Narrator M: (Unidentified speaker) “Reach for the sky, Sheriff.”

[Dramatic Western music.]

M: (Unidentified speaker) “My boys and I have got you surrounded. It’s dark enough here in the nighttime of the Fold thatcha can’t see ‘em, but trust me, I’ve got a man with a gun on ya right now on every rooftop in Station’ry Hill. Any last words?”

Narrator X: (Sheriff) “You don’t wanna try it, wise guy. It’ll be the last mistake you ever make.”

M: (Unidentified speaker) “Big words coming from a dead man. Makin’ enemies of Vincent and the Charmers comes with certain consequences, Sheriff. Consequences you’re gonna dislike a great deal, but only briefly because you’ll be dead in the very near future.” 

X: (Sheriff) “You’re crazy if you’re plannin’ to shoot me in the night like this, Vince. You’re from the Un, so you wouldn’t know, but trust me when I say that bright gunfire in the dark Fold is a real bad move.”

M: (Vincent) “You’re lyin’, Sheriff – and I AM crazy! Crazy enough to end ya here and now, no matter what. Ya might be able to outdraw ME, but ya can’t outdraw ALL my boys. You’re not gettin’ out of this one alive.”

X: (Sheriff) “I don’t need to outdraw you, Vince.”

M: (Vincent) “Oh, no?”

X: (Sheriff) “No, I just need to outsmartcha. And guess what, Vince?” 

M: (Vincent) “What, Sheriff?”

X: (Sheriff) “I already did.”

[Rapid footsteps and high-pitched laughter.]

M: (Vincent) “What?? The sheriff’s head has disconnected from his body and is gettin’ away on little legs! Shoot ‘im, boys!”

[Shrill scream-like gunfire followed by pandemonium.]

M: (Vincent) “Holy shit, the sheriff WASN’T lyin’! Firin’ guns in the darkness of the Fold has had some unexpected consequences for me and the boys that defy verbal explanation!”

X: (Sheriff) “I warned you, Vince. You didn’t listen.”

M: (Vincent) “I’ll hand it to you, you’re pretty smart for a disembodied noggin’, Sheriff. How DID ya disconnect your head anyway?” 

X: (Sheriff) “It’s all thanks to you, Vince. That tearror you trapped me in during last week’s showdown gave me some abilities that are gonna come back to bite ya, mark my words.” 

M: (Vincent) “So ya WERE lyin’ when ya said the only thing that tearror did to ya was make it so you could only tell lies! Was that a lie, too?? Dagnabbit!”

X: (Sheriff) “You’re findin’ out the hard way, Vince. Thanks to your tearror trap, I’ve got powers now you can’t even imagine. Next time we meet, you’re goin’ down.”

M: (Vincent) “You’re lyin’, Sheriff! That’s gotta be a lie, too! IS that a lie? Sheriff? Sheriff?? Goddammit, he got away! Nobody humiliates Vincent and the Charmers and lives to tell the tale, not even the tearror-transformed pathologically lying disembodied head of my ex-husband-turned-nemesis, and THAT’S the goddamn TRUTH!”

[Exciting theme music.]

Narrator S: (Announcer) “Unsmoke! Under the direction of Humpheria Donnell, starring Normandale Van Exeter as Sheriff Rapier Alafraganus. Tonight’s story, ‘The Devilishly Disingenuous Domepiece,’ was specially written for Unsmoke by Xena Hazel with music by the one and only Blue Liebling. Join us again next week as Sheriff Alafraganus fights to bring truth and justice to the cosmos in…Unsmoke! Up next, Missives from the Mediun as we talk with special guests from the Cosmological Consortium about the progress of their Ship as it continues its journey of exploration. But first, a word from the Teletheric Opportunity Network!”

[Sound becomes distorted and crackly.]

M: (Advertisement) “Do your teeth ever feel like they’ve got a mind of their own?” [Ad continues indistinctly in the background.]

S: (Cleo) “Oh no, is that it??”

X: Cleo’s on the edge of her seat.

S: (Cleo) “Ugh, what a cliffhanger!” 

M: Everett is swapping out patch cables in the Stagecoach cockpit, spooling up some background music.

[Relaxed guitar music.] 

X: (Everett) “Yep, that’s the last episode I taped before we went out of teletheric range. We gotta get back down closer to the Mediun to get caught up. I gotta tell you, weekly Unsmoke? One of my favorite things. ‘Is it Wednesday yet?’”

S: Welcome aboard the Stagecoach. Finally time we made it down here for one of Everett and Micky’s cookouts. 

M: Need a Stationary-Style Dog, nicely scorched with your choice of toppins’? 

S: Game of cards? 

M: A frosty Vermillion County unpale ale?

S: Well, you’re in the right place. 

X: Time to take a little break from all that sleek dark mica and crisp glass, extruded crystal furniture and stark geometric grandeur we’ve been seeing around the Ship these last few weeks. The Stagecoach is all old metal, rivets, battered red paint, and exposed wiring. Retro. Reliable. Tried and true.

M: Less of a futuristic angular black-magic starship, and more of a 1950s Winnebago mobile home long-haul truck airplane helicopter.

S: Everett and Micky’s very own. Folks are hanging out here in the Stagecoach’s galley – a cozy, low-ceilinged little kitchenette beside the small fold-down dining table and quaint built-in sofa that comprise the Stagecoach’s cramped living room.

[Background chatter and laughter.] 

X: We’ve got the portholes shuttered to cut down on all that harsh unshine that’s been glaring into the hangar outside.

S: Here in the modest living quarters of the Stagecoach’s upper deck, little string lights twinkle under the low curve of the fuselage ceiling. 

M: We’ve kinda got a simulated “late night at the retro spaceship dive bar” feel going here. 

X: That’s right, if it weren’t for the semi-regular jostle and roll of turbulence, you could almost imagine the Stagecoach was parked in the desert of Midst, and friends were just popping over for one of Everett and Micky’s weekend dinners.

S: It’s technically a Saturday, too. Felix said so. It’s nice. 

X: That’s right, we’ve got some folding chairs and a card table set up to extend the little galley. And, uh, food and drink are going around. 

S: Chef Del Belsaban is knocking back an ale and chomping a bite of dog, looking mighty pleased to be cooked FOR on his night off…day off…morning off. Have to ask Felix. 

M: Shanamarian’s got dominoes going with the gunners, and Voro the sous-chef. 

S: Just through the hatchway here, Hambing and Felix are sitting in the Stagecoach’s secondary cockpit, eyeballing the ship’s space-shuttle-like controls, the dashboard with countless gauges, switches, glowing little lights, and complicated navigation instruments.

X: (Hambing) “This is giving me a headache!” 

S: Felix grunts, unimpressed. (Felix) “Looks pretty straightforward to me. This is nothing compared to some of my clocks.” (Cleo) “So Everett, how do YOU play cards?” Cleo asks. 

X: She’s piled in blankets here at one end of the dining table. 

S: She’s got her hair up in a giant bow, and Omelet’s curled around her neck.

X: (Everett) “I’ll show you, one sec,” Everett says. “You’re gonna love it.” She, Everett, is bopping around in the galley here. She’s wearing a busted old fawn-colored hat that looks like it’s been run over more than a couple of times.

S: By herself, perhaps. 

[Chopping and frying sounds, the clatter of dishes.] 

X: Red oversized bomber jacket thrown over her shoulders, flaming up some more dogs on the single burner of the stovetop.

M: Micky is here as well, slung in a hammock against a metal bulkhead, doing crossword puzzles in a creased old yellow paperback by the light of a little book lamp. 

S: Just enjoying the socializing surrounding her, without directly taking part in it. 

M: Everett slides Micky a dog on a pewter plate. 

X: (Everett) “All right, we got one with onions, hot pepper, green motato, and pickle. It’s only barely burnt.”

S: (Micky) “Aaa-mazing, thank you. Wait, get back here.” 

M: Everett turns around and comes back to the hammock. She takes off her hat and rests her head on Micky’s shoulder. 

X: Micky slides an arm around Everett in a loose hug, continuing to work on her crossword. 

S: (Micky) “That’s all,” she says.

X: (Everett) [sighs] “You smell nice. Kind of like Midst.” 

S: (Micky) “Mmm. Well, Midst needs to wash its hair.” 

M: Micky turns a page.

S: (Micky) “Hey. You’re doing great.” 

X: (Everett) “You too. Need a blanket?” 

S: (Micky) “Nah, this hot vent keeps coming on under my ass every five minutes. I’m good.” 

M: Micky turns her attention from the book to Everett. 

S: (Micky) “Thanks.” 

M: They look at each other for just a minute.

X: Kind of a slow blink that says it all. 

S: Another rattle of turbulence, a little flicker of the lights. The hammock swings gently. 

X: (Everett) “Hey, you want a secret cookie?” 

M: Everett hands one over. 

X: (Everett) “I hid ‘em in our bunk. Tzila gave ‘em to me before we left.” 

S: (Micky) “Sneaky.” Micky takes it. 

X: (Everett) “I’m gonna go cheat Cleo at cards.” 

S: A tiny smile. (Micky) “Attagirl.”

M: Back at the dining table, Cleo is waxing excitedly about her favorite comic book series, Princess Shiny and the Mica Maidens. 

S: (Cleo) “They live in Crystal Kingdom and use the power of unshine and love to fight evil, flying from islet to islet to solve mysteries and spread happiness, while searching for the twelve rainbow blossoms that will bring harmony to the cosmos. Now that I’m learning what the Un’s really like, I have to admit that Princess Shiny isn’t the most…realistic? But it’s still fun!” 

X: (Everett) “Sounds cute,” Everett calls offhandedly from the little galley where she’s cleaning up. “Must be nice havin’ all that free time to read comics, hang out, just enjoy the ride. I bet a lot of folks on this expedition wish they had your job.”

S: (Cleo) “Haha, yeah! Yeah, I’m pretty lucky.” 

M: But Cleo’s smile falters just a little at that. 

X: (Everett) “Alrighty, who’s playing cards?” Everett slides in at the dining table. 

S: (Cleo) “Ooh, me!” Cleo yells immediately. She looks so giddy, Everett laughs. 

M: (Shanamarian) “Me too,” says Shanamarian. 

X: (Hambing) “You better believe I will!”

S: squeaks Hambing, sproinging over. 

M: Felix shakes his head from the cockpit, where he’s perusing some of Micky’s maps.

S: (Felix) “Hate cards. Jod’s the only game for me. I need to head up to Control anyway.”

X: And he makes his way out, climbing down the ladder to the exit. 

S: (Quino) “I’ll play winner,” Quino Del Belsaban says, sharpening the part of his hair with an ivory comb. “Pre- or post-Trust rules?”

X: (Everett) “Midst rules,” Everett says. “Best rules. Only rules.”

S: Cleo looks excitedly bewildered. (Cleo) “Huh?”

M: Everett pulls a deck of playing cards from the inside pocket of her bomber jacket, a battered green stack that looks like it’s already been to every extreme of the cosmos at least twice. 

X: She does one of those fuckin’ trick moves, cutting the deck with just one hand into three parts before flipping them all back together. She deals out hands of cards to everybody. (Everett) “Okay, so. Cards. Simple. Nine of a Sort is the highest possible hand, and that can happen when at least one card on the table is a flush, like a G or a One from any player, one of the Four-Legged Jims, any of the Dames of Eight. Or you could have like five in a round, which can look a lot of different ways, like you could have, like, four Twelves and a wild J, or two Queens and two wild Nines followed by One or Two of Kings or any combination of, like, five, y’know, smaller-numbered cards that all equal nine. Which is why it’s called Nine of a Sort, right? And getting nine with Five is probably the easiest way to win.”

S: (Cleo) “Oh, okay. It IS simple. I get it. So, do you need a slush to win, then?” 

X: (Everett) “Good question! No. Unlike Ebonreef or Trust rules – pre- or post-Trust – you do not need a slush of three to win. You could win with PAIRS of three in Midst rules, for example, like if you’ve got… the, let’s say the Eight of Twelves, and, I don’t know, let’s say the Nine of Ones. So you can use an Eight, a Twelve, a Nine, or a One. And then the next pair you draw, that will decide if you flip or if you just get Three of None.” 

S: (Cleo) “Okay, okay. So, can you trade the Three for the One of Nones?” 

X: (Everett) “You catch on pretty quick! Yes, you certainly can.” 

M: Quino Del Belsaban laughs. (Quino) “Ha! I see. So, Midst rules are just incredibly simplified post-Trust rules.”

X: Everett shoots him a sidelong look. (Everett) “Hey, just cause it’s simple doesn’t mean it’s not fun. Some of us like our cards casual.” 

S: (Cleo) “I definitely do,” Cleo agrees. “I just don’t have a head for those really complicated games like Jod.”

X: (Everett) “No, neither do I. Midst rules are easy-peasy,” Everett says. “Listen, I guess I could talk forever up front, but why don’t we just learn as we go? Here, I’ll deal the first few, you’ll be a pro in no time.” She shuffles, and – (Everett) “Ah, crap!”

[Rattling.] 

M: Cards go scattering. Hambing loses his custom micro-sized hot dog. 

S: Cleo grabs at the couch armrest and Quino almost drops the cocktail he’s started mixing in the galley. 

X: Micky swings and bounces in her hammock. 

S: (Micky) “Whoa!” 

X: (Everett) “What is going on? This is getting rough.”

S: (Cleo) “Yeah, I don’t know if we can play like this.” 

X: Everett pops into the cockpit of the Stagecoach here, adjacent to the galley, and leans into the liquid crystal speaking tube coming in through an open port. (Everett) [voice amplified] “Hey, I thought I told y’all never to let Ol’ Smoker drive this thing. What are you doin’ up there?”

S: Up on the control deck…

[Whirring mechanical noise and indistinct conversation.]

M: It is a blizzard of activity. Not like an actual blizzard that’s going on outside. This internal one is much more directed. 

S: Reams of continuous-feed paper emerging from bocular printers, large reel-to-reel banks of magnetic tape spool and unwind accordingly. 

M: Rows upon rows of racks upon racks of large pizza-pan-sized punched metal disks are each tucked into individually-labeled paper sleeves.

S: Titles like “Total Ship opacity: 80%.” 

X: “Extrude emergency toilet and washroom.” 

S: “Eject foreign matter.”

M: “Full Ship full stop,” etcetera. 

S: Shug Ruggles is just un-hunching from a bocular interface, having completed some chains of cubic boxular bocs. 

X: (Shug) “It’s looking stable on energy expenditure for right now, but, uh, we might need to consider suspending a couple of non-essential systems before the day’s out,” Ruggles says, coming over to where Merlin is doing some work. “Hey Felix, how much time’s left in the day?” 

S: (Felix) “I’m working on it!” Felix yells peevishly from his corner of Control, cross-referencing five freakishly-complicated looking clocks and flipping through a dense reference binder. 

M: Merlin, looking a little underslept – he has those slightly puffy eyes, only slightly – pulls open a drafting-table-sized punching press, ejecting one and loading another metal disc before he starts repositioning some punch projections, after passing the just-pressed disc to Ephraim Amos. 

S: And HE bustles the disc over to a large music-box-like disc receptacle adjacent and connected to the Foldlight, where he loads it in. 

M: As the disc starts to spin, long metal tines brush against the discular indents 

S: and translate these to the Foldlight’s many and various filaments. The bulb flickers and blinks. The fold within shivers and swirls. 

X: Mother Artifice is here, arms folded, gazing fixedly into the Foldlight. (Mother Artifice) “THAT DOES SEEM TO BE HELPING A LITTLE, BUT I STILL DO NOT BELIEVE THIS REGION OF THE FOLD HERE IS COMPREHENDING OUR REQUESTS.” 

S: He gestures to a curl of fold sluicing within the bulb.

X: (Mother Artifice) “THE SPEEDS AND DIRECTIONALITY OF THE WINDS OUTSIDE ARE SIMPLY OUTSTRIPPING ANYTHING WE HAVE TRAINED THE FOLDLIGHT TO STABILIZE AGAINST.” 

S: Mr. Amos is apologetic, trying to explain that they had prepared for 800+ wind conditions, 

X: breezes of every imaginable style, size, levels of intensity, coming from every possible imaginable direction.

M: (Amos) “But this is just too, too chaotic. The Ship is doing its best to adjust. I’m, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. If you think it’s okay for now, I can start training the spare bulb on these?” 

X: Merlin closes the punch press and walks over to the Foldlight, wiping his brow and putting his hands on his hips. 

M: (Merlin) “Not yet. If powering systems is on the chopping block, let’s keep the spare bulb in dormancy. Perhaps the next disc imprint will get the Foldlight to do what we need it to, and we can save spare training for whatever Mr. Hustleworth decides is end of day.”

S: (Felix) “I said I’m working on it!”

X: The liquid crystal elevator at the back of the control deck doors open as a variety of folks who were previously on the Stagecoach arrive to see what’s happening: Everett, Cleo, and others. 

S: They squeeze their way past the geologist and the naturalist who are here nerding out about the unusual mica environment outside – the tunnels, the increasingly enclosing space. 

X: Everett grabs some bocnoculars and peers out around the wraparound control deck windows, calling out a few navigational details to Micky, who whips out a couple of charts and maps, a little compass, a couple of mapping instruments, and starts tracking a little bit of information about their progress so they can find their way back down if needed and not get trapped in a celestial mica maze.

M: The crew have been at this on the Ship now for weeks, practicing and getting used to all of the different implements and tools, the stations all around the Ship. And it’s a beautiful dance. Everyone enters into the blizzard with efficiency and excitement. 

S: The Ship is essentially navigating a razor maze during a blizzard in screeching winds right now.

[Muffled wind.]

M: The mica is so massive, so dense at this altitude, it’s like they’re flying through a series of ever-tightening wind tunnels, 

S: mica dust and snow and clouds blasting through them at high speeds. Visibility is very poor. 

M: Or intermittent, even, at that. 

S: Colder and colder, brighter and brighter, the mica outside coated with ice in many places. Every so often an airborne chunk of mica collides off the Ship, glancing off the dark mica exterior. It’s unavoidable.

[Muffled collision sounds.] 

X: Luckily the Ship incurs no damage from this, as a dark mica shard that is incredibly resilient and massively less brittle than normal mica – in addition, of course, to having spooky Fold powers which suffuse it – but these intermittent collisions are still nerve-wracking for everybody aboard.

M: Think of it as diamond against magic diamond.

S: You’d bet on magic diamond, right? Right. 

M: Right. 

X: Glacial cracking as mica sloughs and breaks outside the ever-ascending Ship, crystalline tunnels collapsing and opening, the micascape ever-changing as the Ship rocks and rolls in turbulence. 

S: The shining glimmering sharp mica dust, swirling everywhere like twinkling razor-snow, catches the light, causing god rays everywhere.

M: The god rays themselves are lit from within, individual pieces of mica producing their own luminance. 

X: Another rumble of turbulence, another apologetic noise from Mr. Amos. A couple of cups fall off of a desk here in control. Abel Bowie has had enough of this. (Bowie) “Okay, I think it’s time to brick a few of our more fragile decks with some spare mass,” he says, looking around.

M: Merlin nods. 

X: (Bowie) “I’m thinking maybe the kitchen, some of the science labs, botany? I don’t want things falling over. Let’s– let’s fill the decks solid.” 

M: (Merlin) “Mmm-Hmm. Absolutely, I think that’s a great idea. I’ll call down to those decks to evacuate before we brick them.” 

X: Ooh, this is grim. Filling the kitchen with solid dark mica means nobody’s even gonna be able to get in there to refill their coffee! Things really are getting serious. 

S: Next to Mother Artifice, silent and watchful, Dot is just a little disappointed that the dishes won’t be accessible. But that’s just between you and us. 

X: They wouldn’t mind doing a few dishes with their eyes closed right about now, if you know what we mean. 

S: So the Ship, which is capable of unimaginable speeds, as we’ve established, is now moving at just a fraction of its top speed. It has to. Careful navigation is required, collaboration between all the crew members and the Foldlight, to thread their way through this labyrinth of deadly light. 

X: Realistically, it’s starting to look more and more like we might not be able to go up much further. The mica shards outside have become so numerous and dense and claustrophobic that crevices big enough for the Ship to fly through are becoming exceedingly rare.

S: Is this it? Is this the end of the first leg of their voyage? 

X: They’ve started to have to turn around and backtrack a few times to find new ways up, only to be met by an increasing number of dead ends. It’s getting harder and harder to go up and up. At some point, there’s not gonna be anywhere else left to go.

S: A delicate spiny oar, something broken off of an old unship who knows how long ago, clangs off the windshield as it blasts by, carried by the wind. 

X: Everett perks up at that. (Everett) “Holy shit,” she says, trying to bocnocular it as it flutters away in the gale-force wind, disappearing into the void. 

M: (Merlin) “All that’s left of anyone foolish enough to explore up here in anything less than a dark mica ship.” Merlin has kind of a gleam in his eye. Even though the Ship is sort of running into these edges, these challenging tunnels, and struggling to find a way further and further up, he keeps looking that direction.

S: Searching for something. 

X: The Foldlight is working overtime to keep everything steady, keep everything on track, keep this whole thing flying magically up and up.

S: The lights are flashing. 

X: The fold is swirling and winding within. 

S: The Foldlight is the conduit through which all the Ship’s external sensor readings are conveyed for those who can’t commune with it directly, like Mother Artifice. 

X: Artifice, standing here next to the Granddaughter, is continuing to commune urgently with the Foldlight, observing the black liquid’s behavior, making recommendations for adjustments.

M: Or IS he just observing it? Every once in a while, Mother Artifice will just sort of be gazing almost blankly at it, spaced out. 

S: Next to him, Dot is watching intently, 

M: eyes flitting between Mother Artifice and the Foldlight. 

X: (Mother Artifice) “UH, Y-YES, COULD WE, UM, PLEASE INCREASE THE GREEN HUE OF FILAMENT 5-B? UM…”

S: Dot can’t quite put their finger on it, but they have a strange leaden sensation in their gut as they’re watching Artifice. He’s not acting…normal. Cleo has maneuvered her way all the way to the front of the control deck, where Merlin, all hyped up on adrenaline and anticipation, is setting up some monitoring instruments to get a better listen to the sounds outside, 

[Squealing feedback.]

X: patching wires together in a way recommended by Daggle himself.

M: (Merlin) “It’s getting tight out there. At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if the theory of the Firmament ends up holding true.”

S: (Cleo) “The Firmament? Like in Princess Shiny??” 

M: (Merlin) “Princess…whom?” 

S: (Cleo) “My comics!” 

M: (Merlin) “Well, you might not be that far off. The concept has certainly been romanticized in art and literature, but the actual theory is of this cosmological ‘ceiling’ – a solid impenetrable wall of mica, or whatever mica comes from, that defines the uppermost border of our reality. It’s an ancient idea, a source where mica comes from, why it’s always descending, and what we seem to be observing supports that theory. The constriction of matter, the tightening of the tunnels that we’ve been able to explore so far…” 

S: (Cleo) “Wow.” Cleo’s eyes sparkle with the reflected light from outside.

M: (Merlin) “Conversely, there’s sort of the inverse and opposite concept as well, of the, this Bedrock, a ‘floor’ at the bottom of the cosmos, laying deep, deep, deep underneath the Fold. Perhaps there it’s composed of solidified or compacted fold, or perhaps a as-yet-unknown substance. Maybe we’ll even get to learn more about that, too.”

X: (Everett) “Uhhh, guys?” Everett calls from nearby, staring straight up out the window with her bocnoculars. “This might be the end of the road.”

S: The density of the mica has become so great that… she’s right, it looks like the Ship can’t go any further. 

X: The crack, the crevice, the tunnel above narrows into a tiny fissure, vastly too small for the Ship.

S: A claustrophobic little crack. 

X: Ah, crap. It’s another dead end, yet again! Are they gonna have to turn around and – [sigh]. How many times are we gonna keep doing this? Micky is reading the charts, her brow furrowed.

S: (Micky) “We might want to think about turning around soon. It’s gonna be trouble enough finding our way back, the way these tunnels are constantly changing and reforming. It’s gonna take some time. Sorry, Felix.” 

X: Yeah, they’ve been coming up against a lot of dead ends lately. What are they going to do this time? Go all the way back down and all the way around again just to find more tunnels? They can’t just keep doing this. When do they just call it? 

S: The idea of coming up against unsurpassable limits was hard-coded into this voyage from the beginning. This is their purpose – to go until they cannot, see what they can see, and then turn around and move on.

X: There’s more up there. More…that they can’t get to. And that’s a bitter pill to swallow. 

S: But even what they’ve seen so far is amazing. No matter what, they will be bringing back information that is new to the rest of the cosmos. 

X: Everett lowers her bocnoculars. A lot of the crew are turning to look at Merlin Vot,

S: everyone slowly making their peace with the fact that it might be time to turn around. Everyone, that is, except Merlin. 

M: Merlin is increasingly frenzied, with his knob-twizzling, his wire-adjusting. He’s gripping a large pair of headphones to one ear, that same almost manic glint in his eye.

S: Everyone is looking to Merlin in this moment. He is the one with the authority in this particular situation, the expertise to determine when they need to call it. 

M: If there is an arbitrary end to this leg of the journey, that’s on him to decide. 

X: Slowly, gravely, Merlin stands from his instruments and turns to face the rest of the watching crew. He takes a slow, deep breath. 

[Gusting wind.]

M: (Merlin) “Realistically, given the lengths we’ve gone to and the impediments in our path, I think it best for the expedition that we end this phase of our trek and begin our des–”

[A mysterious ringing noise.]

X: A song from above. 

S: It fills the Ship like a celestial chorus, 

X: growing louder, clearer, closer. Merlin doesn’t look grave anymore.

S: He’s starting to smile.

X: A lot of people are starting to smile. 

M: (Merlin) “Get us as close to the top of this crevice as possible.” 

X: The Ship can’t fit up there, but…

M: (Merlin) “I’m taking the sloop.” 

X: Things just got interesting. Not that they weren’t before, but now? This is off the hook. The Ship maneuvers, winding its way carefully up the crevice until it can quite literally go no further, shimmering mica walls tight against the exterior of the craft. 

S: Merlin is making his preparations. Dr. Rawfield has come to give him a last-minute examination before he sets out.

X: (Rawfield) “If you feel even slightly unusual, you are turning around and coming back.” 

M: (Merlin) “Yes, yes, yes.” 

X: (Rawfield) “Stay in constant communication, and if we don’t hear from you, we’re reeling you back in.” 

M: (Merlin) “Yes, yes, I understand.”

X: (Rawfield) “Do not be an idiot, is basically what I’m trying to tell you, Vot. Do you get that?”

M: Merlin gives a imploring sort of smirk and quirk of the eyebrow to Rawfield, his long-standing friend.

X: The strange song continues to whine, to oscillate, the Ship ringing with the sound. Most of the crew has gathered here now, many of them gazing up out the windows, up into the narrow crevice, winding away further and further skyward into brighter and brighter luminance. 

S: Of course, other members of the crew wish that they could come. There’s only so many people that can fit in that sloop.

X: Everett really wants to go, but after a little chit-chat it’s clear she and Micky need to keep the Stagecoach warmed up and ready to roll in case the sloop gets in trouble. 

S: Obviously, the Stagecoach would be torn to shreds in very little time, but it’s just a backup plan. 

X: Everett and Micky head down to the hangar deck to get the old girl warmed up.

M: Merlin approaches Mother Artifice. 

X: (Mother Artifice) “MERLIN?” 

M: (Merlin) “Still want to go all the way up?” 

S: It does seem meaningful that their resident Fold wizard should be among those to perceive the highest extremes of the universe. But the Mother hesitates. 

X: (Mother Artifice) “I BELIEVE, MERLIN, THAT GIVEN THESE CIRCUMSTANCES, IT IS MORE APPROPRIATE AND MORE SAFE IF I REMAIN HERE ON FOLDLIGHT DUTY, GIVEN THESE HAZARDOUS CONDITIONS. BUT,” he inclines his head to the Granddaughter beside him, “THIS WOULD BE AN OUTSTANDING OPPORTUNITY FOR MY YOUNG ASSOCIATE.” The Granddaughter betrays nothing but totally chill calm as they shake their head. (Granddaughter) “I…don’t believe that…I could be of much use. I might just be in your way, Merlin.” Artifice cocks his head. (Mother Artifice) “COME WITH ME,” he says to the Granddaughter, pulling them aside. 

S: Cleo has been kind of quiet for the last few minutes, but she turns now to face the others, a determined set to her shoulders. She hands off the squirming Omelet to Shanamarian. (Cleo) “Could you take him? You can just put him in my room if you don’t want to carry him around. I would like to come with Merlin.” 

M: Merlin raises a quizzical eyebrow, a quirk of a smile working its way into the corner of his mouth. (Merlin) “Is that so, Cleophee Guilemoth? You would be most welcome.”

X: Rawfield steps in. (Rawfield) “Ms. Guilemoth, I’m not sure this is the best idea. This is not meant to be a criticism, merely an observation. This seems… pretty intense? And as far as I’m aware, you do not have…relevant skills.” 

S: Without missing a beat, Cleo nods, her large bow flopping. (Cleo) “Exactly. The only reason I am part of this voyage is to observe on behalf of Ebonreef. What good would I be to the Consortium, to my family, to my barony, if they find out we reached the top of the cosmos and I didn’t even go take a look? This is the one thing I’m actually here to do, so please, let me do it.” She turns to Merlin. “I promise I won’t get in your way.” 

X: Rawfield turns to Merlin, too. (Rawfield) “She’s your responsibility. You think you can take care of her?” 

M: (Merlin) “I trust Cleo.” 

S: And anyone else on the crew who might have been inclined to argue thinks about the Guilemoth family – their reputation, the rumors about their extraordinary abilities – and they don’t push the subject. 

X: Out of earshot from the rest of the crew, beside the gently pulsing luminance of the Foldlight, Mother Artifice and the Granddaughter confer. 

S: Dot is making their emotionless, logical case for why they should not go. 

X: (Granddaughter) “Out of everyone available to go, I have the least knowledge of these things. I am not prepared for this.”

S: Mother Artifice places his hand on Dot’s shoulder, stilling their stream of protestations. 

X: And he does something that he has quite literally never done before,

S: something Dot wasn’t even sure he could do – he speaks quietly. (Mother Artifice) “Let go of the futures you do and do not desire. They do not exist. The investigation will reveal itself. Do not try to make it more of this or less of that. Do not maintain distance from or question your natural intuition. Let the experience come through however it is, and reveal whatever it has to offer. Your entry point to Realization is exactly where you are and where you are going. Whatever comes is already in the right place. Just like you, Granddaughter, just like you.”

X: The Granddaughter blinks calmly, betraying not one iota of the boiling fear inside them. (Granddaughter) “Thank you, Mother. I understand. I will go. I–” 

S: (Mother Artifice) “GREAT!” Mother Artifice straightens, turning to the rest of the crew. “ONE MORE TO COME ABOARD.”

M: (Merlin) “Excellent.” 

S: If he’s a little surprised, Merlin doesn’t betray it. 

M: (Merlin) “Granddaughter, Cleo, let’s get to the sloop. It’s time to see what’s up there.”