The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 14, 2466

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According to a more thorough sweep of The Waycar, it was designed to accommodate a crew of precisely 89 people. They were assuming that the three larger sleeping compartments were meant for the captain—or whatever the leader was called—and their two most executive associates. The other sleeping quarters varied in size. A few others had their own bathrooms, but they mostly shared. Four of them were just pods in a hallway behind main engineering, which was probably for the engineers, who were likely expected to be ready to work at all hours of the day. This was more than enough space for the special squadron that the Stoutversians had now filled it with, but Ramses being the generous type, he had other ideas.

“What the hell is this?” Angela questioned as they were carefully sliding down the ramp. The topmost level overlooked the level below it, which stopped before reaching the back wall at about the same distance. It then dropped off to a slant, all the way down to the same height as the next level. No, that wasn’t quite how Past!Mateo described it. He called it a weird-ass slant, which was pretty fitting. Directly under the floor was the armory, so there was no explanation for why it was designed like this, except maybe to make it harder to reach the stasis perch where Cassius was found? The more they looked at that, though, the more they started to think that that perch didn’t belong there at all, and was an after-market retrofit. Cassius wasn’t sure. He wasn’t always Nereus Jolourvedin’s second most trusted advisor. And he wasn’t that anymore either, but he was the only original member of the crew still standing, so in everyone’s mind, it was his birthright. The central computer’s records appeared to support this.

“I believe it’s the hock,” Ramses suggested.

“There’s no door,” Future!Mateo argued. “If it’s dark, or you’re not careful, you just fall down the slide.”

“It’ll be harder to climb back up,” Ramses explained. “Check out these eye bolts. I think they’re for shackles.” He tugged on a large metal ring bolted to the wall, which didn’t budge one bit.

“Jesus,” Cassius said. “We never used  them.” They had to remind themselves that this thing was designed by and for Maramon. That was why the doors were wider and taller, and explained at least kind of why anyone thought that an open slope hock made any sense.

“Well, you’ll use this area now,” Ramses claimed. One thing about it, which they weren’t able to see when it was so dark, was that there was a door at the bottom of the slope. It was rather far from all the eye bolts, and was probably expected to be kept locked at all times, and the Waycar was designed to spend a lot of time in the outer bulk or outer space, but in any case, it was a security flaw. That was how they felt about it anyway. They couldn’t match alien idiosyncrasies to human logic. Ramses reached over the door with a stick, since he wasn’t tall enough, and flipped on the light to illuminate the door. It wasn’t just a light, though. It was mainly a pocket dimension generator. It wouldn’t have to be an exit anymore. Then again, this open-dungeon concept could be ignored no matter what. They could store bags of rice down here instead. How about that; doing something socially responsible with the space.

“Do you just, like, have a box of those lying around in your lab?” Angela asked.

“I build them in my spare time, for occasions such as this.” Ramses opened the door to reveal the bare, but capacious, magical extra space they had access to now, well beyond the confines of the Waycar’s hull.

“Oh, wow. Why did you do this for us?” Cassius asked. “I mean, thank you. And also, what did you have in mind...specifically?”

Ramses stepped halfway over the threshold of the portal. “I didn’t have anything in mind. I just figured that you would rather have it than not.” He dropped a fob into Cassius’ hand. He admired his work for a few silent seconds. “But what would I do with it? I would build a garden.”

“Not a lab?” Future!Mateo questioned.

“I got plenty of those,” Ramses replied dismissively.

Cassius lifted the fob, and pressed a button. The pocket disappeared, revealing instead the outer door, which would lead them to the deadly equilibrium of the bulk. “I appreciate the gesture.”

Ramses nodded, and looked back up towards the slope. “It is up to you to decide who you wanna tell about it, and who you don’t. That’s why I brought you here while the squadron was asleep.”

“I’m not calling it a squadron. I prefer the term bastion.”

“The Waycar Bastion,” Future!Mateo articulated fully. “I think I like it too.”

“Plus, The Squadron’s taken.” Aclima was standing at the top of the slope.

“Aclima. We were just making sure that the emergency exit was secure,” Angela lied, “Wouldn’t want it falling open accidentally.”

“Save it,” Aclima called down to them from over eight meters away. “I know about the pocket dimension. I saw Rambo installing it. It’s fine. I won’t tell anyone.”

Angela took Cassius by the hand, and teleported them both to the top of the slope. Everyone else followed. “Is this your home now? Are you joining the new mission?”

“A mission is what I’ve been looking for. What could be greater than literally insulating the multiverse from the cancer that is the Ochivari?” That was the Waycar’s mandate. Their job was not to fight against invaders, but to hop from brane to brane, activating the quintessence consolidator to thicken the membrane that protected each one. This was how they contributed to the Darning Wars. Cassius was their leader. He chose the title Sentry for its connotations of protecting others, rather than killing.

“Aclima, I’m glad you’re still awake,” Cassius said.

“Hybrids don’t need as much sleep as humans,” she explained.

“That’s a good thing. I was hoping to talk to you about being my second-in-command. Now that you’ve just declared your intentions to stay after we drop off Team Matic, hopefully it won’t be too hard to convince you.”

“Would you not want someone with more experience,” Aclima questioned, “like Hadron?”

“I already asked him what he wanted to do, since he was already familiar with this technology. He’s going to be my Communications Officer, since he has a knack for languages.”

“And Kineret McArthur?” Aclima pressed.

“Head of Intelligence. She’ll be sifting through the database of known universes, determining which ones to go to first.”

“Carlin McIver?” Aclima suggested the next one down the line.

Cassius chuckled. “I don’t think he’ll be staying with us for long. I believe he wants to see his family again.”

“What about Velter?” Aclima either really didn’t want the job, or she didn’t want to sound too desperate. Velter must have been some random member of the bastion.

Cassius looked down at his tablet. “I’m afraid I don’t know who that is.”

“My mistake, I’m thinking of something else,” Aclima said dismissively. “If you...really believe that I could do it, then I would be honored. I mean, I know where you came from, and I’m sure you’re not too fond of Maramon, so I just wouldn’t think—”

“I don’t hold anything the Maramon have done against you. I’ll only hold your own actions to account. That’s one thing Nereus and I could agree on.”

Aclima smiled softly. “Very well, I accept.”

“Great! Now we need to come up with a title for you,” Cassius decided.

“Cassius,” Leona said through comms. They decided to give him a disc for himself, in case they ever needed to make contact with him sometime after they parted ways.

He tapped his neck. “Go ahead.”

“It’s done. We’re about to fire the test missile.”

“I’m on my way.”

Angela took Cassius’ hand again, and teleported him down to the engineering section. Future!Mateo did the same for Aclima. It was odd, though. Why didn’t the Maramon give the hybrids such powers of their own?

Leona had been working down here since they left Stoutverse. Sealing it up with an overabundance of quintessence was the test, to see if the technology was even viable. “I thought you might want to be the one to push the button,” she said to Cassius. There were only a couple of other people here. They were the most trusted members of what was now called the bastion. They weren’t necessarily the most trusted by the government, but by Cassius and the team. They couldn’t have just anyone understanding how to thicken membranes, nor knowing how to break through them. It had to remain a well-kept secret.

Cassius smiled at the thought. “I’m not sentimental. Go ahead and do it to it.”

“Why are we firing a missile at the universe again?” Angela asked.

“To make sure the consolidator worked,” Future!Mateo answered. “The missile is specifically designed to harness bulk energy, and travel through the membrane, but also trigger an explosion that could not propagate back out. It’s the ultimate shield. You could be meters from your target, but not suffer the same damage, because the universal membrane of quintessence—also known as dark matter—will protect you, but not the target. The missile still has its limits, though. If the consolidator worked as desired, it should not be able to pierce it.”

Everyone looked at Mateo, except for Leona. “Oh, don’t look so impressed. He just rote memorized the speech that I wrote when we were pitching the full plan to the Primus. He has no idea what he said.”

“Yes, I do,” Future!Mateo contended.

“Firing missile,” Leona announced. She pressed the button. The Waycar came with some great advanced sensors. Despite there being no real viewports in this room, it was able to generate a realistic depiction of what was happening in the bulk right now. They could see a missile leave the weapons array, and fly towards the membrane of Stoutverse. If all went according to plan, it would be deflected by the quintessence, and explode before it got anywhere near inside. If they had failed in using the consolidator correctly, the missile would get through, but it would find itself at least two light years from Earth, or any interplanetary outpost, so no one should be in danger. Hopefully that didn’t happen, though.

“It’s off course,” one of the technicians told them.

“It’s fine, it’s still fine,” Leona assured him.

Finally, the missile struck the wall, but was not deflected. It lodged itself inside, and tried to wiggle its way through, like a sperm to an egg.

“Trigger the explosion now!” Cassius ordered.

“No, it will give up, and self-detonate,” Leona insisted. “Just give it time.”

“Look at the angle. It’s not off course by accident. It knows that we plotted a vector towards an unpopulated region. It’s seeking out Earth. It’s more intelligent than we realized. If it doesn’t work, and it gets all the way through the brane, people will die.”

“We don’t know that it’s headed for Earth,” Leona argued. “You’re thinking in three dimensions. What you’re seeing on the screen right now is only an approximation, translated from hyperdimensional space to something that our brains can comprehend. It isn’t real.”

“It’s real enough. Blow it up..now!” Cassius repeated.

“I’m in charge of this mission,” Leona reminded him. “You don’t officially take over until my team and I leave for Verdemus.”

“And if you want to continue to have a positive relationship with the crew of the Waycar, you will heed my advice,” Cassius urged. “Abort mission immediately.”

“Detonation confirmed,” the other technician said.

“So it did work,” Leona assumed.

“No.” The tech shook her head. “I followed his orders.”

Leona breathed deliberately through her nose. “I see.” She stood up passive-aggressively. “Captain Hoffman, it looks like you have command.”

“It’s Sentry Hoffman,” he corrected.

“Whatever.” Leona disappeared.

Cassius turned back to the tech. “Go back to the specs. Find out why the consolidator didn’t work, or whether it’s as simple as leaving it on for three point five seconds longer.”

“The specs that my wife risked her life to get for you...while you were fast asleep in your little pod,” Future!Mateo reminded him.

“Thank you, Mister Matic. That will be all.”

Future!Mateo teleported to one of the executive crew compartments, which was where they were staying while the Vellani Ambassador was still miniaturized. “I saw the English screen. The missile was only 31% through. There’s a chance that it would have detonated itself before making it all the way.”

“No, he was right, I fucked up.” Leona contended. “It’s smarter than we knew. It recognized that it was dealing with a harder target, and it adapted to compensate.”

“Then you can program a dumber missile,” Future!Mateo reasoned.

“An enemy would have no reason to do that,” Leona reasoned right back. “The whole point is to test its strength against all-comers. Let’s face it, I failed.”

“Okay, let’s say you did,” Future!Mateo began. “Are you gonna sit here and sulk, or are you gonna go downstairs, and fix it?”

She breathed deeply, and waited to respond. “Good point.” She disappeared.

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Extremus: Year 82

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Tinaya has a job to do. She’s standing in the Nexus cavity with Arqut. To her, he’s a hologram, and to him, she’s the hologram. Omega and Valencia want to activate their respective Nexa to full working order at exactly the same time. They have each left one component disabled so they can make their connections simultaneously at the end of a countdown. Tinaya and Arqut will be handling that countdown by syncing up. They’re just waiting for Valencia to finish septuple checking her systems to make sure that this isn’t a huge disappointment. If they end up having messed something up, and they fail to activate at the same time, it’s not the end of the world, though. This is more for fun.

“What exactly is going to happen?” Spirit asks. It’s rather surprising how little she knows about this stuff, given that she’s a Bridger. “Will we be free to travel back and forth right away?”

“No,” Omega answered from the top of the stairs. “We have to wait for approval. Each Nexus has its own term sequence; a unique identifier that allows it to be recognized by the rest of the network.”

“Who exactly makes these approvals?” Spirit questions.

Omega gives Tinaya a look, because he can’t give one to his wife. “Well, we don’t really know. When we built the first one decades ago, it just sort of happened once we fulfilled the requirements.”

“So if we don’t get one of these sequences, we’ll know that you did something wrong,” Spirit figures.

“Yes. It could be a faulty power relay, or even an open access panel. Things don’t have to be perfect all the time, but they do at its first moment.”

“She’s ready,” Arqut announces.

Omega smiles. “Wonderful. Start at eleven.”

Tinaya and Arqut nod, and watch each other’s lips. “Eleven, ten, nine...” They keep doing down until, “one, go!”

Omega pops his head over the desk in the control room, and looks through the window. He switches his gaze between the Nexus chamber and the interface screen.

“Did it not work?” Spirit asks him.

Omega reaches over to the PA microphone. “Everything is loaded, and we’re online. I can see a number of other Nexa that I can shake hands with, but we still haven’t been assigned a term sequence. How’s Val?”

“She seems to be seeing the same thing you are,” Arqut answers.

Technicolor lights fall down from the drum on the ceiling, and flood the cavity. They expand beyond the confines of it, though, and spread throughout the rest of the building, which it’s not supposed to do. Something really is wrong. In a final flash, they find themselves swept away, and dropped onto a floating platform in the middle of the ocean. It’s nighttime, and eerie, but still somehow reassuring? All of them are here together. Even though they still don’t know what the hell is going on, Tinaya instinctively reaches over, and pulls Arqut into a hug. Omega and Valencia do the same. Feeling left out, Spirit and Belahkay hug too, even though they were never apart.

A stranger pulls up in a rowboat with one passenger. They tie off the boat, and help the woman step out. They have to continue to help her when she stumbles like a newborn foal. She smiles at the crowd. “It’s okay, it’s just been a really long time since I’ve stood on a planet.” She clears her throat, and composes herself. A deep breath helps her find her center of gravity, and then she can begin the short walk towards them. “Good evening. My name is Venus Opsocor, and this is my associate, Senona Riggur. I’ve asked to borrow their space so that we may communicate, but understand that you are not entitled to any wishes. We are only here as guests.”

Everyone just looks at each other, trying to figure out what they’re talking about. Wishes?

Venus continues, “normally, when a Mark III Nexus model is adequately constructed, I automatically assign a term sequence to you, and then move on with my duties. It is not custom for me to speak with the builders directly. But I decided to leave my pod this time due to the fact that two Nexa activated at exactly the same time from their reference of time, which I found interesting. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. I was just curious.”

“Are you the Nexus network?” Omega asks, stepping forward. “Like, are you the embodiment of it?”

“I helped build the Nexa, and I maintain them as a central intelligence. The network is just that, a network. I’m not the network itself, but I live in it.”

“Wait, you actually invented them?” Valencia asks her in awe.

“It was mostly my partner, but yes,” Venus answers.

“They are a wonder of technology. Can I ask what prompted you—her?”

Venus isn’t sure if she wants to give them an answer, but she does. “In my home galaxy, interstellar travel was difficult. Every journey required traveling to a single location in the center, where a military force kept the gates. Not everyone liked the system. They wanted anarchy. We built the first Nexus network as a sort of compromise to appease them. They thought that they were finally in control, and we...let them believe that. After our civilization collapsed to a great war anyway, I decided to go out and find others who might benefit from their own networks.”

“Fascinating,” Omega and Valencia utter simultaneously.

Venus widens her eyes, and tilts her forehead forward at an angle.

“Oh, right,” Omega says. “Our story. We were stranded on one of our outposts. The ship could not be turned around, so we each built a Nexus to reconnect. We activated at the same time for the symbolism. It’s nothing crazy. We apologize if you having to come here put you out. We didn’t know that it was such a rarity.”

“It’s not simply a rarity, it’s never happened before.” Venus looks around at the group. “You’re from Salmonverse. Are you familiar with a woman named Leona Matic?”

“She’s a celebrity in our culture,” Tinaya replies, “but we’ve never met.”

“I’ve met her,” Omega contends. “I might even call her a friend.”

“If you ever see her, could you pass along a message? Rules have changed amongst my own people. I may not be able to speak with her again myself.”

“We would be happy to,” Valencia promises.

Venus reaches her hand behind her, silently prompting Senona to hand her what looks like a shiny business card. “Can I trust you with this term sequence? Leona will find help there if she ever needs anything, but you would theoretically be able to steal it if you go before her.”

Tinaya reaches for the card. “You can trust me.”

Venus scans the crowd for a consensus on Tinaya’s trustworthiness, which they appear to give, so she hands Tinaya the card. On it are the sixteen symbols that she’s seen all over the place on the Nexa. Most term sequences don’t seem to use every single glyph, but what does she know? “Remind her that she will have to be accompanied by someone who has yet to make a wish of their own,” Venus adds.

“What are these wishes?” Belahkay asks before being elbowed by Spirit.

Venus doesn’t answer. She just looks back at Senona, who nods. “Okay, you may all use the quantum summoning console, even though you didn’t come here on purpose. But try not to be greedy. Whatever you request, you take from somewhere else. It does not conjure something from nothing. I’m setting your return trip on a timer for eleven minutes. Be sure to ask for what you want before then.” She and Senona get back in the rowboat, and disappear into the darkness.

The group walks over to a pedestal sticking up from the platform. It has a dialing pad, and a speaker, but nothing else. “Has anyone here seen anything like this?” Spirit asks the group. “Strongs?”

Omega and Valencia Strong shake their heads. “Nope. This is all new to me, and news to me.” Omega leans his chin forward. “Could I have a pair of cool sunglasses, please?”

A tray slides out of the console, and materializes a pair of cool sunglasses. “It’s like I’m inside the internet.” He puts them on, and shows off. “How do I look?”

“Snazzy,” his wife answers. “Does anyone need anything?”

“I have everything I need right here.” Tinaya has had her arm wrapped around Arqut’s like two snakes this whole time. Now she tightens it.

“I can’t imagine there’s anything we could ask for that we couldn’t procure or fabricate ourselves,” Spirit determines.

“I’m more interested in these wishes,” Belahkay says. “I think they’re meant to be greater than sunglasses.”

“What could be better...” Omega begins, before pulling off the glasses dramatically. “...than these babies.”

They all mostly sit around for the next ten minutes. Belahkay jumps into the water, but climbs back up when Spirit worries that he might end up stuck here if he’s not on the platform when the imaginary timer hits zero. He suggests that they need to find a way back here to get their wishes, but no one else seems to care. They have finally reunited, and have a way to get back to the ship. What else is there?

Just before their time is up, Spirit thinks to request a big beach towel from the console. The technicolor lights overwhelm them again, and send them back, but this time to the same place. While Spirit is drying off her love interest like he’s a helpless child, Omega and Valencia go up to run a diagnostic.

Tinaya prepares to make the jump back down to the planet to tell everyone what’s happened when the Nexus powers up once more. “Are you doing that?”

“It’s not us,” the Strongs say, shaking their heads again.

The drum drops more light down towards the cavity, but this time, only red. After it subsides, one woman is standing there, wearing a heavy parka. She removes it, and looks around, surprised. She’s even more surprised when she sees that she’s not alone. “Oh, cool. You have your own Nexus.”

“Who are you?” Tinaya demands to know, very suspicious of this interloper.

The woman steps out of the cavity, and holds out a hand. “Hi, I’m the Caretaker.”

“You take care of what?” Tinaya asks, still concerned.

“Of your planet,” the Caretaker replies as if it should be obvious.

“We do fine on our own,” Tinaya explains.

“Great!” the Caretaker says. “Then my job should be easy. Sounds like I got the luck of the draw here.”

“Omega, does this facility have a hock?”

“Nope.” The Caretaker disappears, but she returns a few seconds later. She balances her hands on her knees, and catches her breath. “Coulda told me we were on an airless moon. Thanks for that.”

“We didn’t know that you were going to teleport out of here, or even that you could,” Tinaya argues. “Do you require medical assistance?”

“No, I’ll heal. I wasn’t out there for very long.” The Caretaker stands back upright. “Let me start over. My real name is Vitalie Crawville, and I really am here to help. I have no intention of taking control, or causing any harm. I used to help people on Dardius, and now I’ve decided to quantum replicate myself to spread myself around the galaxy. Well, around this galaxy, I mean.”

“I know that name,” Spirit jumps in. “Vitalie Crawville. She was a secondary god on the Elizabeth Warren. She was instrumental in creating the universe of Ansutah. None of the Extremusians would exist without her.”

“Just to be clear,” Vitalie begins, “you don’t actually believe that I’m a god, right?”

“No, that’s just what the Maramon called you, and we adopted it, because it’s a fitting enough description to categorize people who were on that ship on that day.”

“I don’t remember her from my studies,” Tinaya says to Spirit. “Is she okay?”

“I have to assume so. She was friends with Leona,” Spirit answers.

“I should like to believe that I still am,” Vitalie counters.

Omega looks down at the tablet that he uses to interface with the Nexus. “There’s no incoming address. Where did you come from?”

“The Nucleus.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Not many have.”

“I’m locked out. All of the destinations I could have selected before are missing, and while I can see that we finally do have our own term sequence, I can’t see what it is.”

Vitalie frowns. “If this occurred right when I arrived, then I’m sure it’s my fault, but I certainly didn’t do it on purpose, and I don’t know how to fix it. I’m terribly sorry.”

Omega frowns too while he’s tapping on his device. “Did you come here through time as well as space?”

“I did,” Vitalie confirms.

“The Nexa weren’t designed for time travel,” Valencia insists.

“The one at the Nucleus was,” Vitalie reveals.

Omega shakes his head, very annoyed this time. “You’re going to have to explain to me what the hell that is, what you did, and how to make it right.”

“Hey, show some respect!” Spirit shouts. “I told you who she was.”

“I’m not from Ansutah, so I don’t give a crap that the Maramon call her a god. She broke my new machine!”

“Omega,” Valencia says calmly, placing a hand upon his shoulder. “We’re back together now, and we’ll figure it out together. It will all be fine, I promise.”

He takes a deep breath in and grits his teeth before exhaling. “It’s just that I had an idea of how this was gonna go today. But you’re right, we only need time, and each other. But Miss Crawville, I will still need to know what you do know about it.”

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Microstory 2240: Filth

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Not much has changed yet. Yes, the dude who wants my bone marrow and index and I had a discussion, and we came to an initial agreement. We’ve not signed any papers, but as a sign of good faith, he gave me a down payment, which I will be using to hire a personal security detail for myself, and my two friends. Kelly and Dutch had the option to leave me behind, and enter a form of witness protection. They could have blended in well enough wherever they were sent, but they chose to stick by me, so I have to do right by them. I won’t tell you how much money I have at the moment, but it’s enough to afford security for the three of us for at least a few weeks after the FBI lets us go. So when I said that not much has changed, that wasn’t totally honest. The government isn’t entirely keen on letting me donate samples of my body to science. I don’t know if they think that they should have it for themselves, or what. Who knows what’s going on in their bureaucratic heads when it comes to me? I don’t mean to sound mean, or to be overly critical of them. They’ve helped me immensely multiple times when I really needed it. But it may be time for our relationship to end. I need to reassert my independence, and I assume that they would benefit from diverting resources to other things. Of course, none of this should be a thing that I’m worried about. I wouldn’t need any of it if the world were safer. The violent, disturbing, and stalkery messages haven’t stopped coming. I hired a publicist, who has taken over the responsibility of sorting though the filth. They’ll handle getting the word out on that. Apparently, they have a database of dangerous individuals, so if you chose to write something to me, just know that you may end up on a list. If I understand their reach, it could affect your credit score. Just be nice, safe, and happy, okay? We’ve been over this. I am not your monkey.

Microstory 2239: Marrow and Index

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A private citizen with a whole lot of money—who I shall not name—has offered me a substantial amount of money for a sample of my bone marrow, and my index. Not just a biopsy of it, but the entire thing. I didn’t want to do anything like that, but I feel like I have no choice now. The FBI can’t be responsible for us for the rest of our lives, and it’s not going super great. Someone broke into the house that we were just living in. We’ve been moving around for security reasons, but if the suspect had been a week earlier, this might not have had a happy ending. Instead of trying to hide, and stay out of danger by remaining inconspicuous, I think a better strategy would be to be out in the open, but to become so well-guarded that I’m virtually untouchable. That’s how world leaders do it. We all know where the President of the United States lives, that doesn’t mean attacking her would be easy. This will obviously require significant capital. The procedure wouldn’t be simple, nor safe, but it would be relatively quick. I’ll only have to stay in the hospital for a couple of days, and only be in recovery for about a month as I regain my strength. I don’t know for sure what the backer thinks he’ll be doing with my marrow and index, but I explained to him that my immortality is gone, and it’s not something that can be studied in this universe. He’s willing to take that risk, and if we’re being honest, I don’t know with certainty that his researchers won’t gain any insight with it. Doctors have been taking samples for weeks, but never this much. So I think I’m gonna do it, to help myself, and my friends, and for the possibility that it helps everyone else.

Microstory 2238: Stress Will Kill

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I made a decision this morning to be a more positive person. It doesn’t make much sense that I’ve had to be such a downer lately. I beat death! That’s a good thing, even though it doesn’t change the fact that everyone else is going to die eventually. So will I, even if some other Westfaller opens a new door, because they can’t keep it open forever. Believe me, if I knew how to help you, I would. In my stories, I had trouble being able to kill characters off, because I built a world where there were so many ways around it. Even when I did come up with a way, I rather quickly undid it, and placed all the dead people in an afterlife simulation that was essentially heaven—even for the not-so-great people (because at least they still existed)—but digital. There was even a way to get out of the simulation, and return to true life. I hate death more than the average person, which I know is saying a lot, because most people don’t like it a-tall [sic]. I could tell you about all of the technology that those people used, and which others did in other universes, but I would never be able to develop them for you. It’s a lot easier to conjure a genius character than to be as smart as them. It’s nothing that you guys have not already contemplated, I’m sure, like longevity treatments, telomere restoration therapy, cybernetics, mind-uploading, etc. Anyway, I don’t wanna get hung up on this, because that’s negative, man, and I don’t wanna be negative anymore, man. Let’s all just be chill, and only move around when we need to relax. Sound good? In the end, stress will kill you faster than anything. So, what does this all mean for the future? I’m not sure yet, but I’m going to try to remain calm, and not worry about things too much. I’m sure everything will be all right, one way or another. I’ve never had that kind of attitude before, so I’m not sure if it will work, but I may as well try.

Microstory 2237: Good Number of Zeros

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Okay, I’ll make this brief. People did not like what I wrote in my last social post. I told you yesterday that I wasn’t going to be making any book deals, or anything, but I think most of you know that that’s not really what I meant. I was saying that I’m working on my own timeline, and contemplating my future privately. Dutch came back to this world through an interdimensional doorway while I was starting to wonder whether it even existed. For the first time in months, there is hope for me to see my friends again, and maybe even my family if I’m lucky. So no, some of you misunderstood me. I did not reject the concept of making money, and I am not being a hypocrite. I told you that I would be doing this on my own terms, which means not accepting just any offer that comes with a good number of zeros. Let’s do it right, not just quickly. This is all happening so fast, I don’t know what tomorrow holds, let alone the next year, so just be patient. For now, I’ll ask you to read my site if you want, and not try to give me any ideas. I appreciate the thought, and I’m not mad, but this is all I need for now. One thing I will tell you is that the internet is the only place where I share my thoughts. I don’t see any reason to write an autobiography that you have to buy. That ain’t me.

Microstory 2236: Stop Sending Me Messages

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We’re running into the same problem with the FBI that we had with the jail. No one has my contact information, so they’re reaching out to the only entity that they know is already in contact with me. They had to hire a temp to sift through all the letters and emails. It may actually be a team, I don’t really know. But I’m sure it’s a stressful job, because it includes death threats. Well, in truth, I don’t know that there are any death threats, because if true, part of the temp’s job would be to filter them out, so I don’t have to see them. But let’s face it, there are. No one should be sending anything like that, but I don’t really want anything anyway; good or bad. I don’t want your love letters, propositions, or proposals. I don’t want you to publish a book about my life, or cast me in a romcom. I won’t go on a date with you, or father your child, or give you my blood. It’s not a healing elixir; we know as much. Just stop. Not too long ago, Kelly suggested that we might consider hiring a publicist to handle all this stuff. They have the infrastructure and hiring practices to handle this sort of thing, not that I want anyone to have to deal with this stuff. I would rather it just stop altogether. Back in my younger days, I wished that I would be famous, and I guess I always knew that it came with drawbacks, but knowing about them, and experiencing them, are two different things. So please just calm down. As I’ve tried to explain, my blood cannot heal you. Doctors have been studying it for weeks—even longer than that when you consider the fact that I was a former immortal before I even came to your world. That’s the thing about your universe, it dampens my abilities, which is of course, what opens me up to all those death threats. God, I just can’t get away from the strife. Please just stop sending me messages. I’m sorry, but I’m not reading most of them. I don’t know what I’m going to do with the rest of my life, but I can tell you that it will be on my terms. The more you beg me to follow your lead, or listen to your ideas, the more I’m going to pull away. That’s just who I am. If you really wanna stay in the loop, simply read my website and socials. Personal connection isn’t a thing; not with me. I have all the friends I need.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 13, 2465

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Angela was on the observation floor of The Waycar, resting her elbows on the railing. That was what this section of The Transit that they managed to this universe with was apparently called. In all the fuss, they weren’t able to do a very thorough sweep of the thing before, but now they were going all over it. Of course Ramses was spending a lot of time in the engineering sections. There were two of them. The front end had a very low ceiling; too low when you remember that the average Maramon stood at around 200 centimeters. They must have considered it more of a crawlspace. It housed the machinery that kept it running, while all the interfacing happened near the back, underneath the briefing theatre. The rest of the levels had everything that a good squadron needed to live while they were training for war. Personal quarters, lavatories, mess hall, other communal areas. Training rooms, armory, command center. Despite it only being one car of 56, it was clearly always designed to be self-sufficient. They had seen everything by now, but didn’t know everything about it. Case in point, a weird remote floor that Angela was staring at right now.

Her sister, Marie walked up from behind her. “They’re almost ready for us.”

“Okay,” Angela replied solemnly.

“What are you doing up here?”

She was facing the back of the car, towards the smaller window. But she wasn’t looking through the window. To the left of it was a platform of some kind, a little bit higher than the floor they were standing on. She pointed to it. “Look around, Mar-Mar. There’s no way to get to that. No ladder, no elevator. It’s too far away to leap to. What the hell is it for? Is it just decoration? It does vaguely look like a giant sconce.”

“Well, I mean, we could just teleport to it.”

“Yeah, we could, but...this wasn’t engineered for teleporters.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I guess not.”

Marie smiled at her alternate self with her eyes, but not her lips, as she offered a hand. “Let’s go together.”

They took hands, and cleared the nine or ten meter gap with ease. Only now could they look down to see what was here. The floor was flat, but there was a seam running all the way across, and a handle. They exchanged a brief look, then Angela reached down, and opened the trapdoor. They looked apprehensively at what was there. “Get Leona,” Marie said.

Angela didn’t go anywhere. She just tapped her neck to activate her comm disc. “Boss, better get up here. Just you, though. Not much space on this.”

“On what?”

“Let’s call it the perch,” Angela replied.

Leona quickly figured out what she was referring to. She too looked down at the stasis pod. “Either o’ you recognize this guy?”

They shook their heads. “Nope.”

“Should we wake him up?” Leona asked.

“You’re asking us?”

“I want your opinion.”

Marie consulted her watch. “We have to get to the negotiations.”

“You go,” Angela suggested.

“What?”

“They don’t need both of us. Go facilitate. I’m curious.”

“So, is that a yes from you?” Leona pressed.

“If not us, then who? If not now, then when?”

Leona chuckled. “Fair enough.”

“Go,” Angela encouraged her sister. “I love you.”

“Mateo,” Leona asked through her comm.

“Yeah?” Both Mateos answered simultaneously.

“Who gave him a comm?” she questioned.

“I did,” Ramses answered. “It seems like he’s gonna be with us for longer than we presumed.”

“I want it out of his neck,” Leona ordered. “He doesn’t have one in the past, and we have no idea when he’ll end up going back. Carlin could find a reason to relapse him any second now.”

“Understood,” Ramses replied.

“You had a question?” Future!Mateo asked.

“Is that Stoutverse doctor still helping us with inventory in the infirmary?”

“Sure is,” Future!Mateo replied.

“Tell her she may have a patient on the way.”

“Understood,” he echoed.

Leona cleared her throat, and got down on her knees to start tapping on the stasis pod interface screen. “Cassius Hoffmann. Is he on our known list?”

Angela tapped on her arm to access their personal files. “No. Only a Cassidy.”

Leona tilted her head. “Maybe they’re related.” And with that, she released the hatch, and lifted it open. There were two kinds of stasis technologies; one which used magical powers to slow down time, and another which Earth developed. Induced cryptobiosis didn’t manipulate time, but slowed the subject’s metabolism down to almost nothing. There were complications with this technology, such as a build-up of radiation in the body, which had to be periodically purged, and a limited operational timeframe. To avoid these pitfalls, true stasis was one of the technologies that the Shortlist agreed to provide for the stellar neighborhood to make their lives easier, under the condition that it would only be used for long-term space travel, not for any other reason. It could scale into a weapon if harnessed by an abusive or nefarious party.

This Cassius guy was just in a tun state, like a tardigrade. It was more difficult to maintain, and required more maintenance, but he could have been in here for centuries. One of the downsides of cryptobiotic stasis was the length of time it took to revive the subject. Water filled the pod to rehydrate him, and an electrical charge was delivered to revitalize his nervous system. They waited there for minutes before he finally opened his eyes, and looked at them. “Can you speak?” Angela asked.

Cassius blinked twice.

“Does twice mean no?”

He blinked once.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He blinked yes again. Then he struggled to adjust his gaze towards his feet. His eyelids fluttered. When they expressed concern, he stopped, suggesting that it was a voluntary gesture.

“Are you trying to point to something?” Angela asked him.

Yes.

“They screen?”

Yes.

“Can it expedite your recovery?”

No.

“What does it do? I mean...ugh.” She thought about what binary question that she could ask. There was none. “A, B, C, E, E, F...” She kept going until he blinked yes at M, then she started the alphabet all over again until she got to I.

She only ended up having to elicit M-I-N-D-R-E before Leona decided to guess mindreader, and realized what he was going for. “Oh my God, of course. He wasn’t just asleep. His mind was probably in a virtual environment.” She tapped on the screen some more until she found what they needed.

A tiny hologram of Cassius appeared on the glass. The physical Cassius looked at it for a second before closing his eyes to continue his recovery. “Hey, folks!”

“Cassius Hoffmann?” Leona asked.

“That’s me!”

“What are you doing here?”

“How long has the Transit been active?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” Leona replied. “Maybe a few weeks? We’re no longer connected. The Waycar is now free and independent.”

“I see. Who’s on the Transit?”

Leona didn’t know who he was, or whether he could be trusted, but he appeared to have been in some control of this machine before anyone they knew was, so there were probably some things he knew about it without their help. “The beginnings of the Transit Army.”

“Good,” Cassius decided. “They don’t need us. I was only placed here to make sure that they were the ones who found it, instead of just any rando astronaut who happened to land on Hyperion.”

Leona shook her head tightly.

“It’s one of Saturn’s moons,” Cassius explained. “That’s where the Transit was.” Now he was getting suspicious of them. Who are you?”

“Captain Leona Matic of the Vellani Ambassador.”

“Oh, okay. Whew.” He was relieved. “Yes, my name is Cassius Hoffmann, Second Lieutenant to Nereus Jolourvedin, Thief of the Transit Bulk Traveling Ship. Together, we and a group of other humans escaped Ansutah, and made our way back to Salmonverse. Most of them went off to live their own lives in peace. Nereus and his First Lieutenant claimed their destinies. I was left here with only the one job, and I didn’t even have to do it.”

“Something must have gone wrong at any rate,” Leona imagined. “You should have been awakened either way.”

“Nah, the machine has a mind of its own. If Freya or Azura stepped foot on board, it would have recognized them, and left me alone. I’m not surprised it’s taken weeks for you to find me. This car was invisible. You see, this was more of a punishment than anything. Don’t worry, I’m not a killer or anything. I just didn’t always know my place as Second L-T. I was a bit of a nuisance.”

“Nereus Jolourvedin now serves as The Repairman,” Leona told him, not knowing whether he knew that or not. “He doesn’t seem like the type to hold a grudge.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t wanna see me again.”

“Then he’s in luck,” Angela clarified. “We’re not even in Salmonverse anymore.”

“I see.” Cassius placed his hands on his hips, and looked around as he was nodding. “Do you lay claim to the Waycar?”

“We need to verify your story,” Leona began. “If it checks out, then this here vessel is yourn. We have our own.”

“I need to get to the negotiations,” Angela suddenly decided.

“Okay. Thanks, Angie,” Leona said.

“Thanks, Angie!” Cassius echoed before adding after Angela left, “she single?”

“She only dates corporal people,” Leona joked.

“Touché.” After a beat, he added, “I only need another hour.”

An hour and a half later, Cassius was able to return his consciousness fully to his body, and go see the doctor for an examination. By then, the diplomatic discussions were over. They turned out to be a lot more complicated than anyone could have guessed. It wasn’t only about letting Kineret leave with her daughter. It all had to do with the Waycar, the consolidator, and a new crew. “They want this?” Leona asked.

“No, they want to create a crew for the Waycar. Any of us would be welcome to stay and lead them,” Angela explained.

“I see. I have no intention of leaving the Ambassador.”

“Neither do I,” Angela replied. “But someone who knows a little about this stuff should become part of the executive crew. I don’t think the Stoutversians could handle it on their own. Do you know how many people can fit comfortably?”

“Maybe almost a hundred by our calculations,” Ramses answered.

“I’m sure that Cassius will be staying, no matter who else comes aboard,” Leona clarified. “He can lead them, I guess. He knows this thing better than any of us. We brought them the quintessence consolidator. I suppose our job is done.”

“We still need them,” Future!Mateo reasoned. “If we want to get to Verdemus to find the timonite for my past self, Carlin can’t do that.”

“True,” Leona realized. “It will take weeks at best to form the crew of this new ship. We can’t leave until then.”

“They’ve already agreed to take us back to Salmonverse,” Marie revealed. “But we won’t be able to call upon them if we end up needing something else later.”

“That should be fine,” Leona decided. “But Carlin, we will need you in the future. Past!Mateo has to get back to his time in the Third Rail. I can see your eyes, though; you wanna stay here on the Waycar.”

“I do,” Carlin admitted, “but I’ll help you in any way I can.”

Leona looked at the Walton sisters. “We gave them the consolidator, and in a way, we’re also giving them the Waycar. Did we happen to get anything out of these talks?”

“The new crew,” Angela began. “It won’t be as hard to form as you might believe. They don’t have a very large pool to pick from. Our one condition was that no one who leaves this universe is allowed to be a carrier for the deadly dragonfly flu. They made their choice in exposing the majority of their population to it, but they can only use it to protect their world. They’re never allowed to leave.”

“I guess that’s something,” Leona figured.

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