Extremus: Year 94

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Much of the way that Extremusians do things was adopted from Earthan convention. After all, they’re all descended from Earthans, albeit after thousands of years developing a divergent culture. Ansutahans never forgot who they were, or where they came from. Living on a world with monsters, their traditions were all the tools they had to hold on to their humanity. Many things were lost, but they were surprisingly good at continuity. One thing that changed over time was the education system. Scholars are still trying to find an explanation for the shift, but there seems to be no reason for it. For better or worse, nothing about their situation on the Maramon homeworld would suggest that the original system of preschool, elementary school, middle school, high school, then college couldn’t have worked. They still don’t know why it happened, but it makes sense to their descendants today, so they keep doing it. They are not too dissimilar, but there are some differences.

For the first three years of a child’s life, they receive no formal education, and experience something called rudimentary care. This is where they learn the absolute most basic of skills of eating, drinking, peeing, pooping, crawling, standing, and walking. Guardians are expected to teach them this stuff. An optional two-year preliminary school plan comes after that, where kids learn to socialize with each other, and maybe some initial studies of colors, shapes, and even numbers and letters. Primary school begins at age five, and goes for five years. Then it’s four years of secondary school, three years of tertiary school, and two years of college. This is followed by a one year licensure program, and six months of apprenticeship, though that all depends on what field the student has chosen. Some choose to seek even higher degrees in law, medicine, education, or field expertise.

The main difference is that, unlike Earthan systems, Extremusians don’t spend their entire childhoods all learning the same things. Not everyone is expected to know everything. The entire point of dividing the timeline into these distinct blocks is to gradually narrow a student’s focus into what they should be doing with their lives. They start general, and move towards the specific, little by little. Back on Earth, college is a four-year program where some fully grown adults don’t even know what they want to do with their lives until halfway through. Extremusians are typically shocked to hear this, if not horrified, as they will have known their own strengths for years by that age. It’s meant to happen in tertiary school, which is also referred to as general specialization. The last year of secondary school is wildly important, because it’s when kids take a whole bunch of tests to determine which program they’ll transition into next year. To qualify for anything in particular, a child must show both interest and aptitude; not only one, or the other. Everyone is good at something. That’s the assumption, anyway.

While little Silveon only started primary school this year—which is where everyone is still at about the same place—much older Waldemar Kristiansen is nearing the end of his secondary school era. He should be finding his purpose by now, but there’s a problem. For the last few years, his mother’s ability to parent has only lessened. Tinaya, Arqut, and Niobe blame themselves a bit for this by enabling her incompetence each time they step up to take care of things. On official school records, Calla is the key contact for all of Waldemar’s needs, but the educators are aware that the Captain and her family have taken a significant personal interest in his needs, and will usually reach out to one of them instead. Today, it’s about his tests. He’s not doing well, and it’s throwing up a huge question mark about where his life is headed.

Tinaya tries to take a deep breath to center herself, but slips into an accidental yawn. She has the day off from her captainly duties, and the school knows this, which is why they’ve reached out. She never really gets a day off, even though her own child is an adult on a mental level, and only ever needs help reaching the high cupboards. “Can I see them?”

Ine Dittmarr works as the Placement Coordinator for the whole of secondary school. She taps on her tablet, and slides the data over to drop into Tinaya’s.

Harshad Narang is Waldemar’s Placement Advisor, and he’s here too. “I’ve been working quite closely with him for weeks, at the expense of my other students. We can’t figure it out.”

Tinaya stays silent as she’s looking over the results of Waldemar’s tests. “How rare is this?”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Ine replies.

“Neither have I,” Harshad agrees.

Tinaya shakes her head, shifting her gaze from one test to another, to another. “They’re the same. The exact same score on every test. How is that possible?”

“I don’t know how it could be,” Harshad replies. “Unless he cheated.”

“That’s impossible,” Ine argues. “My tests are perfect, and our security impenetrable. He did it on purpose.”

Tinaya looks up. “How could someone intelligent enough to match his own scores on completely unrelated tests that were administered across several months score so low on all of them?” She points. “This one here. This tests strategy and tactical improvisation. That’s the kind of thing that someone who could pull this off would be expected to excel at, but it’s just as low.”

“As I said,” Ine begins, “he did it on purpose. He’s messing with us.”

“I wouldn’t frame it like that,” Harshad reasons. “It’s a protest. That I’ve seen before. Kids intentionally fail tests to express their disapproval of the process, or reject their own destiny. It usually occurs when the student favors one subject, but struggles greatly with it, and outperforms in something totally different.”

Tinaya tosses her tablet on the desk, and leans back in her chair. “What are the next steps? Could you test him again?”

“We could, it’s not unprecedented,” Ine confirms. “That’s why we spend all year doing these, so kids can understand where they need improvement if they want to get into the right program. I just don’t think it’s going to help. There’s no reason to think he won’t just do it again. Perhaps next time he’ll get a hundred percent on everything, which would be just as unhelpful to determining placement. There’s one test that we’re not talking about, which the counselor gave him years ago, and has been unable to readminister periodically.”

“I wasn’t a part of that decision. His mother’s simultaneously depressed by it, and in denial.” What they’re talking about is the Antisocial Spectrum Assessment. He did very poorly on it, or very well, depending on how you look at it. He would have been diagnosed with Antisocial Personality Disorder had Calla allowed the assessment to be logged into the ship’s Mental Health Department, which would have triggered a counseling program to help him overcome his obstacles. That’s why he’s struggling so much. That’s why Silveon’s interventions have been paramount. Because it’s all he has. Once he comes of age, he’ll be able to seek his own therapeutic or neurological treatments, but he would have to want to do that, which is why it’s so important for guardians to catch it early, before they lose the legal power to help. “Give it to him again. We’ve been working on it. We’ve been helping him.”

Ine shakes her head. “Studies have suggested that no treatment for psychopathy has been significantly successful in helping patients correct their antisocial behavior.”

“We don’t call it psychopathy,” Tinaya says in a warning tone, “and I’m sure you know that. Besides, you’re wrong. Behavior has indeed been corrected, and that may be all we can hope for. It’s the improvement of the patient’s true thoughts and feelings—or lack thereof—that psychology hasn’t been able to crack.” She’s been reading up on this stuff so she can help her son help this boy. “Test. Him. Again. If he’s improved even a little, then it will tell us how to move forward with fixing the placement issue.”

“We don’t have the authority to administer a new ASA, and neither do you,” Harshad reminds her. “You would have to get Mrs. Kristiansen to sign off, and I’m not holding out hope that she’s changed either.”

Tinaya nods. “I’ll go talk to her right now. Don’t move.” She teleports away.

“What are you doing here?” Calla questions when Tinaya shows up unannounced.

Tinaya pulls up the consent form for a new ASA. “Sign this.”

“What is it?”

“Sign it.”

“I’m not going to sign something without knowing what it is.”

“Yes, you are. It’s for your son, so he can get the help that he needs.”

“Oh, this is that psycho-bullshit again? Yeah, no. I’m not putting him through that a second time. It will only make things worse.”

“If you don’t do this, he’s gonna end up in the fields.” This is an offensive remark that Tinaya should not have said. The ship doesn’t have fields, so this really just means that a person will end up with an absurdly low contribution score. They live with only the most essential amenities, like water and bland food. It’s one step up from hock. Yeah, they can technically leave their cabin, though only to walk the corridors, as they’re banned from pretty much everywhere those corridors lead.

“Take him.”

“What?”

“I’ll never sign that paper,” Calla goes on, “but I’ll sign one that says I lose all my parenting rights, and they go to you. Show me that one instead.”

“Mrs. Kristiansen, I’m an old woman. I can’t take custody of your child, even if I thought that’s what would be the best thing for him.”

“Then find someone who can. I’m sick of dealing with him. I’m sick of it being my responsibility. Give him a new parent, and you can do whatever the fuck you want.”

“You’re a horrible person. I can’t believe you’re saying this.”

Calla winces. “I think I’m kinda proving my own point here.”

“If you don’t have someone to live for, you’re going to drink yourself to death. You’re halfway there already.”

Calla takes a sip of her whatever. “Sounds like a me problem. Why do you care?”

“Your death will impact your child’s life whether you’re legally responsible for him, or not. He will not understand the nuances of custody. His heart won’t, at least.”

She chuckles. “Since when does that little shit have heart?”

“I will ask you to stop talking about your son like that.”

“And I will ask you to stop him being my son!” she shouts back.

Tinaya takes a breath before she loses it, and matches this woman’s energy. “He needs help. You can help him, not by teaching him your poor choices, but by teaching him how to avoid them.”

Calla finishes her drink. “Seems to me...I die...he’ll learn not to do that.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not always how it works. Some grow up to spite their parents, and some turn into them. Some find a way to end up doing both. The only way to show him right from wrong is to show him right. Showing him only wrong doesn’t help him understand which is which.”

“I’m wrong,” Calla decided, “and you’re right. Sounds like his bases are covered.”

“That’s not my job. My family and I have only stepped up because you refuse to do so yourself. But hope is not lost. He’s young, still impressionable, and you’re not dead yet! Do the right thing for once in your pathetic life.”

Calla pours herself another, and doesn’t say anything.

“I’ve let that slide, but I can get you arrested for drinking alcohol.”

“Then do it. What do you think happens to the kid then?”

“Has that been your plan your whole time, to get me to put you in hock, so he has to be placed with a new family?”

Calla shrugs her shoulders and eyebrows as she’s drinking.

Tinaya doesn’t know what she should do here. She could wait until Calla is more drunk, then trick her into signing. She could just forge her signature. No one would question the captain. She could do what Calla wants, and find Waldemar new guardians, or even become that for him. She would have to speak with Arqut, Niobe, and Silveon about that. But really, she needs to speak with Silveon regardless. That’s the best next step to take, as he will know what decision will lead to the best outcome. Without another word, she jumps away, and returns to the stateroom.

Perfect timing. Arqut is just bringing Silveon in after picking him up from primary school. “I thought you had that meeting with Waldo’s school.” He’s the only one who calls him that.

“I need to speak with the boss man.” Her eyes drift down to her child.

“Okay, I’ll go work on my memoirs,” Arqut says.

“You can be here, but I think he’s the one who will understand what to do here.”

Tinaya goes over the problem, with the tests and the test. She reminds them of how terrible of a mother Calla is, but also how irregular it is to separate a child from their blood relatives. Arqut then reminds her that alcohol is illegal, and that’s really the only reason she’s ever needed to call family services. That’s all well and good, but they really do need to hear the wisdom of the man from the future.

Silveon listens patiently until they have finished their thoughts. “Waldemar, like others with his condition, requires structure, and consistency. I’m afraid that removing him from the household now wouldn’t help, because it’s too big of a change. He’s learned some coping mechanisms, and making him live somewhere new will likely make him regress, so he’ll have to relearn everything. Again, I came back here too late. If we could have transitioned him while he was my age, it probably would have been okay. But now he’s stuck, and a bad situation is better than a loss of everything he’s ever known.”

“So, what do you suggest?” Tinaya asks.

Silveon waits a moment to respond. “Forge the damn signature. Get it done.”

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Microstory 2300: Millions of People

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The place was packed. In case you never found out, the event was catered, that was the surprise from the other day. A counter-serve vegetarian restaurant called Honeypea’s Harvest graciously donated tons of food and labor time for what’s certainly the largest reception I’ve ever been to. They actually started out in the Kansas City area, and their first location that wasn’t in the immediate region was Chicago, so they felt a kinship to us. Nick loved going there, I remember that, but I didn’t think to reach out to them. Our publicity firm did, and we’re very grateful for their assistance. We basically took over the entire Humankind Causeway Center, because we had the auditorium on one end, and then the ballroom for the reception on the other. You can see why I couldn’t tell you about it before, right? You say the word free, and people flock to you, whether they know what you’re giving away or not. There was a limited amount of space and food available, so we couldn’t let the whole world know. As for the service itself, it went pretty well. I told you that I was nervous, and having a full auditorium didn’t help with my nerves, but I pretended that they weren’t there, and that I was still practicing in front of the mirror. I got into a rhythm, and made it through to the other end. I want to thank all who attended, and everyone who logged in to watch the stream. Millions. Millions of people watched it live, and millions more have watched the recording since it ended. I can’t believe we ended up here. When I first met Dutch, he was just this cool guy without a care in the world. And when I met Nick, I honestly thought that he was a little nutty. He was shy, but not shy about telling us who he was, and where he came from. I grew to believe him, and it seems that a lot of you have too. I find it hard to imagine that this many people read his blog, especially now that he’s dead, when they just think it’s this dumb little fictional story. Dare I say most of you are believers? It’s crazy how far he’s come. Even though he’s gone, his legacy continues, through all of you, and through me. I’ll keep sending out posts as long as you keep reading them. I think he would appreciate that. In fact, I bet he would literally say, “I appreciate your support.”

Microstory 2299: Panic Attack

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We’re putting the finishing touches on the arrangements for the memorial service tomorrow. It’s going to be a lovely, mostly somber event. But it won’t just be all wails and cursing at the gods. We’ll be playing both of their favorite music; moreso Dutch, since he had more time to develop a taste for what this planet has to offer. I’ll be giving the eulogy, of course, and I’m really nervous about it. I’ve never spoken in front of this many people before. The publicist keeps reminding me that I already have a huge audience, because Nick managed to build one for this blog, and I’ve been posting on it exclusively for days. That’s an interesting way to frame it, and I’m trying to hold onto that. You’ve been listening to me talk for a while now, even before Nick died; it’s just that it’s been through the written word, and now you’re going to hear my real voice, and see my real face. Oh God, I think I’m having a panic attack.

All right, I’m back. That white space between paragraphs is where that panic attack happened, but I’m okay. As a medical professional, I know all the tricks, but it’s one thing to give advice to someone else, and another to follow through when you need it yourself. I closed the lid of my laptop, shut the shades, and turned off all the lights. I sat upright in the hotel bed, and focused on my breathing. Despite the darkness, I could make out enough objects in the room. I could see the television on the opposite wall; the painting hanging over the refrigerator, depicting a frozen ice skating pond with scratches on the surface, but no skaters; the faint outline of the DO NOT DISTURB sign; the luggage I had sprawled out on the other bed; and the half empty glass of water on the nightstand. No, it wasn’t half empty, but half full. I could touch the soft sheets I was sitting upon; my overheated phone that I’ve been meaning to upgrade; the highlighter that I was using while researching eulogy commonalities; and the brass gooseneck reading lamp coming from the wall above the headboard. I could hear the sound of children running in the halls while their mother tried to shush them up; the hum of the furnace; and the ticking of the analog clock by the door to the bathroom. I could smell the half eaten box of cheese crackers on the table in the corner; and something dank that I couldn’t place wafting in through the vents. I could taste the toothpaste in my mouth that I should have more thoroughly rinsed out before I sat down to write this post.

I had to take another break, which is why I’m posting this later than usual. Everything is okay, and I think I’m gonna be okay, but as the memorial approaches, it’s like it’s all happening again. I never talked about it before, and I will probably never publicly go into too much detail, but obviously, I was there when they died. I remember the lurch of the vehicle as we slid on the ice, and finally came to a stop. I remember running out of the car, and one of the security guards holding me back so I couldn’t see the wreckage. I remember seeing the wreckage anyway, and feeling the heat from the flames on my face, which felt like they were going to burn me, yet somehow still could not protect my toes from freezing under the tyranny of the snow as it seeped into my socks. I remember thinking that no one could have survived that fall, even though I was still bleary eyed, and confused. There was no hope, and now these memories are coming back, which will only make the eulogy harder to write, and even harder to give. I need a third break.

Microstory 2298: With All the Snow and Ice

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I’m writing this on the plane. I spent all day at the airport, because my flight kept getting delayed. There’s a big snowstorm in the east that I feel shouldn’t have much impact on my flight up to Chicago, but what do I know? The purpose of leaving one day early was to get a jump in the preparations for Nick and Dutch’s memorial, but it looks like that’s not going to do me any good. Still, who knows what would have happened if I had just stuck to my original flight tomorrow. Anyway, I bought the WiFi, and have maintained contact with the publicity firm and the venue. Everything is fine, and getting set up. A word of warning, we have not set aside any hotel accommodations for this event. People have been asking about that, and I totally forgot to tell you before. You have to work through that on your own. I’m sorry, but this is so last minute, and we have no idea who is going to come. Perhaps if we had taken more time, we could have done a lot more on our end, but at some point, it would have felt like a little too much. Sure, we have money, but that doesn’t mean we’re gonna spend it on frivolity. Nick wouldn’t like that. It’s not a party, it’s not a convention, it’s a farewell. And it will be streamed online, so if you can’t make it, it’s not like you’re missing out. We actually considered that at the very beginning, holding it in a very small venue, and letting other people be part of it from the comfort of their own homes. Thinking back now, he might have preferred that, because then we’re letting it be available passively, instead of expecting a large crowd. But it’s too late now, and I don’t want to dwell on the past. This is what we’re doing, and it’s going to go great. I’ll see some of you Friday. Until then (and even afterwards), stay safe out there with all the snow and ice. Trust me, I know how dangerous it can be.

Microstory 2297: Found a Happy Medium

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Yesterday, I announced that the Kansas City Metro’s response to Nick and Dutch’s passing would be a sort of forum where people could come up on stage, and say whatever they were feeling. I didn’t get into the details before, but everyone who asked to do this was going to have to submit an application at least the day prior, explaining what they were going to say. Then, while each speaker was up at the mic, the next one would be experiencing a screening process to make sure that they weren’t planning on doing something inappropriate, like a striptease, or a racist rant. Of course, they could always lie and switch it up once they got their turn, but we believed that we could have made it work. Sadly, most people online did not take to this idea. They thought it was stupid, dangerous, or just totally irrelevant. We hear you, and we see you, so we’ve changed our plans. We’re not going to be doing that, but we’re not going to be doing nothing either. We’ve found a happy medium. The two of them touched many people’s lives while they were on Earth, and their positive impact could be felt everywhere. We are in the process of contacting everyone that they knew while they were here. It is only they who will be speaking at the event. I appreciate all of you speaking out for your truth, and clearing a path for a better concept than we originally had. This has not set our schedule back. We will still be holding the event on Saturday, the 20th. We’re not yet sure where it’s going to be, though. A sports stadium would have a lot of room, but both of them hated sports, so we are sure that we want to do that. Y’all are good at giving advice. Where do you think we should hold it?

Microstory 2296: To Be a Gathering

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I had a meeting today with the Mayor of Kansas City. She regrets that we’re doing the memorial service in Chicago, but she understands, especially since our two cities have such a great relationship with each other. Still, she would like to do something in honor of Nick, and I think that would be fine. We had a lot of trouble figuring out what that might be. He didn’t like parades, and a vigil seems too depressing. We spent most of the day discussing it, taking breaks here and there so she could manage other needs of the city. In the end, we decided that it’s just going to be a gathering where people can come up to the microphone on stage, and talk about whatever they want. It doesn’t even have to have anything to do with the deceased, if they have something else to say. It’s unconventional, and a little strange, and I think Nick would have liked it. Dutch would have, that’s for sure. That guy danced to the beat of his own drum. Don’t worry, we’re going to be screening people throughout, to make sure they’re not offensive or otherwise problematic. It’s going to be a lot to coordinate, but we think that we can be ready by Saturday of next week. There’s a reason we chose that date. This is kind of going to be a Kansas City thing, so if you’re coming from elsewhere, and have made travel arrangements to Chicago, we don’t want it to be too easy to add an extra thing. You are welcome to come, if you want, but it’s mostly just for us. Thanks for your understanding.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 25, 2477

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Mateo couldn’t move as he was staring up at this young woman who was standing over him, claiming to be his daughter. She looked like a cross between himself and someone in the Nieman family, but he couldn’t run a DNA test just with his eyes. This could be anyone pretending to be a relative for some personal agenda. A cabal may have cast her for the role specifically because she resembled what Romana was expected to grow up to look like. Trust, but verify was the first thing running through his head.

She seemed to be figuring what he was thinking. “You don’t have to believe me. We’ll know soon enough, but first, warm up by the fire. I would like to spend some time alone with my father before we involve the rest of the team.”

Mateo stood up, walked a couple meters away, and sat back down on the rocks to let the heat begin to dry his clothes. He watched the waves splash against the shore, always just out of reach, even with the wind. He wanted to stand yet again, and take her into a big hug, but assuming she was telling the truth, she still didn’t know this man. He was a famous person to her, but more of an idea than a real person. Her impressions would have been built from anecdotes and rumors. Like all his other children, he never got the chance to raise her. Who would he father but fail next?

“You’re not a failure,” Romana assured him.

“Can you turn it off, the mind-reading?”

“Yes, I just...couldn’t help myself. I’ve been waiting for this day for a very long time.” She shakes her head. “So long.”

“Why wait? Were you stuck in a time bubble, or the past?”

“I was in the past,” she began to explain, “but I wasn’t stuck. We went there on purpose. Well, I didn’t have any say; I was only a baby. That’s just where I grew up.”

“Karla left us a message on the mirror,” Mateo said. “She told us to not contact her; to maintain radio silence until things were safe. We respected that. We didn’t even talk about it amongst ourselves. I don’t think I ever mentioned it to Marie.”

“It’s because we were unreachable,” Romana clarified. “Those mirrors couldn’t bridge two points in time, only space.”

“I’ve been at this for several years. If I hadn’t gotten stuck in those time bubbles, and fallen out of my pattern occasionally, it would not have even been two years. If you’ve grown up like this, just as Dubra did, you’ve been doing it for longer than me.”

“Thousands of real years,” Romana confirmed. I was there, in the cemetery. I saw your first jump. I even saw you come back a year later.”

“Wouldn’t we have jumped at the same time?” Mateo asked.

“I can adjust the departure time by a few minutes, like if I’m in the middle of a conversation, or if I’m ready to leave early.”

“How were you there at any rate? It was the wrong timeline.”

“I’ve mostly been living in the Third Rail, which allowed me to enter any timeline I wanted whenever I went back to the main sequence.”

“How is that possible? The Third Rail suppressed powers and patterns.”

“Not for me. I’m a lot like you, but not completely. My temporal metabolism is slightly different. Half of my genes are from the Niemans, and I was carried by many mothers. We call it a mutation.”

“Where’s your real mother, Karla?”

“I’m not ready to talk about her yet. I can tell you about my grandmother, though, Tyra. You met her when she was old. In a different cemetery?”

Mateo thought back to what she might have been talking about. If it was in the Third Rail, then she must be referring to the time when Mateo needed to get away from the group, and decided to take a drive back towards that reality’s version of Topeka. “She said her name was Tallulah, but it always seemed like a lie.”

Romana smiled. “Yeah, she didn’t want to mess with your future. She was visiting her husband, and had no clue that you would show up. Both of them took the serum to be on my pattern. Then they both died, and I left the reality to...visit my past; see where I came from. I’ve watched you a lot, from the shadows, across multiple timelines.”

“I’m not proud of everything I’ve done.”

“Neither am I,” she replied.

They were silent for a few moments, both watching the wrathful ocean crash into the distant cliffs. “I would love to know your intentions,” he finally mustered the courage to say. “Are you staying, or is this just...a gift that you’re about to take away so you can live your own life?”

“I thought about coming to you sooner, like right after you met Baby!Me. But there are people who don’t need to know what happened during my first year on Dardius. I decided to end up here a bit early, so I could make a home for us all. Here’s a hint, it’s not under Castledome. It’s much prettier, and it’s not on the map. I was hoping that...that you could—I know you’ve missed so much, and maybe you just wanna...”

“I don’t wanna let you go. We’ve never really had a home, especially not me after I accidentally erased myself from history. I just keep running around the multiverse. I did wonder if this could be a place where we could put down roots when I first saw these domes. I didn’t know what was going on, or who was in charge, but it felt like we belonged here. Now that we have the slingdrive, we can commute anywhere we want, but return home at the end of the day. I don’t know that I want you going out there, even though I’m sure you’ve seen some stuff already, but...”

She placed a hand on his. “We can make up for lost time. We don’t have to make any decisions right away. I don’t need to join the team if you don’t want me to. I just want a family. I haven’t been alone my whole life, but it’s been lonely in recent days.”

“I’m sorry, I left. I don’t know what they told you—”

“I don’t blame you for that. I know that you had to protect me...from yourselves. That was the bravest choice I’ve ever heard of anyone making. I don’t know that I could have done it. I waited this long because I wanted you to be able to take me seriously. I would have waited longer, until I was an actual adult, but paradoxically, I also want you to still see me as a child. Does that make sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” he promised. He spread his arms open, letting the blanket fall down behind him as he pulled her into a bear hug. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I thought we would have more time. I thought the threats would have disappeared in a few hundred years, and you would still be a wee baby girl.”

“It’s okay. It’s no one’s fault,” she said as she was gently separating herself. “Except for Oaksent. He started to look for me. He dismantled the LIR Towers piece by piece during our interim year so my mother, Auntie Constance, and I wouldn’t have a safe place to land.”

Mateo stopped himself from getting too worked up about that. “What of Silenus?”

“Silenus made the same sacrifice that you did. He drew them away.”

Mateo nodded reverently, but didn’t press the issue. He instead changed the subject. “Well, could I see this dome that you apparently built for us?”

“It’s not quite ready yet,” she answered, equal parts embarrassed and excited. “The automators are still putting on the finishing touches. I was going to wait a year to introduce myself, but then you teleported to the North Pole Ocean, and I felt like I needed to help. You could have called for anyone, but they’re busy, and...”

“I appreciate it,” he said. “I’m glad for this extra time.”

“Matt, where are you?” Leona asked through comms.

“I’m alone for the day. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he responded to her.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I’m in Ancient Rome,” he lied. “All these white pillars and shit.”

Leona took a beat. “Fair enough.”

Romana smiled, then placed her hand on his shoulder. They were suddenly sitting on a stone staircase. All around them looked like Ancient Rome, with all these white pillars and shit. “Now you’re not lying.”

“You can teleport? Is that innate, or was your substrate upgraded?”

Her smile grew twice as big. “I didn’t teleport. I just made you do it.”

“So you’re a metachooser.”

“No. I’m just Romana.” She stood up, and stole his hand from him before running down the steps. “Come on!”

They ran down to the street, and between the buildings. They winded through the alleyways, Mateo having no clue where they were going, until he saw it. It was a replica of the Colosseum, just like the one Saga and Vearden were forced to build on Tribulation Island. Romana led him through the entrance, and onto the main grounds. “Maybe you could do it here. For the symmetry.”

“Do what here?” he asked.

“Get remarried?”

“To who?” He was offended.

“To Leona, silly. You were forced to do it last time. You should do it again, but for yourselves.”

“If we ever renew our vows,” Mateo began, “this is the last place we would do it.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

She teleported them away, or rather she made him do it. They were now standing on Ayers Rock, or this world’s version of it, anyway. Could every geographical and cultural location on Earth be found here somewhere? “What about here?” she offered.

“Do you know my personal history with this place?”

“Good point again,” Romana said. She took him to several other domes, each one either designed to resemble an important spot from Mateo’s past, or which incidentally reminded him of somewhere important. They settled on a desert, which boasted the most magical of starry holograms above. They slept out under the stars that night, and jumped forward together come midnight central. Only then was she ready to meet the rest of the group.

“Who’s this?” Leona asked upon seeing her.

Mateo could not read his wife’s mind, but he did feel a hint of jealousy from her, and it triggered painful flashbacks to his history with Cassidy Long. He met her in much a similar way, alone and on a world that everyone believed to be otherwise uninhabited, yet ready for a population. He needed to clarify the truth right away. “Gang, please allow me to introduce you to my daughter, Romana Nieman.”

Leona’s eyes lit up at the revelation. “Oh. Oh, dear.” She reached over and wrapped her arms around Romana’s shoulders. “I am so happy to meet you.”

“They grow up so fast,” Ramses joked.

The rest of the team began to exchange hugs with her as well, and welcome her to the party. She caught them up on her life between being a baby on Dardius, and her arrival to Castledome, but she left out some of the less fun developments, such as the deaths and sacrifices. Mateo still didn’t know everything himself, but now they had time to get to know each other. Once the pleasantries were dying down, Ramses clapped his hands together. “Well, I was going to announce that we were ready to establish our spatio-temporal tethers, but the machine will need to be recalibrated for the additional member. I wouldn’t exactly call this a one time thing, but if someone new needs to be added later, we would have to sever the original links, and start all over again. Which is fine, so if, Romana, you’re not quite ready to commit...”

“I’m ready. What does it entail, though? Can we never be apart from each other?”

“No, we can,” Ramses clarified. “Here are the properties. We will always know two things about each other. We will always be aware of where we are at this very moment, and we will know where we are according to our shared time gaps. To put it another way, if one of us uses the slingdrive to travel to the Andromeda Galaxy, we’ll all be aware that they’re there right now. If someone instead jumps back to the year 1845, we’ll sense them there based on how long it’s been for us, and for them. So if they stay in 1845 for three days, and then travel to, say, 2024, we’ll know that, but it will take us three of our own days to find out, even though both are in the past anyway. Make sense?”

They all nodded.

“Will we be able to reunite with each other in such a case?” Olimpia pressed.

“Possibly,” Ramses admitted. “The tether keeps us in lock-step, but it’s not powerful enough on its own to allow cross-travel. We would need some other way. We would need a second slingdrive, or a sufficiently powerful traveler. But would still be the navigators.”

“Got it,” Angela decided. “Anything else we should know?”

He waited an uncomfortably long time to respond. “There’s a chance that something will be screwy when the machine is activated. I’m confident that it will work, but in order to power the Livewire in the first place, I had to tap into our quintessence reserves. There’s a chance that we’ll be scattered to the winds, and our first mission will involve finding each other again. Someone will have to use the Ambassador to do that, and I might not be the one closest to it.”

“Why would anyone necessarily be close to it,” Marie questioned. “What if we all end up distant from it?”

“The ship is part of the link,” Ramses said. “At least one of us will experience a strong tether to it.” He presented some e-paper. “You’ll all need a copy of the operator’s manual. It’s obviously mostly automated, but you’ll still need to handle some things.”

They continued to discuss the dangers associated with the Livewire tether, but ultimately decided that it was worth the risk to never be truly parted from each other ever again. Ramses activated the linking machine. Nearly everyone managed to stay right on this ship; all except Romana. And for some reason, they couldn’t sense her.

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Extremus: Year 93

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In New Migration Theory, there is a concept of a “true native”, which is academically known as the rooted generation in order to avoid charged sociopolitical connotations. A true native would be anyone who identifies as such, and can reasonably consider themselves that way. Trying to establish a particular definition would undoubtedly offend people. The rooted generation, however, refers to very specific people born to a given area. The Void Migration Ship Extremus is about to experience it, and the keystone for this species really just depends on who happens to be born first.

When the original passengers of Extremus first boarded the ship, they were leaving their home behind. They knew that they would never see the destination planet, but they didn’t do it for them. They did it for the descendants. Even now, after all this time, not a single person on board is expected to be alive to see the mission realized. It will be up to those who have not yet been born. Until then, the rooted generation will be in reference to a native of the generational ship itself. Again, they don’t for sure know who that is yet, but they know what the trigger was. Naruhito Arethusa was three years old on Launch Day, making him one of the youngest babies to board. He wasn’t the absolute youngest, but lifespans aren’t all the same, so others have died already, making him the last man standing. While he had no intact memories of Gatewood, he technically lived there. He was a Gatewooder. He was 96, and is survived by his children, grandchild, and great grandchildren.

Naruhito being the last Gatewooder is an important milestone in Extremus history. Everyone alive today was born on the ship. He was too young to be able to decide for himself whether he wanted to board the ship or not, but he still had influence on the decision, if only subconsciously for his family. No one else here even had the hope of altering this decision. It had already happened. The first member of the rooted generation is one who will have a temporal gap between them and Gatewood. Of course, knowledge and stories have been passed down the years, so it’s not like this big mystery, but they will never meet a Gatewooder. Everyone who sees this future person will be an Extremusian who never saw Gatewood themselves. The distinction between this baby, and everyone else who was born here, is not meant to cause some kind of generational divide. It’s not there to cause anyone to other anyone else. It is just, again, a milestone. Whichever baby is born first will become the first member of the rooted generation, and its inherent value is enough to warrant some form of celebration. This achievement was never inevitable. A million things could have happened in the last 93 years to prevent its success. Yet through it all, Extremus and its passengers have persevered. The rooted generation is a testament to that. The job isn’t over yet, but this is still an accomplishment. Or it will be anyway, once the baby is born.

The problem that Tinaya is facing today is one which no one thought would happen. It didn’t occur to them that this issue should arise, and cause conflict between otherwise perfectly normal and well-adjusted families. “This is highly irregular, Dr. Cernak.” After Dr. Ima Holmes died, Captain Soto Tamm appointed a new Chief Medical Officer, though Tinaya can’t remember her name at the moment. Whoever it was, they coincidentally retired at around the same time that the captain’s seat was changing butts. One of the last things that Lataran did was appoint Radomil Cernak to the position. “Why are you treating a passenger, and why have you brought me here?”

“I’ll let her explain,” Dr. Cernak replies.

A very pregnant woman is sitting sort of between them in a wheelchair. Her doula is holding onto the handles, and showing no signs that she’s going to say anything herself. “My name is Veta Vivas, and my child’s name will be...” She pauses to create a sense of anticipation. No one is feeling it; they’re more annoyed. “Root. Root Vivas.”

“Congratulations,” Tinaya says politely, not understanding why she should care. If this were an emergency, the tone of the room, and the behavior of the medical staff, would be quite different. “When are you due?”

“Unfortunately, a week from now,” Veta answers. “The Wiegand baby is due in three days.” Back in the olden days, a baby’s due date was only ever the best guestimation. Few babies actually came into the world on time. Some were early, some were late. These days, with advances in medical science, the date is generally spot on, even if it has to be adjusted slightly during the gestational period as development presents a clearer pattern. This late in the process, however, doctors are never wrong.

But Tinaya. She still doesn’t know what this has to do with her.

“I have put in a request to induce labor,” Veta goes on. I want Root to be born now, or his name will just sound stupid.”

“You’re rejecting it?” Tinaya asks Dr. Cernak, not accusatorily.

“I wasn’t the first,” Dr. Cernak explains. “Like you said, she’s not my patient. She...escalated the issue when she didn’t receive the answer she was hoping for.”

Tinaya nods, and looks back at Veta. “You want your child to be the first in the rooted generation.”

“He deserves it. We deserve it.”

“You realize that inducing labor in order to give one particular family this privilege is not only unfair to other parents, but goes against the spirit of the milestone. We don’t get to decide who turns out to be the first to take root. That is time’s job.”

“So you’re rejecting us as well,” Veta figures.

“I’m not rejecting anything,” Tinaya argues. “This is a medical concern. I’m the captain. I don’t understand why you’re bugging me with this.” She’s still looking squarely at Veta. She doesn’t blame Dr. Cernak for seeking help with the problem. She can tell by everyone’s respective demeanor that this is not the beginning of the conversation, but the middle of a long one. Tinaya has so far gone down in history as the least polite captain. Even Tamm was charming and beloved by many until the scandal blackened the lines of his story. Tinaya is the oldest to hold command, and she doesn’t take any shit. People know this about her, and they respect her for it. She’s not losing any popularity contests because of it either. The captain has to be firm, even if that means some people don’t get their way.

“This is Root’s birthright, literally,” Veta insists. “We were trying to conceive for months before we sought medical assistance.

Tinaya is flabbergasted by this response. “First off, if you had successfully conceived earlier, then you would be having a different child, rather than the one you’re having now. Secondly, and more importantly, Naruhito Arethusa died yesterday. This other hypothetical child would not have had any hope of being the first in the rooted generation as they would have been born months ago.”

“We don’t see it that way,” Veta says matter-of-factly. “My husband and I were really close to conceiving 280 days ago today.”

Tinaya sighs. “Dr. Cernak, I’m asking you one last time, are you rejecting Mrs. Vivas’ petition for the inducement of labor?”

“I am rejecting the petition,” Dr. Cernak confirms.

Tinaya studies Veta’s eyes. “Please place Mrs. Vivas on safety watch for the remainder of her pregnancy, and clear your schedule to perform the delivery procedure yourself once the time comes.”

Veta is fuming. “What the hell! You can’t do that! I’m not suicidal!”

“Safety watch is not about suicide alone,” Tinaya begins. “It’s about the risk that you pose to yourself, and-or to others. “You have exhausted all of your legal options for the inducement of labor, and I can tell that you are willing to explore alternative methods, which would not be safe for you, nor your baby. If you don’t already know what they are,” Tinaya says before looking up at the doula, “she surely does. You will stay in quarantine until you have the baby. Should something happen to delay the Wiegand baby’s birth, you may get your wish, but we will not be assisting in this regard. My word is final.” She turns around to leave, suddenly realizing her grave error.

“You can’t do this!” Veta screams. “Root is the root! Root is the root!” She sounds like she’s thrashing about. The security guard posted in the infirmary runs over to help.

Tinaya teleports to the passenger hospital, and approaches the reception desk. “I need to look up a patient. I don’t need any medical data on her, just the name of her obstetrician.” She submits the name, then proceeds to Dr. Causey’s office.

“Captain, this is quite the surprise, and an honor. If you are looking for discreet treatment, I promise you that I can offer it, no questions asked.”

Tinaya has never heard of a member of the executive crew seeking medical attention from someone who enjoys a distance from scrutiny, but perhaps it’s happened. If it’s true, it’s none of Tinaya’s business. “That’s very kind of you, but it won’t be necessary. I need you to place a patient of yours on safety watch. A...rival of hers is determined to predate her date of delivery.”

Dr. Causey nods. “Veta Vivas; I am aware. Lena has already expressed her concerns to me regarding this one-sided conflict. You believe she is in danger?”

“I made the mistake of telling Mrs. Vivas that her child may end up winning if something happens to Mrs. Wiegand. I meant it innocuously, but immediately grew concerned that she might encourage someone to force a delay...or worse.”

Dr. Causey nods again. “That is a scary thought, however, my patient is willing to trade delivery dates to avoid any social unrest. She has no strong feelings about her child becoming the first rooted descendant, and recognizes that it’s evidently quite important to this Veta Vivas.”

“That will not be happening,” Tinaya contends. “Perhaps if you had made this arrangement sooner, it might have worked, but now it’s too late. I cannot allow you to reward Mrs. Vivas’ inappropriate behavior. I’ve already placed her on safety watch. If I backpedal now—”

“I understand,” Dr. Causey interrupts. “We should have dealt with this internally. There was no need to bring the Captain into this. I apologize for the inconvenience, I’m sure you have more important things to attend to.”

“So you’ll place Mrs. Wiegand on safety watch?”

“Might as well,” Dr. Causey agrees. “We’ll take good care of her, and protect her from any interference. She won’t complain; she’s very laid back.”

“Thank you.” Tinaya taps on her watch. “I’ve placed you on my priority access list, so if you need to contact me, you’ll be able to circumvent the communication filters that shield me from every rando who wants to talk to the captain.”

“Great. I’ll be sure to call you every hour, on the hour, to ask you your favorite colors and foods.”

Tinaya chuckles. “Good day.” She disappears.

When Tinaya returns to the executive infirmary, Dr. Cernak is locking the door to the safety watch room. Tinaya watches through the window as doula is helping Veta into the bed.”

“She staying in there with her?”

“She’s a tethered doula,” Dr. Cernak begins to explain. “She literally can’t leave her client’s side. Time will teleport her right back if she tries to walk away.”

“She consented to that?” Tinaya questions.

“It’s her whole job. She takes a new one every year. I believe she only gives herself a week or so off, depending on who commissions her next, and when they need her.” They stand in silence for a moment, watching to make sure the mother is okay. “We’re getting her her own bed to put in the corner.”

“I’m sorry you had to do this,” Tinaya says to him.

“Me too, but this is what these rooms are for, even if this is the first time anything quite like this has happened. I would rather be safe than sorry. Though...you do realize that the other mother—”

“I just spoke with her doctor. She’ll have to go into safety watch too, in case the father gets any crazy ideas put in his head, or someone else close to Mrs. Vivas.”

They’re silent again before having to flatten themselves against the wall to make way for the trundle bed. “I kind of like the name Root,” He decides. “If this hadn’t become a whole thing, I might suggest it for the actually rooted child.”

“Yeah, maybe. Listen, I gotta go pick up my own kid, but call me if you need me. Maybe consult with Dr. Causey about the situation too. After both children are born, they’ll probably all need some counseling. I, for one, would like to see them become friends one day. There’s no need for all this hostility. This is no one’s fault.”

“Will do, Captain. Thanks for comin’ by.”

Tinaya jumps back to her stateroom, and plops herself on the couch.

“Can you talk about it?” Arqut asks respectfully from the perpendicular loveseat.

Tinaya stares forward into space. “I’m gettin’ too old for this shit.”

“You’re just as beautiful today as the day I first saw you at graduation.”

She furrows her brow, and cocks her head towards him. “You were at my graduation? Why didn’t you ever tell me that?”

“You were only a little baby at the time, I’m a few years older. Seems creepy, looking back.”

She scoffs. “You couldn’t have known that we would end up together. Besides, because of my time travel, I’m actually older than you.”

“Well, I’m telling you now.”

Tinaya kisses the air in his general direction as he does the same towards her. “I better go get Silvy from school,” she determines.

“I’ll take care of it. I didn’t do anything today.”

“Thanks.”

 Tinaya’s watch beeps with a text message from Dr. Causey. That whole every hour, on the hour thing was a joke, right? It reads, I just received word. The rooted child has been born. A different OB agreed to induce labor for the Hearn family.

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