Narrator S: A vast jet-black ocean of cosmic darkness spans before you. [Mysterious music.] Ink-dark waves of liquid fog stretch in every direction, horizon to horizon, rolling with a languid sheen, kinda like that drifting film that forms between oil and water where they meet. 

Narrator M: This oceanic membrane, this place where the Un meets the Fold, is called the Mediun. And here upon it, there floats a remote transmission repeater platform. 

S: An unmanned teletheric-to-underfold communication rig. 

Narrator X: One of five in the cosmos. 

S: About the size of a small oil rig. 

M: We wouldn’t fault you for directly picturing an oil rig, but it has this spidery, tenuous nature. It bobs on the dark liquid-fog surface of the Fold, floating on ten large outrigger pylons that fan out like the legs of a giant water strider.

S: The platform is held aloft on the Mediun surface by some careful combination of engineering and Fold weirdness, bobbing alone in the middle of a vast, still ocean of darkness. Alone, until…

X: The huge black arrowhead of the Ship descends out of a cloudbank high above, an iridescent obsidian blade piercing down out of the sky.

S: It soars gracefully down from on high, and its knifelike keel slides into the black surface of the ink-black sea. 

M: The huge ship slows to a stop, half-in and half-out of the Fold, the tip of its prow mere feet from the maintenance dock of the floating platform. 

X: The Ship has returned to the Mediun from its sojourn into the limitless heights of the Un.

S: Have to check with Felix to know for sure, but it’s been almost a couple of weeks since…well, since what, exactly? 

M: Let’s find out together. Merlin is here in his private study, handsomely disheveled due to his recent period of convalescence. [A contemplative bell melody.] He’s wearing some comfy-looking athleisure, like a gray union suit, one of those onesies with little white buttons.

X: Handsome. 

S: Hot. 

M: He’s got a blanket wrapped around his neck and shoulders. It’s sort of flowing off of him like a trailing scarf. 

S: A cone of fir-scented incense burns in an extruded dark mica bowl. 

X: Fir like the tree, not like the, you know, fur. 

M: Books lay open and dog-eared on every available open surface – the desk, the side table, even the bed.

S: Many of them are books he wrote, now heavily scrawled with handwritten annotations and strikethroughs. 

M: On top of the bed is a precariously-piled encyclopedia set, 

S: and on top of that, 

M: a small bocular phonograph is going. Some kind of chill priathic beats to study-slash-relax to. 

X: 24/7!

S: Again, have to check with Felix.

M: The Bocular Man stands by, (Bocular Man) “Hello.” holding a shiny, bright-looking, and elaborate cut crystal bong, like a valet-in-waiting. 

S: Merlin may be a stoner, but he’s a fancy stoner. 

M: And here he is, sitting on the floor, surrounded by papers and scribbled-out diagrams. He takes a pull off of the alterbud, 

[Water bubbling]

S: a floret of purple broccoli –

X: or what looks like broccoli, kinda – 

S: its textured surface gently smoldering like a forest fire of coals.

[An exhalation] 

M: Merlin dots a final period at the end of a sentence, and sighs. (Merlin) “No one could have believed…” he murmurs. 

S: You know in every movie that has a scientist main character, where they’ve just made some kind of incredible discovery, the ramifications of which shake them to their very core and call into question their entire understanding of reality, and they’re having a moody little breakdown montage about it? That’s – that’s what Merlin is doing. 

M: He’s written his report, his full report, on the journey of the Ship’s ascent. It’s…it’s nearly complete. It’s nearly got everything in there. There are a couple of problems, though. 

[The music takes a dissonant turn.]

S: One – his memory is disturbingly hazy, from about the point that thing started chasing them onwards.

X: And two – what he can remember is…troubling. 

M: And mystifying. 

S: So, he’s neglected to include certain…details. 

M: He can’t decide whether to report on…certain things. 

S: And he’s pondering what to do. 

[A glassy knocking sound]

M: Merlin jumps to his feet, (Merlin) “Uh… one – one second, one moment.” 

S: A muffled voice from the dark mica wall separating his chambers from the hallway outside:

X: (Mother Artifice) “GOOD AFTERNOON, MERLIN. RAWFIELD SAID YOU WANTED TO SEE ME.”

M: (Merlin) “Oh, yes, of course! Mother Artifice, come in, come in.” 

S: Mother Artifice simply phases through the wall in that spooky way that only he can do. Incensed weed vapor billows around him as he appears, surrounding his horned silhouette. 

M: (Merlin) “Please come in.”

S: Merlin windows a couple of windows into existence, 

M: just simply rectangling into the black crystal of the walls,

S: attempting to clear out the hotbox he’s managed to make of his chambers. 

M: (Merlin) “Please, uh, pardon the aroma.” 

X: (Mother Artifice) “THERE IS NO NEED TO STOP YOUR ACTIVITIES ON MY ACCOUNT, MERLIN. YOU ARE WELL AWARE THAT THE MOTHERS RECOGNIZE THE THERAPEUTIC VALUE OF MANY TYPES OF SUBSTANCES, AND I MYSELF HAVE PARTAKEN OF MIND-ALTERING MATERIALS THAT YOU COULD SCARCELY CONCEIVE OF. BUT THIS IS NOT WHY I HAVE COME. MERLIN, WHAT IS ON YOUR MIND?” 

M: (Merlin) “Much,” he says. 

X: (Mother Artifice) “YOUR REINVIGORATED INTEREST IN IMBIBING RECREATIONAL SUBSTANCES WOULD SEEM TO SUGGEST YOU’RE TRULY ON THE MEND.” 

M: (Merlin) “Thank you for saying so. I do feel much more myself, whether that’s to do with leaving the highest heights and making our way back to the Mediun, or just a little bit of bed rest, it’s hard to say. How are you, though, Mother Artifice?” 

X: (Mother Artifice) “MY HEAD STILL TWINGES WHERE I HIT IT DURING MY COLLAPSE INTO UNCONSCIOUSNESS, BUT OVERALL I AM MUCH RESTORED. BEING NOW ONCE AGAIN IN THE VICINITY OF THE FOLD FEELS LIKE THE FINAL CAPSTONE TO MY CONVALESCENCE.” He seems to be examining Merlin from under his black veil. “BUT LET US DISPENSE WITH DISCOURSING ABOUT THE RECUPERATIONS OF OUR BODIES. TELL ME, MERLIN, OF THE STATUS OF YOUR MINDSET AND MEMORY. HAVE YOU REGAINED ANY CLEARER RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ENTITY YOU ENCOUNTERED?” 

M: Merlin sighs. (Merlin) “Unfortunately, no, I have not.” 

S: He’s not even sure calling it an “entity” is accurate. Though, it certainly wasn’t…an object.

X: His memory is extremely, concerningly, hazy. 

S: And he feels a lurch of primal fear every time he so much as evokes the memory of it. 

[A familiar sound surges and fades.]

M: (Merlin) “It…it did seem to be some kind of terrible thing. Extremely large, powerful, extremely dangerous, but… also, extremely difficult to get to.” 

X: (Mother Artifice) “NOT AN AREA THAT MANY OTHER SHIPS ARE EVER LIKELY TO RETURN TO, UNLESS DARK MICA VESSELS PROLIFERATE IN MUCH GREATER NUMBERS IN THE FUTURE.”

M: (Merlin) “Yes, it’s – [sigh] I’ve been sitting with the discomfort for a while. I had believed that we were reaching the top, reaching the end of our uppermost journey. But it’s clear now that we’ve barely begun to explore. What I saw in that opening above us, before that thing appeared, I… I struggle to describe it. It was just another vast space, stretching higher than my eyes could have any sense of. If there truly is a Firmament up there, we were nowhere near it. This was just some other pocket, some other oasis of a type, just one little scoop of the cosmos.” 

S: Mother Artifice listens silently, as does the Bocular Man, still holding the gently-smoking crystal bong. 

M: (Bocular Man) “I am the Bocular Man.” (Merlin) “It’s miraculous that we even made it away. That thing was vast, some malicious intent, I… Ugh, I wish I could remember more. I’m furious with myself.”

X: (Mother Artifice) “MERLIN, YOU CANNOT BLAME YOURSELF FOR STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS OVER WHICH YOU HAVE NO CONTROL. YOU DID THE RIGHT THING GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCES, AND SUCCESSFULLY NAVIGATED A VERY HAZARDOUS TURN OF EVENTS.”

S: Merlin rakes his hands through his hair, frustrated. What DID he do exactly? He can’t even remember. He must have retained enough of his faculties to pilot the ship back down the shaft, as though sleepwalking. 

X: Clearly, Cleo or the Granddaughter couldn’t have done it. They didn’t know how to fly the sloop.

S: And their memory of the events are no more clear than his own, based on his conversations with them. 

X: (Mother Artifice) “ALL THAT MATTERS IS THAT YOU WERE ABLE TO SUCCESSFULLY RECOVER THE SLOOP AND NAVIGATE IT BACK TO AN AREA OF RESCUE. YOU DID QUITE WELL, MERLIN, AND YOU SHOULD REST EASY KNOWING THAT.” But Merlin is not resting easy at all. There is something else on his mind, something he has not yet told anyone else on the crew about. 

[Mysterious music.]

S: Something he has barely spoken of, even to Cleo and Dot, who experienced it with him. 

X: But maybe now is the time. 

M: (Merlin) “I have a…Fold question for you, Mother Artifice, if I may. One of the final things I remember from being up there at the highest possible height was… a moment when the thing appeared, I saw something that I don’t think I can explain. I think what I saw was fold, off-gassing, off of Cleophee, off of myself, even the Granddaughter, to some degree. But I don’t see how that’s possible.” 

X: Artifice is watching with his blank veiled face, listening quietly, exhibiting no judgment, no reaction. 

S: Merlin watches the swirling alterbud smoke and recalls the way that the dark vapor looked steaming off of his skin.

M: (Merlin) “I’ve heard that some believe all life to contain fold, but it’s– it’s like a spirit, an ephemeral thing. When we go into surgery or are working with a cadaver, we find no fold within the body. There is no organ that houses it. It’s not in the blood. It is not accessible to us through microscope. Only tearror infections manifest fold inside the body, and neither Cleo, the Granddaughter, nor I have evinced any such infection, before or after the encounter. What was that? What could I have seen? And what does it mean?”

[An enigmatic melody.] 

X: Artifice continues to sit quietly. His horned head turns to gaze out the window at the view of the Mediun, at the transmission platform bobbing outside. (Mother Artifice) “WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE IT TO MEAN, MERLIN?”

M: (Merlin) “I suppose I can’t conceive of the things I can’t conceive of, and that’s troubling to me.” 

X: (Mother Artifice) “AND YOU PRESUME THAT I PERSONALLY POSSESS A CONCRETE ANSWER TO YOUR INQUIRIES ABOUT THIS TOPIC.”

M: (Merlin) “Or perhaps insight. Your years of experience in the Fold, your experience with the Mothers, period – you are all Fold-obsessed!”

X: Artifice is gazing blankly at Merlin, strangely unhelpful. Not confrontational, but oddly ambiguous in this moment. Merlin detects no real reaction from him. 

S: Is this some sort of sacred Mother’s knowledge that he is forbidden to share? 

M: (Merlin) “Let me state the question this way,” Merlin offers. “What did YOU experience in your journey to the top?”

X: (Mother Artifice) “A QUESTION I CAN ANSWER MORE CONCRETELY, MERLIN. AS WE CONTINUED OUR ASCENT, WITH EACH PROGRESSIVE STOP, I PERSONALLY FELT…” He pauses, something he rarely does. “AS THOUGH SOMETHING WERE DISAPPEARING FROM ME. BIT BY BIT. SLOWLY. I AM NOT ACCUSTOMED TO SPENDING A GREAT DEAL OF TIME CONTINUOUSLY OUTSIDE OF THE FOLD, CERTAINLY NOT AT EXTREMELY HIGH ALTITUDES, SO IT IS NOT A PHENOMENON I AM PREVIOUSLY FAMILIAR WITH, NOR A PHENOMENON THAT THE MOTHERS HAVE A GREAT DEAL OF PRIOR KNOWLEDGE OF. I DO NOT HAVE ANSWERS TO WHAT WAS TAKING PLACE WITHIN ME AND MY OWN BODY, BUT I PRESUME IT TO BE SOMEWHAT RELATED TO WHAT YOU ARE DESCRIBING. AND MY OWN COLLAPSE, MY OWN LOSS OF CONSCIOUSNESS, DID INCIDENTALLY TRANSPIRE AROUND THE SAME TIME THAT YOU DESCRIBED YOUR OWN ENCOUNTER WITH THE ENTITY.” 

S: Unspoken implications hang in the air between them.

M: (Merlin) “Clearly, it’s a vast question, with much more learning needing to transpire before any clear understanding is reached. If you don’t mind, I think this is a matter I would like to keep private. Between a doctor and their patient, if you will.” 

X: (Mother Artifice) “I WILL NOT SPEAK A WORD OF IT TO ANYONE UNTIL YOU SUGGEST OTHERWISE.”

M: (Merlin) “I appreciate it. And I thank you for your…your insights and musings on the subject. Well, I know people are waiting for me. I know I need to submit…this.” 

S: He gestures at the pile of notes and papers and jottings and scribbles littering his room. 

M: (Merlin) “I need to finalize my report.”

[A scene change. Soft wind and background chatter.] 

X: Well, while Merlin’s doing that, other members of the crew are taking in the unshine. It is their last chance for a while, and there’s this convenient transmission platform on which to stretch their legs. 

S: There’s an appropriate amount of caution being observed, harnesses and lifelines and so forth. It might look deceptively like an oil rig floating on the ocean, but if anyone were careless enough to fall over the edge, they wouldn’t float as they might in a sea made of water – they would fall through vaporous fog and keep falling. Fold ships and certain animals are able to fly in the Fold, but your average human is not going to fly so much as plummet.

[Gentle raindrops and distant thunder.] 

M: Case in point – a brief little unshower passes through, a gentle spatter of rain drizzling from gray clouds passing by overhead. The droplets don’t disturb the Mediun at all. No ripples, no splashes. 

X: Raindrops falling through smoke. 

M: While they are stopped here, the Ship is resting, as it must periodically do. The bocular banks are rewinding, the punch-discs being recalibrated. The Foldlight is digesting all of its learnings since the last rest.

S: Kind of like how REM sleep helps with memory, learning, healing, all that good stuff. 

X: The crew is also taking the opportunity to offload lots of new information and experience now acquired by the Foldlight into the spare Foldlight. 

S: Oh, yeah, the spare bulb. It’s time to copy and paste all their info into their backup drive. 

M: It’s a good practice.

S: Back up your data now. 

X: The dorsal sloop, now finally reconstituted and reinvigorated with dark fold matter, is once again reattached, regrown, at the uppermost peak of the Ship’s giant arrowhead hull. 

S: It’s not just the crew that needed to heal. It was the Ship, too. Out on the platform, Cleo pops open a little unbrella. She’s opting not to wear her pink unglasses today. To be honest, she’s starting to develop a bit of a superstition about them. Seems like every time she lends them out to someone, that person sees something crazy through them. But it’s only when she GIVES them to someone else. She’s still figuring out the rules of this enchantment, but she’s not taking chances. She just wants to have a normal day today. 

X: Hopefully it’s just coincidence. Hopefully they’re not cursed. 

S: In any case, she is unconcerned with the mysterious fathoms below, and she’s sitting right on the edge of the platform, wearing a lifeline harness, eating a sandwich, her abundant pink hair in a thick braid.

X: She’s dangling her feet into the Fold. 

S: Under the surface, the freckles on her legs flicker with multicolored light. 

M: She watches the surface of the Mediun gently flow by, 

S: inky fog gliding against Cleo’s dangling feet, as the dark substance of the entire sea gently moves in one uniform direction – downstream – in a slow, inexorable cosmic current.

M: A current leading to the Delta, the distant domain where the Fold grows thick and clogged with all the tearrors and detritus of the cosmos. 

X: It is where the Ship is ultimately headed, where they will be before too long. 

S: The Ship’s ascending and descending trajectories have also been arcing them steadily downstream, downcurrent, Deltaward.

X: Journalist Kanneken Hartevelt pokes their head out from the maintenance and transmission office here on the platform. 

M: (Kanneken) “Hey, Cleo! These things are wired directly to the interisletary cable network. You could call home if you wanted.”

S: (Cleo) “Oh, no need! Thanks, though. I’ve already included my observations with Merlin’s main report.”

M: (Kanneken) “Sure thing. Still waiting on the final draft of that from him…” 

S: (Cleo) “He should be out soon.”

X: Everett is posted up on another outrigger nearby, fold-fishing, waiting for the latest Unsmoke episodes to finish recording to tape inside the array’s office, sipping one of Quino’s pearlfruit mimosas. 

S: Everett always knows how to have a good time.

X: Quino himself is at a distance, taking in the unshine, looking out to sea. 

S: Micky is propped against her wife, reading Cleo’s copy of Princess Shiny Book Three: The Bocular Ballroom. 

X: Everett’s got kind of a fly-fishing pole with a tiny battery-powered lightbulb on the end of its line, seeing if there are any mirrorhawks, any minglerfinch down there in the Fold. 

M: So far, nothing but feathery little waftworms, which are miserable to eat. 

X: Kind of like taking a bite of dandelion fluff, blech.

S: Blech!

X: (Everett) “Hey, Cleo, you ever fold-fish before? Very relaxing. Even easier than cards.” 

S: (Cleo) “Oh, no, I can’t stand fishing. I always feel too sorry for anything I catch. Even the mirrorhawks. Even the worms!”

X: (Everett) “And I suppose you don’t want the fried finch sandwiches that I’m gonna be making when I catch something, either?”

S: (Cleo) “Well, okay, let’s not be hasty. That’s different, when they look like a sandwich…”

M: All of the other teams are stepping aboard the platform to load in and transmit priathic compilations of their reports through the high-speed underfold transducer.

S: Merlin is now the only remaining science person who has not yet submitted his report. Folks are waiting on him. Where is he? He’s been cooped up in his room a lot lately, which is understandable. 

X: The Granddaughter now steps aboard the platform, giant wide hat on head, to gaze out at the inky sea. 

S: Cleo waves at them. (Cleo) “Hi, Dot! Check this out. Back at the Mediun!” 

X: The Granddaughter strolls over to stand not so far from Cleo now, quietly watching the horizon. 

S: Cleo kicks her feet contemplatively. (Cleo) “How, uh… how are you feeling? I’m still pretty shaken up about it all, if I’m being honest.”  

X: (Granddaughter) “I feel as though I have…mostly recovered.”

S: (Cleo) “Good, good.”

X: (Granddaughter) “I have been sleeping more than usual. Some very strange dreams.”

S: (Cleo) “Dreams? Have you – have you remembered anything else? My memories are still so foggy, it’s… I don’t know whether to feel frustrated or grateful for it, because what I DO remember was very scary. What about you?” 

X: The Granddaughter remembers far too much. (Granddaughter) “It is all very, very…hazy. Almost nothing remains,” they say. 

S: (Cleo) “I don’t even remember how we got back down. Well, from what I do remember, you were so calm and collected. I mean, you never once lost your nerve. Really impressive. I’m sure I was completely losing it.”

X: The Granddaughter is relieved that Cleo can’t remember certain things… that were said… during the event. (Granddaughter) “It’s a good thing that Merlin had enough sense left to fly us back down.”

S: (Cleo) “Right?! Oh, imagine if he HADN’T been able to operate the sloop. I don’t even want to think about it.” 

M: Speaking of – Merlin finally arrives on the platform, no longer in his union suit, but brocade waistcoat, button shirt, and spats. 

S: They stand together in a moment of companionable silence. The feeling between the three of them has changed a bit since their experience up there at the top. They’ve gone through something that maybe no one else in the cosmos has ever gone through before, and hopefully will never go through again. They may not understand it, but they are bonded by it. (Cleo) “So, Merlin?” Cleo asks.

M: (Merlin) “Mmhmm?” 

S: (Cleo) “I feel a little bit silly that I don’t already know this, but this is as good a time as any to ask. Why isn’t the Mediun one giant, boiling, light-activated tearror all the time? I mean, it’s light that causes tearrors, and this part of the Fold is exposed to light all the time.”

M: Merlin grins at this question. Finally something that he knows a little bit about at least, and can make some definitive statements about. He takes comfort in and relishes this moment. 

S: Lecturing – his safe space. 

X: Best of all, a question about a subject he can actually remember. 

M: (Merlin) “That’s a great question. The Fold is attracted to and usually excited by light, but there’s a limit to the concentration of tearror activity that a region of fold can sustain before it becomes acclimated, satiated, in a sense. Over thousands or possibly millions of traversals, perhaps this surface of the Fold has learned what it means to BE the Mediun. It’s become homeostatic, constantly subjected to the same quality of light, the same amount and flow of fold. It’s those sudden, unexpected state changes that typically cause extreme reactions like tearrors.”

S: (Cleo) “Like the Midst Moonfall!”

M: (Merlin) “Yes, exactly right. And the coexistence of the Un and the Fold on the Mediun is anything but sudden. It’s been this way for as long as our cosmos has existed, as far as we know. If you really want to know more, though, you should ask Mother Artifice or the Granddaughter. My understanding of the Fold is comparatively extremely limited to theirs.” 

X: The Granddaughter, gazing out across the Mediun, as usual betrays no emotion. (Granddaughter) “All of our understandings of the Fold lately have perhaps been…called into question.” 

S: Cleo’s gaze grows a little distant as she stares down into the Mediun beneath. (Cleo) “Um. So I still haven’t told anyone else about… about the… stuff… that was coming out of us. Have either of you?”

X: The Granddaughter shakes their head. This is not a lie. They have not yet spoken to Artifice about it. 

M: Merlin shakes his head. (Merlin) “No. In fact, I – well, with the exception of Mother Artifice.” 

X: Dot’s eyes move slowly. 

S: (Cleo) “Oh, well, that’s different. He’s a doctor.”

M: (Merlin) “It could be that what we were experiencing was our… spirits… evaporating.” 

X: He doesn’t look like he likes that word very much. 

S: Seems like he was trying to pass it off as a joke, but no one laughs, and there’s a strained silence.

M: (Merlin) “But who can say? In any case, it’s probably best that we… not rush into sharing this speculation prematurely. We don’t fully understand, and I could see this causing a bit of…upset. A bit of chaos.”

[The rain grows louder.]

S: (Cleo) “Oh, right, totally. Well, I definitely don’t want to upset anyone.” There’s another little cloudburst from up above, raindrops pattering down on the brim of Dot’s hat and the surface of the platform. “Well, your report probably has plenty of material in it just with talking about… giant monsters in the Firmament and stuff like that!”

M: (Merlin) “You said it best. I’ve included your notes as well, Cleo. Thank you, by the way. You were done far before me on this assignment.”

S: (Cleo) “Well, I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

X: The Granddaughter remains silent. They have shared all that they wish to share at this time. But apparently Artifice knows now. Hmm. 

S: They will certainly not speak of, and can barely acknowledge to themself, the relief that they feel about how little Merlin and Cleo remember. 

X: But what the Granddaughter remembers, scattered though it may be, still haunts them. Their dreams have been strange indeed of late. 

S: Merlin slaps his thighs in the universal gesture of “it’s time to be getting on to the next activity.” 

M: And with very little ceremony, enters the transmission office, slides the sheaf of papers into a large press-like device, pulls a huge lever, and with the gentle beeping of priathic tuneology, transmits his report to the Consortium. 

X: And with all reports submitted and everyone back aboard, the Ship descends fully into the Fold –

S: headed both down, and, as always, downcurrent –

M: the towering upper blade of the arrowhead sinking, diving, disappearing under the opaque ink-like surface of the Mediun, leaving no trace. 

S: The ocean of Fold is still, silent, and unbroken, the transmission platform once again alone on the sea of wafting darkness.

M: Down we go.