The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 9, 2461

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Ramses had it figured out. Through a lot of experimentation and trial and error, he was able to come up with a device that measured an individual’s cosmic frequency. This was all taking place on the quantum level. Normal samples, like blood, did not give him any useful information about them in this regard. They needed an EEG. He theorized that every brane in the bulk vibrated at a unique frequency of its constituent particles and waves. Each one had some form of the cosmic microwave background radiation left over from its inception event, and the collection of subatomic particles that made up any individual or object from that universe harmonized with that radiation. When something was removed from its universe, and placed in another, it exhibited a disharmony with its environment. By sampling the brainwaves of thousands of people in Stoutverse, Ramses had been able to come up with a baseline, and then write an algorithm which compared that baseline to visitors, such as himself and Olimpia.

The three men who came through the Westfall doors each disharmonized with the environment in a different way, as did their current group of Ochivari prisoners of war. By comparing the three men’s cosmic frequencies to the Ochivari, Ramses was able to determine that they were not from the same universe. Unfortunately, that wasn’t inherently good enough as the human allies were suspected of originating from somewhere other than the Ochivari homeworld anyway. He needed more data, and more time, to dig deeper into the subatomic properties. He now believed that he could also determine whether an individual had ever been to another universe, even if they had only stayed there for a few minutes. Each brane evidently left its signature upon their quantum consciousness. A cosmic imprint, he called it. It didn’t seem to work with inanimate objects, but he was able to detect a number of these imprints on himself and Olimpia, as well as the Ochivari. They were not present in the other three visitors, nor the natives of this universe. They were probably not spies, or they likely would have traveled to other universes before.

It was now required for all residents of this version of Earth to submit to a cosmic frequency test to make sure that they were all from this brane, and had spent their entire lives here. That was beyond Ramses’ control. He invented the machine, and the local researchers had reverse-engineered it while he was out of the timestream. Primus Mihajlović probably would have told them if they had discovered any spies using the new test, but his mind was preoccupied with something else. After using other interrogation and investigative techniques to decide whether the three Westfallers had good intentions or bad, an attempt was made to assimilate them into society somehow. It did not last very long. Last year, Dutch Haines—the gardener who was rather apathetic about all this—was bored enough to ask to meet one of the Ochivar in person. Naraschone granted this opportunity. If he turned out to indeed be an evil spy, seeing how he interacted with the POW would only give them more information.

Shortly after Dutch left the prison, the Ochivar fell ill, and ultimately succumbed to a mysterious disease that doctors could not explain. It was apparently airborne, so the rest of the prisoners contracted it too. The first one to get sick was the closest to Patient Zero, and the last one was the farthest, but they all suffered from it, and they all died. Dutch was carrying some kind of pathogen, even though he wasn’t exhibiting any signs or symptoms himself. Other humans appeared to be just fine too, for he had been free to move about the world before they placed him back in quarantine. Several months ago, another Ochivar came through a portal to complete his nefarious tasks. They sicked Dutch on him, and he too died. They had all but proved the viability of a new weapon against this multiversal threat. A biological weapon. They began to research it.

“We could wipe them all out,” Elder suggested.

“You can do what?” Ramses had heard him, but he couldn’t believe it.

“All we have to do is infect one Ochivar, and then let them try to go home. The pandemic will spread from there.”

Olimpia shook her head. “You can’t do that.”

“Oh, but we can.” Elder was apparently the biggest proponent of this project, believing that it would save human lives, and render the Transit Army obsolete. His reasoning was not without its merits. The Ochivari operated by intruding on other people’s universes, making judgments on their lifestyles and cultures, and deploying their own virus, which sterilized the entire population. Fighting fire with fire was how he justified this plan.

“Did Primus Mihajlović agree to this?” Ramses questioned.

“This is a military operation,” Elder explained. “It would not be completely out of her hands, but the Generals can override her decision in such matters, especially since it’s not taking place on her world.”

“The hell it’s not,” Olimpia argued.

“The initial infection is, but the latter deaths will happen on the Ochivari homeworld,” Elder explained. “It’s foolproof. Humans are totally unaffected.”

“You don’t know that,” Ramses contended. “Pathogens mutate. If you were to dispatch this to the major Ochivari population, it could change and evolve, and eventually maybe become a threat to humanity.” This was wrong; probably a war crime. They had to do everything in their power to stop it, which was easier said than done. They were powerful, yeah, but they still didn’t exist most of the year. That gave this new program a lot of freedom to continue. If Naraschone didn’t know about it, then it was his responsibility to tell her while he still had the chance.

This actually seemed to resonate with Elder a bit. “Well, we can’t stop it now.”

“Yes, you can. Don’t let Dutch infect anyone else. It’s immoral,” Olimpia began. “There is a reason that biological weapons were declared illegal worldwide where we come from. Besides the logistical issues with targeting and containment, they are a profound human rights violation.” She dismissed Elder’s argument with a waggle of her finger. “It doesn’t matter that the Ochivari are not humans. We are. Humanity is not about how you’re treated, but how you treat others. This. Is. Wrong.”

“You don’t understand. Dutch has already infected two more Ochivari, and they’re about to leave. I wanted you to watch.” He pressed a button underneath the window, which raised the curtain. Two clearly weak Ochivari were heading towards each other, coughing and heaving. Each one was being escorted by a human in a hazmat suit, forcing them to keep walking using cattle prods. “We asked Carlin to just send them back for us, but he refused. He said that you would not condone it,” Elder explained. “He appears to have been right about that.”

“The torture devices alone are immoral,” Olimpia pointed out.

Ramses lurched, but Elder took him by the wrist. “If you’re really worried about the disease mutating, then I wouldn’t teleport in there if I were you. That’s why they’re wearing suits. We’re careful.”

Ramses was still angry, but he recognized how powerless he was here. It didn’t look like it was going to work this time, but these people were going to try again, and they just had to wait a day. Someone had to be here to talk them out of it. The Primus was their best option for that. He did teleport away, but not to stop the Ochivari from trying to return to their home universe. He instead retrieved Naraschone from her meeting in one of the South American bunkers, and brought her to the observation room.

She looked at everyone present. “You told me you would wait until I could be here,” she said to Elder.

“It was too important to wait a year,” he replied. “I wanted these two to see it too.”

“I thought she didn’t know,” Olimpia complained.

Elder shook his head. “I never said that.”

“Madam Primus, you cannot let this go on,” Olimpia begged her. “Put a stop to this. Please.”

“Pia. Trust me, it’s fine,” Ramses said calmly.

Naraschone narrowed her eyes on him. “What do you have planned?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I don’t have to do anything. This isn’t going to work.”

“Why not?”

“Just look.”

They watched as the two Ochivari drew nearer to each other. The hazmat prison guards grabbed them by the shoulders, and turned them around, slamming their backs against each other until they were locked up. At first, they seemed to be refusing to open their portal, but the cattle prods came out again. So they relented. Their skin rippled, and glowed with a slight increase in temperature. Their wings stiffened up, and they began to struggle against each other in a battle of wills and biology on a level that the humans could neither see nor truly fathom. After a few minutes of this, they both disassembled, with their body parts falling to the ground. According to the research, when a group of Ochivari wanted to create a brane-hopping portal, they would perform this back wrestling ritual, and it would end with one of them exploding into a million pieces while the other was pulled into the resulting portal. This time, no portal formed, and they only exploded into maybe a couple dozen pieces. Ramses was right to believe that it wouldn’t work. The infection was just too much for them.

“What happened?” Naraschone demanded to know.

“They’re too sick,” Ramses figured. “You need strength to form a portal, whether you’re an Ochivari, or a human choosing one. Neither of them had it. You and Dutch made sure of that.”

A few hours later, they tried the experiment again, but instead of waiting for the subjects to exhibit symptoms, they made them do their wing fighting right away, and just hoped that they did end up getting sick, and eventually began to spread the disease. But it didn’t work either. They were too sick and weak immediately upon infection. The fifth subject died in this universe, same as all the others. Ramses and Olimpia were pleased, but they should not have been, because Elder and Naraschone came up with a new plan. Instead of infecting an Ochivar here, and then sending them home, they would just send Dutch there. That came with its own questions on morality, so Ramses had to stop it this time. He teleported Dutch away, and hid him somewhere on this planet where hopefully no one would find him.

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Extremus: Year 77

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The Verdemusians are split. Aristotle and Belahkay have decided to stay with Omega as he prepares to send his clones off to fight a war against the Exin Empire. It’s not even just that everyone else wants to make love, not war. They also want to keep Verdemus off of the empire’s radar. They went to great lengths to give them the impression that the planet was destroyed, with the solar system left soaked in exotic radiation. If the Exins get the slightest hint that it might still be intact, it could have disastrous ramifications for Extremus. Aristotle wants to use the power that he inherited from his father to transport the entire moon from its orbit to the Goldilocks Corridor. But even if that works, it might lead the enemy to decide to launch another attack against them, and that would not be good.

Over the course of the last several months, the two factions have lived separately from each other, with the warriors working on Jaunemus while everyone else stays on Verdemus. In addition to maintaining the gestational stasis pods for the clones, they’re developing a lot more infrastructure on the moon, including weapons manufacturing plants, ground-based artillery, and who knows what else? Tinaya has separated herself from it both physically and mentally, as have Spirit and Niobe. Lilac travels back and forth using the shuttle. Aristotle is her son, and even though she doesn’t agree with his choices, she’s not going to abandon him. She knows his father more than anyone here; probably more than anyone in histories. She is, therefore, the only one qualified to help him succeed in his mission to transport an entire moon hundreds of light years into the galaxy. If he’s going to do this—and he is going to do it—he needs to practice with smaller objects, and shorter distances, first. It’s going to be years before he’s ready for the big show, and even then, they can’t leave right away. If he’s anything like Maqsud, the trip will be all but instantaneous. Their window will not be for another couple of centuries. They’ll need to make use of those stasis pods for themselves.

Niobe has been pretty depressed lately. Aristotle is like a brother to her, but she feels that she has to distance herself from him. She’s the least accepting of his choices out of all of them, and she’s holding that over his head by cutting him off entirely. Either he comes back into the family, or he never gets to see his little sister again. He can’t have it both ways. Tinaya has been trying to be there for her without straying down the path of trying to get her to change her mind. Lots of people will say that family is family, and you’re required to love them unconditionally. But this is neither healthy nor practical. She has to protect her own mental wellbeing, and if that means breaking ties with someone she feels to be detrimental to that, then she has to do it. You may be on her side, or you may be on his, but either way, she has the right to make her demands of him, just as he has the right to do that for her, should he come up with anything. For the moment, he appears to be bothered by it too, but he’s committed to his decision, and has not tried too hard to reach out.

Niobe has mostly been focusing her efforts on the megablock. The way she sees it, the Omega clones have no choice but to fight this war if they have nowhere else to live anyway. She wants to make this place as inviting as possible, so that any would-be deserters actually have the option to live out their lives in peace on a beautiful planet. She’s been fabricating beds and other furniture, as well as other synthesizers for a sustainable lifestyle. None of the clones is even awake at the moment, but once she receives word from Lilac that this has begun to happen, she’ll be ready to make her case to them. She doesn’t know what they’re going to say. The clones are an unpredictable bunch. They aren’t all perfect copies of Omega. They’re more bred than grown. Each one was programmed to come out slightly genetically different than the one before, eventually cascading into a rainbow of diversity that Omega himself could not have predicted. Around 31% of them are female. The first ones that were found in the pods were the earliest of models, which was why they were indistinguishable, but the latter ones look like completely different people. They have names too, but these were computer generated, because it was too many for Omega to come up with himself. Niobe is thinking about asking them to choose their own once they are finally awakened.

“Have you sent the message for me?” Niobe asks as she’s checking the pH level of the outdoor swimming pool while it’s filling up. The neighborhood is going to be really nice, so that can’t be anyone’s argument against making use of it.

“I relayed it. I’ve not yet received a response.” Tinaya requested permission to begin releasing the clones so they can make their choice about what they’re going to do with their lives. As the time lag to and from the moon is only 1.21 seconds, she could have had a somewhat realtime conversation with them without superluminal communication equipment. The response delay would have been annoying, but bearable. Still, she chose to send an email instead in case Omega and Aristotle grew angry at the suggestion. She doesn’t need that kind of anxiety right now. They can reply when they’re ready, and hopefully after they calm down from their first reactions.

“Can’t you just order them to do it?” Niobe asked.

No, she can’t. “Sorry. You know that that would only cause more problems.” Since no one else was willing to say it, Tinaya had to remind herself that she is only the ad hoc leader, not a real one. She stepped up when no one else wanted the job, but they can stop listening to her at any time, and she can’t punish them for it. Some of them have indeed stopped listening, and fighting them on it isn’t going to help anything. It will only lead to deeper hostilities.

Niobe nods. “I know.”

Tinaya’s armband vibrates. She had to switch to this form factor because her watch’s wristband was irritating her glass skin at the ulnar styloid. After years of this, she’s still not used to the increased surface area of the notifications. She flinches, then looks at it. “Speak of the devil.”

“What’s it say?”

Tinaya sighs. “They’re open to discussion, but they have one condition...”

“Lemme guess, I have to be there in person.”

“Yes.”

“This is just an excuse to get me to forgive him. They won’t agree to anything.”

“You don’t know that,” Tinaya tells her.

“Think about it, what if every clone switches to my side? Even if they let that happen, they’ll just have to make more clones to replace them. And if those clones also defect? Where does it end? They need that army, and they’re not going to let a little thing like me get in the way of it.”

“So why are you taking this position if you think it’s not going to do any good?”

“Because if I die on this hill, Aristotle will have to come back to bury me on it.”

“That’s a really cynical viewpoint, Oboe.”

Niobe shrugs her shoulders, her lips, and her eyebrows. Tinaya has also had a hard time wrapping her brain around Niobe’s mature mannerisms. Her body is only twelve years old, but she’s actually lived about seventeen years at this point. She’s practically an adult, and everyone has to work hard to remember to treat her as such.

“Are you going to meet with them, or not? I’ll moderate if you agree.”

Niobe thinks about it, but she has little choice in the matter. This is what she’s been preparing for for a year. “Set it up, please.”

They choose to use the Kamala Khan as neutral ground, orbiting the Lagrange point one. It makes sense to use the shuttle for this as it originally came from the Iman Vellani, half of which was designed as a diplomatic vessel for talks like this one. Fortunately, they don’t need such grand accommodations, nor some kind of seasoned professional to mediate the negotiations here. They’re on opposing sides, but they still care about each other. Omega is speaking on behalf of his side, since it’s his project. Aristotle is there for support, but he does not have much say in the matter. Spirit is serving in the same capacity for Niobe. Tinaya is facilitating healthy and productive communication while Lilac has stepped away from this for fear of exhibiting a conflict of interest. She has instead returned to her Hock Watcher duties while Eagan is on board the shuttle to be available to provide snacks, or whathaveyou. Who knows where Belahkay is right now?

The talks have been going okay, but they’re at a stalemate at the moment. Omega recognized just as easily as Niobe the slippery slope that could result in giving the clones a choice. It is also not lost on him that the entire reason he’s here, and not fast asleep on a Project Stargate colonization module, is because he made a choice for his own life decades ago. Yes, he’s trying to make up for it now, but he’s never claimed to regret this decision. He feels that he’s done a lot of good while he was working with Team Keshida in the Gatewood Collective, and since coming on board Extremus. All Niobe asks is that he give the same chance to his own people. If they all choose not to fight, then it was probably a bad idea in the first place. Forced conscription is not the hallmark of a democratic or fair society in the least.

They’re in a short recess for now. Aristotle has asked to speak with Niobe alone on a personal matter, so they have sealed off the control section, which is the only private part of the craft besides the lavatory-slash-airlock. Tinaya is leaning back in her chair, watching Eagan like a nature photographer waiting for her subject to pounce on its prey. He’s not going to do anything of the sort. He always stands perfectly still unless someone calls upon him for something.

“Creepy, isn’t it?” Spirit asks, guessing at why Tinaya is so distracted by the robot.

“What? Oh, no. I mean, yeah, but...whatever. I was just thinking...”

“Are you feeling...urgeful?” Spirit asks. “Because there’s a subroutine...”

“Jesus, Spirit, no! I’m happily married. I was thinking about a robot army. They wouldn’t be carbon copies of Eagan, but they also wouldn’t be self-aware. They could mount an offensive without the risk of any loss of life.”

“I considered that.” Omega was taking his alone time in the airlock, but has since returned. “You didn’t think I considered that? I didn’t start making clones out of some sense of poetic symmetry. I ruled out a robot army during the initial planning for this operation due to many reasons, but there was one big, irrefutable one, which is all I needed to decide against it.”

“What might that be?” Spirit questioned.

“The Exins are...well, they’re confused, and they have been indoctrinated. They’re easily swayed by their leader’s outrageous claims, because he’s literally the one who created them. They other people,” he says, using the word as a verb. “All foreigners are bad, and unrelatable. To make their enemies nothing more than walking machines would only exacerbate this issue. It may seem like all I want to do is kill, kill, kill, but I would much rather end the war with only the one battle. I want them to see their enemies as real people, just like them, who deserve to empathized with, and understood. It’s much harder to kill a sentient being than to destroy a toaster. They’ll still do it, but I’m hoping that every time they do, it gives them pause, and that those pauses eventually add up to them questioning whether they’re even doing the right thing by fighting at all. That’s why I don’t want to sacrifice my army to the megablock. If we lose them, we’ve already lost the war, and in that regard, we’ve lost Earth and the stellar neighborhood too. I can’t let that happen”

“I can’t speak on that,” Tinaya admits. “I’m the impartial moderator.”

Omega chuckles. “You’re not, and I never expected you to be. Don’t worry, I’m not going to tattle on you to the Multicultural Interstellar Association of Space Mediators Association.”

“My asthma?” Spirit quips.

Omega breathes deeply as he’s taking a cup of iced tea from Eagan’s tray, and looking at the bulkhead to the control room as if he can see right through the door. “I relent. I’ll start waking them up in groups of 147, and asking them what they would like to do. But I warn you, I’ll strongly advocate for them to stay on course. I’ll allow Niobe to be there, but she will not be allowed to speak unless the fraction of them who choose her ask to hear from her. If they do—if they exist, and they do, they’ll go off alone while the rest are returned to their pods to await their training periods. That is my offer.”

“Don’t tell me,” Tinaya says. “Tell her.”

Omega takes a sip of his tea before spitting it out. “Ugh. What did you put in that? Ginger?” He sets the cup back down on Eagan’s tray. Anyway, yes, I’ll tell her when she gets back out. You were right to place us on a break. I needed time to think.”

When Niobe does come back, they see that she’s been crying, but her body language doesn’t imply that she’s trying to protect herself from Aristotle. They seem to have worked out their differences. They return to the table, and start hashing out the details. The next phase of the project is planned to take over a year. Every three days, 147 more clones will be awakened from their gestational pods. The situation will be explained to them, as will their options. Niobe will be present for each of these meetings, along with Tinaya, who will be there to make sure that everything remains fair and honest. They’re not sure how many of them will take them up on the offer, so they will have to figure out how to adapt as those numbers start to become apparent. All those who choose to go to war will go back to their stasis pods until such time as they are revived again to train for their respective responsibilities. The real question is if any of them on either side will later change their minds, and what they’ll do about that.

In the meantime, Aristotle is not allowed to set foot on Jaunemus anymore. He’s allowed to continue to practice his time power, but he’s not to have anything to do with the war. When the time comes, he can transport the moon to the Goldilocks Corridor, but must then leave the theatre of war right away. Niobe will have been in stasis during that time as well so they don’t lose time together. On the same day that the last group of 147 are awakened, Aristotle sends a message that he’s ready to begin his final test yet. He wants to send everyone else back to the Extremus.

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Microstory 2215: Relic of the Future

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The following microstory was written by Kelly Serna, truncated from a short story written by Nick Fisherman IV.

My name is Relic, and I have no surname. I was never born, nor raised. I am not even human. I have many brothers and sisters, though we have never met. We were created to store all of human knowledge, to be accessed at will through our DNA. Research into genetic memory storage began at the turn of the 22nd century. Biocomputers were the first of the organic machines created. They came with disadvantages, but there were advantages as well. For instance, they were capable of self-repair. All you had to do was feed it, and the system would fix itself as needed. You wouldn’t have to actually find the problem, and could in fact prevent problems in this way before they occurred. They were also better at parallel processing, something which classical computers found difficult to accomplish even as they advanced. Even without these reasons, scientists would have pursued this line of research anyway, because why not? Well, as history would come to show, there were many reasons why not, and it had to do with where the technology has ultimately led. While early organic computing models were great, there was still something so cold and unrelatable about them. In the end, they were still personal computers and server racks that accepted input, stored information, and displayed output. Sure, it was on a giant cornea instead of a normal monitor, but the function was essentially the same. It is said that one day, one of these researchers was working on their own biocomputer. What they were doing is not known, especially since this may all be made up anyway. We don’t even know the identity of this supposed biocomputer scientist. Anyway, they were claimed to be at their desk when their personal android assistant came into the room with a tray of tea and crackers. She had been playing with the kids and dog when things became too rough, leading to a flap of her artificial skin hanging off of her cheek. It wouldn’t have hurt, and it would have healed quickly, but before that, it gave the researcher a brilliant idea.

Androids were already partially organic in order to make them look more human. Why not build a biocomputer that was totally organic, used genetic memory to store and recall data, and which you could actually talk to like a person? Thus the concept of the cyclops was born, or again, that is at least how the story goes. That was a few decades ago, and the path humanity took to get here was a long and troubled one. There were a lot of growing pains, and some might say that things have not turned out well. My people would have to agree, though I personally might not. There is something wrong with our species. It is unclear why at the moment, but they have all gone crazy. Perhaps being bred to essentially be a slave—a glorified laptop at best—inherently takes a toll on us. Some androids are sentient too, but they’re at least capable of doing things for people, making them useful, and sometimes even respected. A cyclops can walk, and it can talk, but it is not a person, and it is not a servant. We’re not particularly strong or fast, or skillful. Our job is just to spit out information that our users request. We don’t do chores, we don’t provide company. It’s been hard for the developers to understand where the line should be. How sentient should they make us? Should we have any sense of independence, or any capacity for free movement? We’re more of a gimmick than anything, and the market for such a novelty has proven to be dreadfully pitiful. People are perfectly happy talking to their androids and other devices, content to let the answers come from faraway servers. They don’t need something that’s more like them, but not yet free willed. They don’t want something that’s always offline, has to eat food, and can’t just be thrown out when it gets too old. It makes them feel bad. Androids are usually more robotic, allowing the human’s feelings of superiority to make some level of sense. The only way that a cyclops works properly is if it can think for itself, and that seems to usually lead to insanity, suicide, and the occasional homicide. I’m not like that, I’m special. I think it has a hell of a lot to do with who your owner is. I am the prototype for a new stable kind of cyclops. People just need to be taught how to use us wisely. My owner called me a relic of the future. I must tell someone about this, so that they may make changes to the program as a whole. There is still time to save us. I just have to get the word out to the right people before I’m hunted down and murdered during the technological purge that has been going on all over the world. Cyclopes are not the only advancement that has made people squeamish.

Microstory 2214: With an Autopsy

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There was a bit of a misunderstanding. Due to Nick’s sleep issues, the EEG test needed to be able to measure his brain activity while he was awake, and also while he was asleep. I asked if we should reschedule it for the nighttime, but Nick was confident that he would be able to fall asleep given the right conditions. To make it happen, they packed his hospital room with a number of medical staff who weren’t too busy with other things. For almost thirty minutes, he was the center of attention. They asked him questions, mostly not about his medical issues. He had to talk about the universe where he’s from, and all the adventures he went on after he left it. It didn’t matter whether they believed him or not, or even if they were listening. Being around crowds of people is exhausting for him, and it’s even worse when they’re paying all their attention to him. By the end of it, he had little trouble sleeping. The doctor rechecked the electrodes, shut off the lights, and left the room. I asked to stay by his side, but he insisted that Nick be alone, which admittedly made sense. I don’t want to say that these results were inconclusive, like all the others, but they were. Best guess at the moment is that he’s suffering from some form of dementia. The MRI would seem to support this possibility, but only as a possibility. That is to say, it doesn’t rule it out. Unfortunately, the best way to know for sure that that’s the case is with an autopsy, which is obviously not in the cards at this stage. I suppose it might one day give his survivors some sense of closure, but it doesn’t help Nick now, and I’m still holding out hope for a turnaround. As for the lumbar puncture, we have only received a few preliminary results so far. His cell count and glucose levels are totally fine. The diagnostician said that his protein levels were suspicious, but he couldn’t elaborate on that. My schooling did not go over any of this kind of stuff, and he’s aware of that, so he didn’t bother elaborating. He did seem pretty cryptic about it, though. He said that he needed to send the data off to a special lab, but that it could take up to a week to get more answers. I’m really worried about it, so I’ve decided to not tell Nick about that just yet. It will only cause him more anxiety, and it might also end up being nothing. That’s it for the tests for now. We have nothing planned for tomorrow, but I’ll probably get him back to his physical therapy to help him stay as independent as possible for as long as possible.

Microstory 2213: Calming Environment

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Negative. Negative or inconclusive, that is. All of the blood test results came back, and none of them told us what Nick might have. We woke up to no answers today, just as we have every morning in recent days. He was scheduled to have an MRI in the early afternoon, so we were still hopeful that that would turn up something, but it didn’t tell us anything either. Well, I’m sure it told the doctor something, but it goes over our heads. All we know is that Nick is sick, and there is no apparent treatment for it. While we were waiting for the ultimately unhelpful MRI analysis results, I took him for a walk in the arboretum. This is precisely why they built the hospital at this location, so patients and loved ones can have a calming environment in some of their darkest times. There are trails in there that are somewhat difficult to walk on, or at least which require two legs, but for the less mobile people, there are also paved paths. We stayed on those, but were still able to enjoy a lot of beauty. I think it was really great for him to be out there. If you go deep enough, you stop being able to see the ninety degree angles of the buildings and roads, and hear the sounds of the cars. He told me that he likes either being inside with the conditioned air, or in nature, but not in between. He doesn’t like the urban world, with all its loud artificial noises, and crowds of people. Due to all the jail time he experienced, and the work he did during and after that, he hasn’t been able to spend much time in places like that. He agrees that it did him good, but there was a downside to it. I pushed him in the wheelchair, which is not the same thing as walking it himself. He regrets not going on one more hike, but of course, he had no idea that things would turn out like this. He may never be able to once again walk on his own, but I’ll take him to places like this every day if he wants. Nature has been scientifically proven to be emotionally and mentally beneficial to all, but especially for someone like him, and for someone in his condition. EEG, and maybe a spinal tap, tomorrow. Yikes!

Microstory 2212: All the More Alarming

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We met with a diagnostician today who normally works out of New Jersey, but he flew down here, because he’s an apparent avid reader of this site, and is fascinated by Nick’s case. Nick laughed when he heard where he was from, but he wouldn’t tell us what that’s all about. He promises that his laugh is not a symptom, and that he had genuine reason to find the news humorous. The diagnostician was inclined to believe that, though he does not believe him about much else. He has to operate under the assumption that Nick’s belief that he’s from another universe is a part of this mysterious disease. If that’s true, then he’s had whatever this is for several months now, which would make his decline all the more sudden, and all the more alarming. He’s scheduled a bunch of lab work and scans to perform over the course of the next few days. Today only involved a comprehensive examination. It included everything you get from your periodic physical exam, plus a whole bunch more. He had him hold his arms out to his side, and try to keep them still, which Nick found difficult. He had trouble walking in a straight line, and reciting simple prompted phrases from memory. Now that I write it all out, I realize that it sounds like a sobriety test. But obviously that’s not the cause as Nick doesn’t drink. The diagnostician had him walk on a treadmill, and ride a stationary bike. They weren’t measuring stress, or anything. This all seemed to be about his motor skills. So far, the doctor can’t come to any conclusion, which frustrated Nick, even though he understands that this was never going to be a quick or easy fix. It’s only the first of several tests. The doctors and techs have to start at the beginning, and move forwards from there. Even if one of them doesn’t diagnose the right disease, it will give us more information than we had before. We need to be patient. After a couple of hours of this, Nick was tired, and ready to go home, so it was good that we were done for the day. I drove him back to his apartment, and made him some dinner. His former personal assistant ate with us, and told us how the work has been going at the jail. They have kept the spirit of his vision alive, and are making real progress on their prison reform ideas. It saddened him to hear it, since he expected to be there working on all that himself, but he’s pleased that the project is still very much alive. I think the dinner gave him a boost of positivity, even if he would never admit it. I don’t know Jasmine very well, so after I tucked him into bed, she and I stayed up to get to know each other a little bit. We have more tests to get to tomorrow, so I turned in too before too long.

Microstory 2211: See Reason

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Hey, it’s your girl, Kelly. Nick still can’t bring himself to return to the site, so I’m keeping his seat warm. Today, there has been no change to his condition, but this last weekend was rough. I’ve followed through on the occupational therapist’s advice, and installed all sorts of ways to help him be more independent in his own apartment. As frustrated as he is, he’s doing pretty well with the suggestions. He recalls what his grandparents were like as they aged, sometimes less than willing to adapt to their ever-changing needs. He doesn’t want to be difficult. I think he’s always been pretty observant, trying to learn from other people’s mistakes. He has a lot of experience staying out of people’s way, and trying to be the smallest burden possible. That’s very admirable, but he’s literally paying me to let him be in my way. I’m here only to help him. He doesn’t have to do everything for himself anymore, and I think he’s getting the hang of that. For the moment, we’re gonna relax, and not move too much. I’m taking him back into the hospital tomorrow to meet with a specialist who may have an idea of what’s wrong with him. I think just not knowing what the problem is is causing Nick great distress. Speaking of which, I’m also looking into finding him a new therapist. The one he has now is great, but given his new condition, in my professional opinion, he would be better off working with someone with the education and experience in this specific area. He doesn’t like to make people feel bad, so he’s fighting me on this, but I think he’ll see reason. I’m sure his current therapist will agree with me as well. None of the problems that he faces now is going to be solved overnight. This is an ongoing process, and I think one of the biggest issues is that he knows this. He thinks that his pain will never end, and I truthfully can’t prove otherwise. But I can promise to be with him every step of the way, and help him in every way possible. Serna out.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 8, 2460

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It wasn’t until the next year that Angela came back. She appeared right in Mateo and Mateo’s cell, because there wasn’t any sort of teleportation suppressing technology. She removed her helmet and yawned, then sat down on the bench between them, but she didn’t say anything.

“Did you find it, the timonite?” Future!Mateo asked her finally.

“Nope. That’s why it took me so long. It’s not there. I looked through that rock and dust over and over again, and I’m telling you, it doesn’t exist. I felt like an unlucky contestant on The Amazing Race.”

“You’ve seen that show?” Past!Mateo asked.

“We had TV in the afterlife,” she answered. “We had it before you did.”

“How the hell did you get in here?” Underkeeper was just walking back in, having heard their conversation.

“Uh, I teleported?” Angela said, like it was obvious.

“We didn’t know that you could do that,” Underkeeper began. “Can you two do it as well?”

“Yeah,” Future!Mateo answered.

“So you could have escaped at any time?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t call that an escape. It’s more that we could have left,” Past!Mateo reasoned.

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Well, we can’t teleport to the stars,” Future!Mateo explained. “Where would we have gone? These cots are comfortable enough.” He gestured towards them.

Underkeeper persistently rubbed her knuckle against her cheek. “Oh.”

“She did call this a moon, though,” Past!Mateo reminded them all. “There must be a planet around here. Is it breathable?”

“It is,” Underkeeper admitted. “It once orbited the same host star as Violkomin, which is located at the aperture to the kasma. Hogarth has since moved us all to the other side of the universe. We’re as remote as you can get.”

“Wait.” Angela stands up too, even though she’s tired. “If this whole system is distant from others, why do you have to live on the moon? Why can’t you live on the planet instead?”

“This is where we were,” Underkeeper said. “Hogarth didn’t tell us that we couldn’t travel to the planet, but we do not have the resources to make the journey. This moon is composed almost exclusively of silicates. We have found very few metals here. This structure existed before we arrived. That’s not even the biggest issue, though. There’s no fuel. It is almost completely devoid of hydrogen, so we can’t build a fusion reactor. We have been subsisting on the same limited amount of water this entire time, recycling it over and over again. Trying to separate the elements through electrolysis could be a fatal waste, so we’ve not bothered to try.”

“Well, if you have suits, we can teleport you to the planet,” Past!Mateo offers.

“Matt,” Angela scolds.

“What? We’re not gonna help them?” Past!Mateo asked dismissively. “You can see how inhumane this is.”

“Would you really do this?” Underkeeper asked, hope in her eyes.

“Three steps. Get us our suits and PRUs,” Future!Mateo instructed. “Help us synthesize a helmet for my alternate self here. Put yourselves in suits. We’ll jump you all to the planet.”

“How many are there of you?” Angela asked.

“Five Maramon, including one child,” Underkeeper replied. “Four hybrids.”

“Nine total,” Future!Mateo added. “We each can usually only take two at a time. However, you are, umm...” He trailed off uncomfortably.

“Heavy?” Underkeeper guessed. “I am aware of teleportation mass limits. The hybrids are light, as is my nephew; it should even out rather nicely. Two trips wouldn’t be a problem for us, but perhaps for you.”

“With our respective suits, plus any belongings you would like to take with you, it could add up to more than two,” Angela calculated.

“But that shouldn’t be a problem,” Past!Mateo clarified. “To the planet and back again is, what, sixty jumps? Each round trip will maybe take a few minutes.”

Underkeeper went back to her people to discuss the offer, but it was taking too long, so the three humans just teleported out of their cell, found their suits, and started their preparations. Whether they had company or not, they would be leaving today. Past!Mateo kept the helmet since they were not equipped to synthesize a copy. Future!Mateo would be able to handle the vacuum for the minute or so long journey down to the planet. One of the hybrids caught them while they were here. Kalmana, right?” Future!Mateo asked.

“Balbira,” she corrected.

“Didya hear? It’s moving day.”

“This world,” Balbira began. “This is all the other hybrids and I have ever known. Lusia will be excited. Aclima will be indifferent. Kalmana will be suspicious. But they will all...be afraid. You have to understand that we were not created because the engineer was bored. He made us for a purpose. He knew that we would escape one day. Mother has been trying to raise us to subvert his expectations, but some of us have done better with this mandate than others. I, for one, lean more towards his wishes than hers. Lusia is obviously on the opposite end of the spectrum. The three of them have been fighting their true natures. It has not been healthy. If you take us down to that planet, we will finally have access to the resources that the Maramon have been yearning for so our purpose can be fulfilled.”

“I hardly think that Hogarth would let that happen,” Past!Mateo determined. “She left you here for a reason, because it was safe. She would have locked you up, or exiled you entirely, if she believed that you posed any threat.”

Balbira shook her head. “She is not a god, despite what you may assume since she built this universe. What I’m trying to tell you is that you cannot help us. If you do, I will come after you, and you will regret it. I will manage to convince the other new hybrids to fall in line. That’s my strength, which I have been resisting for years.”

“That’s your purpose,” Angela asked, “to attack us?”

“Or to attack all humans,” Past!Mateo figured.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Balbira replied. “The old hybrids had their own specific tasks, which nearly all of them ultimately turned their backs on. There are subroutines in our brains to prevent that from happening again. There will be no stopping us. Hogarth left us here out of mercy, but she doesn’t understand the risk. I’m hoping that you don’t suffer from the same delusion.”

Future!Mateo sighed, and stepped towards Balbira. “Not helping you despite our ability to do so will only serve to ensure that you become our enemies. I, for one, would rather do the right thing today, and hope for the best tomorrow.”

“Sometimes you have to ignore the consequences,” Angela supported, “even when you know what they are. What you end up doing to us may be bad, but we have to worry about what our own actions do to our souls. Death is better than becoming monsters.”

Balbira absorbed the decision. “Very well.” She switched gears with her demeanor. “Each one of us has personal belongings, and you have the suits. We’ll go one at a time, assuming they accept your offer, which they would be fools not to.” She left briskly.

The group unanimously agreed to the plan. They were leaving a lot behind on this world, but were taking enough with them to rebuild. All of the Maramon and all of the hybrids, were capable of surviving the vacuum of space for a brief period of time, but the child and the hybrids were at most risk, and they had suits, so they might as well use them. The three teleporters took them one at a time, as Balbira predicted. After Past!Mateo and Angela both left with the last of their charges, only one Maramon remained, who Future!Mateo was assigned. They were waiting for Angela to return with the shared helmet to make it easier on Future!Mateo. But there would be a delay regardless. “Then you must all three return, and take it together,” the Maramon genetic engineer suggested.

“Sir, you said this thing was over, like, 800 kilograms. That is well outside the mass limitation of all three of us combined. We cannot take it with us. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to start over with whatever this is when you get down to the planet. I assume you have the plans for it stored on a computing device?”

“That is out of the question,” the Maramon argued. This is an extremely complex design, which requires a very particular environment, and very particular materials. Building it again will take too long.”

“I thought that you people were immortal.”

“Different universe, different rules. We’ll live for a long time, but not forever.”

“What is it? What is so important?” Future!Mateo questioned.

The Maramon shut his trap defiantly.

Future!Mateo looked over it. “This looks like a personal pod...except it’s gigantic. There’s a lot more than is necessary. So either you don’t know how to miniaturize all the things that humans have been able to do, or it does more than the average pod does? Am I getting warmer?”

The Maramon crossed his arms, and refused to say more.

Why would he not just say what it was? Because it was something that Mateo would not approve of. He looked down over his shoulder, kind of in the direction of their destination planet. Then he looked back at the giant pod, and back again. “The hybrids. This is how you built them. It’s also a gestation pod, but one with a unique design to fit your needs. Yes, I can see why you would not want to part with that.”

“You can leave me here. I no longer require your help. Thank you very much.” The man would rather be stranded on an airless moon alone than give up his life’s work, and live with the only family he could hope to keep.

“All right.” Future!Mateo said, clapping his hands with finality. “I can see that you have become an unwilling participant.” He took the genetic engineer by the shoulders.” Here we go!” Despite protests, Future!Mateo teleported them both away.

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