《The Navigator》


 Prologue

    ¡°Hala! Kurtil el muritallo?!¡±


    Ugh, I hate it when they scream words at me. It¡¯s not like I don¡¯t get it, though. This guy¡¯s nothing more than a common farmer fresh off his field. The calluses on his hands, the dirt on his face, the simple yet sturdy clothes on his back, I¡¯ve seen them all too many times. A simple sort doing hard yet honest work to provide for themselves and their loved ones who suddenly found himself in a situation beyond his comprehension through no fault of his own. He just wants to get home and the man with the face-concealing helmet, snazzy uniform and fancy hat looks to be his only hope.


    Really, I get it.


    ¡°Kurtil! Kurtil migoa shidenio!¡±


    However, the pleading, crawling and ankle grabbing really isn¡¯t helping matters.


    *THWACK*


    I pistol whip him in the neck, knocking him out. I know, it¡¯s rough, but I¡¯m low on tranqs and I¡¯d rather save those in case something more dangerous than a confused farmhand fell through the breach. Admittedly I can¡¯t see anything but barren, scorching desert around me and my visor¡¯s picking up zero lifeforms other than Mister Handsy, but I know better than to trust everything I see.


    The guy¡¯s thin frame, reptilian tail, scaly hide and obvious intolerance for heat make it clear he¡¯s one of the amphibian folk that live in the jungles of Naobos. That region has a bunch of nasty predators, and I wager he didn¡¯t jump through a breach because he was bored. No, he was being chased by this ¡®kurtil¡¯ thing he kept shouting about. Which, if memory serves, is a type of flying apex predator from his home planet that has a really troublesome ability. Thankfully my readout says the local wind speed is a big fat zero.


    Which means that it¡¯s not the weather that¡¯s kicking up sand some thirty meters ahead of me.


    I hastily turn off my sidearm¡¯s safety and aim directly above the disturbance, then pull the trigger.


    *THUNK*


    The gun makes the same unpleasantly dull sound it always makes when firing tranq ammo. The upside is there¡¯s practically zero recoil, so I can fire off shots in rapid succession.


    *THUNK THUNK THUNK*


    ¡°SKREEEEEEK!¡±


    The first three shots missed and streaked off into the desert, but the fourth finds my target and shocks the sneaky bastard with a few hundred thousand volts. The goat-sized pterodactyl-looking thing loses its optical camouflage and falls to the ground, screeching and writhing against the hot sand.


    *BEEEP*


    ¡°Oh, why thank you, lifeform scanner!¡± I shout inside my helmet. ¡°I had no idea the thing I just shot was an extraterrestrial being that doesn¡¯t belong on this world! So kind of you to fucking tell me!¡±


    I swear, this fucking thing gets worse with every software update. Well, better to have it than not, I suppose. I sigh, reign in my sarcasm, put away my sidearm and take a Capture-Cube 6000? from my hip pouch. I walk over and toss the glowing blue box of solid light onto the spasming creature. It expands and envelops it, instantly putting it in stasis. At least this part of my standard loadout isn¡¯t a piece of shit, but god damn is it expensive. Then again, it¡¯s not coming out of my pocket, so I got no right to complain.


    ¡°Come on,¡± I say through my helmet¡¯s vocalizers. ¡°Let¡¯s get these two back where they belong.¡±


    The AI-driven construct beeps in response and floats the pacified kurtil over to the collapsed farmer. I tap on the screen of the PDA strapped to my left forearm, bringing the device to life. It beeps at me with its green numbers, letters and lines as I use my other hand to operate its menus. The breach that caused this particular mess was a small one, so I need to be quick if I want to trace its point of origin. Thankfully this world doesn¡¯t have any background radiation or radio static to mess with my readings, so I manage to finish the job in less than a minute.


    ¡°Okay, that was the easy part,¡± I mutter to myself and crack my neck. ¡°Time to see if there¡¯s any open windows.¡±


    It takes me a while but I find a suitably large breach relatively nearby. Which in actual terms means a two hour walk.


    Through a desert.


    On a planet within a binary star system.


    ¡°God¡­ damnit.¡±


    I look down at the passed out farmer. His scales are already falling off from the boils forming underneath them, he won¡¯t survive a trip like that. Hell, he¡¯s lucky I managed to track him down less than five minutes after he fell through the breach. If that beastie didn¡¯t get him, this heat would¡¯ve boiled him alive. Another sigh escapes me as I use a second Capture-Cube 6000? to put him in stasis, then lead him and his meal partner towards the site.


    Seriously though, would it kill the agency to give us more climate-adaptive uniforms? I will admit, I love how the black boots, cream trousers and brown coat look. Very militaristic, official and authoritative. It¡¯s the same reason why I insist on wearing my navigator¡¯s hat on top of my helmet. I also make sure my gray dress shirt and black necktie are visible through my coat¡¯s lapel. It¡¯s not standard issue, but it¡¯s not against regulation either. I wear it because it¡¯s my way of saying ¡®I may be rough on the outside, but I¡¯m classy on the inside.¡¯Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    I mean, yeah, only a few of the cultures in my district share my fashion sense, but looks are important, damnit. We¡¯re here to enforce the law, and we need to look the part. Civilizations need to adapt to us, not the other way around. To disrespect the uniform is to disrespect the agency, and that just won¡¯t fly. That aside, though-


    ¡°Why the fuck is this planet so damned hooooot!¡±


    I can¡¯t help but scream. As nice and important as the outfit is, it¡¯s still making me sweat like an elluvian ogre¡¯s ballsack. I guess I shouldn¡¯t complain, though. Peterson said his new beat regularly has EMP storms and acid rain. Our regular gear isn¡¯t designed to withstand that sort of extreme environment, so he has to walk around in one of those bulky power armors. He seemed pretty excited at the idea, but that¡¯s because he¡¯s still green. Yeah, you¡¯re like a man-sized tank in one of those, but you¡¯re way too slow and heavy, not to mention that getting in and out of it is a major pain in the ass.


    But it has air conditioning, so I find myself feeling rather envious of him right now.


    I keep grumbling and complaining under my breath for the rest of the trip, just to keep myself sane. At least I don¡¯t need to worry about getting turned around and lost in this featureless black desert since my PDA handles terrestrial navigation. Too bad it can¡¯t navigate me to a cold drink. It¡¯s also probably a good thing I can¡¯t trap myself in a Capture-Cube 6000?, otherwise I definitely would have by now. By the time I make it to the breach I¡¯m so miserable that I¡¯m practically happy to see the gaping hole in reality.


    I stare into the swirling abyss as I catch my breath. The event horizon is a standard circular shape about three meters in diameter. I consult my PDA yet again, noting that it is, indeed, as stable as it looks. I gather my wits and push a button on the side, causing a device the size of my thumb to stick out of it. I pull the sensor out, give it a few seconds to link up with my arm-mounted computer and toss it into the breach, then stare intently at the screen.


    My vision is flooded with lines that spread out, bend, branch off and come together, rapidly forming a pattern that would make even the webspinners of Malchior feel inadequate. I sharpen my focus as the computer does its best to visualize the disposable probe¡¯s readings. I try to track dozens upon dozens of potential routes through the multiverse all at once, searching for a path that leads me to my destination. My world dissolves into nothing but lines, angles and numbers until I start feeling dizzy, but that¡¯s how it always is.


    ¡°There!¡±


    The solution leaps out at me seemingly out of nowhere, as per usual. Hurrying to take the route I¡¯ve seen before it collapses, I take a pen-sized device out of my belt and push the button on the end. It extends into a meter-long stake, which I drive halfway into the sand. I spend a few seconds linking its signal to mine and that of the two self-propelled stasis fields. With my preparations ready I turn to face the breach and leap through it before I can start to hesitate.


    My world dissolves into a nausea-inducing swirl of lights. I feel dizzy, happy, angry, cold, hungry, drunk, constipated and a hundred other things all at once as my brain struggles to cope with the tenuous space between realities. It soon adapts to it though, allowing me to feel the interdimensional currents that are tugging away at my body in every imaginable direction and then some. I shut my eyes and begin to swim through them by sheer force of will alone. I turn left, right, right, right, left, up, up, down, back, inward, back, back, left, up and a few other directions I¡¯m not sure how to call in an effort to adhere to the route I¡¯ve already selected.


    My body crashes into the swamp seconds before my consciousness does. I lay completely still for ten seconds to let my brain settle back inside its skull before I stand up. My head rises from the filthy water and I look around. The sky is gray, heavy with rain clouds that have yet to release their load. There¡¯s a neat row of green plants poking up from the water nearby, a simple-looking hovel on the mud bank further beyond. My visor detects three native humanoid lifeforms inside, no doubt there to witness my spectacular arrival.


    I wipe some of the mud off of my visor and PDA screen, then tap it a few times. Looks like I¡¯m within three meters of the breach that my ¡®clients¡¯ fell through, though the culprit seems to have already collapsed. I push a few buttons on the display and am relieved to see it respond with a message saying ¡®Tether Link Established,¡¯ followed shortly by ¡®Cargo transfer commencing¡¯ and ¡®Please stand by.¡¯ I look up at the ¡®exit wound¡¯ my interdimensional hop made. It¡¯s not quite as impressive as the gaping abyss of a full-blown breach, but the wave-like ripples through the air make it clear something¡¯s there.


    A few tense seconds later the tear in reality spits out the two stasis cubes and my anchor pin. I catch the high-tech stake before it falls in the water, collapse it, then put it back in my utility belt. I then have the Capture-Cube 6000? AI deliver the farmer to his family.


    I watch silently as the farmer I rescued is released from stasis in front of his home and wakes up almost immediately. What I assume are his wife and children rush out of the hovel and crowd around them. He instantly embraces them, ignoring the pain his burned and dry skin is no doubt causing him. He looks over his shoulder at me, his reptilian eyes conveying an emotion that I choose to interpret as fearful gratitude.


    As for the flying monster that threatened his life, I¡¯m supposed to release it in the wilderness unharmed. Not by choice, though. If I had my way, I¡¯d kill this fucking thing for all the trouble it¡¯s caused both to myself and these simple folk. I¡¯m also aware that this kurtil will no doubt endanger the family again. If it ventured this close to civilization once, then it will surely do so again. I mean, I don¡¯t know for sure whether that will happen, but I¡¯ve always been more of a realist than an optimist.


    However, I don¡¯t have a lot of choice in the matter. Us navigators are supposed to ensure we cause minimal impact to native ecosystems, and doing what I want to do would be considered interfering with the local food chain. A big no-no, to say the least. Our PDAs log all of our activities, ammo and gadget usage, so I¡¯ll be instantly found out if I killed the thing without ¡®sufficient cause.¡¯ I would be putting both my job and my freedom at risk if I did that.


    So, I do the only thing I can. I move away from the farmhouse and release the murderous invisible beast into the wilds. Of course, it¡¯s not exactly my fault if said wilds happened to be some nasty bubbling tar pits. Nor can I be blamed if the creature accidentally fell into them immediately after my Capture-Cube 6000? disengaged its stasis field and logged a ¡®successful catch and release.¡¯ After all, I¡¯m just doing my part in maintaining the local environment in all of its merciless beauty.


    Okay, I better cut it out before my sarcasm slips. I turn away and leave the screeching beastie to its fate. I use my PDA log the completion of my mission, then have it scan for any illicit or accidental spatial matter transfers.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see then,¡± I mumble as the screen overflows with results, ¡°which one of these lost souls needs a navigator¡¯s guidance the most?¡±

 Chapter 1

    I quickly peek around the corner, rapidly counting off all of the visible targets before I duck back behind cover. I¡¯d use my visor¡¯s lifeform scanner, but that doesn¡¯t exactly work on synthoids. Oh sure, they¡¯ll preach on and on about how they should be considered sapient, sentient, self-sufficient all kinds of other big ¡®s¡¯ words. If it¡¯s an issue of rights or representation they¡¯ll keep talking until your head explodes. But bring up the matter of how we need their energy signature so our biological lifeform scanners can detect their plastic assess and they suddenly go quiet and twiddle their thumbs.


    Especially in cases like these, when I have a possible synthoid smuggling ring to deal with. The bucketheads may not like to acknowledge it, but free will means that you sometimes end up with folks doing illegal things. And when that happens, the law enforcements agents that have to clean it up need to do so with malfunctioning and underperforming equipment. I mean, I¡¯m a navigator, so I¡¯m more or less used to things going tits-up, but these other guys are not.


    ¡°I counted fifteen suspects,¡± I say in a low voice. ¡°Which probably means there are twice as many inside. No sentries though, they¡¯re not expecting visitors.¡±


    ¡°Roger that,¡± the squad leader nods. ¡°Any signs of the contraband?¡±


    ¡°No. I saw an empty cage, though. Might be inside the warehouse, might be that we¡¯re too late.¡±


    ¡°Got it. Stand by, I¡¯ll go prep the men for the raid.¡±


    I gave the man a nod and he slinked off around the far corner. I¡¯m always impressed by how those soldier types can move so silently with all that gear and body armor. I guess the title of ¡®Ranger¡¯ isn¡¯t just for show, huh? Ah, damn. I should¡¯ve asked him to leave me a grenade or something. My navigator¡¯s sidearm is like a fart in the wind compared to the kinetic automatic rifles those guys are packing.


    Then again, I am basically just the wheelman, so there shouldn¡¯t be a need for me to get involved. Still, I ready my gun and load the sole clip of explosive rounds I have. Some might call it overkill against a bunch of plastic skeletons, but those synthoids are much tougher than they look. Hell, I doubt even landing all twelve shots on a single target would take them down. The only upside is their audio/visual processors suck dick, so it¡¯s really easy to sneak up on them so long as you don¡¯t use a radio. That¡¯s why we opted to wait for a night raid, as catching them by surprise would be a lot easier.


    I warily peek around the corner to try and track the eight-man squad I brought here as they move to surround the suspects. It¡¯s always fascinating to see them handle the terrain so expertly. Granted, it¡¯s not like a warehouse district is a difficult place to navigate, but I have no idea how they managed to climb onto the rooftops of these smooth, hexagonal buildings. Speaking of which, what is it with the synthoids¡¯ obsession with that shape? I swear, this entire plant is ¡®hex this¡¯ and ¡®hex that.¡¯ Everything from their vehicles to their buildings to their guns to their frickin heads has six sides, and that¡¯s more infuriating than it should be.


    I force out the stupid thought and focus on the task at hand. Even if I won¡¯t do much, I need to be ready to provide backup should they need it. I spot one of the squad members - the leader, I think - atop the same warehouse those synthoids are walking in and out of. It¡¯s pitch black where he is, but the massive residential spires behind him are all lit up just enough to show me contours of his silhouette. It¡¯s how I¡¯m also able to tell what hand signals he¡¯s giving.


    ¡®Fall back?¡¯ What the fuck do you mean fall back? Oh, ¡®no evidence.¡¯ Yeah, right. I bet my left testicle there¡¯s a gonorian thunder lizard in there somewhere. There¡¯s no other reason those synthoids would need an insulated cage big enough to house an elephant. But I guess since it¡¯s nowhere in plain sight we don¡¯t have ample evidence to go in without a warrant. Jurisdiction and all that.


    I sigh as I pull a small six-sided pyramid from my utility belt. I hate to waste this favor on a bunch of nobodies like these, but I can¡¯t just do nothing. I hide around the corner and give my people a minute or so to fall back and head towards the extraction point, then I flip the switch on the bottom. I can practically hear all of the bucketheads turn in my direction as their radio sensors pick up the sudden signal emanating from my beacon. It takes them a few heartbeats to identify the frequency before their plastic feet scramble to run, but it¡¯s already too late.


    Say what you want about the city of Serenis, but its local law enforcement is one of the most efficient I¡¯ve ever seen.


    Buzzing and searchlights fill the area within seconds as helicopter police drones swarm in out of nowhere. There¡¯s a series of heavy thuds as law enforcement synthoids are air-dropped onto the scene. What follows is a lot of loud robotic shouting and a few energy weapon discharges as all of the suspects are rapidly apprehended and subdued.


    ¡°Report: Armed extraterrestrial spotted.¡±


    Myself included, of course.


    ¡°Demand: Do not move, fleshling.¡±


    One of the police officers shines his shoulder-mounted flashlight in my face while pointing his gun at me.


    ¡°Demand: Disarm yourself immediately. Warning: Comply or be subdued by force.¡±


    I ¡®comply¡¯ with his ¡®demand¡¯ by carefully placing my sidearm on the ground and taking a few slow steps backwards with my arms in the air. The synthoid throws a tiny glowing cube on my gun, instantly encapsulating it in a blue forcefield. It looks just like a miniature Capture-Cube 6000?, which is unsurprising considering these folks are the ones that invented it.


    ¡°Demand: Identify yourself.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a BMA navigator. Serial number five, five, three, six, eight, zero, five, one, seven. I was sent here to investigate a possible gonorian thunder lizard smuggling ring.¡±


    I stared into the synthoid¡¯s featureless faceplate for a tense few moments while he remotely verified my credentials and the reason for my presence. The Breach Management Agency is a law enforcement organization first and foremost, so it¡¯s only natural we would check in with local authorities whenever we did one of these ¡®stake outs.¡¯ After determining that I was, in essence, a fellow cop, the synthoid policeman lowered his gun and assumed a more relaxed stature.


    ¡°Statement: Navigation unit identity confirmed. Query: Were you the one who called us in?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Query: How did you come into possession of a priority police alert beacon?¡±


    ¡°Q-L-thirty-fifteen entrusted it to me a few months ago after I helped resolve a breach incident involving his¡­ child unit.¡±


    Ugh, it feels weird calling them that, but it¡¯s certainly more accurate than ¡®kid¡¯ or ¡®son.¡¯ After all, these synthoids procreate through construction, not breeding. They¡¯re ¡®born¡¯ as full adults and it¡¯s the duty of the ¡®parental units¡¯ to impart values of society, culture, morality, life, and all that other philosophical bullshit onto the freshly activated mind. They do this to ¡®stimulate the personality matrix¡¯ or some such. It¡¯s honestly all a bit beyond me and my primitive ape brain, but I try not to belittle them for it.


    Well, not out loud, anyway.


    ¡°Confirmation: Affirmative,¡± the buckethead vocalized at me. ¡°Statement: Serenis Police Third Cluster officially recognizes your authority in this matter and requests your assistance.¡±


    ¡°You have it, but can I get my gun back? It¡¯s coming out of my salary if I don¡¯t return it at the end of my shift.¡±


    ¡°Confirmation: Understood. Statement: Releasing stasis field.¡±


    I pick up my sidearm, unload the explosive rounds and holster it on my hip, then follow the police-bot onto the scene. I glance around, noticing a several scorch marks along the walls but no bodies. The suspects that resisted arrest were probably subdued by force and already sent off for questioning. If it were me I¡¯d just access their computer-brains to see what they¡¯ve been up to, but that¡¯s considered highly unethical by synthoid society. Which is a good thing, I suppose. The last thing I¡¯d want from a civilization of AIs is to have them operate on hard logic alone. That never ends well for everyone involved.


    The officer that is escorting me, a fellow by the name of FR-42-10, led me into the warehouse proper. There are three more empty insulated cages here just like the one in front. I turn on my lifeform scanner but it continues to fail to pick up anything. However, I notice there appears to a trail of slime running off from one of them. I crouch down next to it and have my PDA try to analyze it. All of the synthoids look at me when I do that and let out a buzzing noise like a nest of pissed off hornets. I get it guys, you¡¯re sensitive to foreign technology, but just bear with me for a few moments.


    *DING*


    ¡°Hah! Knew it!¡±


    ¡°Query: You have found something, navigation unit?¡± FR-42-10 asked.


    ¡°Thunder lizard mucus, still fresh.¡±


    To be fair, their forensics units would¡¯ve probably picked this up, but they¡¯re not first responders so getting here would take time those overgrown rhinos might not have.


    ¡°Looks like it leads to the back,¡± I tell the synthoid. ¡°Shall we check it out?¡±


    ¡°Confirmation: Lead the way, navigation unit.¡±


    The buckethead is surprisingly cooperative. Then again, gonorian thunder lizards are something of a serious matter for his kind. They originate from a Class-3 world and have the power to spontaneously conjure lightning through their inborn magic. Well, the eggheads back at base have a more scientifically accurate term for it, but I¡¯m a simple man, so ¡®magic¡¯ will do. That stuff always makes technology go haywire, though. The conjured current those lizards produce is like a drug to these synthoids. It¡¯s their equivalent of heroin, only the addiction is far stronger and effectively permanent.


    Worst part is this wouldn¡¯t even exist in this universe if not for the breaches, which is why these guys were so quick to recognize my authority and defer to my expertise. They¡¯re technically not supposed to just do that because of laws and bureaucracy and whatnot, but that¡¯s one of the upsides of not working with beings that operate solely on logic. They recognize when there¡¯s a time for regulations and a time for action. In short - my kind of people. Robots. Whatever.


    After following the thin trail of snot I notice it disappear suddenly into the back wall. I point out the spot to my escort and he unhesitantly blasts it with his energy rifle. This makes the weird plastic polymer covering the wall melt and peel off like jelly, revealing a layer of solid lead behind it. No wonder why my lifeform scanner wasn¡¯t picking anything up. It works based on radiation so it can¡¯t penetrate this stuff. Whoever built this place knew what they were doing.


    A bit more wall-melting later and we manage to find a hidden doorway with a cargo lift of some kind behind it.


    ¡°Observation: This is an illegal modification that violates no less than thirteen articles of Serenis¡¯ Storage and Construction codexes,¡± FR-42-10 helpfully informed me.


    ¡°No shit?¡±


    ¡°Confirmation: There is no excrement involved.¡±


    Can¡¯t tell if he was being serious or not. It¡¯s times like this that faces are important, you know.


    ¡°Anyway, shall we investigate?¡±


    ¡°Confirmation: Let¡¯s.¡±


    I board the lift along with about twenty police-bots and ride it down to the bottom. When the doors open, we are met with the sight of two perfectly healthy thunder lizards hooked up to some machinery. They were likely being ¡®milked¡¯ for their physics-defying electrical current by the eight civilian-model synthoids that were down here. The cops quickly subdued the suspects and arrested them, then sent them off for reformatting or whatever it is they do to punish criminals.


    As for the thunder lizards, they were put in a Capture-Cube 6000? each, brought out of the warehouse and placed under my custody.


    ¡°Observation: There were four cages in total, but only two recovered extraterrestrials,¡± my new friend noted. ¡°Suggestion: There might have been up to two additional specimens present here.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t worry about it too much,¡± I argued. ¡°Thunder lizards aren¡¯t the most hygenic of beasts, and two of those cages are positively spotless. If they housed anything, then they¡¯re long gone.¡±


    ¡°Statement: Your opinion is appreciated, but disregarded. This is a matter of public safety and will be investigated fully.¡±


    Though I sounded like I¡¯m making light of it, it is a rather serious issue. Illicit currents aside, thunder lizard bones keep generating and storing a static charge even after their deaths. This can potentially result in an electromagnetic pulse that will instantly fry sensitive electronics through most forms of shielding. The synthoids might have plastic shells and limbs, but they¡¯re still wires and circuits on the inside.


    In short, if there are indeed more thunder lizards in Serenis, then they need to be found before they kill a whole lot of its people.


    ¡°Hey, you do what you need to,¡± I concede. ¡°Just have your bosses call my bosses if you find any more of the beasties and we¡¯ll take them off your hands.¡±


    ¡°Confirmation: Understood. Query: I¡¯ve been wondering, why are they called ¡®thunder lizards¡¯ when they do not produce such a sound?¡±


    ¡°Huh. Never thought about it to be honest. It is a rather silly name now that you mention it. I guess it¡¯s because we like to associate thunder with lightning.¡±


    I have a feeling some of what I¡¯m saying gets lost in my helmet¡¯s auto-translation, but it¡¯s the best answer I can offer FR-42-10.


    ¡°Statement: You meatbags are way too confusing.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you can say that again,¡± I roll my eyes behind my visor.


    ¡°Statement: I can, but I won¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Heh. You¡¯re alright, F-R-four-two-ten.¡±


    ¡°Suggestion: Please, call me Ten.¡±


    ¡°You got it, Ten. And in case I forgot to say it, I really appreciate the assistance.¡±


    I¡¯d offer to shake his hand, but I know that¡¯s not a custom here. A few other synthoids escort me towards the extraction point where the squad I arrived with was already waiting for me. I could tell the squad leader was giving me a mean look beneath that helmet, but he¡¯s not the type to admonish others in the field. If he has misgivings with my conduct, he can file an official complaint with the relevant department. Not that it¡¯ll do him any good.


    I¡¯ve gotten so many of those that even the complaint department filed a complaint against me. With themselves. For having to deal with so many complaints about me.


    I honestly have no idea how I still have a job.

 Chapter 2

    I find myself falling towards a hard metal floor. Luckily I manage to cushion the fall by landing face-first, shoulder-second, and ass-third. I¡¯m not sure how I managed it, but that¡¯s what my body is telling me. I lay there motionless for about ten seconds before I rise to my feet and take a look around. The octagonal platform is about ten meters across with some railings to prevent people from accidentally walking off of it. The world beyond that bare-bones safety measure is a sea of maddeningly tall skyscrapers with endless streams of flying cars zooming between them like confused fish. In more local news, there¡¯s a giant ¡®15¡¯ sprayed on the floor beneath my feet, and a walkway with a small booth next to it to my right.


    After confirming I¡¯ve reached my destination, I send a signal to my anchor pin to bring my cargo through the breach. Within moments a bright blue Capture-Cube 6000? materializes besides me, holding what appears to be a three-legged four-armed man made of stone in its stasis field. I walk off towards the booth. I swear I can feel the guy inside smirk at me even through his fucking helmet.


    ¡°Lookie what the cat dragged in!¡± he calls out as I approach. ¡°And with a ten-point landing to boot! Truly the hallmark of-¡±


    ¡°I swear to god, Steve,¡± I interrupt him with a grumble, ¡°if you don¡¯t cut it out I¡¯m gonna throw you and your shitty booth off this fucking platform.¡±


    ¡°Woah, who pissed in your helmet?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve just had a long day. Can we get this over with?¡±


    ¡°Alright, you know the drill.¡±


    I walk up to the booth and present my PDA to the scanning port built into its wall. A few seconds of beeping and flashing lights later and Steve is already flipping through my activity log on his screen.


    ¡°Jump, pickup, delivery, jump, pickup, delivery,¡± he starts listing them off. ¡°Oh, here we go! Shots fired, impact event, more shots fired, multiple impact events, sustained arm fracture, Medi-Quick S? applied, more impact events¡­ Wait. You self-destructed your firearm? What the fuck, Seventeen?¡±


    ¡°Look man, you try subduing a hurian charger hopped up on jama juice without getting a bit creative,¡± I point to my ¡®passenger.¡¯ ¡°It¡¯s not like that peashooter actually did anything, anyway.¡±


    To be fair, my explosive rounds seemed to be relatively effective, but I only had the one magazine.


    ¡°Uh-huh. And how, exactly, did you end up fighting a hurian charger hopped up on jama juice? Their home planet isn¡¯t even in your district.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I want to know!¡± I scream at him. ¡°I was just dropping off some kid that had fallen into a breach by accident when this fucker nearly landed on top of me!¡±


    ¡°So why didn¡¯t you retreat and request for backup from a capture team?¡±


    That would have been the proper textbook response to that situation. Our standard issue PDAs are capable of using a quantum something-or-other to instantly relay data back to headquarters. I¡¯ve no fucking clue how it works, but I won¡¯t deny that it¡¯s one of the most reliable tools in the navigator¡¯s kit. It¡¯s also a one-way burst transmission, so I¡¯d have no way of knowing how soon the capture team would be able to arrive. It would have taken them ten minutes at the least, and that was time I didn¡¯t have.


    ¡°Because it was in an urban area,¡± I respond flatly. ¡°There¡¯s no telling how much damage the locals would¡¯ve suffered if I didn¡¯t stop it then and there.¡±


    ¡°Was it?¡± Steve checked the coordinates activity log again. ¡°Oh, damn! Yeah, alright. Good work out there. I¡¯ll get your ¡®souvenir¡¯ here taken care of, you go get that broken arm looked at. That Medi-Quick S? won¡¯t last for much longer.¡±


    Though the drug can instantly treat certain injuries, like internal bleeding or gunshot wounds, bone fractures are another story. The best it can do with those is act like a splint on steroids that allows me to keep using the arm with only minimal pain and discomfort, but it needs proper medical care if it¡¯s to heal properly. It isn¡¯t like the Medi-Quick S? is a magical cure-all. Well, those DO exist, but we can¡¯t use them since we¡¯re a tech-based outfit, and tech and magic simply do not mix.


    I wave Steve goodbye and head towards the infirmary. It¡¯s a bit of a walk to get off of the high-altitude landing platforms before I make into the agency¡¯s headquarters. I navigate the polished floors and sterile walls, greeting the people I know on my way to the doctor¡¯s office. I manage to make it to the door just as the drug wears off and my arm starts howling in pain again. I grit my teeth and head inside.


    ¡°Oh, hey Seventeen!¡±


    I¡¯m greeted by the nurse, a slightly portly young girl with black hair and brown eyes. Or at least, she used to be the nurse when I last saw her.


    ¡°Hey, Whitney,¡± I respond. ¡°Did you get promoted while I was away?¡±


    She¡¯s wearing black-and-blue doctor¡¯s scrubs rather than the black-and-white ones she normally does.


    ¡°No, silly!¡± she smiles. ¡°I¡¯m just temporarily filling in for Doctor Borisovich. He¡¯s been dealing with a terrible case of diarrhea all day.¡±


    ¡°Again? Isn¡¯t that the third time this month?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m starting to worry if that might be chorinc,¡± she said pityingly. ¡°Anyway, what seems to be the problem?¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Broken arm.¡±


    ¡°Alright. Well, you know the drill.¡±


    I nod and begin to remove my coat and shirt. The helmet stays on, though. Doctor¡¯s office is a good place to catch diseases and foreign bacteria, and I don¡¯t have purifying lung implants like the medical staff. A navigator with augments is both against regulation and a terrible idea. The faintest whiff of magic can make the sensitive tech the implants are based on go haywire. And if any of my equipment is going to break, I¡¯d much rather it be outside my body than in it.


    After stripping myself shirtless, and enduring a few playful whistles from the temp doctor, I park my butt on the medical table in the corner of the office. Whitney operates the console from her desk and six robotic arms descend from the ceiling to converge on my fractured limb. The machine gives me a fast-acting anesthetic to numb and immobilize my arm, then starts rapidly jabbing away at it. It doesn¡¯t hurt in the slightest, though the sight of those long and thin needles puncturing my skin, meat and bones is a bit much for me.


    ¡°So, what was it this time?


    I¡¯m therefore grateful that the nurse likes to make smalltalk, because I have an excuse to look at her rather than the operation.


    ¡°Had a tussle with a hurian charger. It¡¯s this big thing with literal stone for skin.¡±


    ¡°Ohhh, right, those things. Aren¡¯t they super docile, though?¡±


    ¡°Normally, yeah, but this one was high off its rocker. Uh, no pun intended.¡±


    She still snorted with mild amusement though.


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised you actually knew about them,¡± I noted.


    ¡°Yeah, my anatomy and bioscience professor had a thesis on them he wouldn¡¯t shut up about. It was honestly rather creepy how many times he said ¡®rock hard.¡¯ I think that¡¯s why they had to go on ¡®permanent unpaid leave¡¯ in the middle of the semester.¡±


    ¡°Surprised he lasted that long, to be honest. I hear the medical sciences are pretty unforgiving when it comes to breach of ethics.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, tell me about it. On the upside, the guy that replaced him was absolutely fantastic. He¡¯s the world¡¯s foremost expert on boobology!¡±


    ¡°Wait, you studied under Professor Tiddy Mammarian?! The man¡¯s a legend!¡±


    ¡°I know! His insight is the main reason why these puppies look so damn good,¡± she declared while proudly groping her own chest.


    ¡°Oh, wow. No wonder why they look like a work of art.¡±


    Granted, those stuffy scrubs aren¡¯t doing Whitney¡¯s figure any favors, but I¡¯ve seen her walk around in more casual clothes.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± she smiled broadly at me. ¡°What about you? What was it like at the navigators¡¯ academy?¡±


    ¡°Not sure what I can say about that,¡± I say evasively. ¡°I mean, it¡¯s not like-¡±


    *BLEBLEBLEEEEP*


    ¡°Oh, sorry, Seventeen,¡± Whitney turned her attention towards her monitor. ¡°Huh, got a message for you from your supervisor. He tried to reach you directly but your helmet¡¯s receiver seems to be out of order.¡±


    ¡°Is it? And here I was wondering why nobody¡¯s been yelling my ear yet,¡± I grumble sarcastically. ¡°What does he want?¡±


    ¡°Says he has a priority assignment for you and to report to his office as soon as you¡¯re done here.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Lovely.¡±


    We spend a few more minutes chatting until the machine is done gluing and stitching my broken bones together. My arm is then given a spray of Medi-Quick V? to close up the numerous punctures and prevent scarring. I¡¯m then given an antidote for the anesthetic, allowing me to get back to it right away. I thank Whitney, get dressed and head off to see what that old coot wants. A brisk walk and a few elevator rides later, I¡¯m standing in front of his office door.


    ¡°You¡¯re late! Get in here!¡±


    I barely even get a chance to announce my presence before I hear him yelling at me from the intercom in the wall, so I shrug and enter. I¡¯m greeted with the sight of a heavy wooden desk - 100% organic mahogany, no less - positively swamped in dozens of dataslates and keyboards. Sitting behind it is none other than old man Jameson, the angriest man to ever work in an office. That flat-top haircut and toothbrush mustache make it clear he¡¯s the no-nonsense type.


    I also get the odd impression he¡¯s always one muscle twitch away from demanding pictures of Spiderman.


    ¡°There you are, Seventeen! What the hell have you been doing out there?!¡±


    He slams his fist into a relatively clean spot on his desk, making the wooden furniture produce a deep, satisfying thud.


    ¡°How many times are you going to lose a sidearm! Those don¡¯t grow on trees!¡±


    Well, they kinda do. Ammunition aside, the gun is made out of 90% plant-based polymers and plastics. I don¡¯t say that out loud though, wouldn¡¯t be any point.


    ¡°I had to improvise, sir.¡±


    ¡°Of course, you did! That¡¯s because you know what the fuck you¡¯re doing! But could you try to be slightly more mindful of company property?!¡±


    Technically speaking my sorry hide is also considered ¡®company property,¡¯ so¡­


    ¡°I will make sure I do so, sir.¡±


    ¡°Good! How¡¯s the arm? Nevermind, don¡¯t care. I¡¯m assigning you a partner.¡±


    I feel my stomach sink when I hear that.


    ¡°Some big short from the other side,¡± he adds while rummaging through the chaos atop his desk. ¡°One of them wand-twirling, bathrobe-wearing, twinkle-fingers. Says he¡¯s figured out a way to to do his thing without making any of our equipment go haywire. We think it¡¯s a load of crap, but we¡¯re obligated to at least humor the guy.¡±


    ¡°Sir? He¡¯s a civilian?¡± I interject.


    ¡°What of it?¡±


    ¡°With all due respect, sir, having someone without any combat training along is a liability.¡±


    ¡°Yes, and?¡±


    ¡°How am I supposed to babysit him while doing my job?! And what happens if my anchor or PDA break because of his shenanigans?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know, don¡¯t care. You¡¯ll figure it out. Do some of that improvisation you¡¯re so good at.¡±


    He tosses me one of the sheet-like dataslates, which I gingerly catch. Probably the guy¡¯s dossier.


    ¡°He¡¯s waiting for you at equipment bay twelve. Now, off you go.¡±


    ¡°But sir, my shift just ended.¡±


    Broken arm notwithstanding, I¡¯m so tired that I might just keel over on the spot.


    ¡°Aww¡­ Hold on, let me get my violin.¡±


    He then brings out an actual violin and fiddle from under his desk and proceeds to play a pitiably sad tune for my benefit. I sigh and mumble something along the lines of ¡®On it, sir¡¯ before I exit his office.


    God, I hate it when he does that.

 Chapter 3

    Name: Salamus Fricker


    Origin: Fudonia City, Burguth Empire, Planet Oriza, BMA District #55


    Species: Orizian, male


    Height: 205 cm


    Weight: 92 kg


    Body type: Bipedal humanoid


    Relative age: Young adult


    Actual age: 41 Terran Years


    Atypical appearance traits: Exceptionally thin, pale pigmentation, facial scar resembling question mark


    Well, fuck me sideways. Seems like I really was lumped with some starry-eyed kid fresh out of school. Bit weird to think that about someone who¡¯s technically older than me, but ¡®young adult¡¯ typically means just that. At least the ¡®Qualifications¡¯ section of the dossier seems promising. It has a long list of academic achievements and awards, but the fact that he¡¯s completed basic navigator training is better than nothing. Only managed to complete two out of the three assignments he¡¯s been sent out on, but that¡¯s still a 66.666% mission success rate. Pretty good compared to our rookies here on Earth. It also means he isn¡¯t quite the helpless civilian type that Jameson told me he was.


    I swear, that old coot doesn¡¯t even read his own briefings.


    Still, it¡¯s weird that he¡¯d be transferred to my district. Fifty-five is one of the most magic-heavy ones out there. There¡¯s not a single one of its twelve worlds that actually rely on high tech. Our tools are just too unreliable in that district, so the BMA has to rely on the locals to deal with the breaches. This happens in at least thirty of the ninety-six districts within our jurisdiction, so it¡¯s hardly all that surprising.


    What¡¯s surprising is that this guy has the balls to claim he¡¯s found a way to make magic and tech coexist. There¡¯ve been a bunch of nutjobs that said the same thing in the one hundred and thirty years since the breach appeared, so he¡¯ll have to excuse me if I feel sceptical about that. To begin with, the whole reason that ¡®magic¡¯ exists in those worlds is because their universe or dimension or whatever has natural laws that, while mostly similar, are also slightly different from our own.


    The only reason our navigator tech doesn¡¯t just malfunction straight up when breaching into such a place is because of the causality field projected by our wrist-mounted PDAs. I¡¯m not going to pretend to understand the science behind it, I just know that its an invisible bubble that makes sure the circuits and microchips and whatnot continue to operate as normal. I also know it can pop surprisingly easily if directly confronted by something that violates our laws of physics.


    And yet this guy! This fucking guy! Has the gall to claim he knows how to make different realities work hand-in-hand?! I know I¡¯m just a faceless grunt and he¡¯s supposed to be some super-genius, but that¡¯s just ridiculous! It¡¯s like taking the transmission out of a Model T Hovercruiser?, hooking it up to my Kitch-Corp Blendomatic? and then expecting the appliance to fucking fly! The BMA clearly knows this guy is full of shit, too! Otherwise they wouldn¡¯t have dumped his scrawny ass on me in the first place!


    Okay, let¡¯s calm down. I shouldn¡¯t judge the guy before we¡¯ve even spoken.


    ¡­


    Ah, shit. I don¡¯t think my helmet¡¯s computer has the orizian language pack installed. I tap on the buttons near my ear, prompting the holographic user interface to pop up in my visor. Yup, I¡¯ll need to install that, but my helmet¡¯s short-wave transmitter is still busted so I can¡¯t connect to the wifi. Going to have to go get that fixed. Which sucks, because that part is at the back of my head, just under my hat.


    My non-regulation hat that I glued to my helmet because I think it looks cool.


    Well, might as well get this shit over with. I swing by my quartermaster¡¯s office. He yells at me for ten minutes straight before he finally gets to work replacing the transmitter. The whole thing takes less than thirty seconds and he doesn¡¯t even need to remove the helmet from my head, so I really don¡¯t get why he has to get on my case every fucking time I come here. It¡¯s not like the hat is obscuring anything important or impeding any of my sensors.


    Anyway, with that settled I start downloading and installing the orizian language pack for my auto-translator. It¡¯s already on by the time I make it to equipment bay twelve where Salami Flicker-


    Wait.


    I check the dossier one more time. Salamus Fricker, not Salami Flicker. Gotta get that right. Not really sure if orizians are prone to ¡®salami flicking,¡¯ but wouldn¡¯t wanna embarrass myself or the uniform either way. I stride into the common area of the equipment bay, it¡¯s sort of a staging ground for large teams of BMA operatives. It¡¯s pretty empty unless shit is going down, which means it¡¯s pretty much perpetually crowded.


    I spot my new ¡®partner¡¯ sitting awkwardly in a corner. He has a navigator¡¯s uniform that looks almost exactly like mine, but with three minor differences. Number one is the thing strapped to his left wrist isn¡¯t a standard issue PDA, but a lump of metal with a whole bunch of colorful gems stuck into it. The second is that his helmet has to conform to the shape of his head, which means it¡¯s shaped like a short and fat T. Last and most importantly, he doesn¡¯t have a stylish yet authoritative hat.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    He spots me as I approach and stands up to greet me. The dossier wasn¡¯t kidding, guy¡¯s really fucking skinny for his height. I¡¯d almost confuse him for a synthoid in a uniform if I didn¡¯t know any better. Also I now realize his arms are really long, almost as long as his legs. It¡¯s messing with my head a bit.


    ¡°Greetings,¡± he waves a six-fingered hand at me. ¡°You are agent who will be helping me out, yes?¡±


    ¡°Hey,¡± I respond with a wave of my own. ¡°Yeah, I guess that¡¯s me. You¡¯re Salamus, right?¡±


    ¡°Actually, it¡¯s pronounced Sa-lah-moose.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± I say as I recall up his BMA serial number. ¡°You¡¯re now Twenty-Five, and you can call me Seventeen.¡±


    ¡°I beg your pardon?¡± he pulls back.


    ¡°No need to getoffended. We go by serial numbers rather than names around here, and yours ends in two-five. I suggest you deal with it.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Oh. Oh, I apologize! There seems to be a glitch with your translator machine. I thought you were calling me, uh, something quite rude.¡±


    ¡°It happens.¡±


    The thing with these wizard-type navigators is they can¡¯t use our technology, so they have to emulate our tools by using whatever their home dimension¡¯s science can cook up. They even have their own causality fields, which prevents my lifeform scanner from picking them up as living beings. It¡¯s how I knew this was the guy I was looking for the instant I came in here.


    ¡°So will Two-Five work if Twenty-Five is somehow offensive?¡± I suggest.


    ¡°That is agreeable, yes,¡± his head sways in some weird alternative to nodding. ¡°If I may ask, though, why numbers?¡±


    ¡°Like I said, it¡¯s just easier than names.¡±


    ¡°But does that not strip you of your identity?¡±


    ¡°Yes. That¡¯s the point. While we¡¯re in uniform and on duty, we¡¯re navigators of the BMA first and foremost.¡±


    ¡°Ah. This must be the BMA headquarters¡¯ corporate culture I¡¯ve heard about.¡±


    ¡°Sort of, but it goes deeper than that. We represent the multiverse¡¯s foremost authority on interdimensional travel and breach-related law enforcement. It¡¯s something far greater than ourselves, and we need to put that first. I mean, who do you think some scared swamp-farmer that landed on a desert planet is going to trust more? John Abbott, or BMA navigator number five, five, three, six, eight, zero, five, one, seven?¡±


    ¡°Oh! I see! It¡¯s about using authority to reassure frightened civilians!¡±


    ¡°Yup. That¡¯s a good way of putting it, actually.¡±


    Certainly better than the grim reality that this ¡®corporate culture¡¯ only exists because it¡¯s easier to deal with the deaths of colleagues and coworkers if they¡¯re just a number. Hasn¡¯t really helped me much personally, but I can see why others might find it easier.


    ¡°So, Two-Five, have you been told how this partnership will work?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Seventeen. I am to serve as your gunner first and foremost, and will only focus on research and field-testing at times that you see fit.¡±


    ¡°Do you understand what it is you actually have to do? The gunner position is a bit, uh, misleadingly labeled.¡±


    Granted, I am not sure how this translates across the language barrier, but it¡¯s better to ask now than in the field.


    ¡°It is?¡± Two-Five nervously rubbed his palms together. ¡°Am I not there to cover you and provide fire support?¡±


    I hate it when I¡¯m right.


    ¡°Historically, a navigator¡¯s gunner was indeed there to act as a bodyguard,¡± I explain. ¡°However, that was a long time ago. These days our equipment, training and knowledge of the breaches are all far more advanced. Not to mention data that shows that having two people work the same case doesn¡¯t seem to affect the outcome in any significant way. It¡¯s far more efficient to simply have navigators working solo.¡±


    Ugh, I should probably record this speech or something. Repeating myself every time I¡¯m given a partner is¡­ infuriating.


    ¡°Simply put,¡± I continue, ¡°the traditional gunner position has become quite obsolete. In the rare occasions where navigators have to move in teams, the gunner is there to act as a mix of scout, medic, technician and diplomat. Fire support really doesn¡¯t factor into it, but the agency refuses to change that name. Probably in keeping with the vague nautical theme we have going on here.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I see¡­ I apologize, Seventeen. I was unaware.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, it¡¯s one of those things that you only learn about when you have to do it. It is really not that important since it¡¯s super rare to have a navigator and a gunner work together. Our partnership is the exception, not the norm.¡±


    ¡°Understood. Though I must say, I am rather relieved.¡±


    ¡°You are?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I abhor violence. I realize there are times when it becomes necessary and I try not to hesitate, but peaceful resolutions are for the best.¡±


    ¡°You know what, Two-Five? I think you and I are going to get along juuuust fine.¡±


    ¡°I pray that we do, Seventeen. Shall we get busy, then?¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­ There is one minor issue with that.¡±


    ¡°Which is?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m so tired I could sleep for a week. I¡¯ve just come off a really exhausting shift and I need rest before I hit another breach. At least eight hours¡¯ worth. I only came down here to introduce myself because I didn¡¯t want to keep you waiting.¡±


    ¡°Un.. understood,¡± I could practically hear his enthusiasm dissipating. ¡°But¡­ what am I supposed to do in the meantime?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe go change your loadout to something more, uh, suitable?¡±


    I point discreetly at the rifle-looking thing slung over his shoulder.


    ¡°¡­ Good point. Then, meet back here in eight hours?¡±


    ¡°Sounds good.¡±


    I just hope my helmet accurately translated ¡®eight hours¡¯ into orizian, because I swear to god, if that guy raises a fuss because I¡¯m late I am going to break his fucking kneecaps.


    ¡­ Assuming he has those.

 Chapter 4

    Thank fuck for coffee. Seriously, I have no idea how our ancestors did anything without this miraculous elixir. Then again, they also didn¡¯t have to deal with the fabric of reality ripping itself open every day. Or at least I hope they didn¡¯t, otherwise that nutjob cult that says humans came to Earth from breaches might be a right. And nobody likes a cult being right. Someone really needs to round up those morons and stop them from encouraging people to ¡®find their destiny¡¯ by hurling themselves through god damned interdimensional portals.


    Seriously, just how stupid can people get?


    Oh, right, I had to go meet whatshisface. What was his name again? Salami Flicker. Two-Five. Yeah, let¡¯s stick with Two-Five. I finish the rest of my coffee and start getting dressed. Shirt, tie, pants, boots, coat, PDA, utility belt, holster, helmet, hat, and I¡¯m done. I check myself over in the mirror one last time. Looking sharp, Seventeen. Alright, let¡¯s go see what my new gunner¡¯s been up to while I slept like a rock.


    I barely manage to leave my quarters when I see him in the hallway outside. Floating. In some kind of weird fetal position. I gotta say, having an apartment in the same building as my office is convenient most of the time, but this sort of shit is not okay.


    ¡°Two-Five?¡± I call out to him. ¡°What the hell are you doing here?¡±


    That seems to have gotten his attention, as the ball of spindly immediately started untangling itself. Once his feet were firmly on the ground, he gave me a wave.


    ¡°Greetings, Seventeen. Forgive me, I must have fallen asleep while waiting for you.¡±


    So that¡¯s how his people sleep? Bit weird, but I¡¯m not one to judge. I¡¯m told I snore like an elluvian ogre constantly passing gas. More importantly-


    ¡°Still haven¡¯t told me why you were here in the first place. How did you even know I lived here?¡±


    ¡°Forgive me if I unintentionally invaded your privacy,¡± he rubbed his hands together. ¡°I was intrigued by what sort of person you were, so I asked your, or rather, our superior if he could give me data on you. Which he did. By throwing a paper-thin machine containing your records at my face.¡±


    Yup, sounds like Jameson, alright.


    ¡°And I must admit, what I saw surprised me,¡± he continued. ¡°I was told I¡¯d be assigned to one of the BMA¡¯s best navigators, but I merely took those words as idle chatter.¡±


    Oh boy, here we go.


    ¡°Nearly fifty thousand incidents resolved over your ten years of service? And with a 97.526% success rate?! How are you still a simple navigator?!¡±


    ¡°Wait, that¡¯s what you¡¯re curious about?!¡±


    ¡°¡­ Yes?¡±


    I suppose it¡¯s better than him outright calling me a cheater, lier, hacker, or something along those lines. Just because I¡¯m a teeny tiny bit above the 73% average success rate doesn¡¯t mean I altered my own records. I¡¯m not trying to game the system to earn prestige or money.


    ¡°Because I want to help people,¡± I plainly state my sole reason for doing this job, ¡°but I can¡¯t do that if I get taken off the field by a promotion. I plan to keep doing what I¡¯m doing until I get so old that my body can¡¯t keep up with me.¡±


    Which, thanks to some gene therapy I received as a baby, should be another fifty or so years. Unless I lose a limb or something. Once I¡¯m deemed unfit for active field duty, I intend to just straight up retire. It¡¯s going to be lonely, though. A navigator¡¯s lifestyle doesn¡¯t leave much room for me to find a wife and start a family of my own, but there are more important things than my personal happiness.


    ¡°That is a most admirable attitude,¡± Two-Five remarks. ¡°You remind me of this royal army soldier I used to know, back on my homeworld.¡±


    ¡°Oh? Was he a war hero or something?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly. He was just this old veteran who lived near me when I was a child.¡±


    ¡°What happened to him?¡±


    ¡°He¡­ gave his life to protect dozens of life, mine included. I do not wish to go into details, but I recognize I wouldn¡¯t be here if not for him. Becoming a navigator is my way of honoring his memory.¡±


    ¡°Really? Shouldn¡¯t you have become a soldier, then?¡±


    ¡°I would have, but I¡¯m not physically capable enough to be considered fit for military duty. On the upside, I¡¯m told my mind is well suited to being a navigator, so I decided to play to my strengths instead of chasing the impossible.¡±


    ¡°Well, so long as you have no regrets,¡± I shrug. ¡°And don¡¯t let my record intimidate you. It may look impressive when you just look at the numbers, but it really isn¡¯t once you see how I operate. Speaking of which, shall we get to it? My shift starts in twelve minutes so I¡¯m practically already late.¡±


    ¡°Ah! By all means, let us proceed.¡±


    The two of us chat some more on our way to the departure station. Two-Five seemed interested in how I became a navigator, but I didn¡¯t have much to tell him. I¡¯m just doing the job because someone has to. I like to help people, too. It may sound a bit selfish, but I enjoy the dopamine hit whenever I reunite some lost soul with their friends and family. Less so when I have to bring in dangerous beasts or investigate smugglers. That¡¯s also why I have such a huge success rate. I focus on helping individuals get home, which is by and far the easiest part of the job. Also the most important one, at least in my opinion.


    We board a shuttle and are taken to one of the BMA¡¯s departure stations. They¡¯re special BMA facilities that act as lightning rods for breaches. They take a lot of the randomness out of the whole unstable fabric of reality thing. Unfortunately the special materials required to build them are both hella expensive and super rare, so it¡¯s just not feasible to have these in every city, town, village and hamlet. Would make life a lot easier for everyone else if that were the case.


    ¡°So, Seventeen, I¡¯ve been trying to find information on something without success,¡± Two-Five informs me while we¡¯re en-route. ¡°I was wondering, perhaps you might be able to help me?¡±


    ¡°I might. What were you looking for?¡±


    ¡°Data on shukhrotokar.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, data on what?¡± I ask dumbly.


    ¡°Shukhrotokar?¡± he repeats, twiddling his fingers.


    ¡°No idea what you¡¯re saying, I think the translation is glitching out.¡±


    ¡°Ah, perhaps I chose the wrong word? Our people have many names for it.¡±The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°It happens. Describe this¡­ shughorokar to me.¡±


    ¡°Ugh, your pronunciation is horrible. Please never attempt to say that again.¡±


    ¡°Two-Five.¡±


    ¡°I apologize, Seventeen. I get a bit¡­ touchy around improper use of language.¡±


    ¡°Get used to it. Auto-translators aren¡¯t perfect, but it¡¯s the best we got. So, what¡¯s this all about.¡±


    ¡°Shukhrotokar is the orizian scientific term for the mysterious mineral that has been linked to the breaches.¡±


    ¡°Ohhh! Yeah, okay. We call that ¡®ivanium¡¯ over here.¡±


    If memory serves, it was named after the geologist who first discovered its existence and then spearheaded the research into it. Pjotr Ivanov or something. They say the element appeared within the Earth¡¯s crust seemingly out of nowhere, and that it¡¯s responsible for creating those breaches. Solar radiation is also somehow involved, hence why those things only appear on the surface of planets rather than deep underwater or in the void of space. Good thing too, I don¡¯t think my navigator¡¯s gear would last too long in a vacuum.


    That aside, ivanium has a few helpful uses. It¡¯s used to generate causality fields and trace amounts of it have been used in my equipment¡¯s construction to reduce the risk of it going haywire in foreign words. My PDA has a whole 15.6 micrograms of the stuff, which makes it more valuable than the rest of my gear combined. Myself included.


    ¡°Eevaneum? Am I saying it right?¡± Two-Five asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s close enough. And I already know why you can¡¯t find any data for it. The BMA considers it restricted intel. You need to put in a request with our archivists if you want access to it.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Yes. Very good. Then I shall inquire about it formally once we return.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, about that. Been meaning to ask, how is this going to work? Can you even follow one of my anchors once I go through?¡±


    Our equipment is literal worlds apart, after all, and as the acting navigator, I have to be the one to head through first in order to map out the route.


    ¡°No. But, you can use one of mine, and I will follow that.¡±


    He holds up a purple gemstone that looks like a fist-sized rice grain.


    ¡°¡­ You sure about that?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely. I designed it around the premise of using your world¡¯s natural laws to emulate those of my own. The theory behind it is quite sound.¡±


    ¡°Theory?! You mean it¡¯s never been tested?!¡±


    ¡°Why do you think I approached your superiors in the first place?¡±


    ¡°Fan-fucking-tastic!¡±


    ¡°I understand your concern, Seventeen, but this item is the culmination of all my life¡¯s work. I would stake my own existence on it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re also staking my own, though.¡±


    ¡°Yes. I am aware.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Alright. Give it here.¡±


    ¡°Okay, but do be careful. The crystal circuit is laced with, what did you call it? Eevaneum. It took half of my family¡¯s sizeable fortune to get this much, and I would rather it be kept intact.¡±


    I reach out to take it from his hand, but stop myself at the last moment.


    ¡°Actually, let¡¯s wait until we¡¯re firmly on the ground before we do any¡­ experiments.¡±


    ¡°Yes, very good point, Seventeen. I shall temper my eagerness.¡±


    Somehow I wish this shuttle ride wouldn¡¯t end, but it does. We¡¯re dropped off at the perimeter of the departure facility. The whole area has been sealed off by a huge dome that¡¯s been electrified to fuck and back. Sometimes I wonder if it¡¯s designed to keep unauthorized personnel out, or to keep something in. Probably a bit of both.


    The guards give Two-Five some weird looks, or at least I assume they do, I can¡¯t see under those helmets. Anyway, they let us through without issue and I¡¯m greeted with an all too familiar sight. An entirely spherical arena two hundred meters in diameter, with a veritable storm of breaches crackling ominously all throughout.


    ¡°My word!¡± Two-Five exclaims. ¡°I heard Earth had it bad, but I never imagined there were this many!¡±


    ¡°What, you don¡¯t have facilities like this back on your homeworld?¡±


    ¡°We do, but it is not nearly as bad as this!¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­ And then off-worlders wonder why us humans are so invested in managing the breaches. Now stop gawking, we have a ride to catch.¡±


    Thankfully getting back to my district is fairly easy. I can usually do it in three jumps, two if I¡¯m lucky. Heh, just a walk in the park compared to what Two-Five must¡¯ve gone through to get here. Getting from Earth to Oriza or vice-versa can take as many as twenty transfers. That¡¯s days if not weeks¡¯ worth of realm-hopping. In any event, I check with the administrator and schedule for a jump. He points me to one of the more stable breaches along the edge of the interdimensional shitstorm. I go there and then turn to face Two-Five.


    ¡°Alright, big guy,¡± I hold my hand out. ¡°Let¡¯s do this.¡±


    He nods and carefully places his insanely valuable trinket in my waiting palm. However, it explodes into a puff of powder the instant he lets go of it.


    ¡°Uhm! That wasn¡¯t me!¡± I say in a mounting panic.


    ¡°Do not worry, Seventeen,¡± Two-Five reassures me. ¡°It is supposed to do that.¡±


    ¡°O-oh¡­¡±


    I watch as the glittering dust then converges together into one solid object as if reassembling itself. Within seconds I¡¯m holding something that looks like an actual faceted gem with clearly defined angles and sides rather than that vaguely grain-shaped thing it used to be.


    ¡°The prototype anchor has successfully adapted to your causality field,¡± my gunner reports while twiddling with the crystals on his wrist. ¡°You are clear to commence navigation, Seventeen.¡±


    ¡°But, what do I do with this?¡±


    ¡°Oh, just leave it on the floor here as you would any anchor. Once you have passed through I will grab it and be instantly transported to your side.¡±


    ¡°Seems simple enough. Alright, here we go.¡±


    I gently place the thing on the ground and then look towards my PDA. I do my standard thing of tossing a sensor through the breach and pick out a route. Once I¡¯m done I look over my shoulder and nod to Two-Five. I then realize he probably has no idea what the gesture means.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be going ahead.¡±


    I take a short run up and leap through the breach. My brain gets utterly overwhelmed by the impossible sensory input it received, as per usual. It calms down and I can think somewhat clearly again after a short while, again as per usual. I then diligently follow the route I mapped out earlier, making sure not to miss any of the ¡®turns¡¯ I have to make. Just a few more mental twitches and I should feel myself land in an ocean.


    However, that does not happen. What instead takes place is that I suddenly experience something I can only describe as my head going through my own asshole. Then there¡¯s an incredibly sharp pain that feels like it¡¯s coming at me from half the galaxy away. I then hit the rocky ground, hard. I lay perfectly still for the ten seconds it takes for the post-transfer sickness to dissipate, but this time it¡¯s not going away. Nearly a minute passess before my head stops spinning and my ears quit ringing, after which I feel the distinct taste of blood in my mouth.


    At least nothing seems to be broken, so I force myself to stand and observe my surroundings. I¡¯m in the middle of a treacherous-looking mountain region with a thick black cloud overhead. Doesn¡¯t appear to be highly toxic though, so my helmet¡¯s filters are handling it alright. Also the rocks are a mix of green, yellow and brown, while the sky is impossible to see through the gas.


    This is not a familiar sight. No, scratch that, this is the first fucking time I¡¯ve ever seen such an environment, whether it be live or in a vid. I take a confused step forward. My foot bumps into something soft, making me leap back and draw my firearm on reflex. Or at least I tried to, but gravity here is a lot stronger than I gave it credit for and I slammed my butt into the dirt.


    I then look up to see the thing I nearly tripped over was my new gunner.


    ¡°Two-Five?¡± I call out to him. ¡°Two-Five! Are you alright!?¡±


    He lets out a weird whistling noise as he wakes up, flipping himself onto his back.


    ¡°I¡­ Will be,¡± he groans. ¡°Just need for¡­ my first aid kit to kick-in and... ¡°


    *POP*


    *CRACK*


    ¡°There we go,¡± he says, his voice much lighter. ¡°Much better.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck just happened, Two-Five?!¡±


    ¡°It seems I have both favorable and unfavorable news. On the favorable side, my prototype anchor worked,¡± he holds up the gem in question.


    ¡°Worked?! You call this worked?!¡± I scream at him. ¡°We¡¯re on some shithole of a planet in fuck-knows-where! We¡¯re fucking lost, Two-Five. Lost! How the hell is this a ¡®working¡¯ prototype?!¡±


    ¡°I was successful in following you through the breach once I triggered it.¡±


    I sigh and rub my faceplate with both hands.


    ¡°But how did I end up off-course, Two-Five?¡±


    ¡°That is the unfavorable news. It seems I triggered while you were still in transit, which caused an¡­ unforeseen consequence.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡±


    I swear, if we die out here, I am going to fucking kill him.

 Chapter 5

    ¡°Hmmmmm, hmmmmm, hmmmmm.¡±


    I keep walking through the rocky wilderness, humming a certain tune to myself as I replay it in my head. Since there¡¯s practically nobody else around and the good part is coming up, I decide to fuck it and sing along.


    ¡°Would you look at all that stuff¡­¡±


    ¡°Pardon? What stuff?¡± Two-Five asks from behind.


    I turn on my heel and kindly tell him while continuing to walk backwards.


    ¡°They''ve got allen wrenches, gerbil feeders, toilet seats, electric heaters, trash compactors, juice extractors, shower rods and water meters, walkie-talkies, copper wires, safety goggles, radial tires, BB pellets, rubber mallets, fans and dehumidifiers, picture hangers, paper cutters, waffle irons, window shutters, paint removers, window louvers, masking tape and plastic gutters, kitchen faucets, folding tables, weather stripping, jumper cables, hooks and tackle, grout and spackle, power foggers, spoons and ladles, pesticides for fumigation, high-performance lubrication, metal roofing, waterproofing, multi-purpose insulation, air compressors, brass connectors, wrecking chisels, smoke detectors, tire gauges, hamster cages, thermostats and bug deflectors, trailer hitch demagnetizers, automatic circumcisers, tennis rackets, angle brackets, Duracells and Energizers, soffit panels, circuit breakers, vacuum cleaners, coffee makers, calculators, generators, matching salt and pepper shakers!¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­¡±


    I face the front and keep going.


    ¡°I can''t waaait, no, I can''t waaait! When they gonna open up that doooor?¡±


    ¡°What door?!¡±


    ¡°I''m goin¡¯ yes I¡¯m goin¡¯, I''m a-goin¡¯ to the, goin¡¯ to the, we¡¯re goin¡¯ to the, I¡¯m goin¡¯ to the, a-go-ing to the hardwaaare stooore!¡±


    ¡°¡­ Navigator¡¯s log,¡± he mumbled into his jeweled bracelet. ¡°The stress of our circumstances seems to have rendered navigator Seventeen mentally unstable.¡±


    ¡°I am quite sane, thank you very much,¡± I playfully say over my shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s just hard to sing that last part with just the one mouth.¡±


    ¡°So you were singing?¡±


    ¡°Yup. Just trying to lighten the mood a little.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know whether to be impressed or worried,¡± the orizian notes. ¡°That ¡®song¡¯ nearly broke my translator matrix.¡±


    ¡°To be fair, even I don¡¯t know what most of those words are, but I¡¯ll be damned if I ever forget them.¡±


    ¡°Might I ask why you remember them with such clarity?¡±


    ¡°When I was first starting out as a navigator, my incompetence got me stranded on Juniper-7. Landed in one of its oceans, nothing but saltwater as far as the eye can see.¡±


    ¡°By the Omnissiah!¡± he exclaimed. ¡°It¡¯s a miracle you made it back at all!¡±


    His reaction is understandable. When a breach opens up around body of water, it¡¯s almost always near its bottom rather than on the surface. It then gets flooded by a few hundred litres of water and collapses within half a second.


    ¡°Yeah, tell me about it,¡± I grumbled. ¡°It spent nearly two months floating around on a Lifesavers¡¯ All-Purpose Emergency Raft? before I managed to get to dry land. Another week until I found a breach.¡±


    ¡°Incredible! How did you survive that long without food or water?!¡±


    ¡°Oh, I had plenty of food,¡± I say as I take out a fist-sized metal canister from one of my pockets. ¡°Capsule Corp ? Nutrimax Supplements?. Enough to keep me going for years. Only problem is they need fresh water to work, so I had to purify the salt water by boiling it into steam, catching the vapors in a plastic jar, then letting them condense.¡±


    I was also lucky that ocean was full of regular old H-2-O and not one of those water-but-not-really liquids you sometimes come across through the breaches. That ordeal was also a huge wake up call. It showed me that all that training I was put through serves a purpose, even something as inane-sounding as ¡®Low-Tech Survival 101.¡¯


    ¡°I see. No wonder you appear so carefree despite our dire situation.¡±


    ¡°Oh no, that¡¯s not it. I just don¡¯t see how being all doom and gloom is going to make it any better.¡±


    ¡°Kek,¡± Two-Five chuckled. ¡°I suppose that¡¯s true.¡±


    This weird rock our little ¡®accident¡¯ stranded us on doesn¡¯t seem to have too many breaches. When we arrived, the closest one was eight days away by foot. We started heading towards it, but it closed after a few hours. Another one popped up relatively nearby, but we missed that one, too. Been chasing breaches since, but the one we¡¯re headed towards now seems to be a keeper. My PDA has had a firm lock on its location for the past forty hours and reads no sign of destabilization, so there¡¯s a good chance it¡¯ll last the two days it¡¯ll take us to get there.


    ¡°Seventeen? There is one other thing about that story that puzzles me.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that, Two-Five?¡±


    ¡°What does that weird song have to do with it?¡±


    ¡°Oh, right. That was a leftover from my helmet¡¯s previous owner. Not sure what the story was, but my quartermaster must¡¯ve neglected to scrub its data. It had a bunch of files uploaded into it, and that song was the only one that wasn¡¯t corrupted. I must¡¯ve listened to it thousands of times in some vague attempt to not go insane.¡±


    ¡°No wonder you know it by heart. And with our current circumstances being somewhat similar, I can understand why you would be reminded of it.¡±


    I sigh deeply at Two-Five¡¯s sagely remark.


    ¡°No, see, you¡¯re doing it all wrong,¡± I shake my head. ¡°When I say ¡®I did it to avoid going crazy,¡¯ you¡¯re supposed to retort with something like ¡®I don¡¯t think it worked,¡¯ not ¡®I understand.¡¯ Seriously, get with the program already!¡±


    If we¡¯re going to work together, then this guy needs to learn how to banter. Otherwise I¡¯ll just end up talking to myself. Well, I do that a lot anyway, but I don¡¯t typically have an audience when I do.


    ¡°¡­ Two-Five?¡±


    I suddenly realize my companion¡¯s gone quiet and turn around in a rush. Thankfully he¡¯s still there, just crouching over a weird rock. I mean, ¡®weird rock¡¯ describes 90% of the terrain we¡¯ve seen since we got here, but this one is a slightly different kind of weird. It¡¯s about as big as my head and one half of it seems to be awfully sparkly.


    ¡°Two-Five,¡± I call out as I approach. ¡°You can¡¯t just stop like that, I almost left you behind.¡±


    He turns his head at me, then back towards the rock.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°Do you know what this is?¡± he asks, pointing at it.


    ¡°¡­ No, but you clearly think it¡¯s important.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a mineral from my homeworld. I¡¯d know it anywhere.¡±


    I raise an eyebrow under my helmet and use my PDA to try and scan it. It fails to do so, but has no problem getting partial readings on the surrounding dirt and gravel. I guess that more or less means it really is alien in origin. It also raises a rather worrisome point.


    ¡°So¡­ we¡¯re closer to your home than mine?¡±


    ¡°I severely doubt that. I had to pass through eleven breaches to reach Earth from Oriza. Our transfer might¡¯ve been an anomalous one, but there¡¯s no way it could¡¯ve spanned that many layers.¡±


    ¡°Layers? Oh, right, your people subscribe to the ¡®layered universe¡¯ theory.¡±


    ¡°Why, yes. I am surprised you know of it.¡±


    ¡°Eh¡­ ¡®Know¡¯ is way too strong a way of putting it. ¡®Head of it¡¯ is far more accurate.¡±


    I¡¯m not going to pretend I understand it, but the theory in question claims that all of the worlds connected by the breaches are arranged like a stack. A big ol¡¯ mega-skyscraper where each floor holds an entire damn universe. It kinda makes sense with how the BMA has these dimensions grouped into ¡®districts¡¯ that have frequent travel between them, with breaches being massive holes in the floor or ceiling in that analogy. It¡¯s one of the more popular beliefs behind this breach business, but ¡®belief¡¯ and ¡®theory¡¯ is as far as any world¡¯s science has gotten with trying to explain exactly how it all works.


    ¡°But yes, you have point,¡± I get the conversation back on track. ¡°This stone must¡¯ve undergone quite the journey to get here.¡±


    That said, if recent memory serves, it¡¯s also the second mysterious rock I¡¯ve seen this far out of its place.


    ¡°Is this mineral vital to getting us the fuck out of here?¡±


    ¡°Not vital, but useful,¡± Two-Five corrected me. ¡°I just need to¡­ process it first.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°¡­ So may I proceed?¡± he asks after a brief moment of silence.


    ¡°Why are you asking- Oh, right.¡±


    I almost forgot, but I¡¯m technically the commanding officer here. If he wants to interfere with the local environment in some way, then it¡¯s up to me to judge whether he should or not. I can¡¯t imagine there be any harm in him removing an alien element from the environment, but there is one other issue I need to consider.


    ¡°Will it take long?¡±


    ¡°No more than three minutes.¡±


    ¡°Then go ahead.¡±


    He picks it up with both hands, and the rock starts to vibrate fast enough to become a blurry spot in my vision. A dust cloud emanates from it as god knows how many years¡¯ worth of dust and grime are shaken off in a matter of seconds. Once it settles down, Two-Five is left holding what appears to be a bright blue glass sphere about half the width of the rock it used to be.


    ¡°So¡­ should I bother asking what that was all about?¡±


    ¡°You could, but I don¡¯t think you¡¯d be able to understand my explanation.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, probably not. What¡¯s it do, though?¡±


    ¡°In simplest terms, its a type of fuel common to Oriza. I can use it to supercharge my equipment if need be.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good.¡±


    I stare off in the direction of the only stable breach in the area, and at the volcano-looking thing sitting in the way.


    ¡°I feel like that ¡®need¡¯ might come up pretty soon.¡±


    ¡°Agreed.¡±


    We continue trudging along. The terrain is dry, unstable and uneven, so our progress is not the most stellar. Two-Five¡¯s new battery-thing is slowing him down too. It¡¯s heavier than it looks, but that¡¯s not why it¡¯s a problem. He has to use one or both arms to carry it, which means he¡¯s not swinging them around. And if someone as tall and spindly has him isn¡¯t swinging his arms around, he has trouble maintaining his balance, which means he has to be even more careful than usual to not trip or slip.


    As for me, long hikes through an alien wilderness are basically 90% of my damn job, so I¡¯m more or less used to it. It¡¯s not like I have much of a choice. I have to get from one breach to the next somehow, and vehicles aren¡¯t exactly worth their cost in the agency¡¯s opinion. Yes, they would be handy for situations like these, which is why emergency response teams usually arrive with a set of wheels. They¡¯re not amphibious though, so they couldn¡¯t help me when I got stuck in the ocean. The only thing I would¡¯ve accomplished if I asked for help back then would¡¯ve been to get up to ten of us stranded for two months.


    But this situation is different. The ER guys¡¯ souped-up ATVs would tear through this terrain like nothing. Problem is, my PDA can¡¯t get my distress signal out. It keeps blaring ¡®unknown error¡¯ at me for some reason. Two-Five¡¯s communicator is equally useless, though at least he knows why. Something about background energy interference. I¡¯m not sure if I trust that, to be honest. Mostly because this world¡¯s so stone dead and barren it¡¯s hard to think of anything or anyone that might be putting off that much energy. There isn¡¯t even any moss on any of these rocks, for fuck sake!


    Okay, let¡¯s calm down. Complaining inside my head is only going to make me feel miserable so I keep trying to chat to my gunner. ¡®Trying¡¯ being the operative word in that sentence. As previously established, Two-Five¡¯s banter skills are terrible. I feel like I have to drag his words out with a crowbar. Then again, I have been asking him a bunch of personal questions, so he probably feels like he¡¯s being interrogated. I¡¯d ask if he knew any good jokes, but those never translate well, and not just because of the language barrier.


    Actually screw it, what¡¯s the worst that could happen?


    ¡°So Two-Five, know any good jokes?¡±


    ¡°Why, yes, actually,¡± he said, surprising me. ¡°I¡¯m told my sense of humor is above average.¡±


    ¡°Oh? Let¡¯s hear some, then.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure? I doubt they will be very funny without context.¡±


    Took the words right out of my mouth.


    ¡°It¡¯s worth a try,¡± I shrug.


    ¡°Very well. Let me think for a moment¡­ Alright. So. A famarian nationalist was arrested for publicly calling the Emperor a ¡®fathead.¡¯ He was sentenced to eleven years of hard labor. One for sedition, and ten for revealing a state secret.¡±


    ¡°Hah! Okay, that was better than I was expecting. Got another?¡±


    ¡°There are three types of people in the world. Those who can count, and those who cannot.¡±


    ¡°Wow, you have that one, too?¡±


    ¡°Apparently. What about you, Seventeen? Do you have any good jokes?¡±


    Sure I do. Mostly puns and wordplay, though. Those definitely do not cross the language barrier. I do have a certain ¡®backup¡¯ though, one that¡¯s apparently relatively universal.


    ¡°Two hunters are out in the wilderness when one of them collapses. He doesn''t seem to be breathing and shows no vital signs. The other guy whips out his communicator and calls emergency services. He gasps, ¡®My friend is dead! What can I do?¡¯ The operator tells him ¡®Calm down. I can help. First, let''s make sure he''s dead.¡¯ There is a silence, then a shot is heard. Back on the line, the guy says ¡®Okay, now what?¡¯¡±


    ¡°Kek! Kekekekeke!¡± he starts giggling. ¡°Kekheum! That was a good one. Okay, how about this one?¡±


    We spend the next hour or so swapping jokes. Or we try to, but most of the ones that follow those first few end up bombing. I did notice that a lot of Two-Five¡¯s material had something to do with famarians. I asked him about it and apparently ¡®famarian¡¯ is a nationality, not a race or species. Seems his country and theirs have had a rivalry that¡¯s existed since forever, hence all the derisive jokes. I get it though, we have the same thing back home. The english and the french are still at each other¡¯s throats even though the Great Unification did away with borders long ago.


    Then again, I can¡¯t exactly blame them seeing as how the french are a bunch of pompous surrender monkeys.


    We eventually call it quits when we stop to rest for the day. Well, chronologically speaking. My PDA¡¯s clock says it¡¯s been eighty six hours since we ¡®landed,¡¯ but I¡¯ve seen no hint of a day-night cycle. That thick cloud of smoke covering the sky hasn¡¯t budged, either. But the time of day doesn¡¯t matter when your feet are howling at you, so I park my butt in a shallow cave for shelter. Two-Five¡¯s biological clock runs on a different scale from mine. Apparently a day on his home planet is about thirteen hours longer than the twenty-four I¡¯m used to, so he¡¯s been taking six hour ¡®naps¡¯ while I sleep like a rock.


    It takes us another two terran days¡¯ worth of mind-numbing walking before we finally close in on our destination. That part, at least, was as we¡¯d estimated. However, the closer we got, the more my gut feeling was proving to be true.


    ¡°Say, Two-Five, do you know what Murphy¡¯s law is?¡± I ask while staring at my PDA¡¯s readout.


    ¡°I cannot say that I do,¡± he responds from behind. ¡°I know of most of your world¡¯s scientific pioneers, like Eyesack New-ton and Albert One-Stain, but this is the first time I¡¯ve heard of a ¡®Murphy.¡¯ What natural law did he discover?¡±


    ¡°That whatever can go wrong, will go wrong.¡±


    ¡°¡­ That does not seem like a proper scientific theory.¡±


    ¡°Maybe not, but it¡¯s hard to fault it.¡±


    I turn off my PDA and point at the massive active volcano at the end of the rocky valley before us.


    ¡°If what my equipment is telling me is true, our way out is inside that fiery pit of lava.¡±


    Two-Five walks up to me and stares at the smoke-belching mountain for a moment.


    ¡°I take it back,¡± he mumbles after a bit. ¡°This Murphy fellow might¡¯ve been onto something.¡±

 Chapter 6

    Navigator Salamus Fricker, BMA serial number 786571025,Mental Log #503.


    I follow in Seventeen¡¯s footsteps, same as I have over the past few days. He keeps dancing and humming as he goes, same as before. Initially I questioned and doubted that behavior, but I understand now. Compared to my own people, humans are by far the most resourceful and inventive species I¡¯ve ever met. They had more or less mastered breach travel in a fraction of the time it took us, which I believe is because they seem to be far more willing to hurl themselves into the unknown. It is quite inspiring just how deep their explorer¡¯s spirit goes.


    However, these admirable traits comes with a price. A human¡¯s mind seems to tire out much quicker than their body. They are easily distracted, and struggle to maintain focus over long periods of time due to a peculiar emotional condition that our people do not experience, hence why our language has no word for it. Seventeen described it as an unpleasant feeling that is a mix of frustration, impatience and tiredness that appears whenever the mind is either idle or preoccupied with mundane and uninteresting tasks. This sensation makes the humans easily distracted since their brains crave excitement and entertainment on a regular basis.


    It¡¯s not as if I do not understand the need for mental stimulation, as I do appreciate various recreation activities. Exercising the body through sport or letting the mind wander with a good book or a humorous video is an excellent way to shake off stress. However, such activities seem to be vital to a human¡¯s mental and emotional health. It is why Seventeen had listened to that strange song with the unknowable words thousands of times during his oceanic exile. ¡®It was significantly better than the endless crashing of waves,¡¯ was what he told me.


    Honestly, it is the first time I¡¯ve ever met an intelligent being this¡­ foreign and alien to me. I¡¯d read the books and listened to the lectures, but those just don¡¯t do these people justice. They focused far too much on their physical abilities. Which, in all honesty, are pretty terrifying. Their bodies are highly resistant to injury, and are capable of fully recovering from wounds that would be either fatal or crippling to an orizian. Skull fractures, loss of limb, firearm wounds, extensive dehydration and/or starvation. Seventeen tells me there are even those who willingly remove the arms and legs they were born with, just to replace them with ¡®superior¡¯ mechanical prosthetics!


    Yet their major weakness is¡­ lack of entertainment? And such ill-conceived entertainment at that. Hurling themselves from heights? Fighting one another in a cage? Driving unsafe vehicles at ludicrous speeds through a track designed to be difficult to navigate? Or how about scaling treacherous mountains on foot despite having easy access to flying vehicles, all just to prove that they could? What these humans consider sport would be seen as just plain suicidal by orizian standards, like their entire species has a death wish. And I don¡¯t even want to think about their ridiculously ill-conceived ¡®space programs.¡¯ Not even the most demented of orizians would strap themselves to an explosive tower for the sole purpose of flinging themselves into a vacuum.


    The way I understand it, the entirety of human civilization seems to be built on taking stupid, unnecessary risks. To be fair, I¡¯d probably be just as reckless if all it took to mend a broken limb was a few weeks in a splint rather than open surgery and years of rehabilitation, but I digress. My point is that if anyone was going to accompany me to a different universe by using unstable, untested tech some random guy barely out of the academy came up with, it would be a human. And I was right. Seventeen and his superiors just sort of¡­ went along with it. He even told me he fully expected it to fail the way it did.


    Which it didn¡¯t. Not really. The prototype anchor allowed us both to pass through the same breach and arrive at the same destination. It was a major success in my opinion. The only fault lies with the operator, which is to say myself. However, my new companion didn¡¯t seem to be angry with me, and I honestly didn¡¯t want to argue with him for fear of how he might react. That was, however, before I got to know him. I understand now that humans are not inherently violent nor reckless. They are, in Seventeen¡¯s own words, just a bunch of idiots with way too much energy. He also shared a rather enlightening nugget of human wisdom with me - ¡®Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.¡¯


    That aside, though I definitely feel more relaxed around Seventeen than I did when I first met, it is impossible to deny that his species are, objectively speaking, quite terrifying.


    ¡°Get down!¡±


    Therefore, when my companion suddenly shouts, ducks behind behind a large boulder and presses his back against it, I instantly follow suit. On one hand, we were almost at the foot of the volcano where our exit is supposed to be. Neither of us had seen any signs of life since we arrived on this world, and the only hazard we¡¯d encountered was some mildly acidic rain that forced us to take cover in a cave for a while. But on the other hand, when a human expresses caution, that usually means something borderline catastrophic is about to happen.


    ¡°What is it, Seventeen?¡± I whisper warily.


    He doesn¡¯t answer me with words, but with hand signals. It¡¯s a bit weird following them since he has five fingers instead of the six I¡¯m used to, but it was the human-founded BMA that came up with this special navigator¡¯s sign language, so I have no trouble understanding him. He¡¯s telling me to remain silent, hidden, and to kill my comms. I comply by pushing a few buttons on my wrist-console, powering down my helmet¡¯s transmitter.


    When I look up, however, Seventeen already has his firearm drawn with one hand and signs ¡®possible hostile contact¡¯ with the other. Years of training kick in as I instantly drop my spherical souvenir and take out my own weapon from my coat¡¯s inner pocket. It¡¯s made to emulate BMA standard issue equipment like the rest of my gear, so its exterior shell almost identical to Seventeen¡¯s even though the internals are worlds apart. The only real difference in appearance is that mine¡¯s grip was made with a six-fingered double-thumbed hand in mind.Stolen story; please report.


    I watch carefully as my partner peeks out from our hiding spot, looks towards the volcano¡¯s base and then ducks back down. ¡®Unknown device ahead, 100 meters, please confirm,¡¯ is what he signs at me. I reply with a quick ¡®understood¡¯ and slowly shuffle around the other side of the boulder. I poke my head out, and it takes me a few moments, but I definitely spot an ¡®unknown device¡¯ peering over a ridge. It looks like the top of one of those radio towers I saw on Earth, during our brief flight from HQ to the departure facility. It has the same antennas, bowl-shaped devices and blinking lights, though covered in a layer of volcanic ash and wrapped in a terran causality field.


    I immediately understand why Seventeen assumes hostiles. This is without a doubt human tech, or at least something close to it. However, the BMA has no official presence on this world, otherwise his communicator would have picked up on it. Which, in turn, means that this device most likely belongs to a criminal organization. The type that would have no qualms about killing a navigator or two to hide their secret.


    I shuffle around back to Seventeen and sign at him with ¡®unknown device,¡¯ ¡®confirmed,¡¯ and ¡®requesting orders,¡¯ to which he replies with ¡®retreat and regroup.¡¯ Which is what we do. We double back for about a half corason, or one point six kilometers in Seventeen¡¯s measurement system, and hide in a shallow cave we passed on the way here. Only once we¡¯re inside does he finally speaks up.


    ¡°Blast them all, I should¡¯ve known.¡±


    ¡°Should have known what?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Why my computer is not working right. That was an ivanium mixer.¡±


    Wait, what? How does one ¡®mix eevanium¡¯ with a signal tower? Granted, my people use sonic resonance to help refine and mold shukhrotokar, but human science is based on heat and electricity, not vibrations. That can¡¯t be right. Oh, I see, that ¡®mixer¡¯ was probably a translator glitch. If that device is somehow interfering with his equipment, then it must be either absorbing or dispersing the unique vibrations that shukhrotokar sends through the fabric of reality once properly stimulated. In short-


    ¡°Do you mean a jammer?¡± I ask warily.


    ¡°Whatever you want to call it, that thing¡¯s bad news,¡± Seventeen says while holstering his sidearm. ¡°It means whoever is here has a significant enough presence to warrant one of those.¡±


    ¡°So, what do we do?¡±


    ¡°We blow it up, that¡¯s what.¡±


    ¡­ Spoken like a true human, I suppose.


    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t think I can¡¯t feel you judging me in that weird head of yours. You think I¡¯d suggest something so stupid if we had any other option?¡±


    Alright, let¡¯s hear him out.


    ¡°Why not leave its range and call for backup? Or find another breach?¡±


    ¡°That one tower can easily blanket the entire planet, so the first option is not going to happen,¡± he says with a shake of his head. ¡°And you know as well as I do that this seems to be the only breach that¡¯s within anything even remotely close to a walking distance. Why do you think that is?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not suggesting they have a departure facility like the one on Earth, are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not suggesting it, I¡¯m saying it.¡±


    ¡°But, inside an active volcano? With all that heat and toxic fumes and Omnissiah knows what else?¡±


    ¡°Perfect place for it. It¡¯s a natural fortress and a source of geothermal energy.¡±


    Ah, of course. I keep forgetting human science is fueled by fire and lightning.


    ¡°Still, that is a lot of speculation based on a short glimpse,¡± I point out.


    ¡°A simple glimpse and also years of navigator experience,¡± he retorts. ¡°My intestines are telling me we¡¯ve stumbled onto a massive operation, right under the BMA¡¯s noses.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Your intestines speak to you?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a figure of speech. It means instinct, insight, that sort of thing.¡±


    ¡°Understood. Then how do you propose we topple that tower? There¡¯s only two of us and your ¡®massive operation¡¯ theory suggests the locals outnumber us quite heavily.¡±


    ¡°Indeed. Our only viable option is to take it out from range and retreat until reinforcements arrive. They wouldn¡¯t leave that mixer defenseless, however. It¡¯s sure to be shielded, or at the very least reinforced. The ordinance I¡¯m carrying won¡¯t damage it in any significant way even if it does hit. But, that only applies to attacks that they are expecting.¡±


    He then points to the console on my left forearm.


    ¡°Do you think you and your gear might be able to do something about that? If you can make your tech cooperate with mine, then surely you know how to make it do the opposite.¡±


    ¡°Oh, my! That is a brilliant proposition, Seventeen!¡±


    It may sound like a boast, but I dare say I¡¯m the foremost expert on how orizian and terran tech interact. I¡¯ve spent much of my academic life exploring the mysteries of human science. Or at least as much as I could without leaving my homeworld. The One Earth Government embassy in the capital was a huge help in that regard. Not only did they encourage and assist my research as much as the law would allow, but they also helped me become a full fledged navigator and even arranged my visit to the agency¡¯s headquarters. It¡¯s how I was able to design an adaptable anchor that is capable of functioning by both sets of natural laws, all thanks to shukhrotokar¡¯s unique properties.


    And yet it didn¡¯t even occur to me that I could do what Seventeen suggests.


    ¡°It¡¯s actually frighteningly simple to do that,¡± I tell him. ¡°I just need to use my console¡¯s matter tuner to subject the device to an atomic frequency cascade.¡±


    ¡°What will that accomplish?¡±


    ¡°Well, depending on how well I do it, it will either bring down the tower¡¯s causality field and break its delicate circuitry, or straight up disintegrate it.¡±


    Both of those outcomes would result in it going offline, allowing us to call for backup.


    ¡°Awesome! So, how far away do you need to be to do that?¡±


    ¡°That depends. Normally I¡¯d need to be practically next to it, but I can use the power crystal we found to boost my tuner¡¯s range to about two hundred meters.¡±


    It only takes Seventeen a few moments to realize the crucial flaw with that course of action.


    ¡°¡­ You forgot the crystal when we ran away, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    As expected of a human¡¯s sharp wit, he catches on fast.

 Chapter 7

    ¡°Step it up, Two-Five,¡± I tell my gunner. ¡°We need to hurry.¡±


    ¡°Haste makes waste, Seventeen.¡±


    ¡°Haste also keeps navigators alive. Now move it.¡±


    I have no idea if whatever organization¡¯s taken root on this world has patrols, but they probably do. I can¡¯t imagine they¡¯d overlook something as out of place as a smoothed out crystal sphere just laying around their giant scrambler¡¯s perimeter. That is assuming our ignorance didn¡¯t get us spotted and we merely managed to book it before anyone could respond. Either way, we need to hurry while we have some modicum of surprise on our side.


    We manage to reach roughly the same spot we were in about forty minutes after we left. Could¡¯ve been here faster if Two-Five wasn¡¯t so inept at traversing the rough terrain. We really need to get him some boots with better grip or something, he keeps slipping on the gravel and sand. Which makes up about 90% of the fucking terrain on this planet. I suppose could¡¯ve just left him behind and gone on ahead then come back with his power crystal, but I¡¯d rather move a bit slower than be separated without any means of communication.


    In any event, it appears we were too little too late. I peek over a ridge overlooking our previous hiding spot and I spot two guys already searching the area with their guns drawn. They clearly suspect someone or something else is on this rock with them. There¡¯s a third one standing over our big blue trump card next to that boulder. The thing stands out like crazy amidst this red and gray wasteland, so it¡¯s no surprise they already found it. At least the guy seems to understand why touching it might be a bad idea, so it should buy us some time.


    I duck behind cover and sign to delta that our objective is in sight, along with three hostiles. Yes, they are most definitely hostiles, and no, I¡¯m not saying that just because of the automatic rifles. Those environmental suits they have on that are black in the torso but blue and white in the limbs and helmet? I¡¯d know that color scheme anywhere. It¡¯s the uniform of those crazies that thing breaches are a sign from God that will bring salvation, rather than the catastrophic threat to an entire planet¡¯s ecosystem that they are.


    All it takes is a few members of a foreign species with a fast enough reproduction cycle and no natural predators, then the entire thing just collapses in a few dozen years. Why do they think the One Earth Government sanctions literal extinctions whenever any sort of animal manages to start spreading on a world where it doesn¡¯t belong? I tell you what, it¡¯s certainly not to ¡®make coats out of their hides for the wealthy¡¯ like those nutjobs on the internet say.


    However, their presence here and now is way more worrisome. It would be way easier if they were criminals, like smugglers or slave traders. Those people may be scum, but at least they can be reasoned with. But a bunch of armed zealots who seem to have a hate-boner for any authority other than their own? Yeah, the only talking those guys are going to do is with their guns, and that¡¯s a discussion Two-Five and I are wholly unprepared to have.


    My gunner then signs asking for orders. It¡¯s a tough call to make. Our only real way out of this is to capture the crystal, topple the tower, then call in the cavalry. The real question is whether we can pull that off with just the two of us and our peashooters. If we¡¯re going to do something we better do it quick, so I sign to Two-Five to make a distraction, a loud one. He gives me an ¡®okay¡¯ then crouches down and slaps the dirt between his feet with his left hand.


    The button-like gems on his weird bracelet thing start to glow and the dry sand-like dirt around his fingers starts vibrating. When he lifts his hand, the dirt particles follow in a small, cone-shaped cloud. They gather and swirl inside his open palm until they¡¯ve formed a lumpy rock of some kind. The thing then starts to glow blue and vibrate, producing a high-pitched buzzing noise almost identical to that of a mosquito as it just floats a few centimeters from his hand.


    Now, I¡¯m no expert on whatever the fuck is going on, but my instincts are telling me that my gunner just made a grenade from a fistfull of dirt. He twirled his fingers around and just sort of pointed at a spot to the left, and the thing just bolted off faster than an olympic sprinter who just heard his wife is going into labor. I¡­ don¡¯t know where that analogy came from, but I don¡¯t get a chance to question it before the thing makes impact about fifty meters away. There¡¯s an ear-splitting explosion followed by a massive cloud of dust and smoke.


    ¡°The fuck was that?!¡± one of the cultists shouts, just barely audible over the din. ¡°You two check it out, I¡¯m going to report it in!¡±


    I peek out from behind my hiding spot. I see the two thugs that were searching the area approach the site of Two-Five¡¯s distraction with their weapons pointed at it and away from us. The one in the back is clutching the side of his helmet, no doubt about to call his nutjob buddies over. We can¡¯t have that, so I take aim and fire a tranq shot. The echoing boom masks my firearm going off while my high-tech bullet clamps onto his thigh, then shocks him into submission.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    I then point my firearm at the other two. I manage to pacify one of them, but the other finally realizes something¡¯s going on and starts firing his rifle at me. I duck behind the ridge, cursing under my breath as the automatic weapon chews up my flimsy rock cover. I look over to see Two-Five¡¯s prepared another dirt-bomb, which he blindly throws at the agitated hostile. The guy naturally sees the glowing thing and shoots at it. He manages to intercept it, causing the thing to explode into another deafening din and cloud of dust. There¡¯s no actual force or shrapnel accompanying the detonation though, just a lot of smoke and noise. I guess that¡¯s just the orizian version of a flashbang.


    And it seems to be rather dangerous to them, seeing as how Two-Five is clutching his head and screaming as if someone¡¯s driving a rusty nail into his eye. I¡¯m mostly fine since I braced myself, while the last hostile is clearly dazed. I take this opportunity to fire a few tranq shots at him, one of which hits him in the chest. I¡¯m wary of touching Two-Five since our causality fields won¡¯t mingle all too well, but I can¡¯t just leave him here rolling around in the dirt. Thankfully he gives me another ¡®okay¡¯ sign as he shakily rises to his feet a few seconds later. I signal that all the hostiles are down and we make a run for the power crystal.


    Or rather, Two-five makes a run for it. He hides behind the familiar boulder, grabs that crystal ball and starts shaking it some frightening frequency. He then pinches off a thumb-sized part of it like it was made of jelly and starts processing it with his equipment. I attend to the three sleeping beauties while he does that. I bind their hands and feet behind their backs with some Kink-o-Matic Insta-Shackles? and pour some local dirt down the rifles¡¯ barrels to jam their firing mechanisms. I would like to use the guns for myself, but I was never trained in handling that class of military-grade weaponry. I¡¯d much rather stick to the peashooter I actually know how to use.


    Once I¡¯m done securing the cultists and disabling their weapons, I rush over to Two-Five while keeping an eye out for any reinforcements coming from the scrambler tower¡¯s direction. We made a lot of noise in that scuffle, so there¡¯s no telling who might¡¯ve heard it. My gunner seems to more or less be ready, having converted that tiny bit of jellified glass into a bullet-like projectile. He took a few moments to load it into his sidearm, then, after pausing to steady his aim, fired it at the tower in the distance.


    However, what came out of his gun wasn¡¯t a projectile, but a wave. I can actually see the air warping and bending as the otherwise invisible force expands outward in a tight cone. It¡¯s almost as big as a house by the time it washes over the tower a second or two later. I don¡¯t know exactly what it does to the structure, but the thing instantly collapses on itself amidst a cacophony of groaning and scraping metal.


    A loud siren originating from the volcano washes over us. Well, if they didn¡¯t know something was up, they sure as fuck do now. I waste no time and boot up my PDA, hitting the metaphorical big red button. I feel the computer heat up tremendously as it does its thing, but I¡¯m ultimately met with the notification I¡¯ve been dreaming of for the past several days.


    ¡®Priority Level 2 distress signal successfully sent.¡¯


    ¡°Yes!¡± I cheer with a fist pump.


    ¡°Did it work?!¡± Two-Five shouts at me.


    ¡°Damn right it did! Come on, we need to clear the area before any more of those cultists show up.¡±


    ¡°Hide? Are we not getting reinforcements?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll take time for them to arrive.¡±


    ¡°What sort of time frame are we talking about?¡±


    ¡°Five to twenty minutes.¡±


    That¡¯s the average response time for a Priority 2 alert, which varies depending on how fast a strike team can be mobilized. We could get one out here faster, but that would require a Priority Level 1, which is reserved for literal extinction-level threats. Priority 2 is for ongoing disturbances requiring the use of deadly force. Which this most certainly is, considering how well armed these people are. If not for their automatic rifles, this would just be premeditated illegal mass transit, a Priority 3. And if it was just me and Two-Five being stuck days away from the nearest sustainable breach, then that would be a Priority 4 or 5, depending on how bad the environment was.


    I¡¯m still mad that the higher-ups ignored me when I insisted for a ¡®Priority Level Sea¡¯ protocol after my two-month ¡®cruise,¡¯ but I guess I can¡¯t win them all.


    ¡°Then what is that?¡±


    Two-Five¡¯s finger-pointed question draws my attention to the area where we trounced those armed nutjobs, and I see that the air itself is rippling like the surface of a pond. A man in a navigator¡¯s uniform falls out of the disturbance, landing flat on his ass. I can see him struggling with the post-transfer sickness as he forces himself to press a few buttons on his PDA. Nearly twenty men in military-grade power armor bearing the BMA¡¯s insignia materialize next to him. None of their brains have had to struggle navigating the chaotic space between realities, so they suffer none of the ill-side effects that their navigator is currently going through. As such, they¡¯re able to instantly react to their surroundings and subdue any suspects in sight.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move! You¡¯re under arrest for trespassing in a high-security area!¡±


    Which, judging by the way they¡¯re shouting and pointing those giant guns¡­ is us.

 Chapter 8

    I idly stare up at the glowing white ceiling while idly eating the vanilla pudding that came with my lunch. This honestly isn¡¯t all that bad, to be honest. I¡¯ve got regular meals, a sort-of-comfortable bed, fresh water, clean toilet, air conditioning, and all the peace and quiet I can ask for. Okay, there¡¯s also the soul-crushing boredom, but it wouldn¡¯t be much of a jail cell if it didn¡¯t have some downsides.


    Two-Five seems to be handling his incarceration rather awkwardly though. He¡¯s in the cell opposite mine, and I can clearly see him through the MaxiPane Sunglass?. I still can¡¯t get used to how he looks without his helmet, though. I expected his head to be the shape of a short and fat T, but I didn¡¯t expect him to have no eyes. Or a nose, for that matter. His face is just smooth, dark blue skin with no features other than the square jaw at the bottom end of it. No hair, either.


    He can still see, though, given that he responds whenever I use the navigator¡¯s sign language. I¡¯d like to ask him how his face works, but the vocabulary of our hand signals is way too limited. We can also hear each other, but speech is pointless without auto translators. Which is a shame, because I¡¯m kind of concerned about him. He hasn¡¯t been himself ever since he was put in there. He keeps either pacing around or pressing the vast expanse that is his forehead against the MaxiPane Sunglass?. Pretty worrying behavior for a species that doesn¡¯t even have the word ¡®bored¡¯ in their language.


    Ah, come to think of it, the cause for this all must be that he was brought back to earth in a Capture-Cube 6000?. Those jerks in the power armor had to bring down his causality field to do put him in one of those things and they haven¡¯t allowed him to bring it back up. The foreign laws of physics are probably playing havoc on his nervous system. Especially whatever he has that passes for ears. From what I can gather, orizians seem really sensitive to sounds and vibrations, so being taken out of his comfort bubble must be uncomfortable as hell.


    ¡°Ahem!¡±


    I want to reassure him, so I clear my throat to get Two-Five¡¯s attention and sign at him to say that there¡¯s ¡®evac in six hours,¡¯ and he responds with a twitchy ¡®requesting clarification.¡¯ Yeah, explaining that is going to be tricky under these circumstances. I know it¡¯s been two days already, but it¡¯ll take time for Internal Affairs department to finish examining the data recorded by my helmet and instrumentation. Once they do, they¡¯ll surely understand us being at that secret blacksite was pure coincidence. For real, how were we supposed to know the One Earth Government¡¯s experimental science division uses the same uniforms as those religious nutjobs? I didn¡¯t even know the OEG had something called an ¡®experimental science division¡¯ until after we were arrested!


    Thankfully we didn¡¯t kill anyone, just broke a few toys due to a misunderstanding. There¡¯s zero incriminating data to suggest any malice in our actions. The most they can do is detain us for a period of up to sixty hours like they¡¯re currently doing, after which they either have to press charges or let us go. And the government wouldn¡¯t dare do the former since it did a terrible job of announcing its presence and authority. Not to mention they¡¯d have to publicly admit to owning an off-world secret facility, which is in direct violation of the Non-Colonization Act of 2284.


    What the big shots really wanna do is sweep this under the rug and pretend it didn¡¯t happen, which is going to be tricky for them if they raise a stink. Thankfully they can¡¯t just straight up get rid of Two-Five and I. Both the Breach Management Agency and the One Earth Government are heavily reliant on independent backers and investors. The type of people that will surely ask questions if the two navigators - one of whom is a guest from another dimension - suddenly go missing following a Priority 2 alert. The paper trail is far too big for the BMA or the OEG to cover up without causing more trouble than it¡¯s worth.


    Therefore, the only remaining options is that either everyone agrees to pretend this entire thing didn¡¯t happen, or we start prosecuting and suing one another until our balls fall off. The situation is basically one of mutually assured destruction. Okay, maybe ¡®destruction¡¯ is too strong a word, but that¡¯s the phrase my legal counsel used when she explained this clusterfuck to me. And I¡¯m glad she put it in a way that even a grunt like me can understand. I¡¯m way too straight-laced to play this game of corporate politics.


    Therefore, when the strict lawyer lady tells me I just need to shut my mouth and rest my butt in custody for two and a half days, that¡¯s precisely what I¡¯m going to do. Unfortunately, Two-Five is completely in the dark about all this. He didn¡¯t get the benefit of legal representation, mostly because his people don¡¯t have an embassy on Earth. And with his homeworld being at least nine transfers away, it¡¯ll be at least a week before they even find out he¡¯s been jailed, assuming they catch wind of this fiasco at all.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    I hear a number of heavy footsteps walk towards us from the end of the hall and go press my face against the MaxiPane Sunglass? of my cell. I see four guards, some guy in a fancy uniform, and, most importantly, my lawyer. She is a sight for sore eyes, and not just because of the way her tight skirt and fancy jacket emphasize her striking figure. Her being here means the powers that be have realized that holding us the full sixty hours is just a waste of everyone¡¯s time and resources.


    Two-Five also seems to have noticed the disturbance and starts twitching even more than normal, so I gesticulate ¡®all clear¡¯ and ¡®situation normal¡¯ to calm him down.


    ¡°Well,¡± my attorney crosses her arms. ¡°Seems your boss managed to whine his boss into letting you out a bit early. Something about how you¡¯re enough of a drain on the agency¡¯s resources even without it having to pay for your food and board.¡±


    ¡°Gee. And here I thought old Jameson cared,¡± I shrugged.


    ¡°Hmm, yes, quite,¡± the officer next to her grumbled. ¡°As Ms. Freeman implied, you and your gunner are to be released immediately. However, Internal Affairs have informed me you are to remain on-planet until they fully conclude their investigation into your incident.¡±


    Great, which means I¡¯ll be out of commission for a week, if I¡¯m lucky. Months if I¡¯m not.


    ¡°Your personal effects are hereby returned to you, and you are to clear out of the facility within fifteen minutes,¡± the guy added.


    He presses a few buttons on his tiny remote, causing both mine and Two-Five¡¯s cell walls to slide down. His goons then leave plastic bins with our respective stuff next to each of us.


    ¡°Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.¡±


    I try to be polite, of course. He¡¯s just doing his job and has nothing to do with me being in here, so jumping down his throat over this would be pointless. Entertaining, but pointless. He takes his guards and leaves the area, no doubt intending to give us some privacy. My lawyer has no such plans, however, as she sits there and watches me with a cocky smile. She¡¯s doubtlessly looking forward to watching me change right in front of her.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get shy, now,¡± she says teasingly. ¡°It¡¯s not like you have anything that I haven¡¯t seen before.¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh. You know this technically constitutes sexual harassment, right?¡±


    ¡°What are you going to do? Sue me?¡±


    I roll my eyes and decide to get this over with. She watches intently as I slide out of the white pajama-like shirt and pants that pass for prison clothes and start putting on my navigator¡¯s uniform. I watch out of the corner of my eye as Two-Five does the same, no doubt eager to get his causality field back up. As for me, I feel that woman¡¯s gaze burn into the back of my head, so I end up hurrying as well. I¡¯ve just put on my hat-decorated helmet and am about to pull on my coat when I finally notice that her eyes are not thirsty, but concerned.


    I don¡¯t even need to guess what she¡¯s about to say.


    ¡°How long are you going to keep doing this to me, John? You can¡¯t just keep dragging me into your life like this.¡±


    Yup. It¡¯s that talk, alright.


    ¡°Look, it was urgent, and I needed a lawyer,¡± I say flatly. ¡°And you¡¯re the best damn lawyer I know.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah, sure, I bailed you out this time, but one of these days you¡¯ll be stuck in there for life. Or worse!¡±


    ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake, Karen. Can¡¯t you be please be more professional about this?¡±


    ¡°No, I fucking can¡¯t, John! God damnit, I wish you were just another idiot client of mine, but you¡¯re not! I care about you!¡±


    ¡°¡­ I know.¡±


    ¡°Then why do you keep putting yourself through this?!¡±


    ¡°Because someone has to.¡±


    An awkward silence descends as I straighten out my coat¡¯s lapel and Karen just stares at me, shaking her head in disbelief.


    ¡°I guess I missed my chance,¡± she finally says. ¡°I should¡¯ve talked some sense into you while you were still John Abbott. But no, once that helmet goes on, ¡®Navigator Seventeen¡¯ just takes the damn wheel.¡±


    She then turns on her heel and storms off while I just stand there and silently watch her leave.


    What am I supposed to say, though? I¡¯m a workaholic, I admit it. The kind of stubborn scumbag that can¡¯t even give the woman in his life the attention she deserves. There¡¯s always one more assignment, one more ¡®lost soul in need of a navigator.¡¯ I put the wellbeing and happiness of strangers from other worlds ahead of my own, and this is the result. Funny, really. If my twenty year old self could see me ignoring a phenomenal woman like Karen just so I can go jumping through breaches, he¡¯d probably kick me in the nuts. And I¡¯d deserve it, too.


    But, at the end of the day, this job is just far too important to me.

 Chapter 9

    ¡°So, after all that, we are grounded for a week?¡±


    ¡°A week at the least,¡± I correct Two-Five. ¡°Will probably be more.¡±


    ¡°But, you said they have the recordings of your helmet that prove us innocent. Is this not why we were released?¡±


    I had spent the last several minutes explaining our legal situation. Hey, needed to do something to kill the time while we¡¯re being processed for release. Still, there¡¯s only so much context I can fit into that short amount of time. I now realize I¡¯ve forgotten to mention one tiny detail about human civilization.


    ¡°It is, but our case needs to be properly processed before it can be closed, which given the average rate that corporate bureaucracy works at will be a while longer still.¡±


    Namely, our apparent obsession with paperwork and red tape. Well, I guess those things are part of the reason why Two-Five and I get to just walk out after destroying an expensive piece of government equipment, so it¡¯s not all bad.


    ¡°What is this¡­ coor-pore-eight boo-wreck-racy?¡±


    ¡°¡­ You seriously don¡¯t have a word for that, either?¡±


    I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever felt as envious of an alien culture as I do right at this moment.


    ¡°Kekekek, just kidding!¡± he declares while throwing me a pair of finger guns.


    ¡°Oh, you sonuva- Alright, yeah, you got me.¡±


    I¡¯ll give him that one. It¡¯s not easy to get a rise out of me. I am curious about one thing, though.


    ¡°Where¡¯d you learn the finger-gun thing?¡±


    ¡°I noticed it when I viewing classical human cinematography. As I understood, this gesture is meant to punctuate a practical joke or used as informal greeting.¡±


    ¡°Like our movies, do you?¡±


    ¡°Oh yes, quite a bit. Literature as well. Your works of fiction are incredibly inventive by orizian standards. As expected of a race that needs to constantly entertain themselves.¡±


    I¡¯m not sure if that was meant to be a compliment or not, but I¡¯m not going dwell on it. It¡¯s not like he said anything untrue, after all. I kept asking Two-Five about his experience with human culture. As far as I can tell, he approaches the subject with a sort of childlike wonder and excitement, though the way he speaks about us makes him seem like a scientist observing a bunch of rats in a maze. I can¡¯t be sure, though. The auto-translator really doesn¡¯t interpret inflection all that well.


    My gunner and I leave the detention facility the instant they finally allow us to leave. We¡¯re left standing on a windy walkway surrounded on all sides by massively tall buildings and the constant buzzing and swooshing of flying cars. It¡¯s hard to tell what time of day it is this deep down in the lower city, but my helmet tells me it¡¯s still early afternoon. And since I¡¯ve been, as Two-Five put it, grounded for the foreseeable future, I honestly have no idea what to do with myself.


    ¡°Seventeen? May I make a personal inquiry?¡±


    The orizian¡¯s question snapped me out of my stupor. I didn¡¯t even realize it, but I ended up leaning on the railing at the edge of the platform and absentmindedly staring at the sky traffic.


    ¡°Sure, I don¡¯t mind.¡±


    I think I have a pretty good idea of what he¡¯s going to ask.


    ¡°The woman I saw you speaking to earlier, who is she?¡±


    Yup, as expected.


    ¡°You are familiar with the concept of marriage and divorce, yes?¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    ¡°Well, that feisty woman is Karen Freeman, used to be my wife. We married fairly young, but with her law career taking off and the unpredictable hours of my own line of work, we just ended up drifting apart.¡±


    I don¡¯t mean to sound bitter, but our divorce was only mostly my fault. Karen¡¯s just as guilty of prioritizing her profession over our relationship as I was. Navigating the laws, legislations and regulations one needs to be intimately familiar with in order to become a corporate lawyer makes sailing through breaches seem like child¡¯s play. Both our jobs require one¡¯s utmost attention and focus in order to succeed, but mine just sucked up way more time. If either one of us was going to give up their career for the sake of our marriage, it had to be me. And I didn¡¯t do that.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    ¡°It¡¯s kind of funny, really,¡± I continue. ¡°Karen¡¯s paychecks are so outrageous that she literally doesn¡¯t have the time to spend her money. She could have easily provided our family with a luxurious lifestyle, and all I had to do in return was be there for her when she got home. Hell, I might be able to still make it work if I just quit right now, but I can¡¯t do it. Doesn¡¯t that seem crazy to you, Two-Five?¡±


    ¡°Not at all, Seventeen. I think you¡¯ve merely found your Shulot.¡±


    ¡°My what?¡±


    ¡°Shulot. I guess your language does not have a word for it. It is an idea among my people, a belief. Our faith teaches us that the Omnissiah sets out multiple paths in front of each soul, but only one of which will lead to true happiness and fulfilment. Finding that life out of all those possibilities is what we refer to as a Shulot. Your is to be a navigator, not Karen Freeman¡¯s spouse.¡±


    ¡°Huh. I didn¡¯t think you were that religious, Two-Five.¡±


    ¡°Really? What gave you that idea?¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯re a scientist. Ah, I guess it may be different where you are, but most of our scientists don¡¯t tend to believe in a higher power.¡±


    ¡°Oh! That¡¯s right!¡± he suddenly claps his hands together. ¡°Forgive me, I forgot that humanity has yet to definitively prove the existence of your God.¡±


    ¡°¡­ What?¡±


    ¡°Unlike you, we have had hard evidence of the Omnissiah¡¯s existence for a few millennia now. Even has a home address, so to speak.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ uh¡­ huh.¡±


    This is a bit unsettling. Not the ¡®scientifically proven deity¡¯ bit. Anything¡¯s possible with all those crazy worlds beyond the breaches. What bothers me is that this is the first I¡¯ve ever heard of this. We¡¯re a society that has waged wars over religious beliefs since we¡¯ve been able to hold sticks. Surely it would be a huge fucking deal if actual, tangible proof of a higher power existed beyond the breaches. I mean this Omnissiah guy has a damned house address for fuck¡¯s sake.


    Wait, is this why there are so many religious nutjobs hurling themselves into neighboring dimensions on purpose?


    Either way, this smells rotten. I mean, it is technically possible that Two-Five could just be pulling my leg again, but he doesn¡¯t seem the type of guy to make shit up about heavy topics like life and faith. My gut tells me it¡¯s far more likely that this is one of those crazy conspiracies you hear about all over the internet. It¡¯s also entirely above my pay grade. I¡¯m just a guy who wants to help others. As Two-Five put it, that¡¯s my Shulot. Not chasing after shadows and hidden agendas.


    ¡°So you can just, like, walk up to your god¡¯s house and ask him stuff?¡±


    Still, I can¡¯t help but be curious about this.


    ¡°Indeed. Many communicate through messages and letters, but it¡¯s practically mandatory that each orizian visits the Omnissiah in person at least once in their lifetime.¡±


    ¡°What, just like that? How can one being personally pay attention to an entire world¡¯s population?¡±


    I have no idea what the population or birth rate on Oriza is like, but I imagine they havea mind-boggling number of newborns each day, far too many for any one person - divine or otherwise - to keep up with.


    ¡°It is¡­ difficult to describe, but essentially, the Omnissiah¡¯s house exists in about a hundred thousand places simultaneously.¡±


    ¡°So this god of yours can hold a hundred thousand conversations at once?¡±


    ¡°The Omnissiah is very good at multitasking.¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh. Right. Wait, does that mean you¡¯ve gone to meet this Omnissiah, too?¡±


    ¡°I have indeed,¡± he declared. ¡°It was¡­ not as exciting as I initially thought it would be. The Omnissiah doesn¡¯t tell us anything we haven¡¯t figured out for ourselves, but our chat was still quite enlightening. It filled me with hope and optimism for the future, and encouraged me to follow what I believe to be my Shulot without fear of being ostracized. I would not be where I am without the Omnissiah.¡±


    ¡°Well, so long as you¡¯re happy. What¡¯s this guy look like, anyway?¡±


    ¡°The Omnissiah¡¯s form is difficult to describe. Like a never ending stream of glowing shapes and lights that- Actually, it is easier to show you than explain it.¡±


    He reaches for his jeweled bracelet thing and starts poking away at the various colored crystals embedded in it.


    ¡°I have a holographic recording of my talk with the Omnissiah,¡± he explained. ¡°I always carry it with me and play it back whenever I feel lonely, sad or depressed. The audio quality is a bit bad, so your auto-translator might not be able to interpret the conversation, but¡­ Oh no¡­¡±


    ¡°What? Something wrong?¡±


    I barely got those words before Two-Five¡¯s PDA equivalent released some colorful sparks along with a garbled noise.


    ¡°Jurziv blasted kharatakil hijurek cloacas!¡±


    ¡°¡­¡±


    ¡°I apologize, please forgive my language,¡± he calms down after a few moments. ¡°It seems the recording became corrupted when my causality field went down.¡±


    ¡°That sucks. Hope that wasn¡¯t your only copy.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no, I have more back home, but this is the only one I brought with me. Still, this is most distressing.¡±


    ¡°Well, tell you what. Since we¡¯re grounded anyway, why don¡¯t I show you how us humans deal with our feeligns of loneliness, depression and sadness?¡±


    ¡°¡­ Does it involve copious amounts of drinking?¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°Count me in, then.¡±

 Chapter 10

    ¡°So then, even when the answer was revealed, people continued to argue?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah,¡± I nod at Two-Five¡¯s question. ¡°It was a fascinating study on how powerful convictions can be formed in mere minutes based on almost nothing. Even now, centuries later, there are those that will insist the dress was white and gold, not black and blue.¡±


    ¡°Fascinating. It sounds incredibly stupid and pointless, yet you somehow managed to learn something about yourselves from it. Only humanity could ever achieve something like that.¡±


    I¡¯m still not sure whether he means that last part as a compliment or an insult, and I¡¯m too afraid to ask at this point.


    ¡°Don¡¯t even get me started on the Harambe Paradox.¡±


    To this day I cannot wrap my head around it. Hundreds of thousands of people around the world dying daily from disease and famine. Climate change, impending energy crisis and God-knows what else loom over humanity. And what¡¯s the thing that made us band together as one? The worship of a gorilla, who was shot dead to protect a young child¡¯s life. Then they forget all about it in a few months. It¡¯s so unbelievably stupid that even trying to explain it might just give me an aneurism.


    I mean, I get it, this was three centuries ago, so some of the facts may have been distorted, but the Harambe Paradox is one of the founding elements of the science of memeology. I had some interest in the field when I was in school, but the sheer complexity of it made my head spin. It¡¯s a science that spends years tracking social trends, flow of information through media, targeting demographics, political views and a hundred other factors, just to produce a 9 second video.


    It¡¯s worth it, though. The resulting video¡¯s guaranteed to be seen by at least 80% of the world¡¯s population within the first 48 hours and is often talked about for years to come. It¡¯s a great tool to inform the populace of critical matters like breach safety, though the message is usually distorted or misinterpreted for some. It is quite impossible to reach out to that incalculable number of individuals without missing the mark a few million times. Personally I¡¯m looking forward to see if the Global Meme Center can top last year¡¯s broadcast.


    Which reminds me, I really need to go recycle my spent bio-cells when I get back to my apartment.


    ¡°What about your bizarre pricing system?¡± Two-Five interrupts my recollection. ¡°Does the science of memes have anything to do with that?¡±


    ¡°Bizarre in what way?¡± I ask, befuddled.


    ¡°You humans seem obsessed with rounding everything down to the nearest 9. Like, I noticed yesterday that there were quite a few drinks at the bar priced at 299. Then I saw an advertisement for a luxury vehicle that was being sold for 1,499,999 credits. Why is that? Wouldn¡¯t it be simpler to have those at 300 and 1,500,000?¡±


    ¡°Wait, you only noticed this yesterday?¡±


    I get why he would find it odd, but if it really bothers him that much, he should have realized it a lot sooner.


    ¡°Because my people use a twelve-based number system,¡± he reveals. ¡°The translator handles the conversion to base ten and back for me, so I didn¡¯t realize this trend until I saw those items in particular. Once I did, I realized it was literally everywhere. Do your people hate zeroes or something?¡±


    ¡°Huh. Look, I know that other stuff was important, but your people use base twelve?¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± I ask like a moron.


    Two-Five cocks his head and raises his right hand to my face, no-so-subtly reminding me that orizian have six fingers on each limb, not five.


    ¡°Oh, right. Sorry, it just¡­ seemed so weird to me.¡±


    ¡°Yet your seconds in a minute, the minutes in an hour and the hours in a day are all multiples of twelve, among other things.¡±


    ¡°I guess.¡±


    ¡°Do not get me wrong, things like that are very welcome for those of us not used to working in base ten, I just do not think base twelve is as foreign to you as you seem to think.¡±


    ¡°Alright, alright, you¡¯ve made your point.¡±


    ¡°Then, the pricing system obsessed with the number 9?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t really know why it¡¯s like that, to be honest,¡± I shrug. ¡°I think it has something to do with advertising. Us humans read the digits in a number left-to-right, so 299 looks a lot cheaper to us than 300 than it actually is. It¡¯s some kind of psychological trick to entice people into buying products they don¡¯t need on a whim. The so-called impulse buyer.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Are you saying there are humans out there that would spend 5,000 drinks¡¯ worth of funds to buy a luxury vehicle on a mere whim?¡±


    ¡°Obviously not. To be honest, I¡¯m not convinced whether that 1 credit off is actually worth the minute advertisement. It just seems like a slightly less stupid than suggesting companies do that just because everyone else is doing it, like some sort of self-perpetuation tradition.¡±


    ¡°A mysterious tradition would make more sense, at least to me.¡±


    And now that I¡¯ve said it loud, I¡¯m also convinced that that is the most probable cause. But I guess the reason doesn¡¯t really matter, and I personally have no problem with it. One credit off is better than zero credits off, after all. My gunner is a bit on the OCD side though, so I understand why he would be bothered by those funky numbers.


    ¡°So, Two-Five, ready to get back out there and do some good?¡± I change the subject


    ¡°Indeed,¡± he nods. ¡°Though these past ten days have been deeply enlightening, I am eager to resume my duties. I am also quite curious how you handle yourself in less adventurous circumstances.¡±


    ¡°Good to see you¡¯re motivated, because we¡¯re here.¡±


    The shuttle lands moments later, leaving my gunner and I staring at the outside of the strangely nostalgic departure facility. We go through the usual motions and obtain permission to use one of the hundreds of breaches that forms here. The plan is to give Two-Five¡¯s prototype anchor another try. What messed us up last time was the timing, a flaw that the orizian states would require ¡®much time and effort¡¯ to fix. In the meantime, we came up with a basic but effective workaround, at least in theory.


    Once we¡¯re standing in front of the breach we¡¯re going to use, I go through the usual motions of mapping out a route to our first stop. The place we were supposed to go last time, but instead ended up on that arid, rocky hellhole. Having gotten a fix on my destination, I take out my own anchor pin and leave it in the little slot at the edge of the walkway. Two-Five then passes me his crystal device, which once again explodes into dust, only to pull itself back together a few seconds later. I leave that on the ground.


    ¡°And remember,¡± I reiterate for the hundredth time, ¡°don¡¯t activate it until after you see my regular anchor disappear.¡±


    This is the workaround. In order to make sure his thingamajig doesn¡¯t go off while I¡¯m in mid-transit, he has to wait until I recall my equipment. I can¡¯t really do that until after I¡¯ve finished passed through the breach, so it should work out. And if not, well, I doubt it can be any worse than last time.


    ¡°Seventeen, do not invoke the wrath of Murphy with your ¡®what could go wrong¡¯ thoughts,¡± Two-Five cautions me.


    ¡°¡­ Okay, you seriously need to stop doing that.¡±


    It¡¯s not mind-reading, not really. Just character profiling. Apparently, after spending two straight weeks with me, he¡¯s already figured out the way I think and act. Which, while admittedly useful considering our line of work, is also creepy as shit. In any event, I need to get moving before the route changes, so I leap off the platform and dive into one of the breaches a few meters below. The familiar feeling of spatial dissonance overwhelms me and then settles down, allowing me to find my way through the breach without incident.


    I exit in the middle of a green meadow with the traditional faceplant. I wait for the post-transfer sickness to subside and pick myself up, dusting off the grass and dirt clinging to my uniform before I send the recall message my anchor. The collapsible high-tech stick with a light at the end falls out of thin air. I snag it before it hits the ground and then walk out of the way so as to avoid Two-Five landing on me.


    However¡­ nothing happens. A full minute goes by without a single sign from my partner. I look up at the ripples of my exit wound and start to worry. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s holding him up, but that thing¡¯s going to close before he even gets here. My worry turns into confusion when the clock on my PDA says that a full five minutes have passed since my departure, yet the spatial disturbance has not yet sealed itself. These things typically disappear within one to three minutes. My gut tells me this oddity has something to do with Two-Five¡¯s prototype, so there¡¯s not much I can do but stand right here and hope something happens.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    It takes another ten minutes, but my gunner finally arrives with a magnificent belly flop, crystal anchor in hand. The spatial disturbance I caused disappears before he even hits the ground, which is good.


    ¡°You okay?¡± I ask as I crouch next to him.


    ¡°I will be,¡± he groans into the dirt. ¡°Just give me a moment.¡±


    Well, I¡¯ve been doing nothing but waiting anyway, so that sounds like a plan. He pushes himself off the ground about ten seconds later, rising to his slightly shaky feet. Seems to be just some residual post-transfer sickness, so I figure it¡¯s alright to hit him with the big question.


    ¡°So, what took you so long?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean, Seventeen?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re fifteen minutes late! I was starting to worry whether you would show up at all!¡±


    ¡°¡­ That can¡¯t be right. I followed you through the breach right after I saw you recall your anchor. I should have arrived right after it did.¡±


    ¡°Yet my PDA clock¡¯s clearly says it¡¯s been¡­ sixteen minutes and twelve seconds since I jumped through the breach.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ Hmmm¡­¡± he crossed his arms in thought. ¡°It didn¡¯t feel like I¡¯d spent that long in the breach. But how could¡¯ve¡­ No¡­ Unless¡­ Ah, I got it! It¡¯s because of the light gap!¡±


    ¡°¡­ I¡¯m sorry, the what?¡±


    ¡°The speed of light in our home dimension is different from the speed of light on Earth,¡± he explains while fiddling with his bracelet. ¡°About 16% slower, to be precise.¡±


    ¡°And¡­ this is important because¡­?¡±


    ¡°Because the faster you go, the slower time moves for you. Objects within a breach have been observed to move at or near the speed of light, but that speed changes from universe to universe. The matter that makes up our gear and bodies originates from realities that have a marked difference in the speed of light, so we end up with a noticeable time difference when taking the same routes even though it¡¯s more or less the same from our perspective.¡±


    Huh. Did not know all that. I mean, it has been observed that people who travel regularly through breaches, like us navigators, always register ¡®lost time¡¯ once they make it back home. Our PDA¡¯s clocks can be anywhere from a few hours to several days behind once we make it back, depending on how long we¡¯ve worked. It¡¯s the main reason why maintaining a romantic relationship as a navigator is so¡­ challenging. Not even we know when we will be back from our patrols.


    I just didn¡¯t realize it was because of the speed of light. I mean, it makes sense now that I think about it. Einstein¡¯s theory of relativity and all that. I suppose that being unable to connect those dots is entirely my own fault for being a jarhead who just accepts things the way they are. I like to think I¡¯m clever and quick-witted, but the traditional sciences really go over my head.


    Then I realize something.


    ¡°Wait, what happens to your ¡®matter¡¯ if your causality field goes down?¡±


    ¡°Are you referring to the time we spent in the detention facility?¡± Two-Five asks matter of factly.


    ¡°Yeah. I remember you were freaking out quite a bit.¡±


    ¡°Indeed. I experienced a constant and distinct sense that I did not belong there. My vision was blurry and the colors I saw were confusing and unnatural. I could barely even make out the hand signals you were giving me, though the moral support was most appreciated. I also felt like the world was moving faster around me, but the worst part was that there seemed to be this constant and nagging buzzing in the air. It was quite maddening.¡±


    ¡°Damn. I suspected you suffered some side effects but I had no idea it was that bad.¡±


    No wonder why he lost his temper when he found out the recording he was using as a security blanket had been corrupted.


    ¡°Perhaps I am making it seem worse than it was, but I am certainly not eager to repeat the experience. I also do not wish to be reminded of it. So, shall we move onto our next stop?¡±


    ¡°Right. Yeah. What about the time dilation problem, can you fix it somehow?¡±


    ¡°I am not sure. However, I would need to return to my laboratory on my homeworld before I can even try.¡±


    ¡°And when will that be?¡±


    ¡°Once I¡¯ve gathered enough data. I think 1,728 breach jumps should be a satisfactory sample size. We will just have to deal with the glitch in the meantime.¡±


    That¡¯s a weird number. Oh, right, base twelve. Two-Five probably sees it as a nice round number like a thousand or something.


    ¡°So I have to spend fifteen minutes doing nothing while I wait for your slow-ass matter to catch up?¡±


    ¡°Quite.¡±


    ¡°How long is that in total?¡±


    Two-Five goes silent for a few moments and cocks his head, no doubt doing the calculations that I¡¯m too lazy to do myself. Thankfully the auto-translator is smart enough to accurately convert terran measurements into orizian ones, so I don¡¯t need to worry about that. Unfortunately this makes the translation lag a bit since it needs to hear both the number and the units to make sense of it, but hey, it¡¯s something.


    ¡°Precisely four hundred and thirty two hours, or eighteen terran days,¡± Two-Five states confidently.


    Damn, that¡¯s a lot. It¡¯s time that could be spent helping people, but I suppose it¡¯s for a good cause. Wonder if that¡¯ll qualify for overtime, actually? Speaking of which I should really get on with actually doing my job.


    ¡°Alrighty then,¡± I turn to my PDA screen. ¡°Let¡¯s where the nearest breach is!¡±


    I picked this meadow as our drop off point because there¡¯s typically a lot of breaches in the surrounding woods. And wouldn¡¯t you know it, there¡¯s a suitable one just a short brisk walk from here. We find it and pass through it without incident, apart from the glitchy time lag between Two-Five and I.


    The place we arrived in this time is a sort of navigator staging area in the middle of a synthoid city on the planet X-33, where the locals have built a sort of departure facility of their own. They call it a ¡®grounding facility¡¯ though since its only function is to contain and control the otherwise unpredictable breaches, lest one open in the middle of the densely populated area. Synthoids can¡¯t have navigators of their own since breach travel is essentially fatal to their kind. The chaotic void between realities turns their electronic brains to mush even with a causality field around them, so they¡¯re pretty much DOA should they fall into a breach.


    Which is why they¡¯re so supportive and understanding of the BMA¡¯s mission and do everything they can to facilitate us. Plus, since our natural laws are effectively identical, we can exchange tech quite easily, which has been super useful to both sides. I seriously cannot imagine life without the Capture-Cubes 6000? that are made here.


    ¡°Statement: Welcome to Serenis, human,¡± a police officer model calls out to me it approaches. ¡°Query: Identification, please.¡±


    ¡°BMA navigator, serial number five, five, three, six, eight, zero, five, one, seven,¡± I introduce myself. ¡°And this is my partner.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Oh!¡± Two-Five suddenly realizes. ¡°BMA navigator, serial number seven, eight, six, five, seven, one, zero, two, five.¡±


    ¡°Statement: Navigation unit identity confirmed. Query: What is the purpose of your visit?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re starting our shift, and require access to the breaches in your grounding facility.¡±


    ¡°Statement: Access approved. You may enter the facility when ready. Statement: Reporting that there is a pending message for you from police from Serenis Police Third Cluster. Sender is noted as unit FR-42-10.¡±


    Ah, that was the bot that helped me out during that thunder lizard thing a while back. Wonder what he wants.


    ¡°Can I hear it?¡±


    ¡°Statement: Negative. Message is marked as private, hardcopy only. Query: Shall I have it be delivered to you at the grounding facility?¡±


    ¡°Yes, please.¡±


    ¡°Statement: Understood. Delivery request sent.¡±


    I bid the synthoid goodbye and heat towards the giant dome down the street with Two-Five in tow.


    ¡°That was jarring,¡± he whispers behind my back. ¡°I did not expect to see machine men so soon. Their appearance is rather disconcerting.¡±


    ¡°Wow, you really are green if you let something like that rattle you. Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll get used to it.¡±


    ¡°I hope that is the case.¡±


    A quadcopter drone carrying Ten¡¯s message was waiting for me by the time I got to the facility. It¡¯s always refreshing to be reminded just how fast things work here in Serenis. I guess being able to process red tape and bureaucracy at light speed is part of it, but still. I take the package from the flying drone, which is a small rectangular device about the size of my firearm¡¯s handle. There¡¯s a small panel and six buttons on it, none of which have labels. Thankfully this isn¡¯t my first time seeing one of these, so I know both that this is an audio recorder, and which one of these is the ¡®play¡¯ button.


    *Click*


    ¡°Statement: I trust this message finds you well, Seventeen,¡± Ten¡¯s digitized voice spills out of it. ¡°Statement: The purpose of this message is to inform you that Serenis Police was able to track down and secure a third thunder lizard. Statement: This event directly contradicts your assessment that there were no other extraterrestrial specimens than the ones initially captured. It has since been transported safely off-world.¡±


    So what, this is an ¡®I told you so¡¯ by mail?


    ¡°Statement: However, given the location that this third specimen was found in, the odds of it being related to the initial case are less than one in four thousands.¡±


    Oh, okay. Yeah, I think I know where this is going.


    ¡°Statement: This new data suggests that there is a second active smuggling ring within Serenis that the Serenis Police force are currently unaware of. Statement: The necessary request for assistance has been filed with the Breach Management Agency through the proper channels, but I am concerned whether they will respond quickly enough, if at all.¡±


    No, they definitely won¡¯t bother to mobilize another strike force based on what, as far as I can tell, is just a hunch.


    ¡°Conclusion: In order to minimize risk to the general public,¡± the recording continues, ¡°I have deemed it necessary to make an unsanctioned personal request. Statement: Your assistance with this matter would be deeply appreciated.¡±


    I sigh and hit the ¡®erase¡¯ button, then throw the recorder on the ground. One of the recycling units will no doubt pick it up and dispose of it.


    ¡°Come on, Two-Five. We¡¯ve had enough distractions.¡±


    ¡°Are you not going to respond to that plea?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not,¡± I say bluntly. ¡°I¡¯m flattered that Ten thought to approach me, but agreeing to look for some smugglers that may or may not be there would be idiotic. Worst case scenario, I¡¯d have wasted my time. Best case scenario, I find them, then get sued and fired for performing an unauthorized investigation.¡±


    ¡°Please, calm down, I did not mean to imply anything,¡± Two-Five reassured me. ¡°I was merely asking what our course of action would be.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Right. Sorry.¡±


    Honestly, part of me wants to help since I hate to leave a job unfinished, but this is not the way.


    ¡°Okay then,¡± I wake up my PDA again. ¡°Let¡¯s see which of these lost souls needs a navigator.¡±


    And then, just like always, the screen overflows with signals for illicit or accidental matter transfers. I tap on one that seems to involve enough mass for a person or two, then go off to ¡®reserve¡¯ a breach.

 I give up

    So, yeah. This was supposed to be a NaNoWriMo challenge, but I''ve fallen quite a few days behind now thanks to work, a nasty cold, and other factors beyond my control (such as my laziness). I''m not gonna stress myself over trying to catch up so I''m just going to throw in the towel. Apologies to those that genuinely found the story interesting, but I''m not going to be updating this anymore. I guess trying to write something readable in the first place was the problem since I couldn''t just pump out nonsensical bullshit that made no sense to me.


    Now, here''s the thing. I have not completely given up on this story''s concept and may either resume or restart it. That said, for those of you who were curious where this plotline was going:


    Plot Spoiler<input class="spoilerButton" type="button" value="Show">


    Seventeen and Two-Five were going to keep doing odd jobs and whatnot until they accidentally stumbled onto something leading to Ten''s case with the mysterious smuggling ring. Eventually they''d uncover a conspiracy by Earth''s elite to eliminate the breach problem for good.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    How was the Not-Illuminati going to do this? The more science savvy among you might have realized how potentially world-ending it is to have our universe invaded by matter from another universe that adheres to a different speed of light and therefore a completely alien way mass works. As one commenter said, it''s a miracle the whole thing doesn''t just go poof.


    Well, finding a way to do just that was the big bad''s goals. After all, there can''t be breaches to neighboring universes if there are no neighboring universes. I thought this sort of thing would give the series a compelling antagonist, since they''re not being evil just for the sake of being evil. On one hand, wiping out dozens of universes is unfathomable levels of destruction and mass-murder. On the other, nobody on Earth would be sad if the breaches ceased to be, since it would mean safety, security, and more resources that could be diverted towards funding humanity''s age-old dream of colonizing the stars.


    Now, whether Two-Five and Seventeen would be able to stop this apocalypse spree... that part of the story I hadn''t yet decided on.