The Fifth Division: Hitting Rock Bottom (Part I)

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When Ingrid Alvarado was living in the Fifth Division parallel reality, she managed to work her way up to the rank of Telamon. She was in command of the Offensive Contingency Detachment, leading an army against the opposing force from the Andromeda Galaxy. She was happy with where she was, as were all of her compatriots, though they had complicated relationships with each other. When Team Matic showed up, they didn’t like how the supercluster was being run, and to speak the truth, neither did anyone else, really. Ingrid was proud of the work that she was doing, but she didn’t want to kill her enemies. She didn’t like it. It just seemed so unavoidable, so when Captain Leona Matic tried to take over the entire alliance by force, she knew that she couldn’t surrender. While the others agreed to send champions to their deaths, sure that they would maintain their own power in the end, she held back. When the fight was over, and only one champion remained in the ring, they were shocked to find that that winner was Leona. They had all underestimated her—all but Ingrid.

Leona and her team were wildcards who appeared out of nowhere, and began to resist the establishment pretty much right away. You don’t get that kind of courage from inexperience and a lack of fortitude. Honestly, those guys were dicks, and Ingrid couldn’t help but be pleased with the results. Leona was now in control of the Fifth Division Detachment Alliance, and Ingrid was her number two. But not really. Leona was clearly a rolling stone, so it was only a matter of time before she reached her goals in this corner of the universe, and moved on. This did indeed happen, and Ingrid was placed in full command. With her newfound power, Ingrid signed treaties with the Andromeda Consortium, and the Denseterium, which gave her even more power. She ranked up to become a Superordinate. This novel title turned out to be more important than ever when the five realities collapsed, and every living being was sent to the Sixth Key. They were unexpectedly on the verge of fighting a new war, and The Supercluster was positioned to gain more power than ever, as was Ingrid herself.

The bittersweet truth, however, was that this isn’t what happened. A sentient tree had other ideas. They were forced to negotiate in the Rock Meetings. The sparks of conflict never ignited the flames of war, but Ingrid never managed to wrest control over a whole universe either. That certainly would have been nice to see written in the history books. Even so, what she realized was that she was kind of tired of it all. Leona secretly gave her the gift of virtual immortality, which also came with a side of an immense change of perspective. This shift in her worldview happened gradually as the realities collided, tensions rose, and the diplomatic discussions pressed forth. What was she doing with her life? Why was she so violent? Why did she care so much about control? She was about to give it all up when they were abducted yet again, and trapped on a prison world to prevent them from causing a temporal paradox. But she stuck to her guns, so to speak, and is now striving for a life of peace and harmony. She loves it here in the Garden Dimension. When that same sentient tree asked for volunteers to be “human agents” she shrunk into herself, hoping that no one would volunteer her. She isn’t the only member of the military here, but she’s the only one who has seen any real action. Bariq Medley is a General, but he’s only trained in the theoretical. He doesn’t know what real war is like. His reality was too progressive before he was even born.

Right now, Ingrid is sitting on a bush that somehow grew in the shape of a bench. It’s quite comfortable, actually. The moss that grows on it is very soft, and she was told that it excretes self-cleansing saponins, though she’s not entirely sure what that means. They didn’t really have plants where she lived before. She was aware of them on some planets, but the first time she saw plant life up close was after the transition to the Sixth Key. This will be her first sunset too. “If this is a pocket dimension, how is there a sun here?” she asks. “Is it only a simulation?”

She’s sitting with Onyx Wembley, who has the title of Botanical Orchestrator. He organizes all the plants, in their little sections, making sure that they don’t disturb each other, or compete for nutrients. “It’s not just a pocket dimension, but a parallel dimension as well. There’s a whole world out there. We’re housed in a very thin pocket only so that we can better control the environment. But you could go outside if you wanted; as in, outside outside. That’s why the sun looks kind of hazy. Those aren’t clouds, it’s the mostly transparent dimensional barrier between us and the sky.”

“I see. So that is the real Earthan sun.”

“More like a copy of it,” Onyx clarifies.

She nods, and continues to enjoy the orange and red colors filling the sky now like spilled paint. Magic hour is what they called it. Unfortunately, her joy does not last long. All of the sudden, there’s an explosion out of nowhere. A cloud of particles hovers in the air a few meters from them for a couple seconds before tightening up in the form of a person. She doesn’t know who it is, but as the two of them are standing there, afraid to approach the imploding man, another dust cloud appears farther away. It coalesces into Andrei Orlov. They watch in horror and confusion as more and more people appear out of thin air, scattered randomly about the grounds. She knows a few of them, but not everyone. They all collapse on the grass, and catch their breaths. The last two people are a man Ingrid knew to be from the Fifth Division, and then Selma Eriksen. Both of them are brandishing weapons, though neither is in a position to use it.

Ingrid takes the man’s rifle, and turns it on him. “What’s your name again?”

“That?” Selma asks, chuckling. “That’s Ammo Fucker.”

“Fuck you, bitch! You killed me!”

“You’re not dead yet,” Ingrid explains.

Ayata Seegers runs over from her own explosion site, and reaches down for Selma. “Are you okay? Is your back broken?”

“It was broken?” Ingrid questions.

“I think it was, yeah,” Selma says. She stands up, and hops around. “It’s not anymore, though. Dying cured me.”

“You can’t die in the Crest Hotel,” one of the women Ingrid recognizes says. What was her name? Elmie? “It’s a safety feature. If you are killed, you’ll respawn somewhere else.” She looks around at the Garden. “Though, not wherever we are now.”

“Well, we didn’t know that,” the angry Fifth Divisioner guy argues.

“Clearly,” Andrei fires back. He gives Selma a hug, and then Ayata, and then gives Ayata a short but fervent kiss on the lips.

Everyone who lives or works in the Garden Dimension teleports in, having received Onyx’s emergency message. This includes the four other members of the original team, Arnold, Pinesong, Princess Honeypea, and their leader, Storm. Weaver, Goswin, Eight Point Seven, and Briar show up too.

“I know this man,” Weaver says. “He’s no good. Permission to apprehend him, Storm?”

“Granted,” Storm Avakian agrees.

Briar walks over to the prisoner, and places cuffs on his wrists. “I’ve been where you are before. I can show you where the path to redemption begins, if you let me.”

The prison spits in Briar’s face.

“You’ll get there,” Briar responds, calmly and confidently.

Weaver looks over at Andrei. “Report.”

“It’s a long story, could we sit somewhere?” Andrei requests.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to start interviewing the prisoner?” Ingrid asks Weaver.

Weaver just jerks her head in Storm’s direction.

“What is your interview style?” Storm asks. “Is it more torture, or talking?”

“Definitely talking. Torture has been proven time and time again to be ineffective.”

“Gossy, take her to Thornbower.”

“I’d like to go too, Onyx volunteers.

Goswin smiles. “I can take two at a time just fine.” He grasps both of their hands, and pulls them in close, but doesn’t transport just yet. “Please keep your hands and feet in the ride at all times. There’s a reason it’s called Thornbower. He finally jumps, and Ingrid sees that they weren’t joking around.

They’re standing in a tunnel made out of uncomfortably short trees, arching towards each other above. Vines have woven themselves between them all around. They’re covered in thorns, as are the trunks and branches. The ceiling is high enough to allow any normal-sized person to pass underneath, but it’s still claustrophobic and unsettling. They instinctively lower their heads, and keep an eye out for stray thorns. You cannot be too careful in here. One small step in the wrong direction, and you’ll poke your eye out. Ingrid looks behind them to find that the tunnel is as endless that way as it is the other way. If this is what they use as a jail, it’s totally fitting, and on-brand for them. There might not even be any doors or cells here. There wouldn’t have to be if there’s only one entrance/exit.

“We’ve never had to use this before,” Onyx reveals.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Goswin notes. Only now does he let go of Ingrid and Onyx’s hands, having been allowing them to hold on out of fear.

“That happens,” Ingrid adds. “There’s only a first time for everything that happens; not anything that never does.”

“In an infinite cosmos, there is no such thing as something that doesn’t ever happen,” Goswin muses. He winks before disappearing.

Onyx shivers. “This way.”

As it turns out, the endlessness is nothing but an illusion. What appeared to be a single straight tunnel is a windy maze of confusing and frightening corridors and deadends. It really would be impossible to escape if you were in a hurry. There aren’t any security cameras, and of course no guards, but based on the sounds she could hear, the walls probably weren’t all that thick. She even caught a few glimpses of blue through the branches, suggesting that one could hypothetically subvert the bower altogether, if they were brave enough, or insensitive to pain. It would still be dangerous, though.

They round one last bend, and meet up with Briar and the prisoner. This is a much more open area, furnished with nearly everything a prisoner needs to live. It comes with two armchairs, a hardback chair for a desk, and a really nice wooden bed with a queen-sized mattress. There’s no wired electricity, but there are a few lanterns for when it gets dark. For water, there’s an entire well, which could be a security concern, but there must be some design choices that aren’t obvious just by looking. She’s unsure what they might do for food.

Briar looks over at the other two. “Hold on.” He’s sitting in one of the armchairs, opposite the prisoner, leaning forward to make it a more intimate conversation. “I was raised by my mother on a planet which was otherwise devoid of intelligent life. She died when I was still young, so I raised myself the rest of the way, and I didn’t do a very good job. I killed someone. He hit the rocks on the bottom of the cliff, and bled out...alone. To this day, it remains the greatest regret of my life. The funny part is that his friends went back in time and rescued him, against all odds. That’s when I realized that I was the one on the bottom of that cliff. I was the one who was alone. He survived because people wanted him to, and if I had fallen instead, that would just be the end of it.”

“I’m not alone, I’m part of a team.”

“Are you? Where are they now?”

“They assume I’m dead.”

“So you are alone.”

The prisoner huffs, and turns away.

“Believe it or not, I managed to make friends too, again despite the odds,” Briar goes on with his personal story. “But the only way I was able to do it was to hit rock bottom first. You may think you’re there now, but I’m here to tell you, A.F., that you can always fall farther. All rock bottom really means...is how far you fall before you finally decide to climb your way back up.” Briar leans towards the back of his chair like he’s said something profound, except that’s not what he’s doing. He lifts one leg up, braces it under A.F.’s chair, and flips it backwards.

A.F. is sent tumbling down the well, screaming for his life...until he hits rock bottom.

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Microstory 2365: Earth, August 17, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

I didn’t even think about that, how there would be no organic material in the soil on a lifeless alien world. Even if we were to find life on another planet, it would probably not be the right organic material for the plants that we need to survive. I must say, as angry as I was with your mother, I admired her greatly for her bravery. She knew that she was going somewhere dangerous, and that she might not make it. She and everyone on that ship should be commended for their courage in the face of such literal darkness. I hope it’s okay to say all that. I know that you had a tricky relationship with your mom, and it’s only grown more complicated since she passed. I just want to make sure you know that she loved you very much, and your brother too. Leaving him was the hardest thing that she ever did. She and I struggled there near the end, but she never lied to me. She wouldn’t have taken walking away from Condor lightly. She genuinely believed in the science that they were advancing. Had things gone more smoothly here—had Condor and I lived more stable lives—the insights taken from this research could have helped humanity better understand how humans adapt and survive in the black. Space travel will only increase in the future. I just hope that whoever was in charge managed to get something positive out of it before civilization fell apart. I hate to think that never having the chance to meet my own daughter amounted to absolutely nothing. Condor has asked me about the researchers themselves, and I’ve spent a lot of time pondering who here may have been involved. I’m trying to make a list of everyone I’ve ever met in my life since Alizée first told me that she was pregnant. It’s nothing concrete, but after you left, I did have one neighbor who used to come by the apartment to play cards. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now I am looking back at it with fresh eyes. He offered to do a number of things together, like watching sports, playing sports, hiking—a lot of outdoorsy and active stuff that I’m not into. He didn’t really stop asking until he found something that I was amenable to. He may have been using this as an excuse to come over and monitor Condor. I don’t know, but we moved away when Condor was still young, and I never saw that guy again. I think I’ll try to see if he’s still alive somewhere, and maybe get you some answers. I won’t write back until I find something, or hit a roadblock.

Stay safe out there,

Pascal

PS: I ordered some apples from the Australian dome, because we don’t have them yet here. It will be a while before we swing around close enough to it again.

Microstory 2364: Vacuus, August 13, 2179

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Dear Condor,

You’re right, I shouldn’t be so worried about the age thing. We’re both adults. Things are still going really well with Bray. As you know, I’ve told him about myself, in regards to how you and I were separated at birth. I obviously didn’t tell him anything that might even be slightly considered a secret. Like, I never read him any letters, or relayed details that you’ve told me in confidence. This is just how he and I bonded. I guess I should admit that the truth has since come out to the rest of the base since then. I wasn’t bringing it up with others, except for the people I kind of demanded answers from, but the general population has finally found out too. They’re all very curious and interested now. Bray had this idea that maybe you would like to send an open letter to the whole base? That might sound stupid, or be taking it too far. I’m not so sure about it myself. It’s just that most people here don’t have any lasting connection to Earth. Even if they’re old enough to have left an established life behind, their reasons for leaving usually included not having any strong ties. We all knew that it was a one-way trip. Well, I didn’t; I was a tiny little baby. Anyway, they would all like to hear from you, but it’s totally up to you. If you decline the offer, but don’t want them to know as much, I can certainly take the blame for it, claiming that I thought about it some more, and decided that I’m not interested in them knowing anything about my brother. I know that it’s kind of an odd request, but if we aren’t odd, then what are we, right? I feel like I’m doing my rambling thing again, but worse than usual, so I think I’m gonna call it a night. You can disregard everything I’ve said in this letter. I believe that I’m getting less sleep than I used to, now that my social life is a little bit more eventful than it was before Bray.

Goodnight,

Corinthia

Microstory 2363: Vacuus, August 9, 2179

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Dear Pascal,

I relate to your situation of not having access to certain foods. I’ve never had a simple apple before, nor any other tree fruits or roots. We only use vertical farming as of yet, but there’s a whole team dedicated to figuring out how to grow in Vacuan soil. I guess I shouldn’t say that they’re figuring anything out. They know exactly what they need to do, but it’s a massive undertaking, and they have to play the long game. I never told either of you, but we actually have our own domes! They’re much smaller, and not for habitation, though. They basically installed giant space heaters to thaw the frozen regolith. I think they’ve stuck warming pipes into the ground too, but it’s not my area of expertise, so don’t quote me on that. The ground is well thawed by now, but the soil is still not ready for crops. It’s really gross, but this is where pretty much all of our human waste goes. We used to use some of it for radiation shielding in our habitats, but we almost exclusively use a special fungus for that instead now, though that does feed on our waste. The majority of it is tilled into our new soil, so organic matter can provide nutrients to our future plants. They estimate that it’s going to be another few years before we can try root vegetables, and a whole decade before the fruit trees grow to maturity. We obviously took all sorts of seeds with us when we came here 37 years ago, even though we didn’t know what the environmental conditions would be like here, and I can’t wait until we get to use the ones that we’ve just been sitting on this whole time. Tell me what an apple is like. It kind of looks like a tomato, but the books don’t really describe the difference in taste. As far as our correspondence goes, I’m happy with whatever you feel comfortable saying, and with however often you want to send a letter. Just write to me when it strikes you. Condor and I have a weekly thing going, but I don’t think we have to force the same schedule just for the sake of it. I don’t blame you anymore, but I’m still hurt by this whole thing, and I find it easier to converse with someone regularly who I know had nothing to do with it at all.

Eat an apple for me, if you can find one,

Corinthia

Microstory 2362: Earth, August 6, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

It’s true, I don’t need to hear certain details about your love life, but I want you to feel comfortable telling me what’s going on with you. I guess it’s a little strange that we’ve never brought it up before. Ya know, when we talk about the population decline on this planet, people often cite the poisoned atmosphere as the primary cause of it, but the truth is a lot more nuanced. Yes, obviously people died from it, and not just from the gases themselves—there were a lot of related effects, like failures in infrastructure maintenance that made the old cities less safe—but there were less overt repercussions too. The biggest consequence of the end of the old world was how isolated it made us from each other. You used to be able to take a bus to the airport, get on a flight, and be on the other side of the world in a matter of hours. You could travel just about anywhere with hardly any time to plan. Our jets are faster than ever, but the preparation for these flights takes so much more effort. If you want to go somewhere, you better damn well be sure that that’s where you wanna be, because there is no guarantee that you’re gonna be back. Because of all these limitations, and more, it’s much harder for some of us to meet someone. People are having fewer kids than they did in the past, because they have a hard time finding suitable partners. I won’t even get into population control mandates, but the only things keeping us from bursting at the seams are the people who do the transportation jobs like we used to have, and those building new settlements, or expanding preexisting habitats. This is all to say that I’ve not had much luck on the relationship front myself. I’ve moved around more than most. Our clients had to move too, but once we placed them at their new homes, they were free to settle down, and develop bonds within their respective communities. We just kept moving. I’ve gone on a few dates here under this ocean dome, but none of them has led to anything special. I’m not opposed to it, but we’re not getting any younger, so I’ve kind of learned to not get my hopes up about it anymore. I’m glad that you’ve found someone with the potential to last. I don’t think your age gap is all that big of a deal. And what are ya gonna do, let it get in your way? I say, love is love. As long as you’re consenting adults, and neither one is exerting any unfair power over the other, you should be allowed to do whatever feels right. But I’ll warn you, so you can warn him, if he hurts you, no interplanetary void is wide enough to keep him safe from my wrath. Okay, I’m done being overprotective again. Hey, dad didn’t tell me what he put in his latest letter to you, but I hope you’re pleased with it, and feeling okay. Tell me however much you want.

Love ya,

Condor

Microstory 2361: Earth, August 1, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

It’s Pascal again. Thank you for being so patient with me. It is now August 1, and communication restrictions have finally been lifted. It was such horrible timing. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, and it’s very rewarding, but it does come with downsides. I hope it’s okay that I’m writing you now. I know that your connection to your brother has only gotten stronger since my first letter, which was my last one. So if you only want me to speak when spoken to, that’s totally fine. I want you to drive this relationship, or even decide whether it is a relationship, or not. I won’t take up too much of your time until you decide, but allow me to give you a few updates on what I’ve been up to. Our deal with the Australian dome has been a great success. Since we live on the ocean, we’ve gotten pretty good at using our resources sustainably, but we still have to trade with land-based regions more than they have to trade with each other. We have less space here for such infrastructure, and we’re not equipped to handle certain crops. Everyone has vertical farming now, but so many fruits and vegetables can’t be grown in these tight, efficient environments very well. We grow tomatoes and herbs just fine. Lettuce and green beans? We got those. But we have no way of planting trees, and even if we did, they have not had enough time to grow to maturity since we were established. So many others just don’t work with the techniques that we are limited to using in the confined spaces on this boat. We can’t exactly carry tons and tons of dirt over the sea. It is for these reasons that we lack fruits like apples and peaches, sprawling plants like pumpkins and cucumbers, and roots like potatoes and carrots. In exchange for some of their food, we agreed to take a number of immigrants on board. Since we’re so new, we still have plenty of space to grow as a human population. Others are running low. The funny thing is, as helpful as it is to the Australian dome for us to take those people, it’s actually good for us too, because that is what we need. We want to establish our own nation, and to do that, we need citizens. That’s probably why it’s gone so smoothly, because we’re all winners here. All right, I’ve taken enough of your time already. Just get back to me when you can. I understand that you’re busy.

With affection,

Pascal

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 8, 2490

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Everything had changed about Castlebourne when the team came back to the timeline in 2490, and it was pretty much what Mateo had predicted years ago. Team Kadiar started going on their rescue missions about three weeks after Team Matic disappeared. They started out slowly and strategically. They spoke with the people of New Welrios to see if they would be interested in relocating yet again. While most of them didn’t want to leave as their new home had since been established, they weren’t combative, and understood what the crew of the Vellani Ambassador was trying to do. Some of them did ask to leave, particularly the older ones who were more used to not getting attached. A few asked to join the operation, and some of them were even taken up on their offers, following some training that Darko, Mirage, and others devised. The core five that made up the executive crew were still running the show, but the new people had their own responsibilities. If nothing else, being able to give their next prospects real evidence that rescue was possible was more valuable than nothing.

Things started out slow as they struggled to convince enough people that this was the right thing to do. One reason for this was that they didn’t know if there was anything to fix. People living in the Goldilocks were oppressed, but that didn’t mean they were unhappy. They were indoctrinated from birth to believe that this was as good as life could get. The Exin Empire didn’t even have to use force to gaslight them into thinking this way. It was how their parents lived, and how their parents’ parents lived, and so on. The whole of society, on each world, and across the worlds, was built around Bronach Oaksent’s vision. Showing them a better way was no easy feat. The pitch was by far the hardest part of each job. Loading them into the ship wasn’t easy either, nor was Tertius’ work controlling everyone’s memories, but they were simple and easy compared to the social aspect. The new pocket dimension that Ramses designed could fit almost 500 without untenable power drain, but they were only ever able to get about 300 to 400 people each time they tried to reach out to a new population. That still added up to around 130,000 people over the course of the last year, accounting for much-needed breaks, and other delays, but they wanted to do more. They wanted to save more.

The pitch speeches and videos were constantly being refined and reworked, however, and the data showed that these changes improved effectiveness. The most recent missions returned with higher capacity than the first ones. By the end of the 25th century, the total population of Castlebourne could number in the millions, even before visitors from the stellar neighborhood were brought in to enjoy the domes. Mateo was so very proud of his daughters, and wished that he could see them in action. Unfortunately, he was still a liability. His solid holograms were not yet powerful, nor reliable, nor understood well enough. And the new nanosuit that Ramses injected into his body added a new variable that Leona surely wouldn’t be pleased with...once they were ready to tell her about it.

As far as those domes went, Hrockas seemed pleased when he walked into the yearly briefing that he always had with Team Matic. “Is it safe to say that gamma testing is going well?” Leona asked.

“Not as well as I had hoped, but I can’t make them do it, even if I wanted to,” Hrockas replied.

“They’re not going to the recreational domes?” Leona pressed.

“They are, but a lot of domes remain untested. The South Pole is the most popular attraction. Apparently, the despot who runs the empire didn’t make oceans on very many of the worlds that he created. Honestly, I can’t blame him for that; it was not easy for me. Still, I would like them to try out some of the other domes, so I get some feedback on them too. I know what the problem is, though. They don’t really have any sense of pop culture, so the scenarios don’t mean much to them.” Hrockas dismissed his own remarks. “But that’s my problem; not yours, and certainly not theirs. I didn’t agree to host them for that. I just thought it would be a nice bonus. They’re all welcome to stay, even if they never leave the residences. I didn’t start this project a hundred years ago thinking that any of this would be easy.”

Before Hrockas could continue on—if that was what he was planning on doing—Aeolia placed a hand on his thigh. She leaned over, and whispered something in his ear. After he nodded, she stood up, and left the room. Before Aeolia’s past and future were erased from the timeline, she did office work for a number of employers. She was using the skills she picked up in those roles now as Hrockas’ personal assistant. Most of what he needed done could be automated, because this was the late 25th century, but he still liked to have another person there to bounce ideas off of. He couldn’t be in two places at once, so she also often served as his eyes and ears.

“What about the central archives?” Mateo suggested. “Have they been granted access to the vonearthan databases, particularly the grand repository of entertainment?”

“They absolutely have,” Lita answered. She was placed in charge of helping the refugees figure out how to live outside of the Exin Empire, which was all they had ever known up until this point. It was her husband, Mario who came up with her title, Director of Transition, acting as head of the Department for Cultural Transition Assistance. “I’m not—” She paused, looking for the right words. “I’m not discouraging them from browsing the repository, but I generally nudge them towards the aggregate records. They’ve never heard of Earth, and I want them to know where they ultimately come from, even if we don’t technically consider them vonearthans. I want them to see that oppressive governments are wrong, and that they all fall...eventually.”

“That’s understandable,” Leona said. “You know what they say about those who cannot remember the past. They’ve been deliberately shielded from theirs as a means of control. They need to see the truth, or they’ll never really be free.”

They moved onto other business, discussing the general state of the planet. The numbers had shifted since they were last here, as they always did. At this point, roughly 30% of the domes were completely unused. They were sealed up, but still nothing but desert. About 45% of the domes were themed to some degree, but still working through alpha testing, which robots performed due to the potential danger. Around 15% were in the beta testing phase. Some of the more enthusiastic refugees signed all the necessary paperwork, and were helping by exploring these recreational and leisure spots. The remaining 10% of domes were currently being gamma tested by the rest of the refugees, some of which were probably ready for delta testing by the early adopters during and after the grand opening.

Aeolia came back in, and whispered something to Hrockas while Samsonite was pitching his idea of a formal educational institution. “Sorry, Mr. Bellamy, I’m gonna have to pause you for a moment. I’m afraid that Team Matic will have to leave us.” He looked up at Aeolia. “You can handle it, right?”

Aeolia nodded.

“All right, go on,” he requested of Samsonite as most of the members of the meeting were exiting.

“What’s goin’ on?” Leona asked.

“An unauthorized visitor appeared in one of the pods,” Aeolia began to explain. “We don’t know how she broke through our firewalls, but she’s asking to speak to you. Specifically, the...uh...”

“The smart ones?” Mateo suggested.

“Great,” Angela said. “I need to get back in there. This presentation is important.” Without waiting for someone to give her permission, or argue, she stepped back into the conference room, followed by her sister and Olimpia.

Mateo shrugged when Aeolia looked at him. “I’m curious. I’m sure I’ll follow the conversation well enough.”

Leona took Aeolia’s hand, and they all teleported to the only operational acclimation room of The Terminal. Hogarth Pudeyonavic was sitting in an armchair. Leona walked over to her. “Madam Pudeyonavic, it’s nice to see you again.” They shook hands after Hogarth stood up.

“You got my message?” Ramses asked.

“I did, but I was not planning on answering. I’m only here now to get some distance from my own problems before I tackle them.”

“What problems are these?” Leona asked with concern.

“Not yours,” Hogarth answered with kindness in her voice, not dismissiveness.

Leona nodded respectfully, then looked back at her engineer. “You asked her about our interference with the slingdrive?”

“I did,” he confirmed. “I can’t crack it. I know The Vellani Ambassador is not our ship anymore. Another team has been using it for longer than we ever did. But I still think it’s something that we should understand. It’s a unique form of space travel, and I want to remain the foremost expert on it, if possible.”

“Take me to it,” Hogarth asked.

They teleported again, right into the engineering section.

“Welcome,” Mirage’s voice said through the intercom.

Hogarth took a brief look around, narrowing in one component in particular. She reached for the coherence gauge, and unscrewed it. After looking into the data port, she said, “give me an hour. But I’ll need a couple of guinea pigs.”

“That’s my job,” Mateo volunteered proudly.

“It would help if you could procure a human too,” Hogarth clarified.

“Jericho?” Ramses suggested.

“His body doesn’t metabolize temporal energy, but he was once exposed to dark particles. Does that matter?” Leona asked.

“Shouldn’t,” Hogarth replied. “Those don’t travel through the qualium realm. Bring him to me.”

“What’s the qualium realm?” Ramses questioned.

“I’ll explain in an hour.” Hogarth was frustrated with having to repeat herself all of one time.

An hour on the dot after Jericho was brought here reluctantly, Hogarth was ready to give her answer. She had extracted a little bit of blood from them, but otherwise left the guinea pigs to just stand around and wait. She spent most of the time taking the slingdrive apart, and putting it back together, as if the task alone was enough to provide her with answers. She didn’t even really seem to examine the parts, or anything. She only needed to go through the motions. They were sitting around the table in Delegation Hall now. Hogarth was twirling some kind of plastic tube between her fingers.

“Is that the issue?” Ramses asked.

“Oh, this? Nah, this is just an erroneous part. I cut it out, because it was slowing down the quintessence transmission function, and making the drive less efficient. It didn’t have to be this long.”

“That was there to prevent bottlenecking,” Ramses tried to explain.

“You already have two redundant regulators in each intake valve. Trust me, you don’t need this.” She carelessly dropped it on the table.

“Is that valuable?” Mateo asked.

“It’s only tubing,” Ramses assured him. “The containment comes from the specialized pocket dimension, which can be housed in just about anything. But it must be housed in something,” he reiterated to Hogarth, “not nothing.”

Hogarth brushed off his claims. “I’m here to tell you that you were right.”

“About us being the problem?” Leona figured.

“There’s a workaround, but it comes with a limitation,” Hogarth went on. “Earlier, you asked about the qualium realm. I’m honestly astonished you’ve never heard of it, because based on the specifications of this ship, and the upgraded substrates you built for yourself and your friends, you’ve been working with it for years.”

“I know what qualia are,” Ramses said, “and I’ve heard of the quantum realm, but I’ve never combined them.”

“You have. You just didn’t know it.” Hogarth threw a hologram into the space over the table. It was a silhouette of a human being. There appeared to be some kind of aura pulsating from it. Animations utilizing this diagram changed by her narration. “Humans are composed of three major components: mind, body, and soul. The body is the physical material that interacts with reality in four dimensions. We’re all looking at each other’s right now. Information is interpreted through the brain, which is of course, also a physical entity, but that’s not where data is processed. That happens in the quantum realm. This was part of a number of related, but competing, hypotheses, regarding the nature of consciousness. It was only after we figured it out that we were able to manipulate the properties of the quantum mind, and allow for technologies such as mind uploading, and memory retrieval. What present-day researchers still don’t understand is that there is a third aspect. The soul, if you will, exists within the qualium realm. It is how we process personal thoughts, emotions. It’s where we come up with original ideas, and our worldviews. More to the point, it’s also how time travelers metabolize temporal energy.

“We are connected to the universe in a way that normal people, like my new friend, Jericho here, aren’t. This is how different flavors of time travelers come about. The nature of an individual’s qualium realm—their connection to the cosmos—dictates what they can do, and what they can’t. You, Ramses, were not born with a qualium realm sufficient for time travel. You replicated it using someone else’s connection. None of you could teleport until you figured out how to adjust your qualia accordingly. I could go on and on about the study of qualium realms, and how to change your perceptions of time by accessing this special dimension, but that’s not what this meeting is about. The issue is that your connection to the qualium realm is indeed interacting with your slingdrive, which necessarily also has access to this realm in order to function. There are two options here; you can manipulate your own connection, and alter how this interdimensional interaction occurs, or you can modify the machine to block it.”

“What’s the downside to the second one?” Leona asked her.

“No more time travel,” Hogarth answered. “The machine is shockingly versatile, but it has its quirks. As it stands, it accesses all four dimensions, and it is the fourth dimension that is getting screwy. You’re interfering with it because of your inherent connection to time, which is nonlinear. You can’t program it to travel through the fourth dimension, but somehow ignore you, because people like us are an extension of time, not simply living in it. You would still be able to go anywhere you want in the universe, but you would have to stay in the present.”

“We don’t really want to travel through time,” Leona determined. “But it’s not our ship anymore. How hard would it be to adjust our qualia, for those situations where we may need to use the ship?”

“Very hard,” Hogarth replied, “and unpredictable. There would be a lot of trial and error, and you would probably end up as regular humans. I don’t know if that’s what you want, or...”

“You mean we could control our own pattern?” Olimpia asked. “We would stop jumping forwards every day?

“I guess,” Hogarth said. “I would have to study you more, and invasively, but technically anything is impossible. With enough time and energy, I could turn anyone into a traveler, or take it away.”

“Thank you, Madam P,” Leona said, standing up. “We will need to discuss our options amongst ourselves. Can you stay a year?”

“I’ll tell you what,” Hogarth said, also standing up, “At the very least, I’ll be back in a year.”

She ended up staying the year.

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The Fourth Quadrant: Flying Like a Rock (Part IV)

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Mount Hilde does not only grant access to the Sixth Key from Fort Underhill Proper. It also serves as the frontlines. In the parent universe, Salmonverse, direction and location are all about one’s frame of reference, but not here. There is a hard limit to the scope of Fort Underhill. Move far enough in any direction, and you’ll reach the physical boundaries that hold the cosmos together. You would not be able to break free through that wall, however. It’s reportedly fifty times thicker than the walls of a normal universe—whatever that means, and whatever these walls are made out of. Only something called the Aperture leads to the kasma, where you can potentially escape into the multiverse, but even that would not be guaranteed. Team Gatekeeper has come to find out why this is known as a fort at all. It’s meant to be a haven for any and all peacelovers, so the entrance is the only way in or out. The world they’re standing on right now is at that entrance. The peak of Mount Hilde is apparently pointed right at it. If someone wants to come here, looking for trouble, this is what’s gonna be in their way. It’s thusly unclear why the team is even here in the first place. This whole place was designed to keep out intruders. Security is what they supposedly do best, so why do they need a small team of individuals who only recently came together?

“You’re not here to secure Mount Hilde,” Hogarth explains. “You’re here to protect the diplomatic team that I’ve assembled. This is just the means by which we reach the plane of existence that we’re headed for.”

“You let me secure the perimeter,” Selma reminds her. “The perimeter to this facility, on this mountain.”

“You were on a roll, barking orders. I didn’t want to slow you down. Plus, it’s always good to get a second opinion on our security measures.”

Selma sighs.

“Miss Eriksen,” Hogarth continues, “you were not assigned the leadership role of your team, yet here you are, taking charge.”

“Atticus wasn’t saying anything.”

“Hey, I agree. Every military is defined by how orderly and organized it is, as is any well-run private organization. But the reality is that true leaders aren’t hired, or designated. They step up. Those are the ones that people are better off following, because they earn their place every day. If they fail, they lose it. Someone who serves as leader in any official capacity will often just be allowed to stay there, even if they don’t deserve it. I think Atticus is recognizing the same thing that I am, and is allowing you to do what you need to do. It’s what we all need right now. You are what we need. So do your thing. I’ll let you know when you’re messing something up.”

Selma is skeptical to stay the least. She taps her earwig. “Fall back to the lobby. It’s time to go.” She looks up at the foggy second story. “I’m guessing that’s our entrance?”

“You guess right.”

“It’s a portal, or something?”

“Or something.”

“That’s vague, and unsettling. Is it dangerous?”

“Everything is dangerous,” Hogarth says, likely having fun being cryptic and unhelpful.

“Please clarify.”

Hogarth sighs. “I didn’t make that. That is supposed to lead to the observation platform, where you can spot the Aperture with the naked eye. The fog was placed there by a...friend of mine. I can’t tell you how it works, because he didn’t tell me.”

“Please clarify,” an unsatisfied Selma repeats.

“He’s a god. He’s literally an energy god. He doesn’t intervene as much as I would like, but he agreed to facilitate diplomatic discussions with our apparent enemy by building us some kind of bridge. I don’t know where it goes, and I don’t know what we’ll find when we get there. That’s why I need you. I certainly can’t fit my whole robot army up those stairs. I wish that I could prepare you better, but I don’t have all the answers.”

The two of them are standing on a small mezzanine level, between the main floor, and the fog. Climbing up the rest of the stairwell would seemingly take them up to the real top of the building. Selma looks up in that direction. “No one ever does.” She watches as everyone down below begins filing back into the lobby from various doorways. Once everyone is back, she begins to walk back down the steps, but stops. “Wait. Is that the diplomatic team? Do they have any experience?”

“Those are my people,” Hogarth says. “I’m the only representative from Fort Underhill who will be going on the mission. The diplomats should be arriving shortly.”

She was right. Just as Selma is stepping down to join the group, five more people enter from the fog. Hogarth looks just as surprised as Selma and the Fort Underhillers. Four of the newcomers begin to descend the curved staircase while one of them stays at the top. “People of Fort Underhill, allow me to introduce you to...the Diplomats.” The way he pauses before the last two words makes it sound like they’re part of a club. “Flux Do-4 of Vaidy, Major Regolith Hagedus of Gavismet, Major Allomer Franks of Fanter, and Awilda Zewflux of Vaidy. Chief Truncative Kanani Kekoa could not be here today.”

“That’s him,” Hogarth whispers. “That’s the energy god. He’s not the one I talked to about the diplomats. He had nothing to do with that. At least, I didn’t think so.”

Major Franks looks back up at the god. “You’re not coming with us?”

“It’s not my place,” the god replies.

“We don’t even know what we’re doing,” Major Hagedus complains. “Where have you brought us?”

The god smiles. “To a pit stop. Come back up here whenever you’re ready.” He doesn’t move a muscle. The fog billows out a little more, and overwhelms him. When it recedes, he’s gone.

“I don’t think that was really Dyne Dyne,” Major Franks says to Flux Do-4. These are all very interesting names.

“I would have to agree,” his friend, Flux Do-4 says stoically.

Hogarth walks over to meet the Diplomats at the bottom of the stairs. “Thank you for coming. We face a great unseen enemy, and would like to resolve things amicably, if at all possible.”

Major Hagedus nods. “We’ve learned to accept any job that has been given to us, whether we asked for it, or not. Give us the details.”

Atticus is still technically the leader of Team Gatekeeper so it is he who joins Hogarth and the Diplomats in the briefing room while Selma and everyone else wait out here by the fountain. They’re in there for about forty-five minutes before they come back out. Hogarth says her personal goodbyes to her friends, then takes a few steps upstairs before turning around to address the crowd. She pulls in a deep breath, and exhales with zen-like vigor. After building sufficient anticipation, she finally speaks, “forward now, unto the breach!” She spins back around, and starts to run up the stairs.

For a second, no one knows what to do, but if Hogarth needs protecting, then Selma is going to be the one to do it. She slips through the crowd, and begin to follow her up. Neither of them make it into the portal fog, though. A blast of some kind shoots out from it, and throws them both over the railing, back towards the floor. Selma doesn’t make it there, though. The central fountain contains statues of people, standing in a circle, and reaching their hands outwards, interpretively in friendship to all. Above them, a young girl is crouching on a platform, pointing outwards as well. Slightly higher, a boy is hanging onto the central column, holding on with one hand and two feet like a monkey. His other hand shields his eyes from the sun. He’s searching for something in the opposite direction of who Selma imagines to be his sister. Just above him is another flat platform where the water splashes onto, so it can rain down below in random patterns, unlike the symmetrical nozzles near the top, which fling jets in neat, predictable arches. Selma crashes onto her back on this empty platform, head turned to the side so she can watch Hogarth’s neck slam into the edge of the pool. The rest of her body is now sprawled out on the floor, motionless.

Selma’s vision is blurring, but she can still make out what’s happening. Four silhouettes have emerged from the fog. They stand on the landing together in a line. The fog recedes up through the opening in the ceiling as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. As it does so, the silhouettes become clearer. One of them appears to be Tamerlane Pryce, though not the avatar of the magical Magnolia tree. It seems to be a real version of the original man. “Who did we get?” he asks, looking down at Selma and Hogarth. “Only two? Hm. That’s disappointing.”

Selma struggles to lift her shoulders up from the stone platform to lean against the column. It’s incredibly painful. She probably broke her back.

“Not even. Well, I guess we’ll have to get the rest some other way,” Tamerlane laments.

“Look,” the other man in the attacking group says. “What’s happening with the dead one?”

Selma struggles again to turn her head, and look back down at Hogarth who appears to be disintegrating? Her body is literally falling apart into a million tiny pieces, flaking off and fading into oblivion. It’s reminiscent of something Selma once saw in a superhero movie they made in the main sequence. During the Rock negotiations, representatives from the different realities would be asked to share art and culture from their native lands to promote unity and camaraderie. The ending to this one was particularly sad and depressing, even though it was the 21st film in the series, and they hadn’t watched the ones leading up to it. In a matter of moments, Hogarth’s body has completely disappeared into nothingness.

“Well,” Tamerlane says with one clap of his hands. “One down, however many to go. Iolanta? Make sure they stay here.”

“Done,” Iolanta replies.

“A.F., I suppose you’re the more...violent of us. Just try to make it efficient, and painless. Our only objective is to protect The First Explorer.”

The other guy cracks his own neck, and psychs himself up, bouncing around like a boxer preparing for a fight. He reaches behind his hip, and swings a rifle down and around into killing position, fancying himself some kind of action hero. Lowell Benton of Fort Underhill doesn’t hesitate before running up the stairs to meet his enemy. He anticipates being shot at, and dodges the first bullet. But the second one hits him square in the chest. He bursts into a million pieces, just as Hogarth had, though much faster. The dust he leaves behind eventually vanishes. A.F. is shocked at this. He rolls his gun a little to his left, and examines it for answers.

“Was that supposed to happen?” Tamerlane questions.

“I shouldn’t think so,” the killer responds.

“I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so keep going, A.F.”

Andrei and Ayata spring into action. They play a little gun fu with A.F. His weapon is long, heavy, and unwieldy. He can’t move it around as fast as they can sprint and hop, and it’s no good in close quarters. He gives up, and starts fighting them in hand to hand combat. He’s getting tired, though, and knows that he’s no match for them with this tactic. He manages to keep them away from him long enough to pull out his sidearm, and shoot them in the stomachs. They too instantly dust apart.

“Okay, now this is getting ridiculous!” Tamerlane cries. “That’s just a nine mil! What the hell is happening?”

“I don’t care,” A.F. growls back. “It’s working.” He gets his rifle back into position, and starts spraying bullets every which way. He’s not aiming at all, just trying to let the auto fire paint the walls with his enemies’ blood. Except there is no blood, only disappearing dust. He’s letting out a primal scream, probably believing himself to be a real life Rambo, or something. That’s another gem of a movie that the main sequence showed them on their breaks.

By some miracle, none of these stray bullets hits Selma. She’s partially covered by the stone column, but not entirely. At least one of them should have slipped through. She has to watch as all of her new friends are slaughtered senselessly. Once he’s done, he drops the end of his gun to turn it into a walking cane to hold himself up while he catches his breath. Selma looks around at the fountain, and sees that it has suffered no damage at all. It must be protected by a force field. She doesn’t know why they would bother designing it this way. She should count herself lucky, but that’s not how it feels. She’s alone now, and they’ll figure out how to kill her eventually.

A.F. seems to have come to the same conclusion when he notices that she’s still alive. He slowly and deliberately picks his gun back up, cowboy walks over there, and attempts to shoot her at point blank range.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!” Tamerlane shouts. “Watch where you’re pointin’ that thing, asshole!”

“There’s a plasma barrier,” A.F. figures.

“Yeah, I see that. It could have ricocheted.”

A.F. steps a little closer, and lifts his hand, trying to find the barrier manually, but there’s nothing there. It passes right through, unimpeded. With a chuckle, he steps into the pool to no resistance. He chuckles again. “Loophole,” he delightedly declares. He trains his weapon for the last time, right at Selma’s head. “Any last words?”

She stares at him blankly, still in an immense amount of pain. “They keep calling you A.F. What does that stand for? Ammo fucker?” She pulls out her own sidearm, and shoots him right in the forehead. In a surprising twist, he dusts away like everyone else. That’s evidently just what happens to people when they die in this room. Her own life is hanging on by a thread, so she’s about to find out first hand if that’s true. The darkness enshrouds her eyes, and she slips away peacefully.

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