CREATION MYTHS¹⁴

GROUND STATE

There are numerous unverified accounts of successful matter manipulation via cognitive effort in the current iteration of the universe, though only two have been documented in any official capacity.

The first occurred shortly before Realignment in a government facility buried deep in the Antarctic. The little evidence that survived exists in the form of corrupted ancient files. Of the limited information available, researchers have pieced together the following facts:

The facility was funded by massive private donations that were funneled through a labyrinth of bureaucratic documentation and extensive layers of outmoded encryption.

The facility was comprised of one entrance, one self-sustaining sheep cloning farm, two generator systems: solar (primary) and wind (secondary), three utility systems (air, water, and waste), five overlapping security protocols, eight health monitoring systems (immune, respiratory, cardiovascular, digestive, skeletal, ambulatory, hygiene, and cerebral). Thirteen social security numbers in lieu of signatures by politicians who approved construction, 21 special work orders, 34 contracts with only the label “ACHERON”, 55 employees during the initial build and prep phase, 89 years on the official budget of the Final States of America, 144 identical cell blocks (6′ H, 6’W, 6’D), 233 archaeological discoveries of human remains in and around the ruined foundations 377 years after the first wave of Terran Reclamation.

The eco-farm was still operating thousands of years after Terra was lost to pollution and fire. The deformed plants were inedible and the three remaining “animals” were shot on sight.

The facility had no outlined purpose other than housing human beings, monitoring and tending to their base needs indefinitely. All surviving fragments of recorded vital signs showed every occupant remained in prime physical condition until their expiration date, and while mental health reports display wild variation during initial scans, they all level out to a steady, if low, hum of baseline activity.

The facility had one subject marked as a “viable.” The monitoring system saved a brief description: “Cognitive baseline established. Subject exercises control over physical matter. Cell wall breached. Security membrane breached. Tracker activated. Tracker deactivated. Alert issued. Alert failed. Error. Err”

Any other evidence tied to the facility is relegated to brief mentions in diaries of people displaced from recorded history and apocryphal accounts of sailors seeing a human figure swimming in subzero waters or cartographers claiming to see a lone figure walking across ice floes.

The second account of successful matter manipulation via cognitive effort occurred thousands of years later in a repurposed distillery located in a rented basement, divorced from any previous context and executed under completely different circumstances.

ANGEL INVESTOR

Victor Bohr received a plaque and thanked his colleagues. Everybody clapped. The cake was cut and slices passed out. Victor took a corner piece and went back to his office. He set it down next to the box of his belongings. They had already scraped his name off the window door. He watched his crew mingle outside, knowing they’d go right back to work in nine minutes when the clock hit the hour. He’d take his box and walk through the security gates for the last time. He sighed and took a bite. He didn’t even like chocolate, but he asked for it because everyone else does.

The phone rang, but he let it go. As soon as it stopped, it started again. He looked at the screen. The same number had tried to call 11 times since lunch started. He caught it next time on the second ring.

“Victor Bohr,” he said.

How are you, Vic?

“Who the hell’s asking?”

Watch your tongue, Private.

“Howard?”

Heard you were retiring. Thought I’d say congrats.

“Thanks, Howard, but it’s not exactly the optional kind of retirement.”

That’s why I’m calling. Your kid’s got that little startup. What’s his name again?

“Walt.”

That’s it. I was hoping to become an investor.

“That would be nice.” He pulled a notepad from his box and clicked a pen. “You’d be the first besides me and the Missus. How much do you want?

I was thinking forty to start then we’ll see where it goes.

“That’s quite an investment. Alright, we’re at ten bucks a share, so that’s four hundred on the barrelhead for Mr. Mendax.”

No, sorry, Vic, you misunderstand. I meant forty percent.

“Oh, Howard, that’s very generous of you, but I don’t know if we can acce—”

Please, Vic. I insist. I’m getting on in years and it’s about time I invested in the future…

PRIMA MATERIA

Walter Bohr stood onstage in the Atlas University Atrium. His lecture on the possible creation of first matter, a primal baseless form of all physical material, had just ended not in applause but baffled stares. He cleared his throat and the microphone picked it up, casting feedback to the backseats over the heads of the silent crowd.

“Any questions?” Walter said. He looked around the room with a bemused smile.

The equation scribbled on the board behind him required only one variable to solve, however, the variable in question was impossible to define without having already solved the problem. A few grad students laughed at what they figured for a joke. Most nodded their heads and pretended to understand, but only one in attendance saw the real formula cast in shadow behind what was written on the board.

That man stayed in his chair as the rest of the audience filtered out of the room. He scribbled furiously on a notebook and, after running out of paper, finalized his work on his forearms.

Later that night, Walter Bohr received a notification from Dr. Mortimer K. Nova. Subject Line: Anima Mundi. The body of his text outlined his ambitious theory. Walter stared at it for the next hour, awestruck at the possibilities unfolding within this stranger’s calculations.

He skipped his flight home and met Mort in a local dive called “Darby’s Tavern” in the middle of the desert. They discussed the concepts of first matter and the world soul over a couple of pints. Their conversation soon developed multiple tangents and the two became fast friends.

Molly waited anxiously for her husband to return home. She couldn’t sleep until she shared the good news with him. She had finally found a tenant who was interested in the unused basement.

Things were looking up for the Novas, which, considering their luck, should have raised some red flags.

VISITING HOURS

Leonard Staley pushed the book cart down block 8. He used to stop at each cell until he realized that they’d just throw the books at him. He reached the end of the hall and turned around to collect the crumpled paperbacks. Gumshoe Hank wasn’t the brightest bulb in the verse, but today he figured out that, if he waited until Staley came back, he could clock him real good in the head with a hardcover.

Everyone laughed.

After sorting the books and throwing away ruined magazines, Staley went to his monthly physical. He sat on the cold table where the nurse checked vitals and blood pressure, felt his lymph nodes, and cupped his balls with cold gloves. Then, being a man of a certain age, he got one of those gloved fingers up his ass.

“We’re done. Doubling your vitamins and adding you to the new inoculant schedule. Stop by security on your way out. You’ve got a visitor.”

An old man sat smoking a cigar. A folder sat on the table in front of him.

“Sir, you’re going to have to put that out,” the guard said. “There’s no smoking in here.”

“I don’t see why not,” the man said. “This is a Corto Maltese. Some folks would pay just for the second-hand smoke and I’m sure the sad lot in here can appreciate it.”

“All the same.”

“Of course.”

The man ground the cigar out into the metal plating of his palm.

“Five minutes,” the guard said.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Staley. How are you?”

“Who wants to know?”

“An interested party. The name’s Howard Mendax.”

“That’s a name. Who are you?”

“A humble admirer of your skills. Raw deal you were given. Time was when they’d call what you did a public service.”

“Apparently, the prosecutors didn’t see it that way.”

“Clean organ manufacture…saving lives for a fraction of what Alliance physicians can offer.”

“Yeah, but it still had a price. Twenty-five, fifteen with good behavior.”

The General slid the folder across the table. Staley opened it and scanned it. Rough formulas and hypotheses.

“What’s ‘First Matter?’”

“A new theory,” the General said. “I thought you’d find it interesting.”

“Plenty of scientists in the verse. Especially ones with more experience in this type of thing. Why come to me?”

“You have vision, Mr. Staley. The men working on this have no idea what they’re sitting on. Now, a man such as yourself can surely see the benefit such a breakthrough would afford humanity.”

“Not much I can do from here, Mr. Mendax. So, why don’t you tell me what you’re really here for?”

“Nothing up my sleeves, Mr. Staley. I’m merely here to present a proposition.”

“For what?”

The General grinned.

“Redemption.”

“Well, you know what they say when something’s too good to be true.”

“Sleep on it, Doctor,” the General said. “Give me a call when you’re ready to get back to doing the Lord’s work.”

The General left and the door buzzed to let him out. That night, Staley didn’t sleep. He covered his walls in chalk, formulas and ideas coming to him in waves.

When dawn arrived, Staley skipped breakfast to make his last phone call from inside Minos-5 Correctional Facility.

UNION DISPUTE

Ken Schriever sat outside the Cool Beans iced coffee shop as a crowd of protestors marched by. Makeshift signs and fists pumped in the air while the parade passed by. The gathering snaked through the streets toward the central banking district where Jack Granite was set to give his public statement on the recent allegations levied at his construction firm and privately financed prison system.

Ken pulled out a cigarette and anxiously lit up. A man sat down at the table behind him.

“You’re late,” Ken said, not turning to face the man.

“So are your last two shipments.”

A megaphone sounded in the distance with the voice of a young woman, passionate and fierce.

They are saying they pay “private contractors” for the work, to dig under Yucca mountain, to build more cells as the mining operations continue…

“Sorry, Howard,” Ken said. “But I can’t help you right now. Thing’s are running too hot.”

“What’s the point of paying you then?”

First of all, private contractors? Private contractors? They’re called inmates, Jackie Boy!

“Jack’s spooked by the investigation,” Ken said. “All this union talk and prisoner’s rights. We’ve got to wait it out.”

“I paid for twelve, Schriever, and only got three bodies. I expect a return on investment.”

Second, what are you paying them, Mr. Granite? In extra slop, soap coupons? Discounts at the commissary, your company store?

“We’ll make it right when the time’s right. This’ll blow over. It always does.”

“Time is a luxury I cannot afford.”

They’re not contractors, Mr. Granite. Mister, listen to the people, damn it!

The crowd went wild, screaming and blowing air horns.

“I don’t know what else to say, Howard. We can’t sneak any more prisoners out right now. Not even no-names.”

You’re having them build more cells? Why not have them dig their own graves instead?

“Tell Jack to wire what he owes me then. I’ll find another supplier.”

“He’s not going to like that.”

“He wouldn’t like an inspection from an Immutable either. Trust me, the results would not thrill him.”

These people are not your captive labor! These people are not your slaves!

“I’ll pass it along.”

“Better get downtown,” the General said. “From the looks of it, Jack’s speech just might end in a hanging.”

Students broke from the crowd to pass flyers along the sidewalk. Ken and the General each politely took a pamphlet.

“Good luck,” the General said to the kid, winking at Ken.

“Thanks, guys,” the student said. “You’re welcome to join. The more voices the better.”

“I’m a little too old for all that walking,” the General said.

“I’ll think about it,” Ken said.

“Cool, cool,” the student said. “Keep the fire, guys. Don’t go numb.” He hopped back in step with the protest.

The General stood up and left a few dollars on the table for the bussers.

“Better tuck in your shirt,” he said to Ken. “Don’t want that crowd finding out who you really work for.”

Ken’s head snapped down to his chest, but he was all buttoned up, the logo for Granite Builders LLC completely hidden. When he looked up, the General was gone.

A guy with a backpack rigged with speakers pressed play and a marching band drumline started up. The crowd erupted into chant.

Yucca Pen! Let us in! Tell us where our brothers went! Indict tonight! Indict…

OUROBOROS

OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPT

<BEGIN RECORDING>

This is Sector Monitor 8, requesting confirmation of a faulty grid signal in your Northern hemisphere.

Terra, here. We’re not reading anything on our end. You sure your birds aren’t just catching some solar flutter.

We’re reading green lights on all sats deployed to Terra, so it’s definitely the ground relay. Checked the logs and you’ve had increased system failures in this spot going on six months now. That kick’s burning out. I’ll send up a flag for a crew to stop by on their next sweep.

Won’t be necessary. We can have our crew check it out.

Hey, you’re free to check under the hood, but I’ve already sent the request.

Then cancel it. Like I said, we’ve got it under control.

Sorry. It’s policy. They’ll be there in 6 to 12, tops.

I understand. It’s unfortunate, but I understand. We do prefer to keep our operations in-house. Budget concerns being what they are, General Mendax strives to avoid any unnecessary line items.

Well, I’m not in the business of stepping on anyone’s toes, especially when it comes to an Immutable. Tell you what, I’ll place a hold, but you need to have that ground relay back up before the next cycle clears.

Won’t be a problem. I appreciate your assistance.

Seriously, if I’m still seeing dead air six hours from now, expect visitors because they’ll launch a full inquest on both of us.

I assure you there’s nothing to worry about. We’ll have it fixed by then.

See that you do, sir. I forgot to ask, who am I speaking to? I still have to fill out a—

Did he just hang up on you?

No, Gem, he just helped our average service time.

How are you going to log it, smartass? He didn’t give a name.

Last name: Not My. First name: Problem.

They’re required fields.

Fine. Would you look at that? Howard Mendax himself

You can’t put that.

Just watch me. You heard the guy, Mr. Immutable wants to wipe his own ass? No skin off my nuts.

You’re disgusting. And stupid.

And you worry too much. Anyone asks, I merely accepted an Executive Order.

You better hope our executive doesn’t order your ass to the unemployment line.

What, and leave you out here all alone?

Hey, a boy can dream…are you still recording?

No, its…oh, wait, yeah, I keep forgetting that they changed the—

<END RECORDING>

DISCREET MATH

The black duneduster crossed the runway and pulled into an empty hangar. A troop transport followed and parked on the far-side. The massive door slid shut and the General stepped out.

“Come on out, Brugada,” he called to the transport. “We’re all friends here.”

A burly man in combat armor hopped out of the transport.

“Better safe than sorry,” Brugada said. “Private contractor caught using Corps equipment wouldn’t be a good look for either of us.”

“So, you’ve spotted the leaks in our pipe.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, bringing the General around back. He knocked on the doors and they opened to show two handcuffed security guards. “Lucky for you it’s only two.”

“Thank you,” the General said. “Now, if you don’t mind, please give me some space with these fine young men.”

The General took a moment to look them up and down. He checked their name tags: Dick and Jim.

“Alright, Dick,” he said. “Tell me what happened.”

“Not much to tell, sir,” Dick said. “He came in and showed his credentials. Got the all-clear, so I buzzed him in.”

“Did you think it was strange that he’d be visiting at such a late hour?”

“Not according to the logs or when I’ve seen him,” Dick said. “The man keeps odd hours.”

“Okay, Jim, your turn.”

“I’m so sorry, sir,” Jim said. “I didn’t know there was anything wrong with letting him in. Like Dick said, he had the right access, so I didn’t think much of it.”

“Are you nervous, Jim?”

“No, sir, I’m not, it’s just—”

“No one likes a liar, Jim.”

“Okay, yes, sir. I’m sorry. I’ve never been arrested for—”

The General laughed.

“Oh, Jim, you’re not under arrest,” he said. He snapped his fingers and Brugada came over. “Will you please escort Jim to HR?” He turned to Jim. “Don’t worry, it’s just some mandatory re-training. You’ll do fine. But let’s go with the full course, not partial, just to cover all our bases. Dick, please come with me. I need to talk to you in private.”

“Yes, sir.”

The General walked Dick toward his duster as Brugada climbed back in the transport. He removed Dick’s handcuffs.

Dick cracked his neck to each side and rubbed his wrists. He watched the massive door open and the transport pulled away.

“I suppose you’re wondering what happens next.”

“I’ve been locked in the back of that van since 5am,” Dick replied. “Tell the truth, I’m not too excited to find out.”

“You’ve got a lot of history here, Dick,” the General said. “A company man, through and through, so I know I don’t need to give you the lecture on discretion.”

“That’s a relief.” Dick watched the transport turn out the back and disappear into the dunes. “Suppose that means you’re not going to report me to HR like Jim.”

“As long as you forget his name, I don’t think HR needs to get involved. And you’ll notice some additional benefits on your next paycheck. I know what you make and I’d say it’s a gross underestimation for a man of your experience and abilities.”

“Appreciate it,” Dick said. “He’s not coming back, is he?”

“Not many do, Dick,” the General said. “Wouldn’t be a tight ship if I let every loose screw back on board.”

“I am curious to know how you made the decision between the two of us.”

“Simple,” the General said. “You didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear.”

“Plus, it don’t hurt that I’m old as sin,” Dick said. “He would’ve cost you more in the long run.”

“I’m not going to lie,” the General said. “That did factor into the calculations.”

CLOSED CONTRACTS

Hatch Brugada stood in his full body armor in the executive boardroom of Dr. Tectonic’s Bio-Life Augmentations.

Dr. Tectonic (real name: Stewart Huddleberry) sat in the corner, tapping his fingernails against his tablet. His assistant, Mari Bellen stood in front of the blank projector screen wearing a hospital gown and heavy white gloves. Before her was a small metal table with a block, a ball, and a plate.

“All right, good doctor,” Hatch said. “Like I said, we’re closing out all contracts by end-of-day. If you’ve got results worth sharing, I’m ready to see ‘em.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Dr. Tectonic said. “Mari, please, show the nice man our progress so far. Now, Mr. Brugada, you’ll understand that we aren’t all the way toward completing General Mendax’s request, but I promise that what we have here is intriguing enough to extend our work order.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Brugada said. He folded his arms and stood at the ready, waiting to be impressed.

“On you go, Mari,” Dr. Tectonic said. “Like we practiced during the trial.”

Mari’s eyes flashed at the doctor and Brugada and then back at the ground, like a puppy afraid to be hit. She held up her hand. The block wavered on the table and floated up to her hand. Then the ball drifted upward and Mary turned around to show the two items suspended in mid-air.

“Very good, Mari,” Dr. Tectonic said. “Please continue.”

She adjusted and held the block and ball with the force of one hand and then added to plate to the other. Now, she held up all three objects and juggled them without touching them at all. Dr. Tectonic nodded and eyed the table. Mari swallowed nervously and cast the objects away, letting them fall to the corners of the room.

Then she raised the small table up, up, up over her head.

“Very impressive, doctor,” Brugada said, sidling up to Mari. “That’s quite the talent you have there, Mari. Would you mind if I get closer to observe.”

“Why, uh…yes, of course,” Mari said.

Brugada came closer to check for wires or any trickery. He swiped his hand between Mary’s and the table, seeing if he could break whatever invisible bonds were there.

“Well, color me impressed,” Brugada said. “I think I need to make a call to Mr. Mendax. One more thing, though, Mary could you be a dear and show that to me again without the gloves.”

“Oh, her hands are horribly disfigured, Mr. Bru—”

“I was talking to Ms. Bellen,” Brugada said. “I’m afraid I can’t sign off until I see it without the gloves.”

Mari stared at the ground, she sat the table down, and dejectedly removed the gloves.

Brugada took the gloves and slid them on. He and threw the table into the ceiling light without touching it.

“Mag locks,” Brugada said. “Seriously, doc? Even if I was dumb enough to fall for it, what was gonna happen if I let you get up close and personal with our employer.”

“This is a proof of concept,” Tectonic said. “You said matter manipulation, interweaving mag locks with my neural link technology and you can control the battlefield.”

“Oh, then she should be able to point this away from you then, right?”

He tossed the gloves to Mari and pulled out his gun.

NO CALL NO SHOW

Chet watched the numbers on the clock dance with each other. Larry checked his frozen pizza for the fifteenth time. It still wasn’t ready. And it wouldn’t be until he actually turned the oven on.

“What were those?” Chet said. His mind swirled with the patterns in the ceiling stucco.

“Ambora whitecaps,” Larry said.

“Yeah, right,” Chet said. “Your dude actually went to Ambora?”

“Nah, it’s just the name of the strain,” Larry said. “Good shit, though, right?”

“I’m useless,” Chet said as the clock painted itself like Salvador Dali. “Can you tell me what time it is? These fuckers won’t stand still.”

“5:45.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Not right now,” Larry said. “I’m tripping so hard I’m actually kind of afraid to take a dump.”

“Fuck,” Chet said. “I’ve got work in three hours.”

“Yeah, you should probably work on an excuse,” Larry said. “No way you’re making it. I mean, just the state of you…honestly, man, I can’t believe you’d be so irresponsible.”

“Shut it,” Chet said. “That pipe over there cleared?”

“One way to find out…”

BEHIND CLOSED HULLS

Debbie carefully plucked the plastic figurines from her daughter’s bed and placed them on the nightstand. She kissed Astra on the forehead and went down the hall, trading bedroom for boardroom.

Glaustus had completed his testimony five minutes ago and they were waiting on her. Debbie knew this. She wanted it to sink in.

The Immutables awaited her return on their respective screens. When she strode in, President Albert King put his council on mute and took host of the session.

“Mrs. Bohr, on behalf of the council, I would like to thank you for bringing these matters to our attention. I know that your time is valuable and you wouldn’t have called this meeting without due cause. However, I’m not certain that—”

The President’s microphone was suddenly muted. Glaustus popped back on the screen.

“Sorry to interrupt, your highness, but I think we could all tell where you were going with that…”

The councilmembers flapped their gums on mute, waving their hands and looking quite indignant.

“Anyways,” Glaustus said. “I just found something you all might find interesting. A Corps SOS flag from Terra just went up. Be warned, it’s NSFW.”

A live feed buffered showing the General naked, floating. It showed him killing his son and attacking Captain Wolfe. By the time the Hellbender flew through the air, Glaustus gave them back control of their screens.

The rest of the council kept themselves on mute, too horrified and stunned by the recording to react. President King cleared his throat and took a sip of water.

“Well, ahem, in light of this new information, I say we put the matter to an immediate vote. All in favor of granting immediate support to Terra say ‘aye.’”

They all said ‘aye.’

“Motion passes unanimously. While the council will need considerable time and resources to prove the allegations presented today, in a protracted manner we concede that at this time we must launch a full investigation into the recent activities of General Howard Mendax, including but not limited to, suspected treason, possible corporate espionage, implied corruption, conscious intimidation, indecent extortion, immoral experimentation, conscientious murder, nascent perjury…”

By the time President King had covered the extent of the investigation, including the Feint Guard’s consulting firm Bergen & Belsen, it was clear the Immutables were eager to distance the Corps and themselves from the situation and wanted nothing more than for it to just go away. This was a flare-up on a colony they were planning to shut down. To exile Terra at this point would seem needlessly cruel and politically inept. Debbie knew this and, for all their bluster, they didn’t hesitate in allowing Bohr Industries to be part of the initial wave of first responders.

As the meeting wrapped up, Victor guided the Bohr Industries Ark through the final pylon out of the Betelgeuse Nebula. Debbie thanked the council and ended the call. She took the freight elevator down to the main hangar and boarded her private craft. Her shuttle dropped out of the Ark and sped past Mercury to make a quick stopover in Atlas Rock.

PILGRIMAGE

Tafoya Djinn packed up the kettle and scuffled the coals. The prop stick cooled quick, she collapsed it and slid it in the sack with the tent poles and canvas. They always begin the day without sun, eager to set good pace before the heat comes.

Uncle wound the crank on the dune skiff, Papa checked their course and tasted the wind. The kids were already off, throwing rocks and chasing each other due East, over the sticky summer glaciers and into the desert. The other families in their procession lit out after them one by one, leaving a glpyh of burned-out campfires and square stamps in the ground. Jasti slung the tent sack over her shoulder and took Tafoya’s hand.

Dark clouds passed overhead. Tafoya turned back and squinted across the expanse, still able to make out the snow falling on Masada, the fortress caressed by the repeated red glow of air clearance lights.

The Pilgrims passed over the horizon toward the Pacific Tundra and, in doing so lost the curious eye of a naughty little movement sensor watching them from the planet’s largest military installation. A clock stacked numbers somewhere in the background processes until the established timeout counter was reached and Masada’s Primary Western Cannon went dormant.

The chamber ventilated and cycled back to a flat angle, middle-alignment; as neutral as a weapon can be. The remaining cannons followed suit, tracking the migration as far East as their positions would allow, at which point programming would force their hand; stand down, limit energy expenditure until the next wave of refugees crashed against the crooked Holy Mountains.

In days gone by, the Omni tribes traveled in total solidarity. Together, the ramshackle people passed over the surface of Terra, moving constantly into the rising sun, embodying the desire to return to the beginning, to return to a wholeness, a oneness not felt in the eons since the first spark.

Time and struggle have since scattered them. Circumstance and creeds divided them further. Still, they move peacefully, independent of one another, encircling the globe their whole lives until they find a home and their journey can end. The less pure find places to stay, they drop off from the main group to start a farm or build a house.

The holiest among them walk until they can no longer move and make their home in the ground. This is the sacrament, the sacrifice, the discipline required of blind faith. Move over the land, O my children of lights. Cast ye no more than shadows, disturb not a blade of grass, let soft earth alone move the stones. For peace is never found in stillness. It is the air we breathe, in and out and in. We cease only at final sublimation. For in that moment we reach the ultimate honesty, become the joy of all and join the atomic chain; it reaches through time, seizes our hearts, our souls and pulls us back into the Singularity.

Tafoya braced herself for their passing of the Pacific Tundra, the most difficult stretch of the Terran Pilgrimage. But a warm gust of wind heartened her and the expanding glow coming from the horizon strengthened her resolve. She kept pace with her family as the light grew. In the far distance, the silhouettes of smoke signals snaked upward from the Faultlines, pulling ships down from the sky.

LONE WOLFE AND CUB

Wolfe rappelled down the Faultlines toward the bloodied body of Eugene. Her rope ended twenty feet shy of the ground. She let go, landed, and rolled off the fall.

The blood splatter was major, equal streaking in each quadrant around the impact zone. Eugene’s limbs were twisted at odd angles like a misshapen Vitruvian Man. She bowed down and put her forehead against his, as was her custom, and said a prayer. When she was finished, she opened her eyes and stared down at him.

“Christ, kid,” she said. “If they gave out medals for getting on nerves, you’d be weighed down to the bottom of the sea, but that don’t mean you deserved this. Hell. I should’ve seen it coming. Knew Mendax was rotten, but couldn’t see how bad he’d gotten till it was too late. I’m sorry, kid. I’m…sorry…”

He coughed up blood in her face and she fell back on her ass.

“Hi, Sorry,” he said. “Nice to meet you…I’m…Eugene…”

He passed out again and Wolfe inspected his wounds. They were already healing. His broken arm flopped back over and popped into place. The intestines and fractured bones littering the ground belonged to a different body. The General’s old trench coat was soaked underneath Eugene’s back. Bits of his broken Boomslangs were scattered here and there.

“Damn, Charlie,” she whispered. “Almost forgot about you. Sleep on the wind, you dumb bastard. You went out right.”

Wolfe crossed her heart and got to work. She wrapped Eugene in bandages from head to toe. She rubbed some of her own blood into the gauze to make it more convincing. She left him and teleported back to the top of the cliff to help the rest of the wounded and bleeding.

Over the next few weeks, she experienced the full side effects of warping without proper containment. Her skin was on fire and cluster headaches attached themselves behind her eyes. She was eventually prescribed medication for the pain and placed on forced leave for two weeks. In the end, she only took two days.

And she hated every second of it.

RE:RE:FWD: NO SUBJECT

Stop with the excuses. Your mother and I already spoke to the principal. And, yes, we know most of those kids are rotten. They could strangle a cat in front of the admissions board and still get accepted into Maynard, but that’s beside the point. You haven’t answered me about the other kids. Mikey Ghus and that Williams boy. Maybe they aren’t all good, but they’re definitely not all bad. What happens to them if the stunt you pulled kept them from getting into college? Their parents don’t have money to throw around or political pull to grift their way in. So, the jerks get what they were going to get all along while you hung the decent ones out to dry. How does that fit into your narrative?

You’re a lucky kid. I know we tell you that all the time, but it’s true. Not everyone can afford what we can. Not everyone gets the same chances, opportunities, and second chances you’ve had. And we’ve been really, really lucky, but, newsflash, luck runs out. It always does. Often overnight. What happens if your mother and I aren’t around to bail you out? What happens if you piss the wrong person off? You’ve led any extremely privileged life, Eugene, but all that will be wasted if you end up just like those other brats.

Privilege is power. Roll your eyes if you want, but it’s true. And despite what they say, power doesn’t always corrupt, it just reveals people for who they really are. You’ll never stop all the assholes, Eugene. Trust me on that. You’ll get some but most just get better at getting away with it. On the other hand, good people, decent people, they always need help. So, instead of tearing down jerks who aren’t worth a second of your time, why not help build up some people who deserve it?

Look, you’re a good kid. I just wish you’d show it more. It’s not enough to be smart, Genie. You’ve got to be kind too.

We can talk more once you get unpacked. I know you’re not looking forward to this, but we’re only doing this because we care. Plus, there are worse punishments than spending a summer with your old man.

Okay. I should get back to work. Baggage claim tomorrow, bright and early.

Love you,

Dad

WITNESS STATEMENT

The water pitcher sat sweating in the middle of the table. The melted ice cubes barely visible and not for much longer. Special Agent Two reached into the plastic sleeve holding a measly stack of paper cups. He pulled one out and poured himself a cup. Joules sat on the other side of the overlong table.

Special Agent One tapped on her notepad filled with blank and/or unhelpful answers to their questions.

Physical description of attacker: Old, gross, bad dick.
Description of events: Asshole killed people, broke her dad.
Reported injuries: Witness asked for anxiety meds. Informed her to consult a medical professional.

Joules yawned. The agents leaned forward, expectantly.

“Yes?”

“Huh?” Joules said.

“Can we get you anything?”

“Something to drink, a bite to eat?”

“A new spine for my dad,” she said. “Got one of those lying around?”

She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. Agent two scratched his hand. Nervous tick.

“I know this has been quite the ordeal,” Agent One said. “If you’d rather continue this at a later date—”

“Oh, shit,” she said. “You’re waiting on me? I was waiting on you…”

One and Two looked at each other and sighed.

“You’re free to go,” One said.

Joules smiled and poured herself a cup of water. She put it to her lips and slowly drank it all. When she was finished, she exhaled and poured herself another cup.

“What?” she said. “And leave this A/C?”

Eugene sat outside the trailer, waiting for Joules to finish up. A transport stopped across the street and General Wolfe hopped out. She walked over to Eugene.

“Nice glasses,” she said, kneeling down next to him.

“Oh,” he said. “Thanks.”

“So, how you holding up?”

“Well,” he said. “I’m here. So, there’s that.”

“Sorry about your old man.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “Shit happens. Dads die. I’ll survive.”

“Yeah, about that…” Wolfe looked up, searching for the words. “That fall…it should’ve killed you, you know.”

“It crossed my mind.”

“And you know that means you’ve got something of what Mendax had going on.”

“Suppose so,” he said. “That mean you’re gonna shoot me in the head too?”

“Not if I can help it,” she said.

“Shame,” he said. He picked up a pebble and tossed it aside. Eugene stared at the ground. Wolfe searched for the right words, but when none came, she put her hand on his shoulder. Then he looked at her seriously for the first time since he landed.

“What do I do?” he said.

“Don’t know,” she said. “I figure you do what any us of can: just do your best.”

“Right…”

“And, hey, look at it this way,” she said, tapping her handcannon. “I can always shoot you some other time.”

“Promise?” he said.

“Promise.” She pushed herself back to her feet. Her earpiece buzzed.

Where you at, boss? We’re all waiting on you.

“On my way,” she said. She turned to say something else to Eugene, but instead she just nodded at him. He nodded back and watched her head off toward the Harbinger to address her new command.

Eugene dropped his head and stared at the ground.

Joules stepped out into the cold night. She shoved her hands into her hoodie pocket and noticed the blood stain from holding her dad in her lap. She sighed and looked up. Lights flickered and streaked across the sky.

Eugene cleared his throat, sat up, and dusted off his pants.

“Whatcha doing here?” she said.

“Nothing,” he said.

“Waiting on lil’ ole me?”

“No,” he said, pointing up to the batches of new satellites fireflying into the atmosphere. “Just waiting.”

“Oh, right,” she said. “I’ve got drugs, so…”

“No, that’s not…I was thinking you might want to…I don’t know.”

“Out with it,” she said.

“Wanna watch a dumb movie with me?” he said.

“I don’t think this town will be rewired for a while now,” she said. “Plus, there’s nothing good on public waves anyway.”

“I mean on the Ark,” he said. “Everyone gets a room until we put all this back together.” He fished in his pocket and handed her a card.

“Huh.” Joules ran her finger along the magnetic strip. “Guess this is what it feels like to be civilized.” She looked up at the flittering lights. “Suppose the stars aren’t good enough for some folks.”

“Yeah,” he said, not looking at the stars. “Ain’t it grand?”

The stars reflected in the still-warm sand as Joules and Eugene walked out of town, the Bohr Industries Ark glowing down the road.

Later, they sipped wine coolers that Eugene swiped from the commissary and watched the heroic Vashtra face off against the fearsome Zygan. A little over an hour into the movie, the giant butterfly was horribly burned by the evil leviathan. Her baby larva nuzzled her lifeless body, whining like a puppy. Joules knew it was just a stupid movie, but she started tearing up. It was just sad when things hurt, when they end for no reason. She stopped herself, dried her eyes, and turned to catch Eugene laughing at her.

But he wasn’t.

He was weeping, hand over mouth, like plugging up a burst pipe.

She scooted to the other end of the couch and placed her hand on his.

And they both cried the rest of the way through Vashtra: God of the New Creatures.

THE IMMUTABLE HORROR

The Atlas Reporter is dedicating the front page of this edition to those we lost in the recent tragedies caused by one of our Immutables, a former Carbon Corps officer. We pray for the survivors and praise the efforts of our brave servicemen and women who put themselves in harm’s way to protect innocent lives. Community services will be held county-wide today in Atlas, Garlock, Carson, and Hazmat. In lieu of condolences, Mayor Oberon has called for donations to support the fund for families of the victims. We print their names here so that we may remember the lives we lost and not the madman who took them from us all too soon.

HAZMAT

Garth Skar, 19
Private First Class Ezra Zeno, 20
Jay “Jaybird” Curry, 63
Sally Curry, 65
Edith Sullenberger, 45
Allie Dakota, 16
Henry Boson, 26
Jared Boson, 26
Elijah Darby, 54
Lylah Vanvulcanburg, 73
Gerald Dever, 89
Madison Cowler, 19
Faith Upsilon, 25
Cyrus Johnson, 46
Frederick Reynolds, 22
Barney Crampton, 65
Martha Crampton, 59
Gretchen Hillcoat, 27
Holden Dell, 32
Thaddeus Blunderbuss, 65
Isaac Stane, 12
Marjory Stane, 37
Francis Stane, 38
Cort Hawkins, 23
Walter Bohr, 52

FLIGHT 114

David Clinkscales, 41
Evelyn Clinkscales, 37
Heather Treadstone, 23
Ian Treadstone, 9 ½ months
Naeem Tambor, 32
Tima Tambor, 29
Edgar Montz, 28
James Porter, 38
Grant Lory, 17
Cheyenne Hensley, 40
Julius Nender, 35
Tyler Coltrane, 26
Dylan Radium, 8
Leigha Radium, 25
Shailey Moon, 51

GOLGOTHA PLAZA

Liev Scrimenti, 21
Nicholai Scrimenti, 44
Hershel Buddsutter, 78
Luke Buddsutter, 72
Gabba Dolorosa, 22
June Bauman, 18
Ike Stoklasa, 20
Daniel Johnson, 67
Greta Stinson, 54
Hank Stinson, 49
Audrey Forasteros, 63
Douglas Crud, 91
Soren Vinters, 25
Thora Pine, 30
Darlene Silva, 46
Dirk Matterson, 89
Ofret Glooten, 54

THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS