Saturday, April 5, 2025

The Fifth Division: Rock of Gibraltar (Part IV)

Generated by Google ImageFX text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3
The wave of fire is drawing too close, and Ingrid has no choice but to duck into the bunker with Selma, who leads her down the steps to safety. Once they’re at the bottom, they run through the corridor, and into a wide open room, which must be a gym. Nearly everyone is here, notable absences being Killjlir, Ayata, and Andrei. Horrified, the survivors are watching a bird’s eye view of the destruction on the surface, as likely streamed by a sentry drone. Princess Honeypea is crying into her brother’s shoulder while the other Horticulturalists do everything they can to hold back their own tears. They are distraught, though. There’s nothing they can do to fix this. They don’t know about the whole garden world out there yet. Is it Ingrid’s place to tell them? Did the tree have another plan in mind? What the hell are they supposed to do now?
No one seems to know, but Storm knows that it remains her job to be the leader. “The universe has suffered a terrible loss,” she begins. “Most people in existence don’t even know that this place once stood tall and proud and beautiful. Those who did may never learn that our world was destroyed. We have a lot to talk about. Some of us have lost our purpose, others a home, and some of you, a temporary refuge. I don’t know that I can get any of that back for any of you, but I know that we’re all exhausted and sad. The barracks are down the hall, to the right. It’s okay if we sleep here tonight, Weaver?”
“Of course,” Weaver says sincerely.
Storm nods gratefully. “Get yourselves cleaned up, find something to eat in the kitchen, and then get some rest. We’ll reconvene tomorrow once everyone’s up to it.” She looks at Pinesong to say something to him quietly, but stops to say one more thing to the whole group. “Oh, and anyone who blames themselves in any way for what happened, just don’t. We faced an impossible enemy, and we lost. There’s nothing you could have done. Don’t let the anxiety keep you awake.” Now finished, she does move off to the side with her own people so they can whisper in private.
Ingrid is dirty and bloody, so she takes a shower, and lies down in the medical pod for a bit, but she isn’t ready to sleep. She’s too curious. The fire has finished roaring down its path of destruction, leaving the whole dimension in ashes, but the drone seems to have crashed, or just been switched off. If she wants to see what it looks like out there now, she’ll have to go back outside. She dons a respirator mask, and starts walking back up the stairs. Before she has the chance to open the cellar door, it opens on its own. Killjlir is standing there. She’s soaking wet and coughing violently while holding a broken branch tightly in one hand. There are a few flowers growing from it, and one blue fruit pod hanging from the tip. Whatever Killjlir has been through, it’s a wonder this thing is as intact as it is. She passes out, and falls into Ingrid’s arms.
Ingrid carries her new friend back down to the bunker, and into the infirmary. She places Killjlir in the same pod that she was just using, and carefully removes the branch from her grasp so the machine can track her vitals, make its diagnosis, and execute the proper treatments. She’s not doing well, but she’s not going to die. She suffered wounds all over her upper body that are consistent with hand-to-hand combat, and cuts on her legs indicative of crawling through a bower, or perhaps climbing a tree. She has some level three burns too, but the most pressing threat right now is the water still in her lungs. The little robot arms turn her to her side, and then stick a tube down her throat. It suctions some of it out of her lungs while the rest of the fluid manages to leak out of her mouth. The pod leaves Killjlir on her side while it moves on to the next issues, in order of severity. After removing the necrotic tissue, it triggers rapid in situ dermal regeneration to replace the missing skin. It seals up the cuts with a liquid bandage, and breaks down the bruises with something that it calls a macrophage therapy. Lastly, it begins to emit an ultrasonic wave up and down her body to stimulate blood flow for accelerated healing. Ingrid finally exhales in relief, seeing that her friend is going to be okay. This is a strange feeling to be having for a woman she once called her enemy.
Storm walks in. “She’s alive.” It’s unclear if this is a question, or a statement.
“Yes,” Ingrid replies.
“Has she spoken?”
“Not yet.”
“Was she carrying that?”
Ingrid looks down at the branch, now in her hand. “Yeah, I don’t know why.”
Storm steps forward. “May I?” She accepts it from a reluctant Ingrid, then runs her hand along it like it’s a violin that she’s just crafted. “Bark...wood...flower...fruit...”
“Did she bring it here for a reason?” Ingrid asks.
“I fell on it,” Killjlir explains with a very hoarse voice. The pod reacts to this development by administering a nebulized soothing agent along her pharynx. Fortunately, it doesn’t have to stick the tube as far down as it did before. Killjlir clears her throat, and tries again. “I was climbing the magnolia when this asshole whacked me in the head. I fell back, and the branch broke my fall, but then I fell the rest of the way with it into the water. The current took me away, but I could see the fiery explosion above, and feel some heat. I’ve been floating ever since. I don’t know how I got here.”
“I carried you from the entrance,” Ingrid tells her. “You were walking on your own before that.”
“No, I couldn’t have,” she says with a dismissive shake of her head. “I was dying.”
“The tree wasn’t a single consciousness in a single whole organism,” Storm says. “When you broke the branch, you took a little piece of its mind with you. It might have given your body the strength it needed to make it here from the river bank. We’re only about twenty meters from it, I would say.”
“So, it’s gone?” Killjlir asks? “It’s all gone.”
Storm smiles, and raises the branch. “This is still here. It’s a symbol of resilience and strength.”
“The fruit,” Ingrid poses, “can it be planted? Will it make a new magnolia tree?”
Storm shakes her head. “It’s a virgin fruit, like an unfertilized egg. There is no seed inside this pod.”
“That’s why I was climbing,” Killjlir tries to clarify. “The Pryce guy, he told me to retrieve the red fruit on the top of the canopy.”
“A red fruit?” Storm is confused, but intrigued. She pulls the blue fruit off of the branch, and squints at it. “We’ve always wondered what was preventing it from producing seeds. If you’re right, something must have triggered it, but just this once.”
“It’s all about energy.” Princess Honeypea is standing in the doorway.
Temporal energy?” Storm guesses.
“It metabolizes lots of different forms of energy, including temporal, yes. It typically uses it to produce its leaves, flowers, sap, and virgin fruit, but it doesn’t have enough to make a seed, and didn’t have any reason to until today. When the bad guys broke the dimensional barrier down, the energy that Pinesong usually channeled to keep it up was all pulled into the earth at the same time. This gave the Magnolia a surge of power, which it used to produce a miracle. Like you said, just this one time. It was a last ditch effort to survive.”
Killjlir turns away from them. “I was its only hope, and I failed.”
Honeypea smiles and lifts the clear casing of the pod. She gently rolls Killjlir back over by her shoulder. “You were only a distraction.” She takes the fruit from Storm’s hand. “I can go back to that moment, and fulfill the task just before the fire overwhelms this world.”
Storm snatches it right back. “No. It’s too dangerous. There are ways that we can rebuild. We won’t allow visitors this time. At all. The magnolia was only one tree out of the many thousands of specimens that we’ve saved over the ages. Saving it would accomplish hardly anything.”
Ingrid takes the fruit this time. “It’s the only one that hasn’t already been saved,” she insists. “The rest are out there.” She makes a general gesture towards the surface. “The tree showed us as much. This whole world is lush with your vegetation, untamed and breathtaking. You’ve just never seen it before.”
Storm studies Ingrid’s face for signs of deception. Then she looks over at Honeypea, who shrugs. “I didn’t know. If this is true, Pinesong’s barrier was always thinner than we knew. Maybe he did it on purpose.”
“I did,” Pinesong confirms after they call him in, and bring him up to speed. “I made the barrier weak so seeds could and would travel through it. It’s actually structured to facilitate the right wind currents. That’s also why I insisted on including the birds and the bees, so they could propagate certain specimens in their own way. I regret it now, though. The walls would have held had I made them stronger.”
“Those defilers would have broken through eventually,” Ingrid believes. “And we would have been left with nothing. You saved all the beauty. It was the right call.”
“I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Storm says to her husband.
“You were so focused on a structured system. I just didn’t want to contain life like that, and I was afraid you would force me to change it. I’m sorry.”
“We’re time travelers,” Princess Honeypea begins. “Maybe what you did in the past was caused by it being necessary in the future. Maybe it was always going to end like this.”
“Then it’s my responsibility.” Pinesong takes the fruit from Ingrid. “I’ll go back and find the magnolia seed.”
“How many can go?” Ingrid questions.
“Only one,” Storm answers.
“No, this is a big one. It could carry two,” Honeypea determines.
“In that case, whoever goes, I’m going with,” Ingrid decides. “They’ll need protection, and it won’t hurt to have a second set of eyes on the seed. Once we do get it, it doesn’t mean the day is saved. We’ll have to find a place to plant it way out there.”
“Then it has to be Onyx,” Honeypea suggests. “He’ll know exactly where it needs to go. Assuming there is water out there?” she asks her brother specifically.
“Yeah, there’s even another confluence,” Pinesong replies, “though it’s only three rivers, not eleven. I don’t know if that’s where it would belong, though, or what.”
“That’s why it’s gotta be him,” Honeypea reiterates about Onyx.
Storm considers the options. They could go through with this and risk the timeline, as well as their own lives, or they could cut their losses, and leave the magnolia in the past. This won’t be an easy decision, so she decides to not make it right away. She orders everyone to go to bed while she stores the fruit and the branch it was once attached to somewhere safe, and secret.
It’s not secret enough for Ingrid, however. After some time has passed, she finds the hidden trapdoor, climbs down the ladder, and looks around for the specific hiding place. The room is full of all sorts of treasure. That’s literal. Gold, diamonds, and other precious jewels are strewn about like a dragon’s keep.
Before she can locate the safe, or wherever the fruit may be, she hears Onyx’s voice behind her from the shadows. “It’s not what you think.” He slowly steps into the light, holding his arms behind his back. “We’re not hoarders, and we’re not greedy. This stuff is meaningless to us.”
“Where does it come from?” Ingrid asks.
He breathes deeply as he’s hunting for the right words. “It grows here.”
“Come again?”
“I wasn’t here yet when Storm and Pinesong had the idea to build this world in the first place. They were on their own, and trying to do everything. His pocket dimension could only be so big, and she struggled to figure out where to plant the specimens. But apparently, these little trinkets have always come through since Piney’s sister came on board. You see, transplanting a plant is difficult on its own. Combine that with the need to transport it into a pocket dimension that’s inside a parallel dimension, and you’re just asking for something to go wrong. The Princess solved their problems, but this new method that she uses has a side effect. It attracts gold. Not raw gold, though, but forged pieces. She either doesn’t know why, or refuses to explain. That’s why she changed her first name to Princess. She thought it was fitting and funny. We toss it down here when we find a piece on the ground, because what else are we gonna do with it? Every item comes from a now defunct timeline. Putting it back in the real world would just flood the market, and as I said, it is of no use to us.”
“It is of no use to me either,” Ingrid agrees. “I’m here for something else.”
He swings a hand around to his front, revealing that he’s been holding the last surviving fruit of the magical memory magnolia tree. “Storm is out of her element. She’s just lost everything that she dedicated her life to preserving. She’s never gonna be happy with any decision she makes moving forward. Trust me, she wants us to make it for her.”
“What do we do?”
Onyx flashes those pearly whites, and swings his other arm around to toss her the branch that the fruit came with. He cups the fruit in both hands now, and tears it apart down the middle, handing one half to Ingrid. “Pop it in your mouth, and start chewing.”
She lifts up her half in customary celebration. “May all fall into your gravity well, but only your enemies hit the ground.” She stuffs it in and bites down. The flesh is spicy and bitter, and not juicy. She can feel the fibers shoot out as the fruits are crushed between her teeth. They crawl down her windpipe and her gullet alike. The tips puncture the tissue, and spread into every system—nervous, muscular; everywhere. An energy surges from them, and across every surface of her body, inside and out. Her skin glows blue, as does Onyx’s. The light that they’re both emanating sweeps out into the room, and when it fades away, they find themselves on Magnolia Island. They were aiming for the back of the tree, so Killjlir and Andrei wouldn’t spot them, but it doesn’t matter. All of the gold and jewels were spirited away with them. The treasures clatter and clank as they knock each other down the hill, into the water. The question now is, was this all predetermined, or have they just changed the timeline?

Friday, April 4, 2025

Microstory 2380: Vacuus, October 29, 2179

Generated by Google ImageFX text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3
Dear Condor,

Thanks for the compliment, you’re not so bad yourself. I wouldn’t mind seeing a few more photos. As for your question about what I might have done with my life had I been born on a pre-apocalyptic Earth, I’ve always wanted to work with my hands. Obviously, I need my hands to do my real job well, but I’ve never gotten those hands dirty. As your twin and I realized, our base is immaculate. The systems are designed to keep out all the Vacuan dust, and keep the atmosphere in. If I had been born on Earth instead, say a hundred years ago, I guess I would have liked to be a gardener, or something. Yeah, we have a garden here, but it’s not really the kind I’m talking about. It’s so stale and perfect, like everywhere else. It would have been nice to plant beautiful flowers just for the sake of it, not because anyone needed food. To crouch there on the edge of the colorful garden, smiling up at the sun. We don’t have a sun here, so I suppose just about anything outdoors would be amazing. I do yoga too, so I’m flexible, and don’t have any problem being on my hands and knees. I’ve attached a photo of myself doing my morning yoga. It was taken a few years ago, when I was in slightly better shape, but I’m still doing okay. That’s about all I can do to workout unless I want to fight over the three treadmills that we have. You must have other ways of staying fit. Exactly how big and comprehensive are these domes that you live under? Have you ever gone swimming in a pool, or an artificial pond? You can send me a picture of that if you want. We’re so confined here, and swimming would be a huge waste of resources, we would never dream of it. Back in the day, people would make fun of one of my grandfather’s friends because he didn’t know how to swim, but these days, that’s probably a whole lot of people. It looks fun, but it’s just not practical. I did design myself a swimsuit once, just to see what it looked like. I can send you that photo too, if you’re interested. Researchers are developing virtual reality, which could give people so many opportunities that they never had before, like swimming, or opportunities that would be impossible in the real world, like flying without an aircraft. Could you imagine? Okay, I’m just fantasizing now. What kind of fantasies do you have? Don’t be afraid to be a little provocative, if that’s what’s on your mind. We all have dreams.

Dreaming of you,

Velia

Thursday, April 3, 2025

Microstory 2379: Vacuus, October 28, 2179

Generated by Google ImageFX text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3
Dear Condor,

I saw the letter that Velia sent you, and the photograph that she sent along with it. I knew that she was curious about you, I just didn’t realize how attached she had become to the idea of getting to know you more personally. She’s been very lonely here. As you can see, she’s quite good-looking, but she has a little trouble communicating with others. I think she jumped at the chance to correspond with you, because the medium allows her to rethink and revise her thoughts before they ever reach you. Just be careful with how you approach the situation. A long-distance love story is romantic, but not very practical. You and she will never meet in person, and even if you can accept that, it will probably eat at her over time. Be nice, and don’t just ignore her, but really try not to lead her on. She deserves to be happy with someone who is living on the same planet, and she doesn’t deserve to be distracted from such fulfillment and contentment. Okay, that’s enough of me scolding you for something that may never be a problem. That’s exciting news about your nurse, please let me know how that goes when she gets back to you. It reminds me of that book two development where Roscoe tracks down his estranged grandfather, and learns that he’s the one who protected Audrey’s grandmother from that storm when they were young. It was a cool symmetrical twist, and the writer handled it well. Though, I admit, the adaptation could have done it better. I don’t like when the leads are double cast into entirely different characters for flashbacks. It’s a little cute, but mostly annoying. That’s just my opinion, I guess. Anyway, it would be great to reunite with someone who was so important in your past. I hope it goes well. She sounds lovely. I’m worried about Pascal and his trip, though. I don’t like it when you have to breach the safe confines of your floating platform at all, but I’m more worried than I was before; probably because I know you two better now than when you were first telling me your whole situation. I know he’ll have already left, but remember to tell dad to be careful. I’m sure you always say something to that effect, but a lot has changed since he last saw your neighbor. He could be dangerous, even if he had nothing to do with our separation. A part of me hopes that he’s dead, or simply can’t be found, just to avoid the risk of an encounter that does not go well. Just be safe, and get him back home quickly.

Lounging on an imaginary beach,

Corinthia

Wednesday, April 2, 2025

Microstory 2378: Earth, October 21, 2179

Generated by Google ImageFX text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3
Dear Velia,

I know what it’s like to feel a connection to a place or event that I’ve never actually been a part of. That’s what happens when I’m reading a good book. Corinthia and I have been reading The Winfield Files, and watching the corresponding seasons of the adaptation. Even though the stories are very personal and intimate for the characters that we’re following, the writer manages to do a great job of going into great detail with everything that’s happening around them. It’s set in a fictional universe, but it almost plays like historical fiction, because the background is so rich and intricate. It might as well be a version of Earth that really does exist somewhere out there. I sometimes feel more attached to it than my own world, probably because of all the darkness and sadness that has defined our past down here. I also know what it’s like to have a job that makes sense for you, but isn’t necessarily something you would have chosen if you had had every option. My dad was good at what he did, and it was more practical for us to stick together, which meant me finding my own way to contribute by becoming a sort of flight attendant. I don’t know what I would have done if I lived in the kind of world that I read about in some of the classics. The tales are fascinating, but they take place in mundane settings. If you were privileged, you got an education, and pursued your dreams. Not everyone was able to do what they wished, of course, but it was at least there in front of them. We lost so many options when society fell apart. I think maybe, if I were one of the lucky ones, I might have become a scholar. I could have dedicated my life to learning, and possibly become a teacher. I appreciate the characters who wear nice but not overly fancy clothing, and spend their days indoors, reading books of their own, and searching for answers. In the real world, it’s always been about survival, but in a more perfect world, we would mostly have everything that we needed, and could focus on things that aren’t absolutely vital. What would you do if you were born on Earth, and the poisonous gases never befell the lands? Do you think you would have gone into fashion anyway, or is there anything else you find yourself daydreaming about. I must say, you’re not bad at what you do, if the outfit you’re wearing in your photo is any indication. In my opinion, it’s not too much cleavage, though I admit to being a bit biased. I hope it’s not too forward to say that you’ve a very beautiful woman.

Warmly,

Condor

Tuesday, April 1, 2025

Microstory 2377: Earth, October 20, 2179

Generated by Google ImageFX text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3
Dear Corinthia,

I have indeed been appreciating the health updates. You’ll notice that I started sending you mine too. If you would rather not receive them, though, just let me know. I can’t remember if you get charged for incoming messages, or what. Speaking of which, I did send one to Velia. I’m sure she’s told you about that, though. I talked a lot about clothes, because that’s all I really know about her. It’s nice to know that she’s been there for you since I can’t, and never could. I’m glad that you’re back to your normal self. Our conversations have been pretty negative lately because of it, and that’s all my fault. If you want to be more positive, we can move on to lighter topics. I still want to make sure that you’re doing okay, but I’ve let go of some of my anger about the whole thing, and I won’t harp on it anymore. I’ll let you take the lead on it. I will tell you that dad is going on a trip. He says that it’s for his job, but what he doesn’t realize is that, as his assistant, I have access to his travel forms. He used the code for new trade opportunities. He really shouldn’t be looking for those since we’re preoccupied with Australia at the moment, and it wouldn’t make any sense for him to fly all the way to Eastern Seaboard, U.S.A. while we’re down under. He’s obviously on the hunt for our old neighbor, and while he hasn’t admitted that he’s found the guy’s current location, I’m sure that that’s where he’s going. I guess we’ll know eventually whether he uncovered new information about our pasts, or didn’t. Don’t worry, he’s not breaking any laws or policies by traveling for personal reasons. As long as he does some work out there—talking to producers, vendors, and other domes—he’ll be fine. This isn’t the first time he’s caught up with old contacts, and our superiors are fully aware of how it works. It’s all about networking, so almost nothing is off limits unless he just lounges on a beach, or something. Last bit of news, I received a message—not from my nurse from when I was a kid—but her office manager. He said that she’s presently incommunicado in a really dangerous territory, trying to save lives. He hasn’t relayed my letter yet, but once she returns, he’s sure that she’ll want to talk to me. If this were an emergency, he would try to get through to her, but this isn’t a rush, so I’m just going to have to be patient.

Home alone,

Condor

Monday, March 31, 2025

Microstory 2376: Vacuus, October 14, 2179

Generated by Google ImageFX text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3
Dear Condor,

It’s nice to hear from you. I know that you weren’t writing that open letter directly to me, but it felt very personal, even though I’ve never experienced anything like what you did. I’ve heard more about you from Corinthia. I’ve known about your whole situation almost as long as she has. You and I have a lot in common. My grandfather was the Chief Helmsman of the ship that brought us to this planet, and before that, he was a space shuttle pilot, and before that, an airline pilot. I spent a lot of time on the bridge with him at the helm as we were on our way out here. He would tell me stories about all the places that he used to travel to back on Earth. I’m younger than you, so I have never set foot on your world before. I guess that’s what fascinates me so much, because I feel like I have all these somewhat similar personal experiences. I know that they’re not my own, though. I dunno, I suppose I just felt a connection with you that I’m probably making up in my own head. As for clothes, I do like them, but not necessarily any more than anyone else. I gravitated towards this job partially because there was an opening, and partially because I probably have even less of an interest in going outside than Corinthia does. I just want to stay in my little room where it’s safe. My work area doesn’t even have a window, because some of the rooms have to be on the interior sections, and they can’t all be lavatories and closets. My job is really not that hard. It may be more involved than your sister’s on a day-to-day basis, but there’s a whole lot less pressure. If I mess something up, I can usually fix it before anyone else sees it. The truth is that anyone could do this, because the fabricators do most of the work. I don’t even know how to sew by hand all that well. I did learn, but I don’t use those skills at work. I’m mostly there in a supervisory role. The machines aren’t hard to operate, but rather than training everyone who needs clothes, they only worry about making sure that I know them, and I make sure that nothing gets screwed up. It’s pretty low-key. I have some free time, which I typically spend making up new designs. I’m not exceptional at it, but there are no deadlines, so I eventually figure out what it needs to look like. Corinthia has actually tested out a lot of my own clothes for me. She says she likes them, but you never really know, right? She could just be being polite. I did design the outfit that I’m wearing in the attached photo, so you can tell me what you think. Be honest. Cori thinks there’s too much cleavage, but maybe you have a different opinion?

Hugs and kisses,

Velia

PS: I like your outfit too. It fits you well, though I would imagine just about anything does with a body like that. Trust me, I'm a professional.

Sunday, March 30, 2025

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 11, 2493

Generated by Google ImageFX text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3
A web of technicolors appeared out of nowhere, and spat Team Matic out onto the floor. They rolled away from each other like marbles from a jar. It was not only the six of them, though. Romana was with them, as was some guy. “Who are you?” Leona demanded to know, prepared to fight, while Mateo was making sure that his daughter was okay.
The stranger stood up and cracked his neck. He held his arms out in front of him with his elbows bent a little. As he was clearing his throat, he adjusted his nanites, looking down at himself, making sure they were all in working order. It was only then that he acknowledged their presence, though not out of surprise. “My name is Amal,” he answered stoically.
“What are you doing here, Amal?” Leona questioned, almost as if she didn’t believe him.
“What year is it?” he posed.
She kept one eye on him while she consulted her watch. She tapped on it a few times with her fingernail. “No idea, this is broken.”
“Use your other one,” Amal suggested cryptically.
“My other what?” Leona asked, confused, and even more defensive now.
“Uh,” Ramses began, massaging his forehead. “I replicated that watch’s powers. We all have one now.” He receded the wrist of his emergent suit to show his bare skin. The time and date appeared on it, glowing a bright green. “Nanobotic tattoos, tied directly into the timestream.”
Leona looked at her own. Then removed her broken watch. “July 11, 2493. We jumped early from last year.”
“No, you went on a detour,” Amal contended. “You’ve been gone longer than you realize.”
“Where were we?” Marie asked, stepping forward. “When were we?”
“I cannot answer that,” Amal replied. “I honestly do not know.” Agent Smith. That was who he sounded like; Agent Smith from the Matrix franchise. “Our minds have been erased to protect the future. I could not even tell you why I’m here. We have not yet met.”
“It seems that we have,” Angela reasoned.
“Quite,” Amal agreed. “Something must have gone wrong after you were summoned to the future. I should not have come through with you.”
“Summoned by who?” Olimpia pressed.
“That I could answer, but I won’t. But I can promise that you trust them.” He laughed through his nose.
“It was us,” Leona figured. “We summoned ourselves.”
“I never said that.” Amal was worried, which probably meant that she was right.
“How do we proceed?” Mateo asked him. “What are we gonna do with you?”
“What you’re going to do is be patient,” Amal answered. “Until we meet again.” There was no stopping him. He slammed his fists together, crouched down, and stuck his knees between his elbows. Technicolors overwhelmed him, and he was gone.
“Hmm,” Ramses said. He looked around at his lab. “The sensors picked that up. Now I bet they know how to make a miniature slingdrive.”
“Careful, Rambo,” Leona said to him. “That’s what we call bootstrapping.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
“Roma,” Mateo said to his little girl. “How did you end up with us?”
“We were going on a mission,” Romana answered. “I stepped into my Dubra pod, just as we always do, so our temporal signatures don’t interfere with the operation of the slingdrive on the Vellani Ambassador. Then I woke up here.”
“You must have been summoned too. It could take years before we find out where we went, and even then, it may only be from an outsider’s perspective. Then again, I once closed my own loop, and my otherwise paradoxical memories of it finally came flooding back into my brain, like they were just waiting for me.”
Romana shook her head. “I’ve been gone for almost a year. I have to go report in.”
“I understand.” He gave her a hug, and then let her go.
A swarm of dark particles spun her around, and into oblivion.
Olimpia was playing with her new suit. She opened some sort of flap on the top of her wrists, which she pointed around the room with a menacing look on her face. “I have guns. I’m gonna shoot sum’im.”
“Those are not guns,” Ramses said with a laugh. “There are no onboard weapons.” He lifted his own flaps, then switched on the flashlight on his right arm.
“Oh,” Olimpia said, figuring out how to turn her own flashlight on, and looking down the barrel of it. She then did the same with her left arm. “What’s this other one?”
“Sensor suite,” Ramses explained as he was walking towards her, “for more detailed information about your environment. It has a medical array too. You should read up on it. He tapped the center of her chest, just under her neck, with three of his fingers. A holographic computer interface was projected from two emitters on her shoulders. “You should peruse the manual.”
“Why is it called the EmergentSuit?” she asked.
“Because the nanites emerge from the implants in your body,” Ramses said.
Olimpia read a little more of the text, which was probably pretty dry and uninteresting. “Boring, I’ll wait for the movie.”
He put an arm around her shoulders, and used his other hand to control her interface. A video popped up. “Hi. I’m a virtual avatar, presenting in the form of my creator, Ramses Abdulrashid. Let me show you how your new EmergentSuit works!” He muted it. “What a fox,” Real!Ramses mused.
Mateo huffed. “You did not tell me that was there. I had to read pages and pages of that thing.”
“If that’s true, you would have seen the part where it tells you that there’s an interactive alternative.”
Mateo mocked Ramses playfully with his pursed lips as he bobbled his head. He pulled up his own interface, and searched the manual for the exact terms. “Interactive alternative; no results.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot to put that blurb in your version of the manual, and you never received the updated edition. You do have the video, though.”
“Thanks, that’s great,” Mateo said sarcastically.
“This all sounds fun,” Leona said, “but we need to go check in with Hrockas.”
“Wait,” Angela interrupted. “Is that it? We were sent to the future, and brought back to our pattern, and we’re just gonna move on as if that’s normal and fine? We’re not gonna try to get our memories back, or investigate how this could have possibly happened, or anything? Someone summoned us, Ramses, using technology that you have apparently not invented yet. Doesn’t that worry you?”
Ramses was about to answer, but Leona stepped in, starting with, “I—” She took one moment to gather her thoughts. “Before you died, did you believe in God?”
“Excuse me?”
“It was very common at the time, to believe in a higher power.”
“Well, yeah, I did. I was raised to be a Christian,” Angela admitted.
“Did you ever question God?”
“All the time,” Angela replied, like she was winning the argument. My dad was a slaveowner.
“And did you ever get anything out of that? Did God ever...come down, and apologize?  Did he give you answers?”
Angela was not happy, but Marie was even more upset. “The people who took us are not gods.”
“By our standards,” Leona reasoned, “they may as well be. We know nothing. We don’t know for sure that it was Future!Us, though that is the assumption. We can’t go preoccupying ourselves with every little thing that happens to us. We’ll go crazy. The truth will reveal itself in time. Until then, Hrockas needs to know that we’re back. Because we returned later than expected, and we made a commitment to build him a relay network.”

“The relay network is done.” They had left Ramses’ lab, and were now in Hrockas’ office. “Well, it’s not done, but it’s on its way, and will be ready in time for the grand opening in seven years.”
“Team Kadiar agreed to help you with it?”
He shook his head. “No need. Some friends stepped up. They didn’t want us clogging up their own quantum terminals, but they agreed to build us dedicated machines. Most of them will be stored in the corner somewhere on their Lagrange-one stations.”
“I thought you couldn’t do that,” Leona reminded him. “I thought they were unwilling to help.”
“No, the core government was unwilling to help. But the neighborhood representatives finally secured a win for key legislation that gave them more latitude. They’re free to build whatever technology they want—as long as it follows certain criteria, like not being a weapon—and they don’t have to share it with any other world. This places each machine squarely in the local leadership’s control, and I’ve managed to negotiate with all of them, even some core worlds. So we’re good. Thanks for the offer.”
“This sounds risky,” Leona pointed out. “They could revoke the charter whenever they want, right?”
“Absolutely,” Hrockas admitted. “Maintaining strong diplomatic relations will be of the utmost importance to the continuity of my operation. That’s why I’ve hired a Minister of Foreign Affairs to be in charge of all the little ambassadors that I’ll need to liaise with our relay partners.”
“Could we meet this person?”
“She’s not here yet,” Hrockas explained. “I believe that she’s leaving in a few weeks, then it will take her a couple of months to arrive.”
“A couple months?” Ramses questioned. “The only way you can get out here in a couple months is if you use a reframe engine. I mean, that’s if you’re not just quantum casting which is within an hour.”
“Yeah, she has a reframe engine,” Hrockas said. “I guess Earth has done enough work to develop them on their own.”
“I guess,” Leona agreed. “I hope we did the right thing, letting them have that technology.” It had actually been a pretty long time since the Edge Meeting where they granted certain knowledge to certain parties in the main sequence regarding the manipulation of time. It was Hokusai Gimura’s responsibility to actually coordinate with Teagarden and Earth, and Leona didn’t exist most of the time, so she lost track of how that process was faring. It didn’t sound like it was going to be as easy as beaming them the specifications, and walking away. Still, it felt rushed, probably because to the team, this whole thing only started a few months ago. “Well, I’m glad you’re doing okay.”
“Yep,” Hrockas agreed. “So, if you wanted to move on to your next project, maybe fight the bad guy in that Goldilocks Corridor, I think that would be fine.”
“Yeah, we might do that,” Leona said with a nod.
The rest of the team was there, but besides Mateo and Ramses, they were all kind of busy reading up on their new suits. It was awkward, so Leona just disappeared. Mateo broke the others out of their trances, and pulled them out of the office too. “Hey. How are you feeling?” he asked his wife. They were in the replica of Kansas City now, standing in the parking lot where all time travelers were funneled to when they showed up in the Third Rail.
“We never...finish anything,” she mused. “We don’t accomplish our goals. We’re always pulled in some other direction, and all we can do is hope that we’ve done enough for whoever we had to leave behind. I got used to that. I got used to knowing that I did my best, but this new crowd needed me now, and it was time to refocus.” She finally looked up at him. “But do we even need to go back to the Corridor? Niobe’s army is taking the offensive. I even think fighters from Verdemus finally showed up in the Anatol Klugman. Team Kadiar is rescuing defectors left and right. I don’t know what’s going on with the Sixth Key, but the delegates were doing fine the last we saw them.”
Mateo nodded. “We’re aimless again, aren’t we? And we don’t do well when we’re aimless. Ramses needs to invent, you need to lead, the Waltons need to counsel.”
“And the two of us need to be dum-dums,” Olimpia added.
Mateo nodded again. “And the two of us need to be dum-dums,” he echoed.
“Dum-dums with cool flashlights,” Olimpia corrected. She shined it on the asphalt, thought it was daytime under this dome, so the light may as well have been off.
“We may be aimless,” Marie said in a soft voice, “but we’re not useless. We’ll find our place to be. Ramses just needs to get us there.”
“I can finish the mini-slingdrives,” Ramses confirmed, “but someone will need to decide where we go.”
“Are you sure?” Angela smiled. “We’ve used it before without plotting a destination. You could even say that we were aimless.”
Leona smiled too.
“Orders sir,” Ramses requested from the Captain.
Leona took a breath to center herself. “Engineer, build me my new engine. Counselors, find out what you can about this Minister of Foreign Affairs. I don’t want to leave our friends hanging if there’s only one last thing to do. Mister Matic, go see if you can spend some time with your daughters before we leave. And Miss Sangster?”
“Yeah...?”
“I believe we owe each other date.”

Saturday, March 29, 2025

The Fifth Division: Mind of Rocks (Part III)

Generated by Google ImageFX text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3
Storm doesn’t waste any time as the shield protecting her garden begins to falter and fall apart. “Go to Pinesong,” she orders Briar. “Tell him to reinforce that thing as much as possible. He can draw his energy from the tree if he has to.”
“Do you have any weapons?” Ingrid asks after Briar disappears.
“Obviously not,” Storm answers. “This is meant to be a peaceful haven.
“Then I need to speak with the tree,” Ingrid urges.
Storm thinks about it, but only for a moment, because time is of the essence. If these hostile forces breach the gate, they could destroy this whole place without any resistance. The magical memory magnolia could be the only thing standing in their way. “Goswin, I need your help,” she whispers into her shoulder.
Goswin never appears. Ingrid and Killjlir simply find themselves swept away, and transported to the island where the tree stands. They expect the Tamerlane Pryce avatar to appear before them, but he seems to have other ideas. A rounded rectangular portal appears on the trunk. No one comes out and invites them in, but the implication is that that’s what they’re supposed to do. They exchange a look, hold their breaths, and walk over the threshold. The entrance zips up behind them. They’re standing in a circular room now, like a castle tower, though the walls are not made of stone, but wood. It’s shifting through translucency and transparency. They can still see the conflux waters on the outside, and the expansive garden beyond, as well as the trembling dimensional dome in the sky. The tree is big, but it’s not this big. They shouldn’t both be able to stand in here with so much room. This is either just a representation of what it would look like if they really were in the trunk like chipmunks, or they’ve actually been shrunk down into some kind of bizarre parallel dimension.
The Pryce avatar does not appear. Instead, it’s the Angry Fifth Divisioner.
“Do you always take the form of your enemies?” Ingrid asks.
“I take the form of anyone whose essence I have absorbed,” A.F.’s mouth answers. “I do not see this man as my enemy. I do not have enemies.”
“That’s certainly how they see you,” Ingrid argues.
“They cannot kill me,” he replies. “They can only harm my agents.”
“Does this not concern you? Are we...dispensable?”
The tree smiles. “Your bodies are.”
“So we die here, you absorb us, and we just become part of your transcendental oversoul; the wave returning to the ocean.”
“That’s a way you could look at it,” A.F. agrees.
“Hey,” Killjlir interrupts. “Are you going to help us stop this attack, or not?”
“What’s happening is precisely what must.”
“Stop speaking in riddles, and vague nonsense,” Ingrid insists. “Tell us what you want, tell us what they want. Tell us what the Garden Dimension custodians want, what Goswin and his buddies want, what your other human agents want, and what the other leaders of the Sixth Key want. Tell us everything.”
He smiles again, like a seasoned parent, knowing that their youngest will not understand until they’re older. He doesn’t seem annoyed, or frustrated by all the incessant questions. “It doesn’t matter what any of you want. It doesn’t even matter what I want? All that is is what is, and what’s right.”
Both Ingrid and Killjlir roll their eyes.
“You don’t want riddles?” he goes on. “Then let me be perfectly blunt. The garden will be destroyed. It’s the only way.”
“The only way to accomplish what?” Killjlir is just as annoyed at these piecemeal answers. As Ingrid is.
“The only way to save it.”
There’s a loud boom behind them. They look back to see the pocket dimensional dome collapse. At first, a hole forms at the zenith, then the glassy walls recede back towards the ground, uneven, and occasionally trying to go back up, like the bars of a music visualizer. Pinesong is likely still fighting back, but they all fall in the end. The sun shines down on the ground in all its glory.
“This is what you wanted?” Ingrid presses.
The A.F. avatar chuckles. He lifts one hand, and jiggles it to the left. The view outside changes. It’s back to normal. The dimensional barrier seems intact, though it’s so clear and uniform, it’s hard to make out, especially through the wood walls of this weird tree interior dimension. He jiggles his hand again, changing the scene to when the dome is gone, but the garden is mostly gone too. There are a few bushes in the immediate vicinity, but most of it is desert. “The early days.” He shifts the view again. The bushes are burned. Fires rage in the distance. The garden is being destroyed. Another shift, and the outside is a barren wasteland once more, but not because Storm and her people haven’t begun their work yet. Everything has been annihilated. The soot from the fire remains on the branches of the heartiest of plants here, amidst the ash.
“Past and future,” Ingrid decides.
More like possibilities,” A.F. corrects.
“So it can be stopped,” Killjlir determines.
“Of course it can. I’m saying that it shouldn’t. When you look out there, do you see death, or do you see life?”
“Death, obviously.”
“I would imagine,” A.F. says. “I see something different, though. I see potential. I see a new beginning.”
“Are you telling us that this is a prescription burn?” Killjlir questions. “They destroy the old, so that life can begin anew?”
“I’m saying that it’s a necessary evil. To protect the world, we destroy the garden.”
Ingrid shakes her head. “The world out there, in this parallel dimension? Onyx didn’t tell me what it’s like. It’s uncontrolled, though. It’s...unprotected. Random.”
The tree laughs again at the dumb children. “Is that the point of life? To be controlled?” He reaches up to swipe the scene away entirely, flinging the view across the lands—out of the pocket where the garden once stood—somewhere away from its borders. There is life here too, just like the garden, though it’s unstructured, as predicted. Leaves are left unraked; branches unpruned. It’s patchy and random, with brown grass in some spots, apparent volunteers breaking up the flow, and some plants that are just straight up dead. It’s natural, it’s wild, and it’s beautiful.
“This is a copy of Earth, isn’t it, but without buildings, or anything else manmade?” Ingrid asks as she’s looking down at the dirt below.
“This parallel dimension was stuck in the past, about 300 million years prior to the modern day,” the A.F. avatar begins to explain. “The land was combined into a supercontinent known as Pangea. The rest of it, ocean. Little moisture could reach the center of Pangea, leaving it as an arid desert. Only the coastal regions were lush with vegetation. We don’t know what this parallel dimension exists, it just does. The Gardeners specifically chose it so as not to interfere with the delicate ecosystem of a preexisting world. The center of this continent was nothing, just sand and dirt, and they thought that it was up for grabs for this reason. They built a pocket dimension right there, but pocket dimensions don’t have skies. Their atmospheres are artificial, and must be recycled. So they intentionally made the barrier thin, which gives it physical structure within the world around it. The sun can penetrate, as can the air. And so can seeds.” He gestures towards the vegetation outside the tree tower. “They didn’t even realize it, but they were seeding life all over the continent. Every plant that they planted is out here somewhere, surviving in its natural state. Except for the newest specimens, of course, who just haven’t had time to permeate the barrier.”
“So it’s not just a garden dimension anymore. It’s a garden planet,” Killjlir muses.
“It’s the way every world should be. In my honest opinion,” A.F. adds.
Ingrid shakes her head. “You propose that we let the garden be destroyed, because this is all out here anyway? Why wouldn’t our enemies just destroy it too? Set a larger fire, and let it encompass the supercontinent. Couldn’t be too hard.”
“They don’t know it’s here,” the tree claims.
“But they’re coming from the outside,” Ingrid reasons. “They’re on the border. They could easily just...turn around and look.”
“They’re not on the border,” he argues. “They just needed to collapse the barrier, so they could come from their own plane of existence.”
“Well, they’ll see it now,” Killjlir presumes. “Again, they’ll just turn around.”
“Not if they stay near the center. Their plan was to engulf us in flames, and let it spread to the center, but it is vital that they come to the conflux instead, so their view is obstructed. You must lure them to me, and make them set the fire at my feet. They’ll have no choice but to escape interdimensionally, and they will never see what the world truly looks like. That’s why I brought you.”
“Won’t you be destroyed?” Ingrid figures.
“Another necessary evil.” He sighs. “I’m a sentient tree with magical powers. I’ve lived many lifetimes, and seen all of time and space. I’m ready to go.”
“There’s gotta be a better way,” Killjlir hopes.
“If there were, I would see it,” A.F. contends.
Ingrid takes a deep breath. “Take us back to realtime, and realspace. You’ll need to be able to transport us upon request.”
“Done. Easy.” With a wave of his hands, the Memory Magnolia transports them back to the conflux.
They’re standing on the little island again, and they’re not alone. “Andrei. Where are Selma and Ayata?”
“They’re helping everyone escape into the tunnels,” Andrei replies. “Weaver and those other three don’t have their powers anymore, or perhaps just not right now. They have to get out manually, but once they’re safe, they plan to come back to protect the tree. Princess Honeypea says that it’s the most important lifeform out here.”
“No,” Ingrid counters. “We have to let them destroy the tree. Trust me, this is what it wants. Tell your partners to stay where they are, protecting the others. You and Killjlir will stand guard here. Put up a fight, so it doesn’t seem suspicious, but ultimately, let them through.”
“What are you gonna do?” Killjlir asks her.
“I’m bait,” Ingrid answers. “Take me to ‘em, tree guy.” She’s teleported to a tunnel entrance. Ayata is there, fighting off Tamerlane and his partners in hand-to-hand combat. It’s so pedestrian, fighting like this, instead of with powers, or at least guns, but they may be just as restricted as everyone else. “Get back to the tree!” she orders Ayata. “It’s the only thing that matters! As long as it’s standing, they can’t destroy anything!”
Ingrid would sure prefer a gun in this situation, but if the tree wants the garden destroyed, it better be destroyed. That means she can’t just kill all of her opponents right here. Presumably, if these humans don’t get the job done, this First Explorer entity will just find others to do its bidding. After Ayata disappears, Ingrid takes her place in the fight, fending off three attackers at once. They all appear to have impenetrable skin, but they’re untrained and unskilled. She would send them all into the ground if they weren’t superhumanly strong and tough. Still, she keeps going, because that’s what they’re expecting out of her. She can’t just roll over, even though the endgame sounds inevitable. Finally, they manage to punch and kick her enough times for her to reasonably fall to the ground herself, and let them run off.
“Get to the tree. I’ll finish this,” one of the women says. The other two nod, and teleport away. Well, two out of three ain’t bad. The ruse should hold.
Ingrid spits some of the blood out of her mouth as she’s kneeling in the dirt. She extends her hand. “Ingrid Alvarado.”
The enemy shakes her hand. “Iolanta Koval.” She then pulls Ingrid up to her feet. “You have some skill. Could you teach me?”
“You would have to not kill me first.”
“Good point.” Iolanta tilts her head. “I have finally figured out how to stop your little tree god from subverting my temporal suppressive powers. You ain’t goin’ nowhere anymore. You’re standing on your own grave.”
Ingrid takes a breath, and enjoys one final look at the beautiful garden around her. She could have been happy here. “It’s so gorgeous...not the worst place to die. So why are you trying to destroy it?”
She shrugs. “I have no strong feelings about it. This is just what the boss wants.”
“You always do what the boss says?”
“Someone has to lead, someone has to follow. It’s what keeps the trains running on time. Without the chain of command, it’s chaos.”
There’s an explosion a ways away, in the direction of the magnolia tree. The fire is already spreading out from it, and heading their way. They both regard it with different feelings. Iolanta is indifferent. Ingrid is saddened. “That doesn’t look like chaos to you?”
“Let’s call it a controlled burn,” Iolanta decides.
“Yes, let’s.” Hopefully the magnolia used the last of its power to send all of the humans standing there to a safe place, even Killjlir.
Even though they’re both totally exhausted, Iolanta isn’t finished. She takes a pea shooter out of her breast pocket, and points it at Ingrid’s head. She doesn’t get the chance to pull the trigger, though. A gunshot rings out from somewhere, and blood shoots out of her neck. She falls to the ground.
Selma is jogging the rest of the way up from the tunnel entrance, still holding her firearm at the ready. “We have to go.”
“No, I have to make sure that this is done,” Ingrid argues. She’s watching the fire in the distance. It’s coming closer as the flames begin to engulf everything that made this place so beautiful. Necessary evil or not, it’s a damn shame.