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

« < » > Entire Story

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

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.

« < » > Entire Story

Microstory 2360: Vacuus, July 30, 2179

< > Table of Contents

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

Dear Condor,

Lol, I appreciate your offer to commit physical violence against my aggressor, but I should warn you that a lot has changed since I sent my last letter. Bray and I have gotten to know each other better, and we have found something between us. I know, it’s really weird. He’s about 18 years younger than us, but we can’t help how we feel. I honestly never planned on spending the rest of my life with anyone else. I never really connected with any of my peers. The gene pool is just so small. The truth is that the gap between us isn’t even the widest on the base. I don’t know how that sort of thing is received on Earth, but the stigma for us is long gone. In order to maintain our population, we’ve had to sort of ignore the social conventions of the past. I’m sure you think that it’s still a little weird, but I don’t want to just disregard our developing feelings. Maybe I shouldn’t be talking to you about any of this. You’re my brother, which makes it awkward, but we also don’t know each other very well yet, so that makes it awkward in a different way. I’ll spare you the details no matter what, but please let me know if you would rather not hear about it at all. I wouldn’t want to say anything that makes you uncomfortable. This is all I’ll say until I get your answer in that regard. Right now, nothing has happened between him and me, and it might fizzle out soon anyway. As I said, I’ve always seen myself more as a loner. Okay, I promise that that’s the last I’ll say. Thanks and sorry. On the other hand, we could discuss our love lives openly, that wouldn’t bother me. I know that you’re life has been defined by go, go, go, but have you ever gotten to know anyone special? Have you been looking for companionship since you settled down in the ocean platform? Again, you don’t have to say anything, this is just a topic that we’ve not touched on before, and I want us to feel comfortable being honest, if that’s even possible at this juncture, and through the detached medium of interplanetary correspondence. Sorry again! That’s it! I really won’t say anything more. To prove it to you, let me shift gears. You were talking about the people who did this to us; specifically who they might be, and what they might have been doing for the last 37 years. I’ve personally given up on trying to find those answers. I’m still mad about it, but all I think we can do is move on, and play with the cards that we’ve been dealt. We can’t go back in time, and choose a single planet together. If you want more information—if it’s eating at you—I will support you, and do whatever I can on my end, so don’t hesitate to be honest about it. I really mean that. There are still some stones on Vacuus that I can turn over if we agree that that’s what’s best. I love you, Condor. I want us both to be happy, and to experience whatever closure we’re looking for.

Not yet in love,

Corinthia

Microstory 2359: Earth, July 23, 2179

< > Table of Contents

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

Dear Corinthia,

Thank you for reminding me about the whole study aspect of our separation. I did ask dad about this, and didn’t let him leave the room until he explained everything. At least that’s what I said when the conversation began; he never actually tried to escape. He doesn’t know what happened after you and your mother left. They deliberately withheld information from him. The way we’ve understood it thus far, it seemed like this twisted, nefarious conspiracy with a cabal of evildoers who don’t care about ethics. Dad painted it in a new light, even though I’m not sure he realized it. In reality, it kind of sounds more like an amateur job. They weren’t very well-organized, and they didn’t have much of a plan beyond separate twins, study behavior. Imagine that in a caveman voice, because the more he talked about his limited involvement, the dumber the researchers sounded. After the atmosphere started to become toxic, the only constant in my life was him. No one else was around for any meaningful length of time. There was no one studying me, up close, or from a distance. They couldn’t have. Society was breaking down, and had yet to rebuild itself in a new way. Whoever was assigned to keep tabs on me would have either lost me, or given up. Or, I suppose they could have died. Not everyone made it through that dark period in our history. Dad says he doesn’t have names, and I believe him on that part. I mean, you can look through your own databases on Vacuus, but I can’t find a single study that has anything to do with observing twins across two planets. I think you said it early on, we’re not identical, and we’re two different genders, so right there, the study was already bizarre. There are too many relevant variables to account for, so unless it’s part of a larger case study, you’re not going to gain any significant insights into how twins develop in terms of nature versus nurture. My guess is that they realized as much before too long, and eventually just gave up, leaving us to live our lives however we were going to. I don’t think we’ll ever really know who was responsible for this, or what they were thinking. Some information has been lost on my world, but I do have access to quite a bit of it. A small group of brave people during the toxic buildup dedicated their lives to preserving humanity’s knowledge. Some regions have information that others don’t, but only due to oversights and lapses, not a concerted effort to hide the truth from us. At least not when it comes to this stuff. The people who poisoned the air in the first place? Sure, they hid as much as they could from the people they were hurting, and still do, but they really would not care what happened to the two of us specifically. On the lighter side, I’m glad that you’ve worked things out with this Bray fellow. Let me know if he gives you any more trouble, though, and I’ll beat him up for you.

Enjoying my private life,

Condor

Microstory 2358: Vacuus, July 16, 2179

< > Table of Contents

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

Dear Condor,

There was a short delay in my response to you because I read your letter, and decided that I wanted to implement your suggestion regarding my new noisy neighbor, then wait to see if it worked. It seems to have, at least for now. I kind of maybe got the feeling that I will eventually have to reset my connection to him after he forgets. I’m not saying that he’s dumb, but I noticed he would regularly lose his train of thought, and forget key aspects of the stories that he was telling. I came to find out that researchers here are aware of his issues. They’re still not certain if he would have developed this way had he been born on Earth, or if there’s something specific to this environment that led to his neurological shortcomings. Right now, they’re leaning towards the latter. All children are different, but others have shown similar signs of developmental problems that need to be addressed. At the moment, there are still some variables that they have to account for, so they can’t arrive at any conclusion on the cause. This is a relatively small population. There must have been something about the progenitors’ own psychology that made them want to come here at all, and they all had to pass certain tests to qualify. These factors, along with others, limit the gene pool, making it more difficult to test hypotheses when it comes to determining the effects that this world might have on humans as a rule. I have to say, I’m surprised I didn’t know anything about any of this before. I guess they’re trying to keep it hush-hush. It is funny, though, they might be missing out on valuable data by keeping the rest of us in the dark. I belong to a subset of the population: children who had no choice but to travel to this world; born on Earth, grown up on the ship, and working on the base. The criteria for our selection was different than it was for the adults, of course. Studying us may tell them something that they’re not seeing now. I’m not gonna let them know about this, because I’m already a test subject, and I don’t need to add to that pressure. I still can’t find anyone who will tell me what exactly they’ve learned from the whole twins separated at birth study. I don’t know which team might be responsible for that, and I can’t get the top brass to even admit that it’s a thing. In a way, my situation is not dissimilar to Bray’s. We’re both being studied against our will. I think that’s what really endeared him to me, and honestly, this street seems to go both ways. He has had a much harder life than I realized, and I think that he also sometimes wishes that he were on Earth. I’m not saying it was okay that he was playing music while I was trying to sleep, but I kind of understand this behavior better now. They weren’t watching him in secret. They were really in his face about it, and they probably just made everything worse. I do not envy him, and it really puts our situation into perspective, don’t you think?

Sleeping in the quiet once more,

Corinthia

Microstory 2357: Earth, July 7, 2179

< > Table of Contents

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

Dear Corinthia,

You should have received my custom read receipt that confirmed the plan for The Winfield Files, but in case you didn’t, we’re a go. They’re not the longest books in the world, but they’re not super short either. Still, I think we could each get the next one done within a couple weeks. I agree that our thoughts should be in the form of attachments. Yeah, we might have to wait for each other’s responses before moving on, so it may not be as neat as one installment per pair of letters, but I dunno. We’ll just have to wait and see how it goes. To answer your question, our relationship with the dome remains strong. Generally speaking, the immigrants aren’t having significant issues, though it’s a culture shock for many of them. In some ways, we’re different, but in others, we’re the same. It’s true that we’re mobile, but this thing is so large, and the engines are running so slowly, that you can’t really tell. The view is really the biggest difference. Still, they’ve designed it to simulate a normal dome as much as possible. We have dirt and sand and grass. Dad and I live in the platform section, instead of the dome proper, but all of the newcomers have been assigned housing outside, which I think they prefer, since it’s more like what they’re used to. Speaking of new friends, I have an idea about your neighbor. What your problem seems to be is that he doesn’t care how his actions affect others. You have to show him that you exist, and give him some reason to consider that in the future. Don’t complain about the noise, don’t yell at him. Endear yourself to him. First step is to ask him for help with something. How tall are you? If you have some artwork high up on the wall that needs to be adjusted, or a nut under your sink that needs to be tightened, ask him to do it. This especially works if he’s a man, because he wants to feel big and strong, but you can execute this trick with just about anyone. Just make sure it’s a simple task. People want to feel needed, not exploited. Once he’s done, thank him for taking the time, then invite him over for lunch, or a board game. Invite a couple other people if you feel uncomfortable being alone with him, but don’t make it a full-on party. You want him to see you as an individual, and to be reminded of his connection to you when he’s in the area, not the gathering over all. I don’t like the phrase kill them with kindness, but that’s what you’re doing here. This doesn’t work every time; some people are clueless, but my childhood bully stopped harassing me after I tried this. Give it a shot, and let me know how it goes.

Ready to start Book One,

Condor

Microstory 2356: Vacuus, June 30, 2179

< > Table of Contents

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

Dear Condor,

I read the description for The Winfield Files, both the book series and the show, and they look interesting to me. I’m glad that neither of us has read or watched them, so we can start this entertainment journey together. I’ve already bought them, and put them into my libraries. I’ve not started them yet, though, so we can confirm with each other first. As soon as you receive this letter, send your confirmation with your usual custom read receipt. I will not have had time to read the first book, of course, so you will be starting us off after you receive my next letter. We’ll start to coordinate each installment after that as necessary. Since it takes so terribly long for each message to cross the interplanetary void between us, I think it makes the most sense for us to read a whole book, or watch a whole season, in between letters. It will all still probably take quite a long time. One or both of us may not be able to reach the end within a week, but we can agree to hold off on continuing until we have the chance to connect about it. With 12 books and 12 seasons, it could take us quite a while to finish this whole project, but that doesn’t bother me. I think we should send our little reviews as attachments, so these letters can be about ourselves. I’m picturing this as something we do in addition to our regular correspondence, not as just a replacement for them. In that regard, how are things going with you guys and the Australia dome? Is everything still very diplomatic and peaceful? Are your new friends integrating nicely? Have they faced any issues or conflicts? I’ve run into a small conflict of my own. The first baby born on Vacuus—as opposed to Earth, or the ship—is now old enough to move out on his own, and he has been assigned to the unit right next to mine. It has historically been empty, because most of the residences are on the other side of the base. I live here, because I work here all day and all night. While there’s a lot of work going on around me during normal hours, it’s been relatively quiet, but my new neighbor does not feel the need to conform to this standard. He either doesn’t realize that I sleep where I work, or does not care. I don’t super want to talk to him about it, however, because he’s kind of a celebrity around here, and he knows it. We’ll see how it goes once the excitement from his newfound independence wears off.

Napping when I can,

Corinthia

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 7, 2489

« < » > Table of Contents

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

The Vellani Ambassador did not return to Castlebourne until the evening of July 6, 2488. Before the new crew could use it outside of training purposes, Ramses had to get into the slingdrive, and find out why the navigation system was still off. There was something he was missing, and he now believed he understood what it was. “It’s us.”

“Us?” Leona questioned.

“We’re a variable that’s not being accounted for. We may never be able to account for it. I think that our temporal energy is mixing with the quintessence, and interfering with its normal operation. Think about it, you jumped forward a year and a day to get to the Goldilocks Corridor, then another year and a day when you came back. It’s based on our pattern. It’s...including that in its calculations, for some reason.”

“You don’t think you can fix it?”

“I don’t know that we need to,” Ramses replied. “Is this our ship anymore?”

“That’s a good point,” Leona said. She looked around at the ol’ girl. She had served them well, but they had been training a replacement team for years now, even though Team Matic only came up with the idea days ago.

The year that the slingdrive was off-limits was not wasted. After three plus years of hard work, Mateo’s daughters were nearing the completion of their studies, and Prince Darko had already decided that they were fully ready for the field. During this past year, even though they weren’t allowed to jump into FTL, Mirage took the time to train the cadets in ship operations. They were delegated responsibilities, and no longer needed the aid of Ramses or Leona. It was time to make good on their mandate, and rescue as many people as they could from the tyranny of the Exin Empire.

“Okay,” Leona said with a sigh. “I’ll tell Mirage that she can upload herself.” Mirage was waiting to do this while Ramses worked, but his job here appeared to be over. Team Matic was once again aimless. They would have to find something new to do.

“Whoa, we still need you here,” Hrockas insisted an hour later at their daily briefing.

“One day at a time?” Ramses questioned.

“You get a lot done in that one day,” Hrockas reminded him.

It was true, Ramses had become exceedingly great at maximizing his presence in the timestream by setting up multiple projects for automation that would continue on while he was gone. Then, when he came back a year later, he would inspect them before moving on to the projects for the next interim year. The sky was positively littered with orbital defense platforms. One of the moons over Castlebourne was being converted into a sort of Death Star-like thing while the other moon continued to serve as a shipyard for a growing fleet. Some of the battleships and battledrones would stay here to defend the homeworld while others would be transdimensionally shrunk, and sent off to the Goldilocks Corridor to aid in the conflict against the Exin Empire. Ramses had done more for this world than anyone besides Hrockas himself, and the former had a hard time acknowledging that. He was too humble.

Azad and Costa were here too, having been fully read into the situation, in regards to time travel and whatnot. They had their own jobs here now. Azad was on defense, and Costa on offense. Hopefully, this star system would never be attacked, and the two of them would have nothing to do, but it was best to be prepared. “I still need to learn from you,” Azad told him. “This technology is way beyond anything we used a century ago, even ignoring the superpowers you all have.”

“Same goes for me,” Costa agreed.

“I always write manuals,” Ramses explained. “Or rather, I have them written by my AI. I don’t type them up myself, like an animal. The point is, you’ll be fine, wherever I end up.”

Hrockas offered Prince Darko a job, overseeing all internal security of the planet, but he had yet to accept it. He wasn’t sure whether there would be any more teaching opportunities, and if there were, he couldn’t do both. He was invited to the meeting anyway. “Let him rest if he wants to. People like us see time differently. Keep in mind, it’s only been a day for him since last year. He probably never gets breaks. Not even, like, an hour. Do you sleep anymore?” he asked Ramses.

“Occasionally,” Ramses answered.

“We have a number of relaxation domes for you to choose from,” Hrockas pitched. “Some of them are opaque with permanent nighttime holography, and we’re equipped with hibernation sedatives for the ultra-sleepbound.”

“I can control my own neurotransmitters and hormones,” Rames explained. “I could fall asleep right here, right now, in seconds.”

“Really?” Azad asked, intrigued. “Do it,” he goaded.

Ramses smiled, considering it. Then he leaned back a few centimeters, shut his eyes, and drifted away.

“Computer, is he asleep?” Hrockas asked.

“Affirmative.”

“That’s wild,” Azad said excitedly.

Leona looked over at her engineer. “To clarify his point, I believe that he is done. He has some...personal projects that he’s been putting off, and you should be able to operate without him at this point. He’s not designing any new ships or satellites. He’s just having them built. There are multiple people in this room qualified to carry on his legacy. That’s what this meeting is really about, actually.” She looked over at Team Kadiar. “Have you settled on a...hierarchy, for lack of a better term?”

Mirage stood up. “I’m the ship. I will become the Vellani Ambassador. While aboard, I serve as captain. Dubravka is my lieutenant, and while on an away mission, she will lead the team. Kivi is the primary negotiator while Romana handles team security. Lastly, Tertius controls everyone’s memories.”

“I’m also security,” Tertius adds. “I’m not a mindreader, per se, but I might be able to detect an infiltrator or mole in the population that we’re visiting. So I will alert the team to that, if it comes up.”

Mirage nodded in agreement. They had been discussing this for months.

“Sounds good to me,” Leona said. “I believe that I’m ready for handoff.”

Jesimula Utkin opened the door from the hallway, and strode right in. “What about me? Could I join you?”

“On the VA?” Mirage asked. “Doing what?”

“It sounds like you need a coordinator on the ground,” Jesi answered. “I’m quite capable of managing large batches of information. I used to hunt for cures all throughout time and space. Did you think I was just guessing?”

“You’ll need to go through proper training,” Dubra said to her. “Even Tertius went through basic.”

Jesi laughed. “I can handle myself in a fight.”

Darko stood up, and tried to look imposing. “Can you? Hit me.”

Most people in the room couldn’t quite tell what happened, but before too long, Darko was on the floor, and Jesi was on top of him, holding him in place. She leaned down, and kissed him on the forehead. “Tap out.”

He tapped twice against his leg. “Who taught you that?” he asked after she graciously let him get back to his feet.

Jesi smirked, and looked over at Leona. “I was trained by the Crucia Heavy of The Highest Order. She taught me everything she knew.”

Leona stood up quickly. “No shit?”

“No shit,” Jesi answered.

“Ever since we met?”

“And then some,” Jesi said.

Leona stared into Jesi’s eyes, perhaps looking for any hint of deception, or maybe even using some kind of psychic connection. “Mirage,” she began, “I am bound by my oath to recommend Jesimula Utkin for this assignment most ardently.

That seemed to be good enough for Mirage. “Very well.”

The meeting continued on for a little while. Hrockas offered Darko the head of security job again, but Mateo had the bright idea to suggest Kallias Bran, who had less experience with hand-to-hand combat, but more experience with police work. He would be better suited to the position, which shouldn’t involve any physical confrontation. That freed Prince Darko to found a training program. Who his students would be, and what their goals would be, were questions that they weren’t going to worry about asking quite yet.

Only after the meeting was over, and everyone else had left, did Mateo wake his friend up. “Did that help?”

Ramses quivered into his stretches, and looked around at the mostly empty room. “Yes, actually. That was a brilliant suggestion. Who was that again?”

“It was Azad who told you to sleep.”

“Remind me to thank him.” He yawned and stood up. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing you care about,” Mateo replied. “Leona said you have personal projects that you’ve delayed in service to others. I’m bored. What can you tell me about them?”

“Two major projects, which are related, but not inherently interdependent. Only one of them is ready. The other may never be. At any rate, they will be limited to the team. I mean it, I don’t even want Romana to have them. I believe that only the six of us are built to withstand the technological upgrades that I’m working on. I have a working prototype of the first one that I’ve been hoping to test, if you’re willing to be my guinea pig once more.”

“I’m in,” Mateo said sincerely.

Ramses offered his hand, then teleported them both to his lab. He looked around to make sure that no one was watching before approaching a wall. He started to make weird gestures in front of it, sometimes reaching out to caress or tap the surface, and stepping back a couple times to give it a strange look. Finally, the sound of a pocket door sliding open came from the perpendicular wall, but nothing changed visually. Still, Ramses pivoted, and walked straight through what was apparently only a hologram.

Mateo followed. They were in a new section of the lab. There wasn’t much here that was different from the main section, but some of the items looked more advanced, while others looked less complete. “We couldn’t have just teleported right inside?”

Ramses shut the door behind them. “Permanent teleporter suppressant. We couldn’t escape here either. It’s completely self-sufficient. All it shares with the main lab is that hidden door, and the regolith between the walls.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about it before? Does anyone else know?”

“Because you didn’t need to know before, and they still don’t.”

“I see.”

Ramses started to walk to the far end. “Take off your IMS; every layer of every module, and lie face down in your birthday suit.”

Mateo removed his suit, and walked over there buck naked. The table was mostly solid, but there were conspicuous and symmetrically placed openings throughout.

“Please read this,” Ramses asked.

A hologram appeared underneath the table’s face hole. It detailed what was going to be done to him in clear, unambiguous language. Even an idiot like him could understand it, and after finishing the brochure, he was now more interested than ever. “Can I see the needles?”

Ramses took a beat. “Probably shouldn’t.”

“Okay.”

“Do you consent?”

“I do.”

“And are you ready?”

“Absolutely.”

“You read the part where it says it’s gonna hurt?”

“Get on with it.”

“Brace yourself. Literally. Hold onto those handles.”

Mateo gripped the metal bars. The robot started swinging its various arms into position, which he could hear, but not see. One of them started lasering into his neck, and worked its way down his spine. Other incisions were made on his wrists, shoulders, ankles, the back of his knees, and even his mons pubis. The cuts hurt, but the implantation of the devices hurt even more. It was over surprisingly quickly, though the spinal implant took the longest. Another round of lasers sealed him back up, and it was all apparently over.

“How do you feel?”

“Ready to throw my IMS away,” Mateo said.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Only the procedure has been tested. You need to learn how to activate the nanites.”

“I think I have it figured out.” Mateo could still feel the implants underneath his skin. They were too deep to protrude and be noticed by others, but he was acutely aware of them. The one against his brain gave him neural access to the whole network. He could sense them tucked away dormant in their little gel matrices. These were not his first nanites. In one go, he released them. They spread all over his body until he was fully encapsulated in only a few seconds. It was like something out of a scifi movie. Then again, that described their whole lives these days. He was now basically wearing an Integrated Multipurpose suit, except that it was extremely thin, with only one layer needed, reportedly vastly stronger than his last suit, and on him at all times. One thing seemed to be missing, though. “I still need a PRU to breathe, drink, and eat.”

Ramses held up an injector. “Collapse the facial segment so I can inject you with the life support pocket dimension array. It goes in your mouth.”

« < » > Table of Contents

The Fourth Quadrant: Rocked to the Core (Part III)

« < » > Entire Story

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

It’s morning on this side of Castlebourne. While this planet does have an atmosphere, and there is technically a sky above them, it’s not all that pretty. It’s kind of hazy and depressing. Each geodesic dome comes with its own holographic projection on the inner shell to simulate whatever visual environment is desired. When not under the darkness of night, Dojodome is typically kept between dawn and sunrise, just because that’s what Darko happens to like, and this is his territory. There are tens of thousands of other domes here, which serve varying purposes, but the trainees have never left this one. They have never been allowed to so much as see anyone else who lives here. They are currently over a hundred years in the future from where they were living, so no one wants them to gain any insight into what’s to come. They don’t have any problem with this, as they have plenty of work to do here. They are expecting to receive details on their first mission soon, but Darko hasn’t been provided with a specific date. He hasn’t really been teaching them since the Sunshine Sticker Ceremony a few days ago. They have shed their bags of rocks, and have just been practicing their skills as they see fit. At the moment, the four of them are doing some tai chi together to greet the day.

They all stop and stand up straight when a magnolia tree appears on the other side of the room, and fades in and out of view before disappearing for good, leaving them with four strangers. “Greetings,” one of them begins, stepping forward. “My name is Goswin Montagne. I am here to acquaint you with the rest of your team, and give you your first assignment.”

“Where’s the tree?” Andrei questions. “Where’s Princess Honeypea?”

“She doesn’t appreciate what we’re doing here,” one of the other guys says. “She’s a lover, not a fighter. That’s why I love her.”

Goswin isn’t happy with his friend’s flourishes. “This is Briar de Vries. He is here to represent the interests of the Garden Dimension, and will only be serving in this capacity. He does not have authority over you.” He points to the other guy. “This is Atticus Morel, a.k.a. Gatekeeper. He is your leader, and does have authority over you. He has some experience dealing with powerful tyrants like the one we believe you are up against. Lastly, we have Catania Porter. She can take you anywhere you need to go, and get you anything you need. She’s not a fighter, don’t ask her to be.”

Catania doesn’t say anything. A handheld device beeps from her pocket, so she takes it out, and starts fiddling with it.

Goswin sees her do this. “She’s not ignoring you, she’s just really busy. She’s basically a real life Santa Claus, if you’ve ever heard of him, so she’ll be occupying herself with the needs of other clients during her downtime.”

Darko walks over, and stands right in front of Catania. She ignores him.

“Please leave her alone,” Goswin requests.

“You first,” Darko spits back. He reaches up, and places a hand over Catania’s device. He gently pushes it down, and turtles his head into his own shoulders, trying to make eye contact with her. “You’re not gonna say anything?”

Catania sighs. “Hello, son.”

“How long has it been for you?”

“Three years.”

“About the same for me,” Darko agrees.

“This is your mother?” Goswin asks, shocked. He looks into the aether. “Magnolia, what the hell did you do?”

“It’s fine,” Darko says. “She goes where she’s needed, and...she’s needed here. But I’m not.” He takes a sad breath, and heads for the entrance to the other room. “Enjoy your mission. Thank you for being my students.”

“Thank you, teacher,” Selma, Andrei, and Ayata say in perfect sync.

He turns back around and slides the door closed with a slight bow.

Catania is studying the floor awkwardly before going back to what she was doing on her device.

“I’m sorry about that,” Goswin goes on. “I’ll speak with him after the briefing. Is there somewhere we can do that?”

“We can hold it in the chashitsu; or tea room,” Selma suggests. “Ayata, could you lead them there? I’ll make the tea.”

Most chashitsu are fairly small, only fit for a few people sitting on the floor. This being a giant complex filled with all sorts of Japanese architecture, some modifications have been made in certain places. The chashitsu that comes off the main dojo is large enough for a dozen people in chairs. There are larger places for larger gatherings, but they’re farther away, and shouldn’t be necessary for this purpose. Ayata seats everyone around the table, then goes over to help distribute the tea. Goswin lays out the plans for a mission in Fort Underhill. If The First Explorer is truly a threat to the entire universe, they need to understand the vulnerabilities in the interdimensional barriers. Team Gatekeeper, as Goswin is calling it, will be responsible for security while these inspections are going on. It may be nothing. They may have nothing to do but stand around and look menacing. But it also may be everything.

Goswin has holographic maps and diagrams to give them an idea of where they’ll be working. Something catches Selma’s eye. “What’s this?”

“That’s the barrier that separates Fort Underhill Proper from the Sixth Key,” he replies. Fort Underhill is the name of a universe that a woman named Hogarth Pudeyonavic created. She actually built a whole universe with her immense power and technological prowess. How exactly she accomplished this is not something that anyone here can comprehend, but that’s not the point. It was initially a single cosmic structure, but when the parallel realities in the original universe collapsed, all inhabitants of them were shunted into Fort Underill, in some sort of separate half of this. They don’t know how one would go about cutting a universe in half either, but that’s how it’s been explained to them. It’s like a cell that got stuck in the middle of cleaving into two new cells; separate, but forever connected to each other. That’s not really what the map looks like, though. From here, it just looks like a little tumor.

“We were told that the Sixth Key and Fort Underhill were basically two halves of the same universe,” Selma contends. “Why does this look like the former is only a tiny fraction of the size of the latter?”

“You’re thinking in three dimensions. It’s a hyperdimensional structure.”

“You’re the one who drew this. I mean, someone else did; not me. This is a three-dimensional representation of the universe. Why did they make my home smaller than its other half? Unless it’s not really half.”

Goswin exchanges a look with Atticus. “I can’t explain that.”

“Because you don’t know, or because we are not authorized to know?” Selma presses.

“Let’s go with the second one,” Goswin replies.

“That’s not good enough for me.” Selma is getting really worried now. If it’s as simple as the image before them not rendering correctly, why wouldn’t he just say that? The fact that he’s refusing to clarify makes it seem like something is seriously wrong. “This is all I can think about now, and my gut tells me that it’s immensely important. We can’t do our jobs if we don’t know what we’re dealing with. How can we protect the universe if we don’t know how big it is? What are you not telling us about it?”

Goswin sighs. “It’s not my place to say, and even if I try to say it, it won’t make sense. Demand your answers from the good people of the Sixth Key. They’re the only ones who can really explain it.”

Selma isn’t satisfied with that response, but still, she leans back in her chair, and drops the subject. They continue to go over the plan, describing the layout of the embassy that acts as the link between the two “halves” of Fort Underhill. They call it Connexion. After an hour of prep time, it’s time to go on and get on with it. Despite the fact that Goswin never managed to get the sentient tree to explain its reasoning for recruiting Catania Porter while knowing full well her complicated relationship with her son, when he requests transportation to the other universe, that request is granted.

All but Goswin himself find themselves inside of a gargantuan building. If money still existed, no expense would have been spared in the construction of this place. Greek columns tower above them, possibly all the way into infinity. A two story fountain sprays water in large arches, but never splashes out of the pool, and is somehow completely silent. Abstract statues are scattered throughout the room. A three-meter wide staircase leads somewhere mysteriously covered in fog, perhaps as a somewhat literal interpretation of the stairway to heaven? A third group of people is in the middle of a meeting at a bar in the corner. They notice the newcomers.

One of the women hops off of her stool, and walks over with an outstretched hand. “You must be Team Gatekeeper.”

“Is that what we’re called?” Andrei asks.

“I’m Hogarth Pudeyonavic.” Oh. The Creator. Maybe those stairs really do lead to heaven. “Come on over,” she urges her people. Ellie Underhill, Lowell Benton, Nerakali Preston, Gilbert Boyce, and of course, the love of my life, Hilde Unger.” She plants a kiss on her partner’s lips.

Ellie and Lowell, they know. The two of them were present during the Rock Meetings, though they didn’t say much. The magical tree obviously felt like it was only right that Fort Underhill Proper be represented, but they didn’t seem to have any dog in that fight. Selma still doesn’t quite know why the universe is named after Ellie if she’s not the creator. How did that come about?

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Atticus responds. He goes about introducing everyone in Team Gatekeeper. He then proceeds to single Selma out. “She had a question about transdimensional scale.”

“I did?” Selma asks, not because she didn’t have a question, but because she does not know what that term means. She’s not a genius scientist. “I had a question.”

“Ah,” Hogarth says. “Well. If you’re on this side of the membrane, I suppose you were bound to find out. Gilly, would you do the honors?”

Gilbert strides over to a set of double doors. He musters all of his strength to pull them open. On the other side is decidedly not another room. It’s outer space, showing a spiral galaxy floating around in the blackness, complete with a supermassive blackhole at its center, and a gas cloud halo around the edge and surfaces. That’s what it looks like anyway. It must be yet another hologram. He reaches up and runs his hand along the face of the threshold. The space ripples and flows like water, or maybe plasma. Even Catania stops looking for side gigs to admire the beauty.

“What’s this?” Andrei asks, drawn to it as a moth is to a flame.

“That...is the Sixth Key,” Hogarth answers.

“I don’t understand,” he says.

Hogarth sighs to prepare herself. “There are decillions of people in the galaxy you see before you. They were all saved from annihilation when the parallel realities were destroyed. As you might imagine, that was not an easy task, and I am not at liberty to discuss details, but what I can tell you is that one way of saving energy to perform this miracle was to shunt everyone into another spatial dimension first.”

“What are you saying?” Selma demands to know.

Hogarth jerks her head towards the open doors. “They shrunk you, to put it quite reductively. In there is an entire galaxy, along with some void space around it. Many light years separate one end from the other, but only from the perspective of those inside of it. From our frame of reference, it is but a few meters across.”

Ayata falls to her knees, and retches on the floor. Lowell instinctively reaches down, and holds her hair back for her. Andrei lurches in that direction, but the gravity of what they’re seeing holds him back. Their whole galaxy is the size of a bedroom? Everything they’ve been fighting for is just right there in front of them. It seems so petty and silly now, even though intellectually, they’re aware that it’s still populated by real people with real problems. They’re only tiny from here. Down there, they mean everything. How could they not know? They have all been living here for the last half century, and they never even felt like something was different? Now they need to question everything about their whole lives. Is anything in the universe what they thought it was?

“I know, it’s a tough pill to swallow,” Hogarth goes on. “But nothing has changed. Everything and everyone you care about is still in there. It’s still just as profoundly crucial and indispensable as it ever was. Just think of this as a mountain...which it is. We’re on the crest of Mount Hilde. Down below, the people look like ants, but that’s just because we’re really far away. When you get closer, they look bigger.”

“I think we all know it’s not that simple,” Selma argues.

Hogarth nods. “Yes, we do. I get it, you need time to digest. This is a hotel, and accommodations have been prepared for you. When you’re ready, we’ll get to work. Someone is spying on us from a frame of reference even greater than ours. We wanna know who the hell it is, and what they want.”

Nerakali has since gone over to Ayata with a bucket, in case she needs to let more out. Selma gives her a bottle of water too. She spits some into the bucket, swallows some, and spits again to continue the cycle. A robot has come out of the wall to clean the floor, and everyone starts mindlessly watching it work amidst the silence.

After a few minutes, Selma breaks out of her trance. “Someone escort her to her room so she can freshen up. Get her medical attention if she needs it.” She walks over, and closes the doors to their galaxy for now. “The rest of my team will secure the perimeter. While they’re doing that, I need full blueprints to this facility, as well as its specifications. Also, get me a comprehensive list of everyone with access to this building, and to the magic door.”

« < » > Entire Story