“Jesus Christ, Kaison, this isn’t how the system was intended to work.”

“We all got here on our own merits, even my father. They met each other in school, both on the captain’s track, and he almost beat her out of the position before. You have to understand that a lot happens after Kaiora completes her own shift. Things were weird, and the people demanded someone reliable, and almost familiar. Mom fit that description, and she was excellent before she passed. No one thought about the fact that she was a legacy.”

“Still. The crew considering her in the first place, knowing she was related to a previous captain...it’s not right. And then you come along...they shouldn’t have even let you apply to the program.”

“Well, I did, and I made it, and I earned it, but some people...”

“Doubt you? I would think so.”

“I just need your advice on how to lead them without being manipulative. You’re famous for your integrity, against all other previous and current executive crewmembers.”

“My advice?”

“Yes.”

“No matter what it is?”

“Absolutely.”

“How long have you been in the seat?”

He takes too long to respond.

“Kaison.”

“A day.”

Olindse rolls her eyes. “Well. It’s not a good sign that you sought my help quite this early in your shift, but it works to our advantage. My advice is to step down. Tell them you changed your mind. The people who make these decisions chose you,but you weren’t the only one they were contemplating. There’s a runner-up. In fact, there are at least two. They just don’t release these other names to the public. There’s still time for you to fix this, but the longer you wait, the shittier you’ll look. Do the right thing, and get out of there. End the dynasty. People don’t like things like that, because the kings of old used to take their positions based purely on the bloodline, which is a ridiculous and archaic way of finding leadership.”

Kaison looks away, and shakes his head, but then he begins to nod. “You’re right, you’re right! This is unfair. And even if it isn’t, it will always look like it is, and I inherently will not be able to be a good leader. I guess I knew this, and I just needed to hear from someone which history has shown that I can trust.”

“Can you promise me you’ll do it, or are you deceiving me?”

“No, I promise.”

“Okay. Good. We should end it here.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says. She turns off the time mirror, and begins to open the eye drop bottle. He surely won’t need to speak with her again if he’s no longer going to be Captain.

“Hello? Admiral Belo?”

Olindse stops, and looks down at the mirror. He looks older—he looks a lot older. “Kaison, what the hell are you doing? You were supposed to step down.”

“I did. After we hung up, I literally transported right up to the Consul’s office to declare my decision. Nobody tried to talk me out of it. I basically got an annulment. The real Captain even just went by Seventh of Eleven, instead of twelve. Things were great, it was the right decision. Unfortunately, it did not come without its consequences, at least as far as we’re concerned. I kept the mirror, because...who else can be trusted with it? But I don’t have any other privileges. I’m not even allowed to join the crew in any capacity. It would reflect poorly on everyone. I accepted this, and things were great for twenty-four years, but I kind of need to be in a position of power now, because of the new, new captain.”

“I don’t think I should hear about this.”

“You have to,” Kaison insists. “You’re still the only one I can trust. He is bad news, Olindse, I’m tellin’ you, they made a big mistake. He is—I mean, if you thought Ovan Teleres was a problem, you...he—like, Ovan is a sweet puppy dog compared to this guy. He’s gonna get us all killed. He is clinically insane, and I don’t think anyone can stop him.”

“Who else knows about this?” Olindse asks.

“Just you and I would guess the scattered few others who have picked up on the signs. I haven’t discussed it with anyone, though.”

“So he isn’t outwardly evil?”

“No, but I can tell. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. He’s like Ovan, but he’s not Ovan. Please, this is bad.”

“Kaison, I can’t do anything about it, and neither can you. If he hasn’t done anything wrong, then it’s over, he’s Captain.”

Kaison is shaking his head. “You don’t understand.”

“Come to me with proof,” Olindse advises. “Something I can hang my hat on. That’s the only way you can get anything done. But if you commit a crime to accomplish it, you’re not doin’ the ship any favors, so you have to think long and hard about every single move you make from here on out. If he’s as dangerous as you believe, you can’t get caught looking for evidence.”

“Okay,” Kaison says with a nod. “I’ll begin my own investigation, but I’ll do it slowly, and carefully, and methodically.”

“Good. Contact me when you have something.” She takes a gander at her watch. “In a few seconds. I’ll hold off on the eyedrops until I know you’re safe, and whatever problem may arise has been resolved.”

“Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome again.”

Seconds later, a figure appears in the time mirror, but it isn’t Kaison. It’s a woman. “Admiral Belo?” she whispers. She seems nervous and frightened. A light above her flickers, and she jumps in a panic, darting her eyes to make sure she’s still alone.

“Can I help you?”

“You were the one that dad always used to talk about?”

“Dad?”

“Kaison Summerling.”

“Uhh, yeah.”

“Your advice was good, but...he wasn’t. He couldn’t pull it off. He’s been in hock for years. The good news is that his crazy theories were right, so he’s been validated.”

“What happened?”

“We’re running scared. I was able to get a message from him, but all it said was to find this mirror, and talk to you. The hock is in a section of Extremus that we can’t get to. There’s a border separating us. On one end is the real bridge, and on the other is the original bridge...the one they called The Perran Thatch. Each side controls some systems, but neither controls all of it. We’re in the middle of an internal conflict. It’s a war.” She shakes her head, still scared, even though it sounds like the enemy can’t get to her. “It’s a war we can’t win.”

“If the border separates the bow from the stern, that means the Extraction Room is on your side of it. Is that true?”

“It is,” the unnamed woman confirms.

Olindse takes a second to think about if she really wants to do this. This isn’t her fight. Her fight is decades prior; it’s now. But there is no fight now. Things are fine, and it’s the future of this mission that’s at stake. Kaiora will have to understand. They’ll be fine without her. They won’t even notice that she’s gone. She disappeared for months, and people just moved on. It seems as though that was a dry run for the mission that begins today. “Extract me. I’ll come and help.”

“Really?”

“Open the portal before I change my mind.”

“Thank you.”

Olindse takes out a slip of regular old paper. The portal opens up on the other side of the room. Before she can scribble out a goodbye note, the normal door opens up.

Captain Kaiora Leithe is on the other side. She darts her gaze over to the portal. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not needed here, but I’m needed there, in the future.”

“Olindse, don’t,” Kaiora commands.

“Take care of my ship, so it’s still there when I get to the other side.”

“Admiral Olindse Belo, I order you to stand down. Do not step through that portal. I mean it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Kaiora places herself between Olindse and the portal, but the thing about portals is that they connect two points in spacetime together. There is no reason you can’t use one in tandem with other time technology.

Olindse activates her teleporter, and jumps right through. In a second, the portal is closed, and the only living admiral this ship still had left is gone.

Kaiora looks over at the desk, and eyes the memory-wiping solution.

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Microstory 1830: Extreme to the End

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I am an adventurer. I like going to the most extreme places on Earth, and participating in the most extreme sports. I kayak on rapids, and run marathons, and even learned how to dance fight. That last one wasn’t especially dangerous, but it wasn’t sitting at home on your couch either, let me tell you that. I’ve climbed the highest mountains, and dove the deepest oceans. If I’m not risking my life, I’m not happy. I can’t say how many times I’ve been seconds or centimeters away from death, but I like to tell people that that is my comfort zone. One day, I thought it could eventually get me, but if the story is crazy enough, my legacy will live on without me. Until then, living on the edge makes me feel alive, and I wouldn’t give it up for anything. That’s why I’m so disappointed in myself right now. I did all these things, and expected to die from something amazing, but that’s not what’s happening. It’s so boring, and pathetic, and embarrassing. I would say I’ll never get over it, but that’s an understatement, because this is it. Someone is going to find me like this, and that will be my entire story. They won’t talk about the time I ran with the bulls, or when I swung over the streets like a certain red and blue costumed hero, from one building to another. That one landed me in jail, and it was my proudest moment. My fan base grew, like, a thousand percent that day. I can’t bear to lose them. I know—again—I’ll be dead anyway, but that shouldn’t mean they all start making fun of me. They should continue to watch my stuff, and talk about me. They should flip off their mothers once she closes the door behind her after scolding them for watching those dumb videos. They should aspire to be me no matter what.

I slipped in the shower, how pitiful is that? I was just trying to step out when I lost my balance, and knocked my head against the porcelain. I don’t mind dying, but not like this, dammit! I struggle to grab my phone from the vanity. It falls right into the toilet. I didn’t bother buying something rugged or waterproof, because I’m not about that virtual life. I live in the moment, in the real world. It’s dead, and I don’t have any other way of reaching out for help, which means the end is near, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. But maybe I can make it a little better. Maybe I can die as I lived, like a freakin’ badass that people look up to. I turn the water back on, and shove the blood down the drain, but it just keeps leaking from my head. But it has to stop at some point, right? No one can know that it started here, or the ruse won’t work. It’s still coming? Seriously!? This isn’t fair! I’ll wrap a towel around it to keep it from dripping on the floors. Must. Get. To. The. Window. This is gonna work. It’s a foolproof plan. They’re gonna find me on the pavement, and they won’t know why I did it, but they’ll call me a hero. Because I am a hero. I crawl across the tiles, onto the hardwood floors of the hallway, and then onto the carpet of the guest bedroom. Some blood does drip from the towel, so I wipe it up with my hand, and keep going. Yeah, I’m not leavin’ a trail. This is definitely gonna work. It’s getting harder to move, but it’s not much farther now. Damn, the window is locked, and I’m getting woozy. I don’t think I can figure out how to open the latch in this state. It’s too complicated. Why do they make windows so complicated? That’s all right. Better even. Going through the glass will just make me look awesomer. I get to my feet, and slam my head against it. It cracks, but doesn’t shatter. I strike it again. It breaks, but not all the way. One more time...and I’m free. Oh, wait, no. I live on the first floor.

Microstory 1829: First, Youngest, Alone, and Female

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Until recently, I was the youngest person to have gone to space. I’m still the youngest to have landed on the moon. In 1966, I was working as a test pilot for the Canadian Air Force, having racked up thousands of hours of flight time, and apparently impressing the Usonian government with my skills. At the time, only three nations were engaged in space flight, and Canada was not one of them, but the Usonian Space Department was looking to show the world that they were inclusive. They reached out to us to help realize humanity’s dream of reaching the moon within a year. By then, the primary crew of astronauts were already picked, and all of them Usonian. I was part of the B-team, so I would only be called up if something went wrong. Something did go wrong, and they needed me to pilot the craft. No one ever thought that I would go on the mission, so I didn’t receive quite as much training as I probably should have, but I was confident in my competence, and ready to do my country proud. I still wasn’t meant to set foot on the moon. Three people made the trip to lunar orbit in 1967, but only two were intended to go down. Someone had to stay up and keep the module running while the landing party did their thing. Unfortunately, something else went wrong. The USD wanted the crew to be inexperienced in space. A few people had already been to Earthan orbit a few times, but they wanted this new mission to start with fresh faces. No one had really done any studies until then regarding the psychological effects of being in outer space for long periods of time, trapped in a tin can, with so little stimulation. This was the longest mission yet, and the most difficult. Our commander couldn’t handle the pressure. He had a breakdown which threatened the safety and continuation of the mission.

The lander pilot wanted to go down on his own. There was a contingency for this, and the USD was prepared to agree to this decision. The problem was that our commander was exhibiting erratic behavior, and I was not qualified to help him through it. The two of them knew each other. They understood each other. And the lander pilot was the only one who could make sure the commander didn’t jeopardize the lives of all three of us without realizing what he was doing. If he landed, and the commander did something to sabotage the module while he was gone, all three of us would die. Because of all of this, the USD decided to abort, and bring everyone back home, but the other pilot wasn’t happy with this decision. We went all the way out there, spent millions of dollars, and inspired millions of people to reach for greatness. Someone had to be the first to land on the surface of the moon, goddammit, and if it couldn’t be him, there was only one option left. Me. The USD wouldn’t hear of it. Back then, it wasn’t illegal to be a woman, or anything, but many people who were huddled around their TVs and radios—and some in the control room—didn’t want the history books to record that a female Canadian achieved this milestone, especially not alone. He didn’t listen. While he protected the commander from himself, I climbed into the lander by myself, detached from the module, and flew down to my destiny. I planted both feet on that gray regolith at the same time, and spoke some of the most famous words in history, “I stand here, lighter than ever, smiling at the Earth in the distance, not as a Canadian...not as a woman...not as a pilot. Today I represent the world, and the spirit of humankind. I am not the first explorer, and I cannot wait to watch the next ones lead us further into the future.”

Microstory 1828: All Messed Up

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This is my own fault, and I know it, even if I don’t know much right now. I can’t even tell you everything I’m on at the moment, though I can make a few guesses. I suppose you wanna know how it is I ended up at this point in my life, huh? Well, I was taking opioids before taking opioids was cool. The pharmaceutical companies didn’t get me hooked, and I’m not a victim. I knew what I was getting into when I took my first hit. I just kind of thought I was better than that, and would be able to quit if I wanted. Maybe I am one of those people. Maybe I’ve just never truly wanted to quit. Or maybe that’s just an excuse I make to myself to make myself feel better for being too weak to make my life healthy and drug free. A lot of people seem to find their poison and stick to it. One guy likes bourbon, another prefers cigarettes. I don’t really care how they taste, and as far as I’m concerned, they all get you messed up, so what difference does it make? I drink, I smoke, I shoot, I snort. I swallow, I ingest, I place on my tongue, and I rub on my skin. I do it all, which I think used to be a point of pride for me. I’ve never really gotten addicted to one thing. I would say it’s more that I’m addicted to being addicted. I imagine a part of me thinks that no drug can take over my life if I stop using it for a while to focus on other things. But those other things are just as bad, so the result is the same. Again, the taste doesn’t matter if I’m effed up all the time. My real problem is a lack of consequences. Being constantly high meant that I didn’t care how it affected the people I loved. I loved drugs more than any of them, so losing one loved one never felt like such a great loss. Way I saw it, I was always just trading one friend for another.

Money has been absolutely no issue. I unlocked my trust fund when I became an adult, and before my parents could cut me off, they were dead, and no longer had any say in the matter. So I just kept going, because no one could stop me, nor even tried for long. Perhaps they thought I would give up and crawl back to them with my tail between my legs. They overestimated their own value to me, and my own ability to recognize how much better things could actually be if I knew what true happiness was. In the end, I’m sure it’s for the best. Anyone who tried to hold onto some kind of relationship with me would have been dragged down into the depths of hell. I say that like it was something a mysterious unseen force would do to them. It would have been me. I would have dragged them down, and I’m glad they didn’t let me do that to them. So I’m like the only sacrifice. Except this sacrifice didn’t need to happen either. No, I’m not making any sense, but what do you expect from a guy like me? Did you think I would be coherent? I forgot how to do that years ago, and I don’t really care. I don’t care about anything anymore. I wish I could tell you that I wasted my potential, and had a lot going for me, but it would be a lie. My parents didn’t worry about my grades, and I was filled with so little promise that mother didn’t even want me to go into the family business. They just let me coast through life, and this is where I am today. Again, I’m not blaming anyone but myself. I had some pretty great teachers who came this close to steering me down the right path. The reality is that I’m a loser, and I was pretty much always destined to be as much. As I’m sitting here on this dirty couch, I contemplate what to do next. I realize that I could probably call for help before this overdose kills me, but what would be the point? I’ll always just be that guy you used to know who’s always all messed up.

Microstory 1827: Built on Sandeaters

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I’m famous in certain circles. You may think that every species of animal has been discovered by now, but that’s not true. No, the legends of massive monsters hiding from cameras in the forests are not what I’m talking about. Nor am I talking about microscopic organisms, which we may never catalogue comprehensively. I found something in between...something very special. As remote as the region is where I discovered it, I’m surprised that no one had noticed it before. Well, I’m guessing that people centuries ago knew about it, but didn’t think to write it down. That’s probably what happened. I chose to name it the marsupian sandeater. It doesn’t really eat sand, but it really does live in the desert, and it really is a marsupial. That’s the first thing that was so special about it. This species is the only known marsupial to exist somewhere besides Australia or the Americas. Nothing like this has been found on the continent of Africa. The assumption is that they were transported here at some point, but scientists have yet to find evidence of that, or similarly that they aren’t indigenous to the region, as crazy as that sounds. Like the kangaroo rat, this thing can survive on an incredibly low amount of water. It actually recycles it throughout its system a few times before crystalizing the waste, and passing it. It doesn’t sweat, but uses blood flow to regulate its own temperature, and cool itself in the hot climate. It’s an amazing creature, and I feel such pride for having been the first to find it, and realize what I had. It was totally by accident. I enjoy learning the sciences, but I don’t have a degree myself. I guess you could call me a lifelong learner, because I love to read, and I know how to do research on my own. So I wasn’t super involved in the ongoing research into it, but like I said, I was given the honor of naming it, and I received general credit for the achievement too.

Sadly, my fifteen minutes of fame didn’t last very long, which is surely why they call it that. I spent my life after that trying to recreate the magic, whether it was a second new species in the Amazon rainforest, or a new method of detecting exoplanets. Nothing came of my efforts. I wasn’t able to make a single significant accomplishment since. As it turns out, it was only a fluke. I wasn’t special, I wasn’t skilled. I was a nobody that time would eventually forget. I took that trip to my ancestral lands to find my true self somewhere on the journey, but I ended up just finding a fabricated version of myself. He was special. He mattered. But he died long ago, and the world was left with this lesser facsimile. My obsession with bringing him back to life drove me deeper and deeper into obscurity, and truthfully, mediocrity. I should have found my true passion. I should have focused on figuring out my skill set, and contributing to the world in my own way, instead of giving up on anything that didn’t produce results immediately, like the one time it did. My family and friends could see it. They kept trying to get me to settle down, but I didn’t listen, and there is nothing I regret more. There is nothing I could regret more, because it was my entire identity. I defined myself as someone who was going to do great things, rather than someone who was going to do his best, and try to be happy. I had the opportunity to go see the healer in America, but I decided the last thing I needed was more time. It was probably only going to come with more disappointment. I’m like that little marsupial in the Sahara; self-reliant to a fault, uninteresting but for one thing, with nothing better to do than burrow in the sand, and not drink water.

Microstory 1826: Shared Birthday

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It’s not my birthday today, but it’s the day that I used to use for it. My best friend, who I grew up with, was born exactly six months after me, to the hour. Obviously, we used to have our own separate celebrations, but we liked to do everything together, so we figured we might as well include birthday parties in that. We split the difference, and always observed it halfway between mine and hers. Our families didn’t really understand why we would want this, and it took them a while to recall the occasion, since the date wasn’t significant for any of them, but they eventually got on board, and it became a lovely tradition. As we got older, we did the usual thing of distancing ourselves from our families, and exerting our independence, but we never grew apart from each other, and we never stopped these middle birthdays. She died years ago, not too long after our last ever joint party. It was so sudden, but not an accident. Her heart just stopped beating. I think her parents know more about it than they wanted to tell me, but I don’t think there was anything anyone could have done to stop it. I was devastated, and depressed, and I didn’t know what I was going to do with myself. Who was I without her? We would always go on group dates, and we took care of each other, and we had no secrets. I just sort of went on autopilot after that, letting my routines take me through life, which just made it worse, because so many of those routines involved her. I realized after that how much I loved her, and that I didn’t really need anyone else to be happy. Those dates were pointless. Rather, they weren’t, but we were really just dating each other. We were in love, at least in every sense that mattered. Sex was so unimportant to both of us. We probably would have admitted this much about ourselves, and stopped trying to find partners in others. Now we’ll never know.

A few months after it happened, her real birthday rolled around. I didn’t realize it until the end of the day. I was sitting on my couch, watching whatever happened to be on TV, when the weather came on. They showed us the date, and I realized its significance. A normal person would know exactly what day it was, but I had all but missed it. It’s like she died all over again, I cried for hours. Thin walls line my apartment, I know my neighbors heard, but everyone knew what was going on, so they didn’t say a word. The next day, my neighbor to the left invited me over for dinner, and though he still didn’t say anything, I know it was because he didn’t want me to have to be alone. It was nice. We started to do it every week, making it a new tradition. I should have seen it all along, but I didn’t notice what was really going on until my own real birthday occurred. Again, I didn’t realize right away what day it was, because the day was so meaningless. But that neighbor wanted to take me out, and do something special. The way he looked at me that night, it was the same way he always looked at me, but I was seeing it in a new light. It was love. He was in love with me, and I was in love with him. We had been dating for the last few months, and I didn’t even know it. I felt like such an idiot. How many times did I act like a bad girlfriend because I wasn’t aware that I was one. I decided to be honest with him. I’ll always remember his smile. He wasn’t the least bit surprised at how dense I was being, and he didn’t hold it against me. We just kind of started over from there, with both of us on the same page. We have been married for thirty years. And now I’m dying, and it’s not my birthday, but it’s the day that I used to use for it.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 24, 2382

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According to the AOC’s sensors, there was no life support in the hangar bay. It even detected a little bit of dust, suggesting that this entire section had been abandoned for years. One would think that an army of automated systems could maintain it even if it wasn’t in use, but perhaps that demanded too many resources. While they were apparently using a whole star to power what added up to a massive spaceship, they wanted to make every ounce of it count. They wouldn’t be able to leave their little ship unless they wanted to use their suits, and wander around until they figured out where they were going. Since they didn’t want to do that, they chose to spend the day strategizing and resting.

Once the alternate version of Angela—who seemed perfectly fine with going by her middle name, Marie—understood everything the team had been through in the last five days, she began to plot a diplomatic course for the two of them. She had received extensive training in the afterlife simulation to become a counselor. It was her job to help recently uploaded guests understand and appreciate their new circumstances. Her education went far beyond that, though, and her skills would be incredibly useful for Mateo’s goal of fixing this issue without violence. The people of this matrioshka brain detachment were smart enough to build this thing, purportedly among others, so they had to listen to reason, right? That sounded right. No species existed that was too tame to fight for its survival. Any individual exhibiting such traits would die before taking their species down that path. Yet civilization will not form if individuals aren’t capable of cooperation. Someone had to be willing to hear them out before shooting them on sight.

They set their alarm to go off an hour before midnight central, so they could get ready, and used the last of the ship’s main power reserves to force it to jump to the future with them. Come the next year, they returned to the timestream, booted up auxiliary systems to make themselves known, and sent a basic radio signal in all directions. Obviously their ship was capable of it, but it wasn’t likely something ever used before. They just didn’t want to waste what little power they had left on something more sophisticated. “This is Mateo Matic of the stateless private vessel Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, reaching out to anyone responsible for the Security Watchhouse Detachment. We seek to begin diplomatic discussions. Please respond.”

After a moment, the static morphed as someone struggled to respond, “www-where are you?”

“We’re in a hangar bay,” Mateo answered.

“Say again?” The signal wasn’t very clear.

“We are in some kind of seemingly abandoned hangar bay.”

The voice laughed as the sound was becoming easier to hear. “How did you get past their defenses?” Their defenses?

“It’s a long story. Where are you?”

“I’m in the breakroom, on my lunch break.”

“I meant, are you not on the SWD?”

“No, I am. No one’s gonna respond to you but me. They don’t use this kind of technology anymore. At its worst, signal lag can be nearly half an hour using regular radios like this. Quantum communication is the only reasonable means of doing it. This hangar bay you’re in must be relatively close to my position.”

“Oh, so you’re...”

“Not anyone of importance?” she laughed. “No. I specialize in antiquated technology. They figured someone ought to know how this stuff works in case we come across a sufficiently unadvanced culture somewhere. I’m about as abandoned as your hanger bay. If you need to speak with a diplomat, I can’t help you.”

Marie took the microphone from him. “We’re an enemy of the SWD. How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t really care. It’s not my fight. I just work here.”

“You’re sure no one’s listening to this?” Angela prompted.

“They don’t have the equipment, and wouldn’t know how to work it if they did.”

“Even though you work with outdated tech, you still have your own personal quantum sequence, correct?”

“I do, yes, of course.”

“Would you mind sending that to us, and consenting to a face-to-face?”

“Get a pen and paper.”

Marie entered the sequence into her cuff, and then used that to lock onto the voice’s physical location. They used this to teleport to her office. Most of the objects they could see lining the walls were unfamiliar, but still recognizable. This was a different reality, after all, with a wildly different history. At some point, they came up with radio receivers, vacuum tube television sets, fax machines, and the like, but they didn’t design such things the exact same way people did in Mateo’s world. He could name a lot of the artifacts in here, but not everything.

The owner of the voice was sitting in one corner of the room. Behind her on the counter sat what was probably a microwave, and under it was probably a mini refrigerator. It was a sorry excuse for a breakroom, as the only thing separating it from the rest of the room was a patch of tiles instead of carpet. They really had abandoned her. She set her sandwich down, dusted her hands off, and presented one to them. “Hi, and welcome to the island of things no one cares about. My name is Dilara Cassano, and that is a football.”

Mateo looked down at his feet, where he found what she was pointing to. It looked exactly like the usual ones from his reality, with those black and white hexagons. Oh, wait, no. Some of them are pentagons. Hm, he hadn’t noticed that before. “I’ve heard of it.”

“You have?” Dilara questioned. “I can find no references to the damn thing. I know what it’s called, but the sport it’s presumably played with never existed.”

“Maybe not in this reality,” Marie figured.

“Fascinating theory.” She got lost in her own thoughts.

“You’re The Arborist,” Mateo realized. He recalled her face from a memory of Leona’s which was implanted in his mind upon his return to the timestream after having been nonexistent for a while.

“I don’t know what that is,” Dilara said. She must not have become that yet.

It was best to say nothing further. “It’s just kind of an idiomatic greeting from my homeworld,” Mateo lied, hoping it wouldn’t prompt more questions.

“I see. How can I help you? I can’t imagine there’s anything I can do.”

“How much space is there between your office, and anyone else who lives on this mechacelestial object?” Marie asked her.

“Hmm,” Dilara thought about it. “Maybe a kilometer, I guess?”

“Interesting.”

“Hold on,” she said. “I meant a hundred. More like a hundred kilometers, sorry.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Was it always like this?” Mateo asked. There could be some fishy timey-wimey thing going on.

“Ya know, I don’t exactly have a map of this world in my head, but I think they used to use that hangar bay you were talking about. Uh, I don’t know why they stopped, they might have just wanted a change of scenery. This has never been a hub of activity. These things are so goddamn big, we do not need this much space, it’s ridiculous.”

“So it’s probably pretty easy to hide here, isn’t it?” Marie pressed.

“I would sure think so,” Dilara agreed. “I mean, getting inside in the first place would be an impossible task. I would love to hear how you did it, just out of pure curiosity. Every square centimeter of the outer surface is wired. Every dust particle is tracked. Every teleport is logged. So yeah, you can hide, but only if you’re already here.”

“That’s good to know,” Marie said to Mateo. “It could be necessary to have a place to escape to if something goes wrong.”

“You’re welcome here,” Dilara told them. “Before you, I hadn’t seen another sentient entity in over ten years.”

“We’re glad to hear that,” Marie said graciously.

“Thank you,” Mateo added. “That’s very kind since you don’t even know us.”

“Anyone who uses a radio transceiver is someone I want to be friends with,” Dilara explained.

“You said that you wouldn’t be able to help with a diplomatic issue, but do you happen to know who could? Who could we reach out to who wouldn’t immediately kill an enemy combatant, and be open to discussion?”

“Asylum sector,” Dilara answered confidently. “That’s where they take Andromedans who aren’t prisoners of war, but which haven’t necessarily defected either. Theoretically, they would listen to you, and then let you go if you wished. There must be some kind of policy that states how much of a headstart they have to give you before the more aggressive departments pursue you afterwards.”

“That sounds like a good place to visit,” Marie decided.

“I don’t know where it is,” Dilara admitted. “It’s not part of my job description to know. I don’t have access to a map, either. You’ll want to stop at the nearest library for that, which puts you at risk of not being able to make it to Asylum before someone else catches you. I don’t know if you’re persons of interest, or what.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Mateo assured her.

“Thank you again, this was really helpful,” Marie said.

“Okay, here are the coordinates to the library.” Dilara bumped her device against Marie’s cuff to transfer the data wirelessly. “Good luck.”

Leona walked into Ramses’ new lab. “How’s it coming?”

“Slow. The beacon is finished, but your replacement cuff is taking me forever. The last time I did this, I had some examples to work with. I’m having to recreate it from memory, and I’m on our pattern now, so...”

“Not criticizing you, Ramses, just checking up.”

“Sorry, I get agitated when I’m stressed.”

“Mateo is going to do what he’s going to do, and he’s going to be smart and cautious about it. You have time. We have to get it right. We could handle this with just the beacon, but I want to be able to control Mateo’s cuff as well.”

“I understand,” Ramses said. “Any luck finding them via other means?”

“Not yet, but Xerian says he’s close.”

Ramses scoffed. “He’s said that before.”

“He has me now,” Leona said “We’ll find them. We’ll get my husband back.”

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Extremus: Year 32

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When Olindse recovered from her bender, Kaiora asked her where she was while she was missing for eight months. The former chose to keep quiet, invoking her right to privacy as an admiral. Something happened while she was struggling through the alcohol poisoning. She couldn’t recall precisely what she experienced, but when she awoke, she had an epiphany. She wasn’t going to be ignored or dismissed anymore. She was so determined to alter her image that she refused to be known as a vice admiral anymore. Of course, this wasn’t something she could simply declare, but the crew could vote on it. Kaiora would have to put it up for a vote first, but after a speech or two, Olindse was able to convince her to do as much. It was unanimous, and she was promoted to full admiral. This gave her a little more autonomy, and allowed her to run certain aspects of the ship, with the Captain’s blessing. The prisoner rehabilitation program was going strong, and operating self-sufficiently. Olindse wasn’t really qualified to be too heavily involved in it, even though she was the one who came up with it. So she needed something else to preoccupy her time. She settled on holiday planning.

The crew and passengers nearly all descended from the universe-slash-planet of Ansutah. Only Omega has no ties to this world, but no one has seen him in years, so he barely counts anyway. Ansutah was populated by monsters, so it was a very dangerous place to live. Their ancestors relegated themselves to an entire continent, which the Maramon revered as a holy place that no one was allowed to visit. The humans kept themselves hidden by remaining in vast cavernous complexes, and under dense rainforest canopies, and by throttling their own technological development. Travel throughout the continent was limited, because they couldn’t invent airplanes, even though historical records showed that it was physically possible. Even above ground trains and vehicle roads were too risky. Boats were mostly pointless, because there was no reason to traverse the ocean. There were some bodies of water, of course, but they would be too exposed to satellites, and the like, so they went straight to submarines, and used them sparingly. But mostly they got around via a network of subway tunnels.

Besides the technological restrictions, there were some things they didn’t have because they didn’t want to be found out by the white monsters. Holiday celebrations were one of these things. They did observe a few important anniversaries, like the birth of a respected philosopher, or the invention of one of those pivotal technologies that made their lives more convenient while maintaining their high level of secrecy. Even so, they didn’t hold parades, or throw large parties, or put on live concerts. Music was not non-existent, but it evolved quite differently than on Earth, because they were just too afraid that a Maramon fishing boat would come a little too close to their landmass, and hear the ruckus. People had fun, and they enjoyed their lives, and though they lived under constant threat of being found out, they didn’t suffer from paranoia every second of every day. But they also valued quiet simplicity, because it was the best way to prevent things from getting out of hand. When the human refugees escaped into this universe 71 years ago, they held onto this value, because they didn’t know how to break free from it. They didn’t understand how parades came about, or how to promote a live concert. Very few people are alive who still remember Ansutah, but that doesn’t mean they’ve come up with their own holidays. And so Olindse and her new team has mostly been replicating Earthan observances. Today, that changes.

“Didn’t we just celebrate that, uh...” Kaiora snaps her fingers, trying to remember.

“Thanksgiving?”

“Thanksgiving, yes.”

“That was yesterday, yeah. I have to start planning for the next one now. Traditionally, Christmas preparations begin about a month prior.”

“Oh, Christmas? I didn’t really care for that one” Kaiora says.

“I want to do something different, which is why I’m asking for approval,” Olindse explains.

“Very well, what’s your pitch?”

“This time of year has a long history of being stolen by other cultures, and of various cultures celebrating their own holidays around the same time,” Olindse begins. “According to the ancient texts, it was once called, umm...” She has to consult her tablet. “Saturnalia. It was first commemorated by a group of people called...pagans? Christians took it to honor the birth of their god’s hooman son, who was probably actually born in spring. Then the corporations took it from them to rejoice in their capitalism. Other religions have done their own, unrelated things.”

“Which one did we do last year?” Kaiora asks.

“Well, we did all three of the main ones,” Olindse answers, “but we focused on the last one, because it demands the least amount of cultural appropriation.”

“And which one are you doing this year?”

“We’re continuing the tradition of stealing the day for our own purposes by honoring something else.”

“Which is...?”

Olindse waits to answer for dramatic effect. “Forgiveness.”

“Oh my God, this is about Halan Yenant.”

“What?”

“You’re trying to get him out of hock.”

“What are you talking about? No. What? No.”

“Yes, you are, this is your plan.”

“What makes you say that?” Olindse asks. How did she guess?

“Because I know you. The theme is forgiveness? Oh, come on, you think I’m an idiot?”

“Don’t you want this too?”

“Of course I do, but I can’t just let him go. He committed a crime.”

“He’s been doing very well in his counseling sessions.”

“And I’m happy for him, but...”

“But what?” Olindse urges. “He’s 56 years old.”

“What does that have to do with anything? Do you think that’s old?”

“According to history.”

“Yeah, on Ansutah. You’re getting confused. He’s fine, it would not be some kind of mercy release. He has many years ahead of him.”

“Not if he stays in there. Studies have shown that incarceration takes two years off of the life expectancy of an individual for every year behind bars.”

“That’s sad,” Kaiora agrees, “but the law is the law, and I am bound to it more than anyone. I have to maintain an example. If I try anything untoward, I could end up in the cell right next to him.”

“At worst, they would strip you of your rank.”

“Well, I don’t want that either..Olindse! Jesus!”

“All right, all right, all right,” Olindse says. “So let’s talk about it. You can’t release him for good, but we have to make a grand gesture in order to exemplify the spirit of forgiveness. People are expecting it.”

“Who’s expecting it? You just came up with this new holiday.”

“I’ve been talkin’ about it, just not with you.”

Kaiora sighs. “What did you have in mind?”

“A year.”

“A year, what?”

“Release Admiral Yenant for a year.”

“Civilian Halan Yenant,” she corrects. “You want me to let him go for a year, and then put him back in his cell after that? That would make us look worse than just leaving him in there for good. It would be so bizarre”

“Oh yeah, hmm. So, what’s your counter?”

“I didn’t know we were negotiating.”

“I’m always negotiatin’, baby”

Kaiora sighs again. “An hour. He can come out for part of a party.”

“A month.”

“A whole party; not just an hour of it.”

“A fortnight.”

“A day.”

“A week.”

“Okay, fine. A week.”

“A salmon week.”

“What the hell is a salmon week?”

“Eight days.”

“Why?”

“Some salmon have an extra day between Saturday and Sunday.”

Kaiora itches her cheek, and then it just snowballs into her massaging her whole face with both hands. “Very well, one salmon week.”

Olindse smiles, pleased with herself for managing to negotiate up to what she wanted all along. “I’ll go tell the party planning committee.”

“You’ll be making the shipwide announcement regarding this decision.”

She smiles wider. Even better.

“And you’ll be telling them that all of the prisoners will be temporarily released for that period of time.”

“Excuse me?” Olinde's questions.

“I mean, we can’t just let Halan go. That would be unfair. We obviously favor him, but if this—nay, your—holiday is about forgiveness, then we don’t really get to choose who we forgive, and who we don’t. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“You want to let a mutineer and a terrorist go free for a week?”

“I don’t want anything. This is all you...baby.” Kaiora doesn’t expect Olindse to change her mind due to this mandate. It’s a reasonable condition, and she knows this. What Kaiora wants is for the Admiral to take responsibility for this decision, so it doesn’t blow back on Kaiora, or the rest of the crew. It’s fine if she wants to do this, but she doesn’t get to do it free of consequences. If Halan is released alone, it will undoubtedly go well, and Olindse will be able to use this as evidence that he ought to be released permanently, and perhaps even reinstated as an admiral himself. But the poor optics will do lasting damage to the passengers’ confidence in the crew to remain impartial and unbiased. By packaging him with Ovan and Dvronen, Kaiora has ensured that Olindse’s objective is not realized too easily. Yes, the Captain does ultimately want Halan to go free too, but while most of the ship agrees with them, there is a significant population which does not. Favoring one prisoner over the others threatens the stability of society, and risks the crew crumbling to the whims of a hypothetical new government administration that builds itself upon a foundation of integrity and justice. Ovan and Dvronen will almost certainly screw this up, but it will look fair, and that’s really all that matters, politically speaking.

Olindse straightens herself out, and nods. “Excellent idea. I shall prepare a statement.”

Vice Admiral Thatch yawns before he can get a word in. “Sorry. That story wasn’t boring, I’m just very tired.” Two years ago, Olindse returned to the extraction room, and summoned Thatch again to ask him for advice on what she should tell Captain Leithe about where she had been for the previous eight months. It was he who suggested that she had every right to just say almost nothing at all. Time travel is a tricky thing, and while it is possible to exploit this for personal gain, or personal agenda, it’s entirely rational to demand secrecy in these matters. For instance, Thatch now has a decent idea of when he’s going to die, and what kind of relationship he’ll have with his captain when it happens. This gives him a little insight into the future, but he knows that saying too much to others could jeopardize the timeline. Olindse was able to claim to know enough about the future that explaining her absence might do the same. It didn’t necessarily have to be true. She just had to convince Kaiora that it wasn’t worth this risk. This tactic worked, and ever since then, Olindse has continued going to Thatch for guidance. To communicate, they no longer use the extraction mirror, but a different time mirror, which Old Man gave to him long ago, and which was still in a secret compartment in his office. They’re both using the same exact mirror, but Thatch is in possession of it in 2286, and Olindse has been using it in the present.

“Do you want me to call back later?” she offers.

“No, I’m all right. But, uh...was there a question in all that?”

“How do I justify releasing the other two prisoners, and how do I keep them in line for the eight-day period?”

“Why would you want to?”

“Well, if they cause trouble, the good prisoner is at risk. People won’t want to see him released one day if they think something like that could happen again.” She’s not naming names, again to protect the timeline.

“Not if you frame it right.”

“How would I frame it?”

“Don’t just let the two mystery bad prisoners you told me about agitate the status quo. Actively encourage them to do it, but...ya know, covertly. This good prisoner that you like will then be able to step up, and be the hero that saves the day. I know that’s not your strong suit, but with my help, you’ll be able to manipulate them to do what you want.”

“That may be so, but I could never trick the good prisoner. He has too much integrity. He would stop it before anything happens, and then your whole gambit doesn’t work.”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t have to manipulate Halan to do the hero thing. It’s in his nature. All you have to do is worry about the other two. He’ll react accordingly on his own.”

“I never told you that Halan was the good prisoner.”

“I read between the lines,” Thatch admits. “The way you talk about him, that only describes one person in the whole universe.”

“You can’t say anything,” Olindse reminds him.

“Literally, I can’t.” Thatch holds a little green plastic bottle in front of the mirror. “These eye drops will erase my memories. I won’t remember any of this.”

“Won’t you experience missing time?”

Now Thatch pulls a bottle of liquor into frame. “I lose chunks of time all the time. I learned long ago to just let it go. If whatever I did while I was blacked out doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass, then I obviously don’t have to worry about what it was.”

“That’s a scary way to live your life, man.”

Thatch shrugs, takes a sip, and sets the bottle back down. “It works for me.”

Olindse nods, not in understanding, but understanding that he believes as much about his own lifestyle, and that that’s never going to change.

“So how ‘bout it, Full Admiral Olindse Belo? Want me to teach you how to manipulate a couple o’ bad guys?”

Olindse thinks about it for a moment. There are some pretty problematic ethical implications for trying something so shady. Still, Halan must be set free, and if this is one step towards that goal, she has to do it. She has to do whatever it takes. “Teach me.”

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