Narrator M: All right! So, where were we? Oh, yes!

[A tinny, lilting waltz.]

Narrator S: The Disappearance of the Dazzling Duchess! It was beginning to seem as though Lord Cryptopher– 

[Music cuts.]

M: No, no, after that. 

S: Oh. Right. 

[Abrupt, terrifying music.]

Narrator X: A giant humanoid face larger than the entire Ship is staring straight at them from directly outside, pressed to the atrium glass.

[The music diminishes to a tense ambience.]

S: Have you ever played with a Magic 8 Ball? You know how the plastic thingy with all the answers on it looms up out of the inky liquid and you can’t see it clearly until it presses right up against the window pane? 

M: And it’s only that face that you see, only that edge that is in contact with that aperture. 

S: This is kinda like that, 

M: except instead of a little floating D20, it is a giant nightmare face. 

S: There isn’t a fortune on it in this case, but if there was, it might say something like “AH FUCK!!”

X: Every single person on the Ship, regardless of what deck they are on, are frozen in absolute shock and horror.

S: Yeah, this thing is big enough that you can see it from any deck of the Ship. 

X: Everybody’s still standing, frozen in their LARP costumes, 

M: gazing out at this face gazing back at them. 

S: Weird barnacles cling to the colossal, motionless, staring eyes, squished flat to the atrium glass. 

M: Gross dead weeds and kelps trail from a colossal, twisted, sunken face.

X: The crew doesn’t move. What are you supposed to do? Holy shit. The face doesn’t move. It continues to not move, 

S: other than the squeegee slide of it along the glass as the Ship descends. 

X: In general, it is weirdly still. The eyes are not moving. It is very, very, very, very…

S: (Cleo) “Is it… is it… dead?” 

X: Cleo asks, breaking the silence. Huh. Yeah. 

S: Yeah, it’s dead. That’s good. Back to normal. 

X: [relieved sigh] Wow. Anyway, back to the LARP. 

S: No. It’s probably time for science now. 

X: The Ship is continuing its previous instruction, which was to descend slowly. The huge face slides detestably, horrifically, slowly squeegeeing along against the dark mica of the Ship’s exterior, weird flesh bending and sliding as it goes,

S: its cheeks pressing up against the glass, revealing green-gray teeth. Cleo turns slowly away from the window, clasping her hands and smiling at her fellow LARPers assembled there in the atrium. (Cleo) “Okay, what do you say we put the LARP on pause for a minute? You all probably have other things that you want to be doing now that there’s stuff to look at.”

X: (Everett) “No, actually I’d much rather be LARPing,” says Everett, wide eyes staring at the wide eyes staring back. 

S: (Cleo) “Right, but the whole point of the LARP was to help alleviate everyone’s boredom because there were so many days with nothing to look at, and now–” 

X: Cleo is saying this with gigantic fucking rotting huge teeth sliding past the window right behind her.

S: (Cleo) “So… I understand if we need to… take a little… break.”

M: (Merlin) “I think that would perhaps be best, Cleo,” Merlin says. 

S: (Cleo) “Oh, and Merlin, I will take those glasses back.” She snatches them off of his face. “And lock them in a box and never take them out again. I knew it. I knew it!”

X: Well, we don’t have time to get out of our costumes, but we do need to get down to Control. A large group of Control folks, scientists included, head for that elevator, 

S: dispersing to the areas of the Ship where they can do their jobs most effectively. (Cleo) [sighs] Cleo looks around for Omelet. 

X: The Foldlight here in the atrium clanks, clunks, begins to retract into the floor in that way that it does. It descends down into the control deck below, where it sockets into its enclosure for better and finer, more detailed control of the Ship, as they investigate this whole new situation. The aperture in the center of the conversation pit apertures shut and eerie red-light darkness fills the atrium.

S: Those who are left in the atrium are the ones without anything relevant to do at the moment, folks like Cleo, Quino, the sous-chefs. 

X: Quino Del Belsaban and his crew do not like the look of the colossal corpse, now the neck and chin of the corpse sliding by outside the window, titanically terrifying and horrific.

X: (Quino) “This is, uh, not entirely what I had in mind when I signed up to cook for the expedition,”

M: Quino says from underneath his tablecloth that he’s still wearing. 

X: He looks with some alarm to his compatriots here in the atrium, including, now, Cleophee Guilemoth. (Quino) “Perhaps we could, uh, contribute in other ways. Some distracting comfort food, perhaps?”

S: (Cleo) “Oh, yeah, a little snack. I would just love to do something helpful. Can I help?” 

X: (Dot) “And I could help as well,” comes a voice from the darkness. Oh, yeah, them! A shadow hiding here in the dark perimeter of the room, stepping forward, the Granddaughter joining the squad. “I could perhaps… do some dishes.”

S: The control deck is abuzz with activity, fairly crowded as people bustle between workstations.

[Indistinct conversation and mechanical whirring.] 

X: First things first, there’s a gigantic dead colossus outside, and it’s a little hard to see it through the darkness, through the windows of the Ship. They need as much visibility on this thing as they can possibly get, and thanks to the wonders of the dark mica Ship, there’s a unique and interesting way to achieve that.

S: Abel switches out a punch-disc and barks a quick PSA into a nearby speaking tube. 

X: (Bowie) “Attention everyone: for greater visibility above and below, we are going to turn all of the decks transparent. You might experience a moment of vertigo. If you’re prone to that, please have a seat, avert your eyes, uh, just take it slow. Be advised.” 

S: And with the pull of a lever, the disc is shunted into place, funneling its commands into the Foldlight to change the opacity state of the deck’s floors and ceilings. 

M: The Foldlight flickers. The fold within it trembles and shudders. 

X: And in an instant every single floor and ceiling within the Ship, stem to stern, top to bottom, goes completely, transparently, clear. Just the decks though, not the walls. Those are still polarized, transparent from within, but opaque black from outside, allowing no light to escape. 

S: Of course it’s still basically pitch dark outside, but this does certainly help to afford a more panoramic view of all the junk sliding by the windows. 

X: Crew standing here on the control deck look above to see the undersides of the feet of people standing on the deck directly above, the undersides of feet many decks above that, the tops of the heads of crew several decks below, everyone looking up at their associates above, looking down at associates below. Almost like they are hovering in the dark. 

S: The naturalist waves up at Control from the botany deck below. 

X: Folks up in the kitchen are clearly at work on something. They wave down as well, 

S: Cleo easily visible because of her bioluminescent gleam. 

X: Quino Del Belsaban appears to call something, then Cleo appears to remind him that they can’t hear you from there, there are still floors in the way, they’re just clear now. And with the entire Ship now transparent from within, a truly insane absolutely wraparound new visibility greets the eyes of the crew, and a fucking titanic corpse sprawls across the chassis of the Ship, visible now in every direction, stretching high above, the head, the face, the eyes, looming, disappearing, into foggy darkness above, as below, floating hands begin to rise into view.  Ugh. There is such a thing as being able to see too much. Maybe this was a bad idea. 

S: Well, that’s what they’re here to do. 

M: Here in Control, the Foldlight flickers. It’s dusky red and sort of an ombre’d purple right now, dominating the central cluster of the room, a fiery lava lamp of a lightbulb. The fold within it sluices darkly, animating and moving in a way unlike the slow and sluggish, the thick, jelly-like fold slurming by outside of the Ship.

X:  The ferrofluid-like fold inside the Foldlight is crawling around its glass bulb a bit more twitchily than usual, as though on edge, vacillating back and forth between the sparkling filaments in a manner that would almost look indecisive if it weren’t so inhuman. 

M: Merlin, noticing that the bulb seems to be acting in this way, approaches it delicately, taking first one step, then another. (Merlin) “Do we feel comfortable with this? Should we consider swapping out for the spare bulb?” 

S: He glances at the nearby spare bulb enclosure, a kind of light-proof cabinet and loading armature tucked in the back corner of the control deck. Ephraim Amos shakes his head decisively. (Amos) “Oh, no. The Foldlight is still functioning within normal parameters. It’s probably just picking up… readings, or whatever.” 

M: (Merlin) “That’s not very reassuring.”

S: (Amos) [chuckles] 

X: Mother Artifice slides in from nearby as well to check out the Foldlight. (Mother Artifice) “THE FOLD INSIDE THE LIGHT IS PERHAPS FEELING A BIT DISTRACTIBLE, IT WOULD SEEM, BUT THAT IS NO DIFFERENT FROM ANY OTHER MEMBER OF THE CREW AT PRESENT, GIVEN CURRENT CIRCUMSTANCES,” he says, gesturing to a titanic throat and larynx gliding by outside the glass exterior of Control. 

S: Well, that’s a fair observation from Mother Artifice. There is plenty to be distracted by right now. The Ship descends carefully, tracing the contours of the titan corpse, weaving between ancient eroded ribs. 

M: Let’s just be clear: this is a very huge, like, warped and screwed-up, stretched, twisted looking sorta mummy-esque body outside of the Ship. 

S:  Not like a nice dry professional mummy, though. Like a –

M: Oh, no. 

S:  Like a swamp tar pit mummy. 

M: Moist and leathery. 

S: Mummified by nature. 

M: Still with that drowned, soggy, corpse-like quality, but weirdly well-preserved. 

S: Like fruit leather.

X: It seems to maybe have once been human.

S: Larger than any human anyone here has ever seen, of course. 

X: Was it always this way? Surely no person in history, as far as anyone is aware, has ever been quite this size. How did it get this way? What is this? 

S: Folks speculate. 

X: Hambing, of course, being a tearrologist, has a few ideas. He pings into Control when summoned by Merlin, 

S: perched on top of a bank of instruments, staring curiously out at the gigantic thing, 

X: a gross broken hand floating in the inky expanse wafting by outside. (Hambing) “Tearrors can have an almost unlimited variety of outcomes, depending on a wide range of factors, um… The duration, the intensity, of an unsafe light source. Whether that light source was natural or artificial, manmade light. This body looks old enough that whoever they are maybe predates, um, manmade lights, like lightbulbs. I don’t know what the cause was. Some theorists speculate that it’s a mindset thing. Whatever is on your mind, whatever you’re thinking about, your thoughts and feelings, can influence what happens to you when you make contact with a tearror. Maybe this person was just wishing they were big.” He gestures to himself, obviously. “A tearror made me tiny. It’s not such a stretch to believe that the opposite could have happened to our friend here. Who knows?” 

M: (Merlin) “I suppose it’s useless to even speculate how long ago this happened, or at what point in this poor soul’s journey this… enlargening occurred,” Merlin says, sort of gesturing the length of the thing as they pass it.

X: Abel Bowie is examining a long broken trailing finger bone. (Bowie) “Artifice, as a Mother, do you have any sense of how this happened or how long ago?” 

(Mother Artifice) “THESE DEPTHS OF FOLD ARE WELL OUTSIDE THE PURVIEW OF MY STUDIES,” Artifice yells, “AND THIS FOLD IS SO ANCIENT AND DEEP HERE THAT I HAVE NO REAL FAMILIARITY WITH HOW OR IN WHAT WAYS IT CAN PRESERVE OR SUSTAIN MATTER, SO THIS ENTITY COULD HAVE BEEN HERE FOR DAYS OR EVEN MILLIONS OF YEARS. WHO CAN SAY? NOT ME.” 

S: Shanamarian calls back over her shoulder from up at the helm. (Shanamarian) “Uh, folks? New thing coming into view here. It, uh… It looks an awful lot like…” Out of the darkness, another form emerges – a huge, dark mass that the corpse is slumped atop. A giant berg of black crystal. 

[Wondrous music.]

M: It looks ancient. Pitted. Twisted. Eroded. Digested. Corroded. Riddled with holes like a termite hill or a hunk of Swiss cheese. (Merlin) “It’s… dark mica,”

S: says Merlin, his voice hoarse with wonder.

X: Abel Bowie is staring, thunderstruck. (Bowie) “So the moon wasn’t just a fluke. There IS more.” 

M: (Merlin) “Lots more,” 

X: Merlin observes. 

M: (Merlin) “All very old, from the looks of it.” 

S: Many other, smaller, dark crystal fragments are squeegeeing up the Ship’s hull, like flakes of obsidian suspended in mud. 

X: (Bowie) “That couldn’t be just the rest of Midst’s moon, could it?” Bowie asks. 

M: (Merlin) “We’re significantly too far downcurrent from Midst for that to be likely, and it seems like there’s much more than a moon’s worth of dark mica down here.” 

S: He clears his throat, and, in a habitual, musing sort of way, almost as though talking to himself, begins to lecture, self-soothing by going into professor mode, reminding himself and others of all the things he knows.

M: (Merlin) “Ever since the transformed remains of Midst’s moon were discovered, the scientific community has theorized that more dark mica could exist down here in the Fold somewhere… but it was just speculation. No one has yet managed to find other specimens or to reproduce it in a controlled setting. After all this time, many were starting to wonder if the dark mica moon was a one-in-a-million exception, a random tearror result rather than a predictable natural process.  But all the way down here, we’re practically swimming in the stuff…”

S: His eyes light up with that gleam of scientific glee, the satisfaction of putting the puzzle together.

M: (Merlin) “Perhaps, eventually, this is what happens to ALL mica that falls into the Fold. Maybe it just takes a long time. In most cases.”

X: Very smart, Merlin. Very insightful.  He is correct – this IS what becomes of mica if it sits and stews in the Fold long enough. 

S: In the case of Midst’s moon, it just happened a lot faster than usual.

X: Fast enough that people were able to discover it before it sank out of reach.

M: Fast enough that it attracted a whole lot of attention from a lot of different folks.

S: It was a whole clusterfuck.

M: They did get eventually this nice ship out of it, though.

X: The crew in Control are glued to the windows in an odd silence, 

S: looking out at the sight from within their own pristine, meticulously engineered piece of dark mica. 

X: Everyone looks upon it with different feelings – scientific wonder, a kind of joyous gleam, a little smile apparent on Merlin’s face, all the way over to folks like Everett, who are looking at it with a kind of deep, haunted alarm.

S: Yeah, she does not look too happy to see it.

X: She seems very unsettled. She turns away from the window to examine the Foldlight instead.

S: The fold pressing against the windows, the walls, is thicker, denser, more and more like a solid the farther they travel. We mentioned the similarity to blackberry jelly, but this is a jelly with stuff in it.

M: Like, every kind of stuff imaginable. 

S: Not even blackberries. Many things that are simply NOT imaginable, all pressed against the transparent crystal hull of the Ship, 

M: that sinks lower and lower, descending down, 

S: at a slow and steady rate. 

X: This is a science bonanza, creepy as it may be. The giant dead corpse begins to disappear into the dark above, as more and more of the colossal shard of dark mica outside is revealed. Oh my god, there are so many measurements to be made! So many things to analyze. So many– so many science observations. This is crazy. 

S: Now that all the floors and ceilings are transparent, from Control one can look down to the science decks below and see –

X: The botanist, the naturalist, chemists, the epidemiologist running around, 

S: excitedly collecting samples, 

M: little scoops extruded from the exterior of the vessel and filtratingly collecting little bits and pieces of what they find outside. Or, anyone can also just watch these things smear along the length of the slowly descending Ship. 

S: Yeah, not everything is worth collecting. There are ancient wrecks here. Unimaginable junk, organic and inorganic. 

M: There’re some screws. Hair. Weird other pulpy dark clumps, like that mulch that gets stuck in the bottom of a drain.

S: Pieces of broken wood turned all slimy and soft. 

X: The husk of a child’s stuffed animal, slack and empty, its button eyes encrusted with unidentifiable muck. 

S: More dark mica of various shapes and sizes, but all eroded and digested, mica that has fallen eons ago. 

M: Some long and sinewy candelabras pass by, loose like spaghetti noodles. 

S: A single sock. 

X: A disembodied head. 

S: A door, its blue paint cracked and peeling. 

M: A soggy leatherbound book, its cover retextured with patches of flaking fish scales, its pages swollen and unreadable. 

S: A steering wheel. 

X: A wheeling steer. 

S: Black and white beads. 

M: An entire uprooted tree. 

S: There are also pockets of non-fold liquid substance, squelching and – what’s the word? 

X: Blobulating? 

S: Exactly. Blobulating, like bubbles of oil separating from water. 

M: Oh, and there are skeletons. 

S: Oh, yes, of course. Just, lots and lots of skeletons. 

M: Skeletons in varying levels of release, 

S: ribbons of marrow drifting out of spongy holes.

M: In fact, if you wanted to get pedantic about it, you could describe these skeletons as more like corpses, really. 

S: They do have a lot of matter still attached to them. 

M: And it’s corpses of all shapes and sizes,

X: huge and small. On the huger side, long, snaking, bony, ruined, mummified wails. 

S: The string-like filaments of a jellyghoul. 

M: And people. Lots of dead, human people. All of it, grotesquely swamp-mummified, 

X: many of their bodies warped, distorted, stretched, 

S: transformed. It makes for a rather oppressive mood. 

X: Maybe they could make the walls NOT transparent. Maybe they’ve seen enough. 

S: But then how would science get done? 

M: Yes, science is very important. 

S: It took a lot of trouble to get the Ship down here. 

M: When else are we going to be here? 

S: And now that they’re here, they’d better take a nice long look. 

X: Oh boy, they’re seeing so much. 

S: Everyone’s going to want to hear about this.

X: Ugh. Outside the windows, the Fold, the black jelly, is really crawling against the walls of the Ship, almost gnawing at it – but not getting in, no worries there. The Ship is still pretty magic, still impervious. But boy, is it really investigating them. 

S: At this point, they have truly shut off every single possible non-essential light source. Up on the kitchen deck, Cleo is fielding some questions about her own bioluminescence. 

X: (Quino) “Cleophee, if you’ll pardon the inquiry, is it possible that you might, for safety, cover up your light source?” 

S: Cleo looks down at herself, and can see reflected in all the shiny dark mica surfaces around her the bounced light of her own pink and green and multicolored bioluminescence. (Cleo) “I can’t turn it off, unfortunately, but I could– I could put on some long sleeves. Here, um.” She scurries down the stairs back to the main level of the atrium, quickly rummaging around in the trunk she’d brought down from her room, and changes into a big oversized hoodie and some leggings. They still glow faintly from the light within, but it’s an improvement. The others seem to relax. 

X: (Quino) “Thank you very much, Cleo. I think that’s a wise move. Have you finished the rosemary mocktails?” 

S: (Cleo) “Just a few more garnishes.” 

X: (Quino) “Well, I think we could move things along. I’ll, uh, make the announcement. Voro, Mikelord?” 

M: The two of them nod. (Mikelord) “Yes, Chef.” 

X: Quino approaches a dark mica speaking tube here in the kitchen, addressing now the entire ship, all of whom he can also now see, since all the floors and ceilings are clear. He waves and speaks. (Quino) “My friends, this is all indescribably ominous, and a comforting repast might do wonders for all of our frayed nerves right now. As you can clearly see – hello, down there–” 

S: (Cleo) “Hi!” 

X: (Quino) “Uh, they can’t hear you, but – oh, they can, because I’m on a tube! Anyway, that’s Cleo, yes. Uh, Cleo here has lent us a hand, and up here in the dining area, we have grilled cheese sandwiches–” 

S: (Cleo) “The ultimate comfort food!” 

X: (Quino) “–available to you now on the balcony, as well as rosemary mocktails, so please come and get them at your earliest convenience. They’ll only be hot for so long, and they might distract you from this horrific vista outside.” 

S: You know, grilled cheese sandwiches do sound pretty good to everybody aboard right now. 

X: Oh yeah, down in Control, people are mighty pleased. It sounds extremely pleasant compared to a limitless menagerie of corpses and sludge outside in unfathomable darkness.

M: For those who are able to generate an appetite, they start making their way directly to the dining deck. Merlin’s stomach audibly grumbles. (Merlin) “I suppose I have only been drinking coffee. That actually sounds like a great idea.” 

X: A smeared, wretched mummy glides past outside. 

S: Shanamarian covers her eyes. (Shanamarian) “Could you grab me one, Merlin? I’m going to stay down here.” 

M: (Merlin) “Absolutely. Actually, uh – How many all around?” Merlin does a quick count of hands raised in Control. “Perfect. Bocular Man?” 

(Bocular Man) “Yes, Merlin?” 

(Merlin) “Come with me.” 

X: Micky heads for the elevator with Merlin and the Bocular Man. 

S: (Micky) “All right, grilled cheese, my favorite. You comin’, Everett?” 

X: (Everett) “Uh, save one for me. I’ll be up with you in just a sec,” Everett says. She’s still over here at the Foldlight with Artifice. 

M: Micky flashes some thumbs-up Everett’s direction. 

S: And the grilled-cheese-bound crew bubble their way up in the elevator. It’s all very intriguing seeing the inner workings of the Ship clearly visible like this, with everything including the elevator transparent. Artifice remains in Control for the time being. 

X: Everett, remaining here in Control with a few folks, approaches Artifice at the side of the Foldlight. Artifice has inclined his horned head to the side of the bulb and appears to be listening or focusing intently,

S: his gloved hands pressed to the glass on either side. 

X: The liquid fold inside of the Foldlight continues to climb the glass walls of its enclosure, investigating. (Everett) “That’s, uh… Is that doin’ okay?” Everett asks Artifice. 

S: Artifice presses his veiled forehead to the glass. (Mother Artifice) “THE FOLD WITHIN THE BULB IS EXHIBITING A NUMBER OF UNUSUAL IMPULSES. PERHAPS IT IS VERY CURIOUS ABOUT ITS KIN OUTSIDE, AND VICE VERSA.” 

X: Everett looks to the windows, strange black jelly squirming and crawling outside, and back to the Foldlight. (Everett) “It’s, uh, it’s looking kind of tearror-y in there. And out there. And like, not in a really nice way? Is it good? We good?” 

S: (Mother Artifice) “YES. IT IS ALL WELL WITHIN LIMITS.” Artifice turns slightly to look at Everett. “DO NOT BE ALARMED, EVERETT. I ASSURE YOU, THIS SITUATION IS VERY DIFFERENT.” 

X: (Everett) “Oh, uh, yeah.” Everett shakes her head. “Okay, yeah, it’s, it’s just, it, it’s–” 

S: (Mother Artifice) “FUNDAMENTALLY NOT EVEN SLIGHTLY SIMILAR.” 

M: Artifice places his gloved hand on Everett’s shoulder and looks her square in the face.

S: (Mother Artifice) “YOU ARE SAFE. MIDST IS SAFE.” 

X: Everett almost looks like she could cry for a second, but instead, she hugs Artifice.

S: (Mother Artifice) “OH!”

M: Shanamarian, across Control, looks a little surprised. 

S: Everett withdraws. 

X: She sees everyone staring. (Everett) “I love this guy, what can I say? Always lookin’ out for me, even after all these years.” She gently bams his shoulder. “Thanks, buddy.” 

S: (Mother Artifice) “YOU ARE WELCOME. AND TO THAT EFFECT, I INSIST YOU NOW BENEFIT FROM A GRILLED SANDWICH AND FLAVORFUL NON-ALCOHOLIC MOCKTAIL. COME WITH ME.” 

X: Artifice and Everett step together, then, into the elevator to head up to the atrium and dining level, 

S: and the grilled cheeses contained therein. 

X: (Everett) “Anybody else want any sandwiches?” Everett calls from the open elevator. 

S: (Shanamarian) “Uh, nah, I’m good. I think Merlin’s on it,” Shanamarian says, leaning against a transparent wall to peer closely at a passing skein of weird, dark, pulpy stuff blinking with surreal eyeballs. “I don’t want to miss a minute of this. Ugh, would you get a load of this– Bleugh!”

X: She recoils from the window, her four hands covered in inky slime.

S: (Shanamarian) “Uh, the walls are sort of sticky–?!”

[A sudden eruption of noise.]

M: Vortexing darkness erupts through the walls of Control like oil through cheesecloth, engulfing the room and its occupants, 

X: and the Foldlight, devoured by darkness, implodes.