The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 25, 2446

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There was a small gap between the outer layer and the second layer down of the IMS. Tiny valves could form on their own, and suck in air from the environment to inflate this gap, turning the whole thing into a very thin lifejacket. They could form nearly anywhere on the suit, and heal themselves once the job was complete, or if they became submerged in water, and would replace each other accordingly until buoyancy was achieved. This function triggered in all four of their suits automatically, and sent them down river. They had to paddle with their hands and feet to avoid rocks and branches, but that wasn’t the problem. They didn’t know where they were, or how far they had gone. Ramses was not answering his comms, but maybe this was some kind of massive biodome inside Ex-42, which might be shielded in various ways. Their comms were supposed to break through anything, but for every solution, there was the potential for a counter-solution. After they rounded the bend, they found themselves coming up on a very large tree.

The current tried to take the team in different directions. This appeared to be some kind of confluence. They had to swim to stay together, and agreed that they should stop at the central tree to speak with the other people standing underneath it. As they drew nearer, they realized that they recognized about half of them. This was the crew of the X González; Goswin Montagne, Weaver, and Eight Point Seven, plus their prisoner, Briar de Vries. The last time they saw these people, they randomly popped up on the Vellani Ambassador, had a brief argument about Mateo’s supposed death, and then disappeared with Angela. There were five other people standing in the tiny conflux island, but Angela could not count herself amongst them.

 The team crawled onto the island, and approached the other nine, Leona taking the lead. “Report.”

One of the strangers stepped forward. My name is Storm Avakian, and I am the Ensemble Conductor of the Garden Dimension. That is where you are.”

“What year is it?” Leona asked.

“We don’t worry about time that much,” a man said. “Hi, I’m Pinesong Shadowskin, Dimensional Composer.”

Leona stared at them a moment. “We just came from the Goldilocks Corridor. It’s 16,000 light years from Earth. Have you heard of it?”

“We’ve not,” Storm answered.

Goswin’s crew shook their heads too.

Leona focused on the captain. “Where’s Angela?”

“That’s not her right there?” Goswin asked, pointing at Marie.

“That’s her twin sister,” Leona explained. “You took Angela from us, or you will anyway. But no, that had to have happened for you already, because that’s when Briar learned that Mateo survived his first death on Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida. He doesn’t seem surprised right now.”

“Ah,” Weaver realized, “you met a group of our shifted selves. They’re like alternates, but...different. We’ve absorbed their memories, but our respective brains are still consolidating the discrepancies. We’ve not really had any time to sleep, which will help us remember such things.”

“We know where she’ll be,” Eight Point Seven said. “We’ve experienced your reunion, and remember it just fine. We can send them there.”

“I thought you were the one who didn’t want to help any more people,” Briar reminded Eight Point Seven.

“Well, it’s Leona. We’re gonna help Leona,” Eight Point Seven contended.

“Of course we are,” Goswin agreed. He held his palm up towards Leona, but then he became confused. “Are we not syncing? What’s going on?”

“We all want the same thing,” Briar said. “I still feel you three, but...”

“But we don’t feel the cosmos anymore,” Weaver determined.

“Could someone please explain what’s happening?” Mateo requested. “Ya know, for the dumber people in this group. Not me, obviously, I’m a genius.”

“No, I don’t know what’s happening either,” Leona clarified.

“We were in the Nucleus,” Goswin began before stopping. “I mean...Weaver?”

Weaver nodded, and took over the story. “We were in the Nucleus, where our minds and bodies were split into an unknown number of what we called our shifted selves. We found ourselves with the ability to jump to any point in spacetime, as long as we did it together. We had to sync up our brains, and focus on a singular goal. We also realized that we could do this to others, which is what surely happened to your missing friend, but there was a learning curve. Recently, we used the power of this tree to merge all of our selves into a single body and brain each. As I said, our minds are still working through that. To protect the tree, we removed it from Bida, and transplanted it here. That literally just happened, and...our power is gone now?” She looked over at the Garden Dimension people. “I don’t suppose any of you can explain that. It couldn’t be the dimension itself. We shifted back and forth before, and it went just fine.”

“Princess Honeypea,” Storm said simply.

A young woman hopped over to the tree. It was a giant magnolia with blue flowers and blue fruits. The bark had a sort of indescribable glow about it, and the roots reached into the waters. In fact, some of the roots seemed to be growing before their very eyes, searching for nutrients in the conflux. Princess Honeypea was inspecting the tree now. She gave it as big of a hug as she could, though it was a stretch to use that word when her arms were just about flat with her whole body pressed against the trunk. She sniffed at the branches, and licked the base before pulling one of the leaves off, stuffing it in her mouth, and chewing thoughtfully. She nodded, and went over to Briar, taking him by the hand, and causing his to blush. She led him over to the tree, and placed his hand upon it. “All three of you, come on and do the same thing,” she instructed.

The other three members of the crew went over to touch the tree.

Honeypea nodded again. “Just as I suspected. Their power is not gone, it’s just been moved into Riverbell.”

“Riverbell?” Goswin questioned.

“Riverbell Hallowheart,” Honeypea went on. “That’s her name.”

“Well, I like it,” Briar decided.

Goswin laughed mildly. “No one said we didn’t like it.” He took a breath. “So, it’s over. We can’t help them.”

Honeypea plucked a fruit pod down. “Maybe you can’t help anymore, but Riverbell here could take over for you. She would be honored.”

“Does it have a consciousness?” Weaver asked, like that wasn’t one of the craziest things one could say about a tree.

“Not in the way you would think,” Honeypea began to explain. She walked over, and handed Leona the fruit pod. “But I’m assuming that you do...have a consciousness?”

“I do,” Leona confirmed. “You want me to eat this?”

“One fruit, one trip. These are immature, though, so each one won’t last long before it pulls you back to origin. You’ll have to keep eating them if you don’t finish what you’re trying to do, and need to go back. If you’re looking for your friend, but you don’t know exactly where she is, it might take the whole pod.”

“What happens when I finish the pod?” Leona asked. “Can’t I just...eat another?”

“You could try, but that might kill you,” Honeypea said. She was no longer her usual bubbly self. “They’re not poisonous, per se, but too much of a good thing is still bad for you. You can even drink too much water. Your body might eventually learn to metabolize it, allowing you to start eating again, but that would take time. In fact, I’m not sure that it would even be safe for you to finish the pod. Fewer is recommended.”

“My body’s pretty strong,” Leona explained. “I’m not like regular people.”

“I can see that,” Honeypea said, “but you’re not invincible. Like any plant, Riverbell wants to propagate, but unlike normal plants, it doesn’t do it by replicating itself. It’s more complex than I can say with words, but basically, when it sends you somewhere, you’ll be taking seeds with you. Seeds of time. You’ll be changing history just by being in the timeline with the fruit in your system. That’s what the four of them did before they came here, and that will continue with you, and anyone else who partakes. This is why we must protect it, because that can’t be allowed to get out of hand. The most beautiful of organisms can become an invasive species, and an ecosystem—even one as extensive as all of space and time—demands balance, not homogeny.”

“I need one too,” Mateo said. “Ramses is missing now. You can protect the fruit all you want after that.”

Honeypea nodded. “I understand, and accept your terms.”

“Now, hold on,” Weaver jumped in. “That private detective we met. He was looking for the fruit. He thought that it would make his client young again.”

“He was wrong,” Honeypea said. “The fruit doesn’t do that at all. I can see why his client believed that, though. The source of the Fountain of Youth is right there.” She pointed at the ground.”

Everyone looked down. “What?” Weaver asked.

“The Fountain of Youth? In Florida?” Honeypea continued. “It’s there. This conflux marks the crisscrossing of five rivers, which branch off in ten directions. The eleventh branch goes down.” She shrugged, her eyebrows, as well as her shoulders. “And then up again. It flows into a spring in mithgarther.”

“When did this happen?” Weaver was still shocked.

Honeypea looked at her bare wrist. “Like, ten minutes ago.”

“This was inevitable,” Leona realized. “The Fountain of Youth has existed in every timeline I’ve ever heard of. It dried up many centuries ago. It’s one of the immortality waters. Do all of the other waters come from here?”

“No.” Honeypea was certain of this.

Storm stepped closer to Honeypea. “Are you sure about the properties of this new tree? The fruits, the roots, the leaves; everything.”

“I’ll need a little more time to finish the full synthesis of data, but I’m quite confident,” Honeypea replied.

“Okay, coordinate with Onyx for his catalog.” Storm turned to Leona and Mateo. “He’s our Botanical Orchestrator. We don’t do anything with the plants, including eating them, until he’s done his due diligence. You’ll have to wait, I don’t know how long.”

“I suppose we can hold off for another year,” Leona decided. “Will that be sufficient, Madam Avakian?”

Storm bowed her head respectfully. “More than enough. For now, allow me to show you to our guest quarters. I hope they are to your satisfaction.”

An airboat came up to them automatically, and after they climbed into it, sped off down one of the rivers. It stopped and dropped them off at Citrus Inn. It was a small and simple building, but it came with a beautiful view, and the air smelled of lemons and oranges.

“You have citrus here? How does that work?”

Storm smirked. “Trade secret. I can’t tell.” She left it at that, and left them there, assuring them that everything they might need would be in the rooms, the kitchen, the bathrooms, or the closets. They were allowed to pick anything from the orchard, but could not touch any of the other plants.

There was no electricity here, which meant no TV or music. There was a small library down the hall for entertainment, but beyond that, they were limited to whatever they had managed to download to their handheld devices. They first sat down in the sitting room together, but were thinking of just going to bed soon. That wasn’t Mateo’s plan, though. “Ramses is all alone. We don’t know whether the Oaksent died in the explosion, or if he had his own plasma shield...”

“When you eat that fruit,” Leona reasoned, “you’ll concentrate on trying to find him seconds after he purged the hot pocket. You don’t have to worry about what he’s been up to since. He’ll have been up to nothing, for he’ll just jump forward in time with you. I know you’re worried, but it’s going to be okay. Angela is going to have gone through the same thing. I’ll find her moments after those alternates of the crew took her away from us. They’ve not been waiting for us to rescue them; it’s already happened.”

Mateo shook his head. “What if it doesn’t work like that? We may have less control over what that fruit does than that princess would have us believe. What if Angela has been gone for days? Don’t you want to not waste any more time?”

“I know what you’re thinking, and I forbid you, Mister Matic.”

She never calls him that, like he’s just a member of her team, and not her husband. “Oh, you forbid me? You think you can stop me?”

“I can punish you,” Leona volleyed.

“With what?”

“No sex.”

“For how long?”

“Indefinitely.”

Mateo glared at her, and she glared back. Ramses was important. He couldn’t let this be too personal. “Worth it.” He teleported away.

Marie teleported away immediately after, and came back with him. She shoved him back into his chair. “She’s my sister.”

“I was going for Ramses.”

“I know,” Marie said. “I love him too, so I’ll get him back too.” She looked over at Leona. “You and I aren’t having sex anyway.” She disappeared again.

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Fluence: Tree of Life (Part X)

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Eight Point Seven suggested that they go ahead and try to transport the Memory Magnolia to the Garden Dimension, so they could limit the number of times that they had to shift through time and space, but Weaver didn’t think that was a good idea. The Garden was an incredibly delicate ecosystem of plants that came from alternate timelines and realities, all along the timeline. Some species were made extinct by other species, and they could both be found there, somewhere. They couldn’t be planted together, of course, and it was the Horticulturalists’ job to make sure that problems did not arise. It was not easy, and they took pride in their work. They couldn’t just introduce a completely new species of tree, especially not one with special temporal properties. It was not their right, and they could get in serious trouble for it. They had to speak with the Horticulturalists first.

Weaver shifted a temporal bubble generator into her hand, and installed it on the tree, which should prevent anyone from accessing it, and also alert her across time if someone made the attempt. Then they synchronized their minds, and made the shift to the Garden Dimension, directly in front of another group of four people. They were not surprised to see the visitors. Getting into this dimension was not as easy as driving down the highway to the local arboretum, but it was also not impossible. Most people requested an appointment, and had to go through a vetting process, because they didn’t want to entertain someone who was going to try to burn the whole place down, but they generally didn’t freak out when someone occasionally bypassed this courtesy.

A woman who looked like she was in her fifties took off her gardening gloves, and extended her hand. “Greetings, visitors. My name is Storm Avakian. This is my husband, Pinesong Shadowskin, his sister, Princess Honeypea, and our friend, Onyx Wembley.”

“Goswin Montagne, Holly ‘Weaver’ Blue, Eight Point Seven, and Briar de Vries,” Goswin returned.

“What can we help you with?” Storm asked.

“We would like to make a deposit,” Goswin answered. “It’s a special temporal object in the form of a tree. It’s very beautiful, very dangerous, very not something that I want anyone in mithgarther to have access to. It must be protected from people, and they must be protected from it.”

“It’s called the Memory Magnolia,” Briar added.

Storm perked up at this. “It’s a magnolia, you say? Magnolia seeds were stolen from us once. We never found out where they were taken.”

“Magnolia arthurii?” Eight Point Seven asked.

Storm did not look happy. “Were you involved?”

“Absolutely not,” Eight Point Seven insisted. “Its brief existence was recorded in history. Someone introduced it in the early 12th century.”

“That was the wrong timeline,” Pinesong explained. “That never should have happened. That it died out was probably a blessing.”

“It mutated,” Weaver went on to explain. “The Memory Magnolia came from a seed that we believe was altered during an accidental trip through a time cave to another planet, centuries in the future.”

“That’ll do it,” Onyx calculated.

“That tree belongs here,” Storm determined. “You were right to come to us with this issue. Unfortunately, it will take work to find a decent place for it. Your gut may tell you that something like that needs distance, but it may not survive if not accompanied by other life, for symbiotic purposes, or just because it gets lonely. Of course, our resident Bioharmony Choreographer, Princess Honeypea will need to inspect it first.”

“She’s a choreographer?” Briar asked. He was looking at Storm, but his eyes kept darting over to Honeypea. She appeared to be about his age, though the actual amount of time she had spent alive was difficult to determine. All four of them were said to be immortal.

Princess Honeypea hopped up to the space between the two quartets, and performed a short dance for them. It was whimsical, light, and emotive. Near the end, she began to speak. “At first glance, plants don’t dance, but perchance, if you pay in advance to let yourself be entranced, you’ll find that the truth supplants your stance as you watch how the way they prance is enhanced by the grace with which they do indeed dance.” At the very end, she held her arms out wide, and dipped her nose down towards the ground as one foot rose up in the air behind her. After holding the pose for a moment, she looked back up at Briar. “Just don’t forget your underpants.” She giggled.

Briar smiled. “I believe you.”

“How difficult is it for you to take us back to where the tree is now?” Pinesong asked, presumably feeling protective of his little sister.

“I need you here,” Storm said to him. “You must meditate if you are to find enough space for the magnolia.” She looked over at the crew. “He’s our Dimensional Composer. He makes sure the specimens have a place to live.”

“I’ll be fine, brother. I’ve done this before.” Honeypea reached up, and patted him on the head. “But I love that you still worry about me.”

“To answer your question,” Goswin began, “shifting back to Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida is easy, and will only take a second.”

Weaver shifted a small mirror into her hand. No, it was two mirrors, the second of which was revealed when she split them with her thumb like a deck of cards. “We can stay in contact with these, if you need peace of mind.”

Storm took one of the mirrors graciously. “Thank you. Be careful, Princess.”

Honeypea clicked her tongue, and pointed finger guns at her boss-slash-sister-in-law. “Namaste on my vibe.”

The five of them disappeared, and returned to the Memory Magnolia, but someone was already there, likely trying to figure out how to disable the temporal bubble that was blocking his access to it. “Can I help you?” Goswin asked, stepping forward as if to protect his people. Eight Point Seven rolled her eyes, and stepped up even further, since she might actually be able to protect them.

The man had turned around quickly, startled, but was relaxing now. “Yes, hello. Do you know anything about this tree?”

“What about it?” Goswin questioned. “State your business here.”

“Forgive me my poor manners.” He removed his hat, and held it in front of him. “My name is Elmo Barone, but they call me The Baron. I was hired to procure a fruit from this tree. It evidently has the power to make people young again.”

Eight Point Seven. “Elmo Barone. Private investigator from the 21st century, specializing in missing heir recovery.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” Weaver pointed out. “When did you become a time traveler?”

“When?” the Baron questioned. “Is it even possible to answer that?”

“You can’t have the tree,” Goswin said dismissively. “Besides, it’s not even fruiting yet, so it won’t be of much use to you.”

Baron nodded. “My client said that they wouldn’t say no to a sample of its sap.”

“Unfortunately, the orchard is closed today,” Briar insisted. “You may return to the time you came from, or we can do it for you.”

Baron narrowed his eyes at him. “I meant no disrespect, I’m just trying to save a life. My client’s only heir is a child. If he dies too soon, the fortune will fall under control of the child’s mother, who is an awful woman. Believe me, I’ve met her. He first asked me to find his son to become the child’s legal custodian instead, but when I couldn’t, he sent me on this quest to just stave off the inevitable.”

“Why did he not know where his son was?” Goswin pressed.

“The child’s father went missing years ago. Other investigators, and the police, were equally unable to find him.”

The crew looked amongst each other.

“We can’t do it,” Eight Point Seven argued. “We’re trying to quit. That’s what we’ve all agreed to, right, to put this tree where it belongs, and then just stay out of the timeline for all of eternity? I know we’ve not been talking about it, but that’s the impression that I get from all four of us.”

“We have to help them if we can,” Briar reasoned.

“When does it end?” Eight Point Seven questioned. “How much meddling do we do before we finally reach that last one?”

“We’ve reached it,” Goswin decided. “It’s this one right here.”

“Can we agree to that?” Eight Point Seven asked. “Can we all promise?” The other three nodded, so Eight Point Seven approached Baron. “You don’t need the tree. Death is a part of life in your time. Think about the man you’re trying to find.”

“I’m thinking about him,” Baron said.

Eight Point Seven held her palm towards him. “Okay.” He disappeared, back to where he belonged, standing next to the child’s father. It would be up to the Baron to determine whether he was a better fit for legal custodian than the baby mama.

“I think I know why the tree does not bear fruit,” Honeypea said, “but I’ll need some time.” She hopped up to it, and carefully inspected the whole thing with all five senses; its bark, its branches, its leaves, and its roots. She knocked three times on the trunk. “Hello?” she asked in a sweet voice, as if waiting for someone inside to respond. She lay down on her stomach, placing her ear upon the dirt underneath the canopy. Then she shut her eyes softly, and breathed deeply. Once she stood back up, she gathered as much saliva in her mouth as she could, and spit it at the base. As she watched it be absorbed into the ground, she nodded. “Just as I suspected.” She turned around to address the group. “Water. She needs water.”

“It rains here quite frequently,” Briar explained.

“It’s not enough,” Princess Honeypea insisted. “She needs constant water. She’s a river tree.”

“Why did she grow if—I mean it—why did it grow at all if it can only survive in a river?” Weaver questioned.

“She,” Honeypea reiterated, “could survive just about anywhere, but she won’t thrive unless she’s transplanted to a source of freshwater. A river would be best, due to the constant onslaught of nutrients.”

“Do you have rivers in the Garden Dimension?” Eight Point Seven asked.

“Of course we have rivers,” Honeypea replied.

“Well...” Goswin encouraged. “Which one were you thinking would be the best fit for the tree’s needs?”

Princess Honeypea smirked foxishly. “All of them.”

“What does that mean?”

Honeypea pulled out the communication mirror. “Storm, are ya there?”

“Right here, buddy,” Onyx responded instead.

“Is Arnie around?” Honeypea asked him.

“He can be.” 

“Gather the troops,” Honeypea instructed. “Our new friends here are gonna help us move our new roommate into her room.”

The crew brought all of the Horticulturalists to their location on Bida, including a previously unmet member. Arnold Daysayer was the Garden Steward. He was in charge of providing the food and water that the specimens needed on a regular basis. Of course, he didn’t just stand there with a hose, but in addition to making sure the irrigation systems held up, it was his responsibility to watch for death and damage, natural hybridization complications, and even parasites, and other diseases.

After Honeypea explained what they were going to do, they stood around the Memory Magnolia holding hands, alternating by group. They needed all nine of them to complete the circle, because the trunk was at least four meters wide at this point. This would be the most difficult shift they had ever done, maybe even more than the mountain that the other crew reportedly shifted once, since this was a delicate living organism. It was more expansive than it appeared, with roots extending far beyond the canopy of the branches and leaves above. They had to reach out to every square millimeter of the thing, and make sure that they were able to capture all of the energy that was coming off of it. Some leaves and other debris had fallen off of it recently, and they wanted those too. They felt compelled to remove every single particulate from the planet to prevent any residual temporal power from being harnessed for any reason, good or bad; accidentally, or on purpose. Finally, after they were satisfied that they would leave nothing behind, they shifted the tree and themselves to the location of Princess Honeypea’s choosing.

The force of the transplantation pushed them all to their backs, into the water now surrounding the Memory Magnolia. According to the Horticulturalists, this was the confluence of five rivers, which they specifically designed to be a symbol for the water of life that flowed throughout this entire dimension. It was located in the very center of the world, and always would be. When Pinesong needed to extend the borders, he did so relatively evenly by expanding the whole bubble at once. As they were standing up and wading in the waters, they watched as fruits began to take shape from their stems. The tree’s energy began to bounce out of the wood, and into the conflux that they were standing in. The Magnolia breathed a sigh of relief as it settled into its new home.

“I hope you’re all prepared to stay here for a long time,” Onyx began as the nine of them were coming back together. “This will need constant supervision; the kind that we can’t give it if we want to nurture the whole garden. People will be coming for it.”

The core four looked amongst each other, and agreed to this high calling, having already predicted the necessity. Just then, another group of four people started floating towards them from up one of the rivers. It was Team Matic.

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Microstory 2140: Booze and Smokes

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The nurse came by for one more rapid test to make sure that I was fully ready to go into jail today, and be around all of the other guests. The fungus is gone, and I’m fine. That’s not the only bit of good news. In response to my dedication even amidst the infection, and the time that I was in the prison ward, my employer has decided to give me a pay raise. It’s not much, and it probably replaces the merit increase that I would have gotten near the end of the year, but it’s still more money, and I’m happy. I didn’t even think about it. It’s not like I was trying to prove myself to be the best employee in the world. I just didn’t want to lose my job. Who knows how close the runner-up candidate was? They might have decided to cut their losses, and switch to that other person instead, because I’m so much trouble. I honestly thought that it was the bare minimum I could do since I put my bosses in such an awkward position just by applying, but I appreciate the gesture. I’ve had my eye on a few things that could make my life and job easier, like an extra monitor, or comfortable house clothes, so I may indulge now. For the most part, I’m not a big spender, though. I don’t waste it on booze and smokes...like some people. What I often do with extra cash is buy more convenient food, like delivery, as opposed to something I have to prepare myself, like an animal. I should be careful, talking like that. The food in jail won’t be that good, will it? It’s not that bad, though, I’ll be all right. Have a good weekend, but I hope it’s bad after that, I guess?

Microstory 2139: It Was the Crystals

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Oh my God, it’s finally over. My fungal infection is clear, and I’m cleared to go back into jail tomorrow. A part of me thinks that the real therapy session I had is what fixed me, like it was my own hang-ups that were preventing me from recovering completely. It may seem stupid, and I would have agreed with you back in the day, but I’ve seen a lot of things across the bulkverse, so the ability for my brain to alter my physiological condition actually doesn’t seem so weird anymore. Now, I’m not saying that it is definitely the explanation. New agey people do that all the time. They take antibiotics, and also pray to crystals, and when they get better, they decide to believe that it was the crystals, instead of the real medicine. But it’s not impossible either. To be sure, in this universe, where my immortality is gone, I’m disinclined to believe in anything but provable science, but I remain open to other possibilities. Maybe special abilities are perfectly acceptable in your world, and there’s some other reason why I’ve lost it. Anyway, I still think it’s best to not leave my apartment just yet. I would rather sleep on it one more night to make sure that it’s all been flushed from my system. It’s not like I have anywhere to go. I’m still working hard at work. I’m almost to the point where I can do my job effectively without having to reach out to colleagues. I always get in my head about that. It’s like this little game I play, where I try to go as long as I can without having to send someone an instant message. It’s always a relief when someone else messages me first, as long as they’re not pointing out an error that I made, of course. I would like to get to the point where I don’t have to say nothin’ except to ask them how they’re doing. I think that’s pretty much it today. Nothing else is going on in my life right now. You can follow me on social to hear about the baby birds living above my balcony. Besides that, peace and namaste, or whatever.

Microstory 2138: Death More Than Anything

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My therapist read my story yesterday, and became concerned, so she insisted that we have our appointment in person. I wore a mask to protect her from my infection, and we stayed three meters from each other at all times. She came to my apartment, so I wouldn’t have to go out and expose my illness to a bunch of other people on the way. We scheduled it in such a way that the nurse who came by to take my blood at the end of the day was able to take hers as well. I didn’t think that they would be able to test for a pathogen that early after receiving it, but that’s why I’m not a doctor. To be honest, my therapist was a little worried about what I may do to myself. I know, I was saying a lot of dark and sad things yesterday, but I’m not suicidal. I gave up the ability to borrow infinite abilities in order to hold onto one, and it was immortality. I have no desire to die; now, or at any point in the future. If you only learn one thing about me, let it be the fact that I hate death more than anything in the worlds. That is why I hate smokers so much too, because I see them as an extension of death. Whoa, that’s dark, Self. Maybe I’ll work on that with my therapist next week. I don’t wanna talk about it anymore, though. I’ll be all right. I’ll feel better when I get back to jail in a couple days, lol.

Microstory 2137: A Specific Person

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I’ve been experiencing a lot of depression lately, which is understandable, and also not at all surprising. I’ve suffered from depression and anxiety my whole life, and sought professional help for it on a number of occasions. It’s never really helped, and I’ve not been able to speak with my current therapist recently, because of my physical medical issues. We try to talk on the phone, but I’m absolutely terrible at that. I have trouble interpreting how other people are receiving what I’m saying in person, but it’s even worse when I can’t see them at all. Plus, in therapy, there need to be moments of quiet that can be filled with nonverbal cues, or even the lack thereof cues, so the therapist can gain insights into one’s condition by that silence. When you’re on the phone, well maybe, you actually are talking, but it’s a bad connection, or the call has been dropped entirely. I’ve had varying qualities of success when it comes to therapy, so even if I could talk to someone in the way that I need, it probably wouldn’t work anyway. I have too many character flaws that I don’t want to get rid of, because doing so might make me more like other people. Normal people eat fecal matter, murder each other, and vote against the greater good. As hard as it is for me to live with who I am, I wouldn’t wanna be much like you either, because at least I can look in the mirror and see a specific person, instead of just a facsimile of everyone else in the world. I’m not special, but I’m not typical. I know, I’m rambling, and not saying anything of any value or meaning, but that’s what happens when I’m struggling with my mental health. Like I was saying, I’ve always been depressed and anxious. It’s my resting state. I think I stopped trying to get help with it because I got so used to these feelings, and never thought they could be fixed. I’m still not sure about it. I’ll go back to therapy when I’m literally fit to go do so again, but I don’t expect any semblance of progress. If it’s happened before, it was so gradual that I didn’t notice. I don’t like things that can’t be measured, and I don’t know what happiness looks like. My guess is that it doesn’t exist beyond the abstract, like dark matter, or a man who’s eaten his own head.

Microstory 2136: Try the Punching Thing

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While I’m feeling all right, I still have the fungal infection, so I still can’t leave my apartment. I’m really super extremely very hoping that this is all over by this weekend, so I can get back to doing my time, and finish my current sentence before I die of old age. This is one of those days where I have little to tell you, because not much interesting happened to me. The nurse came last night to take my blood, and I got my results this morning. She’ll come three more times this week, on Wednesday, and on Friday. After that, if I’m still having trouble, I may be ordered to go to the hospital. I mean the real hospital, not the prison medical ward. That would be really bad, for myriad reasons, not the least of which is that it might ultimately mean my death. If I were given such a terrible prognosis, I would probably start punching the air, and screaming at the top of my lungs. That might seem random to you, but I have two characters who can travel the bulkverse using those methods. It would be my last hope. I mean, I could always try them now. Well, I can try the punching thing. The screaming thing is different, because I would have to be away from other people, but that’s not a bad idea. It may be cathartic to let out some primal cries anyway, and hey, maybe it’ll work. A part of me doesn’t want it to. Back when I first became immortal, I was also learning that using people’s powers meant stealing it from them temporarily, and I also knew that once I stopped using it, I would lose it, and I really want that immortality back. I’m sick of being sick. But also, get me out of this universe, and tell me where Cricket and Claire are! *screams primally*

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 24, 2445

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They were still getting updates from their friends all over the Goldilocks Corridor. Things were changing. The Ex-666ers had formed a rebellion, and were at the beginning of a war against the establishment, particularly the military planet of Ex-182. It was pretty bad, and some will fault Team Matic for starting it, but this region of space was being ruled by an oppressive empire. Only a naïve fool would think that the end of such unjust violence would be caused by an abstract injection of peace. It was always going to end up like this. Things were going to get worse before they got better, but they were going to get better, and in order to keep going, everyone had to truly believe that.

After they left Korali with her people on Ex-18118—a designation which still bothered Ramses—they jumped back up to the Vellani Ambassador, and flew off to a random meteor to prepare for their next mission. They were finally going to Ex-42, which would hopefully give them the answers that they need to find Ex-69, which was their true goal. That was why the updates regarding the freedom fighters from Ex-666 were important, because it sort of gave them permission to skip all of the worlds in their original path. It was time to buckle down and focus. They didn’t have a plan, because they had yet to meet anyone who had ever been to Ex-42, except for Korali, who admitted to only having seen a very small part of it. Besides, while she was friendly with them, and promised not to rat them out, she remained loyal to the Empire, and refused to provide them knowledge that could dismantle a system that she still believed in.

While they were gone, the ship parked itself in a hiding spot, and turned itself invisible, as per usual. This was a particularly risky mission, though. They would likely face profound opposition from whoever ran the archives. Being invisible was only good enough while they were stationary. When they were moving, even at only subfractional speeds, they still gave off a heat signature, just like any other vessel. They needed some way of being totally imperceptible, to the naked eye, and other sensors. This was where the Heat Shunt came into play. This was one of those projects that Ramses worked on when he wasn’t actively participating in missions. Though not completely finished, it was finally ready to at least be used once. It worked by shoving all waste heat into a totally uninhabitable pocket dimension. The space within this pocket was not infinite, so all that energy had to be released eventually, which they were intending to do at safe times, like when they were traveling at reframe speeds anyway, or near a star, whose intense radiation would mask the negligible signature of a heat dump.

This made them truly invisible, as long as they didn’t forget to purge it eventually. Ramses included safeguards, which would trigger a purge automatically as it approached critical mass, but this was not a perfect solution. What if they were, say, on the surface of a planet, or docked at a space station? He was contemplating a means to a telejettison subroutine, which would dispatch the dimensional generator to a safe distance, but it wasn’t only about distance. The specific vector mattered, and that was always different. The teleporter might have to calculate the destination on the fly. To address the constantly changing variables, it was probably better to make those calculations constantly as well. Hopefully, this was not anywhere near a problem yet, and they wouldn’t have to worry about it until another day. For now, it just had to work in the first place. “Hot pocket is live,” Ramses announced confidently.

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Leona asked.

“You got a problem with that?”

“I guess not, they don’t exist anymore.”

“What don’t exist anymore?”

Leona was done with the conversation. “Is everyone ready to go?”

They were all standing on the bridge. While their enhanced substrates would help them survive in many harsh environments, redundancy was a core principle of SCR&M, so they were also wearing Integrated Multipurpose Suits. These were not the result of one of Ramses’ projects. They were standard dress for spacefarers in the stellar neighborhood, and to varying degrees, average, everyday people, and Mirage had equipped the Ambassador with enough for the whole team, and more. They came in layers, each one designed to protect the wearer from projectiles, blades, concussive forces, or even radiation. Different models had a different mix of these layers. The ones that they were wearing right now had all of the layers, for ultimate protection. To be honest, they looked pretty badass, standing there in the same sleek black and gray outfits, their air packs and helmets affixed to the back with magnets. Though, they didn’t have to look the same. The outer layer could shift colors to match personal preferences. They nodded affirmatively at Leona’s question.

“All right. Yalla.”

Marie engaged the subfractional engines, and headed towards the inner solar system. Before they knew anything about this place, they expected to find another space station, like Ex-467, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t a planet either. According to Korali’s intel, it was the smallest possible coalesced asteroidal sphere. That was, it only had enough gravity to form into a sphere, as opposed to the usual oblong shape of some other subplanetary bodies. A moon. It was basically a moon, except that it orbited the host star directly, and had Earth-comparable surface gravity, which Korali figured was powered artificially by a microsingularity in the center, though no one ever specified to her while she was there, and she never bothered to question it.

They made it into orbit. Ramses had to stay with the Ambassador, so he could monitor the new hot pocket. He insisted that he do this alone, so the rest of the team could teleport into the facility, even though they had agreed to never let that happen. They were already down one person, and they still didn’t know what they might be up against in there. He promised to stay on comms, and request help if he needed it. To be fair, his would probably be the safest job. Theirs was not going to be easy. Stealth continued to be vital while on the ground, and there was a downside to that.

“Okay.” Olimpia huddled them up. “Invisibility is invisibility. There’s no magical way to let you see others who are also invisible. I suppose Ramses could try to work on that later, but until then, we need to lean heavily into our group empathy. Try to stay connected at all times. We don’t have a built-in homing device to locate each other, but we should be able to get a sense of distance and direction. I thought about having us hold hands, or tying a rope between us, but there are so many things that could go wrong with either of those options. Invisibility is hard to maintain; harder than other illusions. You have to constantly let the light pass around you, and I do mean to use the word let, because if you concentrate on doing it, you will probably only end up psyching yourself out. Just...go with the flow.” She loosened herself up to demonstrate extreme chill.

“Thank you, Pia,” Leona said. “If any of you feel like you’re losing it, jump back to the ship. It’s better to be safe than sorry. We don’t know what people look like there, or how well they recognize each other’s faces. We might be able to blend in with them with holographic illusions, but it’s impossible to say for sure, so this is our only hope. The situation may change when we get down there, but I can’t promise anything. We will resort to brute force if we have to. I want..that information. Is everyone cool with that?”

They nodded.

“Okay.” Leona nodded too, and then looked back over at Ramses. “You good?”

He was munching on a snack, so he just held up an a-okay sign.

Leona made sure to make eye contact with each member of the away team. With a shrug of her eyebrows, she decided to repeat, “yalla.” They turned themselves invisible, and jumped.

They were immediately assaulted by a sensory overload when they landed inside the archive facility. A siren was blaring, trying to deafen their ears. Lights were flashing all around them, making it impossible to get a good look at what was around them. They were immediately wet, and getting wetter. It felt like a room temperature mist was falling all over the place. When they could get a look at it, the water appeared to be a neon orange, rather than transparent. They found themselves on the floor pretty much immediately, or that’s what they assumed. It was also difficult to keep track of the passage of time as they were squirming around in...baby powder? Someone yelled that they should try to teleport back up to orbit, but they couldn’t. The rubber band snapped them right back to where they were whenever one of them tried. At least the teleportation dampener didn’t hurt, as it did on that one planet. It was just an unbreakable barrier.

“Korali gave us up!” Marie cried.

“I won’t believe it!” Mateo shouted back.

“Who else knew what we could do?” Leona questioned. “This is obviously a trap for us!”

“Who else knew?” Mateo echoed. “Anyone who noticed that we only ever show up once a year, like Santy Claus!”

They could sense Olimpia trying to send Ramses the feeling of escape that they agreed upon, which was marked by rapidly switching between regret and satisfaction, over and over and over again. He replied that he understood by sending it back. After a few times, he left his own feelings on regret, which was likely what he was truly feeling at the time, due to having to leave them behind. They didn’t make any sort of specific plan for what to do after the designated survivor escaped, but he would probably go seek help from Ex-666, or maybe one of the Caretakers.

The lights and sounds ceased, but the mist still fell, and they were still covered in the powder. Theoretically, all they would have to do was to incorporate the new outer coating on their bodies into the invisibility illusion, but they were not feeling well enough to do that. Mateo was particularly out of sorts since he was relentless with his attempts to teleport back to Ramses, and was extremely exhausted. They were only as strong as their weakest link, so they were stuck as the bad guy walked up to them.

“Sir, be careful,” someone said.

“I know what I’m doing.” They recognized that voice. It was Bronach Oaksent himself. Yay! They didn’t even have to figure out where Ex-69 was! Their enemy came right to them. How nice of him. Now he just needed to give them a few minutes to several hours to recover from this, and then they could put up their dukes. He crouched down in front of Leona. “How does it feel? How does it feel, knowing that nothing you do matters? You think you made any sort of impact in my empire? You think that was the first prison break I’ve ever seen? You think I can’t blow up all of the ships that they commandeered with a wave of my hand?” He held up a hand, and kept it aloft.

Leona blinked, struggling to see him better, as the mist cleared up, and her vision returned. She saw him smirking, and occasionally looking over at his own hand, as if he was anticipating that dreadful wave, and that he didn’t necessarily have any control over it. There was a chance that an actual wave of that hand could trigger the mass death that he was warning them about. “State your terms,” Leona responded, making herself fully visible again, and staring back at him with an expression of professionalism, but not letting herself appear weak, or submissive to him.

“Call your boy back. I wanna take a look at that pretty purple ship o’ yours.”

Leona tapped on her comms. “Ramses, come back. Open a channel, and ask for a place to dock.”

“I’m on my way, sweet girl,” Ramses replied.

Bronach dropped his hand and chuckled. “I admit, we can’t detect if that message went out, or if you’re bluffing, but you go ahead and send another one. He has ten minutes, or I’m killing one of you. Then it’s one person every...thirty minutes, I guess.”

“He heard,” Leona explained.

“I’ll be there in five.”

“He’ll be here in five. Tell him where to go.”

Bronach looked up at his man-servant, and nodded. The man-servant walked away with purpose. Bronach stood back up himself, and suggested that the team do the same. “No more tricks, please. I’m an honest man. We may disagree, but know that. I don’t like to lie, and I don’t like to fake it.”

Leona stood, and took a breath. “Even Donald Trump didn’t drink alcohol. Doesn’t make him a saint.” The rest of the team stood as well, now visible.

Bronach laughed. “I don’t know who that is.” He started to wander around the room, playing with the mist that continued to fall, though it was no longer neon. “Do you know why I called this place Ex-42?”

“Because it holds the answer to life, the universe, everything?” Olimpia figured.

“No,” Bronach contended. “Wrong reference. It’s because the information stored here keeps the island from blowing up. He placed airquotes around the words, implying a connection to the show LOST, though it was difficult to comprehend a reality where an alien had a frame of reference for that and Douglas Adams, but not Trump. He smiled. “And it does more than that. It does a lot more.”

“Remember the lining of your suit?” Ramses asked through comms. “You noticed how different it was from the standard model. Open your hands, and tap both of those seams twice fast with your pinkies. The hot pocket is about to explode, so on my mark...” He waited for a few seconds. “Now!”

The seams that he was talking about were around their crotches. The gesture that he was describing carried a crude meaning, which was surely the point. But still, they had to do it, and they did it in sync. Personal force fields formed around them just in time for the explosion that blasted into the room. The ship was not designed with a weapon, but that heat shunt could be purged safely...or not so safely. They were protected, but not unmoved, by the eruption. It threw them across the room, but they didn’t run into a wall. Instead, they landed in a river outside.

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